Bad Break Ups and Eating Fish

Sometimes I learn things. Not as often as I’d like, but it does happen. And when it does happen, it’s usually in way that either hurts or comes about as a result of me hurting someone else.

The other day I tried to encourage someone who had experienced a nasty break-up in the past. My attempt at consolation was to say that the person-from-the-past had turned out to be a good person in the present and now had their life in order (all things considered, of course) and had married a nice person of the opposite gender, had a few kids, had a job, etc. Here’s what I learned, that my consolation could also be perceived as rubbing it in. As in, “The person-from-the-past now has a good life and your life still hasn’t panned out how you had hoped. Chew on that.”

Yup, I came across as a jerk. But I learned. I learned that good intentions don’t always bring about good results. That good intentions can hurt people. And that sometimes there’s nothing you can do about it.

Eating a fish also taught me this lesson, only with better results. I have some refugee friends from Africa who are really cool people and I would never intentionally offend them. But they’re African. Which means they think like Africans. And this is good. But it can make things difficult when they live in America. Surrounded by people who think like, well, Americans.

In Africa, two things are very important (There are more than two things, but two that pertain to this post). One: never show up at someone’s house empty handed. Bring a gallon of milk, a loaf of bread. Something. Just don’t show up with nothin’. Two: never reject an African’s offer to cook for you. It doesn’t matter if you aren’t hungry. You say “yes” when they offer and then eat what they cook. Benson told me that because he knows these things. He would. He grew up in Kenya. But he’s not important here, other than being the one to tell me those two very important things.

So back to my African friends. I’ve been to their house before, empty handed. Oops. Benson (the guy previously referred to as unimportant but who keeps popping up in the story) said I can get away with it because I’m white, but to not do it again now that I know better. So I went to their house last week with some food and my guitar. The family loves music and they taught me some songs in Swahili – their native tongue. I borrowed some Swahili song books when I left two hours later and promised to return them the next day.

After dinner the next day, I pedaled my bike to their house to return the books with the intention of doing it the American way: Knock, knock. Here’s the books. Thanks. Gotta go. Bye. Yeah, didn’t happen. An hour after showing up, I was sitting at their dinner table drinking a Coke and learning about the Congo and Tanzania waiting for dinner to be served. This was dinner:

A plate of little Smelt fish and some ugali (oo-gah-lee: think "corn bread meets pound cake"). I didn't take a picture of the ugali because it would be a boring picture.

And the wife cooked me this too:

Tilapia. With the head on it.

I ate as much as I could (remember, I had already eaten dinner at my house) and had a great time with the family talking about Africa and church and professional wrestling. I got to hold their baby and see pictures from their homeland. They taught me some Swahili phrases and laughed as I butchered them. And we became friends. When I finally left, two hours after showing up, I received hugs and promises to “see you Sunday.”

So I learned something. That eating a fish can mean that world to someone. That learning about someone can help prevent good intentions gone bad. That grace can cover those good intentions gone bad. And that I have a lot more to learn.

~ by kevinroot86 on September 10, 2010.