After lunch, a bunch of us younger people piled onto the back of the motocart and headed out to a local Senoufo village to do an evangelistic meeting. To get an idea of what a motocart looks like, picture the outcome if a Chevy S-10 truck mated with a Honda Shadow motorcycle. It is the bed of a truck attached to the front of a motorcycle creating a dangerous, top heavy (especially with 7ish people and sound equipment crammed in the back), machine that Mamado is driving. Plus, Mamado has only ridden his one speed moped which has two speeds, full out and stopped, so Do tried to drive this large motocart full out or stopped and saw gears as an inconvenience to get it to break neck speeds. The sides of the beds are clamped on, except the side I was leaning against didn’t clamp right, so I had to hold the clamp the whole time to keep it from falling and people careening into the African bush as Do tried to avoid the holes in the dirt roads that had turned into lakes since it was rainy season and me dodging the thorns, briars, and thistles reaching to draw blood from my exposed arm. All in all, it was heaps of fun and a great adventure with only a little blood.
We arrived at the village and set up under the blazing sun with an on looking crowd. They started off with singing and dancing, about 2 hours of it, a message, and then more singing and dancing. Laura told me that a typical evangelistic outreach goes all night long; literally all night long accompanied sometimes with a rice feast. So I was thrilled when she said this outreach will only be about 6 hours long. During the message, Mamado gave the sermon in the local Senoufo dialect and Douda translated it into Bambara, Mali’s trade language. When the dancing started up again after the message, I dutifully and joyfully participated in the dancing circle that was slowly shadowed by the dust cloud the dancer’s feet stirred up. A few laughs echoed from the on looking villagers pointing at the lancky white guy stirring up his own dust, but then I really got into it, although the steps were easy. But my participation encouraged locals to join in.
After I had my fill of dancing and couldn’t keep the sweat from pouring into my eyes, Mamado walked over with two local young men and introduced them to me as two new brothers in the faith! Laura asked each of them what they wanted to do in their own words and each of them stated,
“I want to follow Jesus.”
We all shook hands then Mamado told them that “like a new baby needs food,” pointing to the chubby baby in Laura’s lap sporting an used plastic grocery bag for a diaper, “so does the new Christian.” He continued by telling them, “they need to talk with God through prayer, let God talk to them through His Word (which the Bible is only translated to Genesis 25, so this for right now means Mamado’s preaching that Tom helps him with), and they need to talk with other Christians.” We all shook hands again and they went back to their group of friends smiling. Some more dancing took place and then we packed everything up and headed home. Praise God for these two new brothers!!
So apparently Africa has attack lizards!
As I was walking around with Tom to make a list of items the team would need to bring from the States, we walked outside to look at the generator room and tool room. I was standing just outside, enjoying the sun, when we heard a massive ruckus above us on the metal roof. I stepped back to try and catch a glimpse of what it was, when over the roof ledge flew about a 6 inch lizard in a sky dive position, claws out, and a mean look in its eye, except for a slight smug grimace of enjoyment on its scaly mouth. Of course it seemed like slow motion as the attack lizard hit me square on the left temple, tail striping my collar bone. He slid down my face, leaped triumphantly off my shoulder, and retreated around the corner of the tool room laughing the whole way. I was so stunned at what just occurred that I lost everything Tom was telling me and mumbled some incomprehensible sounds ending in “Damn Lizard!”
Over lunch I learned that when Mamado was the only Christian in this area, he prayed for over a year straight, not missing a day, for missionaries to come and give his language the Bible. In fact, Nohoua and the other two Christians in Tangrela, Cote d’Ivoire are starting to pray the same now since they have no Bible in their language.
So, I’m still sitting under the tree with Douda and Salifou as I read and tend to my bloody blisters. I read in The Shack, “Growth means change and change involves risk, stepping from the known to the unknown.” Why is it that my generation seems apathetic to growth, un-wanting to change and terrified of risk. I’m not talking about the Xtreme movement that swept through youth groups and even the secular world leaving a wake of Xtreme sports, Xtreme energy drinks, Xtreme Baptist whatever youth ministry. I mean the risk that involves eternal significance; spiritual worth-while-ness. Where are the people who will heed the call to battle, take up the banner of risk, and march fearlessly into the midst of darkness, shining the illuminating glory of the One True King? Where are the 1 Corinthians 16:13 men? Where are the armor bearers of God who will give up comfort, “security,” and life to fulfill God’s mandate on this broken world? Who will go to Africa with me; whether by sending sacrificially or going? John Piper said, “Go, send, or disobey!”
