Two weeks ago I came across this short video of @BeleafinFatherhood’s daughter Anaya asking for love. In it you see a little black girl, with a mischievous smile on her face, sticking herself through what was obviously a closed door to make her request. She says: “I’m just standing here, waiting for you to get done, so I can get wuv”. Despite the cute mispronunciation of love as ‘wuv’, the reactions under that video show that many, like me, confronted a very great lacking in themselves when watching that reel. This little girl has what so many adults, especially adult women like myself do not. The confidence and wherewithal needed to ask for love openly. She has something we have lost by growing up, by painful experiences, by never having known it was possible, by lacking the foundations to nurture it. I was, and still am, quite frankly jealous of Anaya. At Anaya’s age, I like many others grew up being told it’s wrong or girl’s to express their desires first. That they should wait to be picked by a guy… that if he doesn’t choose you in the midst of a crowded room he doesn’t love you. In fact, in my culture, we have a traditional wedding practice I always found ‘romantic’. The practice stipulates that your husband to be should be able to recognize you wrapped under sheets of clothing in a line-up of other women wrapped from head to toe as well. Simply playing to our desire to be ‘picked’ first. I like many other girls was taught that men pursue. Human males are ‘hunters’ every relationship guru claims. They should be the ones to propose, to say I love you first (after which you should say I love you more because that fierce hunter seemingly has a fragile ego eh). If there’s one thing Christianity and the secular world seem to agree on it is relationship gender roles. Like many other girls, I grew up with movies telling us to throw pens on the ground to get a guy’s attention (couldn’t we just use the pen to write notes?) or leave secret gifts on our crush’s table and watch from afar, and who to can forget the Bella’s infamous “bend and snap” … we’re to do anything but actually tell the person we need love from that we need it. I recall a particular instance when a classmate took a Polaroid picture of her body in a bikini (nudes before nudes were a thing) and put in an envelope and slipped it in her crush’s locker to ‘get his attention. Her way of saying “I want wuv”; she was barely a teenager with a warped sense of making that request because this was what she’d been told would get her the attention she desired. But it’s not just girls getting tricked. The media will have boy’s like Anaya’s brothers convinced that the way to say “I want love” is to buy a girl the most expensive gifts, drive this car, catch their attention with this sports jacket, and a host of other indirect ways. Because direct is scary for adults. But direct is what Anaya is doing. I wonder how often we have asked for love in the wrong way: by buying a gift anonymously, by giving cash because that is always welcome but the words may not be. By crying. By doing that silly block/unblock dance. By rebelling or lashing out. By lying about who we are and what we want. By sharing memes to… By accepting trash. I know for certain many of us have done everything but knock on a closed door, peek inside, and said plainly “I need wuv”. Why? Because unlike Anaya we no longer believe in fairytales, we no longer have that faith in God (if we ever did), we no longer have the people who we can be sure will respond as Anaya’s daddy did that “I’ll come give you love baby”. And in place of all these things we no longer have we now have dozens of memories of times those who we needed love from said no, or ignored us or mocked us or abused that need. We now have conditioning on how that love should look like and expectations on how it should show up. So I guess what I envy Anaya for is the innocence she has yet to lose. And as I watch that video over and over again, I pray she keeps being able to do this scary beyond-adult thing- confidently ask for love- for a long time.
