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I know many of you have been anxiously waiting to see photos; and I was finally able to put some on Facebook! For whatever reason, loading them here is really slow, but Facebook was faster. Click the link on the left that says "Photos" (I know, I can be pretty cryptic) and it will take you to my Facebook album. You don't even need a Facebook account to see them. Pretty nifty, eh?
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9-25
RAIN. I have learned the truth of the old adage “when it rains it pours.” Here in Tchadian rainy season that is exactly how it goes. Last night’s weekly prayer meeting was held in our garage, which is a sheet of corrugated metal held up by some 2x4’s. Many a country song has commented on the magical sound of rain falling on a tin roof, and it’s cliché because it’s true. There was just enough wind that, even sheltered by the roof, my arm felt a pleasant mist and everyone had to yell if they wanted their prayer requests to be heard. There weren’t many of us there, probably because most people ride motos and trying that on N’Djamena’s already dangerous roads in the rain would be about as much fun as it sounds. So those of us who were present sang the hymns loudly to hear our own voices over the storm and to make up for our absent neighbors. It was a really awesome experience. The rain continued on and off throughout the night and by the time morning prayers rolled around the sky was still leaking. When the clouds finally rolled away, my host brothers were busy shoveling buckets full of water out of the yard to make sure their flowers didn’t drown. But now that it’s been sunny for a couple hours, the yard is pretty much all dry again because this heat here is really good at zapping the moisture out of the earth. Normally there are few things that make me happier than a summer rainstorm. I love the sound of pouring rain and thunder and lightning. Give me a cup of Chai and a good book to read while I listen and I couldn’t be happier. I think it reminds me to be thankful for how God provides. He brings water so our food can grow and we can quench our thirst. He gives us shelter to keep us safe and dry. But here, neither of those things is necessarily a given. For the majority of the year, these people live in a bone-dry climate where only certain types of plants are able to survive. Most of the year is full of gray and brown and the green leaves of rainy season are a special exception. They pray for rain, and then it comes in overwhelming bulk that can’t be complained about (it’s what they asked for, after all), but neither can it be practically managed. As for shelter, I found myself thinking this morning of the folks at the market who earn a living by selling their fruits and vegetables under an open sky. Perhaps it is these same people whose roof was not strong enough to sustain itself through last night’s gusty winds while I was greedily wallowing in the sound of it rustling through the leaves. I stepped out of my room this morning, and instead of the crisp, fresh scent that I’m used to breathing in after an April shower, I tried to hold my breath against the smell of the sewage that the rain had stirred up outside our gate overnight. But despite the struggles that come with the rain, once our whole family was safely inside for dinner, everyone was smiling, laughing, and happy to be stuck inside together, just as my family would be back home. I remember two years ago when the flooding back home had my dad helping haul sandbags to keep a building downtown from falling into the Grand River, while my friends and I were vacuuming water out of our professor’s basement. Here, my brothers dried out our yard while Papa checked on our neighbors. Wherever we are – developed cities in the US, or the edge of the Sahel desert – God is always bigger than we are. If He gives us heavy rains that we can’t handle, He will also give us community to support us through it. That’s actually pretty cool. 9-24
Today I ate A Cricket. Yes, you read that correctly. I ate a cricket. I am pleased to report that it was both dead and fully cooked before it made its way to my digestive system, which, if I’m being logical, makes it no stranger to eat than any other animal. But logic was not at the forefront of my mind when I gathered enough courage to pick up one of those crunchy insects. As I tried to reason with myself, that poor dead cricket’s beady little red eyes just kept staring into my soul, daring me to make up my mind about whether its body should rest in my stomach or my host sister’s. By the time I had worked up the nerves to actually hold one of the Tchadian delicacies in my hand, I had decided there was no turning back. Knowing the moment was one I would need to document if I wanted anyone at home would believe me, I grabbed my camera and took a video, which I will try to post on a day when the internet gods choose to bless me with a connection of tolerable speed. Until then, you’ll just have to take my word for it. Host dad finally cracked and let me take the taxi bus to work yesterday! He was pretty nervous and he and Maman were anxiously waiting outside when I got home after, but they were both glad that I survived. Today I was excited to take the taxi bus again, thinking it would be easy since I’d proved I was capable yesterday. Papa still nervous though, and reminded me to be careful because he’s sure there are people who will take Americans and French folks and steal us. Possible, I suppose, but I would find that less likely as I’m in a vehicle with 15 -20 other people.
