Update #2: Finally got our blog moved to blogger and things are sailing a bit more smoothly now. The March Prayer Letter is now posted here for you to read if you please. In the future, however, we've decided to simply our prayer letters to a short email with prayer points, so we will no longer post those here. If you'd like to be on our monthly prayer list, send us an email.
Update: We've been having some trouble uploading the prayer letter for this month, but we'd be happy to send it to you as an email attachment if you would like a copy! Post a comment here or email us at johnson@ergatai.com if you didn't get an email copy of our March 2011 prayer letter and would like one.
It's been a while since we've managed to send out a prayer letter, but we are alive and well! We've been in transition the last month or so and it's taken us a while to get ourselves set up with a regular schedule, get internet set up, etc. If you received our 4th Quarter newsletter in December, you may remember that we were planning to take a few months at the beginning of this year to concentrate on learning the Gourma language. We are now in the midst of that, having moved to Diapaga, a town about 35 kilometers from Mahadaga where we are usually stationed, on February 7th.
The language learning process is slow, and having no formal classroom set up means we have to come up with all the motivation and initiative for learning the language ourselves. At times it is challenging to press forward and feel motivated; at other times there are many distractions. Though the process is slow, however, we are progressing and we hope to have picked up enough of the language by mid-May to have a base to work from in continuing to learn in the future. We appreciate your prayers on this account.
Hot season is in full swing here in Burkina, with temps averaging over 100 degrees lately; we think of you often and the much cooler weather you have been experiencing!
God bless you!
Love,
Dale, Florence, Caleb & Joel
Friday, March 18, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Where in the World is the Johnson Family?
I know it's been forever since we posted anything. I've been a little frustrated with some of the glitches on our blog site, and super busy the last couple of months (not to mention all the illnesses we had to get through), so it's been hard to motivate myself to sit down and post anything. But today, at least, I have something "easy" to say.:)
For those of you who have not been able to follow us otherwise (i.e facebook, prayer letters, newsletters), we have been doing a lot of travelling/transition recently. We were in Ouagadougou (the capital) last week for meetings and to pick up supplies. It was, actually, a pretty insane week and I was glad when we were done with it. We did, as usual, have an "adventure" on our way there. Couldn't avoid it, seeing as how Liz was travelling with us and "adventures" are just par for the course with her.:) But, we've already done the whole "blown tire" story back in August, so aside from the fact that it was a WAWA (remember that post from a long time ago? WAWA = West Africa Wins Again) experience (hence the title), there's not much to tell. We were fortunate to have some of our colleagues travelling to the same destination in a separate care just 5-10 minutes behind us, so they stopped and helped us out of our predicament. We were in a "less remote" area, apparently, and our poor boys became the object of much curiosity as the local kids pressed their hands and faces up against the glass and jabbered and pointed at them, like at fish in an aquarium, as they were "trapped" inside our car since I would not let them out for fear of the highway traffic.
Just tried uploading some pics to show our above adventure, but, as I already complained, having problems with the blog site...so you'll just have to picture it. On to other ramblings...
We moved to Diapaga this past Monday. Diapaga is the provincial seat for the province Mahadaga is located in. It's the closest thing to a "city" we have anywhere near us, but it's really more of a small town... So, anyway, SIM used to have full-time missionaries stationed in Diapaga and still owns the property (and houses) where the mission station in Diapaga was located. It's been about 13 years since anyone from the mission has lived there, but the structure, anyway, is still in good shape. So with a little elbow grease and a big sense of adventure, we've worked at making ourselves a temporary home in one of the old mission houses in Diapaga. Why? Because we're trying to learn another language. I know, I know...how many tricks can you teach an old dog? But we're gonna give it a try anyway. While I (Florence) have been able to pick up some Gourma (slowly over time) while living in Mahadaga, Dale has found it next to impossible to dedicate the attention and time necessary to really be able to learn another language while being in his current ministry role. It was necessary for him that we "get away" to do the study. Being the director of the Centre for the Advancement of the Handicapped, though, finding a good block of time where he could just "step away" from his responsibilities was not easy. In the end, we managed to find a 3.5 month block of time (February - mid-May) that our colleagues were willing to "let us go" while they shouldered the extra burden of us being away. In an effort to compromise and make the transition away from and back to the responsibilities, we chose to do our study in Diapaga, which is only 35 miles away (but takes about an hour and fifteen to drive due to the road conditions). This allows us to come back to Mahadaga once a week (usually Wednesdays) to check in with the team here. Dale can attend the leadership team meetings at the Center and stay appraised of any major happenings, and as a family we can attend the station prayer meetings in the evenings and stay connected with our team.
