Greetings, are they worth it?

“Good morning, Sister, how are you?”

I didn’t have time for such greetings. I was a midwife at a mission hospital in the Zambian bush, running a ward with 24 beds and often had more than 30 patients plus their families. I had bush clinics to visit, and I was taking eight Zambian nurses through their midwifery theory. I had no time to exchange idle greetings.

Or so I thought.

It was when the pace began to wear me down, my chest felt permanently tight and I wasn’t sleeping well, that I started to slow down. And that was when I began to exchange greetings.

“Good morning, Sister, how are you?”

“Good morning, I am well, and how are you?”

“Ahh, I am very well.”

Smiles go with such greetings, and everyone goes on with their day. For me, happier than before.

Greetings may appear superficial and a waste of time, but they provide a connection to those around us and make us feel part of something bigger.

Where I grew up in Glasgow, we didn’t have specific greetings, but you were expected to converse with strangers – whether it was at a bus stop or in the supermarket queue. It might be just about the weather or the quality of oranges, but we joined together and discussed whatever was in front of us. In fact, in Glasgow, strangers are even given names: “Jimmy” for men, and “Hen” for young women, “Mrs” for older women. If you’re given a name, then you’re no longer a stranger.

I have lived in places where no one talks to you, whether it is over the oranges in the supermarket or in line at the post office. Everyone faces forward, no eye contact is made, not even if voices are raised at the counter or a cute child comes in dressed as a cowboy. No eye contact, no vocal exchange. We don’t know each other. As a result, life in these environments is terribly isolating. You feel as though you have no connection to your fellow man, and it is easy to think that the world would not miss you should you disappear.

On Hydra, I feel a huge connection to my community even though my Greek can barely order a coffee or a beer. However, the “Kalimera” that is called out each morning, and the “Yassass” later in the day, makes me smile. And my smile grows wider if I get a “Yassou”, for this is familiar. It means I know you, you are one of us.

Back in the UK, the Cotswolds isn’t an unfriendly place, and I have many friends to join in conversation and laughter. But a greeting is more likely to be a head nod than a vocal acclaim. A smile is for those you know, and I feel for the elderly whose acquaintances dwindle in number. They should receive a ‘good morning’ and maybe even a smile. We can give the time. It is never wasted.

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