Nohoua (pronounced Noah) rode his bike four hours one way from Cote d’Ivoire (Ivory Coast) to come see me today. Nohoua is a charming young man, still attending high school, and a strong leader in the church that was started by the Requadts in Tangrela, Cote d’Ivoire. A civil war and coup broke out in Cote d’Ivoire forcing the Requadts to flee as rebels marched in ransacking everything in sight. But the Requadts have maintained communication with Nohoua and the church in Cote d’Ivoire. He knows a little bit of English, so we talked in simple vocabulary and occasionally asked Laura to translate into French or English. He then looked at me and asked,
“Bear, why do you refuse to go to Cote d’Ivoire?!”
This question struck me because it is the same question I have been asking since we first started researching Mali and felt drawn to Mali. Why Mali? Why not somewhere else? But being here, unless I’m not really listening, has confirmed Mali in my heart and mind. Of course I will have to confirm this with Justin and Leah and inquire about their prayers for confirmation, but I pray they will be confirmed about Mali as I am. That would really seal the deal! Before dinner, I taught Nohoua how to turn on a computer, bring up an application like Word, typing basics, and how to shut it off. He was passed for an apprenticeship because he didn’t know how to turn on a computer and was sent home in shame. He is going to try again, but if he doesn’t get this non-paid internship… then he doesn’t get a job… and if he doesn’t get a job… he starves or farms, which is just for survival and not for profit… and more than likely could not get a wife. The only reason he is able to attend high school is because the Requadts saw what a hard worker this young Christian man is and decided to help supplement the cost. If he doesn’t get the internship, he has another option that shows the plight of African educational systems. He can apply to be an elementary or primary school teacher that runs from first grade to sixth. He would get two weeks of training and then sent into a classroom. On holiday breaks, he would get a little more training. In fact, out of the twenty or so kids that come to Laura’s Bible club, only a handful can read or write their own name and these are kids in the sixth grade! Laura put up a memory verse for the kids to memorize, which most is done orally, and the “readers” were stumped on a word. So Laura tried to get them to sound it out phonetically (which Laura had to teach them that letters have given sounds), but the kids were still stumped. After further investigation, Laura found out that the kids did not know what a Y or W was, let alone what sound went with it. The kids that come to the Bible club are “excelling” in school because, again sixth graders, Laura taught them to read. In fact, to cover this plight and raise statistics, the government’s survey on the literacy of its people is if they can write their own name, and the statistics are still extremely low! Low as in less than 50% of the population! Oh, what a multifaceted calling God has given the team! http://www.nationmaster.com/graph/edu_lit_tot_pop-education-literacy-total-population; http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/07/World_literacy_map_UNHD_2007_2008.png
“Life takes a bit of time and a lot of relationship.” – The Shack by William Young
In regards to discovering the landscape of my heart: “I often find that getting head issues out of the way first makes the heart stuff easier to work on later… when you’re ready.” – The Shack Could it be that we, sometimes, hide behind head knowledge and cerebral exercises so that we don’t have to deal with the pain and hurt in our hearts, the confusion and muck, the sin?
Douda, Salifou, and I set out for Mamado’s field this morning. I, of course on the awkwardly small bike, the other two on Douda’s bike with Salifou on the back. We hoed several rows, posed for pictures, explained to passerbies on the road why a white man is hoeing in Mamado’s field, and then I made my first of probably a million miscommunications. Douda asked if I was tired and mistakenly I said, “Yes. I’m tired.” I mean, I was tired. The short handled hoes force you to bend completely over and then use all of your upper body, but mostly your lower back, to dig weeds out of the tough ground. When Adam screwed up, he royally screwed up! Sweat mixed with dirt which mixed with broken and bloody blisters on my hands. Seventeen years of schooling has made my hands and back soft. So when I told Douda I was tired, I really meant it, but to them, it was as if I said I was finished.
