One time, at a wedding shower I attended, the women were giving advice to the bride to be. One lady offered this advice – never underestimate your capability for selfishness. At the time, it seemed a little strange. I was a newlywed, so still in that blissful stage.
Over the years, I have realized that I do have a bent towards selfishness and have spent time praying that God would help me to live to serve others and to put them first. He is helping me. There is, however, nothing like living in a foreign culture, to bring character flaws into a glaring light. That happens to me on many occasions. Recently, I found the disease of selfishness rearing its ugly head. It all started with my washboard…
I have a washboard, you see. And by washboard, I mean the wooden kind your Grandma probably used to wash her clothes. I bought it last year when our washing machine died. I don’t really know how to use it, mind you, and don’t really need it anymore since I currently have a functioning washing machine. Isatu, who helps me by washing our clothes, is the one who uses it. But don’t worry; it is not just sitting around collecting dust. Isatu took it to her house right after we arrived – and I have not seen it since.
She has a big family and no washboard – so she took it to use it. And that bothers me. Not because I know how to use it or even need it, but because, well, it is mine and it seems like it should be at my house. She didn’t really even ask to borrow it – certainly not to borrow it for months at a time. I could give it to her, I suppose, but here in Guinea, there is always the chance your washing machine will break and we will have to go back to the board full time. I don’t mind her borrowing it sometimes.
She also has one of my big metal plates that she borrowed a year ago. To be honest, I kind of forgot I had it or that I loaned it to her. But the other night, Jim and I were walking in town and we saw her son with it on his head, filled with little mounds of peanut butter for sale. Jim – that is MY plate, I said. That also is a possession I don’t really need. I have 2 others that I rarely use, but again, it IS mine and she really didn’t ask to borrow it permanently. Sometimes I just want my stuff.
Culturally, the person who has the most need for a borrowed possession gets to use it until the owner again has a need for it. So, really, I have no grounds for asking for those things back – because I really don’t have a NEED for them. There are times when we try to explain why we need our things back and people just look at us like, REALLY? You want that back so you can just set it in your house and collect dust on it? It IS a little hard to rationalize sometimes. And it seems a little toddlerish to say – I want it because it is MINE!
Before you judge me too harshly in your heart, I really do like to share and give, most of the time. I suppose it has something to do with me making the choice to share – not someone else making the choice to permanently borrow something. I don’t want possessions to get in the way or ruin our witness in the village. And we want to strike a balance between being taken advantage of and being very generous with our neighbors. People have been very generous with us and we want to pass that on.
So, if I borrowed something from you month back, let me know and I will try to return it……… It is YOURS, after all. And you probably just want your stuff……
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Dreaming of Walmart
I called my Dad the other day and he said that he was in Wal-Mart. I remember Wal-Mart – clean products, shopping carts, nice parking, bright lighting, prices that don’t vary with the color of your skin, not many flies, and clean aisles that are RARELY running with raw sewage. It is a little different than my final shopping trip in CKY a few weeks ago…
Dawn C. and I had just flown in from dropping the kids off in Dakar the night before and we wanted to start the journey home that afternoon. We both had a few things we still needed to pick up – and knew that if we could leave town by 1 pm, we could easily make it to our stopping spot for the night.
We awoke to drizzling rain. By the time we were ready to head to the market, it was a DOWNPOUR – not the best shopping day by anyone’s standards, but what could we do. We really wanted to get home so we decided to go for it. By the time we reached the market, the rain had mostly stopped, but the streets were running with water. The market is right next to a large Catholic church, which was celebrating the ascension of Mary.
The place was packed, forcing us to park VERY long way away. Dawn and I picked our way into the market, splitting up to cover more ground. I needed to pick up a big box of medicine that a friend had purchased for me. I settled the bill with her and left the large box there, heading deeper into the market. There is a small channel in the only market aisle that was flowing with raw sewage and it was packed with people.
I could barely move – being shoved back and forth as I tried to make my way to the little hole of a shop I was looking for. As I shoved my way through the crowd, I had 2 goals – to hang on to my purse so I didn’t get ripped off, and to try not to step directly into the nasty water that was lapping at my sandals. I made it to my friends little shop and stood partway in the aisle as I bought large cans of green beans (the other stores were out) and other things I had missed on my list.
