Childish Love

I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve never really liked kids. If I had a choice between child care and almost anything else, I would choose the anything else. Like so many things, I realized that all I needed was a little exposure to change my attitude. I needed to experience in order to understand. I’m beginning to reconsider my disinclination toward children through the exchange of smiles, laughter, games, and piggyback rides. At the crèche where I work there are definitely good days and bad days. There are times when it seems like every other learner is crying, fighting, losing a shoe, or refusing to eat lunch. On days like those it’s difficult to believe that I have so much to learn from them; that they have a simple, uncomplicated wisdom from which most adults can and should learn.

A common saying is that kids won’t care what you have to say until they know you care. In every conversation, in every human interaction, there are two levels of communication: what is being said and everything else. “Everything else” is nonverbal–body language, emotional state, preconceived notions, prejudices, etc. It’s almost a separation between the head and the heart, the words and what they mean. A person will never listen sincerely to what one says unless that person first communicates approval on some basic level, or on a more profound level, expresses love. I think children are much more in tune with this sort of nonverbal communication than adults. It’s so easy to show love and be loved by the kids at the crèche. We speak very little of the same verbal language. My isiZulu is about as good, if not worse, than their English. Communication happens often on the nonverbal level–a smile, a hand to hold, even sitting quietly together. As adults there are so many simple joys that we take completely for granted, because we have lost this child-like ability to show love.

The adults I find most difficult to love here in South Africa, and in the US as well, are often the people from which I have the most to learn. When we become adults and “put off our childish ways,” we become selective in whom we love. While children will love practically anyone who shows them affection, adults love those people who are easiest to love, the people with which they have the most in common, who reinforce their prejudices and biases. We learn nothing about love through those people who are easy to love and love us return. What if I treated the adults in my life with which I often struggle in a more “child-like” way?

I didn’t realize that even when I think there is a disconnect between what I’m thinking and what I’m saying, nonverbal communication is just as, if not more, powerful than what’s actually coming out of my mouth. Even if I think I’m acting professionally, a person has no interest in what I’m saying if, however unintentionally, I’m conveying judgment or disapproval. Instead of subtly, or perhaps not so subtly, communicating condemnation, I need to examine my feelings towards these difficult people. How can I learn to love those people with whom I struggle the way that God loves them, as His children? How can I learn not to be so selective in whom I love, and only return the love of those who have shown me love first? God is passionately seeking to be in relationship with every single one of us, not just those people we like. This child-like love is radical in that, though as humans we are unable to do so, it shows no partiality.

I’m beginning to understand why Jesus said that we must become like children to enter the kingdom of God. I used to think this idea was completely ridiculous. What could children, or any “non-productive” part of society, possibly have to teach adults about God’s kingdom? Having already attained some sort of “maturity,” what do adults have to learn from the whimsical, unhindered ways of children? As an adult I like to think that I’ve put off my childish ways, that I’ve done a lot of growing up—but I realize now how much growing up I have left to do.

Things Seen and Unseen

The longer I’m here in South Africa, the fewer pictures I take. I no longer feel the need to “document” the people I know and the places where I work. I find myself looking at people face to face instead of through a camera lens. It makes me very uncomfortable when people refer to my year of service with YAGM as “traveling.” Although I hardly blend into a crowd here in South Africa, I’ve become fairly good at picking out the tourists. They stick out for any number of reasons: dress, mannerisms, accent. In December I had the opportunity to be a tourist again when I visited Johannesburg for the first time since I arrived in country. Living here for several months now, I chaffed under adopting the tourist mentality again. I visited the Apartheid Museum and Constitution Hill. Both trips were moving, provocative explorations into South Africa’s history; tributes to how much the country has overcome in the ugly, brutal face of apartheid.

Tourists skim along the surface of a country. Bound to their guidebooks like Bibles, tourists want to see the “sights,” “attractions,” and “highlights,” within a maximum of three to four days per city. They visit the museums, shopping centers, and recommended restaurants. To enjoy the “ethnic flavors” they might even enjoy a traditional dance performance or buy hand crafted jewelry. None of these activities require any real engagement with the people(s) and the culture(s). Interaction may be reduced to ordering food from a waiter at a restaurant or asking questions of a scripted tour guide. The rest of one’s time can easily be spent in the company one’s fellow travelers. As a tourist, one sees what the South African Department of Tourism wants one to see, and the guidebooks will not make mention of certain areas. It’s so easy to get caught up in the national narrative, the public discourse that one is “supposed” to hear.

As a visitor to Johannesburg, I did not stay in a recommended hotel, or even a youth hostel. I stayed in the flat of a colleague in Hillbrow, arguably one of the most notorious neighborhoods in all of South Africa. One of the stark realities of this country is that it is possible to move between different worlds in a matter of minutes. Constitution Hill, home of the Constitutional Court, lies just outside Hillbrow. The South African constitution is arguably one of the most liberal in the world, holding human rights such as access health care, education, social security, and other basic services (among many other things) sacrosanct. And yet, a five minute walk from the highest court in the land I heard gun shots every night and was told that I was not allowed to walk around the neighborhood without an escort (preferably without a purse for fear of petty theft). A few blocks away from Constitution Hill the government can not provide basic services like police protection and consistent access to electricity and running water. Is the South African government living out its ideals through policy implementation and political will? The reality on the ground for many, perhaps most, suggests no.

But is any government sincerely any different? In Washington D.C., American politicians consistently espouse values like equality and democracy. Parts of the city are indeed beautiful. But it is also a city with one of the highest crime and prostitution rates in the country. In any American city, some have the luxury to avoid certain neighborhoods, pretending that they doesn’t exist, or that they’re not “our problem,”–told to stay away for their own safety. It is easy to forget that fellow citizens live a life of poverty in those very neighborhoods, completely removed from the experience of some. Some, perhaps most, willingly don’t “see” those places. Their sight becomes selective. Have we become tourists in our own country, cutting ourselves off from experiencing those places that aren’t recommended in the guidebooks? Avoiding certain places out of fear (rational or irrational)? Living in South Africa has helped me to see my own country in new ways as the scales continue to fall from my eyes. I hope to continue to see not only South Africa, but also the United States, not through a camera lens, but with my own eyes, wide open.