In Which I Argue that the Cameroonian Government is the Greatest Missionary of All Time…
If you were asked who the greatest missionary in all of history is, who would you name? Who would you say has called most people to Christ? Who has done so much soul-saving that you think they deserve the star on the missionary walk of fame? A lot of people will name biblical characters. But don’t be lazy, I mean think of people we can trace in modern times. At this point, you are probably thinking of some old white people: John Wesley? Mother Teresa? Benny Hinn? Billy Graham? Or perhaps you’re thinking of some Nigerian televangelists? Who? Well, irrespective of who you thought of I’m here to argue that you’re wrong. I don’t need to know the preacher’s name; all I know for sure is that they can’t take the title of the greatest missionary of all time. If a missionary is one who wins souls for Christ, then the greatest of all time is none other than African government officials. Yes, you read that right. Let me make my case: A missionary is one who promotes their faith, a Christian missionary is one who promotes faith in Christ; causes people to believe in Christ. I’ve thought long and hard, and I can’t give anyone other than African government officials more credit or pushing African people to Christ. Western missionaries may have brought it here, but it’s our government that has enabled its preservation over a century later. In fact, the government has three great missionary achievements to its credit. 1. ‘Suffer them to Come Unto Me’ In Matthew 19:14, Jesus said “Suffer the little children to come unto me. Bible translators have explained that the meaning for “suffer” there was “allow” and not the ‘suffer’ we know as of today. But the African government officials did not hear that one. No, what they – and the rest of us too- have heard is that “pain is the touchstone of spiritual growth”, that suffering draws us to God. And so they believe they are doing the Lord’s work by suffering the civil servants who after scrambling to secure a government job must then wait years before they get paid. How won’t you believe in God as a medical doctor in this country? You must believe when you see how low people are surviving despite the low chances of survival. You must believe, for your own sanity, that you will live long enough despite daily risks as a frontline worker to see the day you cash out your arrears – after the bribe of course. And so the government sends you to the altar. Now, I’m not on the side of those who say God intentionally gives us pain to bring us to him. Personally, I don’t like nor agree with that framing. I understand it, I definitely think he permits the pain and uses it for good. But the intentional cruelness of breaking you, bring you to your knees seems sadistic and not at all God-like (see James 1:13). So of course I am not going to relegate the Government’s “ministry” to just that of suffering. Nope, they have other strategies for promoting the faith. So moving on, let’s look at their second missionary achievement … 2. “In God we trust” One of the most memorable lessons of the New Testament is that which teaches us not to presume tomorrow is assured… Jesus uses the Parable of the Rich Fool (Luke 12:16–21) to teach it and James (4:15) warns against betting on tomorrow and suggest that we rather say “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.” Well, even if you’ve never read the bible, the Cameroonian government has taught you this lesson by virtue of their unreliability. We say “by God’s grace” automatically whether we’re active disciples of Christ or not; because if there is one thing we’re sure of, it is that nothing is sure. You may have money in the bank but you cannot be sure that the ATM would work, in fact, it is normal for them to have issues. You may have paid for a monthly data subscription but you are not sure to enjoy the data- and even if they skip days on end, you can do nothing but grumble. You are not sure of getting to work on time even if you left home early- some minister may be visiting and the roads will be blocked for hours with not consideration… Nothing is sure. No one teaches this better than governments like the Cameroonian and this makes them one of the greatest missionaries- whether they intend to be or not. In other countries where the system is reliable, you can plan for days ahead. In Cameroon courtesy of the government, doing meal prep for a week is an act of faith. You must be trusting in God because it cannot be in ENEO you trust… They have taught us dependency on Christ in a way Saker and Wellesley could never! 3. “In Everything Give Thanks” I in no way mean to suggest other countries are perfect… far from it. More developed countries have their own systematic failures. A Black-American probably has to pray that their justice system works as it should… Yet, the Cameroonian government has made thanksgiving a national practice in ways that can only be considered a missionary achievement. In the absence of a functioning system, even the littlest thing becomes a miracle. And so we hear resounding shouts of “thank God” when ENEO restores power. We clap in gratitude when the bus safely arrives Bamenda after a night journey – the way Africans elsewhere clap when the plane lands) because we know that our roads are hazardous and our driver may have acquired his license through corrupt means… We know it is a miracle that we’re not dying of Covid19 in crazy numbers, because there is literally no contact tracing done and the testing centers barely practice the measures they recommend. And while it is likely that
