October 2008 - Posts
This morning I woke up to a bowl of cinnamon apple porridge and instant coffee (I will certainly have to find a way to do drip, brewed coffee here!). Douda and one of the Salifous (two young men who I have grown close too. They are the ones that took me to play basketball, but they didn’t have basketball shoes, so Leon wouldn’t let them play.) arrived and we set out on our bikes to the field. Douda carried Salifou on the back of his bike and I struggled to follow behind. I haven’t ridden a bike in almost 5 if not 7 years. Plus I had to borrow Laura’s bike that was like a kid bike to my height. So, there were several laughs as I clumsily rode by on my awkwardly small bike, not to mention a white man riding a bicycle (which is very uncommon). We rode several kilometers to Douda’s village, stopping to say hi to family members and to announce that a white man was going to work in his field. Then we rode farther into the forest that eventually broke into a clearing covered in fields. Douda handed me a small handled hoe with a simple metal head on top. The style of the tool looked as if they haven’t changed in centuries of farming. I asked Laura about them having new tools that don’t force you to bend over and new crops but, 1) you can’t just give tools away (you can’t create a dependency on the missionary, plus you would have to give the same tool to everyone who has a field in the village because of their strong sense of community) and 2) the people are very cautious to the point of fear to try new things because if the new tool or crop fails… your family starves to death. To gamble on a new crop or tool would be to gamble with the lives of your family. Therefore, they do what they have always done for centuries with the tools that have provided in the past.
Douda, Salifou, and I set out to weeding the rows of millet that Daouda was growing. At first I didn’t see any reason for the weeds we were pulling and the, what looked like, “weeds” we left, but after a row of weeding I caught on. The weeds and the millet look almost identical, except the weeds have a maroonish tint at the base. Also, after a row or two, you start to see the millet rows and the order that eluded me at first. We weeded about 5 or 6 rows, killed a poisonous viper, and set out on our way.
I didn’t even see the serpent and almost grabbed it, but Salifou held my arm and said, “Serpent!” There in the weeds I was about to pull, was a smallish diamond patterned viper, coiled up and ready to strike. He was brown and black, with a white underbelly and a typical viper shaped broad head. We stared at him smelling the air with his forked black tongue, until Douda bashed its head in with the short handled hoe. For good measure, Salifou hit it a few more times, carried the limp body to the edge of the garden, and hit it again.
Douda proclaimed, “We are finish,” and we set off on…
{To Be Continued} Don’t you hate it when this happens! The story gets exciting; you’re sucked into it, and then come up short. Who does this!
Today was relaxing and restful. I spent most of the day reading, laboriously, through Segu. I never read fiction and this confirms why, but the cultural aspects of Segu are invaluable. It has explained so much, just in the short time I have been in Mali. Tomorrow I am going to experience Douda’s life. In the morning I’m setting off on a bicycle to Douda’s village to weed his garden for a good harvest. I’m sure to be tired.
Tom and I went through Psalm 37 today, especially verses 3-6 in regards to what Christians are to do and the direction they are to walk in. He has a simple, but deep way of explaining verses and life that leaves my mind dumbfounded and my mouth speechless. He will ask me some extremely simple question and my mind would race for the lofty theologically astute answer I would need for University and come up blank. Then, patiently but not understanding, he would say the answer is “prayer” or “studying God’s Word” or some ridiculously simple answer that would make all the sense in the world. After a week of these, I finally looked at him and said, “I’ve been in University to long!” He would shrug and ramble on about wanting to coach an American football peewee team. His deep simplicity carries over into every facet of his life, even in translation. It bothers him when other translations add things to the text “for clarification or understanding,” which turns out to cause bigger difficulties later on, especially when the Church matures and starts to do word studies or learn the Greek and Hebrew.