They collected the hoes and our water bottles and started to walk. I stopped, confused, and pointed to the remaining rows left to be weeded and said, “We finish?” Douda enthusiastically replied, “We finish!” and kept walking. Again, “Weee fin-ish?!” pointing more enthusiastically at the unfinished rows (because apparently if you slow down and speak loud with frantic hand motions, everyone understands [sarcasm]). Again the reply was, “We finish!” and more walking. So, we made our trek home, stopping off to buy some tea, sugar, and roasted peanuts. We grabbed Mamado’s tea set at his house and peddled home to face the uncertainty of us returning after only 2 or 3 hours of work in the field. We rode up to the house to an outbreak of laughter. Jokes were thrown out and deep belly laughter was shared. I tried to make them blame it on me and showed my blistered hands, but to no avail. So the only thing to do was to sit under a tree, make tea flavored sugar, eat peanuts, and be in each other’s company. Since we couldn’t talk past simple greetings, which get old fast in a “conversation,” and random vocabulary lessons in Bamabara and the Senoufo dialect, Douda studied the next few memory verses for the kids Bible club, Salifou dutifully attended the slow process of tea making, and I wrote about both of them without their knowledge. Then came the slightly less potent 2nd round of tea flavored sugar.
“Relationships are never about power, and one way to avoid the will to power is to choose to limit one’s self – to serve.” – The Shack
Just as I read this, Salifou poured the tea into the two little shot glasses on a serving tray, walked over to Tom and Mamado, and served them the tea. In fact, in the Senoufo culture, when something good happens to one person, that person’s first reaction is to share with all, or at least the one’s around him. Even the children practice this at a very early age. When one gets a cookie for reciting a verse from memory, he instantly breaks it apart and divvies it out to the delight of the others. They purposefully limit what they get and share it to others. What a picture that sadly American Christianity lacks, perpetuated by the all powering “American Dream.” I can’t help to wonder if the New Heaven and the New Earth wouldn’t be a little like this: A sweet labor, not tedious or hard which came with the Fall, in the fields of the New Earth. Sitting together speaking one tongue that all could understand because the Fall at the Tower of Babble had been reconciled with the triumphant return of Jesus in the end times, and everybody serving each other with peals of laughter rolling like thunder in this, literally, glorious place.
After the deadly viper was extinguished, Douda proclaimed (as if the snake didn’t even phase him), “We finish!” We then set out on a vocabulary hunt. We would stop randomly, walk into a field and Douda would point at an object (plant, cow, plow, creek, valley, stump, axe, bike), whatever was new and say the word in Bambara and then in his Senoufo dialect. I would repeat each word several times until Douda and Salifou were satisfied with my pronunciation or laugh and say, “Let go!” The word for creek is very challenging in Senoufo. To say it, it seems that you have to swallow the word in the back of your throat and voice it at the same time, while the vowel is nasalized. This word took three tries, some laughs and a “Let go!” Justin would be in heaven with our vocabulary hunt. Justin is the linguistical brain of the team. In August 2009, he and Leah (his wife) are moving to Dallas to study in the Graduate Institute of Applied Linguistics put on by SIL/ Wycliffe. God has really put this team together because his strengths are my weaknesses and my strengths are some of his weaknesses. I praise God daily for putting Justin and Leah in my life!
We finally arrived back at Douda’s village where we stopped to greet the whole family. To be polite, they would serve me tea that had more sugar in it than water. We did this several times at different huts and I felt as if I just drank 6 gallons of sugar that had tea flavoring. I like this custom though because it takes a very long time to make the tea in which you sit and talk. Then there are several rounds of the tea, each round getting progressively weaker, which there is still more talking. I could really see the team going from courtyard to courtyard, sitting through several rounds of tea each, and slowly learning their language. It might be awkward at first when we really don’t know the language, but with as much sugar as we will consume doing this, we will have all night to talk and learn since we won’t be able to sleep.
Douda said, “We finish. Let go!” and we set off back to the Requadt’s for lunch. Along the way, we passed some carved sticks implanted in the ground and found out by Salifou and Douda that these sticks are where the fetishers offer sacrifices. Over all I think Douda took it easy on me, but these people struggle and work harder than any American I know; just to survive. Without my say or having an option, I have been recruited to work in Mamado’s field tomorrow.
The thunder storms out here are marvelous, powerful, wondrous, and awe striking. As the storm rolls in, it reminds me of an angry ocean inverted in the sky, breaking in waves, producing horrible deep screams from within its grey and green billows. Tom and I just got back from our walk, when God allowed the clouds to take its wrath out on the dry red ground. Lightning swirled through the sky and flashed to the ground, striking utter terror in the small children, which had no problem cowering under a filthy rag for a sense of security. A storm of this magnitude reminds me of God’s awesome power and wonderfully beautiful creativity. Piper’s words from his sermon Don’t Waste Your Life (you can hear it free on www.desiringgod.org), rolls through my head with each peel of thunder, “Our lives are held by a slender thread of God’s sovereign grace!” How is it that God would call me first for salvation, which is infinitely more than I deserve, but secondly for the privilege of serving the King in Mali. Oh the adventures and life that God has allowed me thus far and I pray for the rest of the time He would give me. My life has been one streaming adventure, full of twist and turns; of foreign and exotic journeys. Why is God so good to me?! Why has He provided so much?! Why has He seemingly kept me since my miracle birth for Him and His service, despite my stupid rebellion and laziness?! Such mysteries of His goodness and grace! I’m overwhelmed!!