Unlearning Episode 2: Unlearning Superwoman ideals, Suffering mentality and Normalizing luxury
This past Friday, my Ph.D. was officially conferred. I am officially Dr. Monique Kwachou. A holder of a doctor of philosophy in development studies with a specialization in feminist studies and education. I’m not at the apex of my career, but with this terminal degree I’m assumed to have achieved a great deal, assumed to have ‘succeeded’. I’m here to tell you that such assumptions are faulty at best and outright lies on several days a month. Not because I am ambitious and want more, but because the definition of a successful woman in our society makes it impossible for that to be achieved merely by education or professional achievement. My doctoral research focused on the fear of overeducated women in our society, women assumed to be empowered and portrayed as being ‘too much’ within our patriarchal contexts. I asked of the women I interviewed: how empowered are you really? How much power did their higher education afford them in the face of the gender inequalities all women experience? In sum, the answer is not that much. Why? Well there are many reasons (read the book when it’s out), but the one that is relevant to this post is this: Our educational/professional achievement is not enough to undo collective conditioning. Like Eminem and Rihanna sang: we have made friends with the ‘monster’ inside of our heads- the monster being internalized sexism apparent in notions that our value as women lies in what we can endure, or that we must be superwomen to be deserving of fair treatment/appreciation. So many of us women are ‘friends’ with such notions serve to oppress us and it is hard to fight the lie you have been raised to believe as truth… Last year a friend and I discussed a tweet that raised the issue of African women being tested based on their ability to endure. I cannot find the tweet, but in it, a guy suggested ‘testing’ women with a very small amount of money or by inviting them over to a dirty apartment to see if they would be able to do much with little/take the initiative to clean up after him and therefore display their ‘marriageability’. Well, that tweet gained traction and thankfully a lot more men and women are recognizing how idiotic such a ‘test’ is. Still, the idiotic notion behind that tweet isn’t always as obvious and it remains deeply imbibed in my (and many other women) subconscious that we must do the most/do it all is a sign of being a good/worthy woman. Worthy of what? Worthy of equality, worthy of love, worthy of being chosen. When I was 16 and suggested my cousin and I be registered at British Council for the holidays to go spend time reading there during our long vacation. I was told that it would be better for us to go be apprentices at a salon to learn how to braid because as future mothers we should know how to do our daughter’s hair without needing someone else. When I got into the university, an older friend mocked my desire for wanting to buy a blender because an African woman should know how to use the grinding stone. And don’t get me started on how I often baked cakes and gifted people but hid the fact that I had baked the cakes using cake mix rather than from scratch… because we are in a society that looks down on gifts/love if you didn’t suffer for it. We are in a society that belittles women who have C-sections saying “is that even real labor”. Don’t get me wrong, knowing how braid, use the grinding stone, bake from scratch…none of these things are wrong. Honestly, I appreciate being able to use a grinding stone because our power company is so useless- but I wish we called it what it was: a necessity brought about by our collective poverty and underdevelopment as a nation rather than make it look like some talent that should add points to womanhood. Knowing how to braid hair is a great skill, but that too should not be expected of me if it is something I can afford to delegate. Yet, women are expected to know how to do it all, to bake and ice the cake, to cook all the traditional dishes, to be able to be a home tutor to the kids, do the laundry till it shines, the worship leader in the home… oh and be a veritable seductress in the bedroom. These expectations are not laid out directly, they are built over time. We don’t even realize we have imbibed them. Socialization is a sneaky thing, we build our value system based on what reactions we get from the least things. For instance, upon returning home with my master’s degree I offered to prepare the pounded yams at my uncle’s home where I was visiting- he comes in and sees me doing this and puts on an exaggerated show of relief saying I’ve restored his faith in me, that he had feared I was a lost case because I was furthering my studies, but given that I could make pounded yam I was obviously still an ‘African woman’… I scoffed at him then, but it stayed with me, that to too many people I would be ultimately valued based on whether I fit what they perceived a good woman is. Not on my own values. So it just comes to you one day that you feel shame/inadequate/like you’re failing for not being able to do something. The voice in your head, the product of years of conditioning shames you for not having cooked pepper-soup to visit an uncle or for paying someone to fix the njama-njama at the market. One day, you wonder “why do I feel this odd shame at not knowing how to make Achu soup? It’s not even something I would like to eat on the regular”? Or perhaps you will realize just how
