Sunday, October 25, 2009

Gorko Walla, Lefi Walla





Marriage Proposal

Two weeks ago I learned that I’m worth over 300 cows. While visiting our homestay compound, our homestay dad decided that he should take it upon himself to marry me off. Apparently he has talked to the son of the old woman that lives behind his house and convinced him to marry me. The first time this was brought up the man wouldn’t even look at me, dad did all of the negotiating. Our homestay mom and my supervisor, Melissa, gently reminded the man that I had good skin, long hair and that I had a really good face, this raised the price. Melissa asked him if he followed the Son and he replied that he would if she gave him me, his mother also said that she would follow if she gave me to him. Then Melissa set the price, she told him that she would need at least 300 cows for a finder’s fee and that my father would also need cows, goats, sheep and cash. Needless to say the man didn’t have any cows, let alone 300 so the deal was off. I thought that our homestay dad had arranged everything by himself, but the other man seemed to be quite supportive of the plan and even began talking to Melissa about me himself. Niether Lindsay or I had ever seen this man before last week, or at least as far as we can remember, but we do know is mom quite well. His mom is a demanding old man with only four bright orange teeth and a great big smile. It’s hard enough to understand the language when we don’t know it, but even harder when the person who is talking barely has any teeth. The next time Lindsay and I visited our homestay compound by ourselves and dad brought it back up again. Now they have begun calling him “gorko Say-u-doh” which translates into “Krissy’s man.” It’s mildly amusing, but completely embarrassing. I’ve adopted the statement “gorko walla, lafi walla” which literally translates “no man, no problem.” I’m sure my philosophy on that will change, but as for now it’s kept me out of trouble. The man did stay and listen to all of the stories we shared that day and told us he understood them and enjoyed them, so I guess that’s a plus. We did however meet this really attractive African doctor the next day when we took this kid to get stitches and I told Melissa that if he asked me to marry him I would lower the asking price to 100 cows. We all had a good laugh, but he didn’t ask. I don’t know why not.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to marry a bush African. People here don’t usually marry for love. Women rarely refuse a marriage offer, even to be the third or fourth wife. I can’t imagine my husband dating other women and marrying other women while I was home taking care of the kids. Women do a majority of the household labor. They pound the food, cook the food, feed the kids, have the children, clean the compound, wash the clothes (by HAND), go to the well, carry the water, and basically everything else. The only thing the men do is plant and harvest and the women help with that too. There is just so much expected out of a wife. I really don’t think I could physically handle it. This week I went to the well and helped pull up five buckets of water (really they aren’t buckets, they are more like small rubber tarps tied to a ring of fabric and rope but buckets are easier to say) and I pulled two all by myself and now I have a pretty good sized blister that had already popped before I noticed it was there and it hurts. I can only pound for a little while before I get blisters from that too. I’m sure after a while I would get calluses and I would get stronger and it would get a bit easier, but I already get depressed because I’m dirty all the time. I don’t think I would ever get to feel pretty. Not to mention other wifely duties that I’m sure are not designed to meet her needs, but his. I wonder if men ever tell their wives that they are pretty or that they appreciate them. Apollos told us that Fulani don’t kiss. I guess I never even thought about that before. They have no need for it and it never crossed their minds to do such a thing. I can’t imagine marrying a man and never being able to kiss him. It’s really sad because I dearly love to kiss. I can’t imagine a world without kissing and romance in general. I bet these women have never heard fairly tales of handsome princes coming to save the damsel in distress. But then again, maybe I’ve heard too many of them. It seems to work for them. They laugh and joke and smile just like I do. I guess it’s just different, not better, not worse….just different.

