AN EMAIL FROM MY GRANDMOTHER.

I love to read and I love to write. I majored in English while at York, and – in so many other ways – the use of words has been a major part of my purpose.

When I was in grade two (seven years old), my teacher (a very short red hed woman – I was almost as tall as her) brought me to sit at her table. We had been given an assignment to write a short story. I still remember her round chubby face, with her glasses lodged into the bulges of her cheeks and forehead that seemed to almost overtake her eyes. She reviewed my story with praise and with concern.

Her praise was that she was impressed with the ideas and the clarity in my story. Her concern was my spelling, which she deemed as “awful”. I was spelling “you” with “u” (this was long before msn and text messaging), “I” with “aye”, as well, I had variations that I can not recall for “and” that required some explanation.

Somehow, the word got from my teacher to my mother to my Grandmother. Grandma was concerned and was determined to do something about this. Her grandson was going to read and write well.

The chronology from here is not quite as important as the memories. I remember summer mornings at a northern Ontario cottage, being woken up by Grandma around 6 or 7 in the morning. She would bring my brother and I down, near the water and we would sit and take turns reading from her collection of Br’ere Rabbit books. We would go through the sounding out of words, and whether I was reading or watching the page as she did so, I recall that words began to make sense to me. They became mine to understand and to use.

I also recall one summer in Scarborough when Grandma was ‘babysitting’ my brother and I for a month of our summer vacation. Our desire was to ride our bikes, play with our friends, play video games and watch TV. Grandma had other ideas. Being outside, various ‘field trips’ and visits to the local library topped her priorities. On our trips to the library, my brother and I tended to gravitate to the ‘literary works’ of Garfield, Family Circus and the profound observations of The Far Side. While Grandma allowed us to take out some of those books, she didn’t share our reverence for them. She pushed us to also choose novels (word books along with our picture books). It was through this requirement that I discovered Roald Dahl (author of “James and the Giant Peach, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and many other titles).

With great resistance, we were each sent to our rooms for some time of novel reading. I can still see a particular moment from that summer in my memory. I was in my room doing the ‘forced’ reading, and it was a bright afternoon. I was reading “James and the Giant Peach”. As I was reading, the words on the page became vivid, alive and exciting. It was such a discovery. A passion to read was born in me. While this new love did not interfere with my loyalty to our Nintendo (and later, our Sega Genesis), I do recall reading every book that Roald Dahl wrote.

She also used reading to add a touch of magic to our lives. When my mother brought my brother and I from British Columbia (where we were born) to Toronto, Grandma met us at Union Station to pick us up from our train ride across the country. When we got to her car, we were surprised to find sticks of red licorice on her windshield. Once we got to her condo (having never been inside of a building so tall – we actually thought that the reflection of the street lights on the windows of her 10th story view was an eye level view of the stars), we were unsure of what to make of the shiny new pennies under our pillows. After reading us the stories of “Matthew and the Midnight Tow Truck Driver” and “Christopher and the Dream Dragon”, it became clear that the licorice on the windshield was to keep the midnight two truck driver from turning her car into an dinky car, and the pennies was compensation for the dream dragon bringing us good dreams.

My Grandma has actually written a book about our family history. She also was so important to me upon returning from Senegal and processing the revelation of purpose and destiny in my life. She is so dear to me. I love her tremendously. She has her quirks (if I were to share with you all some of the stories, you might not believe me).

I say all of this to put into some context an email that I received from my Grandma last week, that I wanted to share with you all. I asked her, and she was happy to give her permission to publish it.

So, here it is...

Email Title: What’s Happening!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My Dearest Christopher,

Your mother thoughtfully printed me a copy your "Blog" Journals to date. I haven't yet seen the pictures but I will soon. How happy I am to read the one dated Monday, July 31st and to learn that, after two weeks of anguish, you have found accommodation in a spacious home with electricity, running water and a welcoming family! One question though, "Is it a general perception, in Africa, that Westerners are heathen?”

