Contemplating MCC...

I frequently realise that I really like MCCers...

Then I remember that I am an MCCer...

And yet, still I contemplate, whatever does it mean to be an MCCer?

I've been in a poetic mood lately...

Jangua Tugende Kusoma
(Quickly, We Go to Study)

Morning breaks lightly among the hills.
Dawn rises quickly as I step amongst dew
and dust.
.
Too early for the young mechanics,
but I bend my knee and speak loudly
to greet the mad woman
and deaf dry cleaner.
.
The night was beautiful, peaceful, restful,
as I slept with those I call
brother, sister, mother.
"Nasuze bulungi"-I slept well,
is all I say.
.
A few steps through town--
burning trash,
babies crying,
children buying chapatis
or washing utensils.
.
Waves and greetings.
"Bye-ee muzungu."
"Bye-ee," I respond,
"Bye-ee, muganda muwana,"
dear brown child.
.
Past the coffee plant,
where young men sweep beans
into the morning sun.
.
Smoke rises as tea boils
on rekindled cooking fires.
.
Now I wander through gardens
of cassava, beans, and g. nuts.
.
A palm tree, tall along the path.
.
Banana plants,
simple in their sustenance,
providing food, fibre, water,
whose leaves take a part
in the dance of life and death,
love and loss.
.
I watch the sun climb above the farthest green hills,
awestruck by the daily beauty.
.
"Good morning Aunt,"
children pull me from my contemplation.
"How are you?"
.
They are fine
in their many-coloured uniforms,
barefoot as they carry
paper-wrapped books,
capless pens,
plastic containers packed with
cassava and sweet bananas.
.
"Quickly," I tell them,
and "study well today,"
drawing happy laughs
as I speak their tongue.
.
Returning again to the road,
remembering childhood folk tales,
I imagine I'm playing a pipe
and wonder how far they would follow me.
.
Greetings continue.
Boda drivers racing to their posts.
Cyclists starting the long trek to Town,
green bananas piled high as they trudge uphill.
.
We all cover our faces
and dodge to the side
as heavy lorries speed toward Tanzania.
.
As we reach the parish hill,
I urge my children onward
and upward.
"Quickly," I remind them,
"lessons are beginning now."
.
Father Grandfather is giving mass up the hill,
the youngest children tidy the compound
with brooms and hoes.
Already teachers are in their classrooms,
the cook's toddler twins splash water in a saucepan.
.
I pull out chalk and a book.
"You are most welcome,
dear Auntie Chrishtine"
as I cross the threshold from dirt to dirt.
.
I smile crosses my face as the 7:00 bell
resounds across the grass.
It is the first hour of the morning,
I am exactly where I belong,
and my day is beginning again.

Unexpected Comfort

I have a green shirt I like to wear on somehow chilly mornings, often over one of my blue dresses. It has 3/4 length sleeves and a v-neck. It is heavier than my long-sleeve shirts, but fits tighter than my fleece. It must have some measure of spandex--or simply be really tightly woven cotton--because it still fits well, even after months of hand washing. On the left side, in gold thread, is embroidered the logo for Sight and Sound Theatre in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, USA. Never been to one of their shows, though I've heard they make quite an event. This shirt, which I picked up during orientation week in Akron, and which didn't take part in the agonising process of deciding what clothes to pack for a year abroad, has provided both emotional and physical warmth and comfort on many cold and lonely mornings.

.

I like it not just for the way it feels on my skin and the ease with which it offsets my tanned skin and sometimes green eyes, nor for the sense of confidence and at-ease-ness it somehow always manages to bring with it [why am I more aware of the emotional impact of my clothing choices these days?]. I like it also for the memories it recalls of a rainy August night and of the many things I like about the organisation I work for.

.

This shirt came into my possession one evening in August, toward the end of orientation. After saying farewell to IVEP participants, all of us SALTers and YAMEN boarded a bus and rode to the MCC warehouse/distribution center (I don't remember the actual name of this place, and my journal is light on entries from that week, probably because I was meeting and interacting with so many new people, as well as writing the last of a long list of thank you notes). This was the place where they pack all sorts of supplies to ship around the world as well as prepare items to be sold in thrift shops throughout the country.
.
First a tour: we saw the looms where weavers make braided rugs from strips of excess donated clothing; the sewing room, where volunteers make beautiful quilts and other items; the tables for checking and properly packing all of the donated kits; a warehouse full of packed kits, bundled clothes and comforters, and canned meat; the shipping decks, where tractor trailers are filled with these same items; stacks of books which come from my own corner of the world, Harrisonburg, Virginia. We saw the kits MCC sends around the world--school kits with basic school supplies (trust me, a working pen and empty notebook can make quite a bit of difference in a child's scholastic performance), AIDs kits accompanied by financial donations for (expensive) medical supplies, and the relief kits given to refugees and families displaced by natural disasters. We learned about the food for work projects MCC participates in, providing both work and protein to people who do sustainable and locally beneficial projects.
.
After the tour, we were put to work. At a long table, about ten of us sorted through hundreds of school kits, checking that the items fit MCC specifications, adding missing items, and repacking everything perfectly in the colourful drawstring bags. We enjoyed ourselves so much (for many of us, it felt really nice to finally "do something" after days of sitting around talking about all the wonderful things MCC does), they had to tell us repeatedly to stop. They then gave us a snack of biscuits and juice, though I didn't know then how very much I'd soon appreciate such simple fare, and pointed out a few shelves of books and a table of shirts (donated by Sight and Sound)--all free for the taking as we headed out to our respective assignments. I can't remember who all took shirts, but I had already put mine on as we dashed through the rain back out to the bus.
.
And so, now anytime I wear my dark green shirt, I'm reminded of so many good things...

• of the many friends I made that week of orientation, some of whom now wear matching shirts as we serve and learn all over the globe,
• of the friends I've packed MCC kits with, both in and beyond Akron,
• of the foundational principles of my organisation, with our emphasis on practical love and peacemaking, our commitment to simple living, and our creative attempts at wholesome and sustainable development projects,
• and of the countless other volunteers and service workers who work alongside me all over the world in our shared attempt to bring the kingdom of god to earth in all its fullness.

.
Okay, well honestly, I probably don't think about all these things all the time that I wear the shirt, but yes, it really does remind me of them.