Extending Family

When I came up to Oxford for university, our college (like many) had a parenting system, where pairs of freshers were linked up to pairs of students in the years above them, who would show them the ropes and be a first point of contact when they arrived. My college mum was a wonderfully bohemian classicist in the year above me who fed me lots of tea, helped me work out where everything was in college, and was a lovely listening ear for an end-of-term debrief when everything was getting a bit much (especially in my first term!) The parenting system also meant that you would 'marry' early on in your first year so that you could be parents the following year. It seems Oxford still upholds some traditional virtues, even if some of my friends' marriages had more than two participants...

Fresh-faced-freshers-week-freshers, the night
Tom asked me to be his college wife.
Sort of.

I ended up with a fun relationship with a 'College Mum', and a great friendship with a 'College Husband', who I will forever insist is the best college husband ever. He just was. His only flaw is that he never rugby-tackled another guy to "defend my honour" like a friend's college husband did, but I'm not going to hold that against him. (The fact that my husband, the tackler and the tackle-ee are very good friends and were housemates at the time should probably be factored into that story to tamper its impressiveness.)

Extending family at college is a great way to build friendships quickly, and give those relationships a different sense of depth and significance, even if how you're connected as parents and children is somewhat arbitrarily assigned. Family makes it stronger, somehow.

Within church culture, we also talk about spiritual mothers and fathers, or even grandmothers and grandfathers. There's this recognition that you don't have to be a biological relation to someone to be invested in them, for them to come to you for advice, guidance, comfort, prayer and counsel. Within our church in Oxford there are recognised people in those positions, who are wonderful parents to all; and then there are individual relationships where that mother-daughter/father-son link grows. I don't think communities can function without them, especially if you want people to grow.

While we were in Zambia, one thing that stood out to a lot of us was the sense of community and family that they model in ways we seem to lack in our culture. During the first week we stayed a couple of nights in the homestead of an extended family, just outside a village called Miloso. They opened up a clearing for us between their houses, and let this crazy group of English teenagers come and set up camp among them. The homestead consisted of the head-man and his wife in one house, then his five children and their spouses and children lived in the surrounding houses. The crops were divided up between the families; the dogs, chickens and sundry other animals they owned roamed between the houses; the cousins played together. You could see in his face that this man was delighted to be able to live there with all of his extended family. 

Jake and Sam playing catch with the kids,
between the houses, between piles of maize.

In contrast to our culture where it's so easy to disperse so far from our families, it seemed almost counter-cultural for everyone to be there. All involved, all chipping in together, in and out of each other's houses, family without walls.

The happiest man we've ever met

On the third day of our visit to Miloso we went out for the day with a home-based care team, visiting people who are chronically ill, who find it hard to get from their often quite isolated homes to see anyone. The second family we visited was home to a little girl called Hope, who is thirteen. A year ago, Hope was diagnosed with HIV. All three of her older siblings died of HIV/AIDS, as did both of her parents, by the time she was one. We sat around and spoke to her and her family through the interpretation of the pastor we were travelling with, learning of her struggles and her situation. We asked who takes care of her, and one lady replied, '"I do, we do, of course; she is my sister's daughter". 

Beautiful Hope

One of the staff leaned across to us. "We have no word for niece or nephew in Bemban [the local language]," he said quietly, "sons and daughters are sons and daughters of the whole family. Her mother and father might be dead, but her 'aunts and uncles' relate to her as if she were their own daughter. There is no question that they would look after her."

When we reflected on this later, that relational link stayed with us overwhelmingly. She might not have biological parents, but she is still seen as a daughter among that family, in that village. To not even have a word for niece or nephew, to be so intrinsically nuclear even in their extended family, was so striking.

They way they live as family makes me reconsider what it means to be family, and extended family, both naturally and otherwise.

Throughout the trip I found my own family extended too. Without the ability to join in actively, I found I had a lot of moments sat with ones and twos of the young people as other activities went on. We'd chat, we'd laugh, I'd ask them how things were going, and day by day started to get to know some of the amazing things going on in their lives, minds and hearts. 

The conclusion I came to is: this group of thirteen sixteen-year olds are truly phenomenal.

Everyone (including the head man!), just before we left the homestead

At the end of the fortnight, we as leaders handed out certificates to each student to acknowledge positive characteristics they had demonstrated on the trip. It was such a hard task to narrow it down to a few words each, when they'd shown such creativity, leadership, sensitivity, encouragement, etc. etc. etc. Sweetly, they'd gotten hold of certificates for us too, and presented me with one that simply says 'Everybody's Big Sister'.