Flies were swarming me – delighted with the raw sewage and the chickens. I don’t mean live chickens – those were a few aisles back. These were the already butchered ones that sat in open boxes for people to buy. I did not know, nor did I want to try to imagine, how long they had been sitting there. I tried not to talk any more than necessary for fear of inhaling a fly (it has happened to me before.) I got part of what I needed, but still needed to stop for veggies and flour and sugar.
I stopped to purchase some veggies (right before the live chicken guy) and then met with a dilemma – there was way too much stuff for me to carry. I struggled to the shop of my friend who had my medicine and she offered for her son to help me. We started off down the road, picking our way around the debris.
I thought – I am never again going to be fussy about a parking spot at Wal-Mart, not matter how far away it seems. We finally made it to the truck and unloaded the stuff. It is really hard to walk with that much stuff in your hands – because I am constantly distracted by the wares people are selling by the side of the road.
I still needed to get flour and sugar so asked Mr. Bah, our Conakry assistant, where I should look and he sent me off the some other part of the bowels of the market. The aisle here was almost worst – there were parts that I could not avoid stepping in the water. It was all I could do to keep going as I imagined the parasites that were making their way in through the pores of my feet. Can someone hand me some bleach water PLEASE?????
I had to ask around but finally found a lady who sold flour. She had to keep batting away the flies as we measured out 10 kilos. I paid her and trotted off with my load to put into the car.
I had to make one more trip back so buy some tiny little potatoes that I just could not resist. I had to try them. I grabbed a few more things and took off to meet Mr. Bah and Dawn down the road. We stopped again for some veggies and took off for the guesthouse. We were still missing some fruits and veggies, but had not found what we needed.
We took off for home. About 2 hours into the journey, we pulled off to a small roadside market that sold fruit and veggies. This was better than the first market in terms of raw sewage – there was none. However, it was filled with women DESPERATE to sell stuff. The second your vehicle pulls off the road, they converge on the vehicle, SHOVING baskets of pineapple, cucumbers, oranges, lemons, tomatoes, eggplant, and various other things in your face.
I could barely open the door to get out. I bought a ton of stuff – though it was a fight to have myself heard over the din of voices. They are always amazed to find a white woman who can communicate in Yalunka so they like to discuss me while I shop. And they are always hopeful. Even if they see I have purchased a BIG basket of pineapple, they continue to shove more in my face, continually reducing the price until I am disgusted that I paid the price that I did in the first place.
Dawn C. was smart enough not to get out of the vehicle to begin with. I barely made it back in and we took off again.
Certainly shopping in Guinea is not for the faint of heart. But what fun is Wal-Mart anyway. No challenge involved – fairly low risk of catching some tropical parasite – always a good chance that what you are looking for will be there – no cashiers shouting at you or shoving products in your face. Very boring, and not much of a sport to the whole thing.
Give me Africa any day……..
Dawn C. and I had just flown in from dropping the kids off in Dakar the night before and we wanted to start the journey home that afternoon. We both had a few things we still needed to pick up – and knew that if we could leave town by 1 pm, we could easily make it to our stopping spot for the night.
We awoke to drizzling rain. By the time we were ready to head to the market, it was a DOWNPOUR – not the best shopping day by anyone’s standards, but what could we do. We really wanted to get home so we decided to go for it. By the time we reached the market, the rain had mostly stopped, but the streets were running with water. The market is right next to a large Catholic church, which was celebrating the ascension of Mary.
The place was packed, forcing us to park VERY long way away. Dawn and I picked our way into the market, splitting up to cover more ground. I needed to pick up a big box of medicine that a friend had purchased for me. I settled the bill with her and left the large box there, heading deeper into the market. There is a small channel in the only market aisle that was flowing with raw sewage and it was packed with people.
I could barely move – being shoved back and forth as I tried to make my way to the little hole of a shop I was looking for. As I shoved my way through the crowd, I had 2 goals – to hang on to my purse so I didn’t get ripped off, and to try not to step directly into the nasty water that was lapping at my sandals. I made it to my friends little shop and stood partway in the aisle as I bought large cans of green beans (the other stores were out) and other things I had missed on my list.
