Learning to Laugh

I have always thought that I am pretty good at being able to laugh at myself, but Kenya has taught me a new appreciation for this skill. You see most of the time in Gatundu everyone else is laughing at me, so I have little choice but to join in the fun. From our very first day at Icaciri, the students have enjoyed my accent and the differences in my hair and skin color. They spend a great deal of time during worship watching me fail miserably at the traditional dances that must seem so natural to them.The teachers, too, join in the amusement, and make a game of trying to pronounce words the way that I do, or of watching my face as I hesitantly try to chew up goat intestines at lunch.
One afternoon as Kari and I walked a little ways down the road to get some bananas, a group of primary school children stood in their yard literally pointing at us and laughing so hard that they were falling over.
Similarly, on a recent visit to the market, I walked up to one of the local sellers to buy a basket so we could carry our vegetables home, and upon simply saying hello, the lady burst into hysterical laughter. What? Then I remembered, many of the older villagers speak only Kikuyu, so I am sure my English sounds like nonsense to her.
Every time we leave the school compound, groups of primary school children follow us down the road giggling and whispering in Kiswahili, and I feel like a very real version of the pied piper.
While drinking a coke one time at a kiosk near our school, a little girl approached us, very slowly and cautiously. When she was close enough, she peeked up at Kari and I with wide eyes, we smiled at her and asked habari yako? Immediately she turned and ran screaming in the other direction. I don't think I have ever scared a small child before, but the other people gathered at the stand found the incident hilarious. Of course.
At times, I get frustrated at people's reaction to me. I am tired of repeating myself countless times and of having to explain things in five different ways before I am understood. Then I remember that I am a guest here. Everyone I have met has been immensely patient with me as I butcher their language and misunderstand their customs. I can't even pronounce some of the Kikuyu vowel sounds because my mouth refuses to move in certain ways. Yet my teachers are loving and encouraging; they rejoice with me at even the smallest successes. If I remember a word for even a couple of days, they are incredibly impressed.
As I look at my life here, I wonder how much time our Lord must spend laughing at the situations that He has led me into. What a sight it must be to Almighty God watching two wazungu walking down a dirt road surrounded by a bunch of barefoot children trying to communicate in any way that doesn't require actual words. How funny He must find it when I repeatedly say I am fine instead of How are you? when greeting people in Kikuyu on the road. What a God we worship that He would fill my days with such joy and laughter.