In 2014, a Belgian gentleman in his late fifties made a determined search for me in Blantyre. Unfortunately, his efforts proved fruitless because I was then based in Lilongwe, serving a three-year contract with the Government. Time and again, he called at the Polytechnic, where he had been assured he would find me. Eventually, a friend of mine who lectured there informed me that a white gentleman had been making repeated enquiries about me. I asked him to take the visitor’s telephone number the next time he called. The Belgian’s name was Yohan.
Before travelling to Malawi, Yohan had met a former colleague of mine, the late Mitchell Strumpf, fondly called Mitch. Mitch had lived in Malawi during the 1980s, serving as a lecturer in Music at Chancellor College. Owing to my more-than-average enthusiasm for music, we became acquainted and quickly struck up a friendship. Yohan, too, was an accomplished musician, specialising in the double bass. Mitch had intended to introduce one musician to another—or, more precisely, to connect a passionate musician with someone who shared his love of music.
In due course, Yohan and I finally met. One of the very first things we did together was visit the children’s cancer ward at Queen Elizabeth Central Hospital in Blantyre, where we sought to brighten the patients’ spirits through music. Yohan accompanied us on an acoustic guitar while I provided the vocals. I was astonished at how many Malawian folk songs he had mastered in the relatively short time he had lived in the country. Every song we performed that afternoon came from Malawi’s rich folk tradition. Melodies such as Galuyu Ngwanani Wadya Maemba (“Whose dog is this that has devoured my fish?”) and Sela, Sela, Sela Mwana wa Ticha (“Sela, the teacher’s daughter”) echoed through the ward, filling it with warmth and laughter. Although I had learnt all those songs during my primary school years, I had not sung many of them for decades, and they stirred a deep sense of nostalgia within me.
Over the months that followed, my friendship with Yohan grew ever stronger. One reason was that he found accommodation at Blantyre Mission, only a few metres from my business premises. He occupied a modest house that had once served as the mortuary for the former Blantyre Mission Hospital before the hospital’s services were transferred to Mulanje after the Government established Queen Elizabeth Central Hospital in Blantyre.
It was not long before I developed the habit of dropping in on my friend whenever I happened to be at my office. These visits were entirely informal and required no prior arrangement.
On one such occasion, I called on him shortly before midday. As usual, our conversation drifted effortlessly towards harmony and chord progressions. Indeed, music was the subject around which almost all our conversations revolved. We became so absorbed in our discussion that neither of us noticed the steady march of time. Before we realised it, lunchtime had arrived. My friend, understandably hungry, reached for the meal he had already prepared and began eating while I sat opposite him. It included cheese—a food for which I have always had a particular fondness—but not a morsel was offered to me.
Had I been viewing the situation purely through the lens of an average Malawian, I might well have taken offence. In Malawi, it is generally regarded as unthinkable to eat in the presence of a visitor without first inviting them to share the meal. Indeed, if there is not enough food, many hosts will gladly give their visitor what is available and prepare another meal for themselves later. Yet I knew this was not part of my Belgian friend’s cultural upbringing. What appeared unusual to me seemed perfectly natural to him. Equally, from his perspective, it may have seemed rather odd that I had arrived unannounced at lunchtime and quietly expected to be accommodated. We both understood the cultural differences at play, thought nothing of them, and simply carried on discussing music.
Experiences such as these remind us how important it is to understand and accommodate other people’s cultures if we hope to communicate meaningfully with them. Even the finest message can be dismissed if it is presented inappropriately. Those who aspire to take the gospel across cultural boundaries would therefore do well to invest time in understanding the customs, values, and sensitivities of the people they seek to reach. Only then can they present the message in a way that resonates with their audience. Failure to do so may lead to the gospel itself being rejected—not because of its content, but because of the manner in which it is conveyed.