The last one

It was more than five months ago, but I think there are some scenes in your life that will be burned into your memory forever.

I let my mind wander and I'm right back in Africa, just outside of the market in the village.

It's early evening and it has just started raining - and I mean hard - the kind of rain that'll soak you in a matter of seconds. The sun has started to go down but it doesn't matter because you can't really see it anyway. The street goes empty as people duck under cell phone kiosks and little "stores". I'm one of the ones in a kiosk, sitting on an old wooden bench that wobbles if I move a little bit too much. I'm careful not to lean back too far; if I do, my back will get wet from the rain shooting through the slots of the wooden sides.

To my right is my teammate, Danica, and to my left is a three-year-old girl who had come into the kiosk just a few seconds too late. She's wet and shivering and she huddles into my side. As I dry her little arms and face with the sleeves of my shirt, I notice her eyes are getting heavy and she's trying [in vain] to stay awake. And so I pull her up onto my lap and wipe away the rest of the rain, and she is asleep almost instantly. And I thank God for the little life that has taught me about his goodness, about his joy, about his peace.

And Danica, who absolutely loves this girl and has been thinking about life here and what all that entails, says, "It's just not fair. That little girl you're holding - her life expectancy is a lot shorter than yours." And she looked down at the sound asleep three-year-old and said (more quietly but with more resolve - I know how much she loves this child), "I would give my life for her...I would trade our lives if I could." And I wish she could. Chances are, as a girl living in Africa with HIV, her life isn't going to be a walk in the park.

But now I'm no longer in Africa - I'm in a small town near St. Louis, in my noiseless room, under my favorite blanket. There's no dust on my feet, so I know it must be real :) I'm home. Where my family is, where I've grown up, where I'm understood and where I understand.

The time I spent in Africa was short - really, really short. [warning! lame analogy coming up.] If my life were a movie, the Africa scene would have been about two minutes. But those two minutes change the way I reflect on the beginning of the movie and color the way I see the rest of the movie [you were warned. :)].

So I'm thankful for everything I saw and learned - for the lessons I learned that didn't even need words. I'm thankful for missionaries who give up so much because they see the needs of a lost world. I'm thankful for grace that can completely turn the world upside down.

My mind drifts back to Africa every day. I think about how unfair it is that there are children who are born with HIV. I think about how unfair it is that there are people --hundreds of millions of people--who live their entire lives without ever hearing that Jesus loves them and calls them into a life of hope and significance. But I also remember the Sunday mornings that churches in different villages around Ivory Coast are gathering to worship God. And the pastors who are being trained to teach and preach the Word of God. And the HIV positive children who are receiving ARVs (like the three-year-old in the village). I see God's Kingdom being built there with every child, every pastor, every church. And I'm thankful, and I'm really excited. We get to serve the best God.

What I'm going to miss

Here we are on our last day in Abengourou. It's Sunday morning and I'm sitting at the desk in the bedroom I've stayed in most of the summer and drinking tea from my favorite mug like I do every morning - for the last time. I'm getting ready for church - for the last time. I'm walking to the clinic (where the church is) - for the last time.

Friday night was our last afternoon trip to Zamaka where Andy gave a Bible study (this week it was about prayer). On our drive out there, he asked us what we were going to miss about Ivory Coast - that is no small question! We talked about it a little bit on the way there, but here are a few things I'm going to miss...

