Red Dust

Ian, the director of our missionary group, was the first to mention Ugandan names.  As a fellow "mzungu", he suspected I might be interested in that particular tradition. Being christened by locals was a way of being initiated as an honorary Ugandan. Ian had received his "pet name" within a few months of moving to the country.

Since that conversation with my white friend, I had quietly and secretly hoped that I could be granted such a blessing. I wanted a the country I so loved to claim me as its own.

I was in Masindi, taking a day of rest with my field director, an intelligent, witty man named Prosper, and one of my co-volunteers, a local teen named Shadic. In the preceding months, both of these men had become as dear brothers to me; and I was enjoying the chance to simply spend time with them apart from our work.

I cannot remember how the topic came up; I just remember the excitement I felt when Propser turned to me and asked, "Isaac, do you have a Ugandan name?"

I told Prosper, with a non-chalance as feigned as could be, that I did not.

From there, he and Shadic set to the task of conjuring a name for me. Prosper suggested Ugandan words for "faith" and other spiritually inspired names. Shadic disagreed, suggesting instead some local names; but Prosper shot those down. Finally, Shadic said, "What is an animal you have seen in Uganda that you admired?"

Now, I knew that, by "admired", Shadic meant "found beautiful" or "really liked". Folks who know me well can attest to the fact that, when someone mis-speaks it is my sense of humor to answer what was said, rather than what was meant. I thought about an animal that I actually admired - one that I had seen as holding qualities I seek to emulate. I was surprised to find that such an animal came to mind.

I shared this story with Shadic and Prosper:

I was riding with a missionary couple called Dixon along a dusty road in Uganda's Kamuli district. Coming around a corner, the pickup truck we rode in came grill-to-face with a large Ankole bull. (Read: African cow with twisted horns.) The bull was standing at profile across the road, as though daring us to cross him.

As I viewed the scene, I drew mental parallels between the animal's stance and stereotypical masculine arrogance - pointlessly challenging a foe twice his size.

Mr. Dixon carefully maneuvered the pickup through a ribbon of road at the Ankole's hind end. As the rear window passed around him, the bull's back legs jumped. The pickup sped around him. Mrs. Dixon laughed and said, "Oh, we must have scared him, jumping like that."

"No," her husband replied nervously, "he was getting ready to kick us."

I turned around in my seat to see what foolish kind of beast would wage war with a pickup truck. What met my eyes astonished me.

I saw the bull - an impressive form still standing defiantly. Standing alongside the bull, having cowered behind his strength at the approach of our vehicle, was a calf. What I had seen, at first, as reckless, proud, foolish, fight-mongering was, in fact, true bravery. The statement of his challenge was not "This road is mine." it was "The only way to the kid is over my dead body." As I turned forward in my seat, I found myself thinking something I never would have expected myself to think about a premature steak: "I wanna be like him."

Prosper and Shadic found my thoughts amusing and somewhat strange. Perhaps they are right to. All the same, they finally agreed on something. Taking two names from the Ugandan "Ankole Clan", they christened me.

I cannot tell you how blessed I was to find myself in that fabled position, "One of Us", especially when "Us" is such a wonderful crew.

And that is my story.

-Ssazi Kangave Isaac

Heartness: A Short Story

(Originally posted as a Facebook note.)

What if I stepped in, right now?

He has her by the hair, leading her out from their apartment onto the balcony that runs across the front of our complex. Tears and sweat fall from her face, leaving a trail parallel to that left by her bleeding nose. The guy, presumably her boyfriend, is tall and broad, built like a brick wall. His face has the scarring - and his nose, the reshaping - that makes me pause. He's been in his share of fights. I haven't been in any. He could crush me like a spent beer can without blinking.

What if I stepped in anyway?

I could tell him to leave her alone; but he'd probably look at me incredulously (What is this, fifth grade? - "You leave her alone, or I'll tell the teacher!") and tell me to mind my own business. What if I was brave enough? I could assure him that this WAS my business.

He's blackening her eyes, yelling about another man and broken vows. She's shrieking that she's sorry. The neighbors aren't even looking out their windows. Such arguments are common here. Besides, who wants to cross the hulk man?

What if I stepped in, right now?

What if he could be reasoned with?

I could tell him about how "courage" comes from the word "cor", meaning "heart". Courage is "heartness". Fearlessness and strength aren't enough. Your heart must be involved. I could even challenge him - "I have more courage than you, right now. You're being heartless." What if that angers him? What if he wants to fight? I would lose that fight. I would lose terribly. What if, just as I'm about to turn away, she catches my eye?

He's punching her in the stomach. She's crying about a baby. An elderly man is threatening to call the police if they don't quiet down; the hulk threatens to gut the octogenarian like a fish if he doesn't go back inside.

Her eyes might be brown - dark, almost black. Her tears could make them like inky pools, deep with pain and fear. She might silently plead with me, "Be courageous. Of all the moments in your life to have heart, let it be now. I need you. Please. Please, help me."

What if I can't refuse?

What if he has a knife?

What if I could be courageous?

