Back to the Land of Everything!

After realizing I was headed out of Mali within the week, I started to get eager to make myself a malian outfit, to spend time with people, and to purchase gifts for my family. I had a good last week in Mali; it was sad to leave but GOd is faithful and I had a good send off! Tasha came with me to Bamako to help me shop at the artisan and just because she's a quality friend and wanted to see me off.

Shari-the missionary that runs the AVANT guesthouse in Bamako-took me to church and out to eat that night and then to the airport. As she was walking me up to the bamako airport we were talking about my flights and layovers and as i told her I had 6 hours in Paris she told me that should be enough time to get out into the city and see some sites if I was feeling adventurous. Little did either of us know--I was feeling adventurous when the plane landed in Paris.

I got 90 euro out of the ATM ( I still don't know how much that is in dollars) and I got several people's help with instructions, train stations, etc. and somehow made it out of hte airport and onto a train. After trying to find a boat like I had previously been instructed to do by a tourist lady in the airport, I found another way to the Eiffel tour by the metro or M-6 as us experts like to call it. SO anyway I"m traveling the Metro and I get off and find the street (not as easy as it sounds) and decide to just look for the Eiffel Tower (I knew it was at least close) anyway I walk around a building and there it was!

It was so exciting for me to realize that I had the bravery to venture out into Paris by myself with no clue what to do and find the Eiffel Tower (at this point it wasn't known if I was going to navigate back to the airport in time to catch my flight but step 1 had gone well.) So I relished in the moment, took some pictures and bought so Eiffel TOwer keychains- 2 for 1 Euro (no idea how much that was but it sounded like a good deal.) The guy also offered me an umbrella but I told him that I liked the rain and didn't need one (this is a bit of foreshadowing.) So anyway it was sprinkling but i had a coat on and was find with getting a bit wet. So I decided to walk on down along this path toward the tower. It was a fairytale moment for me walking around the Eiffel Tower in Paris in the rain.

But it did begin to pour rain and I was getting rather wet. My pants and coat were soaked but my only worry was my bag that had my computer. So I had an african skirt in my bag that I wrapped my computer in and I was good to go. I saw most everyone had ponchos or umbrellas but I was not worried--i would dry and I liked the rain.

The next part of my story is called "Why I need my lucky cricket." On Mulan there is a cricket that is supposedly lucky and we decided that Tasha was my lucky cricket in Mali because she saved us both on occasion. So back to Paris, Eiffel Tower, pouring rain, Courtney faceplanting in a mud puddle. that's right. mud puddle. and I was covered. clumps on my hands, mud all over my pants, all over my coat, and all over my bag. for real it was exciting. I fell about 30 feet from the Eiffel Tower so there were several tourists around and one chinese man in particular. He first gave me the "ooh poor person who fell in the mud while all alone and looks very pathetic" then he began to laugh as I got up and started taking pictures of my mud puddle. Here it is:

After falling in the mud my spirits sunk a little but not too bad. IT was what it was. THe only real tragedy was that all my clothes were checked and I couldn't get to any of them til I got back home. I had that African skirt to change into but had to wear my wet, muddy white t-shirt the rest of my trip. But I didn't let those thoughts get me down. In fact I decided to continue my tourism by walking up the stairs of hte Eiffel Tower. the lines for the elevator were outrageous and I didn't really want to pay for that anyway. But the stairs were only 3.10 Euros (no idea again how much that really is) and so I went for it. I was sure tired and my legs felt like jelly. my cavs are still sore actually. but it didn't occur to me til later that I hiked up and down 668 stairs all wet, muddy, with a big computer/book bag that was full and my full purse/bag.

So i climbed the Eiffel Tower and then walked back, got on the metro (missed my stop but got straightened away with little trouble), found my train, had to jump a little gate thingy to get back into the airport (not sure what that was all about but my ticket wouldn't work and there was no one to help me but this girl who told me to just jump it so I did.) I got back in and made it through security with about 20 minutes to spare before my plane to Chicago began boarding. My flight to chicago was about 10 hours and I didn't envy the man sitting next to me. I was wet, muddy, my coat and purse were soaked, and I smelled like it. but he was nice enough (though he was french and we didnt' hardly speak to each other.)

