Life in Africa

My Mom asked me to write about my life in West Africa… my first thought was “haven’t you been reading my blogs?” but I got her point. She wants to know the hard things, the things I forget to mention like the buckets of water by every toilet for when the water stops working and you need to flush. The “yellow mellow” rule in Guinea (also pertains to flushing) and the other different things that don’t happen every day in the U.S. I don’t like to talk about hard things except with sarcasim but here are some of the different and difficult things in my journey through West Africa. I will start with Guinea since I just moved from there and I don’t want to forget.

In Guinea life was different. When I walked out on the streets I did not expect to be understood and there was a lot of preparation in my mind before I ever said a word. I would practice in my head again and again how I was going to ask where can I buy some eggs? And then, listen extremely hard to try to understand the answer. In Guinea, where ever I was I could always hear the local mosque calling out the prayer. The drowning noise at first oppressive became normal. Even early in the morning 5 am I would listen to the plea. In Forecariah, we did not have a well; we relied on city water which would come every two or three days. When the water came it poured into a lower reservoir which we would then pump into the higher reservoir on a raised plat form so that there would be enough pressure to have water come out of the faucets in the house. There was also a pipe system set up to catch rain water off of the roof and funnel it into the lower reservoir which is actually how the tank stayed full most of the time. We were blessed in that we did not have to experience dry season in that house because often city water doesn’t come in dry season and then water had to be carried bucket by bucket full from other locations. In Forecariah we had electricity about every other day, usually at night for about 6 hours at a time. We learned that if we had electricity or ran the generator for about 5 hours a day that was enough to keep our Freezer cold enough to keep meats. Right before we left Forecariah it got its first convenience store, where you could buy things like, canned beans, pasta, spaghetti sauce, canned veggies, etc. But still you could not buy meats, which means you could do two things, purchase meat at the market or purchase meat in Conakry grocery stores and bring it back in a cooler. Based on market meats displays, (blood and meat chunks smashed everywhere, hacked at with a machete and you never knew how long it been sitting in the sun), we picked carry it from Conakry. Our refrigerator was small and the frig part didn’t actually work so we packed as much meat in the Freezer part as possible and were careful to keep it cold. The small amount of time spent in Forecariah I was becoming a rather good cook. In Guinea, there hardly anything pre-made. You have to cook everything from scratch.

 Internet in West Africa can be a challenge, especially when traveling. Internet is done through the cell phone companies and each country has their own companies. So unless we were at the few Guest houses that had internet we would need an internet card that plugs into your USB port. The cell phone towers in some magic way makes this work. But most of the Internet cards required you purchase a month subscription and we were never anywhere that long. In Guinea, I had a support of a community, especially in Conakry. We have several people with the company there and I spent many enjoyable evening playing cards and laughing or worshiping around a camper fire with these lovely people. They also taught me what a true M does. One of these couples has raised their families in Guinea and devoted themselves to a certain people group. I loved going out with them into their community, listening to them chat in the local language and watching them share unashamedly the good news. And watching how they work through the hard things with the local believers. What if your husband isn’t a Christian? What if your family forces you to marry another man? What do you do then? They never took these things lightly, they thought and prayed before they proceeded carefully and they worked with the local church, humbly.

That was life in Guinea. Life on the road was different. I came to Africa with three trunks and a guitar. Two of those trunks remained largely packed until I moved to Liberia a few weeks ago. I have ULA back pack that I purchased when I thought I was tough enough to hike the A.T. I only made the first 55 miles of the trek but that pack made it a considerably farther because at the midway point my brother called and asked to borrow it because of it shifts weight to your hips well. That pack has proven to be well worth what I spent on it. I have lived out of it for most of last year. When my clothes were dirty I transferred them to my old World Changer laundry bag, until my green back pack would look all deflated and then I would know it was time to wash again. Washing clothes is one of the harder things to do. In Forecariah, we had a washer that didn’t really work so we hand washed our clothes, just a bucket, soap and our hands. On the road, if the Guest house had a washer I used it but they usually didn’t have a dryer so you had to plan on being there for at least a day (or more depending on humidity) to hang dry them. More than once I packed damp clothes and rehung them at the next location. Most the time you can find a local who will hand wash your clothes for you, which is what I have been doing this week since I haven’t got the kinks worked out of our new washer set up. Most of the times if you try you can get your clothes washed but sometimes things just don’t work out and you end up wearing dirty clothes. I have enough t-shirts and Ponya’s to last about two weeks but there was a low point in which try as I might I couldn’t get my clothes cleaned in time, I am not nor have I ever been a girly girl but I may have cried a little when I couldn’t find a shirt without visible dirt on it.

