What's In A Name?

I was contemplating names the other day, and I realized that I go by many. I did have a nickname as a child – I won’t tell you what it was. :^) My mom still calls me by that occasionally. Of course, I have gone by Dawn as long as I can remember. :^) In 1992, I added the name “wife” to the list, though Jim does not generally use that when he needs me for something. :^) I am not sure I could respond well to “WIFE – come here!” In 1995, I added the name Mommy – which morphed into Mom and now occasionally (by the boys) Mere –which is the French version. Upon entering Guinea, “Madame Anderson” was added as the formal, respectful French name for a married woman. As I entered the village, I acquired 3 new names. I am referred to by the nationals as either “doctor” or “Gulun Nga” (twin mom) or Madame. Recently, since the boys are getting taller than me – they refer to me as gbo-nga (the big kids mom ) as they have nicknamed the boys “gbo.” (In Yalunka culture, you are referred to as the mom of your first born – kind of like saying – oh, you are so and so’s mom.)



Over the radio by my teammates, I am referred to as GKB (formerly as Niaya) Dawn to distinguish me from Soulemania Dawn (Cluckie). And my teammates kids call me “Aunt Dawn.” Of course, this summer, when my “official” blood niece called me Aunt Dawn for the first time, it was an incredibly sweet sound and will still get the child just about anything she wants!



Three years ago, I also added “n to” (pronounced with a long “o” sound) to my names, which means “my namesake” and my little namesake loves to call to me as she runs up for me to hold her. Her mom told me the other day that she tells everyone that her “to” moved to GKB.



One other name that I love is when I am called “mom” or “mommy” by our 60ish year old chauffer, Mr. Bah. He refers to all of the team women that way as a sign of respect and it is very sweet. When I call him, he answers with “yes, Mom” and it brings a smile to my face. And then a few weeks ago, our mason, Frigi, whom we have work with for almost 2 years and is one of my favorite Guineans, started calling me “n na” – my mom. He said I have become his mom now. It was very sweet as well.



My contemplating left me very thankful that I have avenues into each of these “segments” of life that have bestowed different names on me. Occasionally, on a bad day, though, you might find me hiding in response to one of those names being called out loud – especially if it is the 10th or 12th time I have been called in a very short time. But generally, I love them all.

Well it is that time of year again. . . Christmas and New Years parties and Female Circumcision?

Unfortunately, in the part of the world where we live, those all seem to go together. Since this is read by many people of various ages and walks of life, I will spare you the details of the whole event, which are gruesome, in my opinion. Suffice it to say that female circumcision is widely practiced here, even though declared illegal by the government.

Much of my understanding of the process has brought a great amount of frustration and anger. I have a limited knowledge of the beginnings of the tradition, except that is was started to prevent women from having the desire to cheat on their husbands. Of course, that was many years ago and it has evolved into a “coming of age” type of ceremony. It is practiced by women on girls between 11 and 14. (As a side note, boys are circumcised at the same age as a passage into manhood.) As I stated, I felt only anger about the “tradition”, which leads to a lot of complication in childbirth, both for mom and baby.

In the old village, most people knew how we “white” people felt about the whole thing – and usually avoid talking about it with me – though I did have a few close women friends who would discuss it. I, of course, knew the subject would come up in the new village, and wondered how best to approach it. I hate the practice, but also realize that I am a guest in this country and need to conduct myself in that manner. Two days ago, I heard the dancing and the partying and the gun shots that signify something big is happening in the village and I wondered if it was that time of year. Indeed, Monday morning, I saw numerous women walking back and forth on the path behind our house and I knew what was happening.

My opportunity came just a little while later as I chatted with some of my new friends. I started by asking what was going on and went on to explain that “white doctors” and many African women from other countries do not believe in the practice because it can lead to problems with childbirth (also due to a host of other reasons that I could never begin to explain in another language.) They just smiled, and said they had heard that on the radio as well. They laughed and said, yes, those girls are in pain now, because it hurts so much. That made me mad. Why would you laugh about that? If you had been subjected to that as a girl (the girls have no idea what is going to happen to them), why would you do the same thing to your daughter?