Homestay Compound

There’s been a lot of excitement at our homestay compound lately. Hajia, one of our homestay moms, has officially claimed the Son as her S*vior. Each time we go to her compound she gathers everyone around to come sit and listen to the stories. We’ve been averaging around 25 people (including children) each time. Hajia’s excitement has been overflowing to everyone else. We’ve been able to share six different stories and every time a new person arrives Hajia makes sure we start from story one and catch them up on everything before moving on. Hajia has heard the first story enough that she has it completely memorized. Earlier that week Hajia’s sister was also there and she was so excited at the prospect of hearing stories that she literally began to jump up and down. She lives quite a ways from us, so Melissa copied off some tapes of the stories and sent them with her so she could listen to the whenever she wanted. The only requirement for the tape was that she had to share with at least two other people after she listened to them. I can see Dad working all over the place in this village.

My Birthday

Well, last weekend was my birthday …it was also our first full weekend without electricity at Melissa’s. We go without electricity everyday during the week and we really look forward to it on the weekends. Last weekend, however, was a bummer in regards to electricity. The power usually goes in and out, but this was the first time it went out and stayed out for a while since we’ve been here. We came in on Friday night so I could my entire birthday at Melissa’s (my birthday was on Saturday) and the power was already out. We waited and waited for it to come back on, but it didn’t. That night we all pulled our mattresses and couch cushions into the living room to sleep because there was a slight breeze coming from the door and the window in there. I awoke the next morning to a lovely birthday surprise…SNOW!!! That’s right, there was snow in Africa for my birthday. Since the power had been off for quite a while the freezer had begun to defrost and Melissa had pulled a big chunk of “snow” out and proceeded to break it apart and throw it on us as we slept in the living room floor dying of heat. It was a wonderful beginning to the 22nd year of my life…snow in Africa. We had biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast. Linds and the other girls had decorated my place at the table with confetti and balloons. It was super special. Then we got dressed and headed into Maradi to use the internet and go to the pool. The internet wasn’t working so I had a minor breakdown and cried. Melissa and Linds felt really bad, but it had nothing to do with them, so they let me open up two of my birthday presents in the car. They were gifts that my mom had sent from home…two pickles in a pouch and some Reese’s peanut butter cups. My mother truly does love me. It brightened my day. We then hopped back in the car and went to lunch at a different place hoping that their internet might work. In the car, Lindsay and Lacey made ridiculous jokes to make me smile. We got to the place for lunch and their internet was horrible too. I was able to look at three different pages and send two emails to my advisor and we were there over two hours, but at least I got to do that. I would have posted a blog then, but blogger wouldn’t even come up at all. But anyways, from there we went to the pool and I had a pool party for my birthday. It was ridiculously hot, but fun. We are now in what they call the mini-hot season and the temperature gets up over 120 degrees some days. Most days we don’t look at the thermometer at all because it just makes it feel worse. As I sit here and write this at Melissa’s house, it’s 95.8 degrees, but the fans are on so I’m not even sweating. Speaking of Melissa’s house…so far this weekend the water has been out. We just came in this morning, but we don’t have any running water and we may have to go to the well if the water doesn’t come back on soon. Oh the joys of West Africa. I will never again take for granted running water and electricity. So, back to my birthday! The pool was a lot of fun. That evening we went back to Melissa’s and she made steak, baked potatoes and Italian noodles… all by flash light. I had a lovely rotic (romantic without the man) birthday dinner by candle light. That night we slept on Melissa’s porch because the house was too hot. We didn’t have power all day Sunday either and everything in Melissa’s fridge and freeze had thawed and some stuff had already begun to spoil. The power finally came back on around 8:30pm on Sunday night and Melissa hurried and cooked up all of the ras meat that had thawed but was still cold. We stayed in at Melissa’s on Monday this week too because we needed the rest and Linds and I needed to work on our Ethnographies. We weren’t able to during the weekend because our laptops needed electricity. Monday was restful and lovely.

This Week

Since we had a rather late start this week has flown by. We’ve been able to continue sharing our stories with the different compounds each day. Hajia’s compound is still as excited as ever. The chief has been gone a lot the past few weeks doing his chiefly duties in Maradi, so we haven’t seen him much. We are a bit concerned about him though. His kids have loved our stories and they ask to hear them often, but when the chief comes around his kids tell us not to share the stories because dad says it’s bad. We’ve questioned the kids about it, but they won’t give us any details, only that it’s bad when dad comes around. The chief claims to be a follower and we don’t have any idea why he would say such a thing. We’ve been yarping about a way to bring this up with the chief in a culturally appropriate manor and we’ve also been talking to our supervisor about it. Please keep it in your yarps too.