I might remove my jacket, my tie, my dress shirt. As I do, I could inform the hulk that "I'm going to show you how a real man loses a fight."

In a flurry of impotent kicks and punches, I could learn a bit about brass knuckles, a bit about knife wounds and a bit about blood loss. I wonder what this tank of a man would learn. Would he learn about true masculinity during the easiest fight of his life? Would he see the monster he has become as my weak strikes come up against his crushing blows? Would it help at all?

As the girl runs for help, as I lay on the floor, losing consciousness, I could learn a lot about being a hero.

The hulk is gone.

The girl is laying in a pool of her own blood, unmoving. Sirens wail in the distance.

Heartness, indeed.

What if I had stepped in, just then?

-isaac

Mischief. Mayhem. Et Cetera.

This blog is mostly addressed to men. This is not because of any view I have on gender roles, but because I feel uncomfortable trying to define what I believe to be the "essence" of the female heart. You see, I have spent far too little time being a girl to take on such a task. So, while I don't think there's any reason a girl shouldn't read this, it is not specifically written to "the ladies".

 I ate half of a jalapeno once. I sweated and gargled milk for two hours afterwards. My sister and her fiance were pretty amused by that - almost as amused as I had been, only a little while earlier, watching Marines and college frat members and sexy girls chew on ghost peppers in YouTube videos. For some reason, watching them suffer had inspired me to add, "Eat a ghost pepper" to my bucket list. Because I've never been very good with spicy things, I decided to start with a jalapeno and work my way up.

One trip to the supermarket and a gallon of milk later, I scribbled the entry from my list. Some goals are simply not worth suffering for.

Since whenever it was that people began deciding who was or wasn't "The Man", strength has been the prime factor in measuring masculinity. Whoever killed the mammoth was "The Man"; and it was his stick figure that folks etched onto the cave wall. Whoever's kung fu was the most potent got bragging rights; and his family was respected. The one with the most notches carved into his gun was "The Man"; and no one asked about the fact that he rarely spoke.

Now I'm going to say something that might surprise you:

I think there's some validity to that standard.

When I consider the most admirable men I can think of, "strength" always  finds its way into that list of things which make them admirable. This is true in my personal list of "My Favourite Guys"; it also seems to be true of the men Christendom supports. In the Bible, we read of people like Samson and David (not to mention his mighty men). We look up to Paul, who,  after being stoned to death, stood up and walked back into the city from which he had just been driven. Christ's torture and death speak volumes to the strength He carried.  In church history, there are people like Saint Lawrence, who called from the gridiron upon which he was being burned to death, "Turn me over! This side's done!".

However, we've all seen gyms full of meatheads who aren't, by anyone's standard, real men. Just as we are not body only, strength is not bodily only. So, there is an internal strength that we must account for. 

By "internal strength", I do not mean simply the presence of good characteristics, but the potency, longevity and durability these characteristics have. After all, that's what strength is, isn't it? It's the ability to affect things around you, to last in whatever circumstance, and to "take a beating" (or go without things that others might depend on).

Martin Luther King, Junior was forgiving and peaceable. So are countless cowards. The thing that set him apart was the depth of his forgiveness and peaceability, as well as his knack for inspiring both in others.

Billy Graham has character; but so do many men. It is that his character has lasted under the limelight for so long that has earned him, an evangelist, the respect of an unbelieving world.

William Lane Craig is intelligent; but it's his ability to stand up under debate which would - and has - crushed other thinkers that has people regarding him as the foremost Christian apologist of our time.

There's more to this, though; strength isn't immune to weakness. It doesn't simply "push through" it, either. Strength allows for vulnerability, and works through the process of overcoming a man's failings. The man who walks on hot coals has accomplished nothing if the nerves in his feet are defective. It is the pain of burning flesh that both demonstrates his strength and enables him to grow through the experience. It seems likely that someone with  incredibly sensitive feet would accomplish even more.

So, the emotionally strong man is not he whose heart is numb, but he who (whether by nature or by choice) feels everything and endures the heart's sky-straining highs and abysmal lows. Likewise, the intellectually strong man is not necessarily well-versed in every regard; rather, he studies diligently and acknowledges whatever ignorance he has.

If I am right about all this, strength is not, then, an absolute truth about a physical state. It is, instead, an inside-out condition of the whole human being - body, soul, and spirit, all. If that is true, then no circumstance can keep a person from becoming or remaining strong. If you lose your every physical capacity, there is still a mind, a heart, and a spirit for you to exercise. A man with neither arms nor legs can easily put world-class atheletes to shame if only he refuses to let his handicap rule him.

I believe the Christian man should seek strength of every sort; and he should know, starting out, that he will not attain it all. He should also remember that whatever he does accomplish is by the grace of The Manliest of Them All. What's more, these truths should, far from causing him to question the point of such an endeavour, grant him encouragement. After all, an infinite plane of growth means that he need never cease becoming stronger; and, if the Paragon of Manliness is his benefactor, he has every bit of masculine guidance he could ask for.

-isaac