Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Cooking in the bush
How many missionaries does it take to start a chico? Cooking in the bush has been special, especially with the coal chico. The first time we got it out and were struggling to get it going, we had probably a dozen village children at the fence, hollering and trying to tell us what to do. At one point, they all had their cheeks buffed out, blowing through the gate, trying to get us to do the same on the coals. Finally, we just gave in and let them do it.
Sunday Sunrise
Annika and I climbed Oliri (the nearby mountain) last Sunday to watch the sunrise. It’s about an hour and 45 minute hike from my village, so I was out of the house by 4:30. (My parents are probably in shock.) Having thought about it more, I’m not sure how we didn’t get bit by a snake, stung by a scorpion or attacked by a leopard or hyena or crocodile, hiking a bad trail in pitch dark. But it was totally worth it to see the sun come over that horizon. Wow.
Long letters
Alright, gang, these posts are getting pretty long. Sorry, I just type them up hurriedly when I can and don’t really have the chance to cut and prune them like a good journalist should. And there’s so much I want to share with you, so much we need prayer for. Here’s a quick list of prayer requests.
Language learning. I’m getting better, but my homestay and “holiday” in Loki set me back some. And it’s hard!
Relationships. Sometimes I’d like nothing more than to just sit in my house, read the Word and try to shake this tired feeling. So pray that I’ll continue to get out of the house and be super intentional about building relationships, even though it’s really hard with the language barrier.
Focus. I’m fighting distraction. Pray I’ll keep my eyes fixed on Jesus and take every thought captive.
Ministry. We don’t have a formal ministry yet, but keep praying for guidance there and for the ministry our language learning is.
Believers. There aren’t many born-again folks here, but being a believer in Lopit isn’t easy, especially during harvest season when everyone is in the fields by day and drunk by night. Pray for them!
Your prayers are coveted!
Our incredible team and teamleader
19 Aug 06
One of my biggest blessings here is my team. Wow, these people are great. I’m sure part of my thinking they’re so wonderful is due to the proverbial “honeymoon period,” but I’m prepared to cast caution to the wind and say they’re stinkin’ wonderful. We haven’t been without our disagreements and we’ve had to give each other quite a bit of grace because of culture shock, but I’m encouraged by how we’ve pulled together and served one another, especially in prayer. Goodness, does this team pray.
And the general consensus around the Husa house is that our team leader Stephan and his wife Iris are as good as it gets. They’re a great pair. Iris loves us women and I can’t wait to get to know her more. (It’s been a little hard because she’s got four little ones at home, and between them and her, they’ve been in a rotation of sickness.) And Stephan blows me away. His vision for this place and his love for the Lord spur me on. And his character cracks me up. He used to be in the South African army and he’s so hardcore. Yet he’s really compassionate, constantly doting on us women especially.
We laugh about him being a father/big brother to us. The whole falling down the mountain thing gave us plenty evidence of that. The next morning, the village talk was littered with “Oliri” (Stephan’s Lopit name, the mountain near Amirikan) and “Ibedja” (“ee-bed-JA, my Lopit name, runner). I guess he went up and scolded Tito, whose wife I was with, for not taking good care of me and sending me for water just before dark and a huge storm. It got to everyone in the village, because they kept repeating it—wagging their fingers in the air and saying, “Oliri says, ‘You people know better!’ “ Haha. The village put my roommates on house arrest while I was gone, not letting them do anything because “Oliri says, ‘You people should know better!’ “ Oh man I just died when I heard that. What Oliri says is gold. Don’t mess with the crazy Swiss guy.
It got better yesterday. First, some background. During our homestay, there was always this weird guy hanging around the compound I was on. He was actually the one who sent us for water that day and he would just say weird things and even yelled at me one day for not knowing Swahili. But one day he did something exceptionally weird. We were leaving the compound to go to the river and he said, “Ibedja, you must climb the fence.” He said something about when you leave your mother-in-law’s compound and they are still working, you have to climb the fence. I wasn’t buying this, but I had shorts on under my skirt, so I went for it anyway to appease him. At tea after church the next day, I was telling Stephan and the team about this and asking the Lopit guys there what the significance was or if the guy was just being a punk. Stephan got a little ticked and was like, “This guy just wanted to look up your skirt.” That’s what I was thinking, too. Haha.
So he’s been asking to meet this guy and to talk to him for a while. And finally yesterday he had the chance because Mr. Weird come down with us to Amirika. So Steve takes off from his compound on a total mission and finds this guy and just starts drilling him with questions. Pattie and I were with him and our jaws seriously dropped. So he’s asking why he made me climb the fence, why he followed us here, why he made me go get water. And the guys just denying it. The best part was Weird Guy had this notebook thing he was sort of reading through while they talked and eventually Steve grabbed it out of his hand and was like, “You just wanted to look up her skirt, yes?” I almost died. Haha. It went on like that a little and the guy finally admitted it was a “mistake” but never explained why he did it. Steve even got him to apologize. (This is a big deal because Weird is from the rainmaker’s clan, which makes him a lot like royalty.) And then in a last bit of greatness, said “This woman, she has brothers. And you know how brothers are.” Apparently, this idea translates across many cultures. Hehehe.
Anyway, Steve’s hardcore. I can’t wait to learn from him—he’s passionate about theology and glorifying the Lord by learning more about him. So praise God for a great team and a great team leader—both definitely answers to prayer.
One of my biggest blessings here is my team. Wow, these people are great. I’m sure part of my thinking they’re so wonderful is due to the proverbial “honeymoon period,” but I’m prepared to cast caution to the wind and say they’re stinkin’ wonderful. We haven’t been without our disagreements and we’ve had to give each other quite a bit of grace because of culture shock, but I’m encouraged by how we’ve pulled together and served one another, especially in prayer. Goodness, does this team pray.
And the general consensus around the Husa house is that our team leader Stephan and his wife Iris are as good as it gets. They’re a great pair. Iris loves us women and I can’t wait to get to know her more. (It’s been a little hard because she’s got four little ones at home, and between them and her, they’ve been in a rotation of sickness.) And Stephan blows me away. His vision for this place and his love for the Lord spur me on. And his character cracks me up. He used to be in the South African army and he’s so hardcore. Yet he’s really compassionate, constantly doting on us women especially.
We laugh about him being a father/big brother to us. The whole falling down the mountain thing gave us plenty evidence of that. The next morning, the village talk was littered with “Oliri” (Stephan’s Lopit name, the mountain near Amirikan) and “Ibedja” (“ee-bed-JA, my Lopit name, runner). I guess he went up and scolded Tito, whose wife I was with, for not taking good care of me and sending me for water just before dark and a huge storm. It got to everyone in the village, because they kept repeating it—wagging their fingers in the air and saying, “Oliri says, ‘You people know better!’ “ Haha. The village put my roommates on house arrest while I was gone, not letting them do anything because “Oliri says, ‘You people should know better!’ “ Oh man I just died when I heard that. What Oliri says is gold. Don’t mess with the crazy Swiss guy.
It got better yesterday. First, some background. During our homestay, there was always this weird guy hanging around the compound I was on. He was actually the one who sent us for water that day and he would just say weird things and even yelled at me one day for not knowing Swahili. But one day he did something exceptionally weird. We were leaving the compound to go to the river and he said, “Ibedja, you must climb the fence.” He said something about when you leave your mother-in-law’s compound and they are still working, you have to climb the fence. I wasn’t buying this, but I had shorts on under my skirt, so I went for it anyway to appease him. At tea after church the next day, I was telling Stephan and the team about this and asking the Lopit guys there what the significance was or if the guy was just being a punk. Stephan got a little ticked and was like, “This guy just wanted to look up your skirt.” That’s what I was thinking, too. Haha.
So he’s been asking to meet this guy and to talk to him for a while. And finally yesterday he had the chance because Mr. Weird come down with us to Amirika. So Steve takes off from his compound on a total mission and finds this guy and just starts drilling him with questions. Pattie and I were with him and our jaws seriously dropped. So he’s asking why he made me climb the fence, why he followed us here, why he made me go get water. And the guys just denying it. The best part was Weird Guy had this notebook thing he was sort of reading through while they talked and eventually Steve grabbed it out of his hand and was like, “You just wanted to look up her skirt, yes?” I almost died. Haha. It went on like that a little and the guy finally admitted it was a “mistake” but never explained why he did it. Steve even got him to apologize. (This is a big deal because Weird is from the rainmaker’s clan, which makes him a lot like royalty.) And then in a last bit of greatness, said “This woman, she has brothers. And you know how brothers are.” Apparently, this idea translates across many cultures. Hehehe.
Anyway, Steve’s hardcore. I can’t wait to learn from him—he’s passionate about theology and glorifying the Lord by learning more about him. So praise God for a great team and a great team leader—both definitely answers to prayer.
Mountain Mornings
19 Aug 06
Mong, mong, mong to mo tia! (Hello, hello, good morning!)
Good morning, good morning. Greetings from the rocks high above the valley of “Amirikan” in South Sudan.
