Art in the Garden

It wasn’t our first time in this garden; we’d been here with ice cream cones on Valentine’s Day and with my gardener on a reconnaissance trip last month. Last Week I sat here with healthcare providers and discussed local services and quarantine procedures. But today the garden was transformed. Artists stood amidst rows of canvases. Oil, acrylic, and watercolor paintings were featured alongside dyed cloth, carved wood, and intricate paintings meticulously crafted from ballpoint pen. I read through the artist biographies: this one had no training, this one attended a class in sign painting, this one taught himself, this one is becoming recognized internationally and starting to mentor others. Many were a decade younger than me. Is this the beginning of long careers, or the exuberant optimism of youth? Where else could we view original works of art and talk to a country’s most renowned artists for less than $10? Where could we buy original works of art which could transform a room for less than $100? I am happy that there is a day like this, for featuring art and encouraging artists in a garden setting.

There were workshops today, mobile making, stone carving, and pottery. In the back of the garden, we saw a workshop for bonsai arrangements. We felt like we hit the jackpot. I’ve been intrigued by bonsai trees for years now, but I’ve been afraid to invest in a plant which I was concerned I might kill. But the artist/gardener was so enthusiastic. Anyone can do this, he said. So we sign up. Two hours later, we have chosen our trees, arranged them in a shallow bowl with rocks, and trimmed them nicely. Greg’s tree will grown orange flowers, mine should have white. I finally understand a little bit of what makes bonsai a form of art. They said that we’ll have to wait at least a year before we can truly call these miniature plants bonsai trees. I hope that mine will survive that long. Back home, we harvested moss from the western side of our wall and found places of prominence for our new living art. They told us that these trees can be passed on to future generations. Personally, I hope they make it through the season.

Playing My Part

I start the day with an evaluation for the village chief. He has tingling pain in his legs and I am concerned that it could be due to Diabetes. I use a personal glucometer to check his sugars in Nixon’s living room with the pastor acting as a translator, because my Chichewa is not good enough to explain all the contingencies. I want to go above and beyond assisting and caring for this chief, since he is a leader of other chiefs in the area and his support can make the difference between success or failure for some of the initiatives started here. He attended the agriculture training last month, that’s where I met him, and the way in which he and the lesser chiefs under him advise their people will determine whether or not agricultural initiatives work in the next few months. Normally, goats and cows roam free in dry season, but if the cows eat the ground coverings and if goats wander into the field and eat the young plants, the fledgling group trying to implement minimal till farming and ground watering for year-round crops won’t have much to show for their efforts. Nixon tells me that this chief goes to their church, and I praise God for that. The more Christian leaders we have, the better. Miraii, Nixon’s daughter, comes into the room and he reminds her to clap three times to honor the presence of the chief. This reminds me that I neglected the proper greeting. I apologize, Pepani, ndaiwala, I’m sorry, I forgot, and then I clap too. As a foreigner, it’s not always easy to remember the formalities. People are gracious and hold me to a different set of standards, but I want to support the existing authority structures and not undermine them.

An hour later I am sitting in a seat of honor up front as women from various church choirs sing and dance. Thokozani leads her group of women – they are wearing matching pink dresses which I am sure she made herself, they all have the same weaving in their hair, a process she tells me later took 30 hours. They are perfectly in step, singing and dancing and proclaiming the importance of teaching children values and not following witchcraft. Thoko dances in front of the women, a charismatic, animated conductor who is also the lead singer. I think of her ability to mobilize her community, how she leads from example and sacrificially, a woman who embodies everything from Proverbs 31 and then some, a pastor who pulls a whole community up with her. I praise God for her, for how she uses her strengths to build wholeness for everyone around her. She fits this role, out in front, surrounded by people willing to follow her, people who she inspires to stay in synch and to look beautiful and confident.