Harvest Time

Well, it’s officially harvest time in the L.O.K (our village). The last few weeks have been filled with harvesting millet, beans, corn, peanuts and sorghum. It’s an exciting time to be out in the village. There is always work to be done and the scenery changes every day. One day Linds and I went out to take some pictures and ended up helping pick peanuts. I never realized what a peanut plant looks like until I a few weeks ago. The first time I ate a freshly picked peanut I was surprised that it wasn’t hard like the peanuts we eat out of a jar, but then Linds mentioned that all the peanuts we eat in the States are roasted in some way, shape or form. Fresh peanuts actually have a texture that is close to that of beans. Oh the things you learn in West Africa. I had also never seen women actually use the wind to separate the seed from the chaff until. The story of separating the wheat from the chaff from the Word has never been so real before. I made sure to take lots of pictures of it because I thought my dad would enjoy them back home. The Word comes to life in West Africa. Oh and I also never realized that you could eat field corn. Being from Nebraska, I grew up eating corn on the cob and I loved every second of it but we always ate sweet corn, never field corn. Field corn was for feed only. Here the only have field corn, so that’s what everyone eats. Also, they don’t usually boil it like we do back home, but they roast it over the fire and push the kernels off with their fingers and just pop it into their mouth. Only little children eat the corn off of the cob with their mouths. It’s actually pretty good. We’ve also discovered that you can pop millet similar to the way you pop popcorn. It doesn’t make fluffy white bite size pieces, but it does expand and tastes pretty good…especially for millet. I never would have thought in a million years that I would actually enjoy eating millet, but I do if it’s roasted like popcorn.

Marine Ball

One of the perks of being in West Africa this time of year is the Marine Ball. I guess the birthday of the Marines is November 10th, so they hold a ball every year in honor of their birthday. This year Linds and I have chosen to go. I’m really excited. I guess all of the Marines in the country will be there…all nine of them. Melissa and Rachel will be going with us to the ball too. It’s been a really long time since we’ve been able to dress up and look cute and I can’t wait! Since we didn’t happen to pack any ball appropriate dresses on our way over here we get to have them made here. We were able to pick out fabric two weeks ago during our stay in Maradi and now the tailor is in the process of making them. My fabric has this bright blue, lime green, black and white firework-ish pattern all over it. It’s going to be a floor length strapless dress with a black satin sash. My mom also sent my bright blue high heels to go with it. I can’t wait!!! Plus, how many people ever get to go to a Marine Ball in West Africa? (And Marines are extremely attractive in their uniforms).

Food in the Bush

We’ve been getting a little more creative when it comes to meals in the bush. Lindsay and I have discovered how to make corn bread with tuna cans and a make shift Dutch oven. We’ve also been even braver with the can meats. Just a few days ago, we had fried spam and eggs for breakfast. It’s really not that bad. We’ve also been able to make the best salmon patties ever out of a pouch of salmon, one egg, some milk powder, stale Pringles and a little bit of oil. We’ve also discovered tons of different uses for laughing cow cheese and pepperoni. I really enjoy trying new things for dinner but I’m really scared that one of these days it’s going to turn out horrible, but so far so good. Oh and for my birthday my mom sent me Macaroni Grill in a box. It’s similar to the same idea as hamburger helper. It was a nice change of pace to eat Macaroni Grill in the bush of Africa. Mom also sent homemade salsa and a small box of Velveeta cheese so we had nachos in the bush last week too. I lost a bit of weight during homestay, but since then I’ve been able to gain a little bit of it back and for the past two months I’ve been able to maintain my weight. My body has finally adjusted to Africa and I’ve been able to adjust my diet to my body. I’m healthy and happy now. Please continue to keep our health in your yarps though because a lot of people are getting sick this time of year and we are realizing how short of a time we have left, we don’t want to be sick for the rest of it.