Mornings here in Lopit might be my favorite time. I do my best to get up and have our bamboo gate unlocked by 6:30. You see, it’s a cultural thing to make yourself visible and greeting everyone in the morning. We weren’t doing this at first and William—our neighbor and self-proclaimed watchdog—told us the women in the village were very unhappy with us.
It’s neat to hear the mountains wake up.
The roosters start the whole chorus with their obnoxious cock-a-doodle-do-ing. Have you ever noticed that when roosters crow in movies, it’s always like once, just as a beautiful sunrise is coming over some Midwestern farmland? Yeah, well, that’s Hollywood for you. The dumb birds go on for hours and hours. And you can hear them from every village, echoing across the mountains. Let me tell you, many of those first days down in Amirikan, I longed to drop-kick one of those roosters… especially the one who camped outside my tent.
But I digress. Back to the village waking up.
You’ve got the roosters. Then the flutes start. Men with flutes each have their own signature cadence, and it’s often meant to tell everyone where they are coming or going. They take their cattle to the fields early, so I often lay in bed, listening to the little mini parades march by, their flute songs accented by the clamor of goat and cow bells and the occasional whine or moo.
Then you hear the bees and flies kick in. Seriously. I know it’s hard to believe, but all of a sudden, it’s like God turns on a switch and hummmmmmmm there they go. It’s like an insect generator kicking in, I kid you not.
And finally, slowly but surely, the voices of the people start. First it’s a low hum, not much different than the bugs and flies. But then it gets louder and louder. Regular voices on the compounds, then yells cutting across the air as one man yells to another in a compound farther up the mountain. (The other day I was thinking how nice it’d be to be able to understand—if only for a minute or two—all the things these people were talking/yelling about in the morning. I’m so curious.)
The children start to yell and play and sing little songs. Oh, and the babies. Oh gracious the babies. They’re crying their heads off. And you can hear the tiny sound of the bells tied around the babies’ ankles as their older siblings bounce them up and down on their backs, trying to comfort them. Before you know it, it’s a full-blown roar and the day has begun.
I love to just sit on my rocks and listen in the mornings. Its sort of an amazing thing, how night turns into day here. I hope when God brings light to the darkness of peoples’ hearts here, it’s just as beautiful and complete.
And it’s a wonderful backdrop for my quiet times in the morning. I grab my Bible and journal and just sit out here, taking it all in and spending time with the Lord. I take my two cups of chi and begin my day in the best way I know how.
And so here I sit this morning, mixing it up a bit with my laptop. It probably won’t be long before I’ve got a crowd of village children swarming around this glowing plastic thing. Oh, wait, I was wrong. I just looked back and saw about 15 little faces pressed to our bamboo fence, staring over my shoulder. I’m sure they have no where to even begin to place this thing.
Hehe, reminds me of a little story. I had a woman over the other day, sitting inside and drinking chi. And when it came time to leave, she went toward the door and just stood there for a second, confused. She grabbed at it. Pushed on it. I think she was darn near close to clawing at it when I realized what was going on and quickly turned the handle. Since I’m constantly being laughed at and forced to laugh at my own silliness and confusion in this culture, it was nice to have a moment where I could laugh inside about someone else being such a fish out of their cultural and experiential water.
Alright, I’ve got some people to greet. Mong, mong! (Goodbye, goodbye!)
Mong, mong, mong to mo tia! (Hello, hello, good morning!)
Good morning, good morning. Greetings from the rocks high above the valley of “Amirikan” in South Sudan.
Mornings here in Lopit might be my favorite time. I do my best to get up and have our bamboo gate unlocked by 6:30. You see, it’s a cultural thing to make yourself visible and greeting everyone in the morning. We weren’t doing this at first and William—our neighbor and self-proclaimed watchdog—told us the women in the village were very unhappy with us.
It’s neat to hear the mountains wake up.
The roosters start the whole chorus with their obnoxious cock-a-doodle-do-ing. Have you ever noticed that when roosters crow in movies, it’s always like once, just as a beautiful sunrise is coming over some Midwestern farmland? Yeah, well, that’s Hollywood for you. The dumb birds go on for hours and hours. And you can hear them from every village, echoing across the mountains. Let me tell you, many of those first days down in Amirikan, I longed to drop-kick one of those roosters… especially the one who camped outside my tent.
But I digress. Back to the village waking up.
You’ve got the roosters. Then the flutes start. Men with flutes each have their own signature cadence, and it’s often meant to tell everyone where they are coming or going. They take their cattle to the fields early, so I often lay in bed, listening to the little mini parades march by, their flute songs accented by the clamor of goat and cow bells and the occasional whine or moo.
Then you hear the bees and flies kick in. Seriously. I know it’s hard to believe, but all of a sudden, it’s like God turns on a switch and hummmmmmmm there they go. It’s like an insect generator kicking in, I kid you not.
And finally, slowly but surely, the voices of the people start. First it’s a low hum, not much different than the bugs and flies. But then it gets louder and louder. Regular voices on the compounds, then yells cutting across the air as one man yells to another in a compound farther up the mountain. (The other day I was thinking how nice it’d be to be able to understand—if only for a minute or two—all the things these people were talking/yelling about in the morning. I’m so curious.)
The children start to yell and play and sing little songs. Oh, and the babies. Oh gracious the babies. They’re crying their heads off. And you can hear the tiny sound of the bells tied around the babies’ ankles as their older siblings bounce them up and down on their backs, trying to comfort them. Before you know it, it’s a full-blown roar and the day has begun.
I love to just sit on my rocks and listen in the mornings. Its sort of an amazing thing, how night turns into day here. I hope when God brings light to the darkness of peoples’ hearts here, it’s just as beautiful and complete.
And it’s a wonderful backdrop for my quiet times in the morning. I grab my Bible and journal and just sit out here, taking it all in and spending time with the Lord. I take my two cups of chi and begin my day in the best way I know how.
And so here I sit this morning, mixing it up a bit with my laptop. It probably won’t be long before I’ve got a crowd of village children swarming around this glowing plastic thing. Oh, wait, I was wrong. I just looked back and saw about 15 little faces pressed to our bamboo fence, staring over my shoulder. I’m sure they have no where to even begin to place this thing.
Hehe, reminds me of a little story. I had a woman over the other day, sitting inside and drinking chi. And when it came time to leave, she went toward the door and just stood there for a second, confused. She grabbed at it. Pushed on it. I think she was darn near close to clawing at it when I realized what was going on and quickly turned the handle. Since I’m constantly being laughed at and forced to laugh at my own silliness and confusion in this culture, it was nice to have a moment where I could laugh inside about someone else being such a fish out of their cultural and experiential water.
Alright, I’ve got some people to greet. Mong, mong! (Goodbye, goodbye!)
Curses and Blessings
To explain a bit of the cultural beast we’re dealing with here, it’s an animistic system—a system of witchdoctors, landlords and rainmakers. It plays out in almost every area of life. They have to get the blessing of the landlord in order to have crops. They have to make the rainmaker new gardens or slaughter cows in order for him to call for the rain. They take their sick to the witchdoctor so he can poke and prod at them, cut them and let their blood and make them do silly things so they can get well. (You often see these scars and things when the people finally come to the clinic to be taken care of with the white man’s medicine.)
I’ve never had to deal with curses and blessings. And, really, I don’t know how to tell which one is going on. We thought they were cursing us when they’d take our heads, blow on both ears and spit in our faces. Turns out that’s a really good greeting. (And… really… really… sick…) We’ve been told we can’t have our curtains open in our house while we’re inside because people will look in from the outside and give us the evil eye to put a curse on us. Some think, I’m sure, that I fell down the mountains because a curse had been put on me. It’s a hard thing to deal with—they think every good thing comes from the god “Holum” (or something like that) and every bad thing comes from “Jok.” They often “send” Jok along to other villages so he takes his bad there. A child dies, it’s Jok. It rains, it’s Holum. Or the rainmaker, depending on who you’re talking to. Not only is this difficult for us Westerners to understand, but it makes a very complex problem for new believers who have grown up in this system. You have people who say they are Christians—normally, they think just because they have a Christian (English) name, they’re a Christian (remnants of an old Catholic ministry gone awry here, I’m told)—who are still working in the rainmaker’s garden or calling on Jok or slaughtering goats for the landlord.
Here’s one neat story for you, though. Cath, one of my teammates, was doing her homestay at a guy’s house and the wind picked up quite a bit. He said he wished the wind would stop and the rain would come, because they needed it for the gardens. So Cath asked, do you believe my God can stop the wind and bring the rain? And he said yes. And so they prayed for it. And sure enough, the wind stopped and it poured. And this guy just danced and danced in the rain. He knew who brought it. I pray he soon knows from whom all good things come!
