Perseverance

Life has been a series of highs and lows. I’m reminded everyday, that when the struggle is great, so is the joy.

The water is often cut here in Bouake, and the city never bothers to inform its residents. It was recently out for a little over a day, just long enough to run out of our reserve and take the long trek to fill up our yellow jugs of water at the neighborhood well. You don’t realize how much water you normally use until every filled tomato can counts (liter tomato cans are our method of carrying water at the house). Then, when the long awaited water comes, relief floods your mind. Last time, I cheered, “whoooo! L’eau est venu!” And my little brother Emmanuel laughed and laughed.

Often, I visit widows with my pastor on Wednesdays. One particular Wednesday, I had been at Centre Providence all day and I biked home in the rain to meet the pastor on time, with a beating headache and earache. Now, common sense would tell you to stay home in such a state, but I decided to go anyway. We proceeded to drive to the furthest corners of Bouake, all the while my energy was disappearing by the minute. Then, as night was falling, we drove to Belleville 3, a neighborhood that I didn‘t know existed. The moto took us down several windy dirt paths through fields of ignames, peppers, and other vegetables. We arrived at a house, surrounded by fruit trees and palms, the gate decorated with brilliant, colorful pots of flowers. Inside, we found a woman washing sweet potatoes in a large basin, wearing mismatching pagnes and a bright smile. She has 7 kids, all in school, the littlest being 7 years old. We sat on small wooden stools while she expressed her gratitude for our coming, just to say “bon soir”. As we prayed for her, her son assumed the “down dog” yoga position, and laughed when we were finished (for whatever reason). Baby chicks ran under my legs, rushing to find their mother, as the sun descended behind the horizon. I wish I could describe this setting better, but to me, being there at this woman’s house made the entire day worth it. It left me with an incredible sense of joy.

A few weeks ago, Kadi’s tanti came to visit (her mother’s sister). She only spoke Senoufo, and she was fond of talking to me.. In Senoufo. I was glad she wanted to chat, but frankly, I didn’t understand a word. I’d pick up small sounds from my limited vocabulary, and my sister or mother would often translate. I knew that when she said “kolocholo” (God), it was usually a blessing, and so I would respond with “amina”, and I understood her basic greetings. One night, she started pointing at my host sisters, then she’d hold her nose, move her hands as if she was splashing water and scrubbing her arms, then wave her finger back and forth as if to say “no”. What she was saying was “Kolo and Emanigi, they don’t wash themselves. They smell.” So I reciprocated the motions, to confirm the joke. The girls rolled on the floor laughing, as did I, with tears in my eyes. Then she sang (in Senoufo) as Kolo and I danced around the courtyard. Soon, Kadi (my host mom) joined us as well. Kolo would start a traditional Ivorian dance, and I’d do my best to mirror her. For almost all of their dances, the butt is crucial. You must know how to move it correctly. I’m getting better at this. Every now and then, someone walking by would peek their head in the window of our wall and watch me, the white girl, try to dance. I’m quickly learning not to let my skin color make me self-conscious. People are going to gawk at me no matter what I do, so I might as well be myself and act like a fool, right? I’d been feeling a disconnection from my host mom, for several reasons. Really, they all stem back to the fact that we come from COMPLETELY different cultures, and there is no way we’ll ever understand each other or be able to fullfill each other’s expectations. This is the struggle. But dancing together made it melt away, and for me, it healed all divides. I think that dancing is one of the love languages of an Ivorian. It brings a sense of togetherness and joy that is unexplainable.

Last week, I was riding my bike to my house, when I encountered a herd of cattle, traversing the path I wanted to take. You can’t just ride right through them. They’re big, heavy, and they have very large horns. But I was in a hurry to get home before sunset. I looked at the shepherd boy who was standing to my left, and said, “je peux..” (“I can..”) and before I finished, he said, “oui, tu peux. Doucement.” (“yes, you can, slowly (sweetly)”). So we walked through the herd, step by step, together. The cows were crossing the road, so it was a little like walking through a steady stream, carefully, so that you do not lose your footing. Sure enough, the cows deviated around us, and before I knew it, I was on the other side. Now, that morning, I was stressed out from a meeting at church, and I couldn’t see how things would fall into place. Everything seems to be happening at once, concerning projects and decision making. This story explains how I felt emotionally, better than I could try to say it myself. I was afraid of everything that is on my plate right now, because I know I can’t do it all alone. But Jesus is our shepherd, and he is waiting to walk with me through it all. I laughed at myself as I rode away from the herd of cattle and the shepherd boy, realizing how obvious of an illustration God had just shown me. Again, I was filled with joy, and hope.

These are just a few examples. Why is this blog called perseverance? Because, you need to persevere through the struggle to find the joy. Without the struggle, there would be no joy, but just complacency. I prefer the joy and struggle any day.

Speaking of joy, here's some photos of Emmanuel's birthday party on Saturday.