POST by JED: P time or Tea time?

I awoke more out of response to the intense sunlight than out of scholarly duty to attend classes. We had flown half way around the World to Eastern Siberia (Otherwise known as Western New York). It was freezing! The brilliant light reflecting off the snow was dazzling...

I jumped out of bed, and then jumped straight back into bed for fear of frostbite. It was freezing! I scolded myself over-and-over again until I was so angry with me that the freeze paled in comparison and I was hot, and devilishly so! "You stupid idiot, GET OUT OF BED!!!" I screamed at me.

Be-fumbled I found myself into the hall and raced around the house with such whirlwind force that I received windburn to my exposed body parts, which was everything, everywhere. I was leap/flying from the bathroom to the kitchen, over a small pile of composted toddler-toy-parts, when I tilted my head sideways to observe one of the most peculiar things known to twenty-something parents. A toddler and small child were sitting, nearly naked, in a dark, cold lounge room. There they were watching cartoons on telly. "My oh my. How they're not dead I'll never know", I thought to myself, as I kept on my merry, albeit brisk way.

Francesca was just 3 years old at this point in our lives and Lorenzy was hitting the 6 month mark (both were the same weight, and it was the social structure of our morning household that put them in this boat. They would get out of bed and Franny would immediately put Lorenzy into her white, plastic, high chair (?).

Then, without ceasing, Francesca would hurl  anything she could find in the fridge up to Renz, and baby Lala (as is her nickname) would gobble all gifts, unquestioning of her commendable zoo keeper - I'm telling you truly, it's a miracle she didn't die from food poisoning. I mean really, left over cabbage, pots of yoghurt, uncooked eggs, everything was up-for-grabs and combined/offered in a sort of baba-buffet...

In any  case, I'd scoot out the door, slide down the stairs (usually on my buttocks - I cannot tell you how many times I thought there wasn't ice on the stairs - there was, and weeeeeh ow, ow, ow, ow, ooooOOOWWWW!), and trot off to class along the sidewalkless road, cars whipping along splooshing me with half melted, dirty snow.

I'd both love and curse my arrival into Hartwell Hall (The most beautiful building at my campus, reserved for all the proper university students - those who studied business) - my skin would peel in an inferno of pain and I would start to shudder and shake, my insides not warming quick enough (No Australian jacket could ever suffice the cold, harsh, lake effect snow conditions that Brockport heralded. Yes, you're very funny Brockport... You can stop laughing now...).

My friends all thought I was nuts of course. They'd either walked from their dorm room to our class, cappuccino-in-hand, or from their car. None had walked through the blustery night (my class commenced at 7:15am, which is just not right, or proper, and certainly not done in Queen Elizabeth II's Australia) in arctic conditions.

And so I'd sit there, teeth chattering, fingers tapping and then in he'd walk... My smug, Europe-adoring, 7 fingered, upper west side attired - marketing professor, Gerard Seaver. (the term "Professor" is the American equivalent of "Lecturer" for Australians. The "Professors" insisted on being called "Professor" or "Mr." so-and-so... I didn't do too well with this as in Australia we're more casual at uni, (college/university) and we refer to uni academics by their first name (and sadly, they're often tagged with 4 letter adjectives...).

By way of example, one lecturer became almost enraged when I kept referring to him as "Juantan". I apologised and assumed, due to his Malaysian decent, that I had the names mixed up. I then began to call him "Masri". (This really should point out exactly how brainless I am, because I didn't listen to the other students around me who, of course, were using correct protocol) Well, I hadn't had his names mixed up at all and so he flew into a rage about how I should call him "Professor" or "Mr. Juantan", or something of high ranking significance, because after all, even his colleagues were commenting about how I should be made to be more respectful.

Back at Hartwell Hall, Mr. Seaver would walk around the large classroom, with his fingers and thumbs lightly tapping each other, in a sort of "Doctor Evil/Mr. Burns" fashion. This would mean nothing to you, but when someone is missing a finger you cannot help but wonder which finger the corresponding finger, on the opposite hand, is going to greet.

