Call To Prayer

 written by Nathan

We have seen so many sunrises this trip. Every one is unique, often their setting tells a story.

One thing new that we have gained from the sunrises of Asia and Africa is a desire to live life near a mosque - to hear daily the Muslim ‘call to prayer.’ Sunrise, sunset and prayer fit.

People are pious here. Most places, the singing verse and howls of prayer signify day break and the waking of a city or town. Addis Ababa if different. Addis mixes prayer with the end of night.

If my hometown, New Orleans, was half Muslim like Addis, it would likely wake up the same as this city does - mixing imens’ howls with a muffled drone of fading dancehalls and occasional street crackles from the last patrons’ revelry. As night haunts wind down, mixing pulses quietly provoke the early dawn light along with mosques and church bells, nudging ladies and gentlemen who are night people back into the wastes of last night’s streets. They spill out in conversations where fear of the brightening sun sends them scurrying home toward their private shadows at a crack of dawn.

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As I write this, I am reminding myself what a city person I am. I have loved being in small towns. I love other places, rural places, too, where morning prayers wake up first roosters, rising cantonances with the holy sounds until the mutual efforts of guarding the earth sweep out above the mountains and across valleys in dulling muted harmonies. Cadences when so muted, whisper of our lot shared together. Why does the image of Jesus on a cross have this rooster crowing? What about our rooster causes no alarm?

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Here in Addis, in the heart of this Ancient country’s hundred year capital, as the prayers whirls into a morning din that is mixing bus engines, wild birds, and rising human movements and early conversation, I am always being reminded of my natural embrace of urbanity.

This morning, like most mornings, I think of other people like me. I remember friends and family when it occurs to me what they might like , what they would want to see, how differently we might approach a place. One of my favorite people to think of these past months as we pass through all these capitals of human urbanity is David, my stepfather.

David and my Mom would both wake up like me before sunrise, before the call to prayer. My mother would wake, greet anyone else awake, then muster out for one or two hours of hiking the cities. She would go everywhere and greet anyone - up the hills, around the ports and seashores. David would sit here in this bench seat - observing, smiling, watching and listening.

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Two Rivers

written by Nathan

A Brief history of related lives of Shroyers and Humes

I.

In 1830, several families set out from the Monoghahalia valley in far western Pennsylvania. They were walking to a new frontier where no villages had yet settled. With them they brought all the necessary belongings in ox-carts and horse and buggy. Sheep and cows were herded beside the caravan.

The carriages were full, so the families walked. They brought their livestock of cows, pigs, goats, chickens, and squab. They brought seeds to plant. When they arrived at their new location in tiny Selma, Indiana six weeks later the families had to stay in in the ox-carts and carriages for the winter as the houses they began constructing that Autumn were far from complete. Temperatures that winter dropped below freezing for many weeks on end. They had to rely on hard work and help one another.

Before reaching western Pennsylvania from which this Shroyer journey sprung, generations of families - Jones, Hopkins, Euwellen, and Shroyer - had already lived, married, and settled together. They had bonds of family and belief. These were very pious people with trusted leadership who helped one another.

In the late 1800's, the Shroyer's migrated a third time to South Dakota. After half a generation, they returned to Muncie, Indiana before making another migration to Crockett, Texas where my grandfather and father were born and raised.

In my own childhood of the 1970's, my Shroyer grandparents lived in such faraway places as Abu Dhabi, South Africa, London, Malta, and Netherlands (interesting and confusingly another family name).

I am indebted to my Shroyer ancestors for giving me the confidence to start new beginnings

II.

In the 1830's many of my Hume family ancestors (another family which had immigrated to the United States before the Revolutionary War with Britain) answered a call for missionaries to go into the world and serve. They asked and got congregational support for following the word of God because their faith demanded that they share God's love.

The Hume family's America Mission, while dedicated to spreading Christianity in India, was to serve a  humanitarian mission. They would sail off to India three months at a time to get back and forth to the USA (not including several long stops). Here, in far away lands on the other side of the globe, they would live for three generations. Once they reached Bombay, they had to live on board their boat several months to gain permission to land. The East India Company (which was running business in India) forbade all missionaries from entering India. After appeals for their mission reached parliament in England, special permission was given.

After being raised in Bombay (now Mumbai), India, my great grandfather Edward Hicks Hume went back to the USA for education and became a doctor. He joined up with some college classmates and left for a new

mission to China. On the way, he and his new wife Lotta stopped over in Bombay for a year to volunteer as doctor and nurse at missions his parents and grandparents had begun 60 years prior. Because of my Hume

ancestors fierce dedication to service, I grew up with a grandmother who spoke Chinese and had stories of narrowly escaping the violence of revolutionary wars in China.

III.

When I first came to India, my mother insisted that I understand how our family histories are imperfect. My family's risks, their adventures, their service had not been without mistakes and suffering. In the case of my missionary ancestors, their insistence on introducing western ideas and politics in China and India had likely

caused untold rippling effects that were lasting through to today. 

Similarly, when my Shroyer family migrated to Indiana, South Dakota, and Texas they settled on indigenous land belonging to others. They had land grants; but the use of these grants displaced

None of these families were perfect. Each family had 'black sheep' and hidden sin (for whom they assigned their forgiveness, banishment, or reconciliation - over often extended periods of time). Nor was any family life easy. There were conflicts. They had trouble with other families, settlers, religions, or native peoples.

As our world 'flattens,' as distances become smaller, as travel and migrations are recognized and normal, as our economic participation and advantages muddy in streams of global economies - recognizing the gifts and privileges afforded us today, thanks belong to these ancestors.

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