• The walk from the house to the clinic. We see a lot of interesting things and meet a lot of interesting people :) 
• Greeting everyone when we walk into a room.
• Hearing French everywhere. 
• The Gables - our host missionaries!  (I love this family a lot :))
• Playing dress up with little Gable girls. 
• Watching Harry Potter on the weekends - I had never seen it and the Gable boys can explain every spell to me (and act them out! :)) 
• Figuring out the markets.
• Working in the pharmacy with Koffi and Elise and Edith and Mme Tro - they are so fun :)
• Visiting the kids in the school program.
• Getting French lessons from our social workers/translators/Anouansse (not to brag, but we know directions so well that we could probably successfully get from our house to the market using a French GPS...maybe... ;))
• Wednesday post-home visit lunches. 
• The way that time works here - it's a slower pace. 
• "Attieke and fish Thursdays" and movie and game nights with the Gables. Or just whenever they came over and talked for a long time - those were some of my favorite times - and I will so miss the wisdom and knowledge they shared with us. We learn so much from them! 
• People carrying things on their heads and babies on their backs. 
• Pretty, colorful pagnes. 
• Listening to Magic System in the car!
• Collecting eggs at the chicken farm and sorting them with Emmanuel
• Danica playing the guitar and singing - and our 2 newest friends Vanessa and Elodie singing and dancing along 
• Distinguishing between African languages - Djoula, Agni, Baoule. (note: I am not good at this. but if they happen to say "white" or "okay" I'm all over it. :))
• Fatou and Noufou and Miriam - I could go on and on but the last blog is all about them so I won't. :)
• Going to lots of village churches. 
• Wearing long skirts every day.
• It's so warm and it's not even the hot season!
• The way we were able to pray for each child during home visits, regardless of religion.
• African drums in church services. 



We love our missionaries:)






Gilbert & Francois at the dam after home visits



Last week we had a carnival for the school kids!



Dinner at Vanessa's house



Tea & favorite mug

• Every prayer concluding with "au nom de Jesus" (in the name of Jesus) 

I could go on and on and on, but I won't (if you read the whole thing you deserve a prize:)). I love Ivory Coast. I'm for sure going to miss it.

Village Life

"Oh, I'm very sad," Fatou said as she hugged us again and we put our pagnes in our backpacks, "but that's life."

Danica and I spent five days this week in a village about forty-five minutes from Abengourou called Zamaka. We stayed with a wonderful woman named Fatou and her husband, Noufou, who were so gracious to us by giving generously of their space, time, and patience! Here's what I learned in one sentence: Village life in Africa is hard.

Fatou serving rice near the market

Let me just tell you that Fatou is incredible! She was patient with us as she taught us what it's like to live in a courtyard in a village in Ivory Coast. We were able to follow her for a few days and help out a little (really big emphasis on little). Each morning she woke up around 4 and swept the floor inside the house and the front yard while we took our bucket bath. There's no running water so it's likely that before she woke us up, she was getting water from the well a few yards from her house. The mornings were spent cleaning up around the house, washing dishes, and walking to the market to get vegetables, fish, macaroni, and oil. She spent the rest of the afternoons cooking. She sells rice, beans, sandwiches, and salads at the market in the evening, so in between making all of the food and going to the market to sell it, she is busy drawing more water from the well, washing the dishes (multiple times throughout the day), sweeping trash off the ground (also multiple times throughout the day), giving her four-year-old daughter Miriam a bath, washing clothes, and making food for her family. Did I mention she also leads a Bible storytelling group for Djoula Muslim women on Thursdays in Abengourou?

It was an incredible blessing I'll never forget to have spent this time with her. Here are some of my favorite things from our time in Zamaka...

Our host missionary, Andy, and Germain the day he was baptized!

• Fatou saying, "You wash Fatou!" Almost the entire time she spoke to us in French but this was the one English phrase she used a couple of times and we all cracked up every time. :)
• Carrying that sweet, sleeping four-year-old home from the market after Fatou was finished selling. 
• Being able to embrace the bucket bath (well I'm not going to lie, this did not happen the first day :)) 
• Looking at pictures of Fatou and Noufou's baptism.
• Playing patty cake with Fatou and the little girls in the courtyard.
• Walking around Zamaka and meeting lots of people with Germain.
• Talking to an elderly woman every evening at the market - she spoke French slow enough and in simple enough words that we could actually converse! 
• Being told we scared a little boy...by being white
• Seeing the nice clothes Fatou and Noufou had in a box for the legal wedding they're having in January - and the huge smile on Noufou's face when he talked about how happy and thankful he is to God.



I just loved her. :)

• The way the people in the courtyard stopped in and just talked and laughed together like family. 

By far my most favorite part was something that happened late one night when Danica and I were about to go to bed. Fatou came into the room and got out her Bible and flipped it open to Psalm 67. I asked what her favorite Bible passage is, and she told us it's Isaiah 41:10 "So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." She read us both of these passages in French and we followed along in English, and then she prayed, blew us goodnight kisses and said, "I love you very much!"