So, the big day has finally come to actually make this move. We've been able to pick up basic furnishings from random guest house surplus to use in Diapaga, so we haven't had to move too much out of our house. The house in Diapaga still needs a bit of TLC, but it's livable. And so, in two days we managed to move and settle into our new temporary home. So far our impressions of Diapaga are as follows:
On the upside, we have enjoyed some aspects of "the city life". It's been so nice to be able to hop in the car and run down to the local grocery store when we forget our toothbrushes, or the local bakery when we want bread for lunch, or the local restaurant when we want a quick meal of rice and sauce, or the local hardware store when we need a new shower head, plumbing parts, or even a fan. Diapaga is now "on the grid" and has city water. Not sure how reliable it will prove to be, but so far we've not had any problems. The only "modern convenience" I miss for the moment is my internet!
So, until we either find a way to access the internet from Diapaga, or until our next trip in to Mahadaga, fare ye well!
For those of you who have not been able to follow us otherwise (i.e facebook, prayer letters, newsletters), we have been doing a lot of travelling/transition recently. We were in Ouagadougou (the capital) last week for meetings and to pick up supplies. It was, actually, a pretty insane week and I was glad when we were done with it. We did, as usual, have an "adventure" on our way there. Couldn't avoid it, seeing as how Liz was travelling with us and "adventures" are just par for the course with her.:) But, we've already done the whole "blown tire" story back in August, so aside from the fact that it was a WAWA (remember that post from a long time ago? WAWA = West Africa Wins Again) experience (hence the title), there's not much to tell. We were fortunate to have some of our colleagues travelling to the same destination in a separate care just 5-10 minutes behind us, so they stopped and helped us out of our predicament. We were in a "less remote" area, apparently, and our poor boys became the object of much curiosity as the local kids pressed their hands and faces up against the glass and jabbered and pointed at them, like at fish in an aquarium, as they were "trapped" inside our car since I would not let them out for fear of the highway traffic.
Just tried uploading some pics to show our above adventure, but, as I already complained, having problems with the blog site...so you'll just have to picture it. On to other ramblings...
We moved to Diapaga this past Monday. Diapaga is the provincial seat for the province Mahadaga is located in. It's the closest thing to a "city" we have anywhere near us, but it's really more of a small town... So, anyway, SIM used to have full-time missionaries stationed in Diapaga and still owns the property (and houses) where the mission station in Diapaga was located. It's been about 13 years since anyone from the mission has lived there, but the structure, anyway, is still in good shape. So with a little elbow grease and a big sense of adventure, we've worked at making ourselves a temporary home in one of the old mission houses in Diapaga. Why? Because we're trying to learn another language. I know, I know...how many tricks can you teach an old dog? But we're gonna give it a try anyway. While I (Florence) have been able to pick up some Gourma (slowly over time) while living in Mahadaga, Dale has found it next to impossible to dedicate the attention and time necessary to really be able to learn another language while being in his current ministry role. It was necessary for him that we "get away" to do the study. Being the director of the Centre for the Advancement of the Handicapped, though, finding a good block of time where he could just "step away" from his responsibilities was not easy. In the end, we managed to find a 3.5 month block of time (February - mid-May) that our colleagues were willing to "let us go" while they shouldered the extra burden of us being away. In an effort to compromise and make the transition away from and back to the responsibilities, we chose to do our study in Diapaga, which is only 35 miles away (but takes about an hour and fifteen to drive due to the road conditions). This allows us to come back to Mahadaga once a week (usually Wednesdays) to check in with the team here. Dale can attend the leadership team meetings at the Center and stay appraised of any major happenings, and as a family we can attend the station prayer meetings in the evenings and stay connected with our team.
So, the big day has finally come to actually make this move. We've been able to pick up basic furnishings from random guest house surplus to use in Diapaga, so we haven't had to move too much out of our house. The house in Diapaga still needs a bit of TLC, but it's livable. And so, in two days we managed to move and settle into our new temporary home. So far our impressions of Diapaga are as follows:
- Lots more traffic and more concentrated population, so more noise
- There is a mosque in Diapaga, so we're getting used to the regular calls to prayer our colleagues in other parts of Muslim Africa are so familiar with. We've experienced this before when we spent 6 weeks in Ouaga for Joel's birth in 2007, but the muezzin in Diapaga doesn't seem to "sing" quite as well...last night I awoke to what sounded more like a long diatribe or lecture than a sing-song call to prayer.
- Dust. Lots of it. Mahadaga is more "bush" than Diapaga, so you'd thing it would be dustier. But Mahadaga has more sand. Diapaga just has red dust and it clings to everything. Sand feels nice under your feet (unless it's too hot). Dust...not so much. And the boys get dirty even faster than they do in Mahadaga (if you can imagine that!).