Another New Year…
Exactly a month ago, the majority of the world (those who follow the Gregorian calendar) crossed over into a new year- 2021. The ending and beginning of years is often a time for reflection, gratitude, and hope for everyone- like a collective birthday. And for Christians like myself, it often means a lot of church events as we are called to come together to give thanks to God for seeing us through the past year and to dedicate the new one to God as well. The apex event is that on New Year’s Eve night known as cross-over service. I love cross-over service and I in no way mean to bash it. The idea behind it; Christians coming together in gratitude and hope; the feelings of praise and anticipation… these are just beautiful. However, over the past years, I’ve found this period to be one of a lot of problematic preaching. New Year messages in churches have come to look like exercises in worldly affirmations; with themes that speak to our selfish desires for all things contentment here and prosperity with very little scriptural grounding. I have spoken about this before- the shallowness of the themes churches give years; we claim it will be ‘our year of double blessing’, ‘our year of breakthrough’ our year of elevation, ‘our year of supernatural harvest’ or ‘our year abundance’ etc. And I have always wondered at how one-sided those claims are. To claim that it is my year of ‘supernatural harvest’, would entail that the preceding year was one of “supernatural sowing”, and was it? Also, if we really are seeking God for the year ahead, asking to be led by his Spirit, why are none of us claiming the fruits of the Spirit? Why are there no themes like “, “My year of patience”, “My year of faithfulness”? “My year of gentleness”. Of course, our themes would be claims of positivity, I don’t expect us to claim negativity. Yet, I wish the church encouraged a lot more reflection on what we really need and what God’s spirit offers. I would like to see more people claim it is their “year of healing”, ‘or “year of giving’ and I in particular can definitely use a ‘Year of Self-control” to get my head right. What about you, what theme would you give this year? What do you think of the themes given at your church if you attend? As always, I would love to read your thoughts!
Christmas Reflections for Those Who are not Merry…
Season’s Greetings to you dear reader! I truly hope the holidays are a happy time for you. Yet, I am aware that this is not the case for everyone, and today I decided to share why this is not necessarily the case for me. I never thought of myself as someone who dislikes the holidays. Even now, I can’t say *dislike* is the word for it… I love the break from work which gives me time to rest and plan and do…other work lol! Still, when a friend replied to my Christmas card on the 24th and began a conversation it led me to do some overdue reflecting. See, this friend asked me what I was doing for Christmas and I replied saying: “nothing much, just going to try and avoid binge eating, crying, and hope for productivity”. I’m Christian so for Christmas I do believe in praying and praising in ode to the birth of Christ… but not any more than I do on any given day I pray and praise. Not only because of the debates on if this specific date is his accurate birthday but just because I rarely feel extraordinarily praise-y on the day. So, what is the problem? Why am I not merry? The easy answer would be depression. But nah, that’s not quite it. Many people detest the holidays – for what it has become due to capitalism, or because they are lonely, or because it reminds them of someone they lost (like a dear friend of mine who died in 2018 on Christmas Eve)… There are many reasons, and it is so accepted that the holidays can be a triggering period that I had never really thought about it why this period is not simply joyful for me any longer and what exactly about it may trigger depression. This is the first time someone asked me so pointedly that I was forced to find the words for it. And in finding the words, I discovered something about myself. It seems some years ago (I don’t know when exactly but I think it was 2016, perhaps earlier) holidays began losing their luster for me because I was no longer content with being a makeshift family member. Holidays are for family and home. I have family, lots of family, especially friends who have become family. I am not short of loved ones to spend the holidays with; at least 3 of my loved ones near me made it clear that I was to join their families to celebrate the day (and I eventually did spend a bit of time with each of them and their families on Christmas Day). But as I have come to do in recent years, I made sure I spent as little time as possible at each home. Playing either the role of helping in the kitchen, visiting aunty, or just plain guest. Because it’s still not the same. Because my family has their own family. So ‘going home’ often means going to a place where you’re reminded that you’re not exactly family. Or that your family is not like this family. Or that what you call family, is a collage of a variety of individuals belonging to other families. I wasn’t always aware of this, not in such clear terms at least. This realization is coming this year following the conversation on the 24th. It was fine at first, or rather, it was unnoticeable. I did not notice that with every holiday spent with another family, I was trying to create something. Either