Laura made snicker doodles which are fabulous and since the humidity is so high, the cookies go soft, so we have to eat them fast. Yet another example of God’s grace. Note to self: have wife learn how to make snicker doodles from scratch.
This morning I woke up to a bowl of cinnamon apple porridge and instant coffee (I will certainly have to find a way to do drip, brewed coffee here!). Douda and one of the Salifous (two young men who I have grown close too. They are the ones that took me to play basketball, but they didn’t have basketball shoes, so Leon wouldn’t let them play.) arrived and we set out on our bikes to the field. Douda carried Salifou on the back of his bike and I struggled to follow behind. I haven’t ridden a bike in almost 5 if not 7 years. Plus I had to borrow Laura’s bike that was like a kid bike to my height. So, there were several laughs as I clumsily rode by on my awkwardly small bike, not to mention a white man riding a bicycle (which is very uncommon). We rode several kilometers to Douda’s village, stopping to say hi to family members and to announce that a white man was going to work in his field. Then we rode farther into the forest that eventually broke into a clearing covered in fields. Douda handed me a small handled hoe with a simple metal head on top. The style of the tool looked as if they haven’t changed in centuries of farming. I asked Laura about them having new tools that don’t force you to bend over and new crops but, 1) you can’t just give tools away (you can’t create a dependency on the missionary, plus you would have to give the same tool to everyone who has a field in the village because of their strong sense of community) and 2) the people are very cautious to the point of fear to try new things because if the new tool or crop fails… your family starves to death. To gamble on a new crop or tool would be to gamble with the lives of your family. Therefore, they do what they have always done for centuries with the tools that have provided in the past.
Douda, Salifou, and I set out to weeding the rows of millet that Daouda was growing. At first I didn’t see any reason for the weeds we were pulling and the, what looked like, “weeds” we left, but after a row of weeding I caught on. The weeds and the millet look almost identical, except the weeds have a maroonish tint at the base. Also, after a row or two, you start to see the millet rows and the order that eluded me at first. We weeded about 5 or 6 rows, killed a poisonous viper, and set out on our way.
I didn’t even see the serpent and almost grabbed it, but Salifou held my arm and said, “Serpent!” There in the weeds I was about to pull, was a smallish diamond patterned viper, coiled up and ready to strike. He was brown and black, with a white underbelly and a typical viper shaped broad head. We stared at him smelling the air with his forked black tongue, until Douda bashed its head in with the short handled hoe. For good measure, Salifou hit it a few more times, carried the limp body to the edge of the garden, and hit it again.
Douda proclaimed, “We are finish,” and we set off on…
{To Be Continued} Don’t you hate it when this happens! The story gets exciting; you’re sucked into it, and then come up short. Who does this!
Today was relaxing and restful. I spent most of the day reading, laboriously, through Segu. I never read fiction and this confirms why, but the cultural aspects of Segu are invaluable. It has explained so much, just in the short time I have been in Mali. Tomorrow I am going to experience Douda’s life. In the morning I’m setting off on a bicycle to Douda’s village to weed his garden for a good harvest. I’m sure to be tired.
Tom and I went through Psalm 37 today, especially verses 3-6 in regards to what Christians are to do and the direction they are to walk in. He has a simple, but deep way of explaining verses and life that leaves my mind dumbfounded and my mouth speechless. He will ask me some extremely simple question and my mind would race for the lofty theologically astute answer I would need for University and come up blank. Then, patiently but not understanding, he would say the answer is “prayer” or “studying God’s Word” or some ridiculously simple answer that would make all the sense in the world. After a week of these, I finally looked at him and said, “I’ve been in University to long!” He would shrug and ramble on about wanting to coach an American football peewee team. His deep simplicity carries over into every facet of his life, even in translation. It bothers him when other translations add things to the text “for clarification or understanding,” which turns out to cause bigger difficulties later on, especially when the Church matures and starts to do word studies or learn the Greek and Hebrew.
