We’d been waiting so long to get home, so when we saw the outline of those three mountain peeks—the Three Sisters—we were more than excited. And the first people we saw were so showered with “Mong!!!”s and “Itigolo!!!”s, I’m surprised they didn’t drown.
Rolling into town was just as wonderful, as a crowd of people—fresh from discussing what could have possibly happened to the white people—met us at Steve’s house with smiles and handshakes. We split as soon as possible, eager to hike the mountain and be back home in Husa. We talked on the way up about how big the kids probably got, if our houses would still be standing and if Lodina’s baby—expected while we were gone—would be a girl or a boy.
As we got closer, we could hear the murmur hit the village and start to swell into a weak thunder. Then the calls came—“Efonu!!!” (“They’re coming!!!”) “Awong Ibeja! Awong Oudo! Efonu dang!” (“Ibeja comes! Kim comes! They’re all coming!”) I’ve always laughed at the conversations the Lopit have across the spots on the mountain; I love it the most, though, when we’re the subject of or participants in said long-distance yell fests.
The kids flooded our compound. Franco flashed me his shy smile. Paula bounced over with little Ellen. And just as I was scanning the crowd for him, sweet Francis called my name, tugged at my arm and awkwardly yet gladly embraced in a hug. (Hugging isn’t something the Lopit do; they have no idea what it is.) It was so good to see them.
The excitement was tempered suddenly, though, when a woman pulled me aside, pointed to Lodina’s compound and said the baby died. Heart-breaking. This one was mine to name—they’ve told me for months. It was a little boy. He lived for seven days and then died, five days ago. He wouldn’t take food.
The locals say it’s a curse. This is the third baby Lodina has had die like this. The two that have survived were born during the war, in Uganda. Now William (Lopit neighbor) says she’ll be sent away again when she gets pregnant, because there is “no benefit to her being here.” Thank goodness, though, they’ll let her come back when she’s had the baby. But how sad, to have to be sent away. And how terrible to lose a sweet baby boy. I wish we were here to bear the pain with her.
We sat with Lodina for a while, but finally had to break away to get settled in the house. It was an absolute mess, from top to bottom. But the kids were up to the challenge—they fought for brooms and sponges and helped us clean everything. They’re sweet, but I wouldn’t have you think it’s all charity—they assume they’ll get candy (not an unwise assumption) and being allowed in the house is a big deal, especially when they’re given so much time to stare at all the weird white people things. : )
So, yes, we’re back… and happy to be here, albeit completely exhausted. You’ll be happy to know God was in our delay. (Duh.) We found out today that our original travel plans would have put us smack dab in the middle of attacks on the road. And this latest delay with the UNI-MOG (still in Loki being fixed) was a blessing because there was a bit of a shake down at the border place and the whole thing is a mess. So, if the fellas would have tried to come through with it today, they likely would have been given a huge hassle or told to return to Loki and wait anyway. So, praise God for all that. Praise Him for protection and for his perfect timing. And praise Him for these people, that we may come back to them and minister among them.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Update
It's Thursday afternoon here.
Daniel has been under the 'MOG for a while and informs me he's taken out the broken part and ordered a new one from Nairobi. It will, Lord willing, come tomorrow on a plane with one of the DIGUNA guys.
Sigh. So at least another day here, if not two. I'm sure God has got some reason for all this. Maybe I'll ask him someday.
Please pray for the team, as we continue on in close quarters and at high stress levels. No one has killed anyone yet, but money is starting to grow tight (it's expensive to be out of the bush) and we only have a couple changes of clothes. I know, we're really roughing it, right?
Oh, and Craig just informed me the diff-lock on the LandCruiser is busted and will also need to be tended to before we leave. Hahaha. This really is a botched trip!
Keep praying!
AND! My dad says my blog about my bike made it sound like my BIKE was mangled, not the bike BOX. The bike is fine. I actually put it together and rode it around DIGUNA for a while. In flipflops, though (they're all I have), so all I could think in my head the entire time was my father's voice from childhood, telling me how bad that is and telling me the story about how my Uncle Bill almost lost his toes doing that... Funny how things like that still haunt you across many years and oceans. ;)
Anyway, the bike is fine. Just needs a little tweaking and breaking in. The stuff I'd packed with the bike to keep in place, however, was lost. The much-anticipated denim jumpers (perfect Lopitland clothes) I searched for so long in the States and the pajama and workout pants I was so excited about getting from home. *sigh* That's just life, I guess!
OK, I'm out. It's hot and I need to find a piece of shade I can lay motionless in.
Daniel has been under the 'MOG for a while and informs me he's taken out the broken part and ordered a new one from Nairobi. It will, Lord willing, come tomorrow on a plane with one of the DIGUNA guys.
Sigh. So at least another day here, if not two. I'm sure God has got some reason for all this. Maybe I'll ask him someday.
Please pray for the team, as we continue on in close quarters and at high stress levels. No one has killed anyone yet, but money is starting to grow tight (it's expensive to be out of the bush) and we only have a couple changes of clothes. I know, we're really roughing it, right?
Oh, and Craig just informed me the diff-lock on the LandCruiser is busted and will also need to be tended to before we leave. Hahaha. This really is a botched trip!
Keep praying!
AND! My dad says my blog about my bike made it sound like my BIKE was mangled, not the bike BOX. The bike is fine. I actually put it together and rode it around DIGUNA for a while. In flipflops, though (they're all I have), so all I could think in my head the entire time was my father's voice from childhood, telling me how bad that is and telling me the story about how my Uncle Bill almost lost his toes doing that... Funny how things like that still haunt you across many years and oceans. ;)
Anyway, the bike is fine. Just needs a little tweaking and breaking in. The stuff I'd packed with the bike to keep in place, however, was lost. The much-anticipated denim jumpers (perfect Lopitland clothes) I searched for so long in the States and the pajama and workout pants I was so excited about getting from home. *sigh* That's just life, I guess!
OK, I'm out. It's hot and I need to find a piece of shade I can lay motionless in.
Toromile. ("Car.")The girls, enjoying a coke (and each other) in the LandCruiser. Notice I'm wearing longsleeves. It's part of an on-going mental battle I've waged against reality. I wear warm clothes and try to convince myself it's not that hot, so when it is really, really hot I'm more comfortable. I'll let you know when I have conclusive evidence for whether it works or not.
Gas. ("Gas.") Filling up this machine takes about forever, especially when Daniel has to fill up the extra drums for back home. It's pretty hardcore. I informed him Americans would probably not go for him climbing like a money on their gas pumps. He informed me the same would be true of Germans. God bless Africa.
Akafini Oudo nang. ("Oudo--Kim--carries me.")Kim and I decided it'd be best if I rode on the bonnet from now on. Apparently, "bonnet" is European for "hood." They also "hoot" with their "hooter," as opposed to "honking" with their "horn." I love the "No Hooting!" signs. Anyway, Mama Pattie killed our riding-on-the-bonnet idea right as we developed it to this point, so I guess I'll be riding inside. (Or on the roof rack, if we can distract her so she doesn't realize it.) Kim also plans to drive... with such a nonchalant approach as her face here reflects.
We really need to get back to Lopit before we go crazy.
Hifiong erribo. (Literally... "Water fight.")Who can resist a water fight in the heat of Africa after so many hours of dirt in your face in a LandCruiser? Not Cath and I. The wonderful thing was we came out of the mountains and into the desert, so it didn't take long to dry off. Notice the random men in the background enjoying the weird white women.
Die Jen und die Annika.
Far from the splashes, Jen and Annika found a relaxing spot of their own. That is, until Daniel and Craig came along in the UNI-MOG and made waves.
by gorge!
Oyiri iyohoi. ("We rest.")After many, many hours on the road, we girls found a beautiful gorge to stop and rest in. This is Annika and I, dipping our feet in.
Ofonya iyohoi itai. ("We greet ya'll.")Isn't it beautiful?
Adaha nang ("I'm eating.")
I figured since I'm stuck in Loki, I should use my time and the (free, albeit rickedy) internet at this "restaurant" to send some pictures along.
This is Kim and I, in the new, kitted-out LandCruiser, enjoying some corn we bought from roadside fellas who chase down the cars. I'd say we're REALLY enjoying that corn.
A big, big deal...
MY PARENTS ARE COMING IN AUGUST!!!
:)
Yaaaaaaay.
My mom informed me today that she got her second round of shots, and she was talking about it without disclaimers or constant "if I come"s, so I feel that seals the deal.
If you see my mom, give her a big hug. The last thing she wants to do is to come to dirty, hot Africa. :)
:)
Yaaaaaaay.
My mom informed me today that she got her second round of shots, and she was talking about it without disclaimers or constant "if I come"s, so I feel that seals the deal.
If you see my mom, give her a big hug. The last thing she wants to do is to come to dirty, hot Africa. :)
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Heading back to Sudan
(Sunday)
Today at the second-hand market, I was pick-pocketed.
But, it’s OK, I caught the guy.
Kim and I chased him down. She jumped on his back while I tripped him. It was a wonderful show.
Or at least it would have been, were any of that true. Well, alright, the bit about being pick-pocketed is true. The rest is the scenario that Kim and I decided upon just earlier in the afternoon—what we would do if someone stole our purse. Kim said she’d chase him and jump on his back. I decided I’d do the same, only I’d trip him at the end.
Of course, when the real situation came upon, I was rather polite in my handling of the caper. It was more like, “Excuse me, what are you doing? Do you think I’m stupid?” as I pulled away the sweatshirt he’d throw over my bag as a cover for his hand diving in. He simply laid my cell phone down on the crate table in front of us and slithered away. I gave a few half-hearted “theif!”s after him. Half-hearted because I was taught if you’re going to do that in the Africa culture, you have to accept the fact that said thief could be mobbed and killed right there because of your accusations. So, yeah, I wasn’t feeling so much like witnessing a murder—it’s been a long week—so I just stared, dumbfounded, as he scampered off.
At least this sweet bag Ang gave me for Christmas has a flap and a zipper—pure anti-pick-pocket genius.
So, anyway, another day in Nairobi town, another day waiting for our LandCruiser to be fixed up and this fire engine to come off a ship in Mombassa. The fire engine (no longer equipped with hoses and men in uniform) was given to us as a team car and shipped from Germany. It was supposed to come off the ship nearly two weeks ago, but has been held up since then… and has been holding us up in return. Keep praying they can get the thing off soon so we can be on our way!
(Monday)
We’re finally leaving Nairobi—praise the Lord!
The fellas in the UNI-MOG and us (six chicks in the LandCruiser) are off for Eldoret Missionary College—the end of our first leg of our back-to-Sudan journey and current home to Joshua and Justina & Co., our Kenyan teammates expecting a baby very soon.
OH! I should say! Heinrich and Doris emailed from Germany. They are now four! Little Phillip came just the other day—the newest member to our team. So praise God that both Mom and baby boy are doing fine, and for our team getting even bigger! They’ll be back with us come May. We miss them dearly.
(Tuesday)
So these new, front-facing seats in the LandCruiser are cool and all, but I’ve found a downside. You can see forward.
Looking over the driver’s shoulder is sort of like a wide-screen horror movie. But, unfortunately, a horror movie you’re rather involved in and affected by… yet have no influence over.
You know how when you go bowling and the ball is scooting into the gutter or sliding right through the middle of a split, and you sort of wiggle a little bit, or wave your arms, all in the hope of somehow willing the ball to redirect its path? That’s a little what it’s like being in the back seat of this LandCruiser right now.
We have a new driver, see, and she’s no so used to the vehicle and doesn’t seem to have a splendid grasp of just where the wheels are. But, poor lady, it was a hard, frustrating drive. And praise God we survived it.
Now we’re in Lodwar, somewhere in the Kenyan desert. It’s hot, so I’m dripping, and all I want is a shower.
(Wednesday)
I think this might go down as the trip that just wouldn’t end.
We made it to Loki this morning. Unfortunately, Daniel lost the clutch in the UNI-MOG somewhere along the way. So now we’re here in the middle of what amounts to little more than an airstrip, uncertain of what exactly we’ll do from here.
I think poor Daniel has a night of work before him—another addition to his many frustrations—and we’re all back in the waiting game.
So please pray for the car situation and for our patience with said situation and with each other. We’ve been stuffed together way too long and are at times at each others’ throats.
Oh, and still no news on that fire engine on the coast.
I can’t wait to get home…
Today at the second-hand market, I was pick-pocketed.
But, it’s OK, I caught the guy.
Kim and I chased him down. She jumped on his back while I tripped him. It was a wonderful show.
Or at least it would have been, were any of that true. Well, alright, the bit about being pick-pocketed is true. The rest is the scenario that Kim and I decided upon just earlier in the afternoon—what we would do if someone stole our purse. Kim said she’d chase him and jump on his back. I decided I’d do the same, only I’d trip him at the end.
Of course, when the real situation came upon, I was rather polite in my handling of the caper. It was more like, “Excuse me, what are you doing? Do you think I’m stupid?” as I pulled away the sweatshirt he’d throw over my bag as a cover for his hand diving in. He simply laid my cell phone down on the crate table in front of us and slithered away. I gave a few half-hearted “theif!”s after him. Half-hearted because I was taught if you’re going to do that in the Africa culture, you have to accept the fact that said thief could be mobbed and killed right there because of your accusations. So, yeah, I wasn’t feeling so much like witnessing a murder—it’s been a long week—so I just stared, dumbfounded, as he scampered off.
At least this sweet bag Ang gave me for Christmas has a flap and a zipper—pure anti-pick-pocket genius.
So, anyway, another day in Nairobi town, another day waiting for our LandCruiser to be fixed up and this fire engine to come off a ship in Mombassa. The fire engine (no longer equipped with hoses and men in uniform) was given to us as a team car and shipped from Germany. It was supposed to come off the ship nearly two weeks ago, but has been held up since then… and has been holding us up in return. Keep praying they can get the thing off soon so we can be on our way!
(Monday)
We’re finally leaving Nairobi—praise the Lord!
The fellas in the UNI-MOG and us (six chicks in the LandCruiser) are off for Eldoret Missionary College—the end of our first leg of our back-to-Sudan journey and current home to Joshua and Justina & Co., our Kenyan teammates expecting a baby very soon.
OH! I should say! Heinrich and Doris emailed from Germany. They are now four! Little Phillip came just the other day—the newest member to our team. So praise God that both Mom and baby boy are doing fine, and for our team getting even bigger! They’ll be back with us come May. We miss them dearly.
(Tuesday)
So these new, front-facing seats in the LandCruiser are cool and all, but I’ve found a downside. You can see forward.
Looking over the driver’s shoulder is sort of like a wide-screen horror movie. But, unfortunately, a horror movie you’re rather involved in and affected by… yet have no influence over.
You know how when you go bowling and the ball is scooting into the gutter or sliding right through the middle of a split, and you sort of wiggle a little bit, or wave your arms, all in the hope of somehow willing the ball to redirect its path? That’s a little what it’s like being in the back seat of this LandCruiser right now.
We have a new driver, see, and she’s no so used to the vehicle and doesn’t seem to have a splendid grasp of just where the wheels are. But, poor lady, it was a hard, frustrating drive. And praise God we survived it.
Now we’re in Lodwar, somewhere in the Kenyan desert. It’s hot, so I’m dripping, and all I want is a shower.
(Wednesday)
I think this might go down as the trip that just wouldn’t end.
We made it to Loki this morning. Unfortunately, Daniel lost the clutch in the UNI-MOG somewhere along the way. So now we’re here in the middle of what amounts to little more than an airstrip, uncertain of what exactly we’ll do from here.
I think poor Daniel has a night of work before him—another addition to his many frustrations—and we’re all back in the waiting game.
So please pray for the car situation and for our patience with said situation and with each other. We’ve been stuffed together way too long and are at times at each others’ throats.
