We Are All Waiting for the Same Rain: A Field Report from Africa

What comes to mind when you think of Africa? For a long time, my mind was cluttered with a series of stubborn stereotypes: endless savannas, running wildlife, or occasional news flashes of war, poverty, and refugees.

That was until a few days ago, when I sat down with two friends from Africa—Evelyn and Lewis. A light rain was falling outside. In less than half an hour, without any grand narratives or solemn interrogations, we simply chatted about the most trivial things. Yet, in the time it took to drink a cup of tea, those once blurry and one-dimensional impressions were shattered by two vibrant individuals.

“If I visit your countries one day, where would you most want to take me?” I tossed this simple question to them.

At the mention of his hometown, Lewis’s eyes instantly lit up. He is from Ghana, a country nourished by gold, cocoa, and endless scenery. Gesticulating as he spoke, he counted down Ghana’s natural wonders, his eyes burning with passion. He said he desperately wanted people to see the real Ghana, rather than the few labels simplified and defined by the news.

Sitting beside him, Evelyn caught his drift and burst into laughter. She is from Tanzania and told me with an unmistakable sense of pride: “Did you know? The only place in the world that produces tanzanite is my hometown.” She warmly sketched a route map for me on the table: first, catch the ocean breeze on Zanzibar Island; next, watch the animals in the national parks; and finally, look up at Mount Kilimanjaro, the highest peak in Africa.

As the conversation grew livelier, I couldn’t help but ask a question that had been buried in my heart for a long time: “When you first arrived in China, did you feel lonely?”

I expected to hear a story about how foreigners struggled to overcome language barriers and felt helpless in an unfamiliar city. After all, the language, food, and environment here were completely foreign to them.

However, they both smiled and shook their heads.

“Even though many Chinese people couldn’t speak English,” Lewis recalled his initial embarrassment upon arriving in China and couldn’t help but laugh out loud, “everyone really tried every possible way to help me. Some flusteredly opened translation apps, some shouted on the roadside to find someone who spoke English, and some even stayed with me until the problem was completely solved.”

His tone softened: “China feels like a ‘home away from home’ to me. Even though I am thousands of miles away from my family, the people here make me feel at peace.”

Evelyn nodded in strong agreement. When she first arrived, the language barrier did make things very inconvenient. But the convenience of technology bridged the digital divide, and what truly warmed her heart was the patience and kindness offered by total strangers.

Over the years, through my work in cross-cultural exchange, I have heard too many stories about loneliness. Scholars, international students, expats… people are always talking about cultural differences and language barriers. But these stories have also made me realize that what truly keeps a person from feeling lonely is not a shared language, but the warm, reaching hands of others.

The sky outside gradually darkened, and our conversation unconsciously drifted to our respective traditional cultures.

Lewis enthusiastically described Ghana’s traditional celebrations to me. In his hometown, before planting and after harvest, the villagers gather together. They sing, dance, pay reverence to their ancestors, and pray to heaven for good weather in the coming year.

“It’s exactly the same in Tanzania!” Evelyn chimed in excitedly. “Although the ways differ across regions, everyone beats the drums and brings out food from their homes to share. It feels just like a festival.”

Hearing this, I smiled and said to them, “Did you know? China’s ancient agricultural society had the exact same customs. We worship ancestors, pray for rain, and celebrate spring plowing and autumn harvests. These traditions are still preserved in many places today.”

At that moment, a wondrous resonance flowed through the air. Thousands of miles of land and sea lay between us, and we had different skin colors and languages. Yet, when we talked about the most ancient earth, we discovered our desires were so deeply alike. In different corners of this planet, people of different colors are all yearning for the land to yield crops, each revering nature and their ancestors in their own way.

It was at that precise moment that this phrase flashed through my mind: We are all waiting for the same rain.

The most authentic understanding of a place rarely comes from cold news reports or sensational videos online. It comes from a real, flesh-and-blood individual from that land. This is exactly why we founded Youth Torch and why we keep pushing forward.

As the dark clouds scatter and the sky clears, Evelyn and Lewis are about to complete their study program in China. They will head back to their homelands with the latest technologies to benefit their people and their land. Before leaving, they left behind letters—for me, and for every Chinese friend who once lent them a hand.