McClatchy-Tribune News Service
11
March 2008
RENK, Sudan – Is it possible to have two homes, to have two
places where you feel completely at home, and yet know that you are still an
outsider?
That’s how I feel some days.
Last week, I returned to Sudan after a six-month absence. I was
greeted with joy – with such great joy that we literally danced in the
streets, hugging and kissing each other, praising God continually that we have
been brought together again.
Here in Renk, I feel at home.
And yet, I know that I am an outsider.
All I have to do is walk down the dirt roads in this dusty town
and listen to the children greet me: “Khawaja! Khawaja!”
(“White woman! White woman!)
All I have to do is listen to folks talk about me, yes, in my
presence, in Sudanese Arabic, which I speak fairly well: “Khawaja”
this and “khawaja”
that, as though I can not understand, even though I do.
Which tells me that no matter what I do, or how long I stay, or
how much I consider this my home, or even how much others
consider this my home, I’m
still at least somewhat of an outsider.
And yet, this is my home.
One of two.
And then, when I return to the United States, which I have had
to do far more often than I want, I am greeted with joy – with such great joy
that we almost dance in the streets, and we do hug and kiss and praise God
continually that we have been brought together again.
In the United States I feel at home.
And yet, in many ways, I know that I am an outsider.
I have a house, but it is rented out, so I don’t live there,
although it is my official address. Instead, I house-sit for a friend who is
overseas. If need be, I don’t stay there, but move in with
yet other friends. My mail goes to yet another friend’s house, so that when I
am out of town or out of the country, bills can be paid. Because I travel
nearly constantly, I am nearly constantly a guest in someone else’s home; it
gets so confusing at times that upon awaking, I have to concentrate to figure
out where I am, and what are the names of my hosts.
Unlike most Episcopal priests, I don’t serve in a parish,
either. So I don’t have that constant community that comes from being a priest
in one place with one group of people.
And yet this
is my home.
One of two.
There are some who do not like this idea of me having two
homes. They want me to declare for one over the other, for all time.
And there are some who do not believe that I feel like an
outsider in both places, at least part of the time. Since I belong to them,
and they to me, that is all that counts.
For me, it is not a question of which
home is home. I do
have these two homes. I know
that I belong in both as fully as possible, even while I remain an outsider in
some ways in each place.
What matters to me is that I am blessed.
Because no matter where I am, in Sudan or in the United States,
I am home.
X X X
(The Rev. Lauren R. Stanley is an appointed missionary serving
in the Diocese of Renk in the Episcopal Church of Sudan, where she is a
lecturer and chaplain at the Renk Theological College.)