Oh, and still no news on that fire engine on the coast.
I can’t wait to get home…
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Back in Nairobi
Just now in Nakumatt (big Walmart-esque place) I saw drinkable jelly. Yes, drinkable jelly. Ala drinkable yogurt, I suppose. My reaction to said drinkable jelly was stronger than to cooked rat.
But, really, that's not important at all.
In other, more relevant news, here we are, safe in Nairobi. I had a happy reunion with my teammates—especially my roommates—but, unfortunately, I wasn't reunited with all the luggage I left Chicago with.
Hoofprints for Christ gave me a wonderful gift for Christmas, and I told them I'd buy a bike with it to travel between villages. Well, I bought the bike, laboriously packed it in a box and had to watch as it came around the conveyor belt, mangled.
But that's the way it goes in Africa.
Now we're stuck in Nairobi, waiting on some things to be done with our automobiles. It's hard to keep things going for 23—soon to be 25—people. Good ol' Steve pulled some captains chairs and a bench out of some old cars and had them put in our ancient LandCruiser. He's talked about it for a while, but I suppose his final motivation may have come on the way here. It used to have two long benches down the sides, and Jen was laying on one. Well, Martin hit a bump and she went flying up, nearly touched the ceiling and then crashed back down to the floor of the thing all floppy-like. I'd say it was one of the most terrifying moments of our time here, seeing her lying there, eyes glazed over, as we yelled at Martin to stop the car… in the middle-of-nowhere, Sudan. Praise God, she was only unconscious for a while and survived only with a headache and big bump—a far cry from the broken neck both Kim and I were certain she had, as our minds raced in those first few seconds when it happened. Anyway, we all wore our (albeit terribly uncomfortable and makeshift) seatbelts from then on and went with no further accident. Well, accept that one time when I had unbuckled for some silly reason for a moment and later found myself face-first in Jen's lap. We have some good times here in Africa.
I suppose none of that is all that important, but now you know. We're just hanging out and trying to keep on top of business and language and we fight all that is African culture for getting things done. It looks like we'll head back Saturday at the earliest, so please be praying that we do get out of here in a reasonable time and have safe travels home.
We're all getting really anxious to get home, pining for our own beds, routine and—of course—our friends in the village. I can't wait to get there and get settled back in until we trek out again for supplies.
Everyone take care—I'll write soon!
But, really, that's not important at all.
In other, more relevant news, here we are, safe in Nairobi. I had a happy reunion with my teammates—especially my roommates—but, unfortunately, I wasn't reunited with all the luggage I left Chicago with.
Hoofprints for Christ gave me a wonderful gift for Christmas, and I told them I'd buy a bike with it to travel between villages. Well, I bought the bike, laboriously packed it in a box and had to watch as it came around the conveyor belt, mangled.
But that's the way it goes in Africa.
Now we're stuck in Nairobi, waiting on some things to be done with our automobiles. It's hard to keep things going for 23—soon to be 25—people. Good ol' Steve pulled some captains chairs and a bench out of some old cars and had them put in our ancient LandCruiser. He's talked about it for a while, but I suppose his final motivation may have come on the way here. It used to have two long benches down the sides, and Jen was laying on one. Well, Martin hit a bump and she went flying up, nearly touched the ceiling and then crashed back down to the floor of the thing all floppy-like. I'd say it was one of the most terrifying moments of our time here, seeing her lying there, eyes glazed over, as we yelled at Martin to stop the car… in the middle-of-nowhere, Sudan. Praise God, she was only unconscious for a while and survived only with a headache and big bump—a far cry from the broken neck both Kim and I were certain she had, as our minds raced in those first few seconds when it happened. Anyway, we all wore our (albeit terribly uncomfortable and makeshift) seatbelts from then on and went with no further accident. Well, accept that one time when I had unbuckled for some silly reason for a moment and later found myself face-first in Jen's lap. We have some good times here in Africa.
I suppose none of that is all that important, but now you know. We're just hanging out and trying to keep on top of business and language and we fight all that is African culture for getting things done. It looks like we'll head back Saturday at the earliest, so please be praying that we do get out of here in a reasonable time and have safe travels home.
We're all getting really anxious to get home, pining for our own beds, routine and—of course—our friends in the village. I can't wait to get there and get settled back in until we trek out again for supplies.
Everyone take care—I'll write soon!
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Long overdue pictures...
Since it's been a while since I've been able to post pictures, I figured I'd take time to do that now, as I wait for my flight. Hope you enjoy.
Mohrika is a good friend of ours -- one of the teens. Sadly, though, she left for school in Uganda just before we left for holiday. She hasn't gone to school before, so we're excited to see her go, yet heartbroken because we really love her. We pooled together some pencils, erasers and clothes for her as a going-away gift. I will gladly say that this dress looks MUCH better on her than it ever did on me. Oh, and about that salute... I dunno, the Lopit do the weirdest thing in pictures. They always look super serious or make like boxers or salute like soldiers. I have no idea where that comes from, but we could hardly get her to put that arm down for a good picture.
You might remember little Pattie from a while back. This is her -- growing like a weed -- with momma Davitika and Auntie Pattie.
The baby flow hasn't stopped, of course. This is our good friend Mary and her baby, Cheri -- named after Kimmie's mom. She's a cutie. I was supposed to name our other friend's baby, but she may have had it while we were gone! I can't wait to see the little one. (And I'm praying that all of our little friends are still there when we get back this time.).jpg)
It's not all about babies. I guess this was a rather funny afternoon. Daniel and his Lopit friend were trying to coax a very stubborn cow up the mountain. I think Dan ended up pushing the thing the entire way there.
Back to babies. This is sweet little Ellen, my favorite baby from my favorite family. I have dreams that she grows up into a strong Christian woman someday. She's adorable and smiles constantly. 
Sometimes even the really adorable ones pee all over you when you're carrying them, though. Ewww.Alright, that's it. Hope this works. Oh, and PLEASE give Mark a HUGE thank you for doing all this blog stuff for me -- without him, I couldn't work this thing at all!
Back in the Game
Hello, hello, hello.
Greetings from Heathrow Airport in London; I'm halfway back from my holiday/medical trip in the States. Wow, what a whirlwind.
I was blessed with a relatively low-key time at home -- I spent time with my family, saw a handful of close friends (including my favorite kids!), caught an Illini game (!!!) and was able to visit both Oglesby Union and Stratford Park, my home churches. I say "relatively" low-key because anyone who knows me knows low-key doesn't come easy, and anyone who knows coming back in the country after 7 months abroad knows everyone wants to spend time with you. So, yes, it actually was really stressful, but I'm hoping it was a good kind of stressful that will still leave me somehow refreshed and ready to head back into the bush.
Coming back to America was interesting. I'd tell people I was on holiday (vacation) and they'd always ask me what particular holiday it was in Kenya that would bring me home. That wasn't the only language blunder -- my poor parents had to endure bits and pieces of Lopit and German.
I had to ease back into things. The first day I gave a go at Target but ended up having to leave, completely overwhelmed. And I found myself constantly walking around the house turning off TVs and lights, concerned that we'd run out of solar power since it was overcast. (My parents run on regular electricity, just like everyone else.) But I finally did adjust to being able to drive 110kpm without fear of destroying my automobile on some dirtroad pothole. Oh, and I adjusted to being able to drive, period, and thinking in mph again, as well. And I was Walmart's biggest customer, I do believe.
Good showers, good food, good friends and all that was nice, but I'm ready to get back to Africa. (And I dare say my parents were very ready to get rid of me.) I found myself missing my team terribly and called Kim three or four pathetic times. I even sat in front of my television one night, watching the Lopit footage I sent back to my friends while I was away. Now that is sad. I miss my little village, my little house and even my little longdrop toilet.
The computer disaster came and went. I got my new one in just a couple days before I left and Tom tried to load it up with good books and programs for me. (Thanks, Thomas!) All the financial stress was calmed, as the folks at OUC and a couple of my friends covered all but $500 of the thing. What a HUGE relief. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Frustratingly, other things kept going wrong. But, conveniently, I was in the States and in a position to fix them. Praise God for his nice timing on that.
Anyway, so here I go, back into Nairobi, then a three-days' journey into Sudan. God worked in my heart while I was gone, and I'm happy -- nay, joyful -- to say I can't wait to get back and work harder, with more focus than before.
I'll do my best to get the blogs a'flowin' again -- I was amazed to know how many people read it at home, so I'll do my best to keep it up. Pray for the satellite situation -- that it would work and we'd have email connection!
Thanks again for everything... God bless!
Greetings from Heathrow Airport in London; I'm halfway back from my holiday/medical trip in the States. Wow, what a whirlwind.
I was blessed with a relatively low-key time at home -- I spent time with my family, saw a handful of close friends (including my favorite kids!), caught an Illini game (!!!) and was able to visit both Oglesby Union and Stratford Park, my home churches. I say "relatively" low-key because anyone who knows me knows low-key doesn't come easy, and anyone who knows coming back in the country after 7 months abroad knows everyone wants to spend time with you. So, yes, it actually was really stressful, but I'm hoping it was a good kind of stressful that will still leave me somehow refreshed and ready to head back into the bush.
Coming back to America was interesting. I'd tell people I was on holiday (vacation) and they'd always ask me what particular holiday it was in Kenya that would bring me home. That wasn't the only language blunder -- my poor parents had to endure bits and pieces of Lopit and German.
I had to ease back into things. The first day I gave a go at Target but ended up having to leave, completely overwhelmed. And I found myself constantly walking around the house turning off TVs and lights, concerned that we'd run out of solar power since it was overcast. (My parents run on regular electricity, just like everyone else.) But I finally did adjust to being able to drive 110kpm without fear of destroying my automobile on some dirtroad pothole. Oh, and I adjusted to being able to drive, period, and thinking in mph again, as well. And I was Walmart's biggest customer, I do believe.
Good showers, good food, good friends and all that was nice, but I'm ready to get back to Africa. (And I dare say my parents were very ready to get rid of me.) I found myself missing my team terribly and called Kim three or four pathetic times. I even sat in front of my television one night, watching the Lopit footage I sent back to my friends while I was away. Now that is sad. I miss my little village, my little house and even my little longdrop toilet.
The computer disaster came and went. I got my new one in just a couple days before I left and Tom tried to load it up with good books and programs for me. (Thanks, Thomas!) All the financial stress was calmed, as the folks at OUC and a couple of my friends covered all but $500 of the thing. What a HUGE relief. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Frustratingly, other things kept going wrong. But, conveniently, I was in the States and in a position to fix them. Praise God for his nice timing on that.
Anyway, so here I go, back into Nairobi, then a three-days' journey into Sudan. God worked in my heart while I was gone, and I'm happy -- nay, joyful -- to say I can't wait to get back and work harder, with more focus than before.
I'll do my best to get the blogs a'flowin' again -- I was amazed to know how many people read it at home, so I'll do my best to keep it up. Pray for the satellite situation -- that it would work and we'd have email connection!
Thanks again for everything... God bless!
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Good news and bad news...
Well, folks, I've got good news.
I got my eyes checked out yesterday -- everything is a-OK, which makes me a happy woman. My vision has come back to nearly where it used to be, and the pain is gone. So praise God for that.
On the other end of the spectrum, I have bad news.
I also heard the news on my computer yesterday. Its death certificate has been signed. I now officially have some other huge thing to stress about. (Whimper.) I guess this will be another lesson in trusting God for finances and to bring me through. I have to order a new computer today to get it in time to take it back into the Sudan, so please pray as I look for the money and wade through process of choosing and buying a new computer.
Well, there you have it. I'm going to try to resurrect my harddrive and get all my photos and documents off there. I'm hopeful I'll be able to recover everything and share it with all of you!
God bless you!
I got my eyes checked out yesterday -- everything is a-OK, which makes me a happy woman. My vision has come back to nearly where it used to be, and the pain is gone. So praise God for that.
On the other end of the spectrum, I have bad news.
I also heard the news on my computer yesterday. Its death certificate has been signed. I now officially have some other huge thing to stress about. (Whimper.) I guess this will be another lesson in trusting God for finances and to bring me through. I have to order a new computer today to get it in time to take it back into the Sudan, so please pray as I look for the money and wade through process of choosing and buying a new computer.
Well, there you have it. I'm going to try to resurrect my harddrive and get all my photos and documents off there. I'm hopeful I'll be able to recover everything and share it with all of you!
God bless you!
Sunday, February 18, 2007
from the dark...
Goodness, it's been forever. Pardon me. The satellite we work from in Sudan stopped working with my computer, and my computer has since decided to stop working, as well.
Talk about technological mutiny.
We're on holiday now and will be for a couple of weeks. During that time, I hope to catch ya'll up on things and post some photos. Of course, that all depends on the resurrection of my computer. So please be praying for that, as replacing a dead computer will make my wallet... equally dead.
Things in our village are going OK. I know I left a lot of things hanging. Francis is better and just as cute as ever--a few people have asked. I'll try to get on here and update more in the future, but for now, I'm going to go enjoy a soda and a hot shower.
(Thank you, civilization.)
Talk about technological mutiny.
We're on holiday now and will be for a couple of weeks. During that time, I hope to catch ya'll up on things and post some photos. Of course, that all depends on the resurrection of my computer. So please be praying for that, as replacing a dead computer will make my wallet... equally dead.
Things in our village are going OK. I know I left a lot of things hanging. Francis is better and just as cute as ever--a few people have asked. I'll try to get on here and update more in the future, but for now, I'm going to go enjoy a soda and a hot shower.
(Thank you, civilization.)
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Wedding Bells and Fist Fights
If I had any question about where the children go while the parents dance, it was answered for me when I set out to leave my house about six this morning, curious to see what the people looked like then, after a whole night of wedding dancing without sleep.
I opened my door to see three little shadows sitting in a line on our front rocks. They turned their faces up to me and whispered happy hellos. I wondered how long they’d been sitting there waiting for me—perhaps summoned by my reading light at 4:30—and how many other mornings they’d sat there anxiously, to no avail.
It was probably a letdown that I told them I was going up to the ringing bell (the central sound ringing from every wedding celebration… quite nonstop… for at least two days) to see the people dancing.
It wasn’t so exciting—to us it normally isn’t—just a bunch of drunk people, scarcely dressed yet elaborately adorned with beads and any other bit of nonsense from outside, covered in white ash and gyrating awkwardly around or inside a circle.
But I’ve always wondered how they would be in the morning. We’ve been there at night, at the beginning of the all-night bashes. But never have I ventured out in the morning, though I wake up often to hear the bells and drums still going full-bore.
Well, my wondering has ceased. They’d just a bit more drunk, a bit more off-beat and a lot more likely to spontaneously break out in quarreling or fighting. But I tell you, these people would be all-stars at pulling all-nighters at college.
My curiosity quenched and my patience running thin with all the fighting, I headed back home. I felt a bit like a pied piper, collecting more and more children as I walked home, all asking if they could come to my house and play. I haven’t been doing that as much lately, and I miss it—a sentiment, it seems, shared by the kids.
I opened my door to see three little shadows sitting in a line on our front rocks. They turned their faces up to me and whispered happy hellos. I wondered how long they’d been sitting there waiting for me—perhaps summoned by my reading light at 4:30—and how many other mornings they’d sat there anxiously, to no avail.
It was probably a letdown that I told them I was going up to the ringing bell (the central sound ringing from every wedding celebration… quite nonstop… for at least two days) to see the people dancing.
It wasn’t so exciting—to us it normally isn’t—just a bunch of drunk people, scarcely dressed yet elaborately adorned with beads and any other bit of nonsense from outside, covered in white ash and gyrating awkwardly around or inside a circle.