So as we were going through Psalms 37, my mind rested on verse 5, “Commit your way to the Lord; trust in Him, and He will act.” I passionately believe that it is the Lord’s will for me to reach the unreached tribes, starting with the Senoufo in Mali. So I commit my way to Him and He has opened doors for me beyond my wildest dreams. Many Christians are waiting for this idea of a call, and yet neglect ministry today. Daily serve God faithfully, walk with a vision bigger than yourself, and watch as God amazes you by providing open or closed doors. As John Mott would say to the Student Volunteer Movement, “link up your life to a great cause.” And I would add, “and give your life for that cause!”
This morning is an overcast "cooler" day, so Laura was able to use the oven and make walnut cinnamon muffins from scratch. Everything becomes harder here, like when you can use the oven and not be driven out of the kitchen by the overwhelming heat perpetuated by the hotter sunny days. Laura saw me observing her doings this morning and asked me to tell the wives to know how to cook most stuff from scratch like muffins, pasta, cookies, almost anything. Unless you are in the capital of Bamako, there are no instant meals here. Every item must be made from scratch, which takes 3 to 5 times as long to make a simple meal. Laura says that it will be a lot harder here if the wives are having to deal with language acquisition, the climate, longer time to do everything, and having to learn how to cook without pre-prepared stuff. If they can already learn how to cook from scratch, then that is one less difficulty to deal with when they get here. I know it will be hard, but I can't wait to live a simple life in the bush.
I am spending the morning with Tom and Mamado in the office, working on Genesis 24:50 - 25:1. SIL has provided some great tools to help in translation, such as software that keeps a translator organized. Tom and Do (what people call Mamado) bounce between Tom's exegesis of the original Hebrew or Greek, 2 other Senoufo dialect translations, French, and several English translations; comparing and contrasting according to the original Hebrew. Do tediously converts the other Senoufo translations to his tongue. Tom helps to make sure that they are sticking to the original Hebrew, because he is a literalist in translation, and helps to work through various theological issues that arise through the various ways to translate a Hebrew word. Once the verse is written out in Do's tongue, they recheck it with the original Hebrew, Bambara, 4 French and 4 English translations, and the 2 other Senoufo translations. Once the verse is how Do and Tom like it, according to meaning and the literalness from Hebrew, Tom types it out and creates interlinear connections for each word for quick reference later. In translation work, the more you can do now with each individual verse, the less you will have to do later. Like the interlinear word connections which makes a concordance easier to do at the end because it is already done or a cross reference for when the church matures enough to do word studies. A big principle in translation that I believe should be carried over to a lot in life is to plan and work now, with the end in mind. This is why a literal translation is important. It may not be of much benefit now for the national church, but when they mature and study the Bible themselves, they will start to ask why certain words were or were not translated certain ways. If the vision is to see a church mature to the point that they can feed themselves, then you have to translate now with that in mind, that one day nationals will be checking this translation with the original Hebrew or Greek and question why you did or did not stick with the original.
Do is a rare find because he knows French, he knows how to read and write, he knows Bambara, he is certainly intelligent, and he is a committed and growing Christian who knows the culture and the tongue in which he lives. More than likely, Justin and I will not have a Do. This is especially important because when you do a translation, you have to do a cultural analysis of the people. But when the Requadts had to flee Cote d'Iviore due to civil war, they lost 2-3 years of cultural analysis. So to do the cultural analysis again would take another 2ish years, unless you have a Do, which God provided for Tom. Without a cultural analysis of the culture and people and tongue of the people you are working with in translation, you could easily produce false teaching, because you could say one thing and they could understand it another. For example, you could tell them that God created the world, but they could apply their existing creation stories to that phrase and synchronize their animism with what the Bible teaches. So you have to know their creation stories and keep that in mind when you teach and translate so you do not miss-communicate the Word.You want the translation to be accurate to the meaning of the original and understandable or "is good to the ears" as Do would say.
In the mornings they translate verse by verse, but in the afternoons, after nap time, Do leads the kids Bible club while Tom prepares the verses for the next day by translating the Hebrew, and putting the 2 Senoufo languages below it, verse by verse. He also pre-works through Hebrew difficulties like Genesis 24 when Isaac is in the field. The Hebrew word that is used is the only time it is used and context clues do not describe what the word means.
Leon came and got me for basketball tonight. We played the usual 2 games which we were all exhausted by the end. I was schooled multiple times, but I briefly got to talk to Leon at the end. He is from Togo and studied English in France. He said he was a Christian, but I think this was only to please me, although he wasn't fasting for Ramadan, so I don't think he was person (at least not practicing). Either way I took the opportunity to invite him to church on Sunday. He said he would come, but again i think this was only to please me. We'll see if Leon shows up Sunday.
