A MISSIONARY KODAK MOMENT

Our land rover weaved its way through the city dogging motorcycles, wheelbarrows, push carts, and African mothers carrying an array of items on their heads and small children tied to their backs. We travelled through the busy city of Cotonou and after about 40 minutes of stop and go traffic, we left Cotonou city limits. We took a turn onto a dirt road and started driving out into the countryside/ bush. Buildings got farther apart, less modern, and more rustic. Goats roamed the streets and I saw potbelly pigs digging around in garbage piles on the side of the road. My body thrust back and forth and side to side as we bumped along the crater filled dirt road. My driver and friend from Guinea, laughed and turned toward me and said, “Welcome to the Massage Road!” I let out little squeals when we hit exceptionally big bumps and I caught air, leaving my seat for a number of seconds and then slamming back onto the seat to do it all over again in a matter of seconds. After 20 minutes more of travel and talking our way through the African toll road blockades (men in need of money who randomly pick a day and location to hold a rope across the road and make people pay to pass) we made it to the village of Hevie. Hevie is the location of Mercy Ships “food for life agricultural project” and construction site for this outreach. I had a day off from the ward and decided to use it volunteering at the construction site. My mission for the day: get off the ship, into the countryside with the local people, sweat, and get dirty! At the construction site I met the man who would tell me what projects to work on. He spoke some English but mostly he was great at charades so I could understand what I was really supposed to be doing. I was assigned the job of sanding the cement walls, sweeping them, and then starting the whitewashing process. I thoroughly enjoyed the idea of doing some manual labor. I jumped right into my work standing on the scaffolding to reach the high points of the building and sitting right in the dirt and cement dust to sand and paint the bottom edge of the building. I was minding my own business, smiling, and enjoying the entire experience when I looked up and noted almost all the men from the construction site where staring at me. They quickly looked away and acted as if they were working. Throughout the day all the men came around to where I was working, they would say, “good work” in French and smile at me. They were very friendly, but I am afraid they may have gotten more work done if I wasn’t there. At one point in the day, some of the men came over to me and pointed at all the dirt on my pants. In my French I told them, “it’s okay, no problem!” They didn’t seem to agree; they were so confused why I was okay with getting dirty. So, to stress the point, I put down my putty knife and moved from sitting in the dirt to lying in the dirt. Then I repeated, “it’s okay, no problem.” All of them just smiled, laughed, and walked away. I don’t know if my action was culturally appropriate, but my knees where covered, which is a big deal, while I did it, so as far as I know, I committed no offense.

Lunch time came and we all gathered under a tree and were served and African meal. I wasn't exactly sure how I was going to avoid eating the meal. It isn’t kind to refuse a meal when it is offered, but my stomach really struggles with fish and the amount of peppers in the food here is enough to chemically burn my taste buds off. All I wanted was to eat my peanut butter sandwich and drink a gallon of water, but at that moment I realized my friend the driver/my translator and foreman on the site had gone into town for supplies and took my food and water with him! Shoot, I didn’t even have the excuse that I brought my own food. The dreaded moment came… I was offered a plate of food….. I prayed, “Dear Lord, I don’t want to offend these people, but I cannot eat it…” I smiled and said my friend’s name over and over and performed a mime explaining that all the other workers should eat first and I could wait because I had food with my friend. I guess my one act play was enough for them to decide I didn’t want the food because the woman serving food handed my plate to someone else. Relief swept over my body, but I was still parched. I needed water, but felt slightly awkward asking for water especially since I had just refused food. I had learned the word for water, so I said it over and over, while repeating my friend’s name with it. I didn’t want just any water; I wanted my friend’s water, water from the ship, not local water that had a high chance of making me sick. Spoiled white girls are so picky! Again, with my incredible acting skills, I was able to get a jug of water. I sat in the corner under the tree drinking the water like a camel in a desert. Everyone continued to

stare at me, but I just smiled and kept drinking. My friend finally returned with my water and sandwich. It tasted amazing. I also had him explain to the cook that I was grateful for her hospitality, but if I ate the food my mouth would be on fire and I would cry. She laughed and smiled at me… Praise God, a friendship remained!