- Reforging boundaries and relationships. The local church runs a private elementary school on the mission property behind our house. The children at the school are not used to little "white" kids, so during lunch breaks and after school they tend to all come over for a look-see... I expect it won't be long 'til we start having a few curious neighbors show up as well. Much as some days are "frustrating" in Diapaga for the constant "interruptions" at the door, we've gotten used to our Mahadaga community and who most people are. And they've gotten used to us. Now we have to "start over". But this should be a great chance for us to practice our Gourma and a great refresher course on culture!
- Critters. We have plenty of those in Mahadaga, but I hadn't realized how much we've actually begun "winning the war" against the worst of these until now. Our first night in Diapaga, I swept the whole house out, then mopped it before I would let the boys go to bed. So I KNOW their room was bug free, clean, etc. We got their beds in place, made them up and put them to bed. Joel woke me up several times that night with various incoherent requests, so I KNOW I was in his room in the pitch black several times checking on him. But it wasn't until the next morning when he came into our room and woke me up with a "Mommy, the dirt pile just bit me" that we discovered what was going on. I walked into Joel's room to discover that there were two termite mounds, each about 8 inches tall surrounding the two bed legs closest to the outer wall. In ONE night! It was incredible! Apparently Joel had dropped his toy car and reached down to retrieve it and that's when the "dirt pile" "bit" him. I've had nightmares of invading termite monsters ever since... (really wish I could upload pictures so I could show you!).
- Other animals. Along the same lines as the previous point, we've finally managed to keep out the majority of unwanted animals from around the village in Mahadaga. This is not the case in Diapaga where all the fences are broken down and animals have taken to foraging freely. I had known from previous visit to the house in Diapaga that there was a flock of guinea fowl nearby that used the back yard as their direct path to wherever they go to graze. They don't stay there all day (thank goodness - they are REALLY loud and annoying), but they do pass through. And we found out the last two days that they generally make this trek in the early morning hours (of course). What we were surprised by, though, was the flock of guinea fowl that "climbed" the tree just outside our bedroom window, then made it's way up onto the roof. Next thing we know, we hear them scrambling loudly across the length of our tin roof house, just to get to the other side and realize that's not where they had intended to go. Back across they go, their claws clicking and scratching all the way before they decided to get off and be on their merry way in exactly they same direction they had just come from... I'm pretty sure they are at LEAST as dumb as donkeys...
On the upside, we have enjoyed some aspects of "the city life". It's been so nice to be able to hop in the car and run down to the local grocery store when we forget our toothbrushes, or the local bakery when we want bread for lunch, or the local restaurant when we want a quick meal of rice and sauce, or the local hardware store when we need a new shower head, plumbing parts, or even a fan. Diapaga is now "on the grid" and has city water. Not sure how reliable it will prove to be, but so far we've not had any problems. The only "modern convenience" I miss for the moment is my internet!
So, until we either find a way to access the internet from Diapaga, or until our next trip in to Mahadaga, fare ye well!
Friday, December 24, 2010
4th Qtr 2010 Newsletter - Merry Christmas!
Please click on the link to view the newsletter pdf file.
We just celebrated our youngest son, Joel's, 3rd birthday and are looking forward to our Christmas celebration this weekend. We've had a busy couple of months as Dale has had a lot of travelling recently. Things are settling down a little (at least travel-wise), but there are still some big changes coming up in the near future as we pursue a short, intense period of Gourma language study in the new year.
We appreciate your prayers and support and are always encouraged to hear from you! Please keep checking back here on our blog for more news, pictures and reflections! I know we haven't been as consistent posting news lately, but I hope we can pick that back up again soon!.
Love,
Dale, Florence, Caleb and Joel
Monday, December 13, 2010
Lord, let me live!
Okay, so it’s been a long time since I’ve feared for my life. Doesn’t mean it’s been boring. Just safe.
In October I (Dale) made the three-day trek by car to Nigeria’s capital city, Abuja. THREE DAYS! We were going to an international conference for “Community Based Rehabilitation” (CBR), which is the technical term for the ministry we do with people with disabilities.
The first day, I drove with my associate director to Niamey, the capital of Niger. We stayed there overnight and met up with 8 other folks who were also going to the conference. The next day, the 10 of us headed for Nigeria.
The trip started out great. We even saw 4 giraffes along the road! Except for a long border crossing to get into Nigeria, we thought all was well. We kept cruising along…until 10 hours later when the drivers started thinking we were lost. Apparently, we had taken a wrong turn early on and we didn’t really know where we were.
So the drivers (we were in two pick-up trucks) were flying. And I mean flying. They were going about 120 mph, which is nuts on African roads. One blown tire and, bang, it’s all over. Can’t control a pick-up truck at 120 mph with a blown tire.
So then it got dark, and we were still trying to reach a city with some sort of hotel to stay in overnight.