So as we were going through Psalms 37, my mind rested on verse 5, “Commit your way to the Lord; trust in Him, and He will act.” I passionately believe that it is the Lord’s will for me to reach the unreached tribes, starting with the Senoufo in Mali. So I commit my way to Him and He has opened doors for me beyond my wildest dreams. Many Christians are waiting for this idea of a call, and yet neglect ministry today. Daily serve God faithfully, walk with a vision bigger than yourself, and watch as God amazes you by providing open or closed doors. As John Mott would say to the Student Volunteer Movement, “link up your life to a great cause.” And I would add, “and give your life for that cause!”
This morning is an overcast "cooler" day, so Laura was able to use the oven and make walnut cinnamon muffins from scratch. Everything becomes harder here, like when you can use the oven and not be driven out of the kitchen by the overwhelming heat perpetuated by the hotter sunny days. Laura saw me observing her doings this morning and asked me to tell the wives to know how to cook most stuff from scratch like muffins, pasta, cookies, almost anything. Unless you are in the capital of Bamako, there are no instant meals here. Every item must be made from scratch, which takes 3 to 5 times as long to make a simple meal. Laura says that it will be a lot harder here if the wives are having to deal with language acquisition, the climate, longer time to do everything, and having to learn how to cook without pre-prepared stuff. If they can already learn how to cook from scratch, then that is one less difficulty to deal with when they get here. I know it will be hard, but I can't wait to live a simple life in the bush.
I am spending the morning with Tom and Mamado in the office, working on Genesis 24:50 - 25:1. SIL has provided some great tools to help in translation, such as software that keeps a translator organized. Tom and Do (what people call Mamado) bounce between Tom's exegesis of the original Hebrew or Greek, 2 other Senoufo dialect translations, French, and several English translations; comparing and contrasting according to the original Hebrew. Do tediously converts the other Senoufo translations to his tongue. Tom helps to make sure that they are sticking to the original Hebrew, because he is a literalist in translation, and helps to work through various theological issues that arise through the various ways to translate a Hebrew word. Once the verse is written out in Do's tongue, they recheck it with the original Hebrew, Bambara, 4 French and 4 English translations, and the 2 other Senoufo translations. Once the verse is how Do and Tom like it, according to meaning and the literalness from Hebrew, Tom types it out and creates interlinear connections for each word for quick reference later. In translation work, the more you can do now with each individual verse, the less you will have to do later. Like the interlinear word connections which makes a concordance easier to do at the end because it is already done or a cross reference for when the church matures enough to do word studies. A big principle in translation that I believe should be carried over to a lot in life is to plan and work now, with the end in mind. This is why a literal translation is important. It may not be of much benefit now for the national church, but when they mature and study the Bible themselves, they will start to ask why certain words were or were not translated certain ways. If the vision is to see a church mature to the point that they can feed themselves, then you have to translate now with that in mind, that one day nationals will be checking this translation with the original Hebrew or Greek and question why you did or did not stick with the original.
Do is a rare find because he knows French, he knows how to read and write, he knows Bambara, he is certainly intelligent, and he is a committed and growing Christian who knows the culture and the tongue in which he lives. More than likely, Justin and I will not have a Do. This is especially important because when you do a translation, you have to do a cultural analysis of the people. But when the Requadts had to flee Cote d'Iviore due to civil war, they lost 2-3 years of cultural analysis. So to do the cultural analysis again would take another 2ish years, unless you have a Do, which God provided for Tom. Without a cultural analysis of the culture and people and tongue of the people you are working with in translation, you could easily produce false teaching, because you could say one thing and they could understand it another. For example, you could tell them that God created the world, but they could apply their existing creation stories to that phrase and synchronize their animism with what the Bible teaches. So you have to know their creation stories and keep that in mind when you teach and translate so you do not miss-communicate the Word.You want the translation to be accurate to the meaning of the original and understandable or "is good to the ears" as Do would say.
In the mornings they translate verse by verse, but in the afternoons, after nap time, Do leads the kids Bible club while Tom prepares the verses for the next day by translating the Hebrew, and putting the 2 Senoufo languages below it, verse by verse. He also pre-works through Hebrew difficulties like Genesis 24 when Isaac is in the field. The Hebrew word that is used is the only time it is used and context clues do not describe what the word means.