While I feel anger about the whole thing, I also am drawn to watching the whole scene (not the actual ceremony but the events surrounding it). I suppose it is a bit of a morbid fascination, like rubber-necking at a car accident. I watch the women dancing and singing and celebrating, and I realize that they have no clue about the complications that can follow. They are simply celebrating woman hood. Secretly, there have been times when I wished a lot of girls would have immediate complications, so I could point out exactly why I hate the practice (not because I want the girls to be hurt, of course.) Saying that it complicates childbirth is just too vague and with consequences too far away – especially in a fatalistic society where everything that happens is just chance. They were even so pleased about the whole event that they brought the “practitioners” who perform the ceremony to meet me.

And last year, I was shown another side, when one of my best friends in the old village had her daughter circumcised (one of Hannah’s friends). She was terrified for her daughter but saw no alternative if her daughter wanted to get married some day. It is the only way they know for a girl to become a woman in this society.

And so, on I go, educating when I can, and praying for understanding for the women and praying even more for the little girls. Maybe, just maybe, in my lifetime, there will be another way for the women to feel that their daughters can become women.

One Man's Trash

One thing that amazes me here in Africa is that very little gets wasted. That is a great thing because waste is one thing that nearly makes me insane in the US. We can hardly stand to know how much grocery stores and restaurants throw away, as we watch people go hungry here in the village. So that is one blessing here in Guinea. I rarely throw food away. Even when I cook chickens, people want the broth and bones to use for their rice and sauce. Of course, it took me a little while to feel comfortable offering that to people – but they love it and the broth contains great nutrients for their kids.

But even beyond food, many things we would dispose of in the US gets passed right out my back door. Almost everything gets snatched up. Cardboard boxes – you bet. Batteries that you think are too dead to use – I have many takers. My national friends tell me that they don’t consider a battery dead until “water” is leaking out. 2 -3 inch pieces of glass that we cut to make the windows fit – they are destined to be glass for picture frames. Tin cans – play things and “cooking pots” for little kids. Glass jars – women love them to put oil and salt in. Plastic jugs become new water bottles. Old bike tires – the tube can be cut into strips for tying things and the outside becomes a “car” for a little boy to roll down a path. Old clothes – hand them out. Someone will use them. Big plastic bags become rain slickers for kids or mattress protectors from bed wetters. Fuzzy toilet lid cover – voila – a new hat. The village doctor loves the kid’s old school papers to wrap medicine in. And when you buy bread o the street, it comes wrapped in torn pieces of cement bags.

OF course, there is a limit. Old, used medical gloves become a new balloon. I really try to stop that but the kids break the locks on the trash pits and dig them out to play with them. The concept of germs is just not happening. Even old pregnancy tests become play things – I am sure it puzzles them why the white woman gets really FUSSY when she sees those in their hands and takes away their newly acquired toys!

I am sure we are a mystery to the villagers – giving away perfectly good tins and jars and batteries. But in the end, everyone is happy and we have no landfills here. It is recycling at this best!

If you're going to the bank, take a trunk full of patience. . . .

Our team does not have a business manager, so each of us take turns going to CKY to accomplish the business that needs to be done. One of our tasks this time in CKY as to sign up to be signatories at the bank. We need a bank account to make wire transfers from the US so we can have money here in country. We recently decided to open an account at a new bank, as we were fairly unimpressed by the service at the other one. The whole process was started in October by our teammate, Jeremy, who made 8 trips to the bank to set up the account, and then one more to pick up money (where he waited for 5 hours). Keep in mind that each of the first 8 trips had to be made to the downtown bank, which takes an hour to get to – so each trip takes up 2 hours of time, without counting time even entering the bank for any business to be accomplished. When you enter the downtown bank, there are literally hundreds of people waiting in many lines. It is a sight to behold.

