The Village

The Village

Friday I went with Rashid to the jungle village where his church and school are located. Wow, every day I am amazed by Africa. I want to describe what I saw. But I am keenly aware I saw what I saw through my western eyes. On reflection all things are not what they seem. A very wise man once said, "You don't know what you don't know!"  What I am about to describe may sound like abject poverty, but unlike us Americans these people don't know that having stuff makes you happy.  Oh wait... Does it?  Maybe my western slant is off kilter. Read these words with an open mind and an open heart.

We drove to where the sidewalk ended.  Ok the whole road disappeared into dust and red clay. Another 45 minutes of shock pounding, brain rattling travel we turned off this "good road."  The road continued to erode into nothing more than a trail. The only constant was the depth of the gullies in our path.

We picked up an older woman at the trail head. I am still not sure if she was waiting for us or if this was a twist of faith. We drove until the trail became too small for our vehicle. From there we walked to this lady's house. There her husband was working in the sparse cornfield surrounding their home. The house was a mud hut consisting of two rooms and a grass roof. To my surprise it was actually cooler in the house. Rashid must have noticed my surprise and pointed to the roof, "African air conditioning."  The construction and grass keeps the heat out while allowing the breeze to blow throw. I learned these were church members. We did a tour of the property, before going inside for a visit. We were joined by a neighbor. Once again I don't know if this was planned or he just wanted to see what the white dude was up to. Children filtered in and out of the conversation. Once ministry and prayer had concluded we began to leave the house. The old woman stopped Rashid and spoke to him at length patting the young girl beside her on the shoulder.  He smiled, said a few woulds and we walked out. Outside he turned to me and said the young girl, 8 or 9, was the lady's granddaughter. The mother had left the father because he was a drunk and abusive. The mother could no longer take care of the child and left her with the grandmother. The grandmother was attempting to pursued Rashid that I should take the girl with me.  What it must be to think that your child or grandchild would be better off with a stranger from a different nation than with you?

The next home we visited was a three room affair; a kitchen, which means it had three small rocks with warm embers around them, the bed room, and the room the cow stayed in at night.  In the states this might seem strange, but in the jungle the only way to ensure you will have a cow in the morning and that it has not been taken away by panthers or a pack of hyenas is to bring it indoors.  Only question is, do cows snore?

At this house there were already mats sitting under shade trees. This is where the visit would commence.  Out of honor and respect they brought the pastor Rashid and me a bench to sit on. I guess it just would not be right to ask the honored guest to sit on the ground. While I'm sure sitting on the ground would have been a great dishonor, but sitting around the same tree where a goat had been tied was completely normal.   Nothing like goat pellets and the smell of goat urine to bring in the presences of the Lord.  Well obviously this was once again the shortsighted American mine set. God didn't seem to mind our surroundings. Before we stood up to go one of the ladies sitting around the mat prayed to accept Christ. Wow, how awesome is God when we allow Him to be God. It reminded me that it was not my western way or my master's degree in theology that ever saved anyone. It is the sweet work of the Holy Spirit.

Here was the amazing thing about our village trip. To look at these people we would say they lived at the lowest levels of poverty. But each house we visited would not allow us to leave empty handed. Luke 10:7 says a labor is worthy of his wage. These people would not allow the pastor to leave without his wage! A bundle of corn, enough bananas to break a supermarket scale,  avocados the size of a child's head, and a chicken were the wages of the day. In America we have to beg church goers for that which rest beside their pocket lent. Here they give from the abundance of their heart.