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Shares
Imagine if you will, standing inside of a half-finished school building. It is comprised of two large rooms, with a breezeway between. More than half of the people inside the room could not comprehend what your life is like were you to try to explain it to them, because theirs is so radically different from what we consider to be an average life. Some of the people are acting as translators, as the director of the project explains how the work is going, what is being done, and the expectations for the future of this building and the students it will house. The other percentage of the people inside the building are attempting to reconcile, internally, the realities of life for someone who lives in the shadow of a power line yet cannot access anything beyond limited electricity drawn from a solar panel, if that at all. There is power in a gathering that brings together people from such disparate areas of the world. There is power in asking the uncomfortable questions and in being open to hear the answers, even if they are not what you would want those answers to be. There is power in wrestling with what we consider "the norm", and in realizing that for the vast majority of the world's population, that would be riches beyond imagining. I could regale you with the unspoiled beauty of Malawi, how the sunrise over Lake Malawi is like no sunrise I have ever seen, or how I didn't expect a country known as "the warm heart of Africa" to remind me of places and people already near to my heart. It is a stunning land, the vistas will forever be etched into my mind, and the people I met will never be forgotten. Yet there is one meeting I had that I find myself always retelling, and it took place inside of that half-finished school building. When I was standing on an unfinished dirt floor, avoiding the puddles, trying to listen to the translator's explanation of what was being said, and feeling uncomfortable with the internal wrestling I was doing, I looked to my left and met the gaze of a woman who was holding her infant child. She was clearly from the community, and I waved at her daughter, as I find myself doing to pretty much every small child I pass on a daily basis. Her response was to walk over, and to hand me her child to hold. It floored me. Here I was, halfway around the world from my home; and a woman whom I had never formally met, who I will likely never see again in this life, with whom I share no common language and in fact never spoke a word to, allowed me to hold the most precious gift she has received. In that moment, I knew that there was a radical trust and courage within this woman's heart. The commonalities of our experiences as women living in the world bound us together far more than the differences of our lifestyles could tear us apart, by that simple gesture. When I share this story, I appeal to the mothers I speak to. I ask about their reactions to a stranger waving at their child. Most will admit to offering a stiff smile in response, and some will encourage their children to wave back or say, "hi," but that's about the extent of the interaction. It is the rare woman who will not grimace at the thought of handing their child to a stranger, even for a moment. I expected my trip to Malawi to humble me, because of the cultural and lifestyle differences. I didn't expect to find the warmth of a heart filled with courage and the purity of trust that can exist in a single moment between two people. Traveling allows us to come outside of the routines of our lives, and to glimpse moments of inspiration that forever change who we are and how we see the world.