Lion Tales

12/3/19 In this post I share about my faith, missionary work, and my limits for work with missionaries as a governmental employee. If it’s not your cup of tea I totally respect that, feel free to check back for next blog in a few weeks.            Wednesdays at my clinic are slow. If you can imagine a liquor store on January 2, then you’re only halfway there, and you still must remember that my position in the clinic isn’t as a health care provider. Regardless of the amount of people in the hallway waiting for the nurses I’m not able to apply even a band aid.            As you can imagine this leads to a certain level of boredom as I message my counterpart (my liaison I work with in the clinic) for something to do, and start to flip through my Setswana note cards (I use these to study the language). Sadly even the Alcohol Committee volunteer who normally helps me isn’t to be found. At this point I’m left with few choices of how I can spend my afternoon. Leaving work so early

            Last week I made a mistake. Upon walking into my clinic at 7:20am I moved past a group of Batswana (multiple people from Botswana) and entered our morning meeting room. I sat down quietly and was waiting for the meeting to begin when one of the midwives called to me “Mogomotsi there’s someone asking for you.” Curious, I stood up and walked out into the hallway to be met with several looks of annoyance. One man spoke to me directly. “Ahh you did not greet us when you walked in.” I stood there awkwardly for a moment before shifting my body language. Leaning forward I said “Ahh sorry sorry sorry sorry, Dumela rra le bomma. Good morning to you all.” I was soon met with cracked smiles and soft “dumelas(hello).” As I stood up to head back into the meeting room I made a note to greet everyone at the doorway to the clinic regardless of how many people were there. The thing was that I didn’t feel bad about it at all.            Culture is a curious thing. You can study it, l