Lamekka'ah

This past weekend I had the opportunity to go to Lamekka'ah, something I told my host-family I wanted to do since the first week I moved in with them. Lamekka'ah is the village of my family, where my host-dad grew up. Its only about a 30 minute drive from Korhogo. As far as villages go, it's pretty big, but it is certainly not a town: most of the people farm for a living, there is a village chief, and a precious few people can speak French.
So after nearly 6 months of hinting/asking to go to 'my' village, my host dad, mom, sister Marie and I headed out on Saturday afternoon and returned Monday. The weekend consisted of visiting different family members and friends in the village, going to church Sunday morning, visiting more villagers, preparing our meals (which I was able to help with a lot more than usual, there weren't so many helping hands around!), and walking around the village with my host-mom playing tourguide.
Here are a few pics to give you an idea of how I spent my time there, or at least what I saw:

These bright (really neon) yellow birds were everywhere!

Their nests hung off the trees like ornaments. I spent a lot of time sitting under one tree in particular, listening to them chatter and watching them fly around.

Courtyard: visiting villagers as the sun went down

Papa heading to church.

Senoufo-style-worship: everybody dances

L'Eglise de Lamekka'ah

Everyday chore: taking water back to the house

My host grandmothers tomb, the door claims she was born in 1901 and died in 2007. Pretty impressive!

This little member of my family was brave compared to other village kids. He even let the white girl pick him up without shedding a single tear!

Chickens climb trees here, maybe they do this in the states too, but I've certainly never seen it!!

Another courtyard: Marie and Ouanna 'piler' (I guess the english equivalent is 'pound')

Helping 'piler' the rice with Ouanna, who lived in Korhogo with us for the first two months of my stay, but has since moved back to Lamekka'ah. So good to see her again. She's doing pretty well for an 'old lady' (a term of respect here) too!

Marie displaying one of the beautiful flowers surrounding the house.

Decisions, Decisions (Part 2)

Here is an update on the whole "to stay or not to stay question." I recently realized it's been a while since I said anything on this subject. Before I continue, I want to say thank you to everyone who's been praying for me through this process, I really appreciate it.

God has been teaching me a lot during this time. I could probably write a few blogs on each subject, but here's the gist of it:
-It’s all about motivation. God cares a whole lot more about WHY I do something than the actual action itself. Take Jesus’ criticism of the Pharisees for example, they spent all of their time cleaning the outside of the cup while leaving the inside dirty. I can make a decision that looks good on the outside, but if I make it for selfish reasons, its not a decision that will please Him.

-He is a really, really big God. I’ve been struck over and over these past months by scripture attempting to describe God and His glory. Psalm 18. Isaiah 40. Passages that compare Him to things we know, but go on to say He’s even holier, more majestic and mysterious than that!!!

-Despite His grandeur, He ‘stoops down to make me great.’ (Psalm 18:35). His holiness means ‘completely different’ but it doesn’t mean aloof or separated. For goodness sake, He became human and died for the world, so that we could be reconciled to Him!!! I don’t have to worry and fret over this decision or any for that matter, The Lord God is the One stooping down to make me great!!!!

While God has been teaching me all of these things I’ve come to one main decision: I want to get my Masters in Social Work. I want to be able to help others in a more holistic way than law would allow. I know I need a job where I work with people, but where I also get to problem-solve; social work fulfills this and also will allow me to work wherever God leads.

Despite the fact that I have always loved school, I would like to get this next step over with and I can start doing what I actually want to do. So, I’d like to start grad school in the fall 2012 and whatever I’m doing before that to be a stepping stone and not a diversion or distraction. Right now, most things here seem to fall in the distraction category. If I go home this fall, I can spend next spring taking care of prerequisites and hopefully getting some kind of internship.

Yet, I have spent so much time here learning language and culture, building relationships, putting down roots; I don’t walk away from that easily. I am waiting to see if God will bring something along that would be more of a stepping stone, that would allow me to stay here. Of course, even if I do come home this fall, it is not as if this time has been wasted. I have learned things and built relationships that will last a lifetime.

As returning this fall seems more and more the probable option, I have had this feeling in the pit of my stomach. If this feeling could speak it would probably be saying: I cannot do this!!!! Returning means the pain of missing everything I’ve grown to love here, the people, customs, and places. It means having to figure out loans and applications and classes. It means returning to the place I was physically (which means I will be tempted to return also to the place I was spiritually). It means trying to rekindle old relationships, trying to re-understand American culture, and not having anyone physically around me who knows who I’ve become here, what I’ve seen, or who I’ve loved. All of this sounds like stuff I’m not sure that I can handle.