More of My Heart

The past month has been hard as always, but it’s easier than it was. The “wall” part of culture shock is gone for the time being and now it’s just the struggles of day to day living. I’m not sure how much I’ve mentioned in the past about the storying we are able to do with an MP3 player, but we’ve been able to download a series of 34 stories in Fulfulde from creation to the return of the Son and also so some indigenous pr*ise music in Fulfulde. Melissa also gave us some battery powered speakers so we can share the stories with large groups of people. Our days consist of going from compound to compound sharing the stories and music and then asking if they understand and if they have any questions. We are around story six in most compounds and it’s about Abraham and his sons. This is a big place for division among followers and Muslims. So, please yarp about this. Since we’ve began going from compound to compound we’ve been able to establish a little bit of a routine. We go to Hajia’s on Mondays and Wednesdays, we also go to the old woman behind Hajia’s on Wednesday, Sambo’s on Tuesday, and on Thursday we go to Adamo’s. We leave Friday open for the chief’s and anyone else’s that we missed throughout the week. With our schedule has come a sense of accomplishment that was much needed. I now feel like we are accomplishing significant things each day. It’s really helped me find purpose in being here and has helped me to stay. Currently I’m saddened by the thought of leaving and I never thought that day would come. Don’t get me wrong, I love home, but I love things here too.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Sweet Bouki's and "Swimming"





Well the past three weeks have been pretty busy. I’m sorry I’m not more faithful about keeping up with my blog. It’s been a really rough few weeks, but it’s been good nonetheless. I have so much I’d like to share with you all, but I’m just going to try to hit the high points to give you a little deeper glimpse into our lives here.


Bouki’s
Here is a quick overview of what a bouki is. A bouki is the ceremony where they name a new born baby. The bouki usually takes place a week after the baby is born unless they have to wait for family to travel from long distances. Preparation for the bouki starts days in advance. Close friends and relatives help by preparing extra food. The morning of the bouki several men will go around announcing the birth of the child and that there will be a bouki that day, they also ask for money. These men ac t function like our daily newspaper by getting the word out. Then people come and give gifts to the family and a religious leader names the child and a sheep is slaughtered. The child’s head is shaved as a covenant that the child will follow the road of its grandfather and milk is added to the water used for shaving because the Fulani are “cow people.” Then the meat from the sheep is given away to the people in attendance and everyone celebrates.


Jemma’s Bouki
Three weeks ago Thursday was the bouki for Jemma’s baby. The night before had been a hot night so we had set up our cots and mosquito nets up outside. We often sleep outside, but this night had a few extra surprises for us. Since the bouki was going to happen the next day there was a lot of activity that evening. Linds and I had our nightly ashia with the kids like normal and this time we shared some bubble gum too. For the most part this went really well, but one boy named Ibram decided to drive me crazy. Ibram is 15 years old and knows what to do with gum but for some reason he decided to take his gum out of his mouth and proceeded to stick the gum to my arm. I, however, was not impressed with his decision. I was very upset and gave him a piece of my mind, half in Fulfulde and half in English. Ibram then proceeded to mock me and repeat what I said. Then he told Lindsay that she was good and that Say-u-doh (ME!!!) was bad. I had just about had it. He finally left and a little later he came back and asked for some tea and I told him no. Then later he came back and asked to borrow our tea pot. Linds told him that he could and it put me over the edge. I just went and sat in our hut. I had officially hit a huge wall of culture shock. I lost focus on why I was even in the country. Then people started coming to our hut check on me because the Fulani don’t understand or see a need for alone time. So, I left. I quickly realized that I was in the bush of Africa and had absolutely no place to go and it was dark so that meant I couldn’t even go sit in a millet field because I wouldn’t be able to find my way back, so I went to the squatty. That’s right; I went and cried my eyes out in our bathroom area. Dad and I had a long talk before I was ready to come out, but after crying and yarping for over two hours I finally emerged from the squatty. I came back and found Lindsay had already set all of our stuff up and was in bed. She had even set out my malaria medication and had made my favorite flavored water for me. Then I crawled into bed and talked to Linds for a while. We would have fallen asleep at a decent hour, but Ibram and all of his little boy friends had set up a little ashia party of their own about 15ft from our beds and they were making quite a racket. They had never done this before, but since the bouki was then next morning I guess all the boys were able to stay at our compound extra late. Linds and I were up really late talking since we couldn’t sleep.