Arriving in Chicago I soon began to appreciate something about Mali that I hadn't ever in the same way before. In Mali, no one really cares about appearances. They were what they came and they don't judge each other. They aren't afraid to be themselves and no one really looks twice at what you are wearing, unless you look really nice it seems. Anyway, in line for customs at Chicago I had my Heena tatoos on, my african skirt, and mud. I got a lot of looks and began to feel uncomfortable. I made it thorugh customs and got a luggage cart b/c I had to pick up and then re-check my bags. As I approached the carosel I saw one of my bags. As i neared it i noticed its main zipper was completely open and most of my belongings were falling out. I grabbed my bag and a lady helped me retrieve my belongings from the conveyer belt.

I had to file a something with Air France and then tie my bag in a plastic bag for re-checking. Once that was all done I ate supper and waited for my next flight--my last flight, to OMaha. it was a long couple of hours and as I moved around the airport I noticed my purse/bag would leave a trail of mud and dirt everywhere I set it down. There were some complications with our gate and so we had to switch gates around the time of boarding. We ended up boarding the plane about an hour late b/c of this problem. Also, several peopel had stand by tickets and so it took a while for the whole plane to fill up and get everyone on board in the seating that made everyone the happiest. It was about the time I was supposed to be landing in Omaha when we were told to prepare for take off. I was a bit frustrated b/c I was tired and I knew my family was waiting at the airport. Then a man got sick and threw up and had to leave the plane--he was drunk. IT took a long time to clean up. A little 5 year old was sitting behind me kicking my seat and throwing a fit and I remember being tired of that plane and we hadn't even left. We prepared again for take off and actually taxied to the runway. we sat there a long time til the pilot said we were still in line to be given the okay to take off but it shouldn't be too much longer. We were told to prepare for take off again. We then sat a while longer until finally the pilot told us all west bound traffic had been grounded due to a storm and it could be 30 minutes or more at least til we could leave. people got up and waited in line for our one toilet and i was really not happy. it was almost midnight and i was so tired. we didn't leave too terribly long after that and headed south around the storm. I got into Omaha about 1:15 am or so and met my family, gathered my belongings and we drove back to McCook arriving at about 7am. I took a shower with warm water (strangest sensation i've had in a while being that I hadn't had any warm water in a long while) and ate some cereal with real milk and went to bed where I didn't stir until like 3:45 pm. that is my trip back from Bamako. I was nervous about traveling alone, but I think it went rather well--a little excitement never hurt any body. thanks for keeping up with my trip to Mali and all your encouragements and support! My team is still there until November so keep them in your thoughts and prayers.

The Ram

So two days ago I emailed everyone I know, all the people I care about and their dogs, and told them I was decided to go home. I told everyone I love that they had to deal with not seeing me for 3 more months. I told people I had made commitments with that I was going to have to back out. That is very much against my people-pleasing character and it was very, very difficult.
Last night, Mike got to Bougouni. As he greeted the team and we all interacted he found a moment to talk with me to tell me that he had been unable to get my ticket changed. He told me that he hadn’t even thought about this being an issue and had never really encountered anything quite like that before with the airlines.
Then he shared with me some of his thoughts about the situation and all that has been going on and he mentioned the story of Abraham. He talked about how Abraham didn’t really have to sacrifice Issac but God just wanted to know that he was willing. I told him how funny that really was in light of the fact that I had really been thinking about that story in light of this whole situation. How funny it was that I had not a week earlier been lying on a cement floor crying and praying for a ram. How funny it was that I had really taken the last few days to really realize that praying for a ram was not a way to be still in the Lord and truly trust him. I realized that trusting in him means truly trusting, resting in him and letting him have his way—whatever that is; whatever, whether what I want or not.
I told him how funny it was that I had seriously just reached a point in the last day or two where I was really excited again to stay here and was okay with it; that I was ready to take this time and let God work. It was hard but I was finally willing to let go of my desires about going back home and just let God have his way in me. I finally stopped waiting in my heart for a ram.
And then I got a ram. I don’t really know how much I should identify with Abraham’s story or really what God is doing or going to do. But I do know that this whole situation taught me to really trust God and to really put him above everything else.
I feel like I am in an emotional tornado. I’m not staying, I’m maybe staying, I’m definitely staying—I leave in 3 days. I now fly out of Mali for good on Sunday and I feel very unprepared. I am doing my best to try to get in the shopping I have been saving until the end, trying to get in the time I thought I had with the people here, and enjoy Mali for the next two days.
I feel really silly now for having emailed everyone and elaborately explaining everything and breaking the news that I am not coming home, only to two days later write with a “Psyche!” Life is crazy, God is funny. But he is sovereign, he is good and he really does have it all worked out. I really laid myself at his feet and he has done exactly what he said he would do; not because I am going home—either way he would have been faithful—but because he had me in his hands and he never let me go. I really gave him myself for the first time in a way I never had before, and I will never be the same.
I guess I will see you soon and hopefully can explain things better but please at the least I hope this whole situation has been encouraging for you. it’s definitely been a good lesson for me in faith, trust, and really submission the God, regardless of the costs.