But I’ve always wondered how they would be in the morning. We’ve been there at night, at the beginning of the all-night bashes. But never have I ventured out in the morning, though I wake up often to hear the bells and drums still going full-bore.
Well, my wondering has ceased. They’d just a bit more drunk, a bit more off-beat and a lot more likely to spontaneously break out in quarreling or fighting. But I tell you, these people would be all-stars at pulling all-nighters at college.
My curiosity quenched and my patience running thin with all the fighting, I headed back home. I felt a bit like a pied piper, collecting more and more children as I walked home, all asking if they could come to my house and play. I haven’t been doing that as much lately, and I miss it—a sentiment, it seems, shared by the kids.
The Kissy Face
You can tell a house of missionaries is in need of vacation when they kick a child out of their compound for a week… for “making the kissy face.”
(Try to get a Lopit translation for that.)
The children are so often disobedient and indifferent to our rules, it can get trying, especially in this heat. Since we won’t wield the stick, our rebukes often fall on deaf ears and the children have taken to testing us.
But we’ll prevail… in love and discipline, I suppose… even when they mock us with “the kissy face.” Haha.
But, do pray for us as this hard, hard unit on prayer and spiritual warfare is coming to an end, the heat puts us in a constant sweat and vacation is in view, for better or for worse. It’d be so easy to go into survival mode—burying ourselves only in our studies, lying as still as possible in the shade against the heat and dropping our role as learners in the community, resolving to jump right back in the instant we get back from holiday.
I’ve been close lately to that hapless state of survival—seduced there by recent trials with my health and stress in the community, among other things—so please pray especially for me.
(Try to get a Lopit translation for that.)
The children are so often disobedient and indifferent to our rules, it can get trying, especially in this heat. Since we won’t wield the stick, our rebukes often fall on deaf ears and the children have taken to testing us.
But we’ll prevail… in love and discipline, I suppose… even when they mock us with “the kissy face.” Haha.
But, do pray for us as this hard, hard unit on prayer and spiritual warfare is coming to an end, the heat puts us in a constant sweat and vacation is in view, for better or for worse. It’d be so easy to go into survival mode—burying ourselves only in our studies, lying as still as possible in the shade against the heat and dropping our role as learners in the community, resolving to jump right back in the instant we get back from holiday.
I’ve been close lately to that hapless state of survival—seduced there by recent trials with my health and stress in the community, among other things—so please pray especially for me.
Moon Walking
Kim and I went on a night walk last night. It was beautiful.
The moon is sometimes so bright you can walk by it, and nightfall brings the only relief—albeit small—from the heat.
On a really good night, you’ll even get a sweet breeze by which to walk and wonder at God’s creation.
And wonder you would, were you here. Wow. Just wow.
Annika and I went on a bike ride the other day and both nearly fell of our bikes when we were so distracted by the view across the valley—a purple-gray horizon etched with the shadow of soft blue mountain range.
These days you’ll often fall into the humanist view that cultures untouched by modernization and our understanding of civilization set the standard to which all humanity should aspire. That is, that the people unfettered by that which we know are perfect and reflect “the way things should be.”
In light of the Bible you see it’s actually the opposite—that these people, too, are fallen, and have received none of the blessing connected to the knowledge and foundation of Christianity
Far from perfect, their lives often reflect more starkly the curse put on Adam in the garden—to suffer the effects of sin and disease, to toil hard in the land for food, etc.
But creation, it stands a mighty proclamation of its Creator, maybe even better when it is untouched, unpopulated. A person with ears can’t help but hear what these hills are saying, what the roar of the ocean screams, what the rocks cry out…
The moon is sometimes so bright you can walk by it, and nightfall brings the only relief—albeit small—from the heat.
On a really good night, you’ll even get a sweet breeze by which to walk and wonder at God’s creation.
And wonder you would, were you here. Wow. Just wow.
Annika and I went on a bike ride the other day and both nearly fell of our bikes when we were so distracted by the view across the valley—a purple-gray horizon etched with the shadow of soft blue mountain range.
These days you’ll often fall into the humanist view that cultures untouched by modernization and our understanding of civilization set the standard to which all humanity should aspire. That is, that the people unfettered by that which we know are perfect and reflect “the way things should be.”
In light of the Bible you see it’s actually the opposite—that these people, too, are fallen, and have received none of the blessing connected to the knowledge and foundation of Christianity
Far from perfect, their lives often reflect more starkly the curse put on Adam in the garden—to suffer the effects of sin and disease, to toil hard in the land for food, etc.
But creation, it stands a mighty proclamation of its Creator, maybe even better when it is untouched, unpopulated. A person with ears can’t help but hear what these hills are saying, what the roar of the ocean screams, what the rocks cry out…
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Heading Home
Hey all… Just a quick note to let you know I’m headed back into the Sudan. My eyes are feeling better, though my vision is still a little blurry—but with a healthy dose of these drops the doc gave me and maybe eventually a new prescription, I could be good as new again. Or at least I’m praying!
Thanks for all your prayers... about this and about the ministry.
I can’t wait to get back in there and see my teammates and my friends!
Thanks for all your prayers... about this and about the ministry.
I can’t wait to get back in there and see my teammates and my friends!
Thursday, January 18, 2007
my Eyes
The eyes thing is... OK. Kind of weird. I went to the Lions Club hospital here. (You ever seen the donation bins for hand-me-down glasses at restaurants? That's Lions Club.) The lady there was like, you need to come home right now and have surgery. Talk about drama. So I started the wheels on that while I looked for a guy to get a second opinion. During that time, I got over the panic of needing to go home and started instead to see all the positives. (Restocking on things like shoes, which I'm in dire need of; packing everything I should've packed the first time; seeing my parents and friends; going to an Illini basketball game.)But then I ended up at some German doc at Nairobi Hospital. He told me I didn't need to go home and to get the surgery she wanted me to get would be OK, but not altogether necessary and could end up negating itself later. Again, drama, drama. And then I was all positive about going home for no reason.And so now here I sit. I'm in Nairobi at a friend's house. I've bounced between here and the DIGUNA mission station, have relaxed very little and spent VERY MUCH between flights and bus fare and food and all that. Anyway, so I'm one big ball of stress. I've been hassling AIM AIR for a flight back into Lopitland, to no avail. They say the bush plane is out of commission for inspection all next week, which would put the next flight on the 29th. So I'm pushing for a (expensive, grr) diversion sometime early next week, but even that might be a dream.And all this to get back into Lopitland and to my team, which will be leaving for supplies and our first holiday the first week of February! Nothing like traveling thousands of Ks and paying hundreds of dollars to simply turn around two weeks later and come back. *sigh*
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Little Francis
A few days ago, I went visiting and found my favorite little friend lying on a rice bag in his compound, burning up with fever. His name is Francis; he’s four (or so his mom says—you can’t really be sure); and he truly is the light of my roommates’ and my Lopit life.
He’s on our compound almost all day every day, always with this amazing smile and cute little giggle. He used to wear a raggedy read turtleneck with shorts that had the butt ripped out. But sometime ago I gave him one of my t-shirts, which actually disappeared until Christmas—at which time it became his everyday attire. I guess that’s how it works here—the kids change clothes on Christmas. And that’s pretty much the only time. Hehe. Anyway, now he parades around in my tshirt (it’s HUGE on him) and an old (but new-to-him) pair of jeans—complete with a butt. We always joke that’s going to take a while to get used to, having a seat in his pants.
He’s my friend and helper. He hands me my clothes pins one at a time when I do laundry and empties our compost bucket proudly and without complaint. So when I saw him there, lying limp, some kind of motherly fear/panic came over me. (This is a predisposition I’m not always convinced the Lopit mothers have. They often resign to, “If Jok—the bad god—wants him, he’ll take him anyway.)
Pattie and I took his temp and it was 40.3 C and climbing. (We didn’t keep it in the full time, for fear he’d bite it.) I checked my bush medicine book for the Celsius to Fahrenheit conversion and about freaked out when I realized he was near 105 F.
The clinic is closed because the workers haven’t been paid in ages and would rather drink with the holiday visitors from Juba and Khartoum than take care of the cholera and other woes. (See previous blog about needing reliable Christian nurses… ugh.) So it’s just Pattie and I, armed only with OTC headache medicine and this stupid bush book.
And, oh yes, prayer.
But I forgot about that part somehow. I ended up picking up his hot little body and carrying him back to our house. And as he half clung to me, half sunk onto my shoulder, I told God, “I refuse to let this child die. I refuse to let you let this child die.”
Quite the ridiculous thing to say to the Creator of the universe and my only source of hope and strength, eh? What am I? What is man, that God is mindful of him, that He cares for him? And where was I when He laid the foundation of the earth, that I dare pit my will against His?
The thing is, God will be glorified. And He will be glorified how He wants to be glorified. And having that mindset is far different from the fatalist, animist mindset because there is hope in the true God and I can raise my petitions to Him. And that’s what I should have been doing as I carried Francis back to my house, stripped him, put him in a basin of water and battled his fever.
He’s on our compound almost all day every day, always with this amazing smile and cute little giggle. He used to wear a raggedy read turtleneck with shorts that had the butt ripped out. But sometime ago I gave him one of my t-shirts, which actually disappeared until Christmas—at which time it became his everyday attire. I guess that’s how it works here—the kids change clothes on Christmas. And that’s pretty much the only time. Hehe. Anyway, now he parades around in my tshirt (it’s HUGE on him) and an old (but new-to-him) pair of jeans—complete with a butt. We always joke that’s going to take a while to get used to, having a seat in his pants.
He’s my friend and helper. He hands me my clothes pins one at a time when I do laundry and empties our compost bucket proudly and without complaint. So when I saw him there, lying limp, some kind of motherly fear/panic came over me. (This is a predisposition I’m not always convinced the Lopit mothers have. They often resign to, “If Jok—the bad god—wants him, he’ll take him anyway.)
Pattie and I took his temp and it was 40.3 C and climbing. (We didn’t keep it in the full time, for fear he’d bite it.) I checked my bush medicine book for the Celsius to Fahrenheit conversion and about freaked out when I realized he was near 105 F.
The clinic is closed because the workers haven’t been paid in ages and would rather drink with the holiday visitors from Juba and Khartoum than take care of the cholera and other woes. (See previous blog about needing reliable Christian nurses… ugh.) So it’s just Pattie and I, armed only with OTC headache medicine and this stupid bush book.
And, oh yes, prayer.
But I forgot about that part somehow. I ended up picking up his hot little body and carrying him back to our house. And as he half clung to me, half sunk onto my shoulder, I told God, “I refuse to let this child die. I refuse to let you let this child die.”
Quite the ridiculous thing to say to the Creator of the universe and my only source of hope and strength, eh? What am I? What is man, that God is mindful of him, that He cares for him? And where was I when He laid the foundation of the earth, that I dare pit my will against His?
The thing is, God will be glorified. And He will be glorified how He wants to be glorified. And having that mindset is far different from the fatalist, animist mindset because there is hope in the true God and I can raise my petitions to Him. And that’s what I should have been doing as I carried Francis back to my house, stripped him, put him in a basin of water and battled his fever.
Reality
There’s danger in writing a blog update sometime after midnight when you can’t sleep.
That’s why I didn’t. Pattie and I played cards instead.
But there’s still danger in writing blogs at all, I’ve decided. The danger in writing about all the fun stories and strange adventures from my life in Africa is that people at home think my life is all frolicking through fields of African wildflowers and giving Pillsbury Doughboys to naked little village children.
I’ve come to realize that the instant I write something about how life really is hard, people at home go into deep worry about me. And I’m not one to like people fretting over my situation, so let this be a sort of disclaimer…
Life in Lopitland is hard. Sometimes I can’t sleep. Sometimes I don’t think I can stand one more mooching village woman who I don’t know demanding chai or soap or clothes or water. Sometimes I’m sick in bed. Sometimes I want more to eat than noodles or rice or beans. Sometimes I can’t think over the yelling women or crying babies. Sometimes I shoo those cute kids off my compound because they just won’t listen or stop asking for stuff. Sometimes I want to give up on learning this language, give up on bringing the Gospel here. Sometimes even my Western teammates get on my nerves!
Missionaries truly are real people.
But we’ve got the same God here as we did back in the comfort and familiarity of our homes and churches in America. And we’re spurred on because we love that God, and that God loves these people, even when we can’t or don’t want to. And He’ll keep us and sustain us.
So, please, don’t worry! But definitely pray.
That’s why I didn’t. Pattie and I played cards instead.
But there’s still danger in writing blogs at all, I’ve decided. The danger in writing about all the fun stories and strange adventures from my life in Africa is that people at home think my life is all frolicking through fields of African wildflowers and giving Pillsbury Doughboys to naked little village children.
I’ve come to realize that the instant I write something about how life really is hard, people at home go into deep worry about me. And I’m not one to like people fretting over my situation, so let this be a sort of disclaimer…
Life in Lopitland is hard. Sometimes I can’t sleep. Sometimes I don’t think I can stand one more mooching village woman who I don’t know demanding chai or soap or clothes or water. Sometimes I’m sick in bed. Sometimes I want more to eat than noodles or rice or beans. Sometimes I can’t think over the yelling women or crying babies. Sometimes I shoo those cute kids off my compound because they just won’t listen or stop asking for stuff. Sometimes I want to give up on learning this language, give up on bringing the Gospel here. Sometimes even my Western teammates get on my nerves!
Missionaries truly are real people.
But we’ve got the same God here as we did back in the comfort and familiarity of our homes and churches in America. And we’re spurred on because we love that God, and that God loves these people, even when we can’t or don’t want to. And He’ll keep us and sustain us.
So, please, don’t worry! But definitely pray.
Site for Sore Eyes
Sudan can be a rough on your eyes.
I mentioned before that something is up with mine. Steve and Iris decided eyes aren’t something you mess around with, so I’m going to be heading into Kenya on the next plane.
Please pray for the logistics of that—hopping a flight first from the bush to Loki, then from Loki to Nairobi—and for the expenses. Unless I can jump in with a Samaritans Purse flight from Loki to Nairobi, it’ll be $170 each way, plus whatever it is to get picked from Lopitland.
I’ve never had to travel over 1000k to see an eye doctor before.
Pray also against discouragement and frustration. My biggest battle is on this front sometimes.
I mentioned before that something is up with mine. Steve and Iris decided eyes aren’t something you mess around with, so I’m going to be heading into Kenya on the next plane.
Please pray for the logistics of that—hopping a flight first from the bush to Loki, then from Loki to Nairobi—and for the expenses. Unless I can jump in with a Samaritans Purse flight from Loki to Nairobi, it’ll be $170 each way, plus whatever it is to get picked from Lopitland.
I’ve never had to travel over 1000k to see an eye doctor before.
Pray also against discouragement and frustration. My biggest battle is on this front sometimes.
Say Cheese!
My roommates and I have been near a breaking point this last week.
We’re out of good food. Our supply of ‘fresh’ veggies left from the Loki trip are gone. We’ve been blessed so far to have a few cans of fruits, vegetables and even processed meat (!!!) to call our own. When a bunch of missionaries pulled out of Sudan, they sent a lot of supplies and tins Steve’s way. And some people sent stuff just for our team, because everyone was pretty excited about us. But we hit that container hard and there isn’t much left now, so Steve and Iris closed the ‘Gates of Food Heaven.’ Hehe. There’s a huge 40-foot container in Yei, but we can’t get to it because security isn’t that great—there have been lots of attacks on the road. And tins in Loki are 200+ KSH each—that’s around THREE DOLLARS each. Now, don’t think we’re starving. We have food! But with nothing much more than beans, rice and noodles, we’re realizing how great those gift cans were. And we will from now on appreciate them more (especially if we’re shelling out hundreds of dollars for fruit cocktail and Spam).