I'm also happy to read that the people at "Justice" are open to your suggestions. Be cautious and try not to be too disappointed if you find out that there is a tendency of Africans to smile, say "Yes" and take no action. Chuck found that to be the case in Uganda. He would issue instructions, the native doctors at the hospital would say "Yes, Bwana" and would then go away, get drunk and neglect their duties.

(NOTE: Chuck is my Great Uncle Charlie...Grandma’s Brother. He is a doctor and spent two years in Uganda early in his career).

I've been told that Westerners find living in such a society, where one must "barter" for everything, exhausting. I would be at a decided disadvantage since I am hesitant to question the stated price of anything. If you were on a holiday, you could walk away or go without but, since you will be there for eight months, you must find a way to cope but it can't be easy.

Since I have not yet seen your pictures, I am wondering how old is the minister at Winning Life Chapel, John. I'm happy that you have found a friend in him although that Church Service that went on for hours sounded horrific. I guess the pace of life in a small town in West Africa will also take some getting used to. When you finally come home, our fast-paced society will seem insane by comparison.

It must be good for the ego, if a pain, to have the girls flocking around you, you handsome white man you!!!!!

I particularly liked the piece from your friend, Fadina, "Luv 4 Self." We Christians often struggle with this concept because we are taught to put ourselves last after God and Others. The question then becomes "how can we give our best in the service of God and Others if we have a low opinion of ourselves?” I guess it comes down to a matter of balance. We must love God and believe that he is at work in our lives - then we are able to love ourselves more.

I'm sorry that you have felt loneliness acutely since arriving in Africa. I'm sure there are many times, since leaving Toronto, you have questioned your decision. Setting out in a new direction is scary and, yes, we do feel alone for a time. You also know, of course, that no growth happens in our lives unless we are willing to take that "leap of faith" and strive for that which we thought was unattainable. And, once you get a handle on your new situation, and accomplish your work in Africa, you will look back on this as one of the defining moments of your young life.

Remember, lonliness, while painful at the time, can be a powerful motivator. Learning to "Be Still And Know That I Am God", builds up our strength and gives God an opportunity to speak to us. You have all the right instincts, Christopher, in that you know that if it doesn't feel right, you shouldn't do it. Had you not listened to your heart, you might have settled for living in a compound where you could never have done your best work. Learning to enjoy your own company is likely to be the best discovery you will make while in Africa.

Your story about Ms. Lou, being a person who has influenced your life along with Nelson Mandela, Maya Angelou and Angela Davis is very touching. It took me some time to read "Bans A Killin." It reminds me so much of mother's love of French-Canadian Poetry. For instance: "The Habitant Farmer" by William Henry Drummond, which she could recite from beginning to end.

De place I get born me ees up on de reever, near foot of de rapids dat's called Cheval Blanc.
Beeg mountain behin' it so high you cain't climb it, an' whole place she's maybe two honder arpents.
De Foder of me, he was habitant farmer ma grandfoder too, and hees fader also
Dey don't mak no monee but dat isn't fonny for it's not easy get ev'ryting you mus know....

...We leev very quiet way up in de countree, don't put on sam' style like de beeg village
W'en we don't get de monee, you t'ink dat ees fonny an' mak' plaintee sport on de "Bottes Sauvages".
But I tol' you dat's true, I don't go on de Ceety, if you geev de fine house an' beaucoup d'argent
I rader be stay me an' spen' de las' day me, on farm by de rapids dat's call Cheval Blanc.

As for Fidel Castro being one of your heroes, you would have to convince me about that choice. The Cuban exiles in Miami, who have waited 40 some years of his dictatorship to return to their homeland, have a decidedly different opinion of the man.

(NOTE: Grandma and I have had some candid discussions over the years on many controversial subjects...we have not had this one yet).

Anyway Christopher, I have enjoyed reading your Blog and spending this time thinking about you and your new life in Tamale. I hope each day there will find you strengthened and fulfilled in a whole new way.

Love,
Grandma