“You are my God and I will give you thanks.
You are my God and I will exalt you.
Give thanks to the Lord for he is good; his love endures forever.”
Psalm 118:28-29

july 30 2007

So I am not sure how long it has been since I have updated my blog. I have done a lot. I am not sure what to share so I will just tell you some random interesting things. We went to a camp in a place called Koutiala. We used squatty potties regularly and I showered outside with a bucket. It was a camp for people like 15-25 and we were campers. It was all in French and so we had a translator for every session.
I learned to make Malian tea—a three round, 2 hour process. We like it better when the tea is weaker though and the sugar is in greater ratio so we even made 4th and 5th rounds this week!
I danced Malian style and learned songs in French. I sang a duet with Hannah (team member) in front of 200 people—sang “Heart of Worship” and I soloed verse 2. isn’t that about the craziest thing ever?
The biggest news of my life right now however, is that I have made the decision to stay in Mali rather than come home next week. My team is planning to fly back into Omaha on November 17th and I will be on that flight as well.
It sounds very sudden and very rash and it probably really is. I have been considering it and praying about it since not long before we got to Mali, but I am still a bit shocked by this decision. It hasn’t come easy.
Early on in my thinking about it I was excited about the different opportunities that presented themselves by my being able to stay. This fall each of us on the team is going to get the opportunity to get involved with an individual ministry at work in Mali and get to do it daily. My semester this past spring at Grace was very very busy. I was creating the yearbook, playing basketball, preparing for Mali, trying to be a good team leader on my hall and taking 20 credit hours. I was overwhelmed and spread too thin. It really excited me to think about getting spend a whole semester of time getting to serve the Lord in another culture. I have really learned and grown a lot by my interactions with the people of Mali as well as my teammates. It is exciting to know that those relationships are going to deepen and continue to challenge me.
I knew it wasn’t really that logical to think about staying considering I am in a new culture and my frames of reference and perspectives are all messed up. But since the idea had come to mind some I decided it couldn’t hurt to pray about it. So I prayed and I sought wisdom from the Word and I sought to “give heed to instruction” (Proverbs 16) by talking with my parents, trusted friends, missionaries, and instructors. This was one of those decisions that required quite a bit of plan altering. That being the case I had to being making plans to stay even before I had any firm resolve to do so.
I am not sure what all happened exactly but a couple weeks ago I found myself at the point where the only thing I had to do was say the word and my plane ticket would be changed and I would be staying here. I freaked a bit and I didn’t feel ready to make that decision. My family and friends had given me their opinions and thoughts but told me that they supported my decision. I found myself seeking the Lord in prayer—a LOT. I really didn’t know what was right. So many people have so much confusion about finding God’s will for your life and what it looks like and how you know what God wants for you. I guess I knew better than to expect a clear black and white answer from God, but I didn’t see the harm in petitioning him for it J. I prayed a lot and sought the Word a lot for several days. I didn’t really know what to do at all.
I found myself reading the story of Jonathan and his armor bearer. An encampment of like 600 Israelites found themselves in hiding from the Philistines and were not equipped at all to fight, only two had swords—King Saul and his son, Jonathan. So Jonathan one day says to his armor bearer “let’s not tell anyone but let’s go over to the Philistines and show ourselves to them. If the call to us to say we won’t go up there but if they ask us to come up we will—that will be our sign that the Lord is with us. Maybe God will work on our behalf—what do you think?” (Courtney paraphrase)
His armor bearer responds with “Sure Jonny, I am with you heart and soul.” So they go. And the Philistines call to them and they come up to them and kill 20 in the first ½ acre. That story really meant something to me because Jonathan didn’t really know what God wanted or if his decision to go attack the Philistines was a good one. But he had the idea and he was willing to give it a try. He said “perhaps the Lord will act on our behalf because nothing can hinder the Lord from saving, whether by many or by few.” He knew that God was in control and he simply did his best to put himself in a position to be used by God. He submitted his life-as well as the life of his armor bearer-into the hands of God. And God delivered the Israelites through Jonathan (read 1 Samuel 14.) He brought back many of the Israelites soldiers and he sent the Philistines into a confusion where they began to kill each other.
When I think about what Jonathan did I don’t think he had to do it. Nothing says that God told him to and in fact he didn’t know if God was even going to support his decision. He says “Perhaps the Lord will work on our behalf…” I think that deliverance for the Israelites could have come from somewhere else. Like in the story of Esther. Mordecai tells Queen Esther of Haman’s plan to kill the Jews and asks her to petition for her people. She is afraid the King will kill her and he says “If you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place....” (Esther 4.)
I also thought of the story of Abraham and how he was told by God that he would be a chosen race and that his descendents would be very numerous. He was told all of this when he was very old and without a child. But God finally provided him with a child, a child of his wife Sarah, Issac. God really does provide even if it doesn’t seem possible, God shows up. Oh but then remember God then said “okay Abraham, take Issac and sacrifice him on the mountain.” If I am Abraham I’m doing the “are you serious God? Can you really be serious?” but Abraham goes. And he raises his knife to his son, to kill him in sacrifice to God.
