The New Typical

In case you haven’t heard, I have arrived (and settled, for that matter) in Ikageng. At the airport, the passport stamper asked when I was leaving, and I said March 2015. 365 days later. That is crazy! and still sinking in.

Since I had been here before (September/October), I knew what to expect…somewhat. But I’m discovering that visiting a place and calling it home are two very different things. Perhaps it’s because the length of time in a place and one’s level of personal investment are directly correlated? That’s a deeper thought for a later time. Anyways, if the year evaporates into history at the same rate that last week did, even a year might not be long enough.

Here are some snapshots of daily happenings that are new to me for now, but most likely “typical” in the scheme of my life and ministry over the next 51 weeks.

My alarm goes off at 6:21. In Frisco, I cringe at setting my alarm for this barely-dawn hour. But here, I can go to bed at 10, which means 8 glorious hours of sleep. Plus, I get to see the orange, African sun inching off the horizon out my front window every morning.

My wardrobe consists mainly of capris, tank tops and flip-flops (which most of you will know is my attire of choice), and no one thinks I’m crazy to wear them every day. Yes, it is fall, which means winter is just around the corner. But “winter” is an oh-so-relative term when you come from a place where it can snow nine out of twelve months. Here it snows zero out of twelve, so I think we should come up with a new word for their fourth season.

Instead of opening the Sweet Shoppe by myself, I walk into the school for our daily staff meeting, and it’s bursting with life. Each of the ladies that God has pooled to teach at Naledi Christian Academy is precious; and the harmony with which they are woven together cannot be explained by anything but Providence. They ooze love and joy and grace, making them an absolute pleasure to work with. It is nothing less than inspiring to watch them overflow into the children under their care.

While I miss being on the receiving end of Luke’s slobbery kisses, the hugs I get from our 79 sweet township kidlets more than suffice. And Luke’s unending chorus of “Tay Tay!” has been replaced by a heart-melting stream of “Good Morning, Ma’am Tayla!” (Side note: Luke is coming to meet his rivals in 49 days—along with his mom and grandma!! Surely they will become fast friends…and accomplices.)

There is one particular two-year-old that I just have to pick up every time I see her. Because she just melts in my arms. And it isn’t easy to coax a smile out of her—but I’m working on it. And my grandma just happens to be her sponsor. And because I can, that’s why.

I sweep seven times a day. One measly crumb draws one-hundred pesky ants to it like a magnet. When I’m not quick enough to sweep crumbs, I’m faced with the impossible task of sweeping ants. At times, the floor is crumb-free, and they still come—that’s the worst. For the record, I am not a fan of cohabitation with little guys that multiply five times faster than I can squash them or escort them out with a broom.

Safeway has always been an enjoyable atmosphere for me. Checkers is the South African equivalent of Safeway. They have a broad assortment of goods, but they’re all out of order (according to me). Plus, the aisles are more narrow, yet filled with more people. And because I’m white and I’m in South Africa, everyone speaks Afrikaans at me, because that’s what white people in South Africa speak. Not me…and I think that confuses people. However, I can add “grocery shopping by myself in South Africa” to my list of accomplishments, petty as it may be.

Until arriving here, the last months of my life had been sadly devoid of vitamin D, due to being overly clad in the garments of an ever-snowy winter. Now, the early evening hours in my front yard are perfectly pleasant for basking in the sun and reading. Not to mention, the birds singing all around and the sun painting the sky as it sinks. Don’t be jealous. Just come visit. I’ll even whip up a delightful round of iced coffee; it’s a ritual perfectly suited for that time of day.

Topics of dinner table conversation range from A) how cute it is when a pint-sized four-year-old insists on washing the feet of all his classmates (and even the hands and head of one, like Peter) to reenact the Bible story of the day (John 13:1-20, in case you’re wondering) … to Z) how we received pecans and rotting peaches in this week’s donations, so we should obviously make crumble (kinda like turning lemons into lemonade). It was delicious, by the way.

Instead of watching TV on the couch with my family after dinner, music from an excellent playlist fills my little house (thanks to suggestions from my music-savvy friends). I’ve only listened to 108 of 214 so far.

After my nightly pairing of Bible and roibos tea, and before rolling into bed, I turn on my dual-purpose fan. Purpose one: to cool the air for more comfortable sleeping. Purpose two: drown out the dance parties and packs of barking dogs on the other side of the wall. Because I’m used to the silence of the mountains, but that’s far from typical here.

I drink water from a 25-liter jug instead of the tap, and drive on the left side of the road, the right side of the car, while shifting with my left hand (it takes concentration). Most likely, after 52 weeks, what might seem new or strange now will be typical, and what was typical before living here will likely seem new…and strange.