We hadn’t gotten mail in nearly a month. Christmas came and went, but no one got their Christmas cards or packages. That’s rough, especially when you know there’s stuff coming.
But then came Kurt and Hannah.
They’re veteran DIGUNA missionaries in the Congo, and they’re amazing. We met them and were blessed by their fellowship when we were in Nairobi in October. But when they came Sunday for a short visit… wow.
First, we got mail.
My roommates got handfuls of letters and cards. I got an AIM statement. Talk about devastating. But, nevertheless, it was great.
Then they came up to our house for lunch. I’m not sure there is another field of work in which you have so much contact with people who are so experienced in what they do nor a field in which it’s so important to have that kind of contact. And, what’s more, they want to share what they know with you. They brought a leveling perspective to three girls aching from the second round of culture shock and wondering at times if they’re getting anywhere in ministry. And they brought encouragement, stories, new conversations…
And cheese.
Oh wow.
Cheese.
It’s been four months since we had cheese.
And they brought a huge chunk of cheese.
CHEESE.
Pattie, Kimpie and I were nearly moved to tears.
Oh, praise God! Cheese!
After we showed them along the path to their next stop, we ran back into the house and just stared at it, thinking about all the wonderful things we could cook with it. And they said we had to eat it all that night because it would be bad by morning. (No fridges in the bush.)
Suddenly, the food world broke open. We had CHEESE. They also brought us eggs, onions and potatoes. We deliberated about what to cook—cheese quesadillas, omelets, cheesy potatoes, cheesy rice, cheesy lentils, cheesy beans, flour and cheese… just cheese, cheese, cheese. During that time, Kim ate half her cheese. But no matter, we still had plenty. Too much, in fact.
We stuffed ourselves with cheese omelets and cheese potatoes.
And it was so amazing.
Of course, this morning we were all terribly sick. But that answered our question of whether eating too much cheese would cause constipation or diarrhea.
And we all agreed that every moment over the longdrop was worth it.
We’re out of good food. Our supply of ‘fresh’ veggies left from the Loki trip are gone. We’ve been blessed so far to have a few cans of fruits, vegetables and even processed meat (!!!) to call our own. When a bunch of missionaries pulled out of Sudan, they sent a lot of supplies and tins Steve’s way. And some people sent stuff just for our team, because everyone was pretty excited about us. But we hit that container hard and there isn’t much left now, so Steve and Iris closed the ‘Gates of Food Heaven.’ Hehe. There’s a huge 40-foot container in Yei, but we can’t get to it because security isn’t that great—there have been lots of attacks on the road. And tins in Loki are 200+ KSH each—that’s around THREE DOLLARS each. Now, don’t think we’re starving. We have food! But with nothing much more than beans, rice and noodles, we’re realizing how great those gift cans were. And we will from now on appreciate them more (especially if we’re shelling out hundreds of dollars for fruit cocktail and Spam).
We hadn’t gotten mail in nearly a month. Christmas came and went, but no one got their Christmas cards or packages. That’s rough, especially when you know there’s stuff coming.
But then came Kurt and Hannah.
They’re veteran DIGUNA missionaries in the Congo, and they’re amazing. We met them and were blessed by their fellowship when we were in Nairobi in October. But when they came Sunday for a short visit… wow.
First, we got mail.
My roommates got handfuls of letters and cards. I got an AIM statement. Talk about devastating. But, nevertheless, it was great.
Then they came up to our house for lunch. I’m not sure there is another field of work in which you have so much contact with people who are so experienced in what they do nor a field in which it’s so important to have that kind of contact. And, what’s more, they want to share what they know with you. They brought a leveling perspective to three girls aching from the second round of culture shock and wondering at times if they’re getting anywhere in ministry. And they brought encouragement, stories, new conversations…
And cheese.
Oh wow.
Cheese.
It’s been four months since we had cheese.
And they brought a huge chunk of cheese.
CHEESE.
Pattie, Kimpie and I were nearly moved to tears.
Oh, praise God! Cheese!
After we showed them along the path to their next stop, we ran back into the house and just stared at it, thinking about all the wonderful things we could cook with it. And they said we had to eat it all that night because it would be bad by morning. (No fridges in the bush.)
Suddenly, the food world broke open. We had CHEESE. They also brought us eggs, onions and potatoes. We deliberated about what to cook—cheese quesadillas, omelets, cheesy potatoes, cheesy rice, cheesy lentils, cheesy beans, flour and cheese… just cheese, cheese, cheese. During that time, Kim ate half her cheese. But no matter, we still had plenty. Too much, in fact.
We stuffed ourselves with cheese omelets and cheese potatoes.
And it was so amazing.
Of course, this morning we were all terribly sick. But that answered our question of whether eating too much cheese would cause constipation or diarrhea.
And we all agreed that every moment over the longdrop was worth it.
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Cultural Strongholds
One of the wisest things anyone as ever said to me was from my friend Sprouts way back in the day. He said, "Andi, you can't expect people who don't know Jesus to act like they do."
This morning as Kim and I sat down to do our Bible study, I was forced to remember that bit of wisdom. We sat there as we heard our neighbor and friend Susannah yelling and beating on a small kid. The child was just screaming, wailing in pain and trying to run away. Susannah was chasing her. This stuff always causes a moment of crisis. You want to run out of the house, demanding them stop and railing them for it. An even better case is when they're so drunk with balu (the local beer) they're doing absolutely ridiculous and terrible things. You want to somehow persuade them that balu is bad and it makes them do stupid things and why don't they just stop?! But you can't expect people who don't know Jesus to act like they do.
Eventually I couldn't stand it and went outside, heart beating and wanting to take a stick to this woman like she was to the child. The other women were standing there, watching, as Susannah chased the kid up the path. And when they caught view of me, you could see the news ripple up the houses -- "Ibeja is watching."
They tried to greet me casually. I could do nothing but stand there and coldly stare up the path to where Susannah was. By this time, the kid had either gotten away or she was done with her. I can't stand the idea of someone beating a child. It tears at my very being. I hate it in the States, but I hate it even more here. Beating is just what you do. Husbands beat their wives; wives beat the children. And they know it's bad. The women will sit at our table -- even Susannah -- and tell us it's bad, just like they'll tell us balu is bad. We make a point of not crusading around telling them everything they're doing is bad. It doesn't work. They have to know why it's bad. And, in many cases, they have to know Christ to know that.
I know that seems impossible because all of you have grown up in cultures where, sure, fathers may beat their children, but they hide it. Here, it's just part of the culture. Not long ago, our friend William was beating his wife Anuk terribly. Anuk ran to our house, yelling for Kim to open the gate and protect her. The whole thing escalated to the point where eventually Anuk yanked Kim in front of her and pulled her to the ground, using Kim as a kind of shield. William just beat her still, avoiding hitting Kim. And there are four adorable children -- Paula, Francis, Frano and Ellen -- who are our favorites. They're sweet and wonderful and great to us. And we always hear their mom tearing into them or beating them. The sound of her voice calling their names makes me cringe. But she's our friend. And I'm somehow thankful that at least we can give them love.
What would you do? How do you react? It's a tricky thing, and it's not as easy as you might think. This morning I wanted to yell at Susannah. I wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her and tell her this was a CHILD, a LIFE. And I wanted to sweep that child away, comfort her and hide her away somewhere where none of the stupid people here could hurt her. But instead all I could do was watch as she came down the hill, still holding that stick, suddenly noticing I was watching. And when she got to me, I muttered in response to her greeting, turned around and went home. And I cried. because you can't expect people who don't know Jesus to act like they do.
And these people don't know Jesus. Yet.
This morning as Kim and I sat down to do our Bible study, I was forced to remember that bit of wisdom. We sat there as we heard our neighbor and friend Susannah yelling and beating on a small kid. The child was just screaming, wailing in pain and trying to run away. Susannah was chasing her. This stuff always causes a moment of crisis. You want to run out of the house, demanding them stop and railing them for it. An even better case is when they're so drunk with balu (the local beer) they're doing absolutely ridiculous and terrible things. You want to somehow persuade them that balu is bad and it makes them do stupid things and why don't they just stop?! But you can't expect people who don't know Jesus to act like they do.
Eventually I couldn't stand it and went outside, heart beating and wanting to take a stick to this woman like she was to the child. The other women were standing there, watching, as Susannah chased the kid up the path. And when they caught view of me, you could see the news ripple up the houses -- "Ibeja is watching."
They tried to greet me casually. I could do nothing but stand there and coldly stare up the path to where Susannah was. By this time, the kid had either gotten away or she was done with her. I can't stand the idea of someone beating a child. It tears at my very being. I hate it in the States, but I hate it even more here. Beating is just what you do. Husbands beat their wives; wives beat the children. And they know it's bad. The women will sit at our table -- even Susannah -- and tell us it's bad, just like they'll tell us balu is bad. We make a point of not crusading around telling them everything they're doing is bad. It doesn't work. They have to know why it's bad. And, in many cases, they have to know Christ to know that.
I know that seems impossible because all of you have grown up in cultures where, sure, fathers may beat their children, but they hide it. Here, it's just part of the culture. Not long ago, our friend William was beating his wife Anuk terribly. Anuk ran to our house, yelling for Kim to open the gate and protect her. The whole thing escalated to the point where eventually Anuk yanked Kim in front of her and pulled her to the ground, using Kim as a kind of shield. William just beat her still, avoiding hitting Kim. And there are four adorable children -- Paula, Francis, Frano and Ellen -- who are our favorites. They're sweet and wonderful and great to us. And we always hear their mom tearing into them or beating them. The sound of her voice calling their names makes me cringe. But she's our friend. And I'm somehow thankful that at least we can give them love.
What would you do? How do you react? It's a tricky thing, and it's not as easy as you might think. This morning I wanted to yell at Susannah. I wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her and tell her this was a CHILD, a LIFE. And I wanted to sweep that child away, comfort her and hide her away somewhere where none of the stupid people here could hurt her. But instead all I could do was watch as she came down the hill, still holding that stick, suddenly noticing I was watching. And when she got to me, I muttered in response to her greeting, turned around and went home. And I cried. because you can't expect people who don't know Jesus to act like they do.
And these people don't know Jesus. Yet.
Tyranny of Time
We had a team day yesterday and one of our articles to discuss was about the unrealistic expectations of new missionaries -- ones that often cause them to leave the field early. There's the inability to relate to the host culture or pick up the language, family problems, living conditions, the expectations of missions boards back home, being jarred by suddenly being a nobody on the field, etc.
The one that really struck me, as we're coming up on the six month mark and I often am frustrated I don't know more language or have better relationships, is the area of time. The author said this, "In my home church, when I was young, warm feelings crept over me when I heard missionaries tell how nice it was of the natives to call them 'mother.' Many years later I learned you had to earn the title, not because you had white skin, but because you had persevered long enough to have gray hair. . Time is the price we pay."
It's true, time is the price. And it sometimes seems like a high one. Patience and perseverance. I know I committed to two years here and I know my plan is to go long-term, but sometimes it's easy to think about those years as just that, years, and not the months, weeks, days and MOMENTS that make up those years.
One other thing I liked from the article, an area I can really identify with, as I'm often saying I came to Africa and became completely stupid. "The new missionary, picked for leadership skills and all-around talent at home, suddenly is thrown into the role of learner, a student begging for a chance to serve. No one knows his or her worth, or even cares. . Simple, everyday tasks become complicated, or even traumatic."
How true those words are! The mission field is about the most humbling place in the world!
The one that really struck me, as we're coming up on the six month mark and I often am frustrated I don't know more language or have better relationships, is the area of time. The author said this, "In my home church, when I was young, warm feelings crept over me when I heard missionaries tell how nice it was of the natives to call them 'mother.' Many years later I learned you had to earn the title, not because you had white skin, but because you had persevered long enough to have gray hair. . Time is the price we pay."
It's true, time is the price. And it sometimes seems like a high one. Patience and perseverance. I know I committed to two years here and I know my plan is to go long-term, but sometimes it's easy to think about those years as just that, years, and not the months, weeks, days and MOMENTS that make up those years.
One other thing I liked from the article, an area I can really identify with, as I'm often saying I came to Africa and became completely stupid. "The new missionary, picked for leadership skills and all-around talent at home, suddenly is thrown into the role of learner, a student begging for a chance to serve. No one knows his or her worth, or even cares. . Simple, everyday tasks become complicated, or even traumatic."
How true those words are! The mission field is about the most humbling place in the world!
Fuel for Prayer
A pastor Daniel and Steve worked with a few years ago died in a car accident the other day. He'd jumped on to an army truck, which ended up tipping over on a turn. The pastor jumped from it, but was crushed. Someone came by and picked him up. Ironically, it was someone who actually knew him, but he couldn't tell who he was because his face was all swollen. He took him to the hospital in Torit to be treated, but it was Christmas, so the pastor just laid there unconscious and unattended in a bed for two days, where he died.
The hospital didn't know who he was, but he had facial markings for his tribe, so they called someone from his tribe. The woman didn't know who he was, but she kept his body in her house for two days until she could get money and people to help her bury him. The church finally realized their pastor had died and looked all over for him. They came upon people digging the hole and asked whose body it was. It was his, and they requested they would be able to bury him behind the church.
Steve talked really highly of this guy-one of two, he said, really strong national Christians who had taken real ownership of the church. He says it will be hard for him to be replaced -- there just aren't the Christian bodies, let alone the drive and talent this guy had. He also used it as a spur on to prayer for us, in the area of the medical care here.
The clinic was started by the African Inland Church (or AIM missionaries) and still bears the AIC name, but the nurses aren't Christian. And there is a difference between Christian caretakers and those who aren't. A man lay in a bed for two days and died because the workers at the hospital in Torit were just that-workers. Nothing more. So he asked that we pray for our own clinic workers (they are so few) and that someday we can give good Christian care.
The hospital didn't know who he was, but he had facial markings for his tribe, so they called someone from his tribe. The woman didn't know who he was, but she kept his body in her house for two days until she could get money and people to help her bury him. The church finally realized their pastor had died and looked all over for him. They came upon people digging the hole and asked whose body it was. It was his, and they requested they would be able to bury him behind the church.
Steve talked really highly of this guy-one of two, he said, really strong national Christians who had taken real ownership of the church. He says it will be hard for him to be replaced -- there just aren't the Christian bodies, let alone the drive and talent this guy had. He also used it as a spur on to prayer for us, in the area of the medical care here.
The clinic was started by the African Inland Church (or AIM missionaries) and still bears the AIC name, but the nurses aren't Christian. And there is a difference between Christian caretakers and those who aren't. A man lay in a bed for two days and died because the workers at the hospital in Torit were just that-workers. Nothing more. So he asked that we pray for our own clinic workers (they are so few) and that someday we can give good Christian care.
Cholera for Christmas
And you thought coal was bad.
A handful of folks came from two village-clusters over with cholera. I talked with Michael at the clinic; he said there were five. One died, but the other four went home fine. But now we just know it's out there, so please pray that it doesn't spread over here. (This cluster of villages is far enough away I've never ridden to it.)
It's really a nasty thing, this cholera. It passes really easily among those who are hygienically inclined (read: every single person in Lopitland) and can take its fatal toll fast if not treated. BUT -- nobody freak out -- for those of us who wash our hands and who are more selective about where we "go" and what we eat, it's not that big of a deal.
If anyone remembers, they had a terrible outbreak before I came. I wrote blogs about it. You can look back. (I want to say mid-March.) But, my team leaders waded through sick people for hours on end for three weeks and didn't get sick. Neither did their children. And all you have to do is keep hydrated and it'll pass.
So don't worry about me. But pray for these people. Since dry season is upon us, there isn't as much water readily available. And James, the area's chief, came by Wednesday to let us know we shouldn't use the water from the rivers anymore-it's bad. And people can carry it without showing signs, so that makes it even more tricky.