Leon came and got me for basketball tonight. We played the usual 2 games which we were all exhausted by the end. I was schooled multiple times, but I briefly got to talk to Leon at the end. He is from Togo and studied English in France. He said he was a Christian, but I think this was only to please me, although he wasn't fasting for Ramadan, so I don't think he was person (at least not practicing). Either way I took the opportunity to invite him to church on Sunday. He said he would come, but again i think this was only to please me. We'll see if Leon shows up Sunday.
The book Tom is reading, while Laura diligently works on her jigsaw puzzle, started me thinking about what love is.
What is love... but the firm comittment of a man's word?
What is love... than the thought of growing old with your best friend, hand in hand?
What is love... but maintaining purity, for the sake of the other, to please God Almighty?
What is love... but a silent aimless walk just to be with each other?
What is love... but wearing cologne in hopes that she would notice?
What is love... but melting when she smiles at me and yet acting as if strong and unmoved?
What is love... but the thought of waking up next to her, showering her in kisses and holding her despite our messed up hair and bad breath?
What is love... but praying together; growing closer to God and to each other.
What is love... but her enduring patience with me when I forget the French vocabulary word that we just went over, in hopes that I can have another minute with her?
What is love... but to say "I do! For better or for worse! Till death do us part!"
Mondays are market day. The once secluded street, open and free to cars, is transformed into a bustling, busy, crowded path with odors and experiences, most of which are not pleasant to the senses. There are a variety of goods to buy from NFL jerseys, to dried little fish heads, to elegant cloth material, to dough grease balls that really don't resemble anything in taste except for old grease. We walked around the market, with Laura bartering and buying simple vegetables to use for lunch, and the children that always follow us carrying the bought goods. Actually it is custom for the women to carry stuff, unless there are children present, then the children carry the stuff.
For the most part, you just blend in as best you can... except when playing basketball with giants that have been playing religiously all their life. This was a kick in the face to the reality of my whiteness and my long absence from basketball. I pretty much held my own until the second game, dehydration (which sets in instantly here), and a very tall Senegal man that evened out the teams. The court is a rough and broken concrete slab that is very unforgiving to hands that try to touch it, leaving my palms bloodied and the men saying in broken English, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Of course my pride is threatened and on the line, so you shake the blood off your hand, adding to the red dirt, ask for the ball, drive to the basket... and get it blocked by a towering Senegal hand. The organizer of the game's name is Leon. A nice, but cocky fellow, since everything in life is going his way right now. He has a job at the gold mine, good looks, plays a strong game of basketball, actually has basketball shoes, has a woman cheering his name, kids looking on with admiration, and a white guy from the States to play basketball with. His English was very good, with a full vocabulary. He even took joy in showing the American a thing or two about how to play basketball. At the end of the second game, I was exhausted and 10 pounds lighter from sweating. So, inside I rejoiced when Leon called it a night. You always greet when you meet and when you leave, so I went over to greet Leon and to thank him for the game. He asked where i was living and I told him, "at the missionaries house down the road." He quickly shot back, "you are a Christian?" I hesitated and weighed the situation, but replied, "Yes. I am a Christian." We said our goodbyes and i agreed to come and play again tomorrow. Maybe I will grow tonight for the game tomorrow.
It has been several hours since the end of the game. I have had a shower, a meal, sat infront of a fan on high, and yet I still have not stopped dripping with sweat. Today was in the 90s with 80 to 100% humidity all day. Now Tom is reading another chapter from a book, Laura is working on another jigsaw puzzel, and I again am tired. I asked Tom and Laura about always being tired here and my many and long naps. They said that eventually you get used to it, but in coming out for just 17 days you can expect to always be tired; just don't let it keep you from ministry. Pace yourself, take naps, and be there with people when it counts, since relationships, not tasks are important.
What a time of praise! In at least 3 if not 5 different languages!