Flies were swarming me – delighted with the raw sewage and the chickens. I don’t mean live chickens – those were a few aisles back. These were the already butchered ones that sat in open boxes for people to buy. I did not know, nor did I want to try to imagine, how long they had been sitting there. I tried not to talk any more than necessary for fear of inhaling a fly (it has happened to me before.) I got part of what I needed, but still needed to stop for veggies and flour and sugar.
I stopped to purchase some veggies (right before the live chicken guy) and then met with a dilemma – there was way too much stuff for me to carry. I struggled to the shop of my friend who had my medicine and she offered for her son to help me. We started off down the road, picking our way around the debris.
I thought – I am never again going to be fussy about a parking spot at Wal-Mart, not matter how far away it seems. We finally made it to the truck and unloaded the stuff. It is really hard to walk with that much stuff in your hands – because I am constantly distracted by the wares people are selling by the side of the road.
I still needed to get flour and sugar so asked Mr. Bah, our Conakry assistant, where I should look and he sent me off the some other part of the bowels of the market. The aisle here was almost worst – there were parts that I could not avoid stepping in the water. It was all I could do to keep going as I imagined the parasites that were making their way in through the pores of my feet. Can someone hand me some bleach water PLEASE?????
I had to ask around but finally found a lady who sold flour. She had to keep batting away the flies as we measured out 10 kilos. I paid her and trotted off with my load to put into the car.
I had to make one more trip back so buy some tiny little potatoes that I just could not resist. I had to try them. I grabbed a few more things and took off to meet Mr. Bah and Dawn down the road. We stopped again for some veggies and took off for the guesthouse. We were still missing some fruits and veggies, but had not found what we needed.
We took off for home. About 2 hours into the journey, we pulled off to a small roadside market that sold fruit and veggies. This was better than the first market in terms of raw sewage – there was none. However, it was filled with women DESPERATE to sell stuff. The second your vehicle pulls off the road, they converge on the vehicle, SHOVING baskets of pineapple, cucumbers, oranges, lemons, tomatoes, eggplant, and various other things in your face.
I could barely open the door to get out. I bought a ton of stuff – though it was a fight to have myself heard over the din of voices. They are always amazed to find a white woman who can communicate in Yalunka so they like to discuss me while I shop. And they are always hopeful. Even if they see I have purchased a BIG basket of pineapple, they continue to shove more in my face, continually reducing the price until I am disgusted that I paid the price that I did in the first place.
Dawn C. was smart enough not to get out of the vehicle to begin with. I barely made it back in and we took off again.
Certainly shopping in Guinea is not for the faint of heart. But what fun is Wal-Mart anyway. No challenge involved – fairly low risk of catching some tropical parasite – always a good chance that what you are looking for will be there – no cashiers shouting at you or shoving products in your face. Very boring, and not much of a sport to the whole thing.
Give me Africa any day……..
The Top 5 Things You Can Give Away in Africa That You Might Not Be Able to Give Away in Anywhere Else
Yesterday, we returned from our teammate’s house with a giveaway item for our friends and, as they received the gift with joy, it reminded me that these types of gifts are not always well received in other parts of the world….. This is one of the many reasons we LOVE Africa…
1. Old, moldy video tapes – this was the gift we gave away yesterday (though in truth, we kept 2 for ourselves). I can see you racking your brain for a possible use for old moldy videotapes. Don’t hurt yourself – I will help you out. If you pull out the ribbon inside the videotape, you can string it up all over your farm – which, as it flutters in the breeze, will scare away varmints like squirrels and birds. Try it in your garden at home – unless your neighborhood group has a rule against it…
2. Old magazines – they can be 10 or 15 years old – not a problem. People love to see the pictures. They are especially fascinated by pictures of animals.
3. Empty cans and tins and bottles – especially the ones that are plastic and have lids that screw on. You can store ALL kinds of things in them. Of course, it is necessary to get them past your husband first.
4. Old clothes and shoes – even with holes in them. At first I was embarrassed to give them away, but now, when I do, I say, Here are these clothes – I am embarrassed to give them to you because they are not new, but they might be good for farm work…. No one complains. And I see them wearing them. I do give away lots of stuff that is not holey too.
