I confess – our team has a chauffeur. His name is Mr. Bah. Sounds like something out of the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, huh? Well, before you rethink supporting people who spend their money frivolously, let me explain……. Actually, if you have every lived in Guinea, I probably don’t really need to explain. But in the off chance you have not had the blessing of visiting our fair country, let me tell you why having him is a REALLY good idea!
While we employ Mr. Bah full time and he does make trips up to the village for us, we mainly use him when we are in the capital. Driving in Conakry is unlike driving in any other place. Everyone seems to make up their own rules. Two lanes can easily become 4 four if you wish. Someone not going fast enough? Just speed around him on the shoulder on the right side. Need to turn around – just do a u-turn in the middle of the road. It is crazy out there. Mr. Bah has driven in several other African capitals – and claims Conakry to be the craziest. The longer we are here, the more we see order trying to be instituted. There are some functioning traffic lights. There are police trying to keep things in order – and doing a great job at some intersections.
Downtown, things get even more interesting. Certain streets are one way at certain times of the day. I have NO idea which ones they are. Other streets will suddenly become one way – with no warning. Parking is always tight. People are everywhere. When you stop at a light, beggars come up and try to get money. Motorcycles whip in and out of traffic.
Besides being safer, it is much more interesting being a passenger. You get to see all of the shops and what they are selling. One store we passed last week was selling bottled water and mattresses. I was intrigued by the combination. In the afternoons especially there are kids (mostly) who walk in and out of the lines of traffic selling all sorts of things – CD’s, rechargeable phone cards, plastic flowers, insect spray, off-brand Kleenex, handkerchiefs, apples, sesame seed candy (my personal favorite), jelly. That whole scene fascinates me as well. Why jelly? Why insect spray? Who makes those decisions? I suppose it is kind of like those racks you stand by in the checkout lanes in the US with all kinds of random items.
But Mr. Bah’s helpfulness extends way beyond his driving abilities. He seems to know everyone. We will say – I need to find___________________ (we fill in the blank with various sorts of things.) or I need to have _______________ done. Well, Mr. Bah will reply, I have a cousin who can get that for you. Or, I have a friend who does that. He is amazing. He is incredibly resourceful, and very patient. He will wait for several hours for us to finish a task, if necessary. He loves our kids. He never complains when we ask him to do stuff for us. He worries about us and is incredibly protective.
He calls me Mom or Mommy – a term of respect – he calls all of the team women that. Jim is Mr. Jim or Boss. I love to call him on the phone and hear him answer – Yes, Mom. (He is around 60 years old, by the way.)
We try our best to take good care of him and give him a lot of respect. We ask his advice on a myriad of things. We buy treats for his kids and diapers and medicine for his son who is handicapped. We try to pay him well. We help out when we can.
Here are 2 of my favorite Mr. Bah stories………………
1. This one I shared in a supporter update in March. Mr. Bah traveled home with us that trip, driving one of the vehicles. We stopped for lunch in a shady spot and were having sandwiches. We had received a bag of Doritos from the States and had been saving them. As anyone who lives overseas knows, things like Doritos are very special and so we tend to hoard them a little. I didn’t offer any to Mr. Bah, because I have never seem him eating chips before and figured he would not like them – as they are not rice – his normal meal. As we were getting back into the truck, he found the bag and asked what they were. I told him that they were chips from America and that he should try them. So he took a few, and then a few more. Pretty soon, he was munching away. He said, “Mom, these are really good. Someone will have to take the bag away from me.” I am sure my face matched the kids’ faces, as we watched him downing our precious Doritos.
2. The second story is from our last trip to CKY a week ago. I was out doing some shopping and stopped at a fairly nice air-conditioned grocery store. Mr. Bah waited outside for me, chatting with the security people as he waited. I got back into the truck when I was finished and said, Mr. Bah, are you ready to go? He said, Mommy, look at me. I am covered with dirt. I could see some small smudges on the front of his suit so I asked him what happened. He said, I had to urinate, and so I asked where I could go and they told me to go out behind the store. But when I got there, a big dog was there and it was not tied up and it jumped up on me and grabbed me and I thought I was going to have to call you. (As he recounted the story, his voice got louder and he got more distraught – sadly, I got more and more amused. If you could have seem his face as he told me about it!!) Anyway, he continued, I came back out and I told them, if you tell someone you can urinate somewhere, you need to tell them there is a BIG dog that is not tied up.
The poor man was so upset, and I was so amused. Thankfully, I had bought him a Coke so he could have something to drink and settle down.
He is a wonderful asset to our team and I am not sure what we would ever do without him. So, the next time you visit Conakry and we tell you we need to call our chauffer, you will understand why!
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Friday, June 11, 2010
So, That Has Never Happened Before. . . .
Yesterday, I had a busy day. We did school. I cleaned the house, made supper, and exercised. I wanted to jump in the shower quickly before I saw the patients waiting for me on the porch. I grabbed my purple scrubbie ( my 99 cent Wal-Mart special) and got it soapy with a bar of Palmolive. I scrubbed down and was finishing on my feet when I felt something strange move in my hand. I flung my hand out and looked down on the floor. There, to my surprise, was a scorpion – all clean and bubbly. At first I thought it was dead, but it soon tried to crawl away.
