One event that occurred during my homestay with Mamma Josephine requires its own post - not only because of how it left me entirely speechless and in awe– but because God so clearly showed his heart and will for humanity in an unmistakable way.
But before I can explain, it is vital to grasp that in order to understand Africa, you must first realize the enormous amounts of dust and dirt that dominate the scenery by relentlessly clinging to every surface with persistence greater than glue. The dirt rises into the air from the slightest disturbance and attacks the nearest entity. The plants here all seem to be various shades of rustic colored brown, but on closer inspection the dirt can actually be brushed away – revealing a bright green coating to the leaf. It is hard to imagine how it is still able to absorb the necessary sunlight. After returning from a run through the village, shoes are no longer recognizable, and socks are permanently stained. Every picture, shirt, notebook, water bottle and even sheet is suddenly tinted, giving the impression that one is constantly walking around with brown sunglasses on. “Clean” is a word unknown – and must be replaced with “only a little dirty” “pretty dirty” “unrecognizable”. And even then, the “unrecognizable” category can usually be stretched to be worn a few more days.
At night, the daily battle with the dust begins. First, I wipe my face. No matter how many times I scrub and pass the white wipe across my neck, ears and cheeks, the result is always the same: the white wipe is wearing a new tunic of brown. Next, and most importantly, the feet must be washed. Putting my feet under a stream of water will turn the water brown, but my feet will still look foreign. I have to chafe my scrub brush with soap and elbow grease the bottom of my feet for there to be even the slightest improvement. Even then, there are still areas which refuse to come clean. This process is so important because there are many, many things here that find an inviting home to dirty feet, which is considerably more unpleasant than washing one’s feet every night (trust me – I know from experience).
Now that you have a glimpse at how disgusting, yet crucial, feet washing is here in Africa, I can travel back to Mamma’s house...
During this stay, I was with my peer and friend Rainer. Now, Rainer has the dirtiest feet I have ever seen – even by African standards. And let me tell you – this worried Momma. After a few hours she became determined to wash his feet (keep in mind, she didn’t speak English and neither of us speak Swahili well, so there were many motions involved). Rainer doesn’t like washing his own feet though – and the idea of someone else washing them was definitely not appealing. Finally, however, she determinedly sat him down on the bed and came with a bucket of water, in which she poured a great deal of the precious boiling water into, and right then and there got down on her hands and knees and grabbed the prized dwindling bar of soap and delicately, yet forcefully, scrubbed one of his feet. Rainer is very ticklish and he began to laugh so hard he was crying at the sensation. Mamma was undeterred, and continued to scrub – being sure to get all the toes. After scrubbing, she yet again took the priceless clean water and rinsed his feet and placed them carefully in a clean shirt to dry them. As if this wasn’t enough, she then took his shoes and scrubbed them for at least ten minutes. After the whole process was done, his feet looked cleaner than any I have seen since leaving the US.
My own feet were not in terrible shape, but now it seemed sure that she was going to clean mine as well. She gave me fresh hot water, which was a luxury beyond compare: the hot water soaking into my tired, cracking toes. Any anxiousness I may have felt instantly disappeared at this moment. Her hands were rough from the endless days of work, but also so experienced in the ways of washing that it was impossible to notice. Her hands tickled the bottom of my feet, causing me to shiver in laughter. And once again, she went through the entire process with me as well – shoes and all. You need to understand as well that this is not common practice in Africa, none of my local friends had ever heard of this happening.
Now, you may have already recognized the incredible similarities of my situation to one of the most impacting stories of the New Testament, John 13: 1- 17. When I got back, I instantly looked up the exact passage and I honestly couldn't believe it as I read “After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him” – as those exact words could be used to describe my afternoon. The meaning of this passage has struck me deep before; that the lowest servant is the one who cleans the guests feet, in so that Jesus performing this act was not only showing immeasurable humility and a lesson in serving in any situation, but also displaying how badly we need Jesus to cleanse us of all sin – especially the dirtiest ones on the bottom of our feet.
Jesus said after Simon Peter questioned him washing his feet -
"You call Me Teacher and Lord, and you say well, for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have given you an example, that you should do as I have done to you. Most assuredly, I say to you, a servant is not greater than his master; nor is he who is sent greater than he who sent him. "
I have never seen greater humility than in this woman today – who had no shame, and only love in bending down to care for our feet, unasked for and certainly expecting nothing in return. Until today I believe that humility was a quality that could never be mastered by humans. However, one definition of humility is by St. Bernard which describes it as "A virtue by which a man knowing himself as he truly is, abases himself. Jesus Christ is the ultimate definition of Humility." Which brings me to picturing Momma Josephine lowering herself to wash her white visitor’s feet, as though they were incredibly precious, just as Jesus would have done. She did not do it as a chore or requirement, but out of genuine concern and love for us, with no regards to herself and not a hint of pride. I felt truly honored that she would pour herself out to us in such a genuine way, but a mix of shame and guilt sink in as I know I am not brave enough to do what she has just done – nor even if I did, could I carry the same intentions she did in doing it. Heck – I don’t ever even look at my friend's feet to begin with.
From this story, you would expect that this woman may have heard the biblical story before, or be of a “higher merit” than many of the other women in the town. However, when I returned to camp and told Moses who I had stayed with that day, he said he was familiar with her because she is known for being intoxicated every night in town.
I don’t think I have completely understood and processed everything that God has intended for me to learn from this, just as Jesus said “You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” (John 13:7). I am sitting here at midnight listening to the long awaited rain fall down, cleansing the plants and turning the dust and dirt into a river of mud, and can't help but cry at this beautiful picture God has given me to hold to my heart for the rest of my life. I can't express how it feels to see Jesus's teachings so clearly – that not one of us is better than the other, no matter the money we make or how deep our sins or how often we go to church. If this woman – who is the poorest person I have ever met, is uneducated, is an alcoholic, and has probably never heard of Jesus – can stoop down and in one act prove to be a wiser, more humble and loving person than I have ever been, than how can I ever think of myself as superior again?
“Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.” Philippians 2:3
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