The rule is: when in Africa, NEVER EVER drive at night. Never. There are so many reasons it’s dangerous. Not the least of which are all the people driving with no working headlights. Pitch black…what’s that? Bang! Or maybe even worse, all the road bandits.
So we’re driving along in the pitch black, when we see a strange little light ahead. Our driver didn’t slow down at first because he was afraid it might be a bandit. At the last second, we see in our headlights that the light is from the flashlight of a policeman standing in the middle of the road. We slammed on the brakes, and the second car rear-ended us. Fortunately, our car was okay. The second car needed a new radiator.
So the policeman explained to me (because I was translating for our group) that he was on the road looking for bandits. “Because they just shoot everyone down and take their money after. They don’t bother threatening you.” NOT the most reassuring words to tell a traveler late at night in the African bush.
With the policeman’s words ringing in my ears, we headed off very slowly (because 5 of us were riding in the back of the truck). They were the longest 60 miles of my life, that’s for sure!
Six more times we were stopped. Each time was more unsettling than the last. The other times we were stopped, there were armed men camped next to the road. Apparently, they were all just local volunteers trying to keep the road safe. But man, in the dark, no uniforms, big guns…you don’t know if you should floor it and get out of there or what!
Well, we made it safely to a hotel that night (got the second car fixed) and drove on to Abuja the next day. Abuja was a great African contrast. It’s a city that was built recently to be, well, a capital city. (Depending on your age, you might remember learning that Lagos was the capital: which it was, until 1991.) Interestingly, “it’s not a city for poor people”, as one of my hosts said it. It’s criss-crossed with 4-lane highways and the streets are filled with actual cars, not motorbikes. It’s inhabited mostly by government workers and oil-company employees. And with all of that…no internet. What?!
Fortunately, the 4-day conference was worth the 6-days of traveling. The World Health Organization used the conference to launch its new “CBR Guidelines”, which was a big deal. There were a lot of seminars on program evaluations, inclusion of people with disabilities in society, and training of CBR workers. But the most interesting parts of the affair were the coffee breaks, when we could talk with some of the 450 other participants from all over the world. We compared notes and discussed new ideas. It was very exciting for someone like me…trying to figure out how to lead a disabilities ministry in the African bush.
So there were only a couple of small adventures on the way home. There was nothing as momentous as the trip to Abuja.
In October I (Dale) made the three-day trek by car to Nigeria’s capital city, Abuja. THREE DAYS! We were going to an international conference for “Community Based Rehabilitation” (CBR), which is the technical term for the ministry we do with people with disabilities.
The first day, I drove with my associate director to Niamey, the capital of Niger. We stayed there overnight and met up with 8 other folks who were also going to the conference. The next day, the 10 of us headed for Nigeria.
The trip started out great. We even saw 4 giraffes along the road! Except for a long border crossing to get into Nigeria, we thought all was well. We kept cruising along…until 10 hours later when the drivers started thinking we were lost. Apparently, we had taken a wrong turn early on and we didn’t really know where we were.
So the drivers (we were in two pick-up trucks) were flying. And I mean flying. They were going about 120 mph, which is nuts on African roads. One blown tire and, bang, it’s all over. Can’t control a pick-up truck at 120 mph with a blown tire.
So then it got dark, and we were still trying to reach a city with some sort of hotel to stay in overnight.
The rule is: when in Africa, NEVER EVER drive at night. Never. There are so many reasons it’s dangerous. Not the least of which are all the people driving with no working headlights. Pitch black…what’s that? Bang! Or maybe even worse, all the road bandits.
So we’re driving along in the pitch black, when we see a strange little light ahead. Our driver didn’t slow down at first because he was afraid it might be a bandit. At the last second, we see in our headlights that the light is from the flashlight of a policeman standing in the middle of the road. We slammed on the brakes, and the second car rear-ended us. Fortunately, our car was okay. The second car needed a new radiator.
So the policeman explained to me (because I was translating for our group) that he was on the road looking for bandits. “Because they just shoot everyone down and take their money after. They don’t bother threatening you.” NOT the most reassuring words to tell a traveler late at night in the African bush.
With the policeman’s words ringing in my ears, we headed off very slowly (because 5 of us were riding in the back of the truck). They were the longest 60 miles of my life, that’s for sure!
Six more times we were stopped. Each time was more unsettling than the last. The other times we were stopped, there were armed men camped next to the road. Apparently, they were all just local volunteers trying to keep the road safe. But man, in the dark, no uniforms, big guns…you don’t know if you should floor it and get out of there or what!
Well, we made it safely to a hotel that night (got the second car fixed) and drove on to Abuja the next day. Abuja was a great African contrast. It’s a city that was built recently to be, well, a capital city. (Depending on your age, you might remember learning that Lagos was the capital: which it was, until 1991.) Interestingly, “it’s not a city for poor people”, as one of my hosts said it. It’s criss-crossed with 4-lane highways and the streets are filled with actual cars, not motorbikes. It’s inhabited mostly by government workers and oil-company employees. And with all of that…no internet. What?!