My heart smiled and cried at the same time. When I'm back in America two weeks from this moment, will I ever see this woman again? I pray I will have the privilege of seeing her again this side of heaven, but if not, I'm holding tightly to God's promise of salvation and life that will never end - "salvation among all nations" (Psalm 67:2) - salvation that was extended to include Fatou, salvation that was extended to include me. I'm going to hug her goodbye in a few short days, but I have the joy of knowing that we serve the same gracious, accepting, restoring, saving God. 

Oh, I'm very sad. But that's life.

And I will see her again.

xoxo

kelsey

Here's what I don't like.

If you were to ask me something I dislike about Africa, I'm pretty sure I would always give the same answer (besides the occasional "3 inch long cockroaches" ;)): There's always dirt on my feet.

[Yeah, I agree - it's petty, isn't it?]

We came to Ivory Coast during the rainy season, and still there is dust everywhere. If you look closely at the plants lining the main roads, you can see a red-brown coating on the leaves. Gravel-dirt roads release a pretty thick cloud of the stuff when a car drives by, so by the end of a typical day, Danica and I can wipe off a nice dark tan layer from our faces.

The awesome social workers and translators we get to work with!

Danica and I have been making home visits for a couple of weeks now, and it has been such a learning experience. The kids we've visited are enrolled in the CHE school program. Most (if not all) have only one parent. Many drink from untreated wells. Many struggle to provide food for their families. Some fight recurring illnesses like malaria. Some are HIV positive. Most would just like to be able to have something to sell to provide for their families. Some of the kids wear ripped
clothes because they can't afford new ones.

And to top it all off, they're covered in dirt!

But something that has become more evident with each day that passes is that hope is everywhere. Each home is met with questions about the physical needs of the family. Each home is met with concerns for the behavior and educational needs of the child. And each home is prayed over in the hope that along with restoration of the body and strengthening of the mind, souls will find freedom and healing through Jesus Christ.

We have seen joy in the midst of poverty. But we've also looked into the lifeless eyes of broken children and struggling parents and prayed for the kind of healing that will only come through Jesus. There is so much pain, but there is also beauty - a hope that covers these children like the dust that covers their bodies. We are confident that God is able to craft new lives in Abengourou from what looks like nothing to us. It wouldn't be the first time He used dust to create the best kind of life.

Would you join us in praying for this community? Please pray that the kids experience healing and are provided for physically, mentally, relationally, and spiritually. Pray that the Christians in Abengourou would be encouraged to continue serving their community by being the hands and feet of Jesus. God is good and there is so much hope...I'm reminded of that again when I look down at my dirty feet. :)

xoxo

kelsey

Happy "Malaria Tuesday"! (as it is affectionately referred to by Danica and myself as an attempt to remember to take our medicine:)) Here's a picture blog from the past three weeks!

A letter to my sister

Hey Sister,
 Guess what today is...Monday Sister Lunch! If you were here we'd probably be eating attieke and fish (it's kind of like couscous) and boiled peanuts. I hope your week has been good. I think you're in New York City right now which is super cool!! I'm writing this from a town called Beoumi. It's like a 7 hour drive from Abengourou.

I was in the pharmacy a lot last week. The people who work there are really nice to me even though I know almost no French. I basically put pills in little bags and tie them up (sounds easy [and it is] but it seriously took me like four weird-looking bags before I got the hang of it). The first couple of afternoons, we spent at the maternity, cleaning off the walls and painting them. We saw the chicken farm and went to the market a couple times (probably will be one of my favorite things...I love how busy it is). I love how all the women wear pagnes, and how it's perfectly acceptable to greet people you don't know on the street with "Bonjour, ca va?", and how dancing in church is encouraged, and I'm learning to love fish because there's a lot of that here (although I haven't quite gotten there yet :)). I like it here a lot.

I remember us talking about the cost of following Christ and how it's not cheap. Remember when I was in middle school and screamed when I saw bugs? when I could barely eat because I was sick every day? when I was painfully shy? I remember being warned, doubted, challenged. People told me I couldn't be a missionary because I was too afraid of germs (and they were right. It was a fear I had to repent of and seek God's help because it was keeping me from living the way he wanted me to. But that's a story for another day...). They told me language barriers were difficult, and they were right. They told me it may be frustrating and would require unlimited patience in a seemingly fruitless field (I'm just an intern but I imagine they were right once again).