Oh, and while you're at it... The village I rode my bike to a while back hit a rough spot this week as well. Some lady got mad at her husband. or her husband's other wife. or something. and burned their hut down. Along with 34 or so others. So there are a bunch of unfortunate people whose homes (and the food stored inside) are now ashes. I haven't been other there yet, but they need your prayers as well!
The great thing about South Sudan is it never leaves you short on prayer requests..
A handful of folks came from two village-clusters over with cholera. I talked with Michael at the clinic; he said there were five. One died, but the other four went home fine. But now we just know it's out there, so please pray that it doesn't spread over here. (This cluster of villages is far enough away I've never ridden to it.)
It's really a nasty thing, this cholera. It passes really easily among those who are hygienically inclined (read: every single person in Lopitland) and can take its fatal toll fast if not treated. BUT -- nobody freak out -- for those of us who wash our hands and who are more selective about where we "go" and what we eat, it's not that big of a deal.
If anyone remembers, they had a terrible outbreak before I came. I wrote blogs about it. You can look back. (I want to say mid-March.) But, my team leaders waded through sick people for hours on end for three weeks and didn't get sick. Neither did their children. And all you have to do is keep hydrated and it'll pass.
So don't worry about me. But pray for these people. Since dry season is upon us, there isn't as much water readily available. And James, the area's chief, came by Wednesday to let us know we shouldn't use the water from the rivers anymore-it's bad. And people can carry it without showing signs, so that makes it even more tricky.
Oh, and while you're at it... The village I rode my bike to a while back hit a rough spot this week as well. Some lady got mad at her husband. or her husband's other wife. or something. and burned their hut down. Along with 34 or so others. So there are a bunch of unfortunate people whose homes (and the food stored inside) are now ashes. I haven't been other there yet, but they need your prayers as well!
The great thing about South Sudan is it never leaves you short on prayer requests..
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Home Sweet Home
This is Mark, Kim’s language helper. He’s awesome. He called me over today and proudly showed me his shirt sleeve. That’s right, folks, Illinois Department of Natural Resources. Woot, woot. I know a couple of my supporters who will be especially thrilled with this. You can tell I’m equally excited. As is Mark. Anything from home is super exciting.
Christmas Play
My teammates Toriana (which means “flower” in Lopit—her real name is Catherine, from South Africa ) and Martin took on putting on a play for the communities between Christmas and New Years. They did a really wonderful job, organizing local church folks and kids. And they wove together the culture and Biblical history really well. They put it on in the fuera of the village Sohot today and will do it in another village tomorrow. The fuera is the village center where they host all their dances. It’s also the place of the mangott (shown in the picture) where the men sit and do nothing all day. I guess they also discuss things and make important decisions there. But all I see is the sitting. :)
Anyway, in the center of every fuera is a clump of thick sticks (more like small tree trunks) stuck in the ground. Each stick signifies a generation of the people of the village. That is, they add them as each generation comes and goes. It’s a very special thing for them, and the fellas have told me the men can point out their stick and tell you the stories of the generations of all the other sticks.
For the play, they built upon that idea. They surrounded the sticks with more sticks and, as the play began, pulled one out and told its story—creation. We changed the generational sticks of the village to the generational sticks of the whole world. So, the first stick was creation. As they pulled out sticks, they told the story of its generation—stories of Noah, Abraham, Moses, etc. Finally, they talked about how in Jesus all generations are redeemed, all people are welcome at the cross.
They did a really great job. People came and went. I’m not sure they had the concept of a “play;” people would walk right through the middle of it! But it certainly started some talking. In fact, these fellas came out afterward and started dancing. My heart fell. But, someone explained to me that they were dancing as a thank you, in appreciation of the story and what we’d done. If nothing else, it was awesome to see the local church folk active in the play. They were so excited about it.
Anyway, here’s some pictures from it. I somehow didn’t take any of the actual play. Sorry gang. The first is just a view of some of the crowd. That’s the fellas up on the mangott. Women and children can’t sit on it. You’ll notice those two guys with funny looking skin. Those are my teammates Heinrich and Daniel. I look at scenes like this and wonder how I can actually live here.
And here’s a guy, dancing away. I really dig his huge… head… thing… And those are ace bandages wrapped around his arms and legs. And some kind of pom-poms on his upperarms. And a skirt. And sweet boots. I love dancers.
Anyway, in the center of every fuera is a clump of thick sticks (more like small tree trunks) stuck in the ground. Each stick signifies a generation of the people of the village. That is, they add them as each generation comes and goes. It’s a very special thing for them, and the fellas have told me the men can point out their stick and tell you the stories of the generations of all the other sticks.
For the play, they built upon that idea. They surrounded the sticks with more sticks and, as the play began, pulled one out and told its story—creation. We changed the generational sticks of the village to the generational sticks of the whole world. So, the first stick was creation. As they pulled out sticks, they told the story of its generation—stories of Noah, Abraham, Moses, etc. Finally, they talked about how in Jesus all generations are redeemed, all people are welcome at the cross.
They did a really great job. People came and went. I’m not sure they had the concept of a “play;” people would walk right through the middle of it! But it certainly started some talking. In fact, these fellas came out afterward and started dancing. My heart fell. But, someone explained to me that they were dancing as a thank you, in appreciation of the story and what we’d done. If nothing else, it was awesome to see the local church folk active in the play. They were so excited about it.
Anyway, here’s some pictures from it. I somehow didn’t take any of the actual play. Sorry gang. The first is just a view of some of the crowd. That’s the fellas up on the mangott. Women and children can’t sit on it. You’ll notice those two guys with funny looking skin. Those are my teammates Heinrich and Daniel. I look at scenes like this and wonder how I can actually live here.
And here’s a guy, dancing away. I really dig his huge… head… thing… And those are ace bandages wrapped around his arms and legs. And some kind of pom-poms on his upperarms. And a skirt. And sweet boots. I love dancers.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Christmas in Lopit
We had a lovely Christmas here in Lopit. Unfortunately, I didn’t get many pictures from the church service—I was doing video instead. I think the most beautiful part was when they sang “Silent Night” in one of the languages close to their own. (There are some songs translated into a trade language, which is in some ways close to the dialect from here.) The service was supposed to start at 10—in fact, the day before the pastors urged everyone to be there at 9 so we could start on time—but it didn’t begin until after noon sometime. The pastors weren’t there until really late, either. Hilarious. Toward the end of the service, people from the village came down. They really just came for the free food—the church slaughters a cow every year. Sad. Really sad.
This is Steve, cooking some goat leg at our team Christmas party. I told him he looked really American, sitting in his lawn chair with the spatula (before he struck this lovely pose). I think I might give him a “Kiss the Cook” apron for Christmas next year.
This is Steve, cooking some goat leg at our team Christmas party. I told him he looked really American, sitting in his lawn chair with the spatula (before he struck this lovely pose). I think I might give him a “Kiss the Cook” apron for Christmas next year.
The boys had a lovely set up for our Christmas dinner with them. They even painted a Christmas tree on their wall with mud and had candles for decorations. It was actually really pretty once it got dark.
Prayer Request
Hey gang… a prayer request for you.
I’m still feeling rather weak from being sick two weeks ago. Please pray that I’d get my strength back and would be able to get back on track with language learning, relationships and my studies. I’m beginning to feel rather defeated, since I have no energy! Also, pray for my eyes. I’ve had a lot of trouble with them lately and sometimes can hardly open them.
Thanks so much for your prayers!
I’m still feeling rather weak from being sick two weeks ago. Please pray that I’d get my strength back and would be able to get back on track with language learning, relationships and my studies. I’m beginning to feel rather defeated, since I have no energy! Also, pray for my eyes. I’ve had a lot of trouble with them lately and sometimes can hardly open them.
Thanks so much for your prayers!
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Cow-tipping: Moo-sic to our ears
Our village put up a new compound next to ours.
Our new neighbors are rowdy and loud.
And they even smell a little.
It’s a cow pin they’ve built next door, and those cows are downright annoying.
So please pray for our sanity as the cows moo day and night, and when they’re not mooing, they’re filling the air with noise from their cowbells. And I fear the smell as the weather grows hotter!
But there is one thing we’ve found—the one advantage of this cow pin within such a close proximity.
The joy of cow-tipping is so close at hand.
(Kidding.)
Our new neighbors are rowdy and loud.
And they even smell a little.
It’s a cow pin they’ve built next door, and those cows are downright annoying.
So please pray for our sanity as the cows moo day and night, and when they’re not mooing, they’re filling the air with noise from their cowbells. And I fear the smell as the weather grows hotter!
But there is one thing we’ve found—the one advantage of this cow pin within such a close proximity.
The joy of cow-tipping is so close at hand.
(Kidding.)
Merry Christmas Eve’s Eve!
We had our single girls’ Christmas party last night. It was so much fun. Kimpie’s mom sent napkins, napkin holders and a nice tablecloth for us to use. And we even broke out our (red!) emergency candles in empty tuna cans. It looked so beautiful, I nearly forgot I was in the bush of Africa .
We dressed up cute and laughed and danced and played Christmas music over the radio to the fellas in longija. We took requests. :) Steve called in from a “traffic jam” in his village. Somehow, that was hilarious to us. I’m so glad we have a good time together.
Then there was this obnoxiously loud knock at the door and a “HO HO HO!” Daniel came dressed up as the Weihnachtsmann (Christmas man) with a red blanket and cotton ball beard and gave us all cards and (melted—whoops!) chocolate bars. What a special surprise!
So, don’t worry, Mom, I’m going to have a fine Christmas here in the bush, even if I will be missing home. We have dinner tonight with the fellas, church and a cow slaughter tomorrow with the community and a team lunch on the 26th. There will be no shortage of Christmas joy. :)
This is KimmiePie, Jen, Annika, Cath and me. (Pattie is behind the camera!) Check out that beautiful table!
We dressed up cute and laughed and danced and played Christmas music over the radio to the fellas in longija. We took requests. :) Steve called in from a “traffic jam” in his village. Somehow, that was hilarious to us. I’m so glad we have a good time together.
Then there was this obnoxiously loud knock at the door and a “HO HO HO!” Daniel came dressed up as the Weihnachtsmann (Christmas man) with a red blanket and cotton ball beard and gave us all cards and (melted—whoops!) chocolate bars. What a special surprise!
So, don’t worry, Mom, I’m going to have a fine Christmas here in the bush, even if I will be missing home. We have dinner tonight with the fellas, church and a cow slaughter tomorrow with the community and a team lunch on the 26th. There will be no shortage of Christmas joy. :)
This is KimmiePie, Jen, Annika, Cath and me. (Pattie is behind the camera!) Check out that beautiful table!
Sometimes living in the bush affects your manners.
We had a bit of a dance party. That was good times. Maybe even better was cranking up the Christmas music on the speakers and putting it on the walkie-talkies for the fellas.
Here’s the Weihnachtsmann, in all his glory. Anyone who brings chocolate is tops with us.
Cooking up a Storm
The women always laugh when we get in on their cooking and cleaning. We’re so inadequate.
But at least we try, right?
But at least we try, right?
Sound the Alarm
Don’t worry, this has a funny ending.
Two days ago I was walking back from my teammates’, Heinrich and Doris , house when all of a sudden, a trickle of Munu Miji (the warrior ruling class) started to tear by. They were running full-force out into the Guum (“valley”), carrying their AK-47s and knifes and spears, looking all serious and hardcore. They wouldn’t even stop to greet me, even when I demanded it.
I asked the women what was going on, and they just said the Munu Miji were having a meeting. And they were going to shoot people with guns. Super! As I pried more about it and the men kept flying by, the women began to shut me out. I’d ask the men, “What are you doing?” And they’d say to the men, “Say, ‘Nothing.’ “
Tricky, tricky.
Last December, our group of villages go into a little spat with a neighboring village. The Governor ended up sending in some soldiers, taking away all the guns and threatening prison to anyone who was stirring up fighting. They also were made aware of the threat—if you fight, the missionary people leave. And they somehow don’t want that. So, yeah, we haven’t had any problems since then, but I this was on the back of my mind as I saw all these guys running like mad.
But, don’t worry, like I said, this has a funny ending.
They had sounded an alarm for a meeting, and none of the men knew what it was about, so they just went nuts and ran to the meeting place with their guns, sometimes shooting them off.
The actual purpose for the meeting, however, was because of a decree they’d received from the Governor—there was to be no shooting of guns.
The irony of that makes me laugh, certainly when I think of the stern faces tearing by, looking excited about getting into a fight.
Seriously, sometimes I think the Munu Miji are at their best lounging around the villages demanding their women to serve them and beating them if they don’t.
That looks a little like this.
Two days ago I was walking back from my teammates’, Heinrich and Doris , house when all of a sudden, a trickle of Munu Miji (the warrior ruling class) started to tear by. They were running full-force out into the Guum (“valley”), carrying their AK-47s and knifes and spears, looking all serious and hardcore. They wouldn’t even stop to greet me, even when I demanded it.
I asked the women what was going on, and they just said the Munu Miji were having a meeting. And they were going to shoot people with guns. Super! As I pried more about it and the men kept flying by, the women began to shut me out. I’d ask the men, “What are you doing?” And they’d say to the men, “Say, ‘Nothing.’ “
Tricky, tricky.
Last December, our group of villages go into a little spat with a neighboring village. The Governor ended up sending in some soldiers, taking away all the guns and threatening prison to anyone who was stirring up fighting. They also were made aware of the threat—if you fight, the missionary people leave. And they somehow don’t want that. So, yeah, we haven’t had any problems since then, but I this was on the back of my mind as I saw all these guys running like mad.
But, don’t worry, like I said, this has a funny ending.
They had sounded an alarm for a meeting, and none of the men knew what it was about, so they just went nuts and ran to the meeting place with their guns, sometimes shooting them off.
The actual purpose for the meeting, however, was because of a decree they’d received from the Governor—there was to be no shooting of guns.
The irony of that makes me laugh, certainly when I think of the stern faces tearing by, looking excited about getting into a fight.
Seriously, sometimes I think the Munu Miji are at their best lounging around the villages demanding their women to serve them and beating them if they don’t.
That looks a little like this.
Little KimmiePie…
For weeks, we’d been reminding our neighbor, Ebiong, to call us when she had her baby. And she didn’t. We had to find out 12 hours later when they stopped us on the way to church.
So, when it came time for the little one’s naming ceremony yesterday, she made sure we’d been called.
They named her Kim, after my roommate, which is always special. I found out yesterday about another kid named after me in the neighboring village. Hilarious how that works.
Anyway, this is little Kim and her mom Ebiong. In the naming ceremony, they smear mom with oil, then the baby with oil, then do all sorts of weird animism things to shoo away evil spirits and ask for the ancestors blessings.
Like any local custom, it also involves the local brew of “white beer.” This is little Monica, the new Kim’s older sister, tipping back with the help of her grandmother. Nothing quite like seeing a two-year-old totter around after drinking beer. I can’t wait until the power of the Gospel pushes the beer out of here.
So, when it came time for the little one’s naming ceremony yesterday, she made sure we’d been called.
They named her Kim, after my roommate, which is always special. I found out yesterday about another kid named after me in the neighboring village. Hilarious how that works.
Anyway, this is little Kim and her mom Ebiong. In the naming ceremony, they smear mom with oil, then the baby with oil, then do all sorts of weird animism things to shoo away evil spirits and ask for the ancestors blessings.
Like any local custom, it also involves the local brew of “white beer.” This is little Monica, the new Kim’s older sister, tipping back with the help of her grandmother. Nothing quite like seeing a two-year-old totter around after drinking beer. I can’t wait until the power of the Gospel pushes the beer out of here.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Prayer Request
A little prayer request for you.