5. Cooked chicken bones – when I cook a chicken or 2 to debone for meals, I set aside the wings and skin and some of the broth and give it to my workers. And I say, Here are some chicken bones. I am embarrassed to give them to you because there is not much meat on them, but the water (broth) is good for you and will make your soup taste good. Again, no one complains and they always come back and tell me how good it was. Try as I might, no one in Fort Wayne this summer seemed to want that kind of a gift.
1. Old, moldy video tapes – this was the gift we gave away yesterday (though in truth, we kept 2 for ourselves). I can see you racking your brain for a possible use for old moldy videotapes. Don’t hurt yourself – I will help you out. If you pull out the ribbon inside the videotape, you can string it up all over your farm – which, as it flutters in the breeze, will scare away varmints like squirrels and birds. Try it in your garden at home – unless your neighborhood group has a rule against it…
2. Old magazines – they can be 10 or 15 years old – not a problem. People love to see the pictures. They are especially fascinated by pictures of animals.
3. Empty cans and tins and bottles – especially the ones that are plastic and have lids that screw on. You can store ALL kinds of things in them. Of course, it is necessary to get them past your husband first.
4. Old clothes and shoes – even with holes in them. At first I was embarrassed to give them away, but now, when I do, I say, Here are these clothes – I am embarrassed to give them to you because they are not new, but they might be good for farm work…. No one complains. And I see them wearing them. I do give away lots of stuff that is not holey too.
5. Cooked chicken bones – when I cook a chicken or 2 to debone for meals, I set aside the wings and skin and some of the broth and give it to my workers. And I say, Here are some chicken bones. I am embarrassed to give them to you because there is not much meat on them, but the water (broth) is good for you and will make your soup taste good. Again, no one complains and they always come back and tell me how good it was. Try as I might, no one in Fort Wayne this summer seemed to want that kind of a gift.
Never Take a 5 pound Bag of Prepackaged Flour for Granted
I went shopping yesterday in the market in a town about 1 ½ hours from our house. We were on our way to hang out with our teammates – the deafening quiet of our semi-empty houses was getting to both of us and we needed some fellowship. As is our custom in Faranah, Jim and I split up. He went looking for sandals, bike parts and eggs (what a combination, I know) and I was off in search of medicine, treats for my sick patients, and flour. I took off with my backpack full of money and my plastic bucket for flour.
I scored easily on the treats – cracker type cookies for my smaller patients and suckers for the older ones (in my defense, their teeth are already rotten so I am not really making it worse and I am promoting goodwill!). I stuffed them in my backpack and continued on. I struck out on all of the meds – no one had children’s ibuprofen, or cough syrup, or the blood pressure medicine I was looking for. The lack of medicine was a real bummer because I have been seeing some really sick kids and have been powering through the fever and cough meds and am now out. But I digress….
I knew I would be successful on the flour item so took off for the flour/sugar guy. I found him sleeping on a bench. I woke him up, greeted him and asked about his family and life and business, etc, and then asked for 20 kilos of flour – 10 for my teammate, Dawn, and 10 for me. He slowly got up off the bench and moved over to the 50 kilo bag that sat open on the porch. He situated himself, arranged the 2 plastic bowls on the old balance scale, and stacked a 2 kilo weight and a 1 kilo weight on the one side. Slowly, with a big plastic cup, he would pull flour from the big bag and dump it into the bowl – over and over as he filled it to nearly overflowing – slowing as it grew and started to tip the 3 kilo mark. Finally it tipped the scale.
The first 10 kilos were easy – I had my plastic bucket with a nice lid that nearly perfectly fits 10 kilos. So we went through the process 4 times – in three 3 kilo sections and then a 1 kilo bowl – ten kilos. No problem. The whole time I was shooing away the flies and chatting with the people who were walking by and paying attention to make sure no one grabbed my backpack.
Each time he emptied the bowl of flour into my bucket, he tapped it and scrapped out the last teaspoon of flour that was stuck to the bottom of the bowl – he wanted to make sure I was getting what I paid for. They were amused at my language skills since I speak only a little Pular – and proceeded to talk about the few other white people they knew – who live in other villages – and their ability/lack of ability to speak the language. We completed my 10 kilos and moved on the second ten.