No doubt that was a pretty incredible and difficult act—no doubt. But I am all the more impressed with Abraham. He truly trusted in God and he knew that God was God; that God could do what he wanted. That he could raise the dead or provide another son or whatever—he had faith that God would take care of it.
As I think about these incredible stories, I think about what I can learn from those men of faith. Do I have a faith like that in my God? Have I ever lived out a faith in my God like they did? It’s so easy to say that I have a faith like that, but when does the rubber hit the road?
I think of those men that Jesus turned away. One guy is like “Lord, my father just died…let me bury him and then I will come and follow you anywhere.” And Jesus said “you are not committed to me.” Jesus says to us, “whoever wants to follow me must take up their cross, deny themselves and follow me.”
I think I have always been very good at reading those verses and then not really dwelling on them. Basically being like “yeah, that’s good” and moving on quick enough that I don’t have to be too convicted. What kind of a follower am I? I have to ask those questions. It seems harsh for Jesus to say, that wanting to bury your father is not acceptable. I have never agreed with this idea—I love my father. But that isn’t Jesus’ point. His point is, to put him first in life. TO really say, “Lord you are first, no matter what.”
That is the conclusion I came to in this whole situation. I didn’t know what was right to do and I don’t know that there really is a right. But I knew that it would be right to put my trust in God, I knew it would be right to put my Jesus first and to lay myself at his feet. So I prayed and I prayed and I said “Lord I will trust you.” I really said, “Lord take me. Lord I want to follow you and I don’t care what that means. I kneel at your feet and bow my head before you; I bare the nape of my neck before you. if you chose to reach out your hand and bless me—I trust you. If you choose to chop off my head—I trust you.”
And so I told my parents all of these things. and I called Mike and I told him all those things (Mike is our instructor and organizer of this trip—Mike is the guy that changes my ticket.) It was so hard. It was so hard to tell my family that I was going to disappoint them by not seeing them and not getting to interact with them for 3 more months. It was so hard to think about giving up volleyball, letting my Coach down and abandoning my teammates. It has been so hard to think about my friends and not being able to be around them and not being able to be a part of their lives for another 3 months. It has been hard to think about missing out on my classes, yearbook, and dorm life.
Right as I was making all of these thoughts and talking with people and deciding towards staying here, my mom called and told me that my cousin Brady died. She told me that he had been in a terrible car crash and hadn’t made it. It was really hard to hear that and to not be home with my family. His death really shook up my whole family and it was especially hard to hear them sharing with me how difficult it has been on them and how much they just wanted me home, right around the time I felt the pull in my heart that said I needed to stay here to truly trust God. The rubber was hitting the road and I really wanted to rebel.
I really found myself wanting to go home. I really found myself desiring to eat Mac’s Drive Inn mozzarella sticks, really found myself wanting to run a mountain in volleyball, really found myself wanting to hug my family, to hold my nephew. I really found myself aching for home and desiring to be going home as I had planned. In the midst of these feelings, I knew I couldn’t.
I had made the decision to trust God and more than my feelings, more than my pain, I wanted to truly honor him with this decision. It was incredibly hard and I remember one moment of lying on the floor, crying and telling my friends about how much I was praying for a ram. When Abraham was about to sacrifice Issac, God provided a ram and spared his son’s life. I prayed for a ram. I thought of different rams—Mike couldn’t change my ticket, I would get really sick, leprosy or something, I would one morning wake up partially paralyzed, my parents would call and force me to come home somehow. I did pray for a ram. There were times when I had a text written to Mike saying “don’t do it…I changed my mind.” I had every desire to go home, I really think I did.
But then it occurred to me. If my desire to stay was based in a desire to really make a gesture toward my relationship with the Lord, to tell him he was my first priority, to place all my trust in him, should I really be lying on the cement floor praying for a ram? What type of trust does that display?
In John 14:1 Jesus says “Do not let your hearts be troubled; trust in God, trust also in me.”
I was letting my heart be troubled and I was not trusting. So I finally decided, “you know what God, I’m really am yours. It’s hard. It really is. And I have never done anything like this before. I have never had to hurt all the people I care about near like I am doing right now and I have never shirked so many of my commitments before. But I really do trust you. You are a big God. You can do anything and you are so much bigger than me or my life. I place myself in your hands, I really do lay myself at your feet. And right now you have me in Mali. For some reason you let me work it all out to get to this point where I am staying in Mali. If you didn’t/don’t want me here, you’ll take me home. I don’t need to worry about that. I don’t need to do anything, but rest in you.”
I don’t know what I am doing. I don’t know what I am going to do. I know that there are times when I think about what I am missing out on and I hurt. No doubt it is not easy to truly follow the living God. I am not even killing my only son or directly placing my life in front of a bunch of Philistines. I am just deciding to live in Mali another 3 months. None the situations matter however. It’s not about what we do or how extreme it seems to the world. Circumstances don’t matter. What matters is God. What matter is that what I do, I do for God. I think I could have said that to you a month ago, I could have said that to you 3 years ago. I really would have believed it too. But now I know it. Now I live it.