creating some family holiday tradition with those who had adopted me as theirs, or create my place in another family… In one house I tried to create the tradition of having Christmas gifts put under a Christmas tree to be opened on the day. I was an undergrad student and broke so I wonder how I did it, but I managed to get everyone in the family I was with at the time gifts. But, when the day came all the gifts under the tree were the ones I put there lol! They received in gratitude, but it wasn’t something they would think of, so not something that continued. In later years, I tried to join the traditions of the other families. And I loved it, for a while. One of my families has a beautiful tradition of gift exchange (Secret Santa) which is elaborately planned for a month before… it is so entertaining how well we hide whose name we picked and the coy ways we go about trying to find the gift they would like… I recall praying in 2016 that I would want to emulate that tradition in my own home in the future… That should have been a warning. I didn’t consider myself at home. But still, I have spent Christmas Eve with that family and enjoyed that tradition for over 5 years. And another of my families has the tradition of going to the beach on New Year’s day with colleagues… I have loved that tradition too. Let me tell you, everyone should ring in the New Year by having the waves wash over you as if carrying the dirt of the previous year away. It is unspeakably refreshing. Still, I did not recognize that these traditions were family heirlooms I was trying to inherit, nor that my participation was an attempt to make family memories for myself. So when I no longer wanted to spend holidays with others I also could not recognize that it was because a part of me had realized that I could not create what I needed in that way. Spending holidays in this way meant felt akin to living as someone else for a short while. Spending the day enjoying my nieces and cousins and sharing food and joy, but then going home to my space. And my own home sometimes feels lonelier when returning to it after that, with memories of the baby you carried, or thoughts
Unlearning Episode 1
I am jealous of the love black women, African women reserve for men. Their men, the men yet to be theirs, the men who we are not sure exist yet, or who exist but just don’t show up. The sort of love that has us ready and willing to edit ourselves to be what you desire. The love that has us buying fabric and thinking of how we’ll make two outfits instead of one. The love that has us learning skills we wouldn’t need otherwise, just to please/impress you. The love that forgives without neither complete apologies nor changed behavior. The love that hopes in things that are not seen and builds futures on potential I am jealous of that love which has been so normalized evidence of it is no longer considered extraordinary… Like the fact that The Power of a Praying Wife sells out every Sunday outside of church and yet the bookseller hasn’t bothered to restock The Power of a Prayer Husband since he barely managed to sell the last one. Or the fact that you can enter a shop and tell the salesperson “I di find “Papa e Dish’” and they will know what you refer to. A dish reserved for your gender, a status symbol you are eligible for even if you are not sure you want to be ‘Papa’. I am jealous of the love women like me have earmarked as just for men like you; the way we save everything from the best piece of meat to the best seat at the table, to ourselves… just for you. And I am jealous of how easy it is for you to find a place to belong because of this; Jealous of the advantage you have because we believe that we can/should/must earn the love we so eagerly want to give you, because so many of us are convinced you are the ones to fill the reserved spaces we kept… I am jealous of the prayers my kind pray for men. How does it feel? To have all the women in your life praying for you, when you forget to pray for yourself? I am jealous of the kind of love that makes us aspire to be superwomen; that makes us desire to be everything a much less than “super” man desires. I am jealous of the love that makes us plan our aspirations around men who never asked us to. I am jealous of how ready we are to offer what these men are not ready to take. Of how well we have been shaped for a time such as this – years of grooming on how to give love unasked, to accept less than we offer… decades of conditioning that leaves you wondering if what you do is what you want to, or what you know is expected of you… I am jealous of men like you, for being offered such love on the regular. Jealous of the position of power you don’t recognize you have because you think this love is merely an individual choice… blissfully unaware of how that choice in itself is externally orchestrated. I am jealous of your confidence and the corresponding nonchalance that the love we offer you breeds; because our love sees us as the author and finisher of the family, and makes us responsible for all that goes wrong or never goes at all. We are the neck, the rib, the backbone. Anything but the head. I thought I was angry at you, you probably thought so too. But no, what I am is jealous. I envy you for being offered the kind love I wish someone would give me. And if I am angry, I am angry at myself. Because I continue to reserve for you what I wish I could give myself. Because despite love being a good thing, this brand of love is yet another thing I have found that I must unlearn.