Wow. What a bizarre feeling – to know that it had been in my hand and scrubbie as I washed my whole body!!! For the rest of the night, when I thought about it, I would feel little pinpricks on my skin. I was thankful not to have been stung. Our African friend thought that the scent from the soap confused the scorpion temporarily. Who knows? I definitely do not recommend it as a new skin treatment. :^)
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Rudeness
I was contemplating rudeness this week – actually I do every time someone on a motorcycle arrives at my front door and honks obnoxiously until I show my face. As a student of another culture, it is interesting to discover what this culture considers rude. And it certainly doesn’t take many months to solidify in your mind the practices in your host culture that we Americans would consider rude.
For the most part, the people we live among are fairly polite. They greet everyone they see – multiple times. They ask about each other’s families and farms and relatives and health and on and on. If you walk by them at meal time, there is always an invitation to come and eat.
I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that the things I consider rude are NOT considered rude to them. But they have been known to set my teeth on edge.
Take for instance the motorcycle thing. Almost without fail, when someone arrives by motorcycle, they honk, and honk and honk. I am sure it is just a friendly way to say, hey, you have company! But to tell the truth, it snaps my nerves – which are often a little frayed by evening anyway. I hear them do that to each other as well, so I know it is an acceptable practice. Now I try to take deep breaths as I walk out to the porch. I have also been known to mutter under my breath "They are not trying to be rude, they are not trying to be rude, they are not trying to be rude."
Late one evening, a man arrived with a sick child. He was on a motorcycle, and true to form, honked obnoxiously several times so I would know he was there. I went out to greet him, no doubt muttering under my breath (unfortunately, it was probably not “Thank you Lord for the opportunity to serve this person”). When I got to the porch, I discovered that he didn’t speak much Yalunka, so I was able to communicate enough to send him back into town to find someone who did. Off he went on his moto, and when he returned, guess what…. the honking again, "Hey, I’m back!"
I am certain by this point I was muttering loudly – but probably no longer under my breath. As I chatted with Mordeca (our friend and a believer) and he translated for me, I discovered that this man had gone all the way to the big town near us (an hour away) with his sick child to shop, but never bothered to take him to the doctor or hospital. He simply dragged the child, with a high fever, back up here to see me. My frustration grew. It was already dark. I was tired. He had left a town where there were many doctors and much medicine, to return to the village so he could get free medicine from me! (They are from this village to begin with.)
I argued with Mordeca. “Why should I see this kid? They had the opportunity to go and get medicine somewhere else but refused because they wanted it free. What happens when a kid gets sick here in the village and I am out of medicine because this man refused to pay – even though there is a lot of medicine in that town?” Meanwhile, the little boy was just watching me. It was, I confess, not one of my better moments. Back and forth we went. Finally, Mordeca said, “Gulun-nga, you are right. What he did was wrong. But are you going to make this little boy suffer because his father made a wrong choice? I wekile." (That is a Yalunka phrase that has a bunch of meanings – take courage; take heart; or it can be said as kind of “buck up and deal with it.” Mordeca and Sayon have occasionally used it on me when they see me getting tired and fussy on the porch at night when there are still a lot of patients to see. He was meaning it in a nice sense of the word.)
I could feel myself beginning to soften until the horn honking dad spoke up – “Yeah,” he said, “ I wekile” in a tone that sounds suspiciously like “buck up and deal with it.” I took one look at him and then looked at Mordeca – who wisely told the father that it would probably be better if he stopped talking at that point.
Mordeca (who seems to have been given the spiritual gift of mercy) said, “Look at this little boy – he has a fever, you have to help him.” I finally consented, mostly for Mordeca’s sake, and for the little boy – certainly not for the horn honking, rude dad.
Another rudeness issue I deal with in interrupting. This happens often when I am on the porch – usually surrounded by a lot of people – and someone new arrives. Even if I am deep in the middle of a conversation about medical issues, I am expected to stop talking and greet them – even if this is the 10th time if has occurred in the last 5 minutes. It is ALWAYS difficult for me to interrupt my conversation with a person I am trying to focus on to greet. The problem is that it is usually not a “Hey, how is it going?” It is a “Hey, how is it going? I am bringing you this sick person who has been sick for 10 days with a fever and runny belly (diarrhea) and. . . ” So, I put my hand up to stop them and say, you have to wait until I am done. I have no doubt THAT is considered rude here!
As Americans, we provide endless hours of entertainment to the village by our strange language and ways and things. People love to come and watch what we do. They can sit for hours – staring in the back yard through the fence or trying to look inside the house when we open the door or sitting on the porch, just watching and waiting for something exciting to happen. In general, gawking in America is frowned upon. But here, that is just part of being in a village. They do it to each other. Fighting with your wife – no, problem, an outsider can offer a solution. Fighting with your neighbor – everyone is all over that.
