Whisper it from the Mountaintops…because shouting would be culturally inappropriate!
Becoming a Missionary Mom Part 2
(click here for some backstory)
We left the clinic in a complete daze, our eyes wide with shock and smiles of disbelief ready to burst forth without warning. An ultrasound had just confirmed what was difficult to believe from the four (count them, 1-2-3-4, FOUR) positive pregnancy tests that I’d had just days earlier.
Two blue lines.
“PREGNANT.”
A little red +.
Another little red +.
A grainy image of our miracle baby on the ultrasound screen.
The sound of her perfectly strong and fast heartbeat.
Pregnant.
We reveled in the miracle of it. We basked in the goodness of God. We laughed at the surprise that changed our lives. And we wanted to tell the world! Literally. After 10 years of marriage, Mike and I had lived in 5 different cities, 3 different countries and had traveled to many churches around the US to share our stories and seek partnerships in ministry. There were literally thousands of people around the world who knew that we wanted to have a baby. Thousands of people around the world who had been praying for us. We wanted to celebrate this miraculous answer to prayer with the nations, and especially the people closest to us geographically, but suddenly we were faced with a cultural dilemma.
Tanzanians don’t talk about pregnancy.
It’s kind of funny, really. There are tell tale signs that a Tanzanian woman is pregnant. She stays home a lot. She starts wearing moo-moos. She ties her kangas differently. But she never ever talks about her pregnancy in public. She could be waddling down the street, her belly swollen and about ready to pop, and no one will say anything about it.
But I’m an American. I come from a culture where the mom-to-be buys clothes that shows off her growing belly.
…Where a stranger in the line at the supermarket will touch your belly without asking.
…or will ask when the baby is due.
…or if it’s a boy or a girl.
…or what you’re going to name the baby.
Americans celebrate and acknowledge new life in a different way than Tanzanians do. So how could we balance our American-ness and our host culture in light of this incredible news?…
We were very American with our family. Some of my favorite memories from that week include telling our family and close friends in the US the incredible news.**
But with our Tanzanian friends, we took a more culturally appropriate approach. We didn’t shout it from the mountaintops. We tried to be relatively quiet and selective about how much information we shared and with whom.
Mama Pati
The first Tanzanian that we told was our house lady, Mama Pati. Now in her late 40’s, Mama Pati has worked in the homes of American missionaries since she was a teenager in the village. She knows we do things differently and yet she still loves us. She is a godly woman whose faith and trust in the Lord runs deep. Very deep.
I remember the interaction very clearly. We were in my kitchen and in whispered tones (so the guard outside wouldn’t hear), I said to her in Swahili, “Mama Pati, I think you are going to be surprised to hear that I’m pregnant.”
“I am not surprised. God is so good.”
She hugged both Mike and I and then turned her face away to wipe the tears from her eyes. It was then that she told me that since she found out that we wanted to have a baby, her family had been praying for us. Tears streaming, we whispered prayers of thanksgiving and praise.
Mary
With Mary, it was quite different. Boisterous, brazen, enthusiastic, over-the-top, passionate Mary. Full of life. Overflowing with love and loyalty. I cornered her in my office and said “God has answered our prayers.” I don’t know if it was the smile on my face or my pregnancy glow that communicated what I was saying in a round-about way, but when she got it, she gripped me in a huge hug. She held on to me so tightly that when she started jumping up and down I had to jump too.
I tried shushing her shouts of praise and contagious laughter, but I’m sure the whole neighborhood heard.
It was through the good Tanzanian grapevine that Prisca heard that I was pregnant. Mike told the pastor. Mike asked the pastor to tell his wife. The pastor’s wife came to visit me and pray with me. I asked her to tell Prisca. Several days later when Prisca still hadn’t said anything to me, I finally asked her, “so…have you talked to Pastor’s Wife?” With a sheepish grin, she nodded yes. She wasn’t going to bring it up.
She is very Tanzanian. ☺
Prisca
**stay tuned for some of my favorite stories from announcing our pregnancy to family and close friends.