 

 As I said before, each country has their own cell phone systems and towers which means in each country you have to get a country specific SIM card. They are easy enough to get, they sell them on the street. But keeping up with them is another challenge as you switch from Liberia to Sierra Leone to Guinea, up to Mali, back to Guinea. It gets confusing. Between that and keeping credit on them and the little internet access, it gets kind of hard to keep contact with people that you love. You end up calling on Birthdays and feeling shocked at their voices and ashamed at the length of time it’s been. You end up missing a lot. Mom will talk about family things that I haven’t heard about at all, like its way in the past. And I’ll be like, wait when did that happen? Three weeks ago… oh. Most the time now I just let it slide and pretend like I’m tracking.

 

I am not incredibly smart but I had traveled some in the past with World Changers and new the value of a good pillow and blanket. Everywhere I go I take my memory foam pillow and my sea to summit sleeping bag liner. I call it my safety blanket and whenever the creepy crawlies start coming out at nights or the mosquitos, I pull the blanket tight over my head and form a giant string bean (it’s a lime green liner). My supervisor and roommate make fun of me for this but I would rather sleep soundly than have mosquitos buzzing my ear all night. I have slept in many beds in West Africa, some more comfortable than others, some I wasn’t sure there was a mattress, some I was sure the mattress was made out of corn cobs. When we visit villages they are gracious and offer us their own beds, usually they vacate the hut for you but sometimes they sleep in the bed with you. Our creepiest (and cheapest $10) place was what we refer to now as the “brothel.” We had nowhere else to go so we stayed in a hotel that was well below par even for West Africa. When I entered that room I noticed there was no lock and I said something to the manager she seemed flustered went into the room and then showed me how you pushed a crooked nail down to keep the door closed.  “Oh right, obviously, the nail.” I pushed my trunk in front of the door, tucked the mosquito net in tight (thank God for Mosquito nets) said a prayer and slept soundly. At many of these guesthouses outside of major cities, there is no running water so you take bucket baths. It’s the same in villages, except where as in motel’s you can choose to take a bucket bath or just wash your face in the village you have to take a bucket bath every night. Your host brings your water and your seen as rather dirty if you don’t take full advantage of it. But in the village that is also a problem as many of the “stalls” that are provided for bathing are also the toilet (some with holes and some used as urinals with no hole). These stalls are often to short (and I’m 5’2 so that is saying something) or partially fallen down. At night it is pretty lovely to take a warm bucket bath under the stars but at twilight when people are still walking about and they are ready for you to bath. It gets a little awkward trying to be modest.

Eating on the road can be a challenge too. When I first came I rapidly lost weight because I couldn’t stomach the spicy food that is served in Sierra Leone and Liberia. I have never liked rice, which is rather unfortunate for a person living in West Africa. African’s haven’t eaten until they have had rice. You could feed them a four course meal and if it didn’t include rice they’d still feel incomplete. So when we hit the road without road snacks Rita and I call this our starvation diet. Not all African foods are bad though, we traveled with a man who was made sure we did not have to eat spicy foods in southern Liberia and some of those meals were very decent. I still had to watch out for the ridiculously boney fish (I’m also not a fish fan… picky I know). On the road, we really don’t eat much, we carry tuna and crackers, peanut butter and you can get market bread, and sometimes we make pita sandwiches with meat the day we leave. But sometimes it’s just seems better to be hungry then risk getting a bug at a chop shop. We do often eat at our hotel’s in the evening and I generally get the same thing, Chicken and Chips (French fries) it’s safe and it’s usually the only thing they can make besides rice and soup.