Fortunately, the 4-day conference was worth the 6-days of traveling. The World Health Organization used the conference to launch its new “CBR Guidelines”, which was a big deal. There were a lot of seminars on program evaluations, inclusion of people with disabilities in society, and training of CBR workers. But the most interesting parts of the affair were the coffee breaks, when we could talk with some of the 450 other participants from all over the world. We compared notes and discussed new ideas. It was very exciting for someone like me…trying to figure out how to lead a disabilities ministry in the African bush.
So there were only a couple of small adventures on the way home. There was nothing as momentous as the trip to Abuja.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
A ministry of Sharing Sorrow
I was woken up by a phone call at 6:50am this morning. It was Francoise, calling to let me know that Moussa, one of the employees at the Centre for the Advancement of the Handicapped, had passed away last night. My foggy brain had to scramble to catch up with what was happening so I could know what action would be appropriate on my part. I spent about 30 minutes trying to get a hold of the rest of our missionary team to let them know. Dale and Ounteni are still at a conference in Nigeria. Matt Walsh left yesterday morning to take the video team back to Ouaga to catch their flight. Text messaging wasn't working, cell phone connections were fuzzy, not everyone was online, etc. Eventually we got the word out. Because Moussa's brother, Diamouadi, is an employee at the mission station where we live, and also because Dale is not here to represent the Centre, the mission, our family, I decided that if I could find a way, I should try and attend the burial. So I called Francoise back and asked to her to let me know when they were ready to start. A little more scrambling and I managed to figure out who should care for the kids while I was gone: Liz came over for a little bit, and was eventually replaced by Buama, my house helper. So, without a clue of what to do, I set off.
Moussa was not old enough to be a "patriarch". He was not the oldest son, and his 3 daughters are still young (probably 10 and under). So, rather than burying him outside the family compound like they often do, the burial took place in the field behind SIM's medical dispensary. I had a general idea where to go, but I knew I was running late and I felt incredibly conspicuous winding my way through the dispensary toward the back exit, people staring as I went by. A couple of times I had to be set straight, and my mind was obviously elsewhere as I kept bungling up my greetings, saying "good evening" instead of "good morning" and asking one young woman how her children were, realizing only too late that she had lost her baby soon after it was born. That's the second time I've made that mistake with her, saying what automatically came to mind before realizing exactly what I was saying. Anyway, eventually I found the back gate and the field, and I wound my way to the back of the crowd gathered around a hole in the ground.
It was a simple burial. The pastor gave a short message in Gourma, so I couldn't understand a lot of it, but I caught enough to know that he was giving a simple, straightforward explanation of the hope we have in Christ, that we need not fear death if we are His children. Afterwards, several other people gave short testimonies about Moussa, how he was a good friend, father, brother, church member and did not turn away from his faith, even at the end.
Truthfully, I did not know Moussa well. He was the orthopedic technician at the Centre, and one of the first employees hired there. He was in his early 40s when he died, leaving behind a wife and 3 daughters. That's the gist of what I knew about him when he first started getting sick, so, though I thought it tragic when I first heard he had been diagnosed with liver cancer, it was easy to maintain a sort of detached, clinical interest in the short months he battled the disease. It was only after we arrived for our 2nd term in August that he was actually diagnosed with the cancer, though he'd been complaining of abdominal pain for some time. Turns out that liver cancer is fairly common in Africa, often finding its cause of origin in Hepatits B, which is probably what happened in Moussa's case. As a child, he contracted Hepatitis B, and over the years cancer cells quietly did their work, though they were not detected until it was too late in the process. Even if it had been discovered sooner, there's not much that could have been done about it here. The shocking part was how quickly he went from a seemingly healthy, strong, relatively young man to dying. Every week at prayer meeting it seemed, Francoise had a new report. He was worse, he was better, he was worse, he was better... And if the swiftness wasn't shocking enough, realizing that he did not have access to the usual medical care: pain meds, etc. to help ease his passing was a new thing to process as we heard details of what he was actually going through...it was a bit like hearing real life tidbits of a scene from House, MD.
I can only imagine what his family must be going through, how they must feel. On the one hand, such tragic loss is not all that uncommon here. On the other hand, it's all the more difficult to bear because life here is hard, and losing your husband, father, head-of-household is a real blow. So on one hand, lots of people have experienced this, so your grief is no worse than theirs. Life goes on. On the other hand, you have absolutely no idea how you will carry on. And I'm just talking from a day-to-day living perspective. That's not even taking into account the emotional blow that such a loss brings.