For those who don’t know, let me take a moment to explain the taxi bus, because it is not quite like a taxi or a bus in the States, really. To start, imagine the Mystery Machine from Scooby Doo. Okay, now take off the blue paint and hippie flowers and add some windows on the sides. Instead of normal vehicle seating, add four or five rows of fairly uncomfortable benches with minimal foam cushioning. Replace Scooby and the gang with a fearless driver and his sidekick. Then stuff in as many humans as possible, and sometimes a chicken or a goat too. (Seriously, on my way to work today I saw 8 goats riding on top of a taxi bus!) The sidekick’s job is to sit in back with his arm out the window, keeping an eye out for pedestrians who need a ride. He bangs the side of the van when someone wants on or off, and it’s his job to handle the money. In my experience, the sidekick is younger, probably about high-school age, which makes him well suited for the job sometimes requires him to run and jump onto the van; while it’s moving, or ride standing up out the door if all the seats are taken. And that, my friends, is a Tchadian taxi bus. Quite similar to a Zambian taxi bus as well, and likely other parts of African I would guess. It’s cheap, it’s easy, and the people-watching is great. Yesterday I managed to make a baby cry on the bus without doing a thing! I just look over and the kid had the most horrified face I’ve ever seen. It was like he’d seen a ghost, which, actually he probably thought he had. Once the woman next to him noticed me, she explained to his mother that my white-ness had scared him, and the whole bus was quickly laughing. I apologized, but there’s really not much I could do besides that. I guess my tan isn’t coming along quite as nicely as I thought… Today I was taking a nap when my host sister came into my room, woke me up, and told me a neighbor is getting married. She suggested that we go over to enjoy a bit of the celebration, which is taking place in the family’s yard (super normal here – we can hear the shrill “yiiyiiyiiyiiiiii!” sounds of women celebrating every weekend here). So we head over in clothes I wouldn’t dream of wearing to an American wedding (a casual skirt and a gray tee shirt), and just walk right in! I was really hesitant at first, given that I’ve only met the neighbors briefly, so I kind of felt like a wedding crasher. But apparently it’s super normal to just make an appearance at these things so that’s what we did. We shook hands with the bride, then sat on a mat talking with some ladies for a while. I thought this time was us just waiting for the ceremony to start, but we left some time later and I don’t think I ever even saw the groom.
So from what I did see, which wasn’t much, there were a few things that stood out to me: · It seemed to be a “come as you are” kind of event. Some folks were certainly more dressed up than others, but pretty much everyone was fairly casual-ish, taking into account that ‘casual’ here is always a dress or skirt for women. · Men and women were not sitting together. There also seemed to be a sort of “kids section,” though there were other little ones with the women too. · If you wanted to dance or sing or shout, you just did. There was one woman who was perfectly content just dancing on her own for a good 30 minutes and no one even blinked. · Though I can’t speak about the actual ceremony (assuming there is one), it all seemed very casual compared to a traditional American wedding. While I’m accustomed to weddings with pianos, organs, or string instruments as guests arrive, this place had two big speakers and a DJ. There was no processional or fancy décor. Most of the seating was simply mats on the ground with some wooden benches and plastic chairs on the outer areas. It’s now been a couple hours since we went over and the festivities have only gotten louder and more enthusiastic since then. I think there’s really something to be said about the joyous nature of the whole event. I definitely like how American weddings focus on the seriousness of a marriage commitment, but I also really like how the Tchadian focus is on the joy that comes with starting a life with the person you love. Even a cynic like me can’t deny that that must be pretty exciting. Dear Rooster:
I cannot stand you. Not only have I been subjected to the misfortune of glancing your way when you found it necessary to engage yourself in coitus with one of the hens, but your constant, shrieking presence is not what I bargained for when I prepared myself to move to a city, albeit one in Africa. You wake me from my slumber at ungodly hours with horrible shrieks for attention, and when someone forgets to close the door to your coop at night, you find 4am an acceptable time to make your presence known at the door to my room. While I appreciate your services in helping provide this family with fresh eggs, I want you to know that I do not like you. That is why I smiled today when my standing up from my chair made you jump and flail wildly. That is why hearing the latch on your coop at night has become a most satisfying sound. And that is why I am not sorry that God made you the unfortunately hideous creature that you are, for even the glorious feathers of a peacock could not mask the nasty, attention-seeking spirit that is yours. All this being said, I will continue to do my part in the coming months to make our unfortunate cohabitation tolerable, and I would appreciate if you would do the same. Regards, Laura As I was working on a crossword puzzle (in English) the other night, I thought about how much harder the puzzle would be if it were in another language. This of course got me to thinking about speaking other languages and I realized something pretty awesome: I’ve been living in a country for almost three weeks now, speaking a language that I have only a semi-proficient grasp of, and surviving. How crazy is that?! I remember my first day of French class – almost ten years ago now – sitting in Mme. Fitzgerald’s classroom and I didn’t have a clue what it meant could find to my real name. To make it look “more French” I added accents to some letters. Madame explained that I had changed the pronunciation from “lore” to “Laurrr-ay”. Mind you the rrr is not even an accent used in French. Clearly I had a long ways to go.