I know I have not even begun to scratch the surface of the things they consider rude here in this culture. A big one is the inappropriate use of the left hand. That hand is used for bathroom services – so it is very rude to hand someone something with your left hand. That is slowly becoming ingrained in us – so much that I struggle when we go to the US and have to hand someone money at the drive-thru with my left hand. Thankfully, they are gracious with us – and don’t make a big deal when we mess up.
Not greeting someone and asking about their family, life, health, cows, farms, etc. is also considered rude. So we make an effort to slow down our Western ways of thinking and take the time to visit with people.
I have no doubt I commit numerous acts of rudeness on a weekly basis – mostly out of ignorance. That makes me TRY to give grace. I am working on it and making progress.
Just don’t test me by arriving at my house – horn a blazing!
For the most part, the people we live among are fairly polite. They greet everyone they see – multiple times. They ask about each other’s families and farms and relatives and health and on and on. If you walk by them at meal time, there is always an invitation to come and eat.
I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that the things I consider rude are NOT considered rude to them. But they have been known to set my teeth on edge.
Take for instance the motorcycle thing. Almost without fail, when someone arrives by motorcycle, they honk, and honk and honk. I am sure it is just a friendly way to say, hey, you have company! But to tell the truth, it snaps my nerves – which are often a little frayed by evening anyway. I hear them do that to each other as well, so I know it is an acceptable practice. Now I try to take deep breaths as I walk out to the porch. I have also been known to mutter under my breath "They are not trying to be rude, they are not trying to be rude, they are not trying to be rude."
Late one evening, a man arrived with a sick child. He was on a motorcycle, and true to form, honked obnoxiously several times so I would know he was there. I went out to greet him, no doubt muttering under my breath (unfortunately, it was probably not “Thank you Lord for the opportunity to serve this person”). When I got to the porch, I discovered that he didn’t speak much Yalunka, so I was able to communicate enough to send him back into town to find someone who did. Off he went on his moto, and when he returned, guess what…. the honking again, "Hey, I’m back!"
I am certain by this point I was muttering loudly – but probably no longer under my breath. As I chatted with Mordeca (our friend and a believer) and he translated for me, I discovered that this man had gone all the way to the big town near us (an hour away) with his sick child to shop, but never bothered to take him to the doctor or hospital. He simply dragged the child, with a high fever, back up here to see me. My frustration grew. It was already dark. I was tired. He had left a town where there were many doctors and much medicine, to return to the village so he could get free medicine from me! (They are from this village to begin with.)
I argued with Mordeca. “Why should I see this kid? They had the opportunity to go and get medicine somewhere else but refused because they wanted it free. What happens when a kid gets sick here in the village and I am out of medicine because this man refused to pay – even though there is a lot of medicine in that town?” Meanwhile, the little boy was just watching me. It was, I confess, not one of my better moments. Back and forth we went. Finally, Mordeca said, “Gulun-nga, you are right. What he did was wrong. But are you going to make this little boy suffer because his father made a wrong choice? I wekile." (That is a Yalunka phrase that has a bunch of meanings – take courage; take heart; or it can be said as kind of “buck up and deal with it.” Mordeca and Sayon have occasionally used it on me when they see me getting tired and fussy on the porch at night when there are still a lot of patients to see. He was meaning it in a nice sense of the word.)
I could feel myself beginning to soften until the horn honking dad spoke up – “Yeah,” he said, “ I wekile” in a tone that sounds suspiciously like “buck up and deal with it.” I took one look at him and then looked at Mordeca – who wisely told the father that it would probably be better if he stopped talking at that point.
Mordeca (who seems to have been given the spiritual gift of mercy) said, “Look at this little boy – he has a fever, you have to help him.” I finally consented, mostly for Mordeca’s sake, and for the little boy – certainly not for the horn honking, rude dad.
Another rudeness issue I deal with in interrupting. This happens often when I am on the porch – usually surrounded by a lot of people – and someone new arrives. Even if I am deep in the middle of a conversation about medical issues, I am expected to stop talking and greet them – even if this is the 10th time if has occurred in the last 5 minutes. It is ALWAYS difficult for me to interrupt my conversation with a person I am trying to focus on to greet. The problem is that it is usually not a “Hey, how is it going?” It is a “Hey, how is it going? I am bringing you this sick person who has been sick for 10 days with a fever and runny belly (diarrhea) and. . . ” So, I put my hand up to stop them and say, you have to wait until I am done. I have no doubt THAT is considered rude here!
As Americans, we provide endless hours of entertainment to the village by our strange language and ways and things. People love to come and watch what we do. They can sit for hours – staring in the back yard through the fence or trying to look inside the house when we open the door or sitting on the porch, just watching and waiting for something exciting to happen. In general, gawking in America is frowned upon. But here, that is just part of being in a village. They do it to each other. Fighting with your wife – no, problem, an outsider can offer a solution. Fighting with your neighbor – everyone is all over that.
I know I have not even begun to scratch the surface of the things they consider rude here in this culture. A big one is the inappropriate use of the left hand. That hand is used for bathroom services – so it is very rude to hand someone something with your left hand. That is slowly becoming ingrained in us – so much that I struggle when we go to the US and have to hand someone money at the drive-thru with my left hand. Thankfully, they are gracious with us – and don’t make a big deal when we mess up.