We’re starting to think now about what our formal ministry will be in February. Please pray that God will show me what I should be doing, as I’ve got some ideas but nothing definite. I’ve talked with Steve about putting together some kind of Lopit newspaper—he says they’re wonderful ministry tools. Imagine, a Christian newspaper! The problem is, I’d have to be paired with someone else’s ministry. Kimmie might be working on translation stuff and nailing down how to spell things in Lopit and use a Lopit alphabet. And then not many people know how to read the Lopit that there already is. So someone will have to be teaching—maybe Pattie! We’ve also thought about putting a transmitter up on the mountain and doing a radio ministry. Someone came in at some point and gave out hand-crank radios, so the people listen to them in the villages. Unfortunately, they’re getting bad Islamic influence on them from the North. So a Christian replacement would be nice!
Anyway, please be praying! I would love to work with the children as well. I feel like I’m going in a million different directions!
We’re starting to think now about what our formal ministry will be in February. Please pray that God will show me what I should be doing, as I’ve got some ideas but nothing definite. I’ve talked with Steve about putting together some kind of Lopit newspaper—he says they’re wonderful ministry tools. Imagine, a Christian newspaper! The problem is, I’d have to be paired with someone else’s ministry. Kimmie might be working on translation stuff and nailing down how to spell things in Lopit and use a Lopit alphabet. And then not many people know how to read the Lopit that there already is. So someone will have to be teaching—maybe Pattie! We’ve also thought about putting a transmitter up on the mountain and doing a radio ministry. Someone came in at some point and gave out hand-crank radios, so the people listen to them in the villages. Unfortunately, they’re getting bad Islamic influence on them from the North. So a Christian replacement would be nice!
Anyway, please be praying! I would love to work with the children as well. I feel like I’m going in a million different directions!
You haven’t got mail.
We haven’t gotten post in a while, which is depressing. It being Christmas and all, it’s nearly unbearable. The pilot who was stationed in Loki and who took a special interest in getting our mail tucked into underloaded planes first from Nairobi to Loki, then from Loki to here has gone home on furlough. And with him, it seems, have gone the days of mail dropped by parachute when he was flying by or a special delivery of fresh vegetables from his wife. Oh, Jon and Ginny, we miss you.
Whatever the case, my mom has become a champ at sending packages. She’s amazing. The last one I got was quite impressive—a decorated shoebox that even had a typed-out inventory list inside. Eat that, corrupt Kenyan customs officers! Mwauhaha. Mom’s still working on the whole sending some kind of note or letter inside thing, but I know she’ll come around. I’ve got enough cute pictures and notes from the Canales to decorate my walls. (Lara is also mastering the postal system.) Mark has me stocked with blank camcorder tapes. And Joy blessed the Husa house with two very precious DVDs—my only two—which will be watched time and again on our trips out of the bush.
Oh, I love mail. It’s so painful, knowing my love-filled packages from the states are either stuck with customs or in the AIM AIR hangar in Nairobi , with no one to get excited about them. There are three planes flying somewhere in the area now (or so the kids tell me), which is torture for my heart! The kids run and tell us when they hear a plane—this is always well before we do. Then they just point emphatically at some tiny spec in the sky and yell, “The plane, the plane!” which always threatens to throw me into fits of laughter because of a certain, small television character. It’s too bad they don’t get that one—they’d realize how hilarious they are.
Nope, the planes aren’t coming here. *sigh* Another day!
Whatever the case, my mom has become a champ at sending packages. She’s amazing. The last one I got was quite impressive—a decorated shoebox that even had a typed-out inventory list inside. Eat that, corrupt Kenyan customs officers! Mwauhaha. Mom’s still working on the whole sending some kind of note or letter inside thing, but I know she’ll come around. I’ve got enough cute pictures and notes from the Canales to decorate my walls. (Lara is also mastering the postal system.) Mark has me stocked with blank camcorder tapes. And Joy blessed the Husa house with two very precious DVDs—my only two—which will be watched time and again on our trips out of the bush.
Oh, I love mail. It’s so painful, knowing my love-filled packages from the states are either stuck with customs or in the AIM AIR hangar in Nairobi , with no one to get excited about them. There are three planes flying somewhere in the area now (or so the kids tell me), which is torture for my heart! The kids run and tell us when they hear a plane—this is always well before we do. Then they just point emphatically at some tiny spec in the sky and yell, “The plane, the plane!” which always threatens to throw me into fits of laughter because of a certain, small television character. It’s too bad they don’t get that one—they’d realize how hilarious they are.
Nope, the planes aren’t coming here. *sigh* Another day!
Friday, December 15, 2006
Meet Little Big Pattie
This is the newest addition to our little circle of friends—baby Pattie, named after my teammate and housemate in Husa. Her Lopit name is “Big” (except, um, in Lopit), so we’ve taken to calling her Little Big Pattie, so we’re not constantly confused about who’s talking about whom. I’m slightly worried that the longer we live here and the more children that are named after us, communication is going to get that much harder! :)
This is Momma Davitica and Little Big Pattie. Then that’s me and the wee ‘un. She was only about 12 hours old here. Amazing.. We couldn’t believe how she was looking at me like this!
This is Momma Davitica and Little Big Pattie. Then that’s me and the wee ‘un. She was only about 12 hours old here. Amazing.. We couldn’t believe how she was looking at me like this!
Mean case of malaria (or something)
Well, after four days of headache, body ache and stomachache—including a 11-hour drive in a hot truck with a 103 or 104 fever—I’m finally feeling a bit better and starting to eat again. Wow. I don’t like getting sick in the bush.
Something is going around our team, something a little like malaria but a lot like misery. So please pray for us, as the weather gets hotter, the water runs out and our bodies run down!
I’m glad to be feeling better. Since I was gone in Loki for a few days (we got stuck there on a supply trip because no trucks could get into town to stock the shack stores) and then half-dead in bed for a couple days after that, the kids went nuts yesterday when I dragged myself to the door to greet them. Talk about funny. Little Francis’ eyes got all wide and his grin got wider, then they all stampeded toward me, greeting me and asking me how I was. I guess some of them thought I’d stayed in Loki because I was sick. The village rumor mill is out of control sometimes. ;)
Something is going around our team, something a little like malaria but a lot like misery. So please pray for us, as the weather gets hotter, the water runs out and our bodies run down!
I’m glad to be feeling better. Since I was gone in Loki for a few days (we got stuck there on a supply trip because no trucks could get into town to stock the shack stores) and then half-dead in bed for a couple days after that, the kids went nuts yesterday when I dragged myself to the door to greet them. Talk about funny. Little Francis’ eyes got all wide and his grin got wider, then they all stampeded toward me, greeting me and asking me how I was. I guess some of them thought I’d stayed in Loki because I was sick. The village rumor mill is out of control sometimes. ;)
Friday, December 08, 2006
PICTURES
Steve found a turtle on the road. It quickly became the newest family pet. (I assure you, the dik-dik was furious.) Christian and the turtle have a love-hate relationship. As you can see, he was definitely at a “hate” point here. Hilarious. I love this kid.
This is little Ellen, our neighbor Abooba’s kid. I think she actually made it in my last prayer letter, as well. She’s too adorable. But she has a terrible habit of peeing on Kim. (I think that’s funny. Kim probably doesn’t.)
Here’s the kids, washing away at the river. We have so much fun there.
Here’s our sweet new coal stove. Have I talked about this before? We get excited about things like this year. I can now make perfect bread. YUM. The kids love it, too.
The kids kept pulling apart the sticks of our fence and coming in early in the morning to stare in our windows. In a moment of brilliance, Kim had this ingenious idea to tie the sticks together. The kids didn’t know what to do with themselves. This is Franco, Francis and Paula (Ellen’s older siblings), looking through the fence in dismay. Hehehe.
Babiano (01 dec 06)
… is out of the hospital and doing well. He’s the one who came to us basically bleeding to death a while back. He actually came to our place first when he got home, which was nice. Then we walked up to his place and sat looking over everything for a while in silence. It was a nice moment. J It’s good to know he’s better and we’ve made a good friend.
Language!
My language learning is going well, though I still make dumb mistakes. I keep wanting to tell kids, “banga oyo!” (don’t cry!) but I mess up and say “banga oye!” (don’t die). While the latter is definitely something I desire (that is, that they wouldn’t die), it’s not exactly all that better.
We’re learning Bible verses in Lopit. “Nyo amuno Hollum hiyo dang ta fau bino,…” (For God so loved the world…)
Once my language teacher was drunk (not unusual) during our lesson and demanded that I say the “dang” part with a lot of umph. (That’s “dang,” like “DONG!” almost, but sort of swallow the “n.”) He says we English speakers have ways we annunciate certain words and he is doing that in Lopit now. (Everyone is out to revolutionize the language, it seems.) So we were going through the verse (I know John 3:16 and 1:12), yelling DANG! Whenever we got to it. My roommates in side the house couldn’t help but laugh, which made me laugh, which made Willie walk up to the window and reprimand them, shaking his finger.
Really, it might have been the best language lesson ever—bi DANG (in ALL)!
We’re learning Bible verses in Lopit. “Nyo amuno Hollum hiyo dang ta fau bino,…” (For God so loved the world…)
Once my language teacher was drunk (not unusual) during our lesson and demanded that I say the “dang” part with a lot of umph. (That’s “dang,” like “DONG!” almost, but sort of swallow the “n.”) He says we English speakers have ways we annunciate certain words and he is doing that in Lopit now. (Everyone is out to revolutionize the language, it seems.) So we were going through the verse (I know John 3:16 and 1:12), yelling DANG! Whenever we got to it. My roommates in side the house couldn’t help but laugh, which made me laugh, which made Willie walk up to the window and reprimand them, shaking his finger.
Really, it might have been the best language lesson ever—bi DANG (in ALL)!
Let there be light! (04 dec 06)
We ate dinner in the light last night.
It was so amazing.
Steve finally got up here and installed the solar panel we bought in Nairobi six weeks ago. (This man is busy.) Steve is like a celebrity in the villages, so his mere presence created quite the stir, let alone this weird thing he was fastening to our roof. Then the homemade Kenyan ladder he was using to climb up on the room collapsed and he took a hard fall, so I’m sure that was even more fodder for the village rumor mill. (I won’t lie—my heart stopped when I saw him go. But he was fine. He’s tough. Iris told me today that the way he told her he’d ran over a landmine in Western Equatoria a while back began with, “Guess what I did today?” just as casually as if it was as much of a nonevent as stepping on bubble gum. Weird.) Somehow, though, no one mentioned it yet. I don’t know how it would be possible though for them not to have seen—the men on the mangott (the manly meeting place where they do nothing all day) are constantly surveying our every move.
Anyway, after much such to-do, he got a light hooked up in our kitchen. We all sort of stared at it for a while, amazed. You wouldn’t believe how incredible the idea of flipping a switch and having light has become to us. I mean, WOW. It’s just THERE. We didn’t know what to think of being able to see our food well of the shadows dancing on the wall. The village was similarly impressed. We could hear them stand outside our window and talk about it. The kids would just say, “light” in this really strange, E.T.-phone-home way. That caught us off guard, too, because it was the straight English word. I think the school kids taught them. I can’t imagine there being a word for “light” (of the electric variety) in Lopit.
We had a stream of people come to visit just to see this single lightbulb. I can’t believe it—we might be even more popular than before!
Kim really wanted her parents to see this picture. She’s so hardcore—a bush electrician.
It was so amazing.
Steve finally got up here and installed the solar panel we bought in Nairobi six weeks ago. (This man is busy.) Steve is like a celebrity in the villages, so his mere presence created quite the stir, let alone this weird thing he was fastening to our roof. Then the homemade Kenyan ladder he was using to climb up on the room collapsed and he took a hard fall, so I’m sure that was even more fodder for the village rumor mill. (I won’t lie—my heart stopped when I saw him go. But he was fine. He’s tough. Iris told me today that the way he told her he’d ran over a landmine in Western Equatoria a while back began with, “Guess what I did today?” just as casually as if it was as much of a nonevent as stepping on bubble gum. Weird.) Somehow, though, no one mentioned it yet. I don’t know how it would be possible though for them not to have seen—the men on the mangott (the manly meeting place where they do nothing all day) are constantly surveying our every move.
Anyway, after much such to-do, he got a light hooked up in our kitchen. We all sort of stared at it for a while, amazed. You wouldn’t believe how incredible the idea of flipping a switch and having light has become to us. I mean, WOW. It’s just THERE. We didn’t know what to think of being able to see our food well of the shadows dancing on the wall. The village was similarly impressed. We could hear them stand outside our window and talk about it. The kids would just say, “light” in this really strange, E.T.-phone-home way. That caught us off guard, too, because it was the straight English word. I think the school kids taught them. I can’t imagine there being a word for “light” (of the electric variety) in Lopit.
We had a stream of people come to visit just to see this single lightbulb. I can’t believe it—we might be even more popular than before!
Kim really wanted her parents to see this picture. She’s so hardcore—a bush electrician.
Likewise, Steve is also hardcore. This is him, up in our bamboo rafters. Good times.
Hello, hello! (02 dec 06)
Well, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?
My deepest apologies—I’ve been really busy. I know what you’re thinking. “Andi? Busy? In the bush? What could you possibly be doing that keeps you so terribly busy?”
Well, I’ll tell you, though I find myself just as amazed as you are. I’ll give you a rundown of a day last week.
4:07 a.m.: I struggle out of bed before even the rosters (my ingenious plan to avoid being waken up by them), make my bed, start the tea pot so my roomies will have hot water when they wake up later and then light my lamp and settle into my desk for Bible study and prayer.
5:47 a.m.: Our neighbors wake up and the men start their morning ritual of blowing their noses. It’s really sick and… involved. I hear laughter from the other side of my wall—it’s Kim, no longer able to focus on prayer with all the racket outside. We being to field the ‘Good mornings!” and “Give me tea!” requests from the trail, another morning formality. At some point, I take a break to sweep the yard. Yes, the DIRT YARD. Yet another morning formality. So weird. I do it so everyone in the village can see—I assure you they’re all watching—and we don’t get complaints that day about it.
7:30 ish: My roommates are up and around and our first visitors are yelling at the gate. I hold out as long as I can, clinging to my guarded time in the Word, but finally let myself out and begin serving and entertaining our guests. Pattie, Kimmie and I are chai-making machines.
8:30ish: I’m out the door and down the mountain to my team leader’s house, where I snatch the bike he so graciously lets me use. I spend an hour tearing down the dirt road, peppering the field-goers with hellos and answering the shotgun Lopit questions—“Ibeja, how are you? Where have you come from? Where are you going? Pick me up.” (I guess that last one isn’t so much a question, but that’s just how the language is. Give me this. Bring this. Take that.) I normally give them a fright when I come up behind them. Yesterday I nearly was clothes-lined three times by men carrying long tree trunks on one shoulder. They’d realize I was coming, freak out and wheel around, leaving that deadly trunk swinging across the path like a gate. Hilarious. Anymore, I’m ready for stuff like that—I’m used to dodging cows, goats and people. Though, I did manage to hit a cow the other day. But that’s a whole other story.
10ish: Up the mountain and showered, I start the long process of making bread. The children who invited themselves inside to help me stare in awe as I dust the sugar over my version of my mom’s amazing cinnamon rolls. They lick everything they can get their hands on. Sugar is gold around here. All the while, curious neighbors and friends stop by. You can’t do much without attracting a crowd around here.