(Sidenote: PLEASE don’t misunderstand me. I am not saying that I would not be happy in returning home. I have experienced more homesickness here than I ever thought possible. Returning home will mean a lot of joyous reunions.)

All of these misgivings makes me think of something I read recently: after God gives you a task you will have a ‘crisis of faith.’ Like Moses and the burning bush (check out Exodus 3 and 4), you’ll think of all the reasons why you cannot do what God’s asked. And that’s the point. I can’t do it, God can. He’d much rather give me things that I cannot do without Him, things that make me lean on and look to Him. I don’t know if that’s a ‘guarantee’ that I’m supposed to come back to the states this October (I’d rather not put all my trust in my feelings, for they are fickle). But it gives me hope that despite the growth God’s done in me here, even more is yet to come.

my week in moments

Everyday there are moments, ones that don‘t seem like much when standing alone, but together they compose life. Some of the moments make me laugh or cry, others exasperate me or make me think. Here are a few moments that have made up the last week or so:

I convince my 68 year old host father, to go walking to ‘faire du sport’ with me. He’s all business, power walking his over 6 foot frame across the barrage. Thank goodness Annie, one of my 12 year old host sisters, comes along and tells me about what she learned in Sunday School, Papa’s not in a very talkative mood.

Talking to my Mom and Dad on the phone makes me miss the states and wish I could somehow be there for all of the summer festivities.

Emmanuel (my 13 year old host brother) in his usual boisterous manner, cleans the concrete section of the courtyard. Impressed with his work he exclaims: Vraiment! Je suis (Truly! I am) un specimen dangereux!

Spent hours hand washing most of my clothes (including all of my pagnes and nearly all of my shirts), and then I watch the rain roll in mere moments after hanging upthe last thing. Note to self: never do ALL of your laundry during rainy season if you want to have something dry to wear the next day.

Watching a 5 year old boy struggle as he gets his blood taken. Most Ivorian children quietly cry, with their parents standing over them, reprimanding them for showing any sign that it hurts. But this little guy isn’t going down without a fight. He cries bloody murder as his mom and Ezekiel hold him still for the lab tech. I can’t help but smile a little; flashback nearly 20 years and there was a little girl who would have raised just as much of a riot over not getting to eat breakfast so that she could then be stabbed with big needles.

Sungalow, who works at the family store, comes to me, yet again, with the subject of marriage. He has 4 Ivorian men, who are very interested. If I marry one then I can stay here, keep a good Senoufo household (which involves a lot of cooking and cleaning) and have ‘beautiful babies.’ Just a few hours later, he explains to me why Ivorian men don’t trust white women. He fails to see this as a reason why I may not want to marry one.

Papa tells some people sitting outside the store that I am truly Ivorian. “Nibonténé is Ivorian; she’s my kid. She might be American when over there, but in Côte d’Ivoire, she’s Ivorian. If anyone says differently, I’ll have to give them a talking to.” My heart swells, that is the highest compliment I could ever receive from those lips.

One morning at the dispensary, Ezekiel reminds me how to do every little step in my work that I’ve known how to do since March. As I get ready to leave, another worker tells me that I’m starting the moto all wrong, and several people stop to watch as he teaches me the ‘right’ way. As I ride back into town, I seriously consider eradicating, “I know” from my vocabulary. Really not that helpful (or humble) of a phrase.

Hanging out with the two youngest at the house: Suzanne and Micale. Suzanne is attempting to do my hair, but my hair is far too slippery. Micale has my ukulele, clumsily strumming and singing a song she’s making up on the spot: “It‘s Julia‘s birthday! Julia is celebrating her birthday”…She stops to ask me if I’ve celebrated my birthday yet this year. I say no, then she continues, “Julia’s birthday is tomorrow, we’re going to have a party!” Goodness, I love these little girls.

My host brother Pierre says that it would probably be better if I didn’t ever leave them. They’re getting too used to me being there, if I leave they’ll come home and wonder why I’m not in the courtyard. They’ll miss me and that’s just too hard. “You have to stay,” he says. I smile and play along, saying that I’ll never leave. A little while later, I am thankful for my dark sunglasses, they’re hiding the tears coming from the mere idea of saying goodbye.

Madeline

Silué Madeline.

She’s 18 (probably, age isn’t always a sure thing). She’s lived with my family since she was a pre-teen, but her first years of life were spent in a village. Never been to school; she could barely say ‘Bonjour’ when I arrived, only spoke Tyembara. Her parents are still in the village, but her biological brother Matthieu lives here too. He’s in high school. When I asked why Matthieu goes to school and Madeline doesn’t, the response was: ‘It’s their parents who decided that, not us!’