We went back to work. The layers of dirt continued to pile on my skin and I took pure enjoyment in my dirtiness, loving being with the local people and helping them with their construction project. From the top of the scaffolding I noted a number of beautiful women, carrying water on their heads, emerging from behind the corn fields and lush vegetation. I thought the women were bringing water for the men to wash their hands with and drink. I thought nothing of their action and went back to my painting, but about 20 minutes later I saw the women again and again 20 minutes later. I then realized that the women were carrying the water that we were using to mix our cement. Incredible!

It was time to finish for the day and my friend convinced me to stop working. He said we would head back to the ship after he quickly met with some of the workers. I asked him if it would be okay if I went to look for where the women were getting their water from while he had his meeting. With permission, I wandered down a little path that weaved between corn stalks and thick, green foliage. The trail twisted and turned and split off into a number of directions toward little huts with thatched roofs. I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going, but I knew it couldn’t be far. The corn stalks that I was weaving my way through were taller than my head and the plant life growing over the path was scratching my legs. Finally, I saw the corner of a brightly colored dress and with it the women I was in search of drawing water from a well. I approached the women cautiously and smiled saying, “Bonjour,” with a terrible French accent. I stood by quietly watching them draw water out of the 40 foot deep well. These women were incredibly strong; I had no doubt why they were so fit. I motioned to them my desire to help. They let me take my turn pulling the rope and water satchel up. I lugged container after container of water out of the well. The women tried to take the rope from me, but I refused. My hands stung and burned, I was sweating, but still attempting to smile. One of the women pointed to my hands and I believe she was asking if they felt bad. I acted as if I wasn’t bothered at all by the painful process. I just kept thinking I could never be as amazing and strong as an African woman. I would die of thirst after one day out in the bush. I have so much respect for the African women! When my hands felt like they were on fire, I stepped back from the well and left the job to my new friends.

I was still standing at the well when I heard singing in the distance. I looked down the path and saw a troop of four African women marching along amidst the green undergrowth. It was a missionary Kodak moment. Four beautiful women walking, singing, swinging machetes, two with beautiful children tied to their backs, the rest carrying plastic bags. The women stopped when they saw me and I greeted them. I immediately fell in love with their babies and contemplated how I could develop a fast friendship without being able to communicate. I really wanted to hold one of the babies. I went to one of the little babies and covered his cheeks with kisses and he giggled. The women were obviously on a mission, so they went about their business, but I followed them. I racked my brain for all my French vocabulary and I figured out the women were in search of plants for medicine. In the next few minutes we became friends and I got to hold a brown sugar baby. He is seriously one of the cutest I have met during my time in Africa. I have photos to prove it. I had already contemplated returning to the construction site on my next day off, but in that moment I decided I would definitely return and I would deliver copies of photos to my new friends. In French, we determined we would meet in two days at 4:00pm by the well. I smothered my baby friend with kisses, said good-bye, and wandered back through the bush to the well.

I thought I could lug up a few more loads of water to help my “well friends,” but I was wrong. I was half-way through pulling another load up when the skin on my fingers ripped off. It stung and burned; yikes! My new friends saw my pain and wanted to ease it, so they pushed on the open skin and squeezed it. Oh, my goodness; that did not help! I just stepped to the side and nursed my finger while attempting not to act like a sissy! I realized I had been gone for quite some time and that the ladies were getting ready to take their last loads of water back to the construction site, so I followed them. But I got a brilliant idea. I would walk with the ladies, but with an empty bucket on my head. There was no chance I could physically carry a full bucket. I could barely lift a full bucket off the ground, let alone carry it on my head. I put an empty bucket on my head and started to walk carefully and cautiously as if I had a full bucket on my head. I made my way back through the corn field and toward the construction site. A few of the construction men spotted me; they all grinned with huge smiles, obviously pleased with my attempt to carry water on my head. When I got closer and had a full audience, I carefully leaned over and took the bucket off my head and then showed them all that it was empty. Laughter erupted throughout the construction site. When the laughter died down, my friend told me it was time to go. I waved good-bye to all my new pals, climbed into the Mercy Ships land rover and smiled as my body thrust back and forth and side to side as we bumped along the crater filled dirt road. What a great day!