July 10, 2007

I have been in Mali something like 6 weeks. I am learning so much and my perspectives of the world and of myself are definitely different than they were. I am getting a much larger view of God and of his people. He is challenging me and working in me in ways and areas that would probably not be tested in the States.

We live in a missionary’s house and it has electricity and running water—it is pretty nice and pretty western, but right outside our compound are mud huts and kids peeing in the street, which in places, happens to be the sewer as well. Right outside are donkeys, goats, sheep; I can hear a rooster right now. Actually I killed a rooster on Saturday, plucked it, gutted it, and ate fried chicken. I do my laundry in a bucket with a washboard and I eat lunch out of a communal bowl with my hand—the right hand only because the left hand is considered gross (we have a Malian making us lunch after we have class in the morning and we eat out of a few bowls together with our hands. She cooks on the pastor’s family stove which is made of mud and sits outside their house.)
We go shopping in the market which isn’t a building, it’s an area. An area with “booths” on both sides, most of them made of wood. On the left might be a lady selling okra, cucumbers, and onions and on the right might be a lady selling garlic, tomatoes, and some other things. There might be a little structure in front of you with a few cow carcasses hanging in it—the meat market section. (It smells pretty bad around that area, especially later on in the day.) If you walk around the area long enough you will probably be able to find everything you need if it can be at all found in Bougouni. Some things you cannot buy, like carrots, brown sugar, spices, milk, cheese, etc.
There are, I think, 3 or 4 paved roads in Bougouni (it is 35,000 people.) They all are roads that lead you to another country. We live right next to the road that will take heads to the Ivory Coast. In the times I have ridden in Joseph’s car places or in a van or walked around, I have seen 1 stop sign and no street lights. We have driven on roads that in the States I would not feel comfortable taking my Envoy. They narrow and rocky with large dips and crevices and I am not sure how Joseph’s station wagon manages sometimes.
This week there is a big conference (not really conference but I don’t know what word to use) going on. The church is holding special type events in this soccer stadium every day this week. I went yesterday and we sang and a couple of us girls went down front with some Malians and danced to the music. There was a message and there were a few people that committed their lives to the Lord (these events are evangelistic for the most part.) There is a pastor coming tomorrow (Wednesday) which supposedly has the gift of healing. The church here in Mali has disputed a bit with this pastor about his practices but the latest from a pastor in Bougouni is that this man really does work by the Holy Spirit. I am excited to go tomorrow to see what happens. Yesterday there was probably, maybe 100 people in attendance at the stadium and maybe the seating was about 20% full (this is hard to describe.) Also, the whole area with the field and all was probably not even 5% full. But Joseph said when this man comes on Wednesday he wouldn’t be surprised if the whole area was packed with people!
The church is hosting this conference, in part, to get people prepared for a Muslim leader that is also coming to Bougouni this week. I guess he is known not only throughout Mali but all throughout West Africa. He is very prominent and popular and it will definitely stir the town for both of these men to be here at the same time. Joseph (the pastor we live with) is supposed to debate with this Muslim leader at the end of this week, if everything goes to plan. There is no doubt a spiritual battle going on in Mali. We are studying World’s Living Religions in class right now and this morning we had a guest speaker to talk with us about animism and fetishes. This guy was very into fetishes and animism before becoming a believer. He shared a lot of interesting things about fetishes and demons and satanic things that I had never been exposed to before. Mali is supposed to be like 90 or 95% Muslim, but a lot of them in actually (it is said) are syncretistic, holding a combination of Islamic and animistic beliefs. Joseph said he has heard the percentage of true Muslims might be lower at like 50% or some even say 20%. It is interesting and important to remember the influence of fetishes and the animistic religion for all Malians.
Definitely there is a lot going on in Bougouni right now. It is difficult to understand it all, since I don’t speak very much Bambara, but it is very neat to just be able to hear about it and to see how God has worked and he will prove himself faithful in his works to come.