Yes, it's a tragic story as we would say back home, then shake our heads, say a prayer and move on. It's hard to know what to do in the face of such grief. It reminds me of a blog post a friend of ours recently wrote about the grieving process she experienced after losing a baby. Our culture does not teach us how to respond to such intense emotions, especially negative ones. We send a card and offer to pray. We might stop by or call to offer condolences, or say something in church once, all the while butterflies are flapping wildly in our stomach, our palms are sweaty, and we hope we haven't said anything stupid or hurtful or insensitive, or just plain...trite. Then, we sort of drift away from the problem...give the person "space" in their grief, and in the process, often leave them feeling abandoned. Maybe we have it ingrained in us to try and fix things when they are broken, and realizing that words could never fix such grief, we run away from a problem we can't fix. Maybe it's partly that as a culture we value privacy so highly, and are taught to try and deal with personal problems on our own, making grief a lonely and very heavy burden to bear.
I don't meant to imply that the Burkinabe way of processing grief is better. I can't even claim to know much about grief on a personal level, so who am I to judge what is appropriate? What I do know is that I'm often in a position where I need to figure out how to respond to the grief that is around me - not just in a culturally appropriate way, but on a private, personal level, I have to figure out how I'm going to process the grief and suffering I see in front of me every day. I am American; I instinctively find it easy to shut off my emotions and distance myself from the intensity of the grief, try to find a private place to air out my own feelings, but otherwise keep it to myself. I feel awkward going through the cultural "rituals", attending a burial where I have no idea how I should act, walking back from the burial amidst a crowd of grieving family, neighbors, friends, feeling completely helpless and alone, visiting a grieving family to offer condolences when I haven't the first clue what to say. No wonder my instincts are screaming for me to run and hide!
And yet, I just can't get the image of 3 little girls arriving on a motorbike just as the burial service is ending, silent, but with tears streaming down their little faces. The crowd goes absolutely quiet and parts to let them through to the edge of the grave site. Woodenly, unwillingly, each takes a handful of dirt and unceremoniously tosses it into the gaping hole in front of them. Then they turn around and leave just as quietly. Friends and neighbors finish the job they started and everyone quietly disperses.
I went to the burial because I felt it was the appropriate, the right thing to do so that Francoise would not be alone in her efforts to show the mission's support, to represent my husband since he is away, and to show support to Moussa's brother who works with me daily at the mission station. I did not expect to have such a strong emotional reaction. My heart breaks for those little girls. I know all the right answers about Moussa's hope in Christ, and I have no doubt that his family will have plenty of support from their extended family and the community at large. This is not about despair. It's just sorrow and grief. I imagine that when Jesus wept upon arriving at Lazarus' tomb, He may have had some of the same thoughts and feelings. Sure, He had the power to bring Lazarus back from the dead, in fact Him Himself was/is life eternal and the embodiment of our Hope. Jesus' weeping was not despair. But he still grieved at the sight of the ugliness caused by the wages of sin...the death, the sorrow and pain of those around Him. He offered hope, encouragement, and shared in their sufferings before He "fixed the problem". He is, after all, compassionate, tender-hearted, not immune to our sufferings. Maybe we should be a little more so as well.
Francoise was asked to give the last word of encouragement before Moussa was buried. She chose to read Psalm 23. It's such a well-known Psalm that it can sometimes lose it's power with too much familiarity. But as I heard it from a mourners' perspective, I found such words of comfort and hope...such a powerful Psalm, I hope one day at my own funeral they can read the Psalm with my name inserted where David uses the pronoun "I".
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want
He makes me lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside quiet waters.
He restores my soul;
He guides me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You have anointed my head with oil;
My cup overflows.
Surely goodness and loving-kindness will follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Moussa was not old enough to be a "patriarch". He was not the oldest son, and his 3 daughters are still young (probably 10 and under). So, rather than burying him outside the family compound like they often do, the burial took place in the field behind SIM's medical dispensary. I had a general idea where to go, but I knew I was running late and I felt incredibly conspicuous winding my way through the dispensary toward the back exit, people staring as I went by. A couple of times I had to be set straight, and my mind was obviously elsewhere as I kept bungling up my greetings, saying "good evening" instead of "good morning" and asking one young woman how her children were, realizing only too late that she had lost her baby soon after it was born. That's the second time I've made that mistake with her, saying what automatically came to mind before realizing exactly what I was saying. Anyway, eventually I found the back gate and the field, and I wound my way to the back of the crowd gathered around a hole in the ground.
It was a simple burial. The pastor gave a short message in Gourma, so I couldn't understand a lot of it, but I caught enough to know that he was giving a simple, straightforward explanation of the hope we have in Christ, that we need not fear death if we are His children. Afterwards, several other people gave short testimonies about Moussa, how he was a good friend, father, brother, church member and did not turn away from his faith, even at the end.
