To Dwell Among

I have now surpassed the halfway point of my stay in Grenada. In the past nine months, I have spent a majority of my time listening, watching, questioning, and just trying to figure out how to do life in Grenada. While I certainly have not (and probably never will) achieve “Grenadian” status, I can say that I am now considered a “local” in these parts. I am still the awkward white girl walking around Gouyave and Grand Roy, but at least I’ve learned enough that I can go about daily life without embarrassing myself too much, and most importantly, without being mistaken for a tourist.

I cannot say exactly when or where my vehement dislike for tourists came from, but it probably has something to do with my desire for authenticity. Both during my nine months in Grenada and the five months I spent in South Africa during college, I have had the privilege to put down some roots and begin to build genuine relationships with the people and places there. I have been able to experience “real life”- everything from church to grocery shopping to haircuts- as it is for people in that locale. And while I certainly have taken advantage of the many amazing activities and attractions that draw visitors to each place (I mean, I have stayed in two of the most amazing countries in the world!), I cannot help but feel that the “tourists” are missing out.

When you are a tourist, you are often participating in a manufactured version of reality designed for comfort, for entertainment, and for the spending of foreign currency. There is (usually) nothing wrong with desiring a week or two away, wanting to relax on a beach and leave your worries behind. But when I see the busloads of foreigners touring the island, cameras at the ready behind the high glass windows, taking a half-day excursion before heading back to their resort or cruise ship, I want to grab them by the shirt… shake them up… and tell them how much they are missing.

I want to tell them about the kind of hospitality that extends far beyond hotel service, a welcome based not on how many U.S. dollars I can pour into the local economy but rather on genuinely desiring to be a good neighbor.

I want to tell them to try the strange foods they encounter, because the way to know a country’s heart of partly through the stomach.

Let’s be honest here… in a foreigner’s eyes, oil down does not look very appetizing. It took me a few tries before I started to like Grenada’s national dish!

I want to remind them that the tour guides, housekeeping staff, and store clerks all have ears. They hear what you are saying. Your running commentary about any less-than-ideal conditions you may meet is inappropriate for two reasons. First, because tourists may think they understand a place after 48 hours in country, but they do not. Second, because this country was not built to suit their comforts.

I want to take away the tourists’ cameras when I see strangers photographing locals just going about their days. There needs to be recognition that photography can be exploitative if done inappropriately.

I want to tell the tourists to try something new and uncomfortable (and no, cruise ship excursions do not count in my book). It is healthy and humbling to be uncomfortable, because when we put ourselves in uncomfortable situations, we often find that what at first seemed “uncomfortable” was really just unfamiliar, and we are opened up to a whole new way of seeing things and of doing life.

I want to remind them that they cannot “experience” a country from within the confines of a resort. I want to tell them that if their shoes stay polished and their every meal was served by a waiter, if they didn’t listen to the stories of the nationals they met and aren’t at least somewhat confused by the complexity of that country’s history, they’re doing it wrong.

…

(Sorry. I’ll end my rant. )

During April, May, and June, I had two groups of visitors come to stay with me in Grenada. The first was a group of three friends from college, and the second was my mother and her friend. I tried my best during their visits to give them a taste of the “authentic” Grenadian experience. I won’t lie, we did a lot of tourist-y kinds of things. We snorkeled, we laid on the beach, we toured factories and plantations aplenty. But I have to give my visitors credit- they put up with my insistence on local experiences like taking the bus and sweating it out at my house each night and sitting through six hours of church on a Sunday, simply because that’s how I do it. I was so excited for my loved ones from home to understand better the life I have built here.

Peggy, Mom, and me

Autumn, Rachel, me, Brittany, and Love

And even more than what they did, I was excited for my friends and family to meet all the wonderful people that are part of my Grenadian experience. I cannot even begin to describe what it meant to me to watch them wrestling with “my kids” and hugging my neighbors in the morning. I love that my best friends in Grenada have met some of my best friends from home. I love that both my visitors and my local friends shared their stories with one another. I hope that my friends and family know how blessed I was by this strange melding of two parts of my life and my story.

My mother meeting my friend Kevil

I guess what I am trying to say in all of this is that to visit a place is one thing, but to dwell among is another. This applies not only with where to stay when on vacation; this is the essential question of mission work. As much as I can try to do through my work at GRENCODA and with the Methodist Church, the thing I am best at is just being with. I teach and learn simultaneously because I live among people who become my friends and helpers, teachers and students. This is the life and work of a missionary. This is the example that Jesus set.

It would be easier to be a tourist but for me it would not be rewarding. I may have chosen the harder path, but I know that my experience in Grenada will be richer for it in the end. I hope that it will be said of me when I leave Grenada that I listened, I learned, I laughed, I loved… that I truly lived among.