And yet, here I am! I am LIVING in this place! Woah! Using the ‘squatty potty’ is not a big deal, I’m taking bucket baths like a pro, and I dare say I’m nearly able to contain my excitement when I see the lizards on the walls of our home! I think it might still take a while before I can start waking up and not be surprised that I’m in Africa, and I’m actually kind of glad. When routine starts to kick in, it can be too easy to stop realizing just how amazing this world is. Really, how often do we wake up and realize how awesome it is to be where we are, wherever that may be? New experiences: *eating fresh sugar cane! We’re talking rip-the-bark-off-the-thing-with-my-teeth fresh. Mark was lucky enough to stop by for this experience as well – see photos * Maman did not sit with us during lunch the other day, and they explained to me that it was because Papa’s older brother was visiting. It is apparently poor etiquette to eat with in-laws who are older than your spouse, be they siblings or parents! They later joked and told me she ate separate from us because she eats a lot and was embarrassed – I liked that explanation J * I helped Lily mash up some ingredients for fish cakes with this cool big wooden branch-like tool. Apparently I was not very good at it because she spent most of the time laughing at me and then went back to just doing it herself haha. * I woke up with a nasty stomachache/headache/that kind of achy feeling you get all over when you’re sick. After spending the last year in a context where you were required to be at work even if you were actively feverishly puking your guts out, imagine my surprise when I got this call from my boss: “Laura, your maman called and said you weren’t feeling well. If you aren’t feeling well you need to stay home and rest. We’ll meet tomorrow if you’re feeling better.” Say whaaat? You mean I’m allowed to take time and rest and get healthy?! And, go figure, it’s now evening and I’m feeling pretty much back to normal! I am embarrassed to admit that my host family had to remind me that today is the anniversary of 9/11/01. My host father listens to the radio and watches the news on TV often and mentioned that today the flags in America will be at half mast and it took me a moment to realize just why that is. Isn’t it amazing how much changed that day? It was then that so much of the US developed a kind of phobia towards anything remotely Muslim or Middle-Eastern, an attitude that is taking longer to dissipate than we might like to admit. As such, it’s interesting for me to spend this holiday in a place where I can hear the call to prayer many times each day, where the Grand Mosque is the center of town and my go-to landmark where I am trying to find my way around. It’s not that today feels any different than any other day here (except that it’s especially hot outside!), but I think it’s good for me to spend time reflecting on these sorts of things.
That’s all I have to say about that for now, really. In other news, I’ve been with my host family for over a week now and I have to say I really like these people. They are fun and helpful and generous and patient and friendly and kind. We pray together every morning in a language I don’t understand, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it. And my host mom says she’ll write out the words to the Lord’s prayer in Gumbai for me so I can say it with them, which is pretty cool! Fun Tchadian things I’ve experienced so far:’ *riding a moto! Not driving, because we aren’t allowed as SALTers, but being a passenger was pretty exhilarating. The traffic here probably has a thrill rating right up there with any of the roller coasters at your local six flags amusement park. *walking through the central market by myself! I made it through with only one “hey girl!” call and it was even in English so I was actually more impressed than irritated by it. *my 12-year-old host sister and her 7-year-old cousin braided my hair today! Pretty sure it will fall out tonight, but they love playing with my blonde-ish hair and are quite proud of the finished product. I’m starting to get into the swing of things around here. Of course, I’ll have to readjust when I start work on Monday, but for now I’m enjoying learning things around the house. Perhaps my favorite part of N’Djamena so far is that there is a pretty standard two hour siesta time after lunch! Finally, a culture that appreciates my love of napping!!