(On a funny side note, as I stood there, a little boy came up to me. He had his hand down by his side and kept waving his hand at me – keeping it down by his side. How friendly, I thought, as I waved back. He waved again, all the time keeping his hand down by his side. I waved back. He looked confused. We went through the process again. Finally it dawned on me what he was doing. He was asking me if I wanted my shoes shined – which, since I was wearing Teva-like sandals, I declined. I can only imagine what he was thinking if he walked away……)
The second 10 kilos of flour were slightly more complicated as I no longer had a neat little bucket to fill. So, we measured out 3 kilos and then needed to find something to put it in. He searched around and found a pink bag and dumped it in. I thought – great – and started to tie up the top. That was wrong – he wanted to give me two 5 kilo bags, thank you very much.
So I left it alone, did as I was told by removing the 2 kilo weight and watched as he slowly filled the bowl again. We dumped that into the plastic bag, and then I was allowed to tie it up. My job was then to put the 1 kilo weight back into the weight bowl so we could start over.
I was under a lot of scrutiny to see if I could perform the task. We finally completed the second 5 kilos and I tied the bag and paid him 150,000fg for the flour. Now I needed to get it back to the car. I strapped on my backpack and took off, my flour bucket in one hand and the 2 bags of flour for Dawn in the other. It was a LONG walk.
I had to stop at one more medicine place to check for the medicine (no luck) and stopped at the bread place (and by bread place I mean the wheelbarrow that sits by the side of the road that is filled with French bread) where I bought 3 short loaves of bread. Thankfully I had room in my backpack; otherwise the bread would have been wrapped in a ripped off piece of paper from an old cement bag.
Now I needed to make it back to the car.
In fairness, my bread vendor did offer to help – seeing how heavy the flour was. But, pride got in the way and I told him I could handle it. I walked down the long road to the gas station where we had parked – trying not to get run over by a motorcycle or car. My arms were burning and my fingers felt like they were going to fall off – but I kept going. I was getting closer.
By the time I arrived at the car, my arms were screaming in pain and I could no long feel my fingers. When I put the flour bags down, I looked at my hand and they were blazing red, striped with white where the bags had cut off circulation to my fingers. It took about 4 hours for my fingers to feel normal again. As I reflected on the whole process, I thought – you know, I don’t think I will ever take a bag of flour, neatly pulled off the grocery shelf and gently placed in my cart, for granted ever again!
I scored easily on the treats – cracker type cookies for my smaller patients and suckers for the older ones (in my defense, their teeth are already rotten so I am not really making it worse and I am promoting goodwill!). I stuffed them in my backpack and continued on. I struck out on all of the meds – no one had children’s ibuprofen, or cough syrup, or the blood pressure medicine I was looking for. The lack of medicine was a real bummer because I have been seeing some really sick kids and have been powering through the fever and cough meds and am now out. But I digress….
I knew I would be successful on the flour item so took off for the flour/sugar guy. I found him sleeping on a bench. I woke him up, greeted him and asked about his family and life and business, etc, and then asked for 20 kilos of flour – 10 for my teammate, Dawn, and 10 for me. He slowly got up off the bench and moved over to the 50 kilo bag that sat open on the porch. He situated himself, arranged the 2 plastic bowls on the old balance scale, and stacked a 2 kilo weight and a 1 kilo weight on the one side. Slowly, with a big plastic cup, he would pull flour from the big bag and dump it into the bowl – over and over as he filled it to nearly overflowing – slowing as it grew and started to tip the 3 kilo mark. Finally it tipped the scale.
The first 10 kilos were easy – I had my plastic bucket with a nice lid that nearly perfectly fits 10 kilos. So we went through the process 4 times – in three 3 kilo sections and then a 1 kilo bowl – ten kilos. No problem. The whole time I was shooing away the flies and chatting with the people who were walking by and paying attention to make sure no one grabbed my backpack.
Each time he emptied the bowl of flour into my bucket, he tapped it and scrapped out the last teaspoon of flour that was stuck to the bottom of the bowl – he wanted to make sure I was getting what I paid for. They were amused at my language skills since I speak only a little Pular – and proceeded to talk about the few other white people they knew – who live in other villages – and their ability/lack of ability to speak the language. We completed my 10 kilos and moved on the second ten.