Truthfully, I did not know Moussa well. He was the orthopedic technician at the Centre, and one of the first employees hired there. He was in his early 40s when he died, leaving behind a wife and 3 daughters. That's the gist of what I knew about him when he first started getting sick, so, though I thought it tragic when I first heard he had been diagnosed with liver cancer, it was easy to maintain a sort of detached, clinical interest in the short months he battled the disease. It was only after we arrived for our 2nd term in August that he was actually diagnosed with the cancer, though he'd been complaining of abdominal pain for some time. Turns out that liver cancer is fairly common in Africa, often finding its cause of origin in Hepatits B, which is probably what happened in Moussa's case. As a child, he contracted Hepatitis B, and over the years cancer cells quietly did their work, though they were not detected until it was too late in the process. Even if it had been discovered sooner, there's not much that could have been done about it here. The shocking part was how quickly he went from a seemingly healthy, strong, relatively young man to dying. Every week at prayer meeting it seemed, Francoise had a new report. He was worse, he was better, he was worse, he was better... And if the swiftness wasn't shocking enough, realizing that he did not have access to the usual medical care: pain meds, etc. to help ease his passing was a new thing to process as we heard details of what he was actually going through...it was a bit like hearing real life tidbits of a scene from House, MD.
I can only imagine what his family must be going through, how they must feel. On the one hand, such tragic loss is not all that uncommon here. On the other hand, it's all the more difficult to bear because life here is hard, and losing your husband, father, head-of-household is a real blow. So on one hand, lots of people have experienced this, so your grief is no worse than theirs. Life goes on. On the other hand, you have absolutely no idea how you will carry on. And I'm just talking from a day-to-day living perspective. That's not even taking into account the emotional blow that such a loss brings.
Yes, it's a tragic story as we would say back home, then shake our heads, say a prayer and move on. It's hard to know what to do in the face of such grief. It reminds me of a blog post a friend of ours recently wrote about the grieving process she experienced after losing a baby. Our culture does not teach us how to respond to such intense emotions, especially negative ones. We send a card and offer to pray. We might stop by or call to offer condolences, or say something in church once, all the while butterflies are flapping wildly in our stomach, our palms are sweaty, and we hope we haven't said anything stupid or hurtful or insensitive, or just plain...trite. Then, we sort of drift away from the problem...give the person "space" in their grief, and in the process, often leave them feeling abandoned. Maybe we have it ingrained in us to try and fix things when they are broken, and realizing that words could never fix such grief, we run away from a problem we can't fix. Maybe it's partly that as a culture we value privacy so highly, and are taught to try and deal with personal problems on our own, making grief a lonely and very heavy burden to bear.
I don't meant to imply that the Burkinabe way of processing grief is better. I can't even claim to know much about grief on a personal level, so who am I to judge what is appropriate? What I do know is that I'm often in a position where I need to figure out how to respond to the grief that is around me - not just in a culturally appropriate way, but on a private, personal level, I have to figure out how I'm going to process the grief and suffering I see in front of me every day. I am American; I instinctively find it easy to shut off my emotions and distance myself from the intensity of the grief, try to find a private place to air out my own feelings, but otherwise keep it to myself. I feel awkward going through the cultural "rituals", attending a burial where I have no idea how I should act, walking back from the burial amidst a crowd of grieving family, neighbors, friends, feeling completely helpless and alone, visiting a grieving family to offer condolences when I haven't the first clue what to say. No wonder my instincts are screaming for me to run and hide!
And yet, I just can't get the image of 3 little girls arriving on a motorbike just as the burial service is ending, silent, but with tears streaming down their little faces. The crowd goes absolutely quiet and parts to let them through to the edge of the grave site. Woodenly, unwillingly, each takes a handful of dirt and unceremoniously tosses it into the gaping hole in front of them. Then they turn around and leave just as quietly. Friends and neighbors finish the job they started and everyone quietly disperses.
I went to the burial because I felt it was the appropriate, the right thing to do so that Francoise would not be alone in her efforts to show the mission's support, to represent my husband since he is away, and to show support to Moussa's brother who works with me daily at the mission station. I did not expect to have such a strong emotional reaction. My heart breaks for those little girls. I know all the right answers about Moussa's hope in Christ, and I have no doubt that his family will have plenty of support from their extended family and the community at large. This is not about despair. It's just sorrow and grief. I imagine that when Jesus wept upon arriving at Lazarus' tomb, He may have had some of the same thoughts and feelings. Sure, He had the power to bring Lazarus back from the dead, in fact Him Himself was/is life eternal and the embodiment of our Hope. Jesus' weeping was not despair. But he still grieved at the sight of the ugliness caused by the wages of sin...the death, the sorrow and pain of those around Him. He offered hope, encouragement, and shared in their sufferings before He "fixed the problem". He is, after all, compassionate, tender-hearted, not immune to our sufferings. Maybe we should be a little more so as well.
