Sitting Under a Mango Tree....

Talking to you, baby...

My love affair with Africa started many moons ago. I have often sat under a mango tree in Africa, and in limited Bantu language/English combo have "communicated" with an Africa woman while we cut up tomatoes or sorted through beans, whether it has been Kenya, Malawi or Zambia. Just sitting there in the quiet rural setting, without the usual "noise" of our western life, I feel a peace and contentment that I rarely find in North America. And a sense of sisterhood with this quiet dark-skinned woman who has let me into her space to perform a job that gives her a chance to sit down for a few minutes. Sometimes we laugh ourselves silly as we communicate or try to, but the laughter is healing, and joyful.  

Why is it that you can go completely out of your comfort zone in a country that is totally foreign to your own, and have such a joyful experience? Once, when I was staying in a village in Malawi, I woke up at 2 am, and needed to use the pit latrine, which meant a walk at night from my hut through the maize field across the yard and behind the volunteer teacher house. I went and did my business, and as I was walking back I woke up enough to take a look at my surroundings. Not a sound except for some night bugs chirping softly. It was bright enough to see where I was walking, so I looked up and instead of the moon, I gazed up into the milky way. I held my breath, I was mesmerized. Above my head a ribbon of stars seemed so very close that I felt I had only to lift my hand and I would touch it. It was a sight I had only ever seen in glossy coffee table books, where scientists take photos of the sky with special telescopic cameras. I stood there for over 20 minutes, just soaking in the sight above me. The lack of light pollution gave me a mind-blowing experience that I still remember 15 years later.

Another time, I came back to the girls high school that I had started in Chamama, Malawi, and was greeted by women dancing and singing in Chichewa. They drew me in to dance with them, and although I knew not the words or the steps, I gave in to the pure delight of being included in this cultural event. I found myself instinctually knowing not only the movement as I was caught up in the dance, but understanding that this was to celebrate a harvest.

When arriving at a friend's house in a rural area of Malawi, I went to bed early because of jet lag. Before settling on my pillow, I looked out the window to see the village children gathering to join together in the early evening, singing in perfect harmony, clapping in perfect rhythm, and dancing by joining together their feet in a perfect circle and hopping round and round and round. I went to sleep with the surreal joyful sound in my ear.

Some day I will tell you the story of how I came to have 4 African-born grandchildren. But for now, maybe I will plant a mango tree in my backyard. Will anyone join me if I sit under it to sort beans for supper?