Yesterday I explored the neighborhood a little with my fellow SALTer, Mark, whose host family lives just about a 15 minute walk away. Luckily he has a better sense of direction than I do, because with very few streets having actual names it would be easy for me to get lost! I haven’t figured out how people here give directions, but hopefully saying “I live at the home with the black gate, near the catholic school” will suffice. Yesterday I also went with my host mom to drop Minga (my youngest host sister) at a youth overnight at a church nearby. There were probably about 250 kids there and it was so fun to watch them sing praise songs and dance along, all excited for the up-all-night event. I stayed just for a couple hours then came home for dinner with the family. After dinner we watched some TV, which was pretty amusing for me. The show my brothers chose was something I didn’t recognize on the “Disney Channel Nouveau.” From what I gathered it was some teen drama and the actors’ original English lines were dubbed with French and if you haven’t ever watch dubbed television, I would definitely recommend it for a good laugh. Simple pleasures, right? WARNING: the next part is about feelings and they aren’t the warm-and-fuzzy kind. So if you don’t like reading about that, just stop here and assume my life here is all about naps and Disney Channel humor. If you want reality, read on: So today I had my first real breakdown about being here. My first night with my host-family was hard for me just for the sake of feeling homesick, but this afternoon I was really really homesick. I got a phone call from mom and was so glad to hear her voice. She shared news with me that just made me wish I could be home. The reality of being away for a year hit me, as she told me about celebrations and struggles that I’m missing out on. Mom told me not to worry, but for those who know me well, you know that worrying is on my list of top-three things I’m good at (right behind eating and sleeping). So I hung up with mom, tried to keep myself composed through lunch – which was difficult given that I was expected to eat the chicken gizzard – then cried for a good while in my room. I sought advice from Angela, hoping she’d be able to wave a magic wand and make everything sparkly and new. Instead she told me it will probably be a good while longer before I really feel at home here, but to remember that I’m not alone and that this is going to be an amazing year. So I called home again to hear my family’s voices once more and really did feel a lot better. Then I picked up where I had left off reading in my Bible and came to the story of Abraham when God tells him to sacrifice Isaac, his only son, as a burnt offering, basically to prove that Abraham really does love God. I’m sorry…what?! So Abraham is like, “sure God, I’ll do that.” And he packs up his bags and heads to the mountain. And just as Abraham is ready to pierce Isaac’s heart with a knife, an angel comes down and is all, “hey, way to go! You passed the test! Turns out you don’t actually have to kill your son. Here, take this goat instead.” So Abraham is pretty stoked because he gets to keep his kid AND God is pleased with him. Win-win, right? Well, I have to think it took a while for Abraham to calm down after that (you know, adrenaline and all that). I think maybe this trip is kind of like that story for me. Before I left, the whole thing was pretty abstract. It was easy enough to say “sure, God, I’ll go to Africa! Sounds great!” But now that I’m here, it’s like I’m grabbing that knife in a way. No, I haven’t had to literally sacrifice anyone or anything, but this is how God is testing me. Today I played out in my mind all the ways I could possibly get myself out of here. And let me tell you, I have a pretty vivid imagination. But choosing to stay is my way of raising my knife, acknowledging that my own feelings are nothing compared to what God has planned, and unless I am willing to give Him complete control, I will never know how He might provide. I have now moved in with my host family, the Djimalbayes (Jim-all-bye). I have two host-sisters and five host-brothers and they are great! See my haphazard family tree My host-parents are so kind and patient with me and they are already trying to teach me Gumbai, the language that most people in Tchad speak! I’ll be honest though, it’s sometimes hard for me to keep track of who is who, especially because there are always people coming and going from the house! There are also about 3 chickens and a rooster running around the yard avoiding the dog (which could believably be a stray given its condition), and it’s a new combination for me to hear the honking of city traffic while the rooster screams all day. My room is quite spacious, with a full size bed, a desk, an armoire, a nightstand/shelf, and even a comfy chair! My curtains and bedsheet (yes, just one, and sometimes even that is too much!) match and are a fun pink/orange/yellow elephant print. I even have a working fan, and I know this will be a precious amenity come hot season. We didn’t have much electricity yesterday, but the family says this is rare for where we live because the police station is just down the road.
The home is very “Tchadian” I am told, as there is the main house in the center, and three large rooms along the side. See my terribly not-to-scale drawing to get an idea of the layout. So far, I’m enjoying the lifestyle, but I am constantly tired from trying to understand the language and express my thoughts in French. I understand only a fraction of what people say to me, and I’ve embarrassed myself more than once having to ask “quoi?” – “what?” – over and over. Thank goodness these people are so patient with me! They’ve also given me a Tchadian/Gumbai name, Ménodji, which means “love from God.” They say this is because they believe God brought me to them and they are so thankful to have another daughter/sister in the family. Guests and friends get a good laugh when I tell them my new name, since clearly the white girl was not born with that name. Oh, and did I mention how much we eat?? I am quickly running out of ways to say I’m not hungry because it seems they are always feeding me! Yesterday I had breakfast (a hearty soup, bread, and tea), a salad-type meal (that I helped prepare!), lunch (a meat and vegetable stew over pasta, salad, and bread), dinner (chicken, a kind of potato salad, and bread), and another dinner before bed (stew over couscous)! They tell me this is normal, and I feel rude for not eating every bite, but I can only fit so much in my stomach! My host-father has made very clear his plans to make me nice and fat this year. Stay tuned to see how that goes J |