11ish: Off to the river with a big bag of the clothes I’ve put of washing. Children see me leaving and run to their houses to grab their water jugs. Soon, I have a line of them in front and behind me. Everyday is a party. And I guess there is always a party-pooper—often, some loud angry woman at the river who demands my clothes and my soap. It’s never fun going ‘round with them (they can be holding a bar of their own soap, yet demand you give them yours), but I suppose it sharpens my patience. Sometimes humor wins the wars; sometimes our friends come and stand up for us; sometimes you go home frustrated. The kids are always great helps for me—for some reason, helping the silly white Ibeja with her clothes gives them great joy. And they teach me language while we’re washing.
1ish: We quell the flow of visitors long enough to eat lunch. I begin with the battle with the coal stove and, having eventually lowered myself to defeat by use of kerosene, put in the aforementioned bread. Between loaves, I read my books for the TIMO curriculum and talk with the kids on the rocks outside.
2:30 p.m.: Back down the mountain, this time to the school, where I meet ol’ William for my language lesson. This is tedious stuff. We finally finish a Lopit language version of the creation story to the tune of the other teachers beating the stray dogs that wander in and the high-pitched singing of the children, who are working on some English song for an assembly. I can recognize maybe three words of said song—“I love education!”—yet Kim (also at the school at that time) and I can’t shake it from our heads for days. We’re singing it even now.
4 p.m.: It’s time to start dinner at home, so I enlist the help of the children to sort and clean our 10kg bag of beans. They happily accept the challenge… especially with the hope of candy for payment. We sing and pick through beans. At one point, I watch in terror as a baby—under the care of her 6-year-old sister—leaves a pile of green poop in my yard, not far from the pack of children tending to my beans. Said older sister cleans it up with a leaf and quickly goes back to sorting beans. I make a mental note to wash the beans with extra care and vigor.
5 p.m.: Sweet Pattie lights up the giko (coal cooker). She, too, resorts to kerosene. My pride is restored and the beans are left to boil for two hours. Beans take a long time. Inside, I mix up some chapatti dough. It’s my night to cook and I’m making white chicken chili, thanks to some wonderful woman back in the States who sent the seasoning packet to me. (THANK YOU!) Not having any chicken or the proper beans didn’t matter. We have this strange soy stuff you can make taste like meat with a broth cube. The wonders of modern cooking. (I wonder if there are chocolate-flavored cubes?) between the spurts of cooking, I study language and talk to the children again.
7 p.m.: Dinner is finally served. We all eat too much. That’s what seasoning will do to a person. Supper time with my roommates is always the best. We laugh. A lot. Add to that “Singles’ Hour”—the endearing name we’ve given to the time we use the radios to tell Steve we’re all Oskee Kilo—and the nights can be a blast. We call it Singles Hour because it normally turns into hilarious exchanges between the two single women’s houses and the fellas up high on the mountain. The families have far better things to do with their time. Eventually we turn off the radios and do our nightly prayer time—for our villages, for our team, our families and our language learning.
8 or 9ish: We each take to our rooms for the night. Depending on how exhausted I am, I’ll try to read more or white letters. Sometimes the teens will come by and rouse us out of our beds to go “play” with them—that is, going from house to house to get a little food and tell stories. Kim is much better at going than I am. I’m always pretty wiped by then. Sometimes women will stop by to visit. Sometimes I simply prepare my to-do list for the next day and crash, often to the sounds of drums, dancing and yelling.
So, there you have it—my life here. Every day brings something new, some kind of kink in your “plans.” It’s best not to have plans in Africa , I’ve learned! Some days aren’t as full. Sometimes all you “get done” is managing the flood of people who come—boiling water, making chai and doing dishes. Other times you’ll find yourself at a friend’s house, simply sitting and enjoying the ridiculous view over the valley. And some times, quite honestly, you have to sit in your room and recuperate!
My deepest apologies—I’ve been really busy. I know what you’re thinking. “Andi? Busy? In the bush? What could you possibly be doing that keeps you so terribly busy?”
Well, I’ll tell you, though I find myself just as amazed as you are. I’ll give you a rundown of a day last week.
4:07 a.m.: I struggle out of bed before even the rosters (my ingenious plan to avoid being waken up by them), make my bed, start the tea pot so my roomies will have hot water when they wake up later and then light my lamp and settle into my desk for Bible study and prayer.
5:47 a.m.: Our neighbors wake up and the men start their morning ritual of blowing their noses. It’s really sick and… involved. I hear laughter from the other side of my wall—it’s Kim, no longer able to focus on prayer with all the racket outside. We being to field the ‘Good mornings!” and “Give me tea!” requests from the trail, another morning formality. At some point, I take a break to sweep the yard. Yes, the DIRT YARD. Yet another morning formality. So weird. I do it so everyone in the village can see—I assure you they’re all watching—and we don’t get complaints that day about it.
7:30 ish: My roommates are up and around and our first visitors are yelling at the gate. I hold out as long as I can, clinging to my guarded time in the Word, but finally let myself out and begin serving and entertaining our guests. Pattie, Kimmie and I are chai-making machines.
8:30ish: I’m out the door and down the mountain to my team leader’s house, where I snatch the bike he so graciously lets me use. I spend an hour tearing down the dirt road, peppering the field-goers with hellos and answering the shotgun Lopit questions—“Ibeja, how are you? Where have you come from? Where are you going? Pick me up.” (I guess that last one isn’t so much a question, but that’s just how the language is. Give me this. Bring this. Take that.) I normally give them a fright when I come up behind them. Yesterday I nearly was clothes-lined three times by men carrying long tree trunks on one shoulder. They’d realize I was coming, freak out and wheel around, leaving that deadly trunk swinging across the path like a gate. Hilarious. Anymore, I’m ready for stuff like that—I’m used to dodging cows, goats and people. Though, I did manage to hit a cow the other day. But that’s a whole other story.
10ish: Up the mountain and showered, I start the long process of making bread. The children who invited themselves inside to help me stare in awe as I dust the sugar over my version of my mom’s amazing cinnamon rolls. They lick everything they can get their hands on. Sugar is gold around here. All the while, curious neighbors and friends stop by. You can’t do much without attracting a crowd around here.
11ish: Off to the river with a big bag of the clothes I’ve put of washing. Children see me leaving and run to their houses to grab their water jugs. Soon, I have a line of them in front and behind me. Everyday is a party. And I guess there is always a party-pooper—often, some loud angry woman at the river who demands my clothes and my soap. It’s never fun going ‘round with them (they can be holding a bar of their own soap, yet demand you give them yours), but I suppose it sharpens my patience. Sometimes humor wins the wars; sometimes our friends come and stand up for us; sometimes you go home frustrated. The kids are always great helps for me—for some reason, helping the silly white Ibeja with her clothes gives them great joy. And they teach me language while we’re washing.
1ish: We quell the flow of visitors long enough to eat lunch. I begin with the battle with the coal stove and, having eventually lowered myself to defeat by use of kerosene, put in the aforementioned bread. Between loaves, I read my books for the TIMO curriculum and talk with the kids on the rocks outside.
2:30 p.m.: Back down the mountain, this time to the school, where I meet ol’ William for my language lesson. This is tedious stuff. We finally finish a Lopit language version of the creation story to the tune of the other teachers beating the stray dogs that wander in and the high-pitched singing of the children, who are working on some English song for an assembly. I can recognize maybe three words of said song—“I love education!”—yet Kim (also at the school at that time) and I can’t shake it from our heads for days. We’re singing it even now.
4 p.m.: It’s time to start dinner at home, so I enlist the help of the children to sort and clean our 10kg bag of beans. They happily accept the challenge… especially with the hope of candy for payment. We sing and pick through beans. At one point, I watch in terror as a baby—under the care of her 6-year-old sister—leaves a pile of green poop in my yard, not far from the pack of children tending to my beans. Said older sister cleans it up with a leaf and quickly goes back to sorting beans. I make a mental note to wash the beans with extra care and vigor.
5 p.m.: Sweet Pattie lights up the giko (coal cooker). She, too, resorts to kerosene. My pride is restored and the beans are left to boil for two hours. Beans take a long time. Inside, I mix up some chapatti dough. It’s my night to cook and I’m making white chicken chili, thanks to some wonderful woman back in the States who sent the seasoning packet to me. (THANK YOU!) Not having any chicken or the proper beans didn’t matter. We have this strange soy stuff you can make taste like meat with a broth cube. The wonders of modern cooking. (I wonder if there are chocolate-flavored cubes?) between the spurts of cooking, I study language and talk to the children again.
7 p.m.: Dinner is finally served. We all eat too much. That’s what seasoning will do to a person. Supper time with my roommates is always the best. We laugh. A lot. Add to that “Singles’ Hour”—the endearing name we’ve given to the time we use the radios to tell Steve we’re all Oskee Kilo—and the nights can be a blast. We call it Singles Hour because it normally turns into hilarious exchanges between the two single women’s houses and the fellas up high on the mountain. The families have far better things to do with their time. Eventually we turn off the radios and do our nightly prayer time—for our villages, for our team, our families and our language learning.
8 or 9ish: We each take to our rooms for the night. Depending on how exhausted I am, I’ll try to read more or white letters. Sometimes the teens will come by and rouse us out of our beds to go “play” with them—that is, going from house to house to get a little food and tell stories. Kim is much better at going than I am. I’m always pretty wiped by then. Sometimes women will stop by to visit. Sometimes I simply prepare my to-do list for the next day and crash, often to the sounds of drums, dancing and yelling.
So, there you have it—my life here. Every day brings something new, some kind of kink in your “plans.” It’s best not to have plans in Africa , I’ve learned! Some days aren’t as full. Sometimes all you “get done” is managing the flood of people who come—boiling water, making chai and doing dishes. Other times you’ll find yourself at a friend’s house, simply sitting and enjoying the ridiculous view over the valley. And some times, quite honestly, you have to sit in your room and recuperate!
Friday, November 24, 2006
Happy Thanksgiving!
I celebrated my first major holiday in the bush today! Happy Thanksgiving!
Since there are only four of us Americans, I was a little worried we’d forget Thanksgiving and it’d pass by without notice, sort of like July 4th did. But Jen wouldn’t let that happen. She’s been planning a HUGE Thanksgiving meal for months now. It was wonderful! Hopefully, I’ll get a picture up here of the spread she laid out. It was so amazing.
The funny part was trying to explain to the other teammates just what Thanksgiving was. Jen said it was about food. I said it was about football. But they think to Jen, everything is about food, and to me, everything is about football or some other sport. So that got them absolutely no where.
Don’t worry—we explained the whole thing. And, in the end, we were all thanking God for the blessings he’d given us—here in Lopit and back home. J
I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. I’m so thankful for you!
Since there are only four of us Americans, I was a little worried we’d forget Thanksgiving and it’d pass by without notice, sort of like July 4th did. But Jen wouldn’t let that happen. She’s been planning a HUGE Thanksgiving meal for months now. It was wonderful! Hopefully, I’ll get a picture up here of the spread she laid out. It was so amazing.
The funny part was trying to explain to the other teammates just what Thanksgiving was. Jen said it was about food. I said it was about football. But they think to Jen, everything is about food, and to me, everything is about football or some other sport. So that got them absolutely no where.
Don’t worry—we explained the whole thing. And, in the end, we were all thanking God for the blessings he’d given us—here in Lopit and back home. J
I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. I’m so thankful for you!
Peanut Butter
Not too long ago, I wrote Lara about how great and wonderful peanut butter was and how I got a jar in the mail and was ecstatic and was finding all sorts of fun uses for it.
That’s been kind of ruined lately, as the people are harvesting their peanut fields and we suddenly have two HUGE bags of them on our kitchen floor. There are peanuts, peanuts everywhere. It’s worse than a major league baseball game.
But, here’s a cool thing. I now know how to make peanut butter—from the very beginning to the very end. When we first got here, they were tending their ground nut fields. We helped. Then they had to pick the stuff. We helped. I spent a couple afternoons under a shade tree in the fields, plucking the nuts off the plants. Then I helped shell them at home. Then you roast them. Then you “atusa” them. (I’m not sure of the English equivalent there.) Then you grind them. My arms were really sore! And then, WHAMO, you’ve got peanut butter. And it’s darn good.
Anyway, it’s become part of life here, these peanuts. And I’ve seen it open doors for relationships. After I spent those days in the fields, everyone in the villages was talking about it. And everyone felt the need to bring us MORE peanuts. (Good… times…)
Funny how peanuts are part of my ministry.
That’s been kind of ruined lately, as the people are harvesting their peanut fields and we suddenly have two HUGE bags of them on our kitchen floor. There are peanuts, peanuts everywhere. It’s worse than a major league baseball game.
But, here’s a cool thing. I now know how to make peanut butter—from the very beginning to the very end. When we first got here, they were tending their ground nut fields. We helped. Then they had to pick the stuff. We helped. I spent a couple afternoons under a shade tree in the fields, plucking the nuts off the plants. Then I helped shell them at home. Then you roast them. Then you “atusa” them. (I’m not sure of the English equivalent there.) Then you grind them. My arms were really sore! And then, WHAMO, you’ve got peanut butter. And it’s darn good.
Anyway, it’s become part of life here, these peanuts. And I’ve seen it open doors for relationships. After I spent those days in the fields, everyone in the villages was talking about it. And everyone felt the need to bring us MORE peanuts. (Good… times…)
Funny how peanuts are part of my ministry.
Babiano
A prayer request for you.
About two weeks ago, a kid came to our fence, calling for us and saying he wanted water. When we went out to see him, he was sitting on a rock, his head in his hands, gushing blood. He had been beaten with a stick by drunk men in the neighboring village and his head was a complete mess. There was so much blood. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen so much. Kim and I tried to stop the bleeding, took him the mile or so down to the clinic. Steve met us there and we put him on a drip—he’d lost a lot of blood—and tried to control things while we searched for the volunteer nurse guy. I ended up helping put stitches in this guys head—with utensils I’m not certain were sterile and in a bed we’d moved by the window for light, since there is no electricity. At first, the nurse said he didn’t have local anesthetic, so we tried to go in without it, at which the boy nearly flew off the table in pain and was screaming. Michael (the nurse) soon decided maybe he did have anesthetic after all. It took him forever to get everything ready. He seemed so unsure of what he was doing. At times, Steve was softly suggesting, “Do you really want to do that exactly?” Steve’s no doctor. I’m no nurse. But there we were. I definitely was forced to reckon with the reality of the situation here, the reality of AIDS, the reality of poor medical care, the reality of… these people’s lives and the effect balu (beer) has on their society. It’s safe to say I was furious. But I should say: They do good work with what they have; the guy is a volunteer with limited resources and limited education, but Iris is impressed by what he can do. So, yeah, don’t want to slander the guy.
A few days ago, we got word that the kid (a teen) was still having troubles and they weren’t controlling the bleeding very well. They thought he was going to die. His situation keeps changing, so please pray for him. His family is one that we’re close with in Husa and would love to see come to the Lord.
About two weeks ago, a kid came to our fence, calling for us and saying he wanted water. When we went out to see him, he was sitting on a rock, his head in his hands, gushing blood. He had been beaten with a stick by drunk men in the neighboring village and his head was a complete mess. There was so much blood. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen so much. Kim and I tried to stop the bleeding, took him the mile or so down to the clinic. Steve met us there and we put him on a drip—he’d lost a lot of blood—and tried to control things while we searched for the volunteer nurse guy. I ended up helping put stitches in this guys head—with utensils I’m not certain were sterile and in a bed we’d moved by the window for light, since there is no electricity. At first, the nurse said he didn’t have local anesthetic, so we tried to go in without it, at which the boy nearly flew off the table in pain and was screaming. Michael (the nurse) soon decided maybe he did have anesthetic after all. It took him forever to get everything ready. He seemed so unsure of what he was doing. At times, Steve was softly suggesting, “Do you really want to do that exactly?” Steve’s no doctor. I’m no nurse. But there we were. I definitely was forced to reckon with the reality of the situation here, the reality of AIDS, the reality of poor medical care, the reality of… these people’s lives and the effect balu (beer) has on their society. It’s safe to say I was furious. But I should say: They do good work with what they have; the guy is a volunteer with limited resources and limited education, but Iris is impressed by what he can do. So, yeah, don’t want to slander the guy.