The morning of the bouki I had woken up around 6:15am and decided that it was too early after our late night so I rolled back over and fell back to sleep. About an hour later a man with a megaphone came strolling into our compound announcing the bouki. I about died! He came into our compound and made a beeline straight for my bed. Now let me add a few details to this embarrassing moment, we always sleep in our skirts out of respect for the culture, but when I sleep I move a lot and my skirt gets all tangled and it rides up. This usually isn’t a problem because I am covered by my sheet and when I wake up I can fix my skirt before climbing out of bed. However, this morning I was in a rush because the megaphone man was making his way towards me. I couldn’t get my skirt fixed fast enough so I jump out of bed with my sheet still around me and stumble into our hut which was thankfully very close. By this point Lindsay is cracking up at my desperate attempt to get away, she had woken up before me and was fully clothed and ready when the megaphone man came. So, that’s how the morning of the bouki began. Linds and I hid out in our hut for breakfast, which consisted of a granola bar and some beef jerky. While we were eating breakfast people began arriving. Before long our compound was a happening place. All of the women were inside the compound hanging out under the tree passing the baby around and the men were outside the compound under some little cabanas and trees. The Hausa women prepared food but since it was Ramadan only the children and women who were pregnant or breast feeding ate. Around 10am the Imam (a Muslim religious teacher) began saying a prayer and after every section everyone would spit into their hands and wipe it on to their faces and say something in Arabic. This is a symbol of the blessings that have been said from their mouths being applied back to themselves. Then the name of the child is announced and the women make this noise that is similar to a scream but very very unique. Jemma’s baby was named Nana Hinda-tu. Then it was time for the sheep to be slaughtered. A sheep is slaughtered as a sacrifice to Allah so that Allah will know the name of the baby. According to Islamic tradition if Allah doesn’t know the name of the child, he or she will never be allowed in to Al Jenna (kind like the heaven). Melissa was holding the baby right before the sheep was killed and the grandma of the baby game and woke up Nana so she would know that the sacrifice was happening otherwise it doesn’t count I guess. Then it was time to kill the goat. I was pretty excited for this part so I ran and grabbed Lindsay’s camera and videotaped the whole thing. First, they slit the throat of the sheep and let all the blood drain out. Then, the made a cut around the ankle of the sheep and pulled the skin away from the meat with a reed and then the man blew into the reed and the sheep swelled up real big. It was like a sheep balloon. This helps them skin it and it worked really well. They skinned it all in one piece. At the very end they chopped the head off and the four hooves. After that I lost interest and started playing with the baby again. About half an hour later the man that killed the sheep brought the head and the hooves over and sat the right beside where Lindsay and I were sitting. As it turns out the head and hooves are just supposed to be close to where the baby is and since we had the baby most of the time they got put next to us. It was a little creepy though. At one point the head started bleeding again and the man had to come back and get the head and cauterize it with the fire. By this time it was close to 1:00pm and everyone either headed back to their compounds to sleep or they slept at ours. I decided to join them and I took a nap in our hut.

It was late evening before things started to pick up again. I woke up to find that there was a small band assembled outside close to where all of the men were gathered. They had several different types of drums made out of animal hides and some clarinet/flute things too. As the sun started down, the party started up. The sheep was almost cooked and a variety of other dishes were ready to eat. These dishes included rice and sauce, millet and sauce, bean cakes, fried millet, and of course chutum! We didn’t get to stay for the rest of the festivities that night because we had to leave early and help clean someone’s house the next day that lived three hours away. It was a really good time though.

