A Wordless Center

Blog # 18 - Monica Rae

May 6th, 2021

The other day at my office job, my boss and I were talking about a project we are attempting to complete—a brochure that we hope will ‘stand out’ in a welcome packet to the local community. My boss commented, “I just need to do it...or maybe I’m waiting…to be inspired.”

I was quiet for a moment—I appreciated his honesty. The truth is, we are either…

Inspired

Or

Waiting

I wondered what I was?

I am not a patient person by nature, so I could not possibly be ‘waiting!’

In public locations like markets, offices and medical rooms waiting means I try to be social when I was prepared to move on to the next task. (Introverts will understand this conflict!) This is also why I prefer shopping and banking online! In traffic jams waiting means I am left idle, usually with a passenger seat covered in deliveries or schedules changes I now need to address.

”It feels like god visits everywhere else, but lives in Africa”

I had been back in my routine for over three weeks after a 30 day stay in ‘The Smiling Coast of Africa’—Gambia. Life was familiar in all its tasks, traffic jams and demands. I woke each morning greeted excitedly by my dogs and reluctantly by my teenager who was hoping to sleep till 10am.

I was busy, my to do list was long, my four jobs filled the hours I was not teaching my daughter or being her taxi driver.

The full schedule was surely filling the gaps of waiting for anything—wasn’t it?

It is my nature to ‘fix, plan and organize.’ I was born that way— just ask my mother. As a child, I had no time for strolling through the malls on weekends ‘just to look’ or engaging in small talk over the phone for longer than was necessary. Just ask my daughter and she will tell you how I expect to be listened to without repeating myself and was less then impressed when she was young and gave answers like ‘I don’t know or maybe or umm…”

But waiting is not the same thing as patience.

Patience is not the ability to wait—it is the mindset while waiting.

I learned the definition of patience…

Not when my daughter was a toddler and testing my patience by throwing a fit about what to wear. Not when after years of seeking medical treatments from doctors I realized there was not a cure for the auto immune disorder I had. And Not when I cried out to a creator for answers to why so many had to experience unnecessary pain while others stood high on the mountain of judgement or sat comfortably in valleys of complacency.

Nah, I learned patience…

When I landed…

In Africa.

Everything I had been taught about time management, all that I had learned about authority, a firm price point, hospitality, and even toilet paper was put in a blender and shaken to its core by a tiny country that felt more like a large village.

For the first 10 days I was the observer. Colors dripped from a rainbow on market centers and fabrics that adorned the smiling Africans that came in every glorious shade of black and brown. Languages were as fluid as faith—as people greeted me with an acceptance that left me unmindful of my skin color or significance. I felt at ease when cows passed beside me in the road and cats assumed their stoic stature at every restaurant, compound, and market center I walked through.

When faces, names, shops and sounds became familiar I realized I had changed. Sure, I was still the same stubborn and determined white lady ... But I was different.

I was inspired.

I didn’t learn patience because I had to wait or reschedule. Which is not to say I did not have to adjust to the ‘African clock’—a movement of the hands of time based on a mix of father time, the unexpected nature of things and traffic. After a month I knew 6pm really meant sometime between 6-9pm and I was not surprised when plans changed. But it was not these experiences that taught me how to wait with less agitation. I learned patience when I saw how a people so fearless and so full of hope in face of adversity could live such selfless lives.

There is a humility that comes when you are taught a lesson you thought you already knew.

For all the books I had read, all the people I had helped, all the sermons I had preached, all the lectures I had given my daughter on the importance of appreciating all she is given, all the years of working hard at multiple jobs—I learned gratitude. But—I did not know patience.

Rip from me the conveniences I am not blamed for knowing—these American luxuries we think we ‘need’ instead of merely grow accustomed to.

Did you know…you can do without a microwave, an oven, a washer and dryer and even toilet paper?

Did you know…children can be happy without a TV or rooms filled with toys?

Did you know…women can carry a child on their backs, a small hand or two walking beside her all while balancing food on her head after waking early to cut vegetables to prepare food over fire for her family?

Did you know…men can work over 40 hours a week and get paid the equivalent of $30 a week to provide for their families?

Did you know … children can learn to speak 2-3 languages, have respect for their families and neighbors, understand the importance of faith and be humbled by all the gifts of the creator, all while not spending their spare time at shopping malls?

Do not misinterpret me. I am not saying that working plumbing, safe drinking water and garbage systems are not beneficial to every community across this globe. They are!

What I am saying is that peace, purpose and happiness do not reside in the luxuries we take for granted. The goal is not world peace so that everyone has the same amount of ‘things’—

the takeaway is that if you can not find fulfilment in the gifts you have been given you will fail to see the beauty in giving them away!

I am a welcome and proud resident of a village called Brufut.

I was student of souls who had something I never did. They define it for me --

Patience: A contagious joy that is not dependent upon circumstances.