I saw it a thousand times but would still wonder and still stare, time-after-time, day-after-day, month-after-month. He even caught me staring in my final exam. It didn't touch anything, that finger I mean. It went further than the other fingers until it nearly touched the back of his hand, as if by accident. But it always retreated with the other fingers, and then would advance again, almost like it was being magnetically pulled to it's fictional friend, but nooooo, no finger to tap. Not now, and not ever!

And so, in my International Marketing class Mr. Seaver would explain that High Context cultures have less verbally explicit communication and rely on context cues like body language, etc. People from High Context cultures are indirect and tend to avoid disharmony and conflict. They group together with others who have similar experiences and expectations. "Oh, how nice", I thought to myself as I continued to shake the ice from my frozen eye lashes.

These cultures, (he continued) often referred to as Polychronic Cultures, or P-time cultures, tend to handle multiple things concurrently, or intermittently during a time period, and emphasize the number of completed transactions and the number of people involved, rather than the adherence to a time schedule. Being on time is less important in P-time Cultures than in Monochronic Cultures, or M-time cultures. (Wow, sounds like my kind of place. I'm not at all bored, please do go on...)

P-time cultures tend to lend more importance to human relationships and it must be realised that time is considered secondary. (I'm with you, I'm with you!) These cultures are more open to changing their plans on-the-fly and are more accepting of distractions. (At this point I nearly shudder myself off my seat. I understand the conflict that arises when cold air and hot air meet, creating a hurricane, because my bones are freezing, my blood is warm and my skin is STILL burning - I want to spin myself right out of that class and straight into the cafe for a carmelatte...)

Developing a relationship is important to people who are from P-time cultures. The relationship is a key facilitator often driving the team towards deadlines and meeting the all-important schedule. If your project is going to be managed as a virtual team consider a few face-to-face visits to establish rapport and develop a relationship. (The Latinos in the class let out a wee-snigger. I have no idea what they are finding so funny.)

Low context cultures, or M-time cultures are the opposite. They are more direct, value independence and tend to use a lot of written and explicit communication. It is customary to end discussions with a written agreement or contract. North America, Great Britain, German speaking countries and Scandinavian countries, tend to be low context. They are the very opposite of countries like, well, say Nicaragua.

M-time cultures emphasize schedules, a precise reckoning of time and promptness. Time is viewed as a discrete commodity. When observing the M-time culture, you'll notice that the population tends to give more importance to scheduling work.

M-time people place importance on deadlines and generally concentrate on one job at a time. Scheduling is a natural result of this behaviour as it allows the allotment of different times for individual jobs. People from M-time cultures also tend to respect privacy, and private property, and try not to disturb, borrow, or lend to others.

"Wow" I start to daydream. "So you can blame your lack of organisation skills on being from a P-time Culture... Oooor, you don't lend to your brother, because it's just not culturally the norm???" And that's when I zoned out and began to fantasize about drowning in hot, brown, sticky, delicious, java-drinks.

Since moving to Nicaragua I've learnt very quickly that I am innately both P-time and M-time. You can just call me PM Jed if you like. I fit into both cultures equally well. However, I also find it difficult in both - the grass is always greener.

At home in Australia, except for when working at Qantas Airways, I would use phrases and words like "chill out, relax..." I LOVE relationships and doing things whenever they fit is great for me. Yet, if you make me wait for a second too long in a queue when I'm JUST NOT IN THE MOOD, well... &@#$%*!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It's funny to think about how God represents both too. I mean, there is perfect order in the changing of the seasons from Summer, to Autumn, to Winter and then on to Spring. It's beautiful and like clockwork.

Yet he also cares about relationships. He defied his own natural order when he divided the seas so that the Israelites could walk to safety on dry ground. Those examples show me that God is nuts about order, though at times will turn a blind eye to how things "should be" so that we can continue positively in a relationship with Him and each other.