Not greeting someone and asking about their family, life, health, cows, farms, etc. is also considered rude. So we make an effort to slow down our Western ways of thinking and take the time to visit with people.
I have no doubt I commit numerous acts of rudeness on a weekly basis – mostly out of ignorance. That makes me TRY to give grace. I am working on it and making progress.
Just don’t test me by arriving at my house – horn a blazing!
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
It only takes a minute for your whole day to go down the well
Just yesterday morning, Jim and I were having a spirited discussion about organizing our time and the debate about working from a list and also being available for what God want us to do – Jim being less of a list maker, and me being an avid list maker. It is incredibly frustrating for me to arrive at the end of the day – but be far from the end of my list. We ended up talking about what he wanted to get done that day, and off we went.
About 1 hour later, a Fulani man came running up to ask for help. He said there was a man trapped down in a well. The man had climbed in to dig the well deeper, but apparently had not been down there very long before he sat down and became unresponsive to the people at the top of the well, calling to him. They were very concerned and wanted help.
Jim, the boys, Sayon and Mordeca (our friends who were here working on Jim’s garden) ran off with a long climbing rope to see what they could do. When they reached the place– over a mile away – they found an extremely narrow and deep well. With the sun overhead, they could see the man huddled at the bottom, gasping for air. He would not respond to the people yelling to him from the top.
What followed in the next 8 hours was a frustrating and fascinating interaction with another culture. Several people tried to go into the well after him, but got part way down and were unable to breathe because of the lack of oxygen. Jim and the boys were able to hook up a ventilation system with a little 12 volt fan, a tube, a plastic cookie sheet, and a motorcycle battery (MacGyver would have been proud) – in an attempt to pull air out of the well, which would in turn force new oxygenated air down into the well. The man in the well was a well digger – and his friend refused to go in after him. I am told the people there were beating him – in attempt to shame him into going down. There became a fight – why should a Yalunka person go after him, when he was Fulani. Soon the governmental man in charge over the area showed up. Someone took off on a motorcycle, going from village to village, looking for another well digger who would be willing to go down after Musa ( as we learned was his name).
After a while, they began throwing milk and then gasoline down the well. Why would they do that????? We came to find out (when it was all said and done) that people here believe that, in some wells, there are evil spirits and if you go into the well, the evil spirits will steal your breath and kill you. They dumped the milk and gasoline down in an attempt to appease and distract the evil spirits into letting go of the man.
Meanwhile, with each passing hour, our hope of him being brought back up alive was diminishing. The boys related to me how agonizing it was to watch as no progress was made and to hear him gasping for air, and then have that followed by periods of silence, and then the gurgled breathing again. I paced around the house (I got a lot of cleaning done with all the nervous energy), pleading with God to spare the life of Musa – who does not yet know Jesus. I had given Kaleb one of our 2 way radios during one of the trips back to the house for supplies, so we were able to check the progress occasionally.
On the last trip, Sayon and Mordeca came for a pulley and a climbing harness. They were able to rig up a pulley over the hole and lower a well digger that had been found in a bigger town. On his second attempt, he was able to go down quickly, tie a rope under the arm and up over the shoulder of Musa, and be pulled back up. Then the men were able to pull Musa up from what was becoming his grave. Musa arrived at the top alive, with a weak pulse, but unconscious from the lack of oxygen (undoubtedly made worse by the fumes from the gasoline!). Jim was able to call me on the radio to ask what they should do for him medically. Within an hour, he was waking up a little and sat up on his own, and drank a little milk. Jim and the guys began the walk home, along with the dozens of villagers who had gone out to watch the show.
Many people stopped by our house on the way back to thank us for the work that Jim did. It made a huge impression on them that he stayed for the whole time. The area boss guy also thanked Jim for what he did. Today a delegation came from town and from the well village to thank Jim for everything – bring with them a very large rooster as a gift (who crows SO loudly that he is going to find his way into a cooking pot very quickly!) They reported today that Musa is up walking and talking and eating and has no recollection of what happened down in the well.
The whole experience - which had a great ending (praise the Lord)- was an interesting peek into the lives of our friends and neighbors. It brought up an incredible discussion about Jesus’ power over evil spirits, and how as believers, we don’t need to fear the evil spirits. We were excited to see the faith that is growing in our 2 friends here. And we are thankful beyond measure to know that Musa is alive and well. We are trusting that God will use that experience in his life to bring him to the Jesus road.
And I, for one, and thankful that Jim threw aside his to-do-list for the day and followed what the Lord brought before him.
Housekeeping in Guinea
If you have even an ounce of perfectionism in you when it comes to housekeeping and having things in order, then perhaps Guinea is not the place for you! If God does call you here, you will spend endless days in frustration over the state of your house. Not that housekeeping in America is a breeze, but it does seem that there are not as many things working against you. On a constant basis, I fight one or more of the following:
Desert dust: every day, but especially during the months of December – April, when the rains are non-existent, there is an endless stream of dust that flows into the house. Within a few hours of dusting, you can usually return and write your name visibly on whatever surface you just dusted. Of course, all of that dust lands on the windows too. Windex is rather pointless for cleaning our louvered glass windows. You just need a bucket of water and some soap. After washing my windows and dusting, I enjoy walking around, looking at the surfaces and enjoying their dust free appearance, know it will be short lived.