I’ve never had to deal with curses and blessings. And, really, I don’t know how to tell which one is going on. We thought they were cursing us when they’d take our heads, blow on both ears and spit in our faces. Turns out that’s a really good greeting. (And… really… really… sick…) We’ve been told we can’t have our curtains open in our house while we’re inside because people will look in from the outside and give us the evil eye to put a curse on us. Some think, I’m sure, that I fell down the mountains because a curse had been put on me. It’s a hard thing to deal with—they think every good thing comes from the god “Holum” (or something like that) and every bad thing comes from “Jok.” They often “send” Jok along to other villages so he takes his bad there. A child dies, it’s Jok. It rains, it’s Holum. Or the rainmaker, depending on who you’re talking to. Not only is this difficult for us Westerners to understand, but it makes a very complex problem for new believers who have grown up in this system. You have people who say they are Christians—normally, they think just because they have a Christian (English) name, they’re a Christian (remnants of an old Catholic ministry gone awry here, I’m told)—who are still working in the rainmaker’s garden or calling on Jok or slaughtering goats for the landlord.
Here’s one neat story for you, though. Cath, one of my teammates, was doing her homestay at a guy’s house and the wind picked up quite a bit. He said he wished the wind would stop and the rain would come, because they needed it for the gardens. So Cath asked, do you believe my God can stop the wind and bring the rain? And he said yes. And so they prayed for it. And sure enough, the wind stopped and it poured. And this guy just danced and danced in the rain. He knew who brought it. I pray he soon knows from whom all good things come!
Spiritual Warfare
17 Aug 06
I was thinking last night, and I’m afraid it must appear that all I’m doing up here in Lopit is trouncing around in the mountains, falling down ravines and eating strange food. The problem is it’s a lot easier to tell those stories—the funny ones about cultural oddities—than to really get into the spiritual stuff that’s happening here. First, I guess, because I don’t always understand the spiritual things. Truly, I’m from the West, and these sorts of spiritual warfare aren’t familiar, they don’t into the system by which I unconsciously organize my experiences, my thoughts, my perceptions. And so it’s really hard to process through them in my own journaling, let alone put them to words that people back home can understand.
Last night, I had my first touch of fear since getting into Africa. The girls from Sohot (a village about a half-hour hike away) came over for dinner and as they were leaving right around missionary midnight (9 o’clock), we heard these strange wailing sounds from outside. And for some reason it just struck a fear in us. You know how you can feel your hair stand up on end? It was one of those times. And I’m not even sure why. You hear a lot of strange noises in these mountains—from drunk people yelling to children singing to women screaming to flutes… fluting—and I hadn’t really been alarmed by any before this. But these cries were ultra-foreign and chilled me to the bone. So we just joined together and prayed. And praise God, that his perfect love casts out fear. And the wailing also stopped.
The girls saw the source of the cries on the way home—some old guy just crouched on the path, rocking back and forth. They weren’t really sure what was going on, but they managed to pass him without trouble.
But, really, I was just reminded again of how I don’t really have hooks on which to hang these new experiences. So pray that as we learn the language and culture, we’ll be given the knowledge of how to understand and deal with these situations.
I was thinking last night, and I’m afraid it must appear that all I’m doing up here in Lopit is trouncing around in the mountains, falling down ravines and eating strange food. The problem is it’s a lot easier to tell those stories—the funny ones about cultural oddities—than to really get into the spiritual stuff that’s happening here. First, I guess, because I don’t always understand the spiritual things. Truly, I’m from the West, and these sorts of spiritual warfare aren’t familiar, they don’t into the system by which I unconsciously organize my experiences, my thoughts, my perceptions. And so it’s really hard to process through them in my own journaling, let alone put them to words that people back home can understand.
Last night, I had my first touch of fear since getting into Africa. The girls from Sohot (a village about a half-hour hike away) came over for dinner and as they were leaving right around missionary midnight (9 o’clock), we heard these strange wailing sounds from outside. And for some reason it just struck a fear in us. You know how you can feel your hair stand up on end? It was one of those times. And I’m not even sure why. You hear a lot of strange noises in these mountains—from drunk people yelling to children singing to women screaming to flutes… fluting—and I hadn’t really been alarmed by any before this. But these cries were ultra-foreign and chilled me to the bone. So we just joined together and prayed. And praise God, that his perfect love casts out fear. And the wailing also stopped.
The girls saw the source of the cries on the way home—some old guy just crouched on the path, rocking back and forth. They weren’t really sure what was going on, but they managed to pass him without trouble.
But, really, I was just reminded again of how I don’t really have hooks on which to hang these new experiences. So pray that as we learn the language and culture, we’ll be given the knowledge of how to understand and deal with these situations.
Village telegram, Part II
17 Aug 06
So about that village telegram I was talking about. It just got better.
Today I was laid up at the house with this bum ankle, but we were having the team over later for dinner and needed to get messages to all of them.
There are always little kids hanging out outside our house, so I decided it’d be fun to have a little experiment. I wrote notes to the fellas in Longija, the ladies in Sohot and one family in Fuerra. It took a lot of gesturing and looking silly, but I finally got the message across to the kids that I wanted them to take the notes to the other villages. Luckily, us foreign folk—even the Kenyan family—stick out and everyone knows who we are, so I just had to keep repeating their names.
The experiment was a success, as within an hour we had each of the kids back on the compound, out of breath but with reply notes from two of the three huts. Haha. I was pretty giddy. Who needs email? Who needs cell phones?
I love the bush.
So about that village telegram I was talking about. It just got better.
Today I was laid up at the house with this bum ankle, but we were having the team over later for dinner and needed to get messages to all of them.
There are always little kids hanging out outside our house, so I decided it’d be fun to have a little experiment. I wrote notes to the fellas in Longija, the ladies in Sohot and one family in Fuerra. It took a lot of gesturing and looking silly, but I finally got the message across to the kids that I wanted them to take the notes to the other villages. Luckily, us foreign folk—even the Kenyan family—stick out and everyone knows who we are, so I just had to keep repeating their names.
The experiment was a success, as within an hour we had each of the kids back on the compound, out of breath but with reply notes from two of the three huts. Haha. I was pretty giddy. Who needs email? Who needs cell phones?
I love the bush.
Moral Dilemma
16 Aug 06
I felt a little guilty coming home from Loki and hearing more reports of little children dying of malaria. It’s just tearing through this area right now and every day I hear of another little one dying.
And here I was, I just tweaked an ankle and an arm, and I had the resources to be flown out. It’s been a struggle for me, accepting that. I don’t think I have yet.
I hate seeing them sick. There is some kind of cold going around, too. All the kids have runny noses and these deep coughs that just make my body hurt for them. And their parents don’t take them to the clinic. They take them to the witchdoctor. The last resort is the clinic.
It seems so backward to me, the Westerner.
An AIM doc told us the story once of all these African children dying in hospitals of things as simple as dehydration and diarrhea. Handfuls of them would die everyday in the hospital he was working at. And all they needed was rehydration drinks and a little attention. Ugh.
I felt a little guilty coming home from Loki and hearing more reports of little children dying of malaria. It’s just tearing through this area right now and every day I hear of another little one dying.
And here I was, I just tweaked an ankle and an arm, and I had the resources to be flown out. It’s been a struggle for me, accepting that. I don’t think I have yet.
I hate seeing them sick. There is some kind of cold going around, too. All the kids have runny noses and these deep coughs that just make my body hurt for them. And their parents don’t take them to the clinic. They take them to the witchdoctor. The last resort is the clinic.
It seems so backward to me, the Westerner.
An AIM doc told us the story once of all these African children dying in hospitals of things as simple as dehydration and diarrhea. Handfuls of them would die everyday in the hospital he was working at. And all they needed was rehydration drinks and a little attention. Ugh.
Coming Home
16 Aug 06
I got back to Lopit safe and sound this afternoon, but not without some bush missionary troubles.
We flew in a little mosquito of a plane and had to leave half of my stuff in Loki so we could make weight. Then we landed on this absolutely gorgeous mountaintop about halfway between here and Loki. We were dropping off supplies for another missionary. I don’t want you to get the idea we’re landing at full-blown airports here. Heck, these aren’t anywhere near that. They’re just cleared strips of grass and dirt—our one here in Lopit can’t even handle a plane big enough to carry our entire team. Anyway…
Our landing was fine, but as we were taxing down the airstrip, all of a sudden the back of the plane just sunk to the ground. Apparently, we’d hit a soft spot—probably ants had hallowed out the ground underneath—and the entire left wheel of the plane was in the ground. Eek. (I’m sort of convinced it was because of all the weight I’ve gained since I got here.) Praise God, though, AIM AIR pilots are amazing and really good at what they do—they need to be just to land on these kind of airstrips—so they calmly accessed the situation and borrowed some of the locals’ machetes to dig the wheel out.
But it was a funny thing, just knowing we were in the middle of no where and would have probably been stuck there for a while before we could get out. But God is good and got me back to Lopit only an hour late for our team meeting.
I got back to Lopit safe and sound this afternoon, but not without some bush missionary troubles.