A shared love of ice-cream
(photo credit to our cousin,
Kim Overbeck (the third sister))

Naturally, I'm not a big sister. I am very happily little sib to my pink-haired big sib. I don't have any of my own little-siblings, but have now inherited thirteen of them, who are eight years my junior, and in whom I am ridiculously invested, and ridiculously proud. In the quiet moments while they got on with things (particularly that one long quiet moment when they climbed a mountain all day and I didn't) I spent a lot of time praying for them, and hearing from God for them. It becomes impossible not to be invested, particularly when you chat with them about their fears and see them overcome them, see their hearts changed by the things they experience, and see them supporting each other through their challenging moments. 

I could write about each one of those students and how great they are individually, but there's not time or space for that. But, if you're one of them and you're reading this, know that you are incredibly impressive. If you are one of their parents reading this, know that your children are of utmost credit to you. And if you don't know them from Adam (he's the second one in from the left. Ba-dum-chh (no, really...)), know that teenagers deserve a lot more credit than they get. I haven't been more moved, or more entertained, by any group of people in a long time. They made me laugh until I cried and choked, which is quite some achievement.

Extending family, extended a little more.

Today's video is a bit of an in-joke, just because Jake can take this song off completely accurately and that made me laugh a bit too hard. It seems weird to me that the 'next generation' are into The Lonely Island now too, much as we were when we were freshers at university...It also brings memories of the morning Jake asked me, 'Are you sure you're a grown-up?'....'I'M AN *ADULT*!' 

(Obviously my answer was 'no?!')

I'm sure there's more Zambia tales still to come, but for today it's ciao for now. x

But I don't want to slow down! Let's...Zzzz.

Hello! Once again, standard apologies for not having blogged for so long - today I'll write a bit about what's been going on in the long-term, and then hopefully can give you a series of blogs about what has happened more immediately, in the last few weeks! There's so many stories to tell, and so much to catch up on, so bear with me and hopefully I'll be back up to speed soon... 

Photo spoiler. More to come.

So, life eh? Honestly, life has been tricky for the last little while. You may remember this time a year ago I was zipping off around the country, working all of the hours of the day (and then some more, sometimes, somehow?!) doing ecological surveys for my MSc? You may also remember that right near the end of that time the doctors signed me off with exhaustion. Urgh. It was a really frustrating time, both personally and practically. Suffering from exhaustion is the worst, because you can't show someone what's wrong - it's the whole 'hidden illness' thing - you can't carry on doing what you had been doing, you simply cease to function. And cry a lot (which is very unlike me).

Eco-warrior, saving the baby newts

Anyway, a few weeks' after that, the masters was over, I had a two-week breather, then I started my exciting new job with Christians in Science. Honestly, I cannot thank God more for both the provision of a job (any job!) straight after my money-draining-masters, nor for how brilliant a job it is. It suits me down to the ground, is totally interesting, involves great people and I get to work in the church office where there is a. lots of cake, and b. (only just more importantly) lots of people who I have a lot of laughs with. Life got back on track a bit without the endless hours of motorway driving, the 3am bat surveys and never sleeping in my own bed. 

Then in February-ish, I got the standard late-winter cold. After the coughing and spluttering stopped, I realised the energy had not come back: and thus, the onset of some weird form of post-viral fatigue. Not the whole-hog, there was no crippling debilitation, but just enough for my doctor to look at me with her head slightly askew and say 'Hmmmmm? Let's do some blood tests, shall we?' Enough that I would feel the room swimming as I blinked furiously to stay awake in evening meetings, or morning meetings...or, increasingly, not in meetings at all, because I simply wouldn't go. My capacity had shrunk down to that of a five year old (but without all the running around and splashing in puddles) - really, I needed an afternoon nap, and to be in bed before 9pm. Who, in their mid-twenties, has a schedule that allows that? No-one. Exactly. So, on with the prodding and poking we went.

Mid-March, just before another appointment at the doctors, I discovered a lump. Here's where we go all Miranda...I discovered a lump, in my...*mouths-awkwardly-and-almost-silently*...breast. Yep. So, my maternal grandmother had breast cancer when she wasn't all that old, so I'm just aware. And I checked. And I felt something different to normal. And I thought I should just get it checked out, and they'd tell me it was nothing, and it'd be fine. Better to be safe than sorry. 

So, I got it checked, and the doctor winced a bit, and said really, to be safe, I'd better just go to the clinic to have a scan. Just to be safe. So a few weeks later at this clinic they scan my top half as if it's pregnant, stroke their beards a bit (why are there so many men here?!), and say hmm, there's one lump that's fine but there's another underneath it we can't quite see. We'd better just send you for a biopsy. Just to be safe. So the next day, I rock up at the hospital and they perform an incredibly sore pokey-proddy procedure I would never wish on anyone, and tell me to come back the next week for the results.