Her weekly schedule is pretty easy to figure out. She spends most every day at the house, preparing lunch for the kids and for all of the workers at the family store, around 30 people, and then preparing dinner as well. Every once and a while she’ll go to the petit-marché down the street to help Sara sell ignames or dried fish. If she's not at the house she's at church: the two Sunday services, then 3 nights a week she has Tyembara literacy class, and on Fridays nights she goes to the youth meeting.

She can miraculously go to sleep at 8:30, on her bed which sits on one side of a very high traffic room; with the lights on, the other girls talking loudly and the door slamming from people coming in and out of the house.
She loves to dance and sing. She listens to the radio or cassette tapes of Senoufo music while she cooks, and dances as she waits for a bucket to fill with water.
She’s learning to read and write her native language, which is positively amazing to watch. She’s either very intelligent or motivated or both because in the little time I’ve known her she has rapidly improved.

Madeline

Despite all of the language and culture barriers, I felt an immediate connection with Madeline (I think she felt one with me too, but it’s kind of hard to ask). I really don’t know how to explain it. I couldn’t really say much of anything to her and yet I felt completely at ease whenever around her. On Monday and Tuesday nights, we would take the 20 minute walk to church together and back again, for the Tyembara literacy class, not saying a word. That was in the first month, and on the 2nd of July I hit the 5 month mark of living with my family. Things have slowly changed. Madeline speaks a lot more French and I speak a lot more Tyembara, although are conversations are still rather short.

Somehow we still manage to have our disagreements.
She cranks the stereo up all of the way so the balafons buzz through the courtyard. I must admit this is not my favorite thing. Don’t get me wrong; I love dancing to live Senoufo music. Listening to an old tape warble out the music however is a little harder to take for hours on end. At the same time, she cannot stand when I practice my ukulele, I don‘t have to understand Tyembara to know that much. So I guess we’re even.
On the mornings I don’t have to rush out of the house to get to the dispensary, she will wake up before me, walk into the room I share with my other host sister Marie, and yawn obnoxiously loud, often several times, in an attempt to wake us up. Nevermind the fact that she fell asleep a good bit before me, she’s awake, so I apparently should be too.

On the outside these might seem like negative occurances, but to me, annoying each other means that we’re starting to act like real sisters. I’ve always said that my sister Hannah can make me angry faster than anyone else, but she can also make me laugh just as quickly and twice as hard as anyone I’ve ever met; isn‘t that what makes sisterhood so strangely wonderful? Can't truly get under each others skin unless you‘ve opened yourselves up to really love the other first. So, the next time she comes into my room in the wee hours I will probably still be incredibly irritated, but after the drowsiness wears off, I’ll smile to myself a little.

Day we poured the second floor of the church, Madeline is the one with the big grin, holding the bucket.

I can’t help but notice the differences between us. Lately I have been thinking, praying, researching my options for my future. And I have so many!! My life seems like this blank canvas in front of me, I don’t really know what it’s going to look like. Madeline’s life on the other hand, barring any huge surprises or bumps in the road, is pretty easy to picture:

Within the next 5 years she’ll get married. She’ll most likely be pregnant within the first year of marriage (as should any good Senoufo woman). She’ll have at least 3 children, probably more. She’ll raise her children, support her husband, be involved at church, maybe sell some things at the market. I’m hoping that she’ll be able to read her bible on her own. There’s a good chance she’ll live in Korhogo for the rest of her life. If the trend continues as it is today, she’ll outlive her husband by at least 10 years.

At first glance, her life seems so devoid of options, of opportunity. Yet I see now that not only can she be perfectly happy with a life like this, but that she can glorify God just as well as anyone with a PhD or a 6 figure paycheck, maybe even more so.

A living juxtaposition under one roof: her life, seemingly so one track; my life, obese with too many options. Sleeping in beds only a few feet away from each other.

Living with this girl, with a life experience so different from my own, has made me realize despite the differences, we are so similar. She gets moody, giggly over boys, embarrassed, angry at her siblings, silly when she’s tired. She recently got her first cellphone and now spends a good bit of time talking to her very good friend Emmanuel. She has a beautiful laugh and smile, she’s a great cook, some nights she sits on her bed slowly reading her tyembara bible outloud. We are both young women, both breathing, both dreaming of what could be, both able to love, laugh, worship, hurt, live.

Funny how a young, "uneducated" woman can teach me so much.

Madeline and I on the day of her baptism.