(On a funny side note, as I stood there, a little boy came up to me. He had his hand down by his side and kept waving his hand at me – keeping it down by his side. How friendly, I thought, as I waved back. He waved again, all the time keeping his hand down by his side. I waved back. He looked confused. We went through the process again. Finally it dawned on me what he was doing. He was asking me if I wanted my shoes shined – which, since I was wearing Teva-like sandals, I declined. I can only imagine what he was thinking if he walked away……)
The second 10 kilos of flour were slightly more complicated as I no longer had a neat little bucket to fill. So, we measured out 3 kilos and then needed to find something to put it in. He searched around and found a pink bag and dumped it in. I thought – great – and started to tie up the top. That was wrong – he wanted to give me two 5 kilo bags, thank you very much.
So I left it alone, did as I was told by removing the 2 kilo weight and watched as he slowly filled the bowl again. We dumped that into the plastic bag, and then I was allowed to tie it up. My job was then to put the 1 kilo weight back into the weight bowl so we could start over.
I was under a lot of scrutiny to see if I could perform the task. We finally completed the second 5 kilos and I tied the bag and paid him 150,000fg for the flour. Now I needed to get it back to the car. I strapped on my backpack and took off, my flour bucket in one hand and the 2 bags of flour for Dawn in the other. It was a LONG walk.
I had to stop at one more medicine place to check for the medicine (no luck) and stopped at the bread place (and by bread place I mean the wheelbarrow that sits by the side of the road that is filled with French bread) where I bought 3 short loaves of bread. Thankfully I had room in my backpack; otherwise the bread would have been wrapped in a ripped off piece of paper from an old cement bag.
Now I needed to make it back to the car.
In fairness, my bread vendor did offer to help – seeing how heavy the flour was. But, pride got in the way and I told him I could handle it. I walked down the long road to the gas station where we had parked – trying not to get run over by a motorcycle or car. My arms were burning and my fingers felt like they were going to fall off – but I kept going. I was getting closer.
By the time I arrived at the car, my arms were screaming in pain and I could no long feel my fingers. When I put the flour bags down, I looked at my hand and they were blazing red, striped with white where the bags had cut off circulation to my fingers. It took about 4 hours for my fingers to feel normal again. As I reflected on the whole process, I thought – you know, I don’t think I will ever take a bag of flour, neatly pulled off the grocery shelf and gently placed in my cart, for granted ever again!
The Curious Cocktail of Pain and Peace
Have you ever looked forward to an event with both excitement and dread? I had that experience recently as I dropped the boys off at Dakar Academy to begin their junior year – the first boarding school experience for them. We knew it was coming, of course. We have been talking about it for a year. Somehow as the time drew close, I was able to distract myself with the busyness of packing and saying goodbye to our friends and family and traveling back from the US.
Even when we got to Conakry and the trip was only days away, we were so overwhelmed with adjusting to being back and trying to get all of the shopping done, that I was able to push it out of my mind. But then the day came and we found ourselves gathered in our guesthouse in a circle, praying over the kids as they left.
That was Hannah’s time to say goodbye to the boys and the tears started. We took off for the airport and again gathered with the other parents in a circle to pray for the whole group. I could feel the pain welling up as I watch Jim say goodbye to the boys, and I found myself relieved that I could put it off for a few days. Two other moms and I accompanied 9 kids as we headed out for Dakar. As we walked up the ramp and into the airport, it felt a little like I was watching myself from above. It was really time for them to go.
We got through customs and sat down with the kids as they chatted and played games and munched on snacks. I pushed away the thoughts of the inevitable that was coming. The flight went smoothly and the arrival was great. All of the trunks arrived and as we got to the parking lot, the two dorm dads from the school arrived to pick us up. The next hours were busy – dropping off kids at dorms and carrying in luggage and unpacking. We found their beds made and a Mountain Dew and some candy sitting beside a welcome note on each bed.
We only had a short time until supper, so we unpacked what we could and I took off to find some supper while the boys ate with their dorm. I returned later that evening. The boys had been busy and most of the unpacking was done. I dropped off medicine with the dorm mom and said goodnight to the boys. I was still safe – I had a few more days to go and there was a lot to do in the mean time.
When I returned to the guesthouse, I found one of the moms I was traveling with there – crying. The adjustment for her first timer was difficult. We cried together. We had both grown up in boarding school and knew what a great opportunity it could be – but the pain was still aching and real. The next day I attended a seminar on how to parent from afar. My tears were flowing as they shared with us that it is okay and even recommended to grieve and mourn for the family situation that you are losing. Then I had lunch with the boys’ dorm parents.