All of that dust also lands on the floors, along with all the dirt trudged inside by my family. In Niaya, I had someone who swept and mopped all week, but do not have that privilege here yet, so it is up to me to stay on top of it. On top of that, our great room floor was not finished correctly, so in my daily sweeping, I end up with piles of cement dust. When it rains, the dust is less, but I then am left to deal with mud. Also, the rains bring out flying termites – a treat to the national kids who catch them, pull off their wings and roast them as a tasty snack. The white lady is less pleased with their appearance as she is left to contend with hundreds of them who fly around the lights at night, dropping into every container imaginable and then who are gone by morning, leaving behind piles of paper fine wings everywhere. On those nights, it brings to mind the plagues of Egypt – I guess I should be thankful they are not frogs.
Another reason for the constant sweeping and mopping is all the medical work that I do on my front porch. I have established a “pus corner” here on the new porch, where I do all of my lancing and cleaning of wounds. I have an endless stream of visitors as well, with little kids peeing and occasionally pooping right on or just off of my porch. Even if you are inside the porch, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what is happening when you hear me yelling “Hey, this is not a toilet” at someone.
Last but not least, I have piles – not of the Biblical sort – but piles none the less. I have a pile of stuff that I want to give away in the village, a pile of stuff that I need to sort through, a pile of stuff (usually in a trunk) of stuff I need to take back to CKY when I go next time, and always a trunk going of stuff that I need to give to my teammates the next times I see them. That is usually full by the time we meet – even in a week. It is full of books and videos that we trade around, meds that Mindie might need, or a grocery item that someone is short on, things that I want to pass on that someone might be interested in. And then we have paper piles – lists of emails I need to write and things I need to chat with my teammates about, list of groceries needed for whomever is going to CKY next, a pile of medical papers of sick people who are coming back to see me, my to-do list for the day.
All in all, I still LOVE a clean, neat house, but am much less anal about how my house looks than I used to be – mostly to preserve my sanity. My kids might not notice, but it is true. Not if I could just get them to pick up after themselves and experience the joy of a clean, neat room. . . .
Desert dust: every day, but especially during the months of December – April, when the rains are non-existent, there is an endless stream of dust that flows into the house. Within a few hours of dusting, you can usually return and write your name visibly on whatever surface you just dusted. Of course, all of that dust lands on the windows too. Windex is rather pointless for cleaning our louvered glass windows. You just need a bucket of water and some soap. After washing my windows and dusting, I enjoy walking around, looking at the surfaces and enjoying their dust free appearance, know it will be short lived.
All of that dust also lands on the floors, along with all the dirt trudged inside by my family. In Niaya, I had someone who swept and mopped all week, but do not have that privilege here yet, so it is up to me to stay on top of it. On top of that, our great room floor was not finished correctly, so in my daily sweeping, I end up with piles of cement dust. When it rains, the dust is less, but I then am left to deal with mud. Also, the rains bring out flying termites – a treat to the national kids who catch them, pull off their wings and roast them as a tasty snack. The white lady is less pleased with their appearance as she is left to contend with hundreds of them who fly around the lights at night, dropping into every container imaginable and then who are gone by morning, leaving behind piles of paper fine wings everywhere. On those nights, it brings to mind the plagues of Egypt – I guess I should be thankful they are not frogs.
Another reason for the constant sweeping and mopping is all the medical work that I do on my front porch. I have established a “pus corner” here on the new porch, where I do all of my lancing and cleaning of wounds. I have an endless stream of visitors as well, with little kids peeing and occasionally pooping right on or just off of my porch. Even if you are inside the porch, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what is happening when you hear me yelling “Hey, this is not a toilet” at someone.
Last but not least, I have piles – not of the Biblical sort – but piles none the less. I have a pile of stuff that I want to give away in the village, a pile of stuff that I need to sort through, a pile of stuff (usually in a trunk) of stuff I need to take back to CKY when I go next time, and always a trunk going of stuff that I need to give to my teammates the next times I see them. That is usually full by the time we meet – even in a week. It is full of books and videos that we trade around, meds that Mindie might need, or a grocery item that someone is short on, things that I want to pass on that someone might be interested in. And then we have paper piles – lists of emails I need to write and things I need to chat with my teammates about, list of groceries needed for whomever is going to CKY next, a pile of medical papers of sick people who are coming back to see me, my to-do list for the day.
All in all, I still LOVE a clean, neat house, but am much less anal about how my house looks than I used to be – mostly to preserve my sanity. My kids might not notice, but it is true. Not if I could just get them to pick up after themselves and experience the joy of a clean, neat room. . . .
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Some things I really like about Frigi
Do you have those people that you just really like to be around? They make you think or laugh or smile inside? Our mason, Frigi, is one of those people.
