Não vejo as sobrancelhas desgrenhadas nem a barba vermelha de Reuben Lance há 35 anos, mas em determinado momento elas se tornaram um símbolo para mim das características essenciais da direcção espiritual: inicialmente assustadoras, mas depois graciosamente acolhedoras, uma rejeição dos estereótipos e clichés espirituais, um desprezo às beatitudes penteadas e aos devocionalismos barbeados e, acima de tudo, um companheirismo despretensioso (às vezes tímido e sempre comum) na descoberta cautelosa da extravagância ardente de Pentecostes e Patmos.
"(...) My daughter, she has no use for night runners. You know, her first language is not Luo. Not even Swahili. It is english. When I listen to her talk with her friends, it sounds like gibberish to me. They take bits and pieces of everything - English, Swahili, German, Luo. Sometimes, I get fed up with this. Learn to speak one language properly, I tell them." Rukia laughed to herself. "But I am beggining to resign myself - there's nothing really to do. They live in a mixed-up world. It's just as well, I suppose. In the end, I'm less interested in a daughter who's authentically African than one who is authentically herself." It was getting late; we thanked Rukia for her hospitality and went on our way. But her words would stay with me, bringing into focus my own lingering questions.
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