The book Tom is reading, while Laura diligently works on her jigsaw puzzle, started me thinking about what love is.
What is love... but the firm comittment of a man's word?
What is love... than the thought of growing old with your best friend, hand in hand?
What is love... but maintaining purity, for the sake of the other, to please God Almighty?
What is love... but a silent aimless walk just to be with each other?
What is love... but wearing cologne in hopes that she would notice?
What is love... but melting when she smiles at me and yet acting as if strong and unmoved?
What is love... but the thought of waking up next to her, showering her in kisses and holding her despite our messed up hair and bad breath?
What is love... but praying together; growing closer to God and to each other.
What is love... but her enduring patience with me when I forget the French vocabulary word that we just went over, in hopes that I can have another minute with her?
What is love... but to say "I do! For better or for worse! Till death do us part!"
Mondays are market day. The once secluded street, open and free to cars, is transformed into a bustling, busy, crowded path with odors and experiences, most of which are not pleasant to the senses. There are a variety of goods to buy from NFL jerseys, to dried little fish heads, to elegant cloth material, to dough grease balls that really don't resemble anything in taste except for old grease. We walked around the market, with Laura bartering and buying simple vegetables to use for lunch, and the children that always follow us carrying the bought goods. Actually it is custom for the women to carry stuff, unless there are children present, then the children carry the stuff.
For the most part, you just blend in as best you can... except when playing basketball with giants that have been playing religiously all their life. This was a kick in the face to the reality of my whiteness and my long absence from basketball. I pretty much held my own until the second game, dehydration (which sets in instantly here), and a very tall Senegal man that evened out the teams. The court is a rough and broken concrete slab that is very unforgiving to hands that try to touch it, leaving my palms bloodied and the men saying in broken English, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Of course my pride is threatened and on the line, so you shake the blood off your hand, adding to the red dirt, ask for the ball, drive to the basket... and get it blocked by a towering Senegal hand. The organizer of the game's name is Leon. A nice, but cocky fellow, since everything in life is going his way right now. He has a job at the gold mine, good looks, plays a strong game of basketball, actually has basketball shoes, has a woman cheering his name, kids looking on with admiration, and a white guy from the States to play basketball with. His English was very good, with a full vocabulary. He even took joy in showing the American a thing or two about how to play basketball. At the end of the second game, I was exhausted and 10 pounds lighter from sweating. So, inside I rejoiced when Leon called it a night. You always greet when you meet and when you leave, so I went over to greet Leon and to thank him for the game. He asked where i was living and I told him, "at the missionaries house down the road." He quickly shot back, "you are a Christian?" I hesitated and weighed the situation, but replied, "Yes. I am a Christian." We said our goodbyes and i agreed to come and play again tomorrow. Maybe I will grow tonight for the game tomorrow.
It has been several hours since the end of the game. I have had a shower, a meal, sat infront of a fan on high, and yet I still have not stopped dripping with sweat. Today was in the 90s with 80 to 100% humidity all day. Now Tom is reading another chapter from a book, Laura is working on another jigsaw puzzel, and I again am tired. I asked Tom and Laura about always being tired here and my many and long naps. They said that eventually you get used to it, but in coming out for just 17 days you can expect to always be tired; just don't let it keep you from ministry. Pace yourself, take naps, and be there with people when it counts, since relationships, not tasks are important.
What a time of praise! In at least 3 if not 5 different languages!
It is Sunday, so we made our way to the little church building with kids joining us along the way to hold our hands. At church, they had me pray for the offering, which this group gave generously out of sacrifice. Then there was a time of testimony where Mamado's Mum said that today she decided to follow Jesus! Mamado asked to pray that her heart would follow her words.This was followed by prayer request. Douda gave a report of giving. Mamado then gave a message, with Douda translating into Bambara (the trade language of Mali), over the Lord's Supper. To end the service, the 8 believers, the missionaries, and I took communion. What a sweet time to remember Christ's death and resurrection! His grace and mercy! His call to go! I was able to take communion with my Malian brothers!
After church there was a giant feast of rice, chopped up pig (bone and all), and eggplant that mixed altogether in a sort of greasy, soggy, rice mush. Then came the favorite time of dancing and singing and community. The dancing went on for hours, with me joining in occasionally. I was offered the communal shot of tea, that was more sugar than tea, creating a sticky syrup that hung to your ribs going down. Walking back to the house I had a kid on each hand until we got in sight of the house and raced them the rest of the way. I played more Frisbee until we were rained out and then more deep conversations with Tom.