So, off we went. The first trip went fairly smoothly. We were asked to wait in the wrong line at first, but quickly discovered the mistake. Then we finally found the woman we were looking for – a Guinean woman who had spent 11 years in Houston studying and working. She was awesome (truthfully, we began losing sympathy for Jeremy since we knew he had been able to work through her – though the sympathy quickly returned on subsequent trips.) So, on the first trip, we were able to officially turn in our signatures so that we could have access to the money and business at the bank. Unfortunately, it takes 24 hours for us to become official, so we needed to return the next day to request that our money be transferred from US dollars to Guinean Francs. They said that the cash would be available that afternoon for us after making the request. We also needed to pick up checks for the account.

No problem, we said, we will be back tomorrow. So, the next morning, off we went for the second trip to the bank. As we got downtown, we called our contact to let her know we were almost there. She was not at the bank yet, but said she would arrive within an hour and would call us. After about 1 ½ hours, we called her. No, she said, don’t come yet because the man who has our checks was alone at his post and could not leave to get them – wait a little while. No problem, we said, and finished up some shopping. An hour later, we called again – no, still not ready – call soon. So we grabbed some lunch on the street and called again to say we were coming. No problem, she said. We arrived to find that she had left for lunch but had left our stuff with another woman. So, we signed a paper requesting that we be able to make transfer requests by email, and then picked up the checks and then officially requested that the money be transferred to our franc account.

No problem, they said. But, unfortunately, the system is down so the money request will not go through today. Come back tomorrow.

Well, we needed to take Brad down to do an early check in at the airline, so we said, sure, we will come tomorrow. What do we need to bring? Just your ID and that transfer slip you just filled out – and go to register #6. No problem, I said.

So, for the third day in a row, I headed back downtown – this time taking Brad and the boys as bodyguards. :^) (Jim needed to do some work at the house). We arrived at the bank, waited in line at register #6 for while and finally it was our turn. Communicating in French through bullet proof glass in a lobby filled with hundreds of people is a bit of a challenge – I must warn you if you are ever forced into that situation. Here is what our conversation went like:

So, can I have my money????

Well, no, but thank you for asking. It would seem that the money IS here but not officially authorized, so go and see a man on the second floor. And, by the way, why did you come to register #6, this is the wrong place….

So, off we went to the second floor, but alas, the person we were to ask for was not in. So, I called my contact upstairs for help. Finally we got to the right place and was told that I could withdraw the money – but I needed my checkbook – which I did not bring with me because I was told I did not need it. Sorry – no money for you today!! However, if we wanted to go to the branch closer to our house, we could get the checks from home and go and try there.

Okay, so off we went. Honestly, we were little nervous about withdrawing large sums of money at the branch close to our house because many people know where we live and it seems fairly obvious when you stagger out of the bank with backpacks full of money what you are doing and it seems like it makes you a little bit of a target for robbery. But, we were left with no choice. So, we returned home and picked up the checks and Brad, Kaleb and I took off for the bank. We arrived to find a lobby full of people – most looked comatose, like they had been there for a while. We finally got help to fill out the check and then took a number. We were number 820. The were serving number 706 – and in the 25 minutes that we took to figure out how to write a check, they had served 2 people. Not a good sign!!!

So, we settle in to make ourselves comfortable. Brad even had a quick snooze. One hour passed, and we were approaching two hours. I think we were around customer number 711 by this point. I called my contact downtown and said, Listen, I am happy to wait my turn (actually that was kind of a lie, but I was trying…) but I don’t want to wait for 3, 4,or 5 hours to get to the counter and be told that there was no more money (it has happened to a fellow missionary) so is there someone you can check with to make sure that the money is here? So she asked to talk with a bank employee, who then passed the phone off to another bank employee. I was assured that the money would be there. And then the woman disappeared with my phone. Finally, they closed the big metal doors –locking in those who had already arrived and barring more customers from coming in as the bank was closing (no doubt a fire hazard, but no one seemed concerned.)