July First

Yesterday after church I didn’t really have anything to with my time so I went walking around our little area to take pictures of things b/c my parents wanted to see what it looked like where I am living. As I was walking I saw the pastor-we-are-living-with’s sister and another girl that stays with the family heading out. They don’t speak English but through gestures and my limited Bambara I was able to figure that they were headed to go get the girl’s hair done and that they wanted me to come with them. I figured there was no reason why I couldn’t follow them on this excursion…so I went with them.
It was immediately awkward. I was carrying their radio that was blasting their Bambara music and they were chatting and dancing kind of as we walked. It was very relaxed and they were trying to talk with me but to no avail. As we arrived there were 4 boys and an guy of around 25 years old sitting under a tree hanging out and making tea. I recognized a few of them from church and actually the Pastor’s 9 year old son was there as well.
The 25 year old immediately got up and gave me his chair which I was somewhat shocked by b/c girls aren’t as important as men in this culture, but I guess I am obviously a guest (I’m white don’t you know.)
After sitting a while, a girl came out who was to do Kariato’s hair. She brought out a mat for Kariato to sit on and it was all situated. She asked if she could do my hair and so I got my hair done in a couple of braids (this wasn’t as simple as I make it; in actuality, a lot of English and Bambara was passed around before we really understood each other.)
The tea was served and I got served first I think each round. (They normally do three rounds. It takes about 2 (ish) hours total and I was there for all three.) After I got my hair done I sat back down in my chair. The chairs they make here are unique and very comfortable, but I felt somewhat guilty b/c I had a good chair and everyone else was on benches because they only had two good chairs (Bama, the elderly woman who seemed to be the “woman of the compound” had the other decent chair.)
I recognized Bama from church, she had sang a song with the pastor’s wife. She is a fairly old woman I would say in her 60s or so. She and I exchanged small conversation (basically I know each to get through the greetings and caveman a few random objects and phrases.) As we were sitting there a couple of girls walked through with plates of mangoes on their heads. Bama stopped them and bought a couple.
She then got up and walked over to me with two mangoes. I smiled and pointed at one—I figured she was trying to be interactive or something by having me help her pick out a good one (in hindsight this thought is ridiculous b/c I have no clue about mangoes)—she said something to me and kept holding them out to me, trying to place them in my lap. The thought crossed my mind that she had bought them for me but I really didn’t want to believe it actually. The pastor’s son and the 25 year old who spoke some English explained to me that she had bought them for me and I should put them in my bag. I was reluctant but knew it was best to be grateful and thank her and smile. I hope I thanked her well enough.
I had emotion at this point. Here I was sitting in their best chair, drinking their tea, enjoying their shade, getting my hair done and being given mangoes. Why? Because I was their guest. I didn’t know any of them before this point really and the ones I did know I have only known for like 1 week. Yeah I had emotion. I sat there looking around me at this place. A compound area of about 50 X 50 ft (I’m not really that good at sizing up places so it’s very approximate) that was defined by a three foot mud brick wall. It had about 4 or 5 mud buildings with straw or hay or whatever it is for roofs and tin for doors and windows. These mud buildings are probably about 6 X 6 ft each (so not big k?) The area has several chickens in it, a couple of trees for shade, a goat or two, a mud stove for cooking, and a large tire which I later realized was covering their well water source. Also a bathroom which I hopefully have a picture attached here. O and here’s what the other side of the walls look like out on the street….not appealing.
Anyway here is this family, in this compound that probably cost less to build than the couches in one of our house’s three living rooms. And here I am sitting there accepting mangoes from these people who have no idea what spoils I have in my life. How do I think about that? What do I do with that? I don’t know. What responsibility do I have to be guilty about that? What does that demand of my responsibility as a steward of what I have? It’s either in the Bible or on Spiderman where it says “to whom much is given, much is required.” I guess it might kind of be both. Anyway it’s something to chew on.