On the road the thing that is always dreaded the most is the border crossings. Some are easier than others, Mali to Guinea, easy (we did get turned around their once but our papers were bad). Sierra Leone to Guinea, okay most the time. Sierra Leone to Liberia, ridiculous! Each border consists of between 8 and 13 stops (just at the border this isn’t including police stops before and after). At each stop they all want to see the same papers, they all want to be greeted and smiled at and complimented. They all want to know why you’re not married and why you don’t marry them. And they all yell out African woman! As you approach in your ponya. Some are nice and some are not so nice. Some official are drunk and sweating all over your money as they insist on emptying your purse and counting everything they find. Some official are smiling and say they remember you from last time! How was your trip? You don’t need to come in today I remember you! On good days border crossings take an hour to an hour and ½ on bad days, they can take four or five. There is always much prayer before each crossing.

The awesome thing about the road is that, it’s the road man! You don’t know what’s around the next bend, whoa what was that totally awesome iridescent bird?! Are we going to get out of this mud hole?! How many people have been to Maryland Liberia? It’s neat, it’s exciting. I hear a lot of cool stories and meet a lot of unique people. But the downside is that I don’t get to keep those people. I have to move on to the next place, it’s hard to put down roots and therefore it’s hard to stay emotionally nourished. I am a rather reserved and introverted person. To build relationships takes time for me to feel safe. So why I feel energized by the mud slinging off our tires and the recording of stats of people groups and Church plants and the things I learn about culture and communities I feel emotionally exhausted by the small talk that happens in between. I hate how it’s called “small” talk because for an introvert it seems rather big.

And then there is the added cultural expectations, and the trouble with those are, you don’t know what is expected. Things change across borders, not drastically but they do change. And for me trying to figure out what to say and how (and I’m not talking about learning a new language here) is tiring.

 

So now we are in Liberia and it has its own set of blessings and opportunities. There is English here, I can “communicate” easily here. When I try to on the phone it is intensely difficult Liberian English is very different then American English but not unrecognizable. I have my own apartment, two bed rooms, a kitchenette, living area. I have a cat… she’s not really mine but she’s living with me right now and keeping away the mice. I can unpack my bags for the first time since January (2012). It is a struggle that the owner of the compound who we are renting from is gone and therefore, all repairs, replacing the stove, installing lights etc has to be done on our own (Rita and I). We are the first of our company back into Liberia since the war started in the 80’s so there is a lot of healing that needs to occur among people here. It’s a new place, and I don’t know where to start. I have had these past two weeks with Rita being out of the country to kind of reevaluate things and try to get my house established. It’s kind of fun to learn things on the fly, I know things I didn’t think I needed to know: things about 12 volt systems and solar panels, things about water towers and pump systems, things about getting vehicles fixed and buying transformers for refrigerators, generator maintenance and how to get furniture made. I know where to go to buy stoves and washer machines and muffin tins. Along the way I’ve learned the city pretty well, where the embassies are and where the car rental places are, where all the major Hotels and Restaurant are located. And that a Ponya is called a Lappas here.

I was freaked out. I have been longing to finally be settled somewhere to really get started on something. But then when it was finally getting here, I didn’t (don’t) know what to do with it.  What if I fail, miserably at this part of my job. What if I don’t make any good relationships, what if I can’t hack it here? May be I missed something, this isn’t really where God wants me right? In this ridiculously outgoing culture, with all these hipsters walking around and shouting at me in the street. And I remembered something that an old supervisor at World Changers ingrained in us my first summer on staff. “The one who called you is faithful and he will do it.” 1 Thessalonian 5:24. I don’t like things out of context (English Major), what did that “it” mean, I wondered.  “May God Himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. 24 The one who calls you is faithful and he will do it.”  He will sanctify. Maybe that sounds out of place in context of my outgoingness fears but the truth is deeper than that it’s the fear of failure to live up to expectations.  To sanctify means to bless, consecrate, purify, approve, dedicate, to make holy. And the God who called me can and will do it because he is faithful even in our lack faithfulness (Romans 3:4).