He has been a friend to our teammates for several years – I think even since they arrived in Soulemania -but we have only really gotten to know him in the past 2 years that he has been working on our house. Of course, for much for much of the first year, I didn’t see him much, as Jim was here building and I was in Niaya with the kids. But starting a little over a year ago, I began to get to know him as I spent more and more time at the house. And the more I am around him, the more things that I find I like about him. Here are just a few of my favorites.
1.
I love to hear him answer when I call. Whether I am asking him if he knows where Jim is or if he is thirsty or hungry or if he needs something, whenever I call – “Mr. Frigi?”, he answers with, “Oui, Madame” in this great singsong kind of voice. A few months ago, he started calling me mom – because I take care of him, he says. That always makes me smile.
2.
I love how much he wants to please Jim and do a good job for him. He likes all of the guys on the team and works hard to please them, but I think there is added pressure because Jim used to be a mason and he wants very much for Jim to approve of his work.
3.
I love how every day he comes and thanks me for the lunch meal and for taking good care of him while he is here in the village working (he lives in another village where our teammates live but comes up for several days at a time.)
4.
I love how patient he is. When he finishes work, he takes a bucket of water and soap and goes out to a little enclosure in the back yard and bathes before going to the hut of our friend where he sleeps. One afternoon, he came to ask where his bucket was. I was busy on the porch with about 20 patients and told him I would get it for him in a few minutes. I got distracted and probably 30 – 40 minutes later I saw him sitting quietly on the porch with all of the patients, just waiting for me to take the time to help him. I felt horrible. I said, Why didn’t you remind me? Well, Madame, he said, you were busy and my needs aren’t as important so I can wait. I wanted to squish his guts! (For all you non-Andersons out there, squishing someone's guts is a good thing.)
5.
I love how he takes care of his wife. He hires workers to go to her farm so she doesn’t have to do that. He says he doesn’t believe that men should beat their wives and that they should help out at home because the women have a lot of work to do. . . that’s almost unheard of in a village guy – even among some American guys. ;^) And he loves to take gifts home for his family. Usually we take him home – so he likes to stop off and buy her some fire wood (the kind that burns quickly so she can cook as fast as all the other women and not be made fun of) and he likes to stop and buy peanuts and crackers for his kids. If our boys are with us, and they shoot a bushfowl, that becomes another gift. Once he bought a big fish and we put it at his feet in a bag, but the truck broke down and by the time we arrived at his house- it was smelling very ripe!!!
6.
I love to see him loitering in front of our house after a full day of work and a bath, in hopes that the boys (who have usually gone hunting) will bring him some “beef”. IF it gets late, he says, “If the twins come back with something, can they bring it up to me??? “ And they always do.
7.
I love that he is such a great person to ask cultural questions to. Since he does not live in our village, he has a different perspective than our friends here. So I can ask him questions and be assured that he will really think over the answer. Sometimes he is hesitant – wanting to make sure he does not offend us. He tries to be honest. He will say – Madame, I really don’t know the price of this or that. I want to be straight with my answer for you.
8.
I love his politeness. If he coughs or sneezes, he always says “pardon.” He apologizes for being late or for causing any trouble for you – whether real or imagined.
The one thing that makes me sad is that he does not know the Jesus road yet. But we are praying for that. In the mean time, we look forward to his visits. His work here is almost finished, and we will miss him a lot.
He has been a friend to our teammates for several years – I think even since they arrived in Soulemania -but we have only really gotten to know him in the past 2 years that he has been working on our house. Of course, for much for much of the first year, I didn’t see him much, as Jim was here building and I was in Niaya with the kids. But starting a little over a year ago, I began to get to know him as I spent more and more time at the house. And the more I am around him, the more things that I find I like about him. Here are just a few of my favorites.
1.
I love to hear him answer when I call. Whether I am asking him if he knows where Jim is or if he is thirsty or hungry or if he needs something, whenever I call – “Mr. Frigi?”, he answers with, “Oui, Madame” in this great singsong kind of voice. A few months ago, he started calling me mom – because I take care of him, he says. That always makes me smile.
2.
I love how much he wants to please Jim and do a good job for him. He likes all of the guys on the team and works hard to please them, but I think there is added pressure because Jim used to be a mason and he wants very much for Jim to approve of his work.
3.
I love how every day he comes and thanks me for the lunch meal and for taking good care of him while he is here in the village working (he lives in another village where our teammates live but comes up for several days at a time.)
4.
I love how patient he is. When he finishes work, he takes a bucket of water and soap and goes out to a little enclosure in the back yard and bathes before going to the hut of our friend where he sleeps. One afternoon, he came to ask where his bucket was. I was busy on the porch with about 20 patients and told him I would get it for him in a few minutes. I got distracted and probably 30 – 40 minutes later I saw him sitting quietly on the porch with all of the patients, just waiting for me to take the time to help him. I felt horrible. I said, Why didn’t you remind me? Well, Madame, he said, you were busy and my needs aren’t as important so I can wait. I wanted to squish his guts! (For all you non-Andersons out there, squishing someone's guts is a good thing.)
5.