I have since that day found out that this woman is a widow and really struggles to get food she needs because she looks after several grandchildren and I guess they cause her some trouble. She has been getting food from the church.

Bougouni Time

6.25.07


So I had nothing planned to do today….at all. None of us did. So here is the Malian way to spend a day.

I slept til like 9am and then I laid in bed for a while and then read my Bible. Then I got and was dressed by around 10am. I went and ate some bread and honey for breakfast and then went and sat outside with the rest of our girls. We are very Malian already…guys sitting one place, girls another—and sitting outside is very Malian. It is too hot to sit inside at all during the day, so they do everything outside.

After a while I got up and washed some dishes because they were there and I was there and I felt like I ought to do something. I then went with Sharon over to see where Joseph’s mom was planting an okra field. We watched her for a while. I wanted to help but I wasn’t really sure if that was polite or if I should ask or what. So I didn’t. We watched her do that and some guys were plowing a field right next to her field so we watched them too. O by the way, when I say she was planting okra she had a hoe which is a piece of wood like 2 feet long with a blade attached to it and she hoes and plants bent over. Her field was probably like 20 X 75 ft. There were three guys plowing and planting. One boy in front of the 2 oxen to keep then in line and then a guy behind pushing the metal hand plow; the third walking behind with a pale/bucket planting the seeds.

We watched this all go on for a while and talked about how interesting it is that in the US the machines we have to greatly speed up all of the Malian processes—plowing, planting, laundry, dishes. Though we didn’t speak of it like we thought they should use what we had….we concurred that we felt lazy and spoiled and ungrateful for what we have.

A few of the kids came over and hung out and played with us for a while. That was entertaining and I enjoyed it. We moseyed back to the Camara’s place and sat with the cooking ladies for a while. We helped Joseph’s sister (I always forget her name) make meat balls. It was fun to get involved and feel like I was helping them. After that I went to the house because it was time for them to eat.

I ate lunch….a couple sandwiches with peanut butter, honey and bananas but I am not sure what each had. Then I started to write my culture shock paper but I didn’t feel like it so I didn’t get very far. Then Brent came to tell us that Sharon was making tea so I chose to go partake in that. That was about 1 or 130pm. Yup. So I went over there and sat and waited for the tea and had tea and hung out. I came back to the house once with Tasha to wash my skirt (I had sat on some type of mango earlier and gotten it all juicy.) Other than that trip to the house, Tasha and I were at the Camara’s sitting under the mango tea until about 6:30pm. Yup. We sat. We drank tea. We ate meat balls and some type of fried fruit thing (I can’t remember) and coconut and we talked, hung out, etc. It is the Malian way J. It was quite relaxing.

Then I came back to our house, ate dinner and did a workout---jump rope and bicycle ads. Then I wrote this and waited for Tasha to take a shower. Yup. Fun day. Malians take tea twice a day and it takes about 2 hours each time. They make 3 rounds of tea. The third is the best b/c they start it out really strong. Today the kids made tea after Sharon was done so I had 6 glasses. It is a fun experience.

10:43pm

Honestly, life here is relaxed but busy and simple yet educated. It’s like they take time to sit around and they take time to be with people and to enjoy each other’s company. But yet they have a lot to do just to keep life going. They guys today for example worked in the field planting the corn. They ladies did laundry and made the meals and but even while they did those things they were willing to interact with me, let me help, talk with me. They don’t have all the “high-tech” machines that we have to plow their fields for them, wash their dishes for them or do their laundry for them so they have to spend the time to do that. In the states we are much busier because we can be. We don’t have to spend the 5 hours doing everyone’s laundry (the girls got up today and did laundry from 4 until 9am.) So we fill that time with other activities on top of that. It makes things much busier.

I think I like the way that they spend their time. I am not sure I would want to just sit under a tree all day every day, but I wouldn’t have to. Like if I could plant an okra field or do laundry and stuff for a while or something and then go sit under a treeJ.

orphanage

I've tried several times to journal about a trip that Tasha and I took the orphanage, but I am struggling with it. I don’t know how to capture what I experienced and I don’t know how to relay it.