Home is [Not] for Everyone…
I used to feel it was my mission to explain to people that ‘falling bush’ was not the answer to all problems. Given how much the ‘American Dream’ is set as the ideal in our Cameroonian society, I always felt it necessary to dispel the notion that the place is paradise on earth and to let those I value know that Cameroon needs them, and should they consider traveling, they should do so with plans of returning home. Fortunately, I’m no longer that person. Don’t get me wrong, my stomach still lurches when I have a conversation with a close friend and they tell me they are planning on leaving for good. I still feel frustrated at the people who say “I am marrying a ‘bushfaller’ as if to denote the fact that they are marrying their ticket out. And don’t get me started on the mentees I counsel who are so obvious that their passion is for residing in a particular country, rather than the academic and career plans they claim to want advice for. But I have become more understanding of my privilege over the past years (or so I think). And so I no longer take up that mission with the fervor I used to. If you want to go, go. I know better now that home isn’t meant for everyone. Not all of us have the calling for it, and not all of us can endure it. This came to me as I returned home last month from South Africa in hope of making it base again upon completion of my final degree. As I spoke with a friend who was also returning home from a different country, I realized we were making the same preparations, taking the same precautions as to how different our lives will be. How do you prepare to endure low quality internet back home? Download all the music/videos you streamed without care while away. Make sure you downloaded ALL the academic papers you cited in your work and have them backed up. How do you prepare for regular light failure? Buy the best power bank(s) you can. Like one witty Nigerian put it “charging your partner’s phone in anticipation of the regular power failures be considered a love language”. How do you take precautions to avoid having to deal with our struggling health care system? Use what insurance you have to do medical exams and check what you can before returning home. Buy drugs you know won’t be available because mental health/learning disabilities are not recognized in our part of the world. How do you prepare for possible kidnapping/arbitrary arrest? Get a stun-gun to add to the pepper-spray you carry because you’re already at risk as a woman. Write your last requests in case of sudden death. Let friends know what to do just in case. [Although this last tip likely applies for many across the globe]. As my friend and I discussed, I came to the realization that the bulging bags and extra luggage Africans and African diaspora are known to travel with is merely evidence of our general attempts to endure/adjust to life where we are. That may mean adjusting trying to make a foreign country feel a bit like home by exporting food from home, or it may mean buying what we know is unavailable for sale at home or extremely expensive. In the weeks following that conversation, and since I’ve been home I have also come to realize that we have lost many people for good. Even those who say/believe they are going to come back. They won’t be able to, not because they do not want to, but because they will not be able to endure after being away so long. To leave behind the lives they have known and investments they have made in other countries. If you’re away for too long you adapt to a different system, such that the reality of home hits your worse than it is when you return. Staying away for too long renders you out of touch with how to live in and love home despite its flaws. I was once asked how we cope with the lack of reliable emergency numbers to call in case of need. I responded that here we can simply call for help, the society is not as disconnected. Here it is odd to not know your neighbor’s name (and too many other details). I write this all to say, I am home now. And even though I am happy to be home, I am looking at it from a more realistic perspective. We need more people who love it enough to make it a better place, one which would nourish the dreams our children have; but I appreciate that it isn’t for everyone. I appreciate that the country makes it hard to love it because our government makes us seem so unworthy of basic decency. But then that government is made up of people like us. People we know, and excuse. So if you’re one of many considering leaving for good. Do what is best for you. I’ll just say proceed with caution. Drop me a comment, question or just a kind wish welcoming me home. It’s always a joy to read from readers.
