Finally, someone else agreed to blogging on this dumb thing. Below is a funny little excerpt from KP’s prayer letter. I heard her giggling the entire time she wrote it; I pray you find it as funny as she did.
Nearing the end of our first year in Africa and of a four month stint in the bush, my housemate (that’s ME!) and I decided to host a fancy dinner for our team. A chance to look back over our time with the L sharing stories, lots of laughs, and, we expected, even a few tears.
Wanting this dinner to be an all out extra special occasion, we set out to buy a few chickens (protein a definite deficiency in our diets). Not a difficult task, you’d think, considering the half-a-dozen or so chickens that frequent our yard alone, leaving their stinky chicken poo everywhere they go and cocka-doodle-dooing all wee hours of the morning, no matter how determined we are to sleep in. The idea of our first taste of real meat in months was tempting, yes, but that of three less chickens in L land probably even more so. Ironic that everyone we asked insisted there were no chickens left and how much more so when we could watch 2 or 3 scratching through our compost heap, spreading rubbish all over our yard, as we were told Jiok (a L god) had consumed them all. Determined and driven further by every cocka-doodle-doo, we carried our inquiry to our neighboring villages and finally to the “church compound” at the foot of the mountain. We begged. We pleaded. Finally, we found a lady with 1 rooster to spare. We’ll take it.
Problem is, you’ll have to catch it. At first we thought, yay, chasing chickens is cool. We quickly changed our minds, however, after the first close encounter. One less rooster in the world is a great idea, but is it really worth having one or both my eyes pecked out? We ran around a bit more, pretending to actually try to catch him just to prove what great, tough missionaries we are. Then we called in the reinforcements. What utter joy it was to find myself chasing 1 measly chicken with 6 or 7 determined L women up and down the road. And even more so when one brave soul managed to finally grab firm hold of his nasty little chicken feet and secured his fate. We caught our breath, they bound his legs, and we triumphantly paraded our prize up the mountain, making sure to take the long way home. Ha! So you say Jiok has consumed all the chickens, eh? Well it seems this one got away…for a time.
We reached home and left him bound and helpless outside while we gathered to plot his demise. It’s decided, mashed potatoes with chicken gravy for dinner next night.
Later it started to rain, and, realizing our cruel malice for L fowl didn’t run so deep, we brought him in out of the rain. Funny, looking back now, how calm and quietly he laid by the front door. (He made a nice doorstop.) A rather dear, helpless creature of God really. As the clouds cleared and the sun came out, I looked up from my book to see him rustling just a bit. He almost seemed to be nestling further down into his comfy rest. A few minutes later, I look up again to check on him to find dear creature of God has somehow managed to get fully on his feet. Amazing that dear creature is able to manage such a feat with legs so tightly bound. Even more amazing he’s able to manage walking casually though our front door. Hmm. Dear creature of God is now running wildly around our yard, freedom within his grasp. I suddenly realize what’s happened, not sure what could have caused the delayed reaction, though I suspect protein deficiency of dulling senses. I run out of the house screaming, “The chicken got loose, the chicken got loose!” And all of Husa comes alive.
Our most faithful little neighbor kid (that’s Francis) comes a running, bound and determined to secure himself as our hero. Our neighbor lady (Ebiong), who for months I was sure hated us, but is now our good friend, came sprinting. I stood in our doorway immobilized with laughter, confused by the whirlwind of L women and children and wild chicken frenzy. Our neighbor makes a nosedive and comes up with a handful of feathers. Doubled over, I learn from the wild screaming that he’s managed to squeeze through our bamboo fence. The chase continues up into the village and just as I’m about to give up, our proud little neighbor kid comes tripping though our gate, one wet, dirty, and miserably defeated chicken in hand.
Mashed potatoes with chicken gravy for dinner after all.
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