Speak Somalian: Part 1 of 2

So yesterday found me in a very remote corner of our world. I was driving along a road (if you want to call it that, really more of a Path-of-least-resistance) in Eastern Ethiopia, traveling to a remote village called Mikal (not the real name of the place, but the Army is kinda protective of information you see). I was there to meet some of the leadership of this village and I intended to speak to them about some Medical Missions being done in their area. 

The conversation was short and non script, but after he was gone and the medical people began doing the type of medical stuff they do, I began to mingle with some of the locals.  Two men walked up to me and began speaking a language that to the casual passer-by may have sounded like a man choking on a chicken bone. Having lived in Eastern Africa for the last year, I quickly identified the language as Somalian and began to address them in their native language. 

I promptly stated, "Sabah WaHanaksan! Iskaa Wooran?" (this means something like, "A peaceful morning to you! How are you?") Now, these two men reacted as if they had just seen a host of men dressed like Santa Clause singing Bon Jovi songs with a horde of Leprichans. They quickly responded, "Fian! Iskaa Wooran?" I told them I was well and asked them each what their name was and told them I was glad to meet them. I also told them my name was Josh. I did all of this in what must have been the most pathetic attempt at Somalian they had ever heard.

At this point I had exhausted my entire Somalian vocabulary. I used about 4 sentences and had learned very little about either of them. However, after this short conversation they quickly walked over to a nearby group and I could hear them excitedly telling all the other villagers,"This guy speaks Somalian!" or something to that effect. I watched as a ripple of joy and excitement rippled through the small group of villagers. By the time I left that village, the all realized I could only use the 4 sentences I had already used. None of them seemed to care or tire of hearing me speak those same words. When I left, Mohamed and Ali (the original two men) told me we were friends and they wanted to see me in their village again one day.

Now lets not get this twisted. 4 sentences hardly count as mastering a language. My limited usage of the Somali language was meager at best but it's impact was significant. You see, those men were far less excited about the medical workers being in their village than they seemed to be about me trying to speak their language. They didn't even mind that I didn't know any more than 4 sentences. They were just geeked out of their minds that I had taken the time to TRY to learn. They were stoked that I cared enough about them that I wanted to know how to talk with them.

I think the rest of the world is the same way. I believe that people want to know you care enough about them to TRY to understand them. I also feel that in this regard, the Church (I'm referring again to all those that claim Jesus Christ as their Lord) has been failing miserably. I can see that we have stopped TRYING.