We flew in a little mosquito of a plane and had to leave half of my stuff in Loki so we could make weight. Then we landed on this absolutely gorgeous mountaintop about halfway between here and Loki. We were dropping off supplies for another missionary. I don’t want you to get the idea we’re landing at full-blown airports here. Heck, these aren’t anywhere near that. They’re just cleared strips of grass and dirt—our one here in Lopit can’t even handle a plane big enough to carry our entire team. Anyway…
Our landing was fine, but as we were taxing down the airstrip, all of a sudden the back of the plane just sunk to the ground. Apparently, we’d hit a soft spot—probably ants had hallowed out the ground underneath—and the entire left wheel of the plane was in the ground. Eek. (I’m sort of convinced it was because of all the weight I’ve gained since I got here.) Praise God, though, AIM AIR pilots are amazing and really good at what they do—they need to be just to land on these kind of airstrips—so they calmly accessed the situation and borrowed some of the locals’ machetes to dig the wheel out.
But it was a funny thing, just knowing we were in the middle of no where and would have probably been stuck there for a while before we could get out. But God is good and got me back to Lopit only an hour late for our team meeting.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Our neighbors
When we first got into our house, there was a group of children there waiting to greet us. They really like to come visit because we have some kind of fruit tree in our front yard.
Caravan into Sudan
Here’s our caravan on the way into Sudan. Check out that view! We had three LandCruisers and the 911—this huge German monster that carried all our stuff.
Home Sweet Home
This is a part of one of the villages here. The family compounds are built on terraces and tucked into the hills. It’s really, really cool, but can get confusing when you’re trying to find your way home. It’s sort of like those suburban neighborhoods where every house looks the same.
Goats for dinner
Our last night on the AIC compound we had a big feast. We even slaughtered two goats! (And, yes, I watched. I’m going to have to learn how.) The ladies humored Sharon—the Matusik’s oldest daughter—and I while we tried to help them cook.
Meet my new family
Friday, August 18, 2006
No sleeping in here
Note: This is the second blog via air mail to be posted. Make sure you read to the end ... it is very powerful and what an AWESOME testimony of past missionaries and their work and sacrifices. -- Ginger
July 30, 2006 ...
I thought I'd be able to sleep in a little this morning, but come 6:30, bombs started erupting all around my tent. And by bombs, I mean mangos. I guess the night guard thought the crack of dawn was the perfect time to start harvesting mangos from the tree over out tent.
All I could do was laugh, especially as his daughter, probably 8- or 9-years-old, stood just outside our mosquito net doors and stared at us in our beds. Staring is a completely acceptable part of the African culture, especially when the object of your stare is a white person.
A great beginning to a great day, haha.
We had our first Sunday service here in Lopit and it was really superb. We had to intoduce ourselves like always, but this time was different because we were finally here in our own church -- our new church home. Stephan (team leader) introduced us all, starting with Craig from Australia, then Martin and Daniel. then Cath from South Africa, The Musuvus from Kenya, then us girls from the States. To sit there and see six countries represented (Stephan is himself from Switzerland and South Africa) and to hear how so many churches and people all over the globe were praying for our team and for the advancement of the gospil in Lopit ... Wow! Just Wow!
There weren't a ton of people at the church -- there are only a handful of Christians in the entire mountains -- but there were some there who were just joyful in the Lord and really walking with Jesus. What an encouragement!
The legacy of previous AIM missionaries here is incredible. They still all know -- evey way up in the hills -- about Barbara and Martha, two women who were here in the 50s. They really pioneered the work in Lopit. And then there is Thelma from Australia. I think she was here in the 80s during a window when people could get in. They know them so well because these women set out to learn their language. What a testament to our approach, an affirmation that learning language really does matter.
Then we mention Lanny Arensen. I've told you about him before. He's now the international director at AIM, but back in 1978 -- I think it was -- he came to Lopit with his wife, Janice. they stayed here for eight years -- until 1986 -- (again, approximate), when Janice was shot in an ambush on the road to Kenya. After that, I think all missionaries were forced out anyway but the thing is, people still know Lanny's name. Even people who were likely very young when he was here, they know him. Apparently missionaries are such big deals, their stories are passed down in village tales/history. The legacy is huge.
It used to be that the Lopit didn't allow AIM to build houses in the hills and live in those villages. They were made to stay at the bottom of the hills in the AIC compound. Lanny told us this a few weeks ago. But now we are building houses in the village -- five of them, even! -- and the people are not only accepting, but they have worked hard and sacrificed much to get us settled in the houses and gave us the plots without any problems or payment. How crazy is that?
Lanny really believes that Janice's blood helped open up these doors we have before us now. He thinks the guy who is chief of the main village now was in the car that day, and he's sure it's played a part. Surely, the people see our commitment, Lanny and Janice's commitment, in what we were willing to sacrifice. And just like this mango tree above my head was planted by Janice and I daily enjoy its fruit, so too is my team enjoying the fruit in ministry of Janice's death.
July 30, 2006 ...
I thought I'd be able to sleep in a little this morning, but come 6:30, bombs started erupting all around my tent. And by bombs, I mean mangos. I guess the night guard thought the crack of dawn was the perfect time to start harvesting mangos from the tree over out tent.
All I could do was laugh, especially as his daughter, probably 8- or 9-years-old, stood just outside our mosquito net doors and stared at us in our beds. Staring is a completely acceptable part of the African culture, especially when the object of your stare is a white person.
A great beginning to a great day, haha.
We had our first Sunday service here in Lopit and it was really superb. We had to intoduce ourselves like always, but this time was different because we were finally here in our own church -- our new church home. Stephan (team leader) introduced us all, starting with Craig from Australia, then Martin and Daniel. then Cath from South Africa, The Musuvus from Kenya, then us girls from the States. To sit there and see six countries represented (Stephan is himself from Switzerland and South Africa) and to hear how so many churches and people all over the globe were praying for our team and for the advancement of the gospil in Lopit ... Wow! Just Wow!
There weren't a ton of people at the church -- there are only a handful of Christians in the entire mountains -- but there were some there who were just joyful in the Lord and really walking with Jesus. What an encouragement!
The legacy of previous AIM missionaries here is incredible. They still all know -- evey way up in the hills -- about Barbara and Martha, two women who were here in the 50s. They really pioneered the work in Lopit. And then there is Thelma from Australia. I think she was here in the 80s during a window when people could get in. They know them so well because these women set out to learn their language. What a testament to our approach, an affirmation that learning language really does matter.
Then we mention Lanny Arensen. I've told you about him before. He's now the international director at AIM, but back in 1978 -- I think it was -- he came to Lopit with his wife, Janice. they stayed here for eight years -- until 1986 -- (again, approximate), when Janice was shot in an ambush on the road to Kenya. After that, I think all missionaries were forced out anyway but the thing is, people still know Lanny's name. Even people who were likely very young when he was here, they know him. Apparently missionaries are such big deals, their stories are passed down in village tales/history. The legacy is huge.
It used to be that the Lopit didn't allow AIM to build houses in the hills and live in those villages. They were made to stay at the bottom of the hills in the AIC compound. Lanny told us this a few weeks ago. But now we are building houses in the village -- five of them, even! -- and the people are not only accepting, but they have worked hard and sacrificed much to get us settled in the houses and gave us the plots without any problems or payment. How crazy is that?
Lanny really believes that Janice's blood helped open up these doors we have before us now. He thinks the guy who is chief of the main village now was in the car that day, and he's sure it's played a part. Surely, the people see our commitment, Lanny and Janice's commitment, in what we were willing to sacrifice. And just like this mango tree above my head was planted by Janice and I daily enjoy its fruit, so too is my team enjoying the fruit in ministry of Janice's death.
Arrival in Lopit
Note: This blog was received via air mail (snail mail) just this week so that is the reason for the delay ... Ginger
July 29, 2006 ...
Tonight, I shared a pit latrine with a toad, two chameleons and a myriad of other African critters.
Just now, a mango crashed down loudly on my tent from the tree above our camp.
I can hear pesky murmur of children's voices from somewhere in the village ... or maybe that is simply the mosquitoes. (It is 11 o'clock, I suppose.)
Africa is such a crazy place.
We arrived here in lopit a few days ago, after being inducted into missionary life by a ridicuously bumpy 8-hour drive across the Kenya/Sudan border and all the way into these hills.
It was nuts, seeing all that countryside fly by as we manuevered our way along the dirt -- never paved -- road and around the many potholes and random detours.
We saw so many people -- with varying degrees of clothing -- along the way, most of whom stood waving, seemingly baffled by our terribly white skin. Once, we stopped to lunch under some nice trees. There were men and women there from some tribe who fussed over us terribly. These three women took turns holding Salome -- my German teammember's red-haired one-year-old baby girl -- and eventually tried to persuade Doris to leave her with them. (Doris didn't take them up on the deal.)
It was so surreal, the whole trip here we saw so many goats and camels and baboons and things. The land seemed to go on forever, only occassionally interrupted by a cluster of huts or a water pump. It felt like a dream.
