The funny thing about going through denial is that a person can only see it after they have passed through it. It is the nature of the problem. There is a proverb in West Africa that says, “A bird that flies from the ground onto an anthill does not know that it is still on the ground” Many times as new missionaries we think our activity means that we have accomplished something, but in reality we have not even gotten off the ground.
I remember this stage well. I thought that because I had left America and traveled to Ghana, that I was… well, done with the struggles and on to the victory. For a new missionary on deputation, departure is the big focus. That is what everyone asks him -- “So, when are you leaving for the field?” After awhile, he thinks that if he can just get to the field, everything will be fine. Departure is the end. The checkered flag will wave, and he will be the winner. But, departure is just a jump onto the anthill. It is a beginning, but he is not in the sky yet.
I remember when we got to the field. The first night in Ghana I was scared out of my mind. I laid awake all night thinking, ‘What in the world are you doing????’ I kept looking at my watch -- it had the ability to keep two times, and it was set for America and Ghana. I remember that at about 3:00 in the morning I finally set the American time to Ghana time. I remember that I went to sleep after that, and I thought that I had won my battle with culture shock. Yes, in one night, I was high in the mountains of cultural acceptance, but I had no clue that I was just sitting on the anthill of denial.
The next months went by quickly. We found out that we were not going to live in the port city of Tema and would not be working with a veteran missionary. God guided us to our present home of Kumasi, and we began to live in the home of a Nigerian pastor and began our work in his church. The months were filled with new colors, languages, foods, and feelings. But through it all, we marched in this foggy stage of half-awareness.
I still remember our arrival in our local apartment. It was a three bedroom local style place on the third floor in the midst of Anloga community. (I will take the time here to describe our first home- Anloga is a local community that is made up mostly of Ewe people, a sub-group in our city. It covers about ½ square mile, but is densely populated, probably about 20,000 to 25,000 people. They are mostly people living in square one-floor houses, with no in-house toilets, and each room being occupied by one family. All five to ten families in these compounds share the courtyard of the house. The courtyards are always open to the sky. Our house was different in that is was a half square and multi-stored. Our portion of the square was walled off with a half wall and door for more privacy. We had three rooms, two of which were bedrooms, (One for Patty and I, and one for Pastor Samson), and there was also a kitchen that consisted of a table, refrigerator and wall faucet for water with a drain. The bathroom was two parts, one room being a pit shower, and the other room being the water closet with a toilet. It was very local, but we have a lot of fond memories about the months that we stayed there.)
Back to our arrival -- the veteran missionary that helped us for our first few months showed us around. When we got to the shower room, there was a huge red cockroach on the wall. Brother Mark just smiled and said, “That’s George, our pet cockroach, just turn on the light and splash some water on him, and he will go away!” Well, his humor helped, and we laughed and took it all in. The first few months were lived in a smiling stupor. Everything was great! Cooking on our one electric burner was an adventure, washing and bathing from a bucket was exciting, and the constant smell of cook fires was exotic.
Please understand, I do not regret anything, and to me they are normal now, and I have never suffered much as a missionary, but I mention all this to make a point. I was in a totally new place, with new ideas, new sounds, and new experiences, but I was in this stage of denial. I thought that it was all great! I was at home, it did not matter that everything was different; I was not going through culture shock.
But just like with grief, things started hitting me. I had to admit that things were different and that I was going to have to adjust. Here I will relate two stories to the reader. One is quite funny. I think that I had been in Ghana for about two months, and Patty and I were trying very hard not to get malaria. I had gotten a new cell phone and was trying to call my family. The phones at the time did not have good antennas, and I had to sit outside to call because of the concrete house. So here I was, it was hot season in Ghana, about 95 to 100 degree, it was 7:00 pm at night, and I had to go outside on the balcony to make my call. But what about the mosquitoes? I really wanted to talk to my family. So there I went. I think Pastor Samson must have thought I was crazy. I had running pants on, socks and sandals, a tee-shirt, a hoodie, and was wrapped in a blanket from head to toe so that I could not get bitten. I was cooking alive; the sweat was rolling off me, as I made that 20 minute call. Finally, I got to my room and sat in front of the fan in just my shorts for about 10 minutes. (Luckily we are not so paranoid after six years). That broke through the fog! I was starting to dislike all this wonderful mission field stuff.
The second story centers around our meat shop. We had been in Ghana about nine to ten months and Carey was about six months old. We have shopped at this same meat shop since we have been in Ghana. On this particular day it was really hot, and I was not in the best of moods. I was really starting to feel the culture crunch. The youngest of the three brothers that own the shop was waiting on us. He was about 19 years old then, and he made this comment: “Pastor John, give me your daughter, I want to marry here, she is very beautiful!” Now remember my daughter was only a few months old, and this guy was a teenager. My wife says that I just started fuming; the smoked poured out my ears; I got this hateful look in my eyes. I remember the rage that I felt. I was thinking, “What in the world, is this guy some kind of pervert, I am going to kill him!” I was shocked! After a curt response, I had to go outside to cool down, even though it was 105 degrees in the sun! After we got in the taxi, Patty looked at me with one of her concerned looks, and asked, “Are you ok?” To which I said, “I’m fine,” I was still seething inside, “It is that guy that has a problem. I mean what is his deal? I just don’t get it!” The fog had finally burned away.
Here in Africa, when a person travels in the early morning he will see fog everywhere in the bush, and everything is cool and wet, but by 8:00 a.m. the sun will begin to shine brightly and the heat will make all the fog disappear. This is just like cultural death. At first everything is cool and foggy, but once the sun beats on him long enough, that fog will disappear and he will pass to his next stage, ANGER!
I did not know that I was in denial until that day, until the anger surfaced, but I was! I had been setting on that anthill, looking down, but when the ants bit, I knew. If the reader is a missionary in this stage, he will say, “That was you, but that is not happening to me!”
My response to them is simple: he might not see it now, but soon he will. There are always signs when a person is in denial. The greatest sign is their quest for the ‘normal’, the things that reminds them of life before the mission field. They just want to forget the loss and hold on to the past. A new missionary will love to search for American foods in the grocery store; will love watching movies and shows from home; will obsessively email, write, and call friends and family; and most of all he will hunger for fellowship with people from his home culture. All these things point to the same undeniable fact -- he is in denial! He wants the old, but is stuck in the new.
At this point a missionary will make some very important decisions. He will seek to isolate himself. As the Congo proverb says- a single bracelet does not jingle. He will not have to think or hear the sounds of cultural difference if he just stays in his single world view. Or, he will realize the problem and start to deal with it. He will force himself deeper into the cultural waters and swim to the other side. But no matter what he does, if he stays in the foreign country he will pass to the second stage.
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