The Requadts have several traditions that I feel I will sink into when I am out here. These traditions keep them American I feel. It speaks of "home" to them and ensures their roots. I say this only because I want to try and make a conscious decision to be a Malian as much as possible, but I feel as if being a true Malian is impossible for me, in which case I too will fall into traditions that keep me connected to America. These traditions aren't bad, just not Malian. On Saturday nights, they do pizza (homemade) and a movie. On most Sunday nights they do waffles. These traditions taste wonderful, but I'm not sure I want to have a reminder of America every week, but I don't know if I could truly live without a tradition that speaks of my upbringing. Is it possible for me to completely abandon all of my American-isms and turn completely Malian? I would love to say yes, but my gut tells me no. It tells me that I will need some reminder, some connection, something to distract me from the hardships that is Mali.
This morning Tom, Mamado. Douda, and I loaded up in Tom's 4 wheel drive and headed for the villages. A 4 wheel drive vehicle is essential for Mali during rainy season. The "roads" become little lakes and are impassable sometimes even with a 4 wheel drive vehicle.
Life seems simple in the villages. At night, everyone sits around in the courtyards and talks (mainly because that is the only entertainment they have). This is a huge opportunity for language study, relationship building, and interaction with people. While walking through the villages, we would always go to the chiefs first, to ask permission to take pictures in his village and look around. All of the chiefs were very generous and asked if I would come and live in their village. One chief even offered me a lot of free land to start building right then. Imagine being the chief of a village where a white family lives. What prestige to brag about, let alone everything the white man brings.
Mamado and the others were discussing where they would like to see the team go throughout the day. I understand that I will always be different than the Senoufo, but I wonder if there will come a day, after enough time has passed, where they would view the team as one of them, as family? If not, I feel destined to be caught in life without a place, for even now America doesn't feel like home and how can Mali be home if we are always the foreigners? Will I always be the foreigner, whether in the States or Mali, where my heart rests?
Plus, today I felt lonely again. After seeing Douda's village, we moved him and his wife to Mamado's house in the town that the Requadts live. Since they are the only Christians in the village, the fetish women are making life miserable for Douda's wife, so they are moving. But as we were moving them, I envied their gazes to one another, as if they had a language all to their own. I envied the playful touches that reminded me of Justin and Leah (my teammates) and longed to have that with someone. It seems like today relationships were flaunting themselves all around me. For example, I read this morning in Genesis where God provided a wife for Isaac supernaturally; in Segu (the book I am reading) the young boy is asking his teacher's daughter for a relationship; two young lovers walked past me on the trail holding hands and giggling (which is actually very uncommon for that sort of coed affection to be displayed in public); the birds are showing off in an attempt to attract a mate; and every day I watch Laura and Tom live in Mali, I am reminded of how I would need a wife to be able to do ministry here. Lord, you said that it is not good for man to be alone. You provided a wife for Isaac, Justin, and for Douda. Lord, please provide a wife for me.
"The heat (is) like a hot bandage clamped over one's mouth." - Segu by Maryse Conde
The constant smell of my own sweat pierces my nostrils until Laura bakes zucchini bread or oatmeal raisin muffins or curry chicken or another fantastic meal; all from scratch. I realize more and more that ministry isn't what you program, but how you live life. If you are faithfully living as Christ, loving God and loving people, then ministry erupts around you. Like the kids Bible club that I observed today. It wasn't even on the Requadt's ministry radar, but kids kept showing up so Laura started teaching them the verses that were already translated into their dialect and a Bible club was formed. Since I can't communicate with them, I taught some boys how to throw a frisbee. They caught on almost instantly and a few boys would catch anything thrown around them. I can't wait to introduce ultimate frisbee here. They would be so good at it here! A coaches dream!
I went with Tom on his daily walk that often becomes a prayer walk. We talked football and politics and weather and truth and all sorts of time consuming chatter. He asked me about a wife, in which my reply was, "I'm praying." A wife would be necessary to live here.
Lord, as we go to the villages tomorrow, I pray that You would direct and guide us and the team to where You would have the team serve in Mali.
As I sat with Mamado, he told me a story about the French occupation. He said that the Bobos were a people who did not fear death. As a result, the french would throw a grenade among a group of attacking Bobos and the Bobos would pick it up, gather around it to see what it was that the french threw, and then it would explode. Also, after the battle, the king would say, "We have chased the whites off! Let's drink!" So, he would pull the pin of a grenade thinking it was a white man's drink.