I had to carefully choose my bush to pee behind -- the land is riddled with landmines from the war, but they've cleared the roads and a 5-meter buffer. Still, I never could have imagined myself being careful of landmines while popping a squat in the Sudan. That's crazy.
What's more, once when Kim and I had found the perfect bush, there was some sort of mysterious animal making noises inside it. Curious. I guess I'll never know if said mysterious animal was dangerous or if my life was in danger. HaHa.
I took my first bush showers with confidence and took on the aforementioned pit latrines with ease. I've been about two early morning cock-a-doodle-doos from drop-kicking a rooster who'd taken perch just outside my tent. We're all contemplating ways to shut up that cat in heat. A man sweeps outside my tent each morning. He's sweeping the clay/dirt ground though, which I may never understand.
I played catch just as soon as I could after I got here. It wasn't long before my teammate Craig missed my throw. It went awry and put a dent in my teamleader's landcruiser. I always like to get things off on the right foot.
In the last couple of days, we've moved the game outside the compound, drawing quite a bit of attention from the village people. You won't believe this, but the lopit women have pretty good arms, all things considered. Alright, my pillow calls and I need to get the dik-dik (strange deer-like pet) out of our tent before she wakes up my tentmates ... (such an Africa moment.)
Mong!
July 29, 2006 ...
Tonight, I shared a pit latrine with a toad, two chameleons and a myriad of other African critters.
Just now, a mango crashed down loudly on my tent from the tree above our camp.
I can hear pesky murmur of children's voices from somewhere in the village ... or maybe that is simply the mosquitoes. (It is 11 o'clock, I suppose.)
Africa is such a crazy place.
We arrived here in lopit a few days ago, after being inducted into missionary life by a ridicuously bumpy 8-hour drive across the Kenya/Sudan border and all the way into these hills.
It was nuts, seeing all that countryside fly by as we manuevered our way along the dirt -- never paved -- road and around the many potholes and random detours.
We saw so many people -- with varying degrees of clothing -- along the way, most of whom stood waving, seemingly baffled by our terribly white skin. Once, we stopped to lunch under some nice trees. There were men and women there from some tribe who fussed over us terribly. These three women took turns holding Salome -- my German teammember's red-haired one-year-old baby girl -- and eventually tried to persuade Doris to leave her with them. (Doris didn't take them up on the deal.)
It was so surreal, the whole trip here we saw so many goats and camels and baboons and things. The land seemed to go on forever, only occassionally interrupted by a cluster of huts or a water pump. It felt like a dream.
I had to carefully choose my bush to pee behind -- the land is riddled with landmines from the war, but they've cleared the roads and a 5-meter buffer. Still, I never could have imagined myself being careful of landmines while popping a squat in the Sudan. That's crazy.
What's more, once when Kim and I had found the perfect bush, there was some sort of mysterious animal making noises inside it. Curious. I guess I'll never know if said mysterious animal was dangerous or if my life was in danger. HaHa.
I took my first bush showers with confidence and took on the aforementioned pit latrines with ease. I've been about two early morning cock-a-doodle-doos from drop-kicking a rooster who'd taken perch just outside my tent. We're all contemplating ways to shut up that cat in heat. A man sweeps outside my tent each morning. He's sweeping the clay/dirt ground though, which I may never understand.
I played catch just as soon as I could after I got here. It wasn't long before my teammate Craig missed my throw. It went awry and put a dent in my teamleader's landcruiser. I always like to get things off on the right foot.
In the last couple of days, we've moved the game outside the compound, drawing quite a bit of attention from the village people. You won't believe this, but the lopit women have pretty good arms, all things considered. Alright, my pillow calls and I need to get the dik-dik (strange deer-like pet) out of our tent before she wakes up my tentmates ... (such an Africa moment.)
Mong!
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Water... fall.
Alright, so everyone is wondering what the junk happened. First, I'll tell you that the x-ray machine was there, there was a guy to work it and the films came back great--no breaks! Praise Jesus! And, better yet, it worked out that I can get on a flight home tomorrow morning. God works against all odds. ;) I'm super happy because I'm really homesick for Lopit and my teammates. I've only been gone two days. I'm pathetic.
Anyway, the story...
I went with one of the village ladies to get water from the river that isn't far from my house. It's actually hard to call the place a river. It's more of this rock ravine thing--almost like two big slabs of rock are folded together and water runs through the crease. I actually really love the place--it's where the ladies bathe and get water, the first place we really saw them as people and not just worker bees. But maybe more on that some other time.
So these rock slabs are at a pitch on either side--probably 65-70 degrees--and you've got to carefully walk on a slant so you don't go tumbling down the mountain. This was my first time trying to do the water-on-my-head thing. They carry these huge 20L jerry cans (is that how you spell that?) of water on their heads. So the lady I'm paired with for my homestay decided I needed to help her do this. Fine with me; I like new experiences. Problem is she didn't tell me, so I had bad flipflops on and my glasses. (You can't look down at the ground through glasses while you've got a thing of water on your head.)
Sooooo, anyway, I make the first trip OK. It's about a halfmile each way. The second time I was doing alright, too -- I'd filled my jerry can and got it on my head and everything. But here's the thing about the rock faces that we're walking across. There are little spots where water crops up out of no where and forms a stream down into the main stream. They moss up a bit and get really slippery. The kids love it--they use the whole "river" as a waterslide of sorts and squeal happily all the way down. There are little dropoffs at some points, though, so they try to catch either other beforee they fly over them.
Ok, so, by now, you know what's happened. I take a few steps with the jerry can and unknowingly step on a small puddle of water. My feet fly out from underneath me and the jerry can and I land HARD on the rockface. My elbow and ankle get most of the impact. It gets worse, though. I start sliding DOWN the waterfall/river thing--flying down out of control, my body grating against the rough rock. It felt a lot like I was on a cheese grater. Anyway, I kept flying down, probably 20 feet, until I was in the stream. Luckily, though, there was this old lady there who grabbed me before I flew over an edge.
Enter a culture difference. The appropriate African response? Laughter. They don't cry, they don't get too upset. Just laugther. Intense. So I'm lying there, drenched and bleeding all over and these ladies are laughing at me. And they have no idea how badly I'm hurt. All I can see is my elbow, which already had two huge lumps as big as golf balls on it.
I finally manage to get up and all I can squeak out in Lopit is "home, home." The woman I'm with--who, it would be appropriate to mention now, has been a jerk to me all week--hands me the jerry can again. And so I basically limp back home, trying to call out my roommates name as soon as I'm within earshot of our hut. I saw some women I knew on the way, all who only asked me where my water was or tried to grab me. (In their defense, they didn't know I was so hurt.)
So, yeah, I finally get back and my roommates finally come out. The children had tried to get them by village telegram -- I guess they were at our gate yelling "Pattie, Pattie... Ibedga! (my Lopit name)" -- but my roomies just thought they were wanting to race me like always.
Enter the most humbling night of my life. I was just wailing and crying. I have a really high tolerance for pain and a super prideful heart, so it was horrible sitting there and having everyone serve me. They had to radio my team leader and he and his wife came running up the mountain. Then Daniel just happened to come by (God brought him, he said) and they sent him up for more pillows... and candy. (My roommates know me well already.) All this during a terrible rain storm. They called and checked on flights coming by so they could fly me out if my arm and/or ankle was broken. Getting hurt in the bush is serious stuff. Ugh. It really makes you realize how far out here we are.
Anyway, it was a long night of codine and being doted over. A lesson in humility for me. But it just reaffirmed how awesome my teammates are to me. And how good God is, that I could catch a diversion for just $40 the next day. (When a lady was hurt here a couple months back, it cost $4000 to get her out.) And I did get two bags of German sweets out of it. (Man, did I feel special.)
Alright, there you go. The X-rays were fine. The only problem is there isn't an aircast or pair of crutches within 1000 miles of this place, so I'm just hobbling around. And I'm not sure how I'm going to get back up the mountain to my hut -- Stephan carried me down yesterday afternoon. (Probably not the most culturally appropriate thing to do... but what choice did we have?) But I'll be glad to be back.
The end! Thanks for all your prayers. Keep praying for a quick healing. Living in the mountains with a sprained ankle isn't all that great of a deal.
Anyway, the story...
I went with one of the village ladies to get water from the river that isn't far from my house. It's actually hard to call the place a river. It's more of this rock ravine thing--almost like two big slabs of rock are folded together and water runs through the crease. I actually really love the place--it's where the ladies bathe and get water, the first place we really saw them as people and not just worker bees. But maybe more on that some other time.
So these rock slabs are at a pitch on either side--probably 65-70 degrees--and you've got to carefully walk on a slant so you don't go tumbling down the mountain. This was my first time trying to do the water-on-my-head thing. They carry these huge 20L jerry cans (is that how you spell that?) of water on their heads. So the lady I'm paired with for my homestay decided I needed to help her do this. Fine with me; I like new experiences. Problem is she didn't tell me, so I had bad flipflops on and my glasses. (You can't look down at the ground through glasses while you've got a thing of water on your head.)