The Dilemma of Believing
If you are a Christian who takes the faith journey seriously and one who uses their thinking faculties, then you may have come across the dilemma I want to discuss here. Believing requires striking a delicate balance of faith. As Christians, we have been called to have faith that God is able to do all things, and that we are able to do all things – according to God’s will- by His power at work within us. Thus, a lot of preaching suggests that we PUSH (Pray Until Something Happens) in faith. We are taught that keeping expectant hope for what we want is faith and that is the way it will come to pass somehow, someday. However, as Christians we are also called to surrender, to give thanks in all circumstances, to not hold God as a genie who exists to give us what we want and to note that this world is not our own and we may not get good things in this imperfect world. In this way, when you no longer ask, and surrender to God’s will –whether it is what you would like or not- you are also acting on faith. This constitutes the quandary of believing for something. If both of these are acts of faith, which is needed when? When is it time to PUSH and when is it time to surrender? I have had to face this dilemma over and over again in recent times and in confronting it, I have come to discern within myself some hazardous indoctrination. The more popular teaching of faith in our churches is that which says we should “push” and that which underscores God’s blessings as a reward of faith. You are more likely to hear a sermon on the parable of the widow and the judge than to hear a sermon on Ecclesiastes verse which says all is vain or the part of John’s letter where he says he has learned to be content either way. And although the Old Testament story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego being thrown in the fiery furnace is quite popular when teaching us to have faith in God’s ability, the part where they say “But even if he doesn’t” is often left out. In fact saying “but” has been likened to not having enough faith. Our teaching today claims that if we are asking for a ‘good thing’ and still haven’t gotten the answer we are asking for from God then it means we have not prayed enough, fasted enough, cried enough. I’ve carried this sort of thinking with me for a while now, feeling like I have to earn the answer from God. Suffice it to say that thinking is hazardous because it makes God’s blessings out to be ‘trade by barter’. This thinking is also founded on human logic. We have ascribed to God that human scale of assessment. We think that he- like the teachers of this world- will give you points based on what you do, because we see that as fair. It doesn’t occur to us that our human sense of justice/fairness may not be God’s notion of justice/fairness. Perhaps God’s notion of fairness is not giving to someone who checked all the right boxes, but rather giving to someone undeserving so that they can eventually check all the right boxes. If we consider that our metric may be wrong/different from God’s then we can see the danger in how we go about believing. This brings to mind a conversation I had back in 2012 after I introduced myself to a guy and let him know that I have a hearing impairment and would prefer to communicate by text message and not calls. I’ll never forget his reaction. He asked me if I was a Christian, I said yes. He said well if I have faith, I should go to a particular prophet of his for healing because as a Christian I cannot have an impairment, I am eligible for healing. To be honest I was offended, but I did try be cordial in explaining that such logic was not Christian teaching at all. Still, the conversation has remained with me because it has occurred in other ways; too often we are made to believe that we need to pray until we get the answer and if we give up praying for something, we don’t have adequate faith. I think this is wrong; yes, we should pray incessantly. But, if we are praying expecting for a certain answer then we’ll end up frustrated because whether we like it or not God is not obliged to answer us and give us even that which we think is good. As our churches tend to want to cater to human desire, we are made to believe that God will give us all that is good. But that is not the case, God give us all that he deems best for us to have to fulfill his purpose. Not all that we think is good. So when I no longer pray for healing from a hearing impairment and decide that “God your will be done impairment and all”, should I be accused of not having enough faith? Am I giving up? Nt, I think I am surrendering. Surrendering often feels like giving up though; because being humans we tend to do it only when we have no other choice. I do not claim that my perspective is the correct answer, on the contrary I wish we would have this conversation in the church more. These are just my ramblings on the delicate balance that we need to strike as believers… believing enough to go to God’s throne confidently for an answer, but also believing such that we do not need the answer because we have faith that either way good or bad it is well. This conversation is particularly necessary because hoping is hard work, keeping up expectations is draining. So I find it necessary to
A Mother’s Day For Each Mother