As we discuss going to the villages Saturday, the most gorgeous lightning storm is dancing outside.
Oh, the sweet simple life of the missionary. At night (mainly to conserve the battiries charge from the day) Tom reads aloud a chapter or 2 from a book and Laura works on a jigsaw puzzel. I sat inbetween smiling, thinking that some day this could be my wife and me.
I found these translation statistics off of Wycliffe's website, so they should be pretty up-to-date.
•6,500,000,000 + People in the world
•6,912 Languages Spoken in the world
•2,394 Total languages researched
•1,953 Active language projects
•1,168 Languages that have the New Testament
•438 Languages that have the entire Bible
•100 +/- English Bible translations
•2,251 Languages without any portion of the Bible translated
This morning I was talking with Mamado and Tom about the Senoufo. We are going to take a few trips out to the villages on Saturday. The 2 villages that have nothing of the Bible or Gospel, from our conversation the other day, are inaccessible by car. So, if we were to go those villages, we would first have to build a road into the village through the bush. Tom's heart is for finishing the translation of the dialect he is working on, although he is concerned that he won't be able to finish it in his lifetime because him and Laura got a late start on it. His prayer is that someone would take over where he leaves off so that Mamado and Douda and the other Christians here would have the whole Bible. He only has through Genesis 12 approved and checked, but is working on Genesis 23 now. There is nothing else in this translation, not even the New Testament.
This place certainly takes its toll on the people who live here. I couldn't imagine what David Livingston or William Carey went through in missions. The Requadts have convenience and comfort (for where they are at), and yet Africa has taken its toll on them. But oh that God would call the team here, no matter how fast Africa deteriorates us! I would rather spend 30 hard years in Africa, with people who have no Bible, than 100 years in a Bible saturated America.
I went for a walk to the dam with a group of children. As we were walking, one of the little girls, no older than 5, hurt her foot and started crying. So she ran up beside me and thrust her little leathery hand in mine and we walked together. We would stop to skip rocks (which i had to teach them how) or let the kids play in the running cool water on the other side of the dam. But as soon as we would start walking again, she would run, grab my hand, and then look at me as if I could protect her from all that was wrong or scary in the world.
In talking with Laura about the gold mine opening up close to this town and the economy growing as a result, I asked if HIV was becoming an issue. She said that it will because of the truck drivers that are constantly passing through and the prostitutes that have shown up as a result of the mine. The town used to be far enough out of the way, but now it is in the thick of it all.
To be continued...
Today we left the guest house in Bamako and took the long, bumpy, wet day drive to the bush. Everything here has a thin veneer of red dust that when exposed to moisture, creates a sloppy red stain. They measure the roads here by what gear you are able to drive in, which in the latter part of our journey, we never exceeded a 3.
Mali is beautiful in rainy season! Everything is green and prosperous; full of life. This certainly what I expected Mali to look like, but i was pleasantly surprised. Although Tom says that as soon as dry season comes, everything turns brown and withers to nothing, almost overnight.
When we got to the house, I was introduced to Mamado (Tom's language helper and the first Christian in this region), Douda (a new Christian who was the first Christian in his village and had the first Christian wedding in this region), and few other young Christians that compose the core leadership for the church here. It was a warm welcome of African greetings and lack-of-language charades.We sat down to visit and I was able to tell them (through Tom) the vision that the team has for long term ministry in Mali, but I ended it by asking what they would like to see us do as nationals. I was then bombarded and overwhelmed with suggestions. The men started to name villages who have never heard the Gospel and have no Christian, the needs of this town, but they also talked about two villages that had maybe 1 known Christian. Although they were emphatic that the villages had no Bible, no missionary, no church, no one, but this 1 Christian and they were not certain if he had gone back to his fetishes.The needs are great here, but there are needs every where. God must call us if we are to survive out here. Without His calling on our life keeping us, we would easily fold by the first dry season (the temperatures sometimes spike to 125 degrees).
Life is different here, but with a weird sense of comfort. Life is dirtier, harder, takes longer, is inconvenient, and muggy, but I could really see calling this place home. The guys said that they are going to start praying that God would call Justin, Leah, and myself here, and apparently they pray hard. So, I will continue to pray for God's leading and for the people that He would send us too. Praise God for He knows the outcomes of life! For His plans are not our plans and His ways are not our ways!
The wild adventure in me is screaming with anticipation of what tomorrow brings, but my jet lag is dictating that I sleep. What a day in Africa!!
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