Francoise was asked to give the last word of encouragement before Moussa was buried. She chose to read Psalm 23. It's such a well-known Psalm that it can sometimes lose it's power with too much familiarity. But as I heard it from a mourners' perspective, I found such words of comfort and hope...such a powerful Psalm, I hope one day at my own funeral they can read the Psalm with my name inserted where David uses the pronoun "I".
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want
He makes me lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside quiet waters.
He restores my soul;
He guides me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You have anointed my head with oil;
My cup overflows.
Surely goodness and loving-kindness will follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Solitary Pursuits
| Once again I've slacked off posting something here, so I'm just basically posting something to make sure I don't get too far behind. I've been slacking off taking pictures, so I haven't felt like I've had anything all that interesting to show here. | |
| So, what's happened since my adventures wandering the millet fields of Mahadaga trying to find a circumcision party? Well, Dale left for a few days in Ouaga to pick up a 3-man team coming from Kenya and the US to help us make a new professional-level video of the Centre for the Advancement of the Handicapped in hopes of expanding the Centre's exposure amongst potential US donors. The guys have been great and obviously know their stuff. We appreciate how hard they are working to make sure they do as good a job as they can and we're excited to see the finished product in a couple of months (after all the translation and editing gets done). Their coming did mean a full schedule for Dale, though, as they hit the ground running. Dale spent 3 long days driving them around the fields of the Tapoa province in Burkina Faso, visiting various clients of the CAH for interviews. | |
| This past Thursday Dale left with the CAH co-director, Ounteni, on a 10-day trip to Abuja, Nigeria and back. They are attending the Afri-CAN conference, a conference focusing on home-based therapy initiatives in disabilities work throughout West Africa. The conference is sponsored by CBM (formerly Christian Blind Mission), but the World Health Organization and UNESCO are also taking part, so it's become a great opportunity for our little Centre in this rural corner of the little-known country of Burkina Faso to network. It's the first time Dale's had to be away from our family for this long, especially taking into account his trip to Ouaga earlier this month and the extremely busy days he had the few days he was home in between trips. So our month is turning into quite a busy one. We're doing well, though we are looking forward to things settling down again in a few weeks. | |
| The trip to Abuja is a 3-day ordeal. Fortunately, Dale and Ounteni only had to drive the first leg of the trip themselves to Niamey, Niger where they met up with a larger party that car pooled together the rest of the way. They've had adventures along the way, including sighting 4 giraffes along the road, waiting 2 hours at the border crossing into Nigeria, taking a wrong turn which added several hours to their trip and forced them to change the place they originally intended to stay the night, and a minor accident. Fortunately, they arrived at their final destination safely this evening, and will have the day tomorrow to rest up before the conference starts on Monday. Prayer requests for travelling mercies can sometimes seem trite, but I have been so grateful for the Lord's protection over Dale and the group he is travelling with as I've heard about their "adventures". May I never take his guiding and protecting hand for granted! The conference will last through Friday, and on Saturday they will begin the long 3-day journey back home. | |
| Otherwise, the boys and I have been getting along pretty well - better than I expected, actually, if I'm honest. Besides tending to the boys and my usual "household chores", I've been busy trying to keep the video team fed (not necessarily cooking all their meals myself, but ensuring that they have food coming). The team leaves on Wednesday, after which I will begin preparing for semi-retired missionary Betty Eichhorst's arrival on Saturday. | |
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
October 2010 prayer letter
Please click on the link to view the prayer letter pdf file.
October 2010 prayer letter
It's hard to believe that we've been back in Mahadaga for over two months now. We're now full-swing into our roles and responsibilities here and keeping busy! Dale will be doing a lot of travelling over the next 4-6 weeks, so please pray for travelling mercies. We've also battled several illnesses over the last 4-6 weeks. We are thankful to all be healthy again, but please pray that it would stay that way! It's hard to juggle everything when your body doesn't want to cooperate!:)
Please keep checking back here on our blog for more news, pictures and reflections! And thanks for your prayers, encouragement and support!
Love,
Dale, Florence, Caleb and Joel
October 2010 prayer letter
It's hard to believe that we've been back in Mahadaga for over two months now. We're now full-swing into our roles and responsibilities here and keeping busy! Dale will be doing a lot of travelling over the next 4-6 weeks, so please pray for travelling mercies. We've also battled several illnesses over the last 4-6 weeks. We are thankful to all be healthy again, but please pray that it would stay that way! It's hard to juggle everything when your body doesn't want to cooperate!:)
Please keep checking back here on our blog for more news, pictures and reflections! And thanks for your prayers, encouragement and support!
Love,
Dale, Florence, Caleb and Joel
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