Unbeknownst to me, Jim started calling my cell phone and it was being answered by the bank employee, who denied knowing me (since she did not receive the phone from me, she thought it was a bank phone.) He began to panic, thinking that I had lost my phone or had been robbed, so he dropped everything he was doing and rushed to the bank, only to find it locked down. Eventually, he was directed to the back entrance, where he found Brad, Kaleb, and I half comatose from waiting………. I am pretty sure that shaved about 5 years off his life. :^( So we sent Brad and Kaleb home and Jim settled in to wait with me. I was getting a little nervous as we needed to get Brad to the airport, but I was working on NOT getting worked up. After about 2 ½ hours, our downtown contact called to see if we had gotten the money. No, I reported, there were still around 30 people ahead of us (we were only on number 718 but a lot of people had given up and left (or perhaps they were dead of boredom and not answering when their number was called!) They were serving approximately 5 people an hour, so it was going to be a while. She must have made a phone call, because we suddenly got service and loaded up our backpacks and were out the door in 10 minutes – with all of the money and the exact denominations we had asked for. Amazing!!!

I spent most of those 3 days muttering 2 things under my breath

1. How do missionaries survive here in CKY???

2. We need a business manager (which, by the way, we have a family approved and raising support!!!!).

Oh, Africa!

School Canceled for a Python Hunt?

You know, homeschooling in West Africa, we just don’t get snow days or fog delays. School rarely gets cancelled. But last Wednesday, we had a exception. Our friend, Mordica, came to tell us that there was a python caught in a fish trap at a farm. His question was two-fold: Did the boys want the skull (they had asked about one before) and could they come and kill it with their gun? Apparently, people had tried to kill it but every time they got near it, the python would raise its head and hiss loudly, so no one was willing to get close to it with a cutlass. The kids looked at me with those big eyes, filled with longing for an adventure (and any excuse to get out of school.) I was poised to say “no”, and then I thought, “Really, what is the fun of living in West Africa if you can’t enjoy the exotic moments sometimes?” So, off Jim and Brad went, with the boys and Hannah in tow – Kaleb with his .22 slung over his shoulder.

Apparently, they drove a rather long way on a path (the farther from my house the better, I say) and then walked to a river where there was a wooden fence down in the water and a net to trap fish. As they waded across the top of the fence and approached, the python raise up out of the water at them. Kaleb shot it in the head and then they freed it from the net and returned home. The whole event took several hours. As I waited at home, I was trying to figure out when to start worrying about them and wondered how my grandmother must have felt as she watched my grandpa go off to hunt elephants and lions and probably didn’t hear from him for days. I decided I had nothing to compare it too.

Finally, the triumphant hunters returned, with an 8 foot 2 inch python in tow. According to Mordica, that is just a baby and the mom is out there somewhere. A friend from the village came and helped skin it and they nailed the skin to dry on a board.

In the end, after hearing the story, I was more worried about the water they were wading in and what parasites might be in there than I was about the snake.

So, I thought, that would make an interesting blog posting. Then, last night, Kaleb and Jim went off on a mini-hunt behind our house. Not too long after they left, we heard 2 shots with the .22. I thought perhaps they had killed a pigeon or a bush fowl to share with an old lady in the village. They returned and Jim called me out on the porch. Kaleb, with a big smile, tossed the carcass of a 6 foot python in front of me. It had gotten itself trapped in a fish net in the river behind our house. In chatting with our friends today, they gave me some good news and some bad news. The good news was that people had seen a big snake out in the river and were afraid to go and wash their clothes there. So, Kaleb assisted in removing that fear (if that was the snake they had seen.) The bad news was that there are apparently a LOT of pythons in the area. NICE……….. I am a little worried about our cats. Perhaps to trap them, I should hang fish nets around our house. . . as opposed to wearing fish net stockings, which would be most uncomfortable in the African heat. :^) Never a dull moment………..