Memories in Mali

“She’s an older lady, well kind of, she’s old but not, and she’s a retired English teacher… trust me you’ll like her.” This was something of the introduction I got for Mrs. M.L. When I saw her bright smiling self, wrapped in her cheetah jacket, come out of the airport terminal in Bamako, I understood what they meant. I don’t think anyone could not like Mrs. M.L. In her late 60’s, Mrs. M.L with the consent of her “very old husband” (her words not mine) has been coming to Mali for the past 5 years with her Church to minister to a remote tribe in the south east. This trip was the first she made alone and so I was there to be a companion, a driver and a partner. To say Mrs. M.L. is a character is an understatement. Her grey hair and her charisma give her a free pass to say just about anything she wants among her people group in Mali and she takes full advantage of this.  In each of the villages we visited, the chiefs and elders were eager to greet and laugh with Mrs. M.L. and Mrs. M.L. never let an opportunity pass to speak the truth to these very animistic people.

Fun stories from my time with Mrs. M.L.

Mrs. M.L. asks a lot of questions of both me and our translator, Shea. Most of the questions were legitimate but some were impossible to answer like, “What was the chief thinking?” The hardest question of the week came while we were studying in our mosquito tents inside the thatch church building where we slept, “Vickie, Where is the story of Ruth?” “Well Mrs. M.L. I believe that story is in the book of Ruth.” I replied with a broad smile. She looked at me for a moment then laughed and said, “That was a very kind way to answer that question!”

 

As the week went on, Shea and I became very good at preempting Mrs. M.L. request. I realized as I was getting ready to leave the hut that Mrs. M.L. had left the picture prints she was taking to the villages as we visited sitting on the chair. I took them and put them in my bag. She often forgot them, so as I exited Shea asked if I had gotten the photo’s for Mrs. M.L. and told them they were in my bag. We both went and sat down under the tree by the truck where Mrs. M.L. was reading. As we all got ready to go Mrs. M.L. exclaimed, “Oh no I left the pictures in the hut and it’s all locked up again!.” Shea said, “You worry too much, don’t worry. All I have to say is pictures come, and they will come to me.” Mrs. M.L was incredulous, “Oh give me the keys and I will go get them!” she began checking in her purse to be sure they were not there. Shea continued, “You don’t believe me? You worry too much. Pictures come!” I passed the pictures from my bag to Shea’s hand behind his back. “Viola!” he exclaimed.

 

The best moment could have also been the worst. As we drove along the bumpy back roads from time to time Mrs. M.L. would call out for me to stop so she could take pictures of the scenery or of the people. On one such occasion we happened to be crossing a bridge and Mrs. M.L. very much wanted a picture of a fisherman in the water. I thought she would take the picture from the truck and then we would move on but she instantly jumped out and ran to the front of the truck to get a better picture. We were out in the middle of nowhere, no vehicles had passed us the whole ride until that point. I looked ahead of us and knew we were in trouble. There were border control cops up ahead and no sooner had I seen them then one raced up on his Moto. Mrs. M.L. not realizing who he was tried to motion for the Moto to go around so that she could continue to take her picture. Shea got Mrs. M.L. back onto the truck and we pulled off the bridge to go deal with the cops. I told Mrs. M.L. “Okay just stay in the truck, Shea and I will take care of this.” I had been in French speaking West Africa for about 8 months by this time and so was very use too the police check routine. Most the time you just stand and smile and nod your head and show your papers and let them say whatever they want to say about you until they eventually give you your papers back. This time they were making a big deal that I stopped on the bridge and I was “blocking the way” again we had passed not a single vehicle on the way there and for the ten minutes that the angry police officer lectured the point not a single vehicle passed on the road. I was blessed in this instance with Shea because usually I would have to struggle through my limited French Vocab to express my regret in blocking traffic and admit that I was a dumb woman driver but this time Shea did all that for me and I only had to stand and look pitiful. As Shea and I joined Mrs. M.L. in the truck and I started the engine to pull off, Mrs. M.L. was very quiet for a while. I began to feel guilty for the stern way I told her to stay in the truck. I turned to see what she was feeling, She leaned toward me and said, “I would just like to say that all this money stuffed in my underpants is really starting to get uncomfortable.” Apparently my, “stay in the truck” command, had translated to Mrs. M.L. “Hide all the money!” which since we were in the village we had to have a stock of smaller bills (since there are no banks or ATMs you have to have a supply). She had stuffed the entire stock into her underwear. I pulled off the road so she could go “relieve” herself in the privacy of the bush. I laughed until I had tears in my eyes.