I love how he takes care of his wife. He hires workers to go to her farm so she doesn’t have to do that. He says he doesn’t believe that men should beat their wives and that they should help out at home because the women have a lot of work to do. . . that’s almost unheard of in a village guy – even among some American guys. ;^) And he loves to take gifts home for his family. Usually we take him home – so he likes to stop off and buy her some fire wood (the kind that burns quickly so she can cook as fast as all the other women and not be made fun of) and he likes to stop and buy peanuts and crackers for his kids. If our boys are with us, and they shoot a bushfowl, that becomes another gift. Once he bought a big fish and we put it at his feet in a bag, but the truck broke down and by the time we arrived at his house- it was smelling very ripe!!!
6.
I love to see him loitering in front of our house after a full day of work and a bath, in hopes that the boys (who have usually gone hunting) will bring him some “beef”. IF it gets late, he says, “If the twins come back with something, can they bring it up to me??? “ And they always do.
7.
I love that he is such a great person to ask cultural questions to. Since he does not live in our village, he has a different perspective than our friends here. So I can ask him questions and be assured that he will really think over the answer. Sometimes he is hesitant – wanting to make sure he does not offend us. He tries to be honest. He will say – Madame, I really don’t know the price of this or that. I want to be straight with my answer for you.
8.
I love his politeness. If he coughs or sneezes, he always says “pardon.” He apologizes for being late or for causing any trouble for you – whether real or imagined.
The one thing that makes me sad is that he does not know the Jesus road yet. But we are praying for that. In the mean time, we look forward to his visits. His work here is almost finished, and we will miss him a lot.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
A few Random things said around our house lately that were probably not heard around yours
Can someone please bring the yogurt in from the car? I think is it done curing……
I make my own yogurt and it is a great snack for the kids and awesome on homemade granola for breakfast. I used to have an oven with a pilot light, but don’t have that now, so have tried to figure out ways to cure the yogurt to make it set. Recently, a missionary friend shared a tip of setting it in the car, because it gets so hot in there. I decided to try it – and it worked great!!! Yeah for solar energy!
Someone shot a porcupine – do we want to buy some meat?
Last week, my friend brought some meat that was for sale. That happens fairly regularly and so we have to make a decision about whether or not to buy it. We try to determine if it is fresh (if I can smell it walking down the porch steps- that will be a “no”), if the price is good (just what is the going rate for a kilo of porcupine?), and what kind of meat it is. We had a little trouble at first with this one because they were using a name we had not heard before. Fortunately (?), the foot was still attached so we were able to figure it out.
Now, I know my mom fixed porcupine when I was a kid (remember, I grew up in Africa)- so I have eaten it before. But, those of you who know me well, know that I don’t relish the job of butchering meat. (Remember, I like to cut it up and then put it in the freezer and forget it for a while and then pretend that I bought it at the store.) Anyway, our freezer is fairly empty and we are trying to stretch the meat we have to last until 2 ½ weeks from now when we go to CKY. So, we decided to go ahead and buy it. My husband graciously butchered the meat for us and put it in the fridge. But I kept thinking about it – all the while, feeling the bile in my throat. (The quills had been removed and the skin burned so that smell was in my mind.) But, since “I’m every woman”, I tried my best.
I pressured it (gagging as I put it in the pot) and decided to make barbeque beef with it. The “meat” was tough, and I was still feeling the bile in my throat as I prepared it. But I pressed on! It was a crazy busy night with sick people on the porch and so I sent the boys in to heat up the meat. Unfortunately, one of the boys said (really loudly), “Is this that porcupine?” which horrified Hannah, who then refused to eat it. (I do much better with her if she doesn’t know what was being served.)
Frankly, I was thankful for an excuse not to eat the meat either, and fortunately, I had a little bit of leftover chicken in the fridge, so Hannah and I split that. I realize completely that it is all a mental issue ( really, what is the difference in chicken or beef and porcupine, other than the fact that it is a rodent. :^) ) – but I figure as long as I know that, I am okay. Last night, we got some deer meat – which now needs to be pressured into – you guessed it, BBQ sandwiches. :^)
Can someone please pull the clothes off the fence and fold them?
Up until last week, I had no clothesline. So all of our laundry was hung up over the stick fence in the back yard. It actually worked okay and was a lot faster than using clothespins. There were some hazards, like splinters in the underwear, but as long as you were careful, they could be found and tragedy avoided. Then, last week, my husband gave me a gift of love and put up my clothesline. It is great.
Yesterday, I did about 5 loads of clothes and my lines were full of clean clothes, flapping in the breeze. It was a beautiful sight. I need to buy more clothespins in CKY – I have some plastic ones that are quickly dying – probably due to the fact that they were cheap and can’t take the equatorial sun beating down on them. My neighbors no doubt wonder why I would waste good rope that could tied up a cow to hang my clothes on when I could just throw them over the fence or lay them on the ground to dry, like they do. White women are very needy! :^)
I couldn’t bring the bandage for you to wrap my leg because the cow ate it.
I heard that excuse for the first time last week, when I was doing wound care on a little girl with a sore on her leg. It struck me so funny – the African equivalent to “the dog ate my homework.” When I care for a bigger wound, I put medicine and gauze on the wound, and then wrap it with strips of cloth – like the old bandages from WW 1 and WW 2. Each patient gets 2 – so we can rotate and they can wash one and have the other in use. The system works great – except if there are cows wandering through the village – which there always are.