A few days ago, we got word that the kid (a teen) was still having troubles and they weren’t controlling the bleeding very well. They thought he was going to die. His situation keeps changing, so please pray for him. His family is one that we’re close with in Husa and would love to see come to the Lord.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Pray for Rain
Well, the dry season seems to be upon us, as the days between rains are getting more and more and the weather is getting hotter and hotter.
Please pray for us as we try to conserve our water, yet stay healthy!
Also, a point of praise—I finally have a language helper! It’s been, what, four months? But finally, I’m sitting down with a Lopit three times a week. Praise God, I’ve been able to learn from Kimmie—our team language guru J--so I’m not too far behind.
Working with William, the schoolmaster and said language helper, has been good, but it’s brought even more things to the forefront that I never would have thought about. I’ve only had one lesson (I have another in a few minutes), but we started to translate some of the story of creation. How do you translate the idea for God creating the whole Earth, when most adults don’t have any concept of it? And when he created the oceans, what do you say? There isn’t a word for oceans; there are no oceans around here. “Big water” was the best we could do. What about Noah and his boat? What’s a boat, anyway?
And these are just word translations—what about translating ideas? I listened to a John Piper sermon the other day in which the whole message hinged on one word in the verse. Are we going to be able to be so true to the original message, even with a language as… basic… as Lopit?
You see, what we have in learning this language is a bit of a moving target. That’s what happens when a language isn’t written down. As Steve so aptly put it, you get one guy with three wives and a bunch of kids, who speaks with a lisp, and the whole language changes. That’s hardly an exaggeration. We learn words from older guys and the younger people don’t have a clue what we’re talking about. Don’t have a word? Don’t know how to spell it? Just make it up. There’s no standard, no fixed point around which things revolve.
It’s evidenced, too, in that when we pulled out the work of Martha and Barbara from the 50s and looked at their translation of John and read it with the people, they hardly understood it. The language has evolved that much, in just a couple generations. Now I know what the old guys are talking about when they grumble about the younger generation making a new language, messing up the old one.
And so I’m left impressed with the idea that maybe schooling the children here—getting them to read and write and establishing a set language—deserves more thought than I first gave it. I mean, I didn’t consider just how valuable it is. Then at least when we translate things, we’ll know they’ll be good 20 years from now. This is no novelty—Martin Luther, in translating the Bible into German, ended up basically setting the standard for the German language, giving it rules and spellings and such.
Just another great product of the reformation. J
Please pray for us as we try to conserve our water, yet stay healthy!
Also, a point of praise—I finally have a language helper! It’s been, what, four months? But finally, I’m sitting down with a Lopit three times a week. Praise God, I’ve been able to learn from Kimmie—our team language guru J--so I’m not too far behind.
Working with William, the schoolmaster and said language helper, has been good, but it’s brought even more things to the forefront that I never would have thought about. I’ve only had one lesson (I have another in a few minutes), but we started to translate some of the story of creation. How do you translate the idea for God creating the whole Earth, when most adults don’t have any concept of it? And when he created the oceans, what do you say? There isn’t a word for oceans; there are no oceans around here. “Big water” was the best we could do. What about Noah and his boat? What’s a boat, anyway?
And these are just word translations—what about translating ideas? I listened to a John Piper sermon the other day in which the whole message hinged on one word in the verse. Are we going to be able to be so true to the original message, even with a language as… basic… as Lopit?
You see, what we have in learning this language is a bit of a moving target. That’s what happens when a language isn’t written down. As Steve so aptly put it, you get one guy with three wives and a bunch of kids, who speaks with a lisp, and the whole language changes. That’s hardly an exaggeration. We learn words from older guys and the younger people don’t have a clue what we’re talking about. Don’t have a word? Don’t know how to spell it? Just make it up. There’s no standard, no fixed point around which things revolve.
It’s evidenced, too, in that when we pulled out the work of Martha and Barbara from the 50s and looked at their translation of John and read it with the people, they hardly understood it. The language has evolved that much, in just a couple generations. Now I know what the old guys are talking about when they grumble about the younger generation making a new language, messing up the old one.
And so I’m left impressed with the idea that maybe schooling the children here—getting them to read and write and establishing a set language—deserves more thought than I first gave it. I mean, I didn’t consider just how valuable it is. Then at least when we translate things, we’ll know they’ll be good 20 years from now. This is no novelty—Martin Luther, in translating the Bible into German, ended up basically setting the standard for the German language, giving it rules and spellings and such.
Just another great product of the reformation. J
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Go Illini
I finally saw my first Illini sweatshirt here in Lopit. Check out that 80s-style boatneck. Woot, woot! (I look terrible in this picture—I just finished carrying my third load of stuff up the mountain. Gross.)
Theology Matters
Part of our TIMO curriculum is that we read a missionary biography every unit—a practice I really enjoy, since I didn’t grow up in an evangelical church and had no idea what a missionary was until I realized I wanted to be one. And, yes, I really like to read and learn, I’m finding.
In the last two days, I polished off two books about William Carey, “The Father of Modern Missions.” We were assigned a short article about him last unit and watched a video while we were in Nairobi , so my interest about this guy was really peaked. I can’t believe what he did in India , a place completely in the grip of Hinduism and Buddism. He went there in the name of the Lord, to preach the Gospel, but he didn’t just trust God to use the Gospel to save souls; he trusted God to use the Gospel to change society. And, wow, did it.
I would go on and on about all this guy did—he was a common shoemaker in England, but ignited modern missions, convincing Christians that the Great Commission was still valid today; he was a botanist who made huge inroads in the field in India; a self-made linguist, translating the Bible into 40 or so languages, while also translating the Indians own literary works; he was hugely responsible for the outlawing of infanticide and, later, widow burning… etc., etc., etc.—but I couldn’t do it justice.
Two things have really hit me in my study about Carey.
First, this guy really poured himself out for the Gospel, for the cause of Christ. He went hard. He was compelled by Scripture, compelled by Christ. The sacrifices he made were intense. The persecution he endured, amazing. God used him in huge ways. And I want to trust God to use me in huge ways, too.
The second thing ties into what I said before, about him not just doing the modern missions thing of thinking the Gospel stops at evangelism, at sharing the good news and welcoming new believers and separating ourselves from the world. He really believed in the social, political and economical effects of the Gospel. And his ministry affected that. And I can see—and the last book I read helped me to see even more clearly—that this guy’s theology had a HUGE affect on how he went about doing God’s work.
This has been a huge lesson for me while I’ve been here—that the theology we hold (consciously or unconsciously) really dictates how we live our lives, how we worship and think of our God, how we share that God with other people and how we expect that God to work. I’ve been learning about, in a word, presupposition. It’s HUGE. I can’t believe it. I don’t read books the same way; I don’t look at my days the same way; I don’t look at my God the same way. I’ve been forced to dig deeper, to examine why I do the things I do, think the things I think; why missionary organizations function the way they do; why writers write the way they write. There’s so much unsaid, so much underneath that governs how we respond to God. And it’s not always good.
Our team is going through a Francis Schaeffer series—How Shall We Then Live? It starts in the Roman Empire and explains how Christianity affected society and culture and how culture and society affected Christianity. It’s helped me to look at things and ask, “Where did this belief come from? Is it biblical or cultural? What influenced it? What does it influence?” It’s terribly interesting. If you can get your hands on it, watch it. It’ll change the way you think.
I guess this probably doesn’t make much sense to anyone—I haven’t done a very good job of explaining it and I’ve learned a lot of people run from even the mere mention of theology—but it’s what I’m learning on the academic side of this trip, so I thought I’d share. I’m growing so much in my walk.
In the last two days, I polished off two books about William Carey, “The Father of Modern Missions.” We were assigned a short article about him last unit and watched a video while we were in Nairobi , so my interest about this guy was really peaked. I can’t believe what he did in India , a place completely in the grip of Hinduism and Buddism. He went there in the name of the Lord, to preach the Gospel, but he didn’t just trust God to use the Gospel to save souls; he trusted God to use the Gospel to change society. And, wow, did it.
I would go on and on about all this guy did—he was a common shoemaker in England, but ignited modern missions, convincing Christians that the Great Commission was still valid today; he was a botanist who made huge inroads in the field in India; a self-made linguist, translating the Bible into 40 or so languages, while also translating the Indians own literary works; he was hugely responsible for the outlawing of infanticide and, later, widow burning… etc., etc., etc.—but I couldn’t do it justice.
Two things have really hit me in my study about Carey.
First, this guy really poured himself out for the Gospel, for the cause of Christ. He went hard. He was compelled by Scripture, compelled by Christ. The sacrifices he made were intense. The persecution he endured, amazing. God used him in huge ways. And I want to trust God to use me in huge ways, too.
The second thing ties into what I said before, about him not just doing the modern missions thing of thinking the Gospel stops at evangelism, at sharing the good news and welcoming new believers and separating ourselves from the world. He really believed in the social, political and economical effects of the Gospel. And his ministry affected that. And I can see—and the last book I read helped me to see even more clearly—that this guy’s theology had a HUGE affect on how he went about doing God’s work.
This has been a huge lesson for me while I’ve been here—that the theology we hold (consciously or unconsciously) really dictates how we live our lives, how we worship and think of our God, how we share that God with other people and how we expect that God to work. I’ve been learning about, in a word, presupposition. It’s HUGE. I can’t believe it. I don’t read books the same way; I don’t look at my days the same way; I don’t look at my God the same way. I’ve been forced to dig deeper, to examine why I do the things I do, think the things I think; why missionary organizations function the way they do; why writers write the way they write. There’s so much unsaid, so much underneath that governs how we respond to God. And it’s not always good.
Our team is going through a Francis Schaeffer series—How Shall We Then Live? It starts in the Roman Empire and explains how Christianity affected society and culture and how culture and society affected Christianity. It’s helped me to look at things and ask, “Where did this belief come from? Is it biblical or cultural? What influenced it? What does it influence?” It’s terribly interesting. If you can get your hands on it, watch it. It’ll change the way you think.
I guess this probably doesn’t make much sense to anyone—I haven’t done a very good job of explaining it and I’ve learned a lot of people run from even the mere mention of theology—but it’s what I’m learning on the academic side of this trip, so I thought I’d share. I’m growing so much in my walk.
Well Dung, Good and Faithful Servants!
Today Kimmie and I re-poohed one of the outside walls of our house.
And, yes, I do mean with a mixture of mud and cow dung.
(Sorry, Grandma.)
It was probably one of the most fun mornings I’ve had here in Husa. I actually wish Kimmie could tell you the story of how they got the cow dung, because it’s way funnier when she tells it. Let’s just say it was an experience.
(I took some video for ya’ll, so you can look forward to that next time around.)
Some of our friends in the village helped us collect the mud and the dung, and one of them taught us how to mix and smear it.
We were covered in dung up to our elbows.
And, after a little fight, up to our noses.
So gross.
But so great.
I’ll let the pictures tell the tale.
What you don’t see in them, however, is Davitica (the lady there) constantly yelling at me about how HORRIBLE I was at smearing. Ugh. Unfortunately it was really true.
The whole village got a big kick out of the two idiot Americans covered in pooh. Actually, the whole of the mountain got a big kick out of it—wherever I went today, people were asking me about Ohudo and me mudding the house. News travels fast here.
And, yes, I do mean with a mixture of mud and cow dung.
(Sorry, Grandma.)
It was probably one of the most fun mornings I’ve had here in Husa. I actually wish Kimmie could tell you the story of how they got the cow dung, because it’s way funnier when she tells it. Let’s just say it was an experience.
(I took some video for ya’ll, so you can look forward to that next time around.)
Some of our friends in the village helped us collect the mud and the dung, and one of them taught us how to mix and smear it.
We were covered in dung up to our elbows.
And, after a little fight, up to our noses.
So gross.
But so great.
I’ll let the pictures tell the tale.
What you don’t see in them, however, is Davitica (the lady there) constantly yelling at me about how HORRIBLE I was at smearing. Ugh. Unfortunately it was really true.
The whole village got a big kick out of the two idiot Americans covered in pooh. Actually, the whole of the mountain got a big kick out of it—wherever I went today, people were asking me about Ohudo and me mudding the house. News travels fast here.
Day Tripper
I always get excited when our team talks about the vision we’ve all adopted—starting here in Lopit and slowly spreading out to the nine other unreached tribes as the years go by.
Saturday, I got a little taste of how that would be, and it got me even more excited.
I’ve taken to riding Steve’s bike in the morning—a replacement for my running, since my legs went kaput in Nairobi (there’s a prayer request for you). Saturday I decided it would be fun to ride to a neighboring group of villages, about a 30K ride roundtrip on the dirt roads. So I packed my language book and a banana and took off.
The villages around here are all of one bigger tribe, but they all speak languages that are a tiny bit different—often times, they hang on to the dissimilarities just so they can claim superiority over the other villages. That’s the case with the mountain range I live in. The teachers claim that our specific dialect is the best, that -------- is the richest language and if you learn it, you can learn all other languages (not just in the tribe, mind you—in the WORLD). Funny how such a rich language doesn’t even have a word for “fun” or “love” or “family.” Ha.
Anyway, it was awesome to get out and meet a whole other group of people. The place I went to was called Wolli-Wolli (best village name EVER). It reminded me of our first days here in Lopit—the people gawking, the children crying in fear. I actually came up to this small child on a rock and he fell backward off it, he was so startled by me. Whoops.
They were amazed that this white girl was speaking the words of ---------, especially when they’d talk about me with one another and I’d answer the questions they were asking. We laughed and laughed.
I was reminded again of my night out with the teenagers, when they all sat around Kim and my feet and said, “Tell us the story of America ,” ready to listen to our every word. Once again, I saw a ready audience for the Gospel.
Beyond Husa.
Beyond ---------.
The fields are white with the harvest!
Saturday, I got a little taste of how that would be, and it got me even more excited.
I’ve taken to riding Steve’s bike in the morning—a replacement for my running, since my legs went kaput in Nairobi (there’s a prayer request for you). Saturday I decided it would be fun to ride to a neighboring group of villages, about a 30K ride roundtrip on the dirt roads. So I packed my language book and a banana and took off.
The villages around here are all of one bigger tribe, but they all speak languages that are a tiny bit different—often times, they hang on to the dissimilarities just so they can claim superiority over the other villages. That’s the case with the mountain range I live in. The teachers claim that our specific dialect is the best, that -------- is the richest language and if you learn it, you can learn all other languages (not just in the tribe, mind you—in the WORLD). Funny how such a rich language doesn’t even have a word for “fun” or “love” or “family.” Ha.
Anyway, it was awesome to get out and meet a whole other group of people. The place I went to was called Wolli-Wolli (best village name EVER). It reminded me of our first days here in Lopit—the people gawking, the children crying in fear. I actually came up to this small child on a rock and he fell backward off it, he was so startled by me. Whoops.
They were amazed that this white girl was speaking the words of ---------, especially when they’d talk about me with one another and I’d answer the questions they were asking. We laughed and laughed.
I was reminded again of my night out with the teenagers, when they all sat around Kim and my feet and said, “Tell us the story of America ,” ready to listen to our every word. Once again, I saw a ready audience for the Gospel.
Beyond Husa.
Beyond ---------.
The fields are white with the harvest!
More Pictures
I told you about the dancing before, and here are some pictures from it finally.
Here’s a Lopit warrior… in a mini skirt? Nice. J
Here’s a Lopit warrior… in a mini skirt? Nice. J
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