Culture Palooza!

During my classes at Gateway, whenever we talked about cultural adaptation, I've always thought about it in terms of mine vs. theirs. Two cultures colliding in my life. However, my actual situation is much more complicated. My field supervisors are Koreans who have been in South Africa for 7 years. I’m living with a 3^rd generation Indian woman who raised three colored children. (The term ‘colored’ is completely pc here). I’m working in a Zulu township most days and partnering with a mostly white church.


So when I had to answer a Gateway assignment question, “How are you adapting to the culture?”, my first thought was, “which one?”


Having dinner with Jane, her kids and her grandson.

Growing up in LA has given me experience living in a diverse community, however my current surroundings are diverse in a whole different way. Firstly, the Zulu people have their own language. Now it’s easy to argue, “Well in LA you have different neighborhoods with communities that speak different languages”. True, but that culture and language is being imported from another country. Chinese, Mexican, Korean, etc. Those communities have roots somewhere else. Here there are Zulu, Afrikaans, and Colored neighborhoods all within one city. They all speak different languages (although most people do know English) and have cultural backgrounds. However, their roots are right here in South Africa.

The apartheid era wasn’t that long ago and it seems like the city is still very racially segregated. However a lot of these aspects lie under the surface. I'm constantly learning new traits about life in South Africa, specifically in the province of Zwazulu Natal. Being a cross-cultural missionary requires constant observation. It's an adventure of learning!

Self portrait in my backyard.

Being Used

Why me?

That question rolled around in my head while tears ran down my face as we drove back to Pinetown from downtown Durban. I felt overwhelmed and a bit confused. I had only been in South Africa for about a week, and my first real day of 'work' was coming to a close. There a variety of ministries I'll be helping with, one of which is visiting shelters in downtown Durban one evening a week.

I really didn't know what to expect as we split into groups after praying at a local church and headed off to the different shelters we'd be visiting. Tina, who was in my group and has been visiting that shelter for almost two years, handed me a bag of sandwiches to hand out. With no other instruction, I introduced myself to a thin young Indian woman standing in a nearby doorway, holding a toddler who was eating one of the sandwiches I had passed out.

I soon learned that Denise has lived in shelters for 3 years with her daughter and her boyfriend. When I ask her what life is like living there she mentions, "I don't usually come out and talk to people...and I don't let my daughter play with the other children. If she gets into a fight it means a conflict with the other mother. There's a lot of drugs and other bad things that go on here. I want to stay away from that."

This is surprising because in under an hour she basically told me her life story. Her Hindu family have disowned her because she got pregnant with her boyfriend, who comes from a Christian family. She became a Christian a few years ago but doesn't have a bible. Her boyfriend's family has had money troubles, which caused them both to drop out of university, and eventually move into a shelter. They're saving money to move to Johannesburg by September, in order for their daughter, Liandra, to be enrolled in a preschool. Denise also invited me to sit on her bed in her tiny room, and offered me a cookie while Liandra showed me her few toys. We delightfully discovered that we're the same age and after sharing with her about my life and what I was doing in Durban I ask, "You mentioned that you normally don't talk with people, so why have you invited me in and been so open about yourself?"

"I don't know, I could just tell that you were a good person. We just clicked, I felt comfortable talking with you", she says.

Soon it is time to go. I pray for her, and promise to visit her next week. As we reunite with the other groups Tina mentions, "I've never even met Denise before, she always has her door closed. God used you to open that door!" After praying and singing a few songs, the ministry leader asks one person from each group to share. Tina demands me to talk and as I speak about meeting Denise my emotions get the best of me and I struggle to get he words out.

I've always prayed for God to use me, and I'm happy that he did. It's very humbling. I feel special that somehow I could form a friendship so naturally with someone who was actually cutting herself off from everyone around her. I wasn't planning on trying to break down any barriers that night. I didn't really have any expectations for myself at all. I know that I'm no better or 'holier' than anyone else who's visited that shelter.

Why me?

I may not understand why God gives me the honor and privilege of doing his work, especially in cases like this. Although as long as He wants me to, I pray that I will be willing and ready to be used by Him.

Let the adventure continue!