Honestly, waiting on results from a breast-cancer screening clinic is one of the most unsettling things in the world. Objectively, you know you'll probably be fine. I mean, come on, I'm 24 and relatively healthy. And it would be such early stages that everything would be fine, right? But it's probably absolutely nothing. Just nothing.

In my head there were two possible outcomes: 1. it's nothing, just a fibroid, it's nothing, no action required. 2. The Other Option Which We Will Not Consider.

My wonderful, WONDERFUL friend Helen came with me to all these appointments at the hospital, including the results. Having been kept in the waiting room a ridiculously long time, we eventually went in to see the consultant, and she very brusquely explained that I did not have malignant cancer. My heart soared, for a brief moment, until she told me that I do have a benign tumour, though. One that wouldn't spread but would keep growing if not removed, and that needed operating on. Just to be safe. And that operation would be in two weeks' time. OK?

A tumour? A TUMOUR?! Two weeks' time!? No, not ok! Do you know what my first thought was? "I'm going to Zambia in a six weeks! I can't have an operation in two weeks' time! That only gives me a month to recover!?" Breathe in slowly, breathe out slowly. Breathe in slowly, breathe out slowly. "Will I be allowed to fly?"

I had not considered that there would be this middle-ground, the third option. It's not cancer-cancer, but I do need an operation. Ha. Great. So, I quickly told my boss, started closing down my office, and prepared myself for some slicing and dicing, and two weeks of sick-leave. 

I won't give you the gory details (although there are entertaining stories I might divulge at a later date, particularly those of wandering through the Churchill hospital with a one-sided Madonna-esque cone bra look, created by having a plastic cup surgical-taped to my chest to protect a bit of the pre-op procedure. Hospital gown protruding hugely. All dignity cast aside.), but, it all went well. Everything was removed safely, I came round happily ('Please can I have some tea?!'), things started to heal quickly, and I spent two very, very, very quiet weeks convalescing back at home with my parents.

Those two weeks seemed to drag on incessantly with not-being-better-yet-ness, yet sped on with wait!-I'm-not-quite-better-yet!-ness. The general anaesthetic, while quite easy to come round from, still pumped with adrenaline, took its toll a few days later when the adrenaline left. I was wobbling around even trying to walk downstairs, incapable of doing really anything, and essentially became a pathetic and needy toddler. Good job I was with my parents, given their experience of dealing with me in that state, albeit twenty years ago. I spent huge chunks of time just watching the fledgling blue-tits in our garden, being constantly tended to by their parents, who flew back and forth, back and forth, across the garden to feed them, absolutely incapable. I knew exactly how they felt.

'Feed me!' (photo credit: Papa Sturge)

                                         *                     *                    *                           *

I've spent a lot of the last year wondering why I don't have enough energy, brain space, capacity, to do the things I normally do. I think of being a sixth-former - doing A-levels, grade 8 violin, learning to drive, doing youth work, going to church twice a week, youth orchestra, a Saturday job, and somehow still having friends - and wonder how I did it. All I've been managing this year is getting to work and back each day, maybe having dinner with a friend every so often, and that's about it. Going from a speedy-speedy, all-go person to a 'sorry, no, I won't be able to be there' person is really frustrating - especially when you've said 'YES!' to accompanying a group of 16 year olds to Zambia and that's looming in a fortnight's time, and you still feel like a Zombie.

That situation really isn't easy. And God, I think, has had a lot to say to me about pace of life, where my value is, and trusting him. But all I can really say is, by his grace, that month long period between being operated on and flying to Zambia got me back to just the fitness level I needed to be.  

"Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom. He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint." Isaiah 40: 28-31

I wasn't able to do all of the activities with the young people: no rope swings, ropes courses, team sports or climbing mountains for me - internal healing says no. And that's also not the easiest to say to the faces of 16-yr old boys when they say 'oh, come on Emily, come and have a go!' and you want to say 'but my boob!' and know there's absolutely no way that's appropriate. BUT, I was up, active, brain-functioning, energy levels high enough and TOTALLY up for having an amazing trip, and helping the young people process all they were doing, seeing and experiencing. 

So, today really this post is to explain some of why I've been 'away' for so long, and some of the context behind the amazing trip I came back from, just a week ago. It's like, an emotional trailer for stories, musings and reflections on Zambia, teenage-life, God, community, and everything else, that are still to come.

As ever, I'll end with a video. Next time, I'll introduce to you properly the phenomenal group of teenagers we took away, but this guy gets an early introduction: Rowan is a Youtuber, and all-round brilliant guy, who videoed our whole experience and is making daily vlogs to document the trip. Much as this post is like my Zambia trailer, here's Row's trailer for his Zambia Youtube series. 

Next time, Zambia stories, lots more photos, and all that jazz. Until then, lots of healthy love, Em x