She told me that it was the cleanest, nicest orphanage in the city and no doubt I can imagine that there are those that have worse conditions. I have heard of orphanages in India that would love to have facilities like this three story structure I went to on Monday. But as I walked up the steps and looked down at the dirty tile, the gunk and trash that filled the corners of the stairs I couldn’t help but wish conditions were better. I couldn’t help but wonder if there were any government regulations or requirements over these orphanages and how strict they are followed.

I reached down to pick up one of the kids sitting unattended on the floor. Not lying, my gag reflex kicks in even now as I think about the feeling on my hands and the smell in my nose and the realization that this kid’s pants and clothes were drenched with his own excretion. They don’t wear diapers-the orphanage doesn’t have diapers-- and I don’t know how long he had sat with wet pants, but every other kid that even had pants on was in the same situation as he. The lady immediately took him from me to change his clothes and I remember standing there looking down at my goo-ed, wet hand disgusted. Even now I don’t know which is more disgusting—having a sickly random kid’s excretion on my hands or being so stuck in pride and vanity that I care.

I held this boy for a while. As I held him the ladies cleaned the floors and lugged the other babies in and out of a room in order to put them in their cribs. I use the word lugged because their method is to grab each child by the arm and carry them no different than they would a basket or a high chair.

As they were moving the kids around a few were crying on and off but one girl stole my attention as she screamed. She was attempting to crawl and not very good at it. I knelt to try to calm her by talking to her. She crawled over another kid in desperate attempt to get somewhere—I don’t know. She had a sore of some sort on her upper lip and she had white snot from her nose down to her lip. I tried to shoo a fly away from her bare butt because she only had a shirt on. She screamed and I reached out toward her. I rubbed her back and then her arm and her hand. She grasped onto my two fingers and held them. She was still and quiet and I could not swallow. The image of me looking down at this child in this moment is still with me.

It’s tough to go to an orphanage. The kids own nothing, they have no family, they have no hope and no love—it is a bare existence. At this moment I still can’t decide how to help out at all. What can I really do for these kids? How can I really help? What do I do with their faces that are in my mind? However, in that moment—when I knelt next to this little girl, when I looked at her sickly, solemn face, when I put her small little hand into mine, when my eyes met her stare….I felt like I was making a difference. I felt like at least for that small little moment I was bringing love and peace to a little girl who had nothing else to claim as her own. For that small second, she had my attention and it was near to her only possession.

I couldn’t make her smile, though. I made a feeble, skinny little boy smile—he had a neat spirit about him and a cheerful temperament. I made the other little boy smile as I held him and dipped him up and down, but I couldn’t make that little girl smile. I can see her right now staring at me. Her face looked gross with snot and scabs, but I didn’t even think to wipe it for her. I talked with her, I played with her, I smiled at her, I entertained her, but I couldn’t make her smile. Her eyes held the same expression. She was fixed on me and no doubt enjoyed the attention, but her eyes would not cheer up. How can I blame her? I can’t imagine. She’s probably around 10 months old…living in a room with 15 other kids, sleeping on a crusty sheet that other kids have excreted on, drinking out of the same bottle as 4 other sickly kids (the ladies give them water first and then milk so they are fuller and won’t cry as much.) She sometimes sleeps on the tile floor, sometimes she isn’t fully clothed, when she is…they are the same clothes another girl wore the day before and the same a third will wear tomorrow. Nothing is hers. She has few toys—she shares an old fisher price and a small giraffe with 10 other kids.

Several ladies take turns caring for her throughout the day. They all have familiar faces to her and she likes when they come to her, but they don’t have time to give her real attention or love. Sometimes people like me come in for an hour or two and sometimes we chose to hold her. Sometimes she watches as we hold other kids and as we try to make them smile. She watches as we sit with them for an hour and then set the kids down and walk away. She sees me walk out of the building and down the stairs and back into my life. She seems me pull out a disinfectant wipe for my hands and neck and face…everywhere that a kid touched me. She remembers my touch and lets its memory linger as she is so starved for love and I wipe hers off as I leave so as to not get her germs. It sounds terrible but that’s what I did, that’s what I feel I had to do—I mean I don’t want to get sick after all right? What do I do with life? What do I do with myself? Something is obviously out of balance. Listen to me! I came back and took a shower. I still felt like I smelled like the orphanage. The smell was so bad. It was in my nose the rest of the day. These kids are forced to survive in conditions I wouldn’t let Kalen spend a day in. This was the cleanest, nicest orphanage in the city. It was humbling to go there, it is humbling to think back on it, it is humbling to write about it…but so what? What does that mean for that little girl? So what that I felt a bit more humility! Does that change where she sleeps right now? It is tough to go to an orphanage.