The Promise in a Name

Feb. 2015

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Today I spent several hours with some Cici and Maria and their families here in Mundri.  As I sat in the shade of the huge mango trees, I felt as at home as I ever do in Moruland.  Even more so as a soldier walked by and called me “Kawaja” (White person) and Maria told him I was not a kawaja, I was Moru, this was my home, and I was her sister.  This made sitting in the 108 degree heat worth it. I have been out of sorts since we got back from Uganda last week.  On our last leave I was ready to come home.  I looked forward to being back in our house and seeing familiar faces and jumping back into language.  Not so much this time.  I knew we would be coming into 110 degree heat each day, and nights that could be 90-100.  We live in a place where there is not a lot of control over our environment.  We cannot control the temperature of our house – there are screens and no window panes, so whatever heat is outside is also inside.  We cannot decide to take a cold shower, because we have have no hot or cold controls – it all comes from one big tank sitting in the sun all day.  (Which I am thankful for – don’t get me wrong!  I can’t imagine having to walk to the borehole all the time.)  We have inches of red dust on every space of the house every day and I have given up trying to control it.  We can never know what foods are available in the market, and even if they are there -are they good?  We bought bread that was moldy and eggs that had been fertilized, so there were big red blobs in them.  It was all too much and very overwhelming.  Even visiting friends on Tuesday felt like a disconnect as I couldn’t communicate well, and it all felt so very frustrating. So today, after I got the kids and Shawn off to school (he teaches them on Thursdays – I love this man!) I sat in the quiet house and prayed in tears.  “Lord, please – give me something – anything – to feel connected today.  I need this from you.”  I prayed without a lot of hope that it would happen.  Then I got in the car and left. And I’m so glad I did. After much laughing and a crazy mixed up lesson in English, Arabic, and Moru with Maria where we got off on some crazy tangents that I am not sure how we got to (“How do you say this in English?” she says as she points to her breast) I had lunch, ate tea and Mandazi, tickled the kids, watched Cici do some sewing on my outfit that she is making for me, and got quizzed some more on Moru questions by Cici.  When someone came by and asked my name and mentioned how difficult it was, Cici and Maria finally gave me a Moru name.  (Heather seems to be impossible for people to remember and usually gets changed to Helda!)  So, Ovuru Maro Riya/Heather.  My name is Happy.  Because apparently I laugh a lot. This was a gift I needed today after having a week of very little laughing, except in bitterness.  Moru people give very practical names, so I was expecting something about my height or weight or white skin or something.  There are many people named war because they were born in the war or right after.  Many are named things like the day of the week they were born, etc.  So while Riya is not very rare (there are many Riyas here, or a variety of it) it is a good name that makes me smile.  And I feel like it is a promise. nullI’m thankful today for the gift of happiness, friends, laughter, a name, and a place that just might someday be home.  Even despite the heat.