Formal Language has Officially Ended
About two weeks ago was our final language session with Apollos. I’m not sure how much I’ve told you about this man, but he truly was a man after the Father’s heart. Every day we would meet together and he would start us off by petitioning the Father. He was so refreshing. He also leads a small gathering on the weekends and was making indigenous songs for the Father. We were able to go to his house on several occasions. Once his wife invited us over for dinner and she made us a traditional African meal with rice and sauce, fruit and hakko (cooked leaves). Hakko is probably one of my least favorite food items here in Africa. They just pick certain weeds out of the millet fields and pull the leaves off and cook them up and eat them, but Apollos’ wife’s was the best I’ve ever had.

We were able to learn a lot from this man. One day, after one of our language sessions, he came with us out to one of the villages to help with some teaching. We were probably in the village for three hours and we were able to see what a difference having a Fulani share with them actually made. Together they used a combination of Fulfulde, Hausa, French and even a little English to get the full meanings of everything. The switched back and forth between the languages effortlessly and Apollos was able to explain things better than we ever could by using Fulani logic and proverbs instead of western ones. As we sat there I couldn’t help but remember some of the things I learn in Malone’s classes about indigenous communities for the Father and think that this was what it would look like here. It would consist of two big mats, one for women and one for men. There would be one man telling stories that applied to them and answered questions that they would ask. They would use multiple languages because that’s what everyone knows and if someone didn’t understand in one language they would just switch to the next. There would be someone making ashia towards the back of the mat and they would pass it around to keep everyone awake. It would take place outside under a big shade tree where you can feel the slight breeze every so often. Occasionally someone would grab a stalk of millet and roast it over the ashia coals if they got hungry. It would start in early afternoon when the first people got there and it would last until all the questions were finished. People would come and go as they needed and children would wonder in and out too. When telling a complicated story everyone would draw in the sand help further explain things. The atmosphere would be relaxed but everyone would be very attentive. They would meet on whatever day worked best for them and they would talk about topics like multiple wives, yarping, persecution and “swimming.” Everything about that meeting seemed effortless and focused on Dad.

We had our language evaluations the next week. Fulfulde is one of the hardest languages in West Africa and for the difficulty and the amount of time Linds and I have been in the country Apollos said we have done really well. Just when I thought I’d be sick of language and I almost cried to know it was over. I felt like we learned just enough to know we don’t know much. We do have enough language to communicate just about anything we have to with enough charades and sound effects. There is just so much more I want to learn.

Daniel with the Chief
Last Monday, instead of having ashia with the kids like normal, the chief and his wives came over and had ashia with us and kicked the kids out. We made some light conversation and then the chief brought out his copy of the Good News. The chief has the Good News in Hausa and we have our English copy and we have a limited amount of common Fulfulde to work with. The chief began flipping through the Book and asking what certain books were about. He happened to stop on Daniel and I thought it would be easy enough to explain so I started in on it. We told him how Daniel was a follower of the Way and that he yarped to Father many times a day then bad men got upset and told the king that everyone should yarp to the king and not to Father. Daniel still continued to follow the Way so the king had to throw Daniel into a hole with lots of big cats, then Father sent His people to hold the mouths of the big cats so they didn’t eat him. Then the next day the king found Daniel and he was not cat food so the king said everyone had to yarp to the Father that Daniel followed. Needless to say it wasn’t exactly word for word out of the Book and we had to use a lot of hand motions and sound effects for words like lion’s den and many others, but I feel that we got the main point across…Daniel followed the Father and He protected him. I felt that this was really a significant story for them because they live in fear of persecution everyday and it has been especially an issue for the chief.