They are fairly destructive and will eat just about anything! Life here for medical things is just rough. Often I am told that a child’s medical carnet (a little booklet with a record of vaccines and medicines) cannot be produced (for my viewing pleasure)for a variety of reasons: my kid dropped it a. in the fire b. in the water c. on the road. Or, my kid peed on it (that is by far the most often heard excuse.) Or, I lost it.
I have been pleased to see that my villagers are quickly catching on to the fact that they MUST bring back the piece of paper I give them with a list of the medicines that they have received here, or I will not see their child again. I hear them telling each other to not lose it and bring it back – as I am treating other patients. Now, if I could just get the cows to cooperate!
I make my own yogurt and it is a great snack for the kids and awesome on homemade granola for breakfast. I used to have an oven with a pilot light, but don’t have that now, so have tried to figure out ways to cure the yogurt to make it set. Recently, a missionary friend shared a tip of setting it in the car, because it gets so hot in there. I decided to try it – and it worked great!!! Yeah for solar energy!
Someone shot a porcupine – do we want to buy some meat?
Last week, my friend brought some meat that was for sale. That happens fairly regularly and so we have to make a decision about whether or not to buy it. We try to determine if it is fresh (if I can smell it walking down the porch steps- that will be a “no”), if the price is good (just what is the going rate for a kilo of porcupine?), and what kind of meat it is. We had a little trouble at first with this one because they were using a name we had not heard before. Fortunately (?), the foot was still attached so we were able to figure it out.
Now, I know my mom fixed porcupine when I was a kid (remember, I grew up in Africa)- so I have eaten it before. But, those of you who know me well, know that I don’t relish the job of butchering meat. (Remember, I like to cut it up and then put it in the freezer and forget it for a while and then pretend that I bought it at the store.) Anyway, our freezer is fairly empty and we are trying to stretch the meat we have to last until 2 ½ weeks from now when we go to CKY. So, we decided to go ahead and buy it. My husband graciously butchered the meat for us and put it in the fridge. But I kept thinking about it – all the while, feeling the bile in my throat. (The quills had been removed and the skin burned so that smell was in my mind.) But, since “I’m every woman”, I tried my best.
I pressured it (gagging as I put it in the pot) and decided to make barbeque beef with it. The “meat” was tough, and I was still feeling the bile in my throat as I prepared it. But I pressed on! It was a crazy busy night with sick people on the porch and so I sent the boys in to heat up the meat. Unfortunately, one of the boys said (really loudly), “Is this that porcupine?” which horrified Hannah, who then refused to eat it. (I do much better with her if she doesn’t know what was being served.)
Frankly, I was thankful for an excuse not to eat the meat either, and fortunately, I had a little bit of leftover chicken in the fridge, so Hannah and I split that. I realize completely that it is all a mental issue ( really, what is the difference in chicken or beef and porcupine, other than the fact that it is a rodent. :^) ) – but I figure as long as I know that, I am okay. Last night, we got some deer meat – which now needs to be pressured into – you guessed it, BBQ sandwiches. :^)
Can someone please pull the clothes off the fence and fold them?
Up until last week, I had no clothesline. So all of our laundry was hung up over the stick fence in the back yard. It actually worked okay and was a lot faster than using clothespins. There were some hazards, like splinters in the underwear, but as long as you were careful, they could be found and tragedy avoided. Then, last week, my husband gave me a gift of love and put up my clothesline. It is great.
Yesterday, I did about 5 loads of clothes and my lines were full of clean clothes, flapping in the breeze. It was a beautiful sight. I need to buy more clothespins in CKY – I have some plastic ones that are quickly dying – probably due to the fact that they were cheap and can’t take the equatorial sun beating down on them. My neighbors no doubt wonder why I would waste good rope that could tied up a cow to hang my clothes on when I could just throw them over the fence or lay them on the ground to dry, like they do. White women are very needy! :^)
I couldn’t bring the bandage for you to wrap my leg because the cow ate it.
I heard that excuse for the first time last week, when I was doing wound care on a little girl with a sore on her leg. It struck me so funny – the African equivalent to “the dog ate my homework.” When I care for a bigger wound, I put medicine and gauze on the wound, and then wrap it with strips of cloth – like the old bandages from WW 1 and WW 2. Each patient gets 2 – so we can rotate and they can wash one and have the other in use. The system works great – except if there are cows wandering through the village – which there always are.
They are fairly destructive and will eat just about anything! Life here for medical things is just rough. Often I am told that a child’s medical carnet (a little booklet with a record of vaccines and medicines) cannot be produced (for my viewing pleasure)for a variety of reasons: my kid dropped it a. in the fire b. in the water c. on the road. Or, my kid peed on it (that is by far the most often heard excuse.) Or, I lost it.
I have been pleased to see that my villagers are quickly catching on to the fact that they MUST bring back the piece of paper I give them with a list of the medicines that they have received here, or I will not see their child again. I hear them telling each other to not lose it and bring it back – as I am treating other patients. Now, if I could just get the cows to cooperate!
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