Sweet Stranger

Yéo Nimbonténé Lamekka’a Julia. That’s my new name. Caitlin Julia Lacy really doesn’t mean much of anything here, so my host family has renamed me. I was already going by Julia here because Caitlin is too hard to pronounce and CJ makes no sense at all. Names in Côte d’Ivoire have a lot of significance. Yéo is the family name of my host family. When Ivorians hear Yéo they know that I’m in the Senefou ethnic group and my family is from a certain area of Côte d’Ivoire. Nimbonténé means ‘sweet stranger’ in Tyembara (the Senefou language my family speaks). The word stranger doesn’t have the negative connotations it can have in the U.S.; a stranger has stuck around long enough to be more than just a tourist; a guest who’s not truly part of the family yet. So to be named Nimbonténé by my family is quite a compliment- they are very happy to receive me into their home. My host father, Sidiki, is from the village of Lamekka’a, about a 40 minute drive from Korhogo, this part of my name reveals even more. I am not a Yéo from Torhogo or Ferké, I am a Yéo from the village of Lamekka’a. Even if that is not where I grew up, my family is from that village.

The first few days after receiving my new name, my family would quiz me, waiting expectantly whenever I was introduced to someone new or just saying ‘Nimbonténé’ at random times to see if I was paying attention. They’ve stopped quizzing me on my name by now, but have moved on to teaching me other things. I am slowly picking up different Tyembara phrases, from the salutations for the different times of day, to how to say I’m full. Sometimes when I think I’ve finally figured out how to greet someone, they’ll respond with a phrase I haven’t heard before. Of course I’m speaking a lot of French too, but not everyone who lives at my house speaks French and not everyone who speaks French can actually speak it well.

All together there are 19 people living here, including myself, Sidiki, Madame Sidiki, Sidiki’s older sister, Sidiki’s nephew and his wife, 3 ‘kids’ finished with school, and the rest are kids who go to school. By Ivorian standards, my host family is well-to-do and so have many ‘adopted’ children living with them. Sidiki is the ‘grand-papa’ of everyone here; he is the head of the entire household. So if you take away the fact that I’m a white American, my staying here really isn’t all that strange.

This certainly is and will continue to be a lesson in humility. I am treated like a small child and an honored guest at the same time. For meals, the other women and the children eat anywhere around the courtyard, but they bring me my food and place it on a coffee table with a tablecloth. I am always told ‘Faut manger encore!!’ (Eat more!!); my family, especially my host mom, wants me to get fat, so that everyone will see that they’ve taken good care of me. I’m told to sit down countless times a day; everyone takes their turn in telling me what to do, and when Sidiki’s older sister tells me to do something in Tyembara, one of the little kids translates for her. When I want to go anywhere outside our courtyard, I ask first and someone (usually 12 year old Emmanuel) accompanies me wherever I want to go. Sometimes, I think to myself, “I am really capable of doing this on my own.” But of course whenever I think this, something comes along that works out so much better because I’m not alone. I am laughed at constantly. I always manage to do something that is worth laughing at (of course Ivorians love to laugh at life, much more than anyone else I’ve encountered). The new things I learn and the strange things I do during the day are recounted for the family members who weren’t there when it originally happened. I laugh a lot too, sometimes until my cheeks hurt. Trying to integrate into this family can be awkward and silly at times and laughter eases so much tension.

Eventually I will get into a rhythm of a daily routine here, find work to get involved in, and have friends to visit, but for now I am simply being with this family. This is not something I do naturally; my impatience for something to do rises up in me quite often. But God is patient with me, showing me the art of being through simple things: eating mangos, riding my bike, talking about God with my family or pastor’s wife with 3 different translations of the bible sitting on our laps, preparing lunch or tea the Ivorian way, going to church, learning Tyembara, visiting around the courtyard, and thankfully, laughing often.