We were able to ask questions and listen to their traditions regarding such things as birthdays. I was crying at the drop of a hat by this time – most of the time I could hold it together, but the pain and loss threatened to overwhelm me sometimes. When the boys would give me a hug, I would think, how can I live without those hugs? When I talked with the dorm parents about medicine, I thought, who will take care of them when they are sick? When we talked about birthdays, I thought, we won’t be here to celebrate with them and bake them a cake.
The next day, there was an open house and I was able to meet their teachers. Would they do okay? I could already pick which teachers and classes would be their favorites. Then we were down to one day. I hung out with the boys in the afternoon and had a precious time with them, watching them laugh and goof off with a friend. It was a gift, but I kept thinking – I have got to get out of here. I cannot take the upcoming goodbye. It felt like a freight training coming down the track and I wanted off. That evening, the other 2 moms and I took all of the kids from Guinea out for supper and ice cream. We had so much fun.
After we got back, I left the boys hanging out with friends. The walk back to the guesthouse seemed long. It is coming – I thought. I can’t get away from it. The whole experience reminded me a little of childbirth. In the months and days leading up to giving birth, there is a great excitement but also a bit of dread about the pain of labor. It is inevitable, and in the end there is joy, but the road through is not always easy.
Sunday morning proved to be a beautiful, sunny day – but I could sense the clouds coming. As we sat in church together, Kaleb leaned over and said, I am going to miss you guys so much. I could not have said it better myself. After church, I headed back to the dorm to say goodbye. Uncle Jim and Aunt Shari, the boys’ dorm parents, invited me to stay for lunch, but I didn’t trust myself not to cry in my lasagna so I declined. I hugged and hugged those two and headed out. I cried the whole way back to the guesthouse. Get me out of here, I thought. I can’t take it anymore.
So, yes, the pain was intense and overwhelming at times. However, in the midst of it, there was a strange sense of peace and joy. It truly was a peace that surpassed all understanding. I could feel the hands of Gods people holding us up in prayer. And I saw snapshots of the great things about the experience. In my mind, I can see Uncle Jim and Aunt Shari as they waited on the boys to get home from school – to ask about how their day was.
I saw the pain that they experienced in leaving some of their kids in the US as they returned to Africa to minister to ours. I saw Aunt Judy (one of the dorm parents who is my sister from boarding school days) hugging on my boys and checking on them. I saw my boys checking on the other kids from Guinea, especially the new ones, to see how they were doing. And I saw the favor returned.
I listened as Uncle Evan, who, with his wife Jewel, is in charge of the boarding program and spiritual life, as he shared comments about the boys that he had heard from the staff – about how sharp the boys were. He and Jewel said several times how well they thought the boys were going to do there. I can picture Ben and Kaleb laughing with their friends. I can see them standing at the movie night, surrounded by girls, as they talked and laughed. And I have treasured all of these things in my heart.
So, yes it was and continues to be hard as we adjust to life as a family of three. The house is very quiet these days. And cooking for three is not an easy task. We miss the boys intensely. At the same time, we are thrilled that they are so happy there and that they are adjusting well. We are overwhelmed by the quality of people that God placed at Dakar Academy who can pour into the boys’ lives. So, in the end, there is peace and joy beyond compare, even in the cocktail of pain. We are so blessed.
Even when we got to Conakry and the trip was only days away, we were so overwhelmed with adjusting to being back and trying to get all of the shopping done, that I was able to push it out of my mind. But then the day came and we found ourselves gathered in our guesthouse in a circle, praying over the kids as they left.
That was Hannah’s time to say goodbye to the boys and the tears started. We took off for the airport and again gathered with the other parents in a circle to pray for the whole group. I could feel the pain welling up as I watch Jim say goodbye to the boys, and I found myself relieved that I could put it off for a few days. Two other moms and I accompanied 9 kids as we headed out for Dakar. As we walked up the ramp and into the airport, it felt a little like I was watching myself from above. It was really time for them to go.