In the past week we had two awesome friends, Pastor Ray and John, visit from our Church in Australia. Basically, and with tongue-in-cheek, their names should have been "Mr. P-time" and "Mr. M-time".

Pastor Ray (or Rayes, as he became known...) has served in Australian Churches for many years, is an optometrist by trade, and has worked intensively planting Churches in Sri Lanka over several decades (and whilst still maintaining the physique of a thirty something year old man...). I also think he has the Australian version of the voice of Bill Cosby. CLICK to view Capital Edge Community Church

The other chap, John, (or Pastor Juan as he was called...) has also served in Australian Churches for many years, is an accountant by trade (yawn), and an all-round-great-guy. (Awesome sense of humour - and this we know for sure, because we tested it! 


Pastor Juan contracted acute bronchitis whilst he was with us and we didn't permit him a moment's downtime, especially not for something as frivolous as visiting a medical professional. His condition was diagnosed in Miami on his homebound journey... Lo Siento!) John is our mission's coordinator and we have known him now for 12 years. My best bud Marky said (and although not true, it is a running joke...), he was honoured to be called "Pastor", as he was overlooked for a disciple's position when Christ was still on this Earth. (No Pastor Juan, you look great for your age!!!)

Well, I knew something was up when within the first couple of hours Pastor P-time had used the phrase "Oky-Doky" no less than 5 times, spoken in Italian to anyone who would listen, paid a tip to the annoying fella who wouldn't stop playing Mexican Mariachi on his guitar by our table, and chatted with half of the restaurant patrons as we had tried to push ourselves out the front doors.

It was ridiculous, completely Australian, out-of-order, and fantastically wonderful. Thank you Pastor P-time for the love you have shown us and our fellow Nicaraguans, who honestly thought of you as a slice of Heaven.

Pastor M-time was equally terrific. He had organised his trip so well that it mightn't have even mattered if we were here or not. He had detailed lists, all the technology, messages from folks at home, the Church, gifts from family and friends, and had spotted the typos in the itineraries that we had sent the pastors prior to their arrival. Thank God for people like Pastor M-time.

Well on the night that the youth came and dominated our house (we call it evangelism, you say tomaytoes, I say tomartoes...), we had organised a mini-olympics for the youth in our barrio. 300 kids/youth were in attendance and it was a great night. My wife, Mrs M-time, had organised charts and lists, and centres, tables, pens, markers, sticky-labels, extra cups, more drinks, a special task-force, etc.

I, Mr P-time, was mindlessly dancing around with all the youth, and even handed over my pair of shorts so that a kid could swim in one of the heats - just wish that I'd known a pastor was standing behind me filming. Thank HEAVENS for the spare tyre (we use spare tyres as flotation devices in the pool) that was sitting right next to me.

I pulled that spare tyre up around my waist and continued to officiate the Olympic Pool races me, with spare tyre around my middle, covering my lack of "M-time appropriate apparel".

The point of this story? I know I've derailed just a tad, but my original thought was that any organisation believing in the power of diversity, or that has the goal of uniting two cultures, has a GIGANTIC task at the fore. Honestly, I don't think I've seen any organisation make too much of a success in this cross-pollinating process. It's difficult!

That being said, in our organisation, Capital on the Edge, we have the goal of embracing who we are, as individuals, and as unique nationalities within the context of a group, and we're moving forward with that in mind.

We're all a bit different. We all have our weird bits, quirks, nut-bag moments, and stuff that we like to think are our most shining assets - so we'll project those bits to the World. (ha ha, how wrong we can sometimes be...)

In the end, time matters, though so do relationships. But which do we prioritise over the other?

My thought is that M-timers are of the utmost importance because they help our World keep ticking.

However, P-timers have a valuable lesson for the rest of us - relationships are to-die-for. Christ cut short his life at the age of just 33 years. He could have chosen to take a different course and enjoy some of the luxuries this World has to offer. Can we not give a little more to the people who surround us? They're everywhere... They need me. They need you. They need Him.