My toes were touching the rocks that had been chiseled by waves that will return to bury them in the rainy season. Somewhere between the city of Gunjur and the boarder of Gambia and Senegal is a village called Kartong and a secluded piece of heaven called Stala—huts, a restaurant, locals and visitors tucked in the bush of land and sea.

I stood there as the flock of white water fowl danced and sang in harmony for their own enjoyment. There I stood on the rich soil of the west coast of Africa and I cried. I cried because I knew I was home. Home is not a building, it isn’t where you are born or even where you spend much of your life. Home is the place your heart is at ease.

“A helping hand is holier than a praising mouth”

There are these commercials on TV that are service reminders of the need to assist animals in shelters (the ASPCA). Images of animals in horrid conditions are serenaded by singer Sarah McLachlan’s “Angel” in hopes to elicit donations. I quickly change the channel—not because I am unaware of the need, it is just too painful to watch.

We do that, don’t we? We turn our eyes on what looks different from our normal. We are afraid of what it feels like to see it.

When I met Ebrima – Chairman of CASA Gambia in Brufut, Gambia I felt an instant connection. He was not afraid to look. I had been following his organization online for months and there I was in conversation with a man who lived so he could invite others to look.

On a Sunday morning in March, already sweating from the African sun, I sat among many of the team members of this organization. We shared our brief bios and I asked more questions than the hour long meeting intended to provide. I was given a shirt, that hangs in my apartment—a reminder of a team of determined souls I am humbled to know and collaborate with. They made me a member—but really I am ready to serve their vision.

“In 2015, a group of Gambians and friends from abroad committed to the development of The Gambian people— particularly the deprived—decided to register a charitable organization.”

CASA stands for Community Action Support Association. CASA – Gambia is recognized as an international charitable organization that is motivated by the concerns of poverty, income, literacy, health and environmental impact.

As I listened to the updates on current projects (the expansion of a local school, sponsoring underprivileged children each year, providing health care donations, school supplies, organic farming initiatives, and rebuilding of Brufut’s market center) I was overwhelmed by the purity of their efforts. I also recognized the painstaking nature of running a non-profit.

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When I graduated from college I founded and ran a medical non-profit in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. The early weeks and months were filled with going door to door and making phone calls because texting wasn’t yet a thing. I ran meetings, researched approaches to treatment plans, consulted health care workers and sat with hurting families when they were desperate for answers. Over 8 years, I dealt with disappointment, was embarrassed by those who made promises based on sentiments instead of following through and had my share of out of pocket expenses because my goal was never the money. And at the end of the day when a patient looked through their tears at me in gratitude because they felt heard and seen I was filled.

In the years since, helping numerous organizations tend to the needs of children, refugees, the homeless or sick I have rarely come across a more determined group than the members of CASA Gambia.

They are in a constant state of dreaming, planning and waiting.

Waiting…to take action.

Waiting…for people, money, governments, supplies, volunteers.

When I sat next to the men of CASA Gambia and soaked in their stories—their hearts, I was in the presence of passion and patience. They are driven by an unwavering desire to pave the way for their villages to be seen, be heard, be helped, be empowered to use their gifts and resources.

You can help...

How? Keep reading and you will find their contact information at the end of this blog.

“Somewhere in all of us there is a wordless center…” Richard Schmid

As an author and blogger, the idea of being speechless is foreign.

When I was a child, I would write notes in hallmark cards to my parents and sister for their birthdays and anniversaries. My words would fill the traditional space for “From, Monica” inside and then trail off along the edges of the card. The length of my World History lectures have, on more than one occasion, caused my daughter to glance at the clock in polite suggestion—'Are we done with the words?’

So why have I had a problem finding my words about my recent time in Gambia?

Oh, no doubt they are tucked away inside my mind’s eye—the place where memories and feelings collide. Maybe I want to keep them there as a momentum or maybe I am afraid of the emotions and honesty that will spill forth from relaying all that I experienced. Or maybe I am waiting…not quite sure how to put pen to paper regarding my inspiration.

There is nothing special about me…only notably the persistence to know more!

I have returned to my American home, my daughter and dogs—my daily comfort and reason to rise. I will return to Gambia this year and to another African country, Cameroon. I think somehow, I knew all these years the continent was waiting for me…the way home does…

“A wordless center”….

Ah, yes, I understand it now…the place so filled with wonder—the tangled web of the sacred and not yet known. It keeps me humbled, learning….

And inspired.

DEDICATED TO: My Gambian family—village of smiles and souls. I am made better by your presence in my life. Ebrima and CASA Gambia….Because what you do inspires and changes lives. I am proud to work with you in word and deed.

*****Click on CASA Gambia’s site. Sign up to sponsor a Gambian child, donate to the tangible and life changing causes this organization works patiently to provide for its people. Be the movement required for empowerment!***** https://casa-gambia.org/