We got through customs and sat down with the kids as they chatted and played games and munched on snacks. I pushed away the thoughts of the inevitable that was coming. The flight went smoothly and the arrival was great. All of the trunks arrived and as we got to the parking lot, the two dorm dads from the school arrived to pick us up. The next hours were busy – dropping off kids at dorms and carrying in luggage and unpacking. We found their beds made and a Mountain Dew and some candy sitting beside a welcome note on each bed.
We only had a short time until supper, so we unpacked what we could and I took off to find some supper while the boys ate with their dorm. I returned later that evening. The boys had been busy and most of the unpacking was done. I dropped off medicine with the dorm mom and said goodnight to the boys. I was still safe – I had a few more days to go and there was a lot to do in the mean time.
When I returned to the guesthouse, I found one of the moms I was traveling with there – crying. The adjustment for her first timer was difficult. We cried together. We had both grown up in boarding school and knew what a great opportunity it could be – but the pain was still aching and real. The next day I attended a seminar on how to parent from afar. My tears were flowing as they shared with us that it is okay and even recommended to grieve and mourn for the family situation that you are losing. Then I had lunch with the boys’ dorm parents.
We were able to ask questions and listen to their traditions regarding such things as birthdays. I was crying at the drop of a hat by this time – most of the time I could hold it together, but the pain and loss threatened to overwhelm me sometimes. When the boys would give me a hug, I would think, how can I live without those hugs? When I talked with the dorm parents about medicine, I thought, who will take care of them when they are sick? When we talked about birthdays, I thought, we won’t be here to celebrate with them and bake them a cake.
The next day, there was an open house and I was able to meet their teachers. Would they do okay? I could already pick which teachers and classes would be their favorites. Then we were down to one day. I hung out with the boys in the afternoon and had a precious time with them, watching them laugh and goof off with a friend. It was a gift, but I kept thinking – I have got to get out of here. I cannot take the upcoming goodbye. It felt like a freight training coming down the track and I wanted off. That evening, the other 2 moms and I took all of the kids from Guinea out for supper and ice cream. We had so much fun.
After we got back, I left the boys hanging out with friends. The walk back to the guesthouse seemed long. It is coming – I thought. I can’t get away from it. The whole experience reminded me a little of childbirth. In the months and days leading up to giving birth, there is a great excitement but also a bit of dread about the pain of labor. It is inevitable, and in the end there is joy, but the road through is not always easy.
Sunday morning proved to be a beautiful, sunny day – but I could sense the clouds coming. As we sat in church together, Kaleb leaned over and said, I am going to miss you guys so much. I could not have said it better myself. After church, I headed back to the dorm to say goodbye. Uncle Jim and Aunt Shari, the boys’ dorm parents, invited me to stay for lunch, but I didn’t trust myself not to cry in my lasagna so I declined. I hugged and hugged those two and headed out. I cried the whole way back to the guesthouse. Get me out of here, I thought. I can’t take it anymore.
So, yes, the pain was intense and overwhelming at times. However, in the midst of it, there was a strange sense of peace and joy. It truly was a peace that surpassed all understanding. I could feel the hands of Gods people holding us up in prayer. And I saw snapshots of the great things about the experience. In my mind, I can see Uncle Jim and Aunt Shari as they waited on the boys to get home from school – to ask about how their day was.
I saw the pain that they experienced in leaving some of their kids in the US as they returned to Africa to minister to ours. I saw Aunt Judy (one of the dorm parents who is my sister from boarding school days) hugging on my boys and checking on them. I saw my boys checking on the other kids from Guinea, especially the new ones, to see how they were doing. And I saw the favor returned.
I listened as Uncle Evan, who, with his wife Jewel, is in charge of the boarding program and spiritual life, as he shared comments about the boys that he had heard from the staff – about how sharp the boys were. He and Jewel said several times how well they thought the boys were going to do there. I can picture Ben and Kaleb laughing with their friends. I can see them standing at the movie night, surrounded by girls, as they talked and laughed. And I have treasured all of these things in my heart.
So, yes it was and continues to be hard as we adjust to life as a family of three. The house is very quiet these days. And cooking for three is not an easy task. We miss the boys intensely. At the same time, we are thrilled that they are so happy there and that they are adjusting well. We are overwhelmed by the quality of people that God placed at Dakar Academy who can pour into the boys’ lives. So, in the end, there is peace and joy beyond compare, even in the cocktail of pain. We are so blessed.
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