But behind all your stories is always your mother’s story, because hers is where yours begins.– Mitch Albom In Cameroon, it is taboo not to love your mother. I have no sources to cite to prove the fact of this. But consider this, if one were to do a survey of songs written by Cameroonian artists, they would no doubt find that there is a tie between songs written in praise octogenarian president and those written in praise of mothers. I was in form three when I realized just how much of a taboo it was to express any disdain for one’s own mother. The only music channel our cable in Bamenda provided was finally airing the video of Eminem’s ‘Cleanin’ out My Closet’ and I was eagerly rapping along to the lyrics in those little M.A.D booklets we bought for five hundred francs during school outings. Pa and Ma, my adopted grandparents were out so I was comfortably sprawled on the carpet, the parlor the doors shut to keep out the dust Bamenda is notorious for. My cousin Stella had her friends visiting and one of them brought up the conversation. She hated Eminem, she said, it was obvious he was a bad person. Only bad people would hate their own mother so openly. If an ‘adult’ had said same I would have ignored it. I already knew they supported what suited them. But my cousin and her friends were different. I looked up to them, university students with their stylish clothes, more educated than their parents they knew how to manipulate things, and I depended on Stella for novels to read and interesting conversations to listen to. So if they agreed- and all three of them did- that only an evil person would not love their mother, then they were likely right. And I who understood Eminem, I who could relate with him as I rapped along, was likely wrong. Or evil for doing so. My cousin’s friend had no clue what she had done. I would think about it over and over again in the weeks and months to come. To reconcile my understanding of Eminem and my admiration for Stella and her friends, I would conclude that it was just one of the differences between Cameroon and the US. In the US, having a bad relationship with one’s mother was generally expected. In fact, it can be seen as a staple of the teenage years, a stage all kids must go through. Is there any family T.V show where a teen has not slammed their bedroom door and shouted: “I hate you”? Definitely something not applicable in Cameroon. First, slamming a bedroom door requires that you have a bedroom of your own, and next, shouting ‘I hate you’ is an invitation for even more things that the child will hate. My conclusion made sense to me. Motherly love was just one of those things the two countries I had lived in saw differently. A loving mother-child relationship in America was what was illustrated by Clare Huxtable and kids on The Cosby Show, or what Tia and Tamera experienced with Lisa on Sister, Sister. It was the regular hugging, the girls nights with popcorn the little talks about everything from peer pressure to boys and yes the scolding but more the makeups after the scolding. In the American version of motherly love, mothers said they were sorry just as much as kids did. And kids are reassured that no matter what they did, their mama was never going to stop loving them. In Cameroon, that definition did not apply. Loving your mother was a different connotation altogether. It was allegiance to taking her side in fights she would have with her siblings, or between her and co-wives. It was promising to build her a house when you grow up and give her a reason to boast that my child is a doctor, engineer, lawyer or banker. It was a duty to be fulfilled and acknowledgment that she is always right irrespective of what may be…and if sorry ever left your mother’s mouth it would likely take the form of “come and take this meat and finish it”. For a while, this differentiation would help me console myself for understanding Eminem, for being like him and not feeling like I loved my mother at that time. For a while, I would think the differences meant one society knew love more than the other. But later on, by the time I was a university student myself, Cameroon would have taught me to measure love by the number of sacrifices made and hardship endured and I would find that no one can top an African mother on that evaluation. And so, I too would come to pledge allegiance to the mother who is always right, and aspire to be the child who will be bragged about at CWF meetings…to love out of mindful duty if not the fullness of heart. I would try to love like that and fail because I am one of those people who needs to know you to love you. One of those who need to be able to reason their love prior to expressing it. And that is why Mothers’ Day stumps me. **** I will know my mother when [god forbid] she dies. I have no recollection of my mother before the age of six. There is evidence of us being together, of course. But I don’t remember it. I recall being tucked to sleep by Aunty Susan. I recall being bathed and dressed by Franka, one of those distant cousins brought into town by relatively better-off family members to serve their households in exchange for their education. I recall there being a house with grey floors of concrete smoothed to a slightly glossy finish and low wooden chairs that formed a semi-circle around the T.V, positioning us as the audience to whatever was playing on TV. But I do not recall my
Faith Lessons in Times of COVID19: A short vlog
Hey folks!Happy Easter! I’m once again sharing my musings via a short video. Don’t worry, it won’t become a habit. I’ll find that writing spirit soon for the next Musings installment. But for now, enjoy this oral expression of my thoughts on what lessons we Christians should be taking away in times of COVID19. As always, I hope you drop a comment with your thoughts because I enjoy reading them!What lessons do you have for me?