Sooooo, anyway, I make the first trip OK. It's about a halfmile each way. The second time I was doing alright, too -- I'd filled my jerry can and got it on my head and everything. But here's the thing about the rock faces that we're walking across. There are little spots where water crops up out of no where and forms a stream down into the main stream. They moss up a bit and get really slippery. The kids love it--they use the whole "river" as a waterslide of sorts and squeal happily all the way down. There are little dropoffs at some points, though, so they try to catch either other beforee they fly over them.
Ok, so, by now, you know what's happened. I take a few steps with the jerry can and unknowingly step on a small puddle of water. My feet fly out from underneath me and the jerry can and I land HARD on the rockface. My elbow and ankle get most of the impact. It gets worse, though. I start sliding DOWN the waterfall/river thing--flying down out of control, my body grating against the rough rock. It felt a lot like I was on a cheese grater. Anyway, I kept flying down, probably 20 feet, until I was in the stream. Luckily, though, there was this old lady there who grabbed me before I flew over an edge.
Enter a culture difference. The appropriate African response? Laughter. They don't cry, they don't get too upset. Just laugther. Intense. So I'm lying there, drenched and bleeding all over and these ladies are laughing at me. And they have no idea how badly I'm hurt. All I can see is my elbow, which already had two huge lumps as big as golf balls on it.
I finally manage to get up and all I can squeak out in Lopit is "home, home." The woman I'm with--who, it would be appropriate to mention now, has been a jerk to me all week--hands me the jerry can again. And so I basically limp back home, trying to call out my roommates name as soon as I'm within earshot of our hut. I saw some women I knew on the way, all who only asked me where my water was or tried to grab me. (In their defense, they didn't know I was so hurt.)
So, yeah, I finally get back and my roommates finally come out. The children had tried to get them by village telegram -- I guess they were at our gate yelling "Pattie, Pattie... Ibedga! (my Lopit name)" -- but my roomies just thought they were wanting to race me like always.
Enter the most humbling night of my life. I was just wailing and crying. I have a really high tolerance for pain and a super prideful heart, so it was horrible sitting there and having everyone serve me. They had to radio my team leader and he and his wife came running up the mountain. Then Daniel just happened to come by (God brought him, he said) and they sent him up for more pillows... and candy. (My roommates know me well already.) All this during a terrible rain storm. They called and checked on flights coming by so they could fly me out if my arm and/or ankle was broken. Getting hurt in the bush is serious stuff. Ugh. It really makes you realize how far out here we are.
Anyway, it was a long night of codine and being doted over. A lesson in humility for me. But it just reaffirmed how awesome my teammates are to me. And how good God is, that I could catch a diversion for just $40 the next day. (When a lady was hurt here a couple months back, it cost $4000 to get her out.) And I did get two bags of German sweets out of it. (Man, did I feel special.)
Alright, there you go. The X-rays were fine. The only problem is there isn't an aircast or pair of crutches within 1000 miles of this place, so I'm just hobbling around. And I'm not sure how I'm going to get back up the mountain to my hut -- Stephan carried me down yesterday afternoon. (Probably not the most culturally appropriate thing to do... but what choice did we have?) But I'll be glad to be back.
The end! Thanks for all your prayers. Keep praying for a quick healing. Living in the mountains with a sprained ankle isn't all that great of a deal.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Much-needed prayer...
hey gang...
yesterday i biffed it down a rock face and screwed up my arm and leg pretty bad. they air-lifted me out of sudan this afternoon and i'm writing you now from loki, kenya.
i'm heading into the hospital tomorrow for some x-rays. we're praying there actually is an x-ray machine here. the red cross pulled out a few months ago and handed over all their stuff, but that doesn't mean it's really being used. and, furthermore, if there is someone to use it or x-ray film. so pray first for that and second for good results!
i'm feeling MUCH better than yesterday so i'm confident it's not really anything. but God certainly has taught me a lot about letting other people help me.
i'll give more details and more info when i get it... thanks for the prayers...
amc
yesterday i biffed it down a rock face and screwed up my arm and leg pretty bad. they air-lifted me out of sudan this afternoon and i'm writing you now from loki, kenya.
i'm heading into the hospital tomorrow for some x-rays. we're praying there actually is an x-ray machine here. the red cross pulled out a few months ago and handed over all their stuff, but that doesn't mean it's really being used. and, furthermore, if there is someone to use it or x-ray film. so pray first for that and second for good results!
i'm feeling MUCH better than yesterday so i'm confident it's not really anything. but God certainly has taught me a lot about letting other people help me.
i'll give more details and more info when i get it... thanks for the prayers...
amc
Finally -- from Sudan!
Hello, hello!
Ginger has put up a few posts here for me. Please forgive the lag in communication. We’re dependent on the sun for power, and it’s been rather rainy here the last few days. And I’ve been busy meeting people and learning language.
I hope you enjoy my stories.
Thank you SO MUCH for your prayers. The battle here is just beginning.
In love,
Andi
Ginger has put up a few posts here for me. Please forgive the lag in communication. We’re dependent on the sun for power, and it’s been rather rainy here the last few days. And I’ve been busy meeting people and learning language.
I hope you enjoy my stories.
Thank you SO MUCH for your prayers. The battle here is just beginning.
In love,
Andi
Come Pentecost...
A huge prayer request: Language learning.
I’m struggling right now because I’m still a linguistic mess.
I talk with most of my teammates in English. I talk with the children in my (very, very) broken German. Then I give my fresh Lopit a go while I’m walking in the villages. But I do funny things, like say thank you in Chinese, goodbye in German and beautiful in sign language without even thinking about it. It’s like I’m in foreign language mode or something, using all the wrong languages.
Heeeeeeelp.
Pray specifically that God would give me the grace to roll my r’s. It’s a huge part of the language and I just cannot do it. I can’t even pronounce my own name—they call me Andrea here, in the German way. Haha.
I’m struggling right now because I’m still a linguistic mess.
I talk with most of my teammates in English. I talk with the children in my (very, very) broken German. Then I give my fresh Lopit a go while I’m walking in the villages. But I do funny things, like say thank you in Chinese, goodbye in German and beautiful in sign language without even thinking about it. It’s like I’m in foreign language mode or something, using all the wrong languages.
Heeeeeeelp.
Pray specifically that God would give me the grace to roll my r’s. It’s a huge part of the language and I just cannot do it. I can’t even pronounce my own name—they call me Andrea here, in the German way. Haha.
If you must...
A quick note on communication.
Email is my main form of instant communication, but it’s expensive, expensive. It cost me $45 to get emails the other day because of some attachments. Yikes! This won’t be a common thing—I’ve asked Ginger to filter out this kind of stuff from now on. So, please, I’d LOVE to hear from you. But nothing too long and no attachments. And it might be easier for me to just read the emails. I’m not sure how much time I’ll have to respond. Know that each word is precious to me, however! Don’t get discouraged!
In that same vein, regular mail is GREAT. I’m yet to get any, but the anticipation is killing me. :) People keep asking about things they can send, so I polled my teammates and here are a few things we wouldn’t mind getting from the States.
Seasoning packets—chili, soup, BBQ, anything like that
Kool-Aid—you can send a packet in a regular letter without paying extra.
Candy (always!)
Little baking things (bush cooking = hard)
Sweet Baby Rays BBQ (that’s sort of just for me)
Small tank tops and sleeveless dresses from the Salvation Army would be wonderful for me, as I brought all the wrong clothes. Ha. (That’s more of a wish-list thing.)
I can’t think of anything else right now...
BUT—the big but—as great as it is to get stuff here, it’s really expensive for you to send and sometimes for me to get, with duty and all. A lot of missionaries I know have suggested just telling people to take the money they’d use to send stuff and put it in my account so I can use it to buy things here. Soooo… if you just want to go that route, I’m saving up money for a nice set of Chaco (or something like that) sandals to be sent over here. The ones I have just aren’t going to cut it, and those are the sandals of choice.
Anyway, it’s weird for me to ask for stuff, but people have been asking… so… there you go….
c/o AIM Serv
Box 21171
Nairobi, Kenya 00505
(Write "Missionary Supplies--Not for Commercial Sale" on it.)
Email is my main form of instant communication, but it’s expensive, expensive. It cost me $45 to get emails the other day because of some attachments. Yikes! This won’t be a common thing—I’ve asked Ginger to filter out this kind of stuff from now on. So, please, I’d LOVE to hear from you. But nothing too long and no attachments. And it might be easier for me to just read the emails. I’m not sure how much time I’ll have to respond. Know that each word is precious to me, however! Don’t get discouraged!
In that same vein, regular mail is GREAT. I’m yet to get any, but the anticipation is killing me. :) People keep asking about things they can send, so I polled my teammates and here are a few things we wouldn’t mind getting from the States.
Seasoning packets—chili, soup, BBQ, anything like that
Kool-Aid—you can send a packet in a regular letter without paying extra.
Candy (always!)
