It takes a village

July 17, 2014

Sometimes I look at people across the subway train, across the street, or across the room and I think of how different they are from me.  I think that they act differently, speak differently, and think differently. 

Sometimes it feels like we are worlds apart from one another.

But really, we have far more in common than not.

Our basic needs are the same. 

Physically, emotionally, socially, mentally, and spiritually, we need the same things.

Our different life experiences alter how we express these needs.  Most of the time we express them in some sort of muddied translation of what our heart truly wants.

When it comes down to it, we're really insecure creatures that spend a majority of time protecting our emotions from one another.

I think, though, that one of the greatest needs that I believe binds every human together, is the need to be known and loved.  I think we all want to be a part of a family.  

Some communities take care of this need within their social fabric.  

I watched a documentary on this.  It was called, "the human tribe" and it was about the difference between big cities and tribal villages.  

In tribal villages, every person is known.  Every time you pass on the street you greet the other person.  You greet every single person.  All of them.  Because they are real people that you know and love and take responsibility for.

In cities, people become like trees in a forest.  You do not see them as you pass.  They are obstacles in your way.  If one of the trees falls in your path, you need only to walk over it towards your destination.  

From my life in the city and my time in different villages, I have witnessed both of these to be extremely accurate descriptions of both walks of life.

Living in this very literal tribe in Africa has deepened this belief in me.  While this tribe is quite large, the size of an entire county, and not every single person is known by name, there is still a proper way to greet one another. There is still a responsibility for the other.  No one would dare to pass someone in need without stopping to help. Everyone is their brother's keeper.

I think we all want that, in our heart of hearts.

The family that i am staying with is quite large.  There are eleven children running around this hut at any given moment.  They have no electricity, let alone an electronic device.  They have to toys, with the exception to the tiny rock-like fruits they use for a soccer ball and a spare tire.  They wake up in the morning and gather corn for breakfast.  They help their mother with daily chores.  They laugh and they play with a sense that they understand true joy.  I've never seen them argue with their parents.  I've never heard them complain.  They don't fight with one another.  It's like an alternate universe. 

I think of my students and how some of them are so truly angry with no outlet for expression. Their phones are their connection to community.  There are students that live with constant depression, rarely smiling over the course of many years.

I can't help but imagine that their hearts long for this type of a family life.  I think that they want relationships with their parents, responsibility for the betterment of their community, high expectations for themselves and others, and opportunities to celebrate in daily life.

It seems like a perfect life.

Don't hear me wrong.  This place is full of injustice and inequality. 

The building blocks for community, especially the kind so lacking in the rest of the world, are foundational here.  

Here's the thing, though.  My heart beats for the city. I come alive with the sound of a bustling street. I live for the rush of people living their daily lives in close proximity.  Even now, when I hear that we are going to the market, my eyes have a new light in them.  

I. love. cities.

But my heart longs for the connectedness of the village.  It's a paradox.  It's a struggle. 

I live to juxtapose these two lives.  I live for intentional community on an island of 8 million people.  

I will always need the responsibility for my neighbor and I will always need the life of the city.

A part of me will always live between these two worlds.  One part wishing for the other, trying to bridge the two.  

I dream of a village of people in the middle of city, living and loving and laughing, crying mourning and serving, with an open invitation for others to join, all for the good of the city.

Call me an idealist.  It wouldn't be the first. It won't be the last time.