It is Sunday, so we made our way to the little church building with kids joining us along the way to hold our hands. At church, they had me pray for the offering, which this group gave generously out of sacrifice. Then there was a time of testimony where Mamado's Mum said that today she decided to follow Jesus! Mamado asked to pray that her heart would follow her words.This was followed by prayer request. Douda gave a report of giving. Mamado then gave a message, with Douda translating into Bambara (the trade language of Mali), over the Lord's Supper. To end the service, the 8 believers, the missionaries, and I took communion. What a sweet time to remember Christ's death and resurrection! His grace and mercy! His call to go! I was able to take communion with my Malian brothers!
After church there was a giant feast of rice, chopped up pig (bone and all), and eggplant that mixed altogether in a sort of greasy, soggy, rice mush. Then came the favorite time of dancing and singing and community. The dancing went on for hours, with me joining in occasionally. I was offered the communal shot of tea, that was more sugar than tea, creating a sticky syrup that hung to your ribs going down. Walking back to the house I had a kid on each hand until we got in sight of the house and raced them the rest of the way. I played more Frisbee until we were rained out and then more deep conversations with Tom.
The Requadts have several traditions that I feel I will sink into when I am out here. These traditions keep them American I feel. It speaks of "home" to them and ensures their roots. I say this only because I want to try and make a conscious decision to be a Malian as much as possible, but I feel as if being a true Malian is impossible for me, in which case I too will fall into traditions that keep me connected to America. These traditions aren't bad, just not Malian. On Saturday nights, they do pizza (homemade) and a movie. On most Sunday nights they do waffles. These traditions taste wonderful, but I'm not sure I want to have a reminder of America every week, but I don't know if I could truly live without a tradition that speaks of my upbringing. Is it possible for me to completely abandon all of my American-isms and turn completely Malian? I would love to say yes, but my gut tells me no. It tells me that I will need some reminder, some connection, something to distract me from the hardships that is Mali.
This morning Tom, Mamado. Douda, and I loaded up in Tom's 4 wheel drive and headed for the villages. A 4 wheel drive vehicle is essential for Mali during rainy season. The "roads" become little lakes and are impassable sometimes even with a 4 wheel drive vehicle.
Life seems simple in the villages. At night, everyone sits around in the courtyards and talks (mainly because that is the only entertainment they have). This is a huge opportunity for language study, relationship building, and interaction with people. While walking through the villages, we would always go to the chiefs first, to ask permission to take pictures in his village and look around. All of the chiefs were very generous and asked if I would come and live in their village. One chief even offered me a lot of free land to start building right then. Imagine being the chief of a village where a white family lives. What prestige to brag about, let alone everything the white man brings.
Mamado and the others were discussing where they would like to see the team go throughout the day. I understand that I will always be different than the Senoufo, but I wonder if there will come a day, after enough time has passed, where they would view the team as one of them, as family? If not, I feel destined to be caught in life without a place, for even now America doesn't feel like home and how can Mali be home if we are always the foreigners? Will I always be the foreigner, whether in the States or Mali, where my heart rests?
Plus, today I felt lonely again. After seeing Douda's village, we moved him and his wife to Mamado's house in the town that the Requadts live. Since they are the only Christians in the village, the fetish women are making life miserable for Douda's wife, so they are moving. But as we were moving them, I envied their gazes to one another, as if they had a language all to their own. I envied the playful touches that reminded me of Justin and Leah (my teammates) and longed to have that with someone. It seems like today relationships were flaunting themselves all around me. For example, I read this morning in Genesis where God provided a wife for Isaac supernaturally; in Segu (the book I am reading) the young boy is asking his teacher's daughter for a relationship; two young lovers walked past me on the trail holding hands and giggling (which is actually very uncommon for that sort of coed affection to be displayed in public); the birds are showing off in an attempt to attract a mate; and every day I watch Laura and Tom live in Mali, I am reminded of how I would need a wife to be able to do ministry here. Lord, you said that it is not good for man to be alone. You provided a wife for Isaac, Justin, and for Douda. Lord, please provide a wife for me.
More Posts