Little baking things (bush cooking = hard)
Sweet Baby Rays BBQ (that’s sort of just for me)
Small tank tops and sleeveless dresses from the Salvation Army would be wonderful for me, as I brought all the wrong clothes. Ha. (That’s more of a wish-list thing.)
I can’t think of anything else right now...
BUT—the big but—as great as it is to get stuff here, it’s really expensive for you to send and sometimes for me to get, with duty and all. A lot of missionaries I know have suggested just telling people to take the money they’d use to send stuff and put it in my account so I can use it to buy things here. Soooo… if you just want to go that route, I’m saving up money for a nice set of Chaco (or something like that) sandals to be sent over here. The ones I have just aren’t going to cut it, and those are the sandals of choice.
Anyway, it’s weird for me to ask for stuff, but people have been asking… so… there you go….
c/o AIM Serv
Box 21171
Nairobi, Kenya 00505
(Write "Missionary Supplies--Not for Commercial Sale" on it.)
Killing snakes
My third night in my house in the hills.
The children are singing. And I mean maybe hundreds of them. It sounds more horrible than The Chipmunks Christmas collection. I mean, wowza, those kids sing high and loud. And it’s like 11 o’clock! Parents of Lopit, get your children in bed already! And, while you’re at it, get some clothes on those kids! Haha. Juuuuust kidding.
Tonight we had the single fellas over for dinner. It was another long day of working and moving, so we decided a nice dinner on the rock cliff outside our house would be refreshing. We even made food—and it wasn’t horrible! (This, my friends, is a miracle.)
We had a beautiful view of the moonrise over the Three Sisters, the three mountain peaks that define the area. It was so, so incredible. (My camera didn’t get it. Sorry.)
But the real excitement came later.
Mom, stop reading.
So we’re doing dishes and I turn around to see a black snack slithering sideways across our dirt floor. Talk about scary. Pattie (one of my roomies) freaks out, starts jumping around and runs outside, screaming still. I’m laughing and hollering for someone to get me the broom or something heavy. (Unfortunately, the snake was between me and all such blunt tolls.) Kim’s (other roomie) was bringing the volume about how she thinks it’s poisonous and finally—in what I consider a moment of brilliance—suggests the half-full Nalgene bottle on the table as my weapon of choice. Or, I guess, weapon of necessity. (Nalgene bottles are ‘indestructible’ water bottles.)
So I pick that baby up and start taking aim to the tune of Kim yelling, “This is it, Andi! This has got to count!”—and WHAM I nail the thing just below the head, pause, then hit it again before it whips itself into a spiral in pain.
Pattie’s still yelling outside, I’m still laughing and Kim’s applauding the effort. I try to comfort Pattie by saying it’s head, but she’s no drop and still sees there’s traces of life in the thing—she’s been watching it all unfold from the doorway. So I deliver one last punishing blow and erase its head. Whew.
It took a while to get poor Pattie back in the house—I had to bag up my kill and throw it out the other door first—but finally she came in and, after I thoroughly checked her room for any more of the poisonous buggers, she’s now settled happily in bed. (At least I haven’t heard from her in a while.)
But, geesh, how scary. It did do something to remind me of where I’m at and give me a sense of the danger here. I realized, too, later, that this probably isn’t the last snake. And all the encounters might not go so well. That’s what I like the least. (I really don’t want snakes in my bed.)
Haha.
But, yes… the adventures of Africa.
The children are singing. And I mean maybe hundreds of them. It sounds more horrible than The Chipmunks Christmas collection. I mean, wowza, those kids sing high and loud. And it’s like 11 o’clock! Parents of Lopit, get your children in bed already! And, while you’re at it, get some clothes on those kids! Haha. Juuuuust kidding.
Tonight we had the single fellas over for dinner. It was another long day of working and moving, so we decided a nice dinner on the rock cliff outside our house would be refreshing. We even made food—and it wasn’t horrible! (This, my friends, is a miracle.)
We had a beautiful view of the moonrise over the Three Sisters, the three mountain peaks that define the area. It was so, so incredible. (My camera didn’t get it. Sorry.)
But the real excitement came later.
Mom, stop reading.
So we’re doing dishes and I turn around to see a black snack slithering sideways across our dirt floor. Talk about scary. Pattie (one of my roomies) freaks out, starts jumping around and runs outside, screaming still. I’m laughing and hollering for someone to get me the broom or something heavy. (Unfortunately, the snake was between me and all such blunt tolls.) Kim’s (other roomie) was bringing the volume about how she thinks it’s poisonous and finally—in what I consider a moment of brilliance—suggests the half-full Nalgene bottle on the table as my weapon of choice. Or, I guess, weapon of necessity. (Nalgene bottles are ‘indestructible’ water bottles.)
So I pick that baby up and start taking aim to the tune of Kim yelling, “This is it, Andi! This has got to count!”—and WHAM I nail the thing just below the head, pause, then hit it again before it whips itself into a spiral in pain.
Pattie’s still yelling outside, I’m still laughing and Kim’s applauding the effort. I try to comfort Pattie by saying it’s head, but she’s no drop and still sees there’s traces of life in the thing—she’s been watching it all unfold from the doorway. So I deliver one last punishing blow and erase its head. Whew.
It took a while to get poor Pattie back in the house—I had to bag up my kill and throw it out the other door first—but finally she came in and, after I thoroughly checked her room for any more of the poisonous buggers, she’s now settled happily in bed. (At least I haven’t heard from her in a while.)
But, geesh, how scary. It did do something to remind me of where I’m at and give me a sense of the danger here. I realized, too, later, that this probably isn’t the last snake. And all the encounters might not go so well. That’s what I like the least. (I really don’t want snakes in my bed.)
Haha.
But, yes… the adventures of Africa.
Village telegram...
The other day, I had a real ‘This is Africa” moment. I took off barefoot on a walk with my leatherman knife and a mango. It was awesome, just looking out at the scenery and enjoying my fruit. Soon, some little boys ran up wanting some. Later, I finished the thing off (with an old man’s help), licked my knife and carried on. So I started jogging to the water pump—I’ve taken to running in the afternoons and it’s caused quite the stir, you’ll see—and came upon a batch of men coming from the fields with their cows… and AK-47s. Wowza. Did I tell you about these already? They’re like jewelry… for men. They carry them around nonchalantly and to look cool. And if they get excited, sometimes they’ll shoot them off in the air. Or just to say hello. (I’m yet to witness this myself, praise God.)
Anyway, I greeted them and talked for a while. Can you imagine calmly talking to a guy holding an AK-47 or a machete in America?) Then took off to find Husa, where my house is that I’ll be moving into soon. This place is confusing, so I kept asking and pointing and saying “Husa.” Worked like a charm. They’d show me on my way or take me a ways. The little kids would run alongside me for a while until they got tired and died off. But, sure enough, a little later, I’d have another group pacing alongside me. Haha.
Everyone was super concerned that I wasn’t wearing any shoes. They’d point and holler and look confused. I really didn’t know how to respond to that, so I eventually just took to pointing back at their barefeet. At least then they laughed, haha.
In situations like this, it doesn’t take long for everyone in the hills to know what’s going on. By the time I made it up to Husa, everyone knew I was coming. There’s something with the flutes and special notes. I have no idea. All I know is, they knew I was coming and were all standing out to greet me along the way. You can hear the crowds of children coming like herds of cattle from their houses to the trail. Even better was the way back. Everyone knew what was up. “You go to Husa?” “Husa?”
That’s called the village telegram, friends. It’s more reliable than most anything, I promise you. (Certainly us Westerners’ precious cell phones, since they’ll do you no good out here!) I’m sure this will prove helpful when someone gets let into by a scorpion.
Anyway, I greeted them and talked for a while. Can you imagine calmly talking to a guy holding an AK-47 or a machete in America?) Then took off to find Husa, where my house is that I’ll be moving into soon. This place is confusing, so I kept asking and pointing and saying “Husa.” Worked like a charm. They’d show me on my way or take me a ways. The little kids would run alongside me for a while until they got tired and died off. But, sure enough, a little later, I’d have another group pacing alongside me. Haha.
Everyone was super concerned that I wasn’t wearing any shoes. They’d point and holler and look confused. I really didn’t know how to respond to that, so I eventually just took to pointing back at their barefeet. At least then they laughed, haha.
In situations like this, it doesn’t take long for everyone in the hills to know what’s going on. By the time I made it up to Husa, everyone knew I was coming. There’s something with the flutes and special notes. I have no idea. All I know is, they knew I was coming and were all standing out to greet me along the way. You can hear the crowds of children coming like herds of cattle from their houses to the trail. Even better was the way back. Everyone knew what was up. “You go to Husa?” “Husa?”
That’s called the village telegram, friends. It’s more reliable than most anything, I promise you. (Certainly us Westerners’ precious cell phones, since they’ll do you no good out here!) I’m sure this will prove helpful when someone gets let into by a scorpion.
We moved into our houses last night. It was a long, long day of carrying things are hiking. We loaded up heavy bags with our things and food and supplies and had to carry them on our backs and heads all the way up the mountain to our place. Let me tell you—I was exhausted. UGH.