A few songs later and it is my turn to step up. This is my role, my part in the metaphorical dance. I am uncoordinated and have faltering Chichewa, but that’s okay because I just have to talk. Thokozani stands with me and helps everyone understand some teachings I bring about keeping kids healthy. I squint in the sun, I shift my feet back and forth, but at least my words are confident and my thinking sharp. Personally, I wish I could wear my wide-brimmed hat or my sunglasses, but I know it is important to make eye contact with these women, a sign of trust. Thank God I applied a second layer of sunscreen just before coming out, but I wonder if it will be enough. I wish I could wear a mask, there’s a thousand women out there and I know that COVID is making its way through communities this winter. But I need these women to trust me, to see my smile and know that I have their best interests in mind as I discuss ways to treat and prevent childhood illnesses. These are difficult, counter-cultural teachings, and I need every advantage I can get. So I play my role, I join this dance in a costume not quite my own. I wear a skirt printed with the Nazarene logo so that I match most of the other women here. Thoko adjusted it for me on the way over to make sure I was wearing it right. This is me but it is also not me. In some ways I put on a performance, I act and speak and look in ways expected of me as a doctor and a foreigner. I follow Thokozani’s lead in this incredibly orchestrated training.

And the women respond. They ask question after question and laugh awkwardly when I call them to difficult actions. How many will actually start using mosquito nets? How many will bring sick children to the clinic rather than just praying for healing? Will any little lives be saved? I do my part and communicate what I know in the most culturally appropriate way I know how. Thokozani tells me later, “It is powerful because they know you are one of us. You are a Christian and a doctor. They need to know these things. They will listen.” As we conclude that day, as she concludes the conference, people tell her that the whole district was suffering before she and her husband took leadership, it was on oxygen, but now it is thriving. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, there is life here, there vibrancy; I see potential to spread that life through communities. And I want to be part of it. Thoko already has ideas for what comes next. There will be a training of 40 pastors next week, then a big national conference in a few months. She wants me to come speak again. Thank goodness my schedule is flexible. I believe in this woman, this leader of women and developer of communities. I have latched my wagon to her dynamism, I have committed my ministry to supporting hers. So I will dance as she asks me, in my own way. I will use my authority as a doctor and a foreigner in ways that propagate her ministry and her impact. In many ways, I am still finding my own role, but at least I have found someone to help me figure out my steps and dress the part as I go.

Behind and Before Me

I wouldn’t have become a missionary doctor by chance. A pair of surgeons from the church that raised me encouraged me to pursue medicine instead of nursing, and gave me my first exposures to missionary medicine, helped me learn where to volunteer, and wrote letters of support for scholarship programs. Besides equipping me to thrive in medical school, my college gave me mentors who were strong and capable women people who were able to demonstrate what it meant to be an excellent scientist and a compassionate Christian. Doctors who invited me for short-term trips opened my eyes to meaningful, sustainable impact strategies, and missionaries who went before me taught me how to navigate culture and find my vision. My first missions organization taught me the basics and got me to Africa right after training, and my current organization supports me through all the unexpected twists of this life.

I’ve been on the mission field for four years. Suddenly I’m a long-termer. Most like-minded doctors from my training programs didn’t end up going, or didn’t end up staying. But I know I’m not here alone. Dozens of believers pray for me every day – some have known me all my life, and others met me just for a few minutes before joining me in this ministry. And some of the most incredible people from my journey stand with me here – an incredible dermatopathologist lets me send pictures and descriptions of rashes I can’t understand; a caring psychiatrist works with me to find the locally-available medications to assist some of my most difficult cases, and also supports me when times are tough. I have been blessed beyond measure with friends and family who care for me in ways tangible and intangible. Even yesterday, when I was nervous speaking to a big group, my fellow missionary who oriented me years ago gave me the resources I needed to answer hard questions, and an incredible Malawian nurse prayed for me constantly.

I feel like I’m still beginning with this work - I have roots, but they are as fresh as the tree I planted yesterday. Yet now I have the opportunity to invest in others, to help them in their journey toward healthcare missions. Intersecting on my path are undergraduate students, students about to start medical school, new interns and fellows. Sometimes it’s only a brief conversation, sometimes I help with research or rotation experiences; sometimes they let me speak into their lives as they are dealing with difficult decisions. But what an honor it is to walk alongside this next generation, just as so many people walked alongside me. I still have hundreds of people lifting me up, encouraging me along, inspiring me. What an honor it is to be that type of person in the life of someone who will come to do much more than I ever could.