Trips abroad provide insight into how we listen and learn from one another
There is a country in South West Africa that taught me something about Knoxville, Tennessee. That country is Namibia, one of the poorest, most arid countries in the world. How could it teach me about Knoxville and how it operates? Let’s go back a bit.
Until 1998, I had never heard of Namibia. A good friend of mine, Rev. Louis Bauer, was a pastor in Knoxville at the Messiah Lutheran Church for 12 years. And while he later left Knoxville for Chapel Hill, North Carolina, we stayed in touch. When I saw he was in Windhoek, Namibia, teaching a Paulinum Seminary years later, I texted him and asked, “What in the world are you doing in Namibia?” His response took me aback, “You have to be here to know the answer to that question.”
We communicated over the next few months, and admitedly I became more and more curious during that time as to what could draw this Yale-graduated, very bright Lutheran pastor serving at a very prestigious church in Chapel Hill across the globe to Africa to teach. It wasn’t long before I convinced my wife, Nancy, to join me to find out.
In negotiating the trip with Louis, he remarked I could only understand if we stayed at least a month, that I could teach a few sessions in the seminary, then go out to see where these students came from and where they would minister. A month seemed a long time to go anywhere but I agreed and this began a learning experience that has been a part of all that I have done and think for the past 25 years.
Windhoek is the capital and largest city in Namibia. Paulinum Seminary is a theological school of the Namibian Lutheran Church. My introduction to Namibian culture was deceiving. Windhoek was a fairly modern city with the amenities of an American city. It was leaving the city and going out into the country, where I got to learn how little I knew about poverty – about no electricity, about no running water, about no sanitation (no toilets). I hold my experiences in my mind and soul as I write this and tell about visiting the villages that cover most of northern Namibia. The villages were small groups of people who lived in huts, some made of clay and mud, others made of brush and limbs. The farther north we went, towards Angola, the poorer it seemed to be. I began to understand what Lou had said before we came, “You have to be here to understand why I came.” It was astonishing to me to see others living in an arid place where water is scarce and can only be gotten from wells.
To go into a village—many of which were only 50 to 60 people—we had to have permission of the chief. Our interpreter would go into the village and tell the chief who we were and why we had come to see him and his village. Our interpreter asked that we give the chief gifts— sugar, tea, and tobacco. The chief in one particular village was proud to show us his newest son and newest wife (he had 4). These were Himba people, nomadic and very proud. Their homes were made of mud and a tent with a small hole in the roof to let out the smoke from a small fire that was going in the middle of the floor. The fire was to keep out insects and bugs. The floors were like concrete, made of cow dung.
Our young interpreter spoke 12 dialects. Every 20-30 kilometers, the people’s dialects of the same language changed. The further you got from one village, the more you needed to speak another dialect. For those living there, if you did not travel far from your village, you did not learn the other dialects.
There seemed to be no need. But, as we were told, if you wanted to marry and have a family of your own, you would need to form relationships with other villages. There was a regulation that to strengthen a village you needed to marry outside your village. Therefore, you needed to speak the dialect of the other village.
We were told that we were the only white people some of the children had ever seen. The smaller children, seemingly of ages 4 to 5, would come up to us and want to touch our skin. It was an experience I still hold dear.
Lou told us he had heard stories about this from his students, but had not experienced it himself. He believed deeply that he needed to experience to know where these students, who had been taught by missionaries, came from and how they could learn what he taught about pastoral care when they came to Windhoek. Learning to speak English was a part of their seminary experience because those who taught often did not know the students, villages, or dialect.
A story I tell about being with the Himbas still causes me to smile. When we camped for several days along the Kunene River, we went into one village a number of times. In the evening, the villagers began to come to our camp and we shared our food. The women came to our camp wearing T-shirts, given to them by missionaries. In the village, however, the men and women wore only loin clothes. No t-shirts in sight. To protect their skin from the sun, they coated their skin with a mixture of fat and red ochre.
When we expressed our concern that they need not change aspects of their culture in order to visit and eat with us, the women quickly took off the T-shirts and put them in a pile. They began to sing and dance. The men brought out drums and began to play. It was a gift to see this, part of a culture we believed to be gone. As I think back on this experience, I wonder why I did not take off my shirt. Nor did Nancy. Our culture did not let us.
Now, how does this have anything to do with Knoxville or Tennessee? Coming back to Knoxville after five weeks in Namibia was a culture shift. There were things I saw and felt about differently. I began to see that when I went to meetings with folk in East Knoxville, they were speaking a different “dialect” than West Knoxville. The same was true in North and South Knoxville, especially when meeting people with deep roots in their community.
I think we are experiencing the dialect changes in the expansion of West Knox area as well. The shift from a rural culture with beautiful farms being replaced by housing developments. The coming of people from other “villages”(like Michigan, California, Iowa, etc) is the new norm. Learning the new dialects is not easy and is causing a new anxiety that some find troubling.
I have begun to wonder if the many dialects have something to do with what is happening politically in our culture and the world. No longer do we take time and form relationships for my words and dialect to be interpreted to a community close by. Where do I have time to sort out what I am hearing from another village. The message and communication I send is immediately sent to many villages.
It seems that our task at this time in our history is to stop and listen to the other villagers who we often may find ourselves not being able to hear. We need to listen in order to hear well enough that we do not react with an intensity to create more anxiety, but listen in order to hear well enough to engage in thoughtful dialogue. Listening then becomes crucial in my ability to hear and learn from others.