You know those times when you can’t even lift your arms anymore? That’s what it was like. And shaky legs! It’s straight up at times on big bolders.
Our homes are wonderful. They have mud walls and three bedrooms with a kitchen/living area. The bathroom hole even has a box with a toilet seat on it! This is quite the luxury, considering we’ve had just a hole at the AIC compound for the last two weeks. We had almost forgotten how it all worked, haha. I was thinking this morning how weird it will be to hear a toilet flush when we visit Nairobi!
Our houses are tucked so far in the village, it’s sort of confusing trying to get to them. When you are walking there, you don’t look much further than your own feet, since you’re trying not to trip over rocks and things. So you just look up after half an hour of wakling and realize you’re at your front door! It’s great and all, except when you start on the trail back to the compound or try to walk there by yourself. Suddenly, looking at your feet is a problem. And when you’re not looking at your feet, you’re more and more aware that you don’t have a clue where you’re going! A lot of times, all you have to do, though is be white—this is easy and takes no effort—and ask the local people. They’re super helpful. You just point all around and say “American” (what they call the AIC compound) or “Kenya” (what they call the men’s hut in Lonjija) or our village, Husa, or wherever you are going—the well, the clinic, whatever. They’re glad to point you in the right direction or take you there or even carry your things.
(It was hilarious when even the men, even Stephan—a bush missionary/strong army guy who is super hardcore—is struggling with a load and then some local women will just toss it up on her head like it’s no problem. SO GREAT.)
They’ll even watch you as your go for a long time. Once I was probably 300m away and I heard a chorus of shouts from the hilltop I’d just been on. Apparently, I’d missed my turn and they were letting me know!
I had a little situation last night where I got caught coming back by myself in the dark, then the pouring rain. I didn’t want to make a wrong turn, so I went to our Lopit friend Patrick’s compound and three boys led me up quite readily. (Patrick is a Lopit Presby pastor who is great. Rachel, now he’s my hero, too. It’s such a small world!) it’s nice to know we’re so taken care of here. (Insert disclaimer about not being so naïve as to trust everyone. I’ve gotten about a dozen emails about that. But people aren’t all out to get you, either!)
You know those times when you can’t even lift your arms anymore? That’s what it was like. And shaky legs! It’s straight up at times on big bolders.
Our homes are wonderful. They have mud walls and three bedrooms with a kitchen/living area. The bathroom hole even has a box with a toilet seat on it! This is quite the luxury, considering we’ve had just a hole at the AIC compound for the last two weeks. We had almost forgotten how it all worked, haha. I was thinking this morning how weird it will be to hear a toilet flush when we visit Nairobi!
Our houses are tucked so far in the village, it’s sort of confusing trying to get to them. When you are walking there, you don’t look much further than your own feet, since you’re trying not to trip over rocks and things. So you just look up after half an hour of wakling and realize you’re at your front door! It’s great and all, except when you start on the trail back to the compound or try to walk there by yourself. Suddenly, looking at your feet is a problem. And when you’re not looking at your feet, you’re more and more aware that you don’t have a clue where you’re going! A lot of times, all you have to do, though is be white—this is easy and takes no effort—and ask the local people. They’re super helpful. You just point all around and say “American” (what they call the AIC compound) or “Kenya” (what they call the men’s hut in Lonjija) or our village, Husa, or wherever you are going—the well, the clinic, whatever. They’re glad to point you in the right direction or take you there or even carry your things.
(It was hilarious when even the men, even Stephan—a bush missionary/strong army guy who is super hardcore—is struggling with a load and then some local women will just toss it up on her head like it’s no problem. SO GREAT.)
They’ll even watch you as your go for a long time. Once I was probably 300m away and I heard a chorus of shouts from the hilltop I’d just been on. Apparently, I’d missed my turn and they were letting me know!
I had a little situation last night where I got caught coming back by myself in the dark, then the pouring rain. I didn’t want to make a wrong turn, so I went to our Lopit friend Patrick’s compound and three boys led me up quite readily. (Patrick is a Lopit Presby pastor who is great. Rachel, now he’s my hero, too. It’s such a small world!) it’s nice to know we’re so taken care of here. (Insert disclaimer about not being so naïve as to trust everyone. I’ve gotten about a dozen emails about that. But people aren’t all out to get you, either!)
Walking down to the AIC compound today, I was hit again by how surreal this place is and how it will take me a while to get used to some things. There was a herd boy moving his cattle down the trail, so we were walking among these cows and bulls. (The paths are pretty narrow.) It’s so weird to me, considering my perception of cattle spawns from my (albeit limited) rodeo experience. I mean, I’m used to angry animals that buck me off and stomp on me. Or I’m afraid they’ll wheel around and hit me. But this morning I’m walking with cows, slapping their rears so they’ll move out of my way. It’s just little things like that that get me.
So many times, I wish people were here so they could experience this place with me. I sent home a CD of small videos and lots of pictures yesterday but I know that flat images and even videos won’t put a face on this pace like they need to. I really struggle with wanting to share what I love with people I love. So I wish I could share my new home with all of you!!!
(As for the video, Mark will get the stuff… sometime… and I’ll let him post up here about how to get a copy. It’ll probably take a while to get it to the states by mail and even longer for him to put it together. So hang tight, gang, and keep an eye out for that information. Or… just plan to visit. It will SURELY be worth it.)
Oh, and a funny note… Along the path, you have to be really careful to mind the cow, goat and human (?!?!?!) poop. So that’s no fun. But I did learn a cultural lesson from it. Someone stepping in such a mess is still considered “funny,” across many cultures. ;)
So many times, I wish people were here so they could experience this place with me. I sent home a CD of small videos and lots of pictures yesterday but I know that flat images and even videos won’t put a face on this pace like they need to. I really struggle with wanting to share what I love with people I love. So I wish I could share my new home with all of you!!!
(As for the video, Mark will get the stuff… sometime… and I’ll let him post up here about how to get a copy. It’ll probably take a while to get it to the states by mail and even longer for him to put it together. So hang tight, gang, and keep an eye out for that information. Or… just plan to visit. It will SURELY be worth it.)
Oh, and a funny note… Along the path, you have to be really careful to mind the cow, goat and human (?!?!?!) poop. So that’s no fun. But I did learn a cultural lesson from it. Someone stepping in such a mess is still considered “funny,” across many cultures. ;)
I'm here!
Hello from the Lopit hills!
I sent along by the mail some blogs to Ginger (one of my faithful stateside sidekicks), but I imagine she won’t get those for a few weeks yet. So forgive me that this is out of order and perhaps redundant.
I’m safely here in the Sudan and really loving it. Even now, it feels like home. We spent ten days living in tents on Stephan’s compound and learning how to learn a language. I twas a wonderful time of fellowship with my new team and easing our way into life here. There are so many cultural things to consider—not just with the Lopit people, but within our team, as we represent five countries—USA, Germany, Switzerland, South Africa and Australia.
The people here are beautiful. I think I wrote about them some in the letters I sent home, but they really are striking. Their skin is a beautiful black, their cheekbones defined and their smiles, spilling over with love. There are SO many children here—little ones carrying littiler ones!
At church last Sunday, the chief of the area—Victor—spoke to us about working with the children, asking us to help open their eyes to God an the Gospel. As we’ve talked among ourselves, my teammates and I have realized that some of us do feel a burden for the children and working with the church to bring them up in the Gospel. It’s nice to see how God has prepared us specificaclly for this area in so many ways. Though we have no formal ministry for six months—language learning is our ministry now—we will eventually have to decide as a team where we will focus. So please pray for discernment in our future place in this town—that we would keep our eyes open to the needs and requests of the people, just like this one from the chief.
I sent along by the mail some blogs to Ginger (one of my faithful stateside sidekicks), but I imagine she won’t get those for a few weeks yet. So forgive me that this is out of order and perhaps redundant.
I’m safely here in the Sudan and really loving it. Even now, it feels like home. We spent ten days living in tents on Stephan’s compound and learning how to learn a language. I twas a wonderful time of fellowship with my new team and easing our way into life here. There are so many cultural things to consider—not just with the Lopit people, but within our team, as we represent five countries—USA, Germany, Switzerland, South Africa and Australia.
The people here are beautiful. I think I wrote about them some in the letters I sent home, but they really are striking. Their skin is a beautiful black, their cheekbones defined and their smiles, spilling over with love. There are SO many children here—little ones carrying littiler ones!
At church last Sunday, the chief of the area—Victor—spoke to us about working with the children, asking us to help open their eyes to God an the Gospel. As we’ve talked among ourselves, my teammates and I have realized that some of us do feel a burden for the children and working with the church to bring them up in the Gospel. It’s nice to see how God has prepared us specificaclly for this area in so many ways. Though we have no formal ministry for six months—language learning is our ministry now—we will eventually have to decide as a team where we will focus. So please pray for discernment in our future place in this town—that we would keep our eyes open to the needs and requests of the people, just like this one from the chief.
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