 

Oh, Mrs. M.L. was more than a little fun. She kept me laughing and so busy, the entire two weeks. I kept asking “Aren’t you jet lagged? Don’t you get tired?” “I’ll sleep when I get to America!” She loves every person she meets but she especially loves the little ones.

One little fellow in particular named Karim holds a special place in her heart. Back when Karim was just an infant Mrs. M.L. helped snatch from deaths door. Karim’s mother had died and as was tradition in the area there was no close relative to nurse the baby and so he was slowly starving to death. It was late one night when someone put the baby in Mrs. M.L. arms and told her the baby was dying. She made the appropriate contacts and got Karim to a hospital where they put IV’s in him and brought him back into health. She stayed with him while they were starting the initial treatments and made sure that they had all they needed to continue to care for Karim. Karim’s aunt and Grandmother are extremely thankful to Mrs. M.L. for the interest she took in Karim and whenever she is in town they take Karim to see her every day. Unfortunately Karim is not so grateful. Karim is now about 3 years old, many children that age in the village can be afraid of white people and will run and scream and hide behind their parents. Generally if you offer a few kind words and with some coaxing from their parents they will warm up and come greet and shake your hand… not Karim. From the time he catches sight of Mrs. M.L. until his grandmother muffles him as she leaves he screams top notch. That kid is horrified of white people. Mrs. M.L. just laughs and smiles and says “that’s gratitude for you!” And every day without fail you can hear Karim being drug by his grandmother to go greet the woman who helped save him. Each day, Mrs. M.L  presents him with some candy to try to win him over. Mrs. M.L. is convinced that Karim remembers that she was there when he was being poked and given shots as an infant.

Two other little ones, know to her as the “Troubles” also hold a special place in her heart. The troubles are the two youngest twin daughters to our host family. They have 7 older siblings, they are the cutest pair, but they are trouble. Each evening we had a special time for the children to come and color biblical pictures after we told a story using them. There was a limited supply of markers so I manned the marker box and asked them to return their marker before getting a new one. (by ask I mean demonstrated, they didn’t speak English).  The Troubles immediately saw this as a challenge. They were no longer interested in coloring but in seeing how many markers they could sneak from the bucket unnoticed. At first I was oblivious, there were a lot of kids and they were very sly. But soon I noticed a cache of markers stored around the Troubles and began to recollect them. War ensued. The Troubles (laughing and giggling all the while) began to double team their effort in the marker conquering. And soon one jumped on my arm as the other scooped the remaining markers and ran. The markers were not returned until their older sister, Millie, (9 years old and tough as nails) got on their case.

Millie, was Mrs. M.L. special helper. Each night it was her job to pass out a candy to each of the people present at the storying. She took her role very seriously. One day there was a man who came in a bit drunk to listen with the kids and youth, after a few minutes he fell fast asleep in a seated position. When Millie got around to him she held out a candy to him, when he did not respond because he was snoring, she knocked his head around a bit until he woke up and took his candy. Another time as she was walking around the circle passing out candy she ran out and went back to the bag for more, when she resumed where she left off a kid who already had taken a candy reached his hand out for another. She looked at him squarely and without a word pushed him over backwards off his seat, you don’t mess with Millie.

 

Over the past five years the children have become a part of Mrs. M.L. heart. She knows each of the 9 children by name, their ages, how they are doing in school. And she has become deeply invested in them. When I think of Mrs. M.L. I hope I am like her one day. She was already older than 60 when she began her journeys to Africa. She didn’t have to come, she every right to stay home and enjoy retirement with her “very old husband.”  She had already given years of her life to educating American youth. But she continued unafraid to do and learn more of what God wanted from her. She denied her “rights” as Christ did for us. Philippians 2:5-11. And I also must give kudos to her “very old husband” who, because of health reason was unable to join his wife physically on her journeys to Africa but in every other way supports her.