Thankful

The other evening, I was contemplating the things I was MOST thankful for at that moment. There are many things, obviously, but here are the things that came to mind yesterday:

1. I am thankful for indoor plumbing. We now have a toilet in the house – it has to be flushed with a bucket, but it works SO much better than the hole in the back yard surrounded by VERY tall grass and insects and ??????

2. A shower in the house – before we started using the shower, we were bathing in the back yard – either at dusk, with a big chance of being seen – with those very WHITE bodies, or after dark, when you were possibly washing beside snaky kinds of creatures.

3. I am thankful for a lady in town who is willing to wash our clothes by hand. I had to do a few things the other day and about died, I was so tired (shows how wimpy I am.) I am hanging some things on a clothes line, but most are hung of the stick fence on our backyard. We do have to be careful when putting on the clothes and watch for splinters (we are vigilant with those underwear!)

4. I am thankful for Brad, who seems to be able to tackle just about any job we give him – and does it well and without complaining. He has been a great addition to our family and we are thinking about keeping him forever. It has been fun to see his personality emerge the more he gets used to us (I hope he can say the same thing about us???)

5. I am thankful for my husband – who works tirelessly every day. The man just won’t stop. He is so great about thanking me for the work and so thankful to have us all together up there. He goes the extra mile and I am so proud of him.

6. I am thankful for my kids, who are doing a great job of adapting to a less than ideal school and living situation. They are troopers who are working hard to go with the flow in the midst of political unrest and the uncertainty that it brings.

7. Lastly, that day, I was thankful for peanuts. Peanuts, you ask? Yes, I have been receiving pans of peanuts as a “welcome to the community” gift. It is so fun to get to know people and I am touched by the gifts (even though occasionally I feel less thankful than I should since they keep coming and coming an coming.

The Blessing of Uncertainty

I must start by saying that I am generally a very organized person who likes to have things in a semblance of control in my life. For the most part, I confess, that I operate under the false sense that I have some control over things and I kind of like it that way, if we are being honest. I enjoy it when my life, my house, and my ministry are moving along at a smooth, even pace.

But, there have been significant times in my life, like when we were waiting on visas, or when there is unrest in the country or numerous other times, when I am hit squarely in the face, AGAIN, and reminded that I truly do NOT have control over life and that my only option is to rest in the hands of the One who does have control. I know this happens in many situations, not just mine. A dear friend of mine was just diagnosed with breast cancer. I know other people who have unexpectedly lost loved ones or get a bad diagnosis, and all of those things can make us feel like life is crashing down around me.

Over the last few weeks, as we have watched the situation here with some unease and a small, sick feeling in the pit of our stomachs, I have been reminded over and over again by the Lord that there are blessings to be gained in the midst of uncertain times. I wanted to share a few of them.

First, I think it does me good to remember that, indeed, I am NOT in control. Of course, I say with my mouth that I know that, but sometimes I act like I am the one in control. It is always good when the Lord humbles me and reminds me that He alone holds our future and our family in the palm of His hand.

The second benefit is that it tends to drive me to my knees in prayer. Daily, sometimes hourly – I am driven before God to beg for His intervention in the situation and for His protection and for an overwhelming sense of His peace! Interestingly, our lesson yesterday, in our missionary ladies Bible study, was about the time when Daniel faced the lion’s den. We are studying with Beth Moore and it could not have been better timed. She shared how in times of crisis, we can react in one of 3 ways – we can panic, we can be paralyzed, or we can pray. It was a good reminder that I need to choose praying always, because that is the only choice with a good outcome.

Another reminder she gave us was to pray with thanksgiving. And so that is what we have been trying to do. And it was great, because I had already come to the point where I could say, “Thank you God, even for uncertain times, because it moves me closer to you!” So, I know beyond the shadow of a doubt, that though I do NOT like those times of unease and stress, God is using them to make me into the person He wants me to be.