“Swimming”
Last week we had our first “swimming” session. Originally we thought there could be up to 6 candidates, but then only one showed up. To make the experience as reproducible as possible we did it in the river right outside of town. We woke up on Monday morning and headed to the river. We walked because that was the most reproducible way to do it and it was hot! We met the follower on the bridge and we followed him down the river a ways so that we wouldn’t be in plain sight of everyone. Persecution is still a big fear for them. After a short hike over the bridge, across the countryside of West Africa, and through the keebbe (stickers that get stuck in all our clothes) we found a lovely little cove for the event to take place. Melissa had asked her supervisor to officiate the occasion so he wore a boubou and did the whole thing in Fulfulde. It was quite wonderful. The follower went under the water head first because that’s the way it’s shown on the Son video and they were familiar with that way. Plus, many of them don’t know how to swim and it really scares them to have to go backwards into the water and it never really says how it’s done. It was a really cool thing to be able to watch and be a part of. From here on out that follower will be the one to officiate it for the next candidates.

My Heart
Well, as I mentioned earlier, I hit a huge wall of culture shock a couple of weeks ago. And that probably the best way to describe it….a WALL! I felt like I had hit the end of my rope and couldn’t see the point in staying any longer. I felt beat by the language and the children. I just broke down. I would have called my parents or Frost, but our phone was almost dead and I wasn’t sure where it was. For a little while, as I sat in the squatty potty, I thought I might literally be losing my mind. I caught myself thinking that everything was just stupid and there was no point in being there. I missed my mom, my dad, my grandparents, my friends at college and my professors at school too! What’s the point anyway when everyone is afraid and no one really cares? Thankfully, I caught myself in this thought pattern and I knew it was not from the Father. Then I got ticked at Dad for sending me out into the middle of flippin’ nowhere for me to break down in a squatty potty and give up. As I bawled my eyes out and yelled at Dad, He spoke softly to me. He reminded me of His love for me and His love for the Fulani. I then realized that He hadn’t sent me to the desert to kill me, but to grow me. I then proceeded to make a mental list of all the good things about the Fulani. I wasn’t able to come up with a whole lot, but I came up with 10 really good ones. Then I remember why I was actually there. I’m not here to change the world. I’m not necessarily here to spread the Good News among the Fulani either. I’m here to learn what spreading the Good News looks like. I’m here to learn what it takes and even to learn what culture shock looks like. I’m here to grow and learn, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. Some days I’m better at it than others, but every single day I learn something I didn’t know the day before. Our efforts have been blessed too. The people in our homestay compound are now followers and we were able to watch someone “go swimming.” We’ve shared our personal testimonies multiple times and we’ve shared stories from the Book with no preparation. I am very thankful for all of these experiences.

I’ve also been thinking a lot about my future. I recently realized that in less than eight months I will be done with college (if all goes well) and I’ve been worrying about the future. I know worrying is not what the Father has planned for me, but I struggle with it still. My life hasn’t exactly worked out how I had planned. When I graduated from high school I thought I would be married by now and be on my semester abroad with my husband, obviously that didn’t work out how I planned, but I’ve been blessed to get to know Lindsay instead. I also thought that I would major in physical therapy because I wanted to go into sports medicine so I could rub hot guys’ muscles and then I quickly learn biology was not my thing and instead I’m getting a minor in Social Work. I’ve learned that I love to help people. Even the things I thought I had planned for next semester are already falling through. I thought I was going to need to take Jan term, but I don’t. Malone once told me that we are to be so flexible we are fluid and I thought I was very flexible, but I’ve learned recently that I only fake flexibility. Deep down I want things a certain way and when they don’t turn out that way I get mad. It doesn’t matter whether Dad has something better planned or not…my pride gets hurt. So I guess I’m telling you all of this to ask for your yarps. I’m not necessarily asking you to yarp about my future (although I would appreciate it) but rather to yarp about my flexibility, because Dad has my future in His hands but I’ve been fighting for my way so long it’s hard to know what His will really is. Please yarp that Dad will break my pride issue and for me to submit my plans to Him and to joyfully accept His plan for my life and as things change (and things will change for sure) I will do so fluidly.

I have so much more I want to write, but I realize this is already quite long and it’s getting late. If you’d like to know anything specific that I haven’t answered yet, please email me at krissy_tlw@yahoo.com. Thank you for taking the time to read this. Please continue to yarp for the Fulani and our team here.

Love always,
Krissy