But you know what they didn't tell me (before I came)? They didn't tell me what it would feel like to lose my sense of identity--when what I've done and who I know and how I'm perceived by people who know me are stripped away--and I'm just Kelsey (actually that's not even totally true...I'm "la blanche" mostly :)). They didn't tell me it would be a daily fight with Pride. They didn't tell me what it would feel like to be embarrassed at being the one that's different. But they also didn't tell me that my heart could be so overwhelmed with joy over the way the Church is connected at the deepest, most important level - through Christ. Yep, they didn't tell me that either.

I love it here. I wish you could be here to experience it all with me but you're doing cool things (or so I hope ;)) in St. Louis with some pretty lucky Gateway youth group girls. Keep me in the loop! I'll be for sure checkin' out daisyslunchbox.blogspot.com to hear what you're learning.

xoxo

Sister

(P.S. It's 10:20 am on Monday so it's about the time I'd be getting a text from you :)) 

Learning

This afternoon we were able to visit a Djoula Muslim neighborhood and watch the Jesus Film with the residents. We were told that this was the first movie some of the kids had ever seen in Djoula, their heart language. How awesome is that?!
 At the start of the movie, I thought I would try to pick up some of the language (which is nothing like French, by the way), but I was mostly preoccupied with the little girl sitting on my lap. She picked up my hands, rubbed them against hers, pressed her tiny fingers into each of my long fingernails, and twisted my rings around. Her fingers stopped briefly over the place where the blue veins in my wrist are particularly visible. Every once in a while she reached back and touched the tips of my hair. And near the end of the movie, she put her tiny hand over my heart, head under my chin, and looked straight into me with those beautiful dark brown eyes.

In that moment, I thanked God that someone thought she was worth it. At some point in time, someone came along who knew the Djoula people were worth giving up anything to explain Jesus in ways that make sense to them. They are worth learning an unfamiliar language. They are worth embracing different kinds of communication. They are worth driving down a bumpy Ivoirian road to watch a movie about Jesus. ;) They are worth it! And I'm thankful that someone (way back when) sacrificed time and perhaps a different way of life--a more intentional, patient, always-pursuing-and-never-giving-up way of life in order to lead my family to Christ--because they believed we were worth it.

And that is kind of what God did for us as well. He offered salvation in a way that made sense to us - not by staying in heaven (how would we understand that?), but by sending Jesus who took on the image of the people he was trying to reach. He spoke the language, used relevant parables (farming, fishing, etc), ate with people in their homes, and took time to bless children and notice widows. He changed so we could understand. And if I hope for the world to comprehend the grace and truth that are wrapped up in the message of Jesus Christ, then I have to change as well.

This reminds me of something Paul says in 1 Corinthians 9:

Though I am free and belong to no man, 

I make myself a slave to everyone, to win as many 

as possible. 

To the Jews I became like a Jew, to win 

the Jews...

I have become all things to all men, so that 

by all possible means I might save some.

 

Maybe I don't have to change. But why wouldn't I? Are my habits and pleasures and time-fillers honestly worth more than a person who sees Jesus better because I changed the way I live? I don't think so. And I'm praying that I live in a way that backs up that statement. Being a servant, a follower, a learner is hard. But it's worth it. If you don't believe me, I'll show you a picture of the little girl with the big brown eyes.

 

I didn't have to go to Africa to realize I need to change myself. That's called being a servant. The way I talk to my sister is different from the way I talk to my roommate and both of those are different from the way I talk to my grandpa--and those are all people close to my heart and within the same midwestern American culture! Being culturally sensitive has so much to do with being a servant. I'm learning to give up talking how I want to, when I want to, and about the things I want to. I'm learning (oh, I am so learning the hard way...by doing it so so wrong so many times) to give up the things I do and say and think and then to replace them with the things of Jesus. And I am so incredibly blessed to get to learn from wonderful, wonderful people in Ivory Coast. God is so much better to me than I deserve. 

xoxo

kelsey