This is real love

I've discovered the best, fool proof way to love a Senoufo widow.  Go work in her rice fields. She already has the land and the seeds. Money won’t give her workers. So we organized the 20 somethings from our church to wake up bright and early on Saturday and help Zahatia plant and weed her fields. If that isn’t love, I’m not sure what is.

At 5:30, I woke up to get ready and put the bags of water, which we had attached the night before, in the coolers. We met the other youth at the church at 7 and were off to the fields by 8. We walked in a line, carrying coolers, pots, bowls, plates, and spoons. When we reached the fields, we left our shoes behind and walked along the small, raised paths of land, not more than a foot wide, that ran between the sections of rice. Leaving our supplies under the mango tree, we stepped into the murky, half-calf deep mud and water. Starting at one side, we placed small sprouts of rice into the ground, working like a machine, a line of pagne wearing young women. The only differences between us were the colors of our pagnes, and of course, my skin. But even that changed, as I was soon covered in mud and continued on along-side of them, despite the sweat, frogs, beetles, crabs, and leeches. 

My friends would look up at me every now and then and say “Tenedja, ç a peut aller?” (can you keep going?) or “Steph! C’est comment?” (How is it?). Most of the chatter was in Senoufo, but I didn’t mind. I just kept thinking, “this is why I’m here!” Zahatia, the widow we were helping, only speaks Senoufo. We don’t even speak the same languages, but I had the opportunity to encourage and love her without words. Real, active love, done in solidarity. Aiding widows and orphans. This is it, this is life. I’m burnt - so what! I’m tired - whatever. I planted rice with my Ivorian brothers and sisters, to help our mama, who takes care of 6 kids on her own because her husband passed away a few years ago. This is how I want to live. 

As we sat on the ground, underneath the mango tree, eating rice and sauce with fish, a dish I’ve grown to love over the months, I looked around at my brothers and sisters. I found myself surrounded by people I love, and who love me in return. I wish I could better explain what a joy it is to have them in my life, and what an exhilaration it is to serve alongside of them. I don’t notice our color difference until I see the pictures - and then I ask, “who is that strangely colored person?” It’s me, but none of these people rarely notice it anymore. A good friend recently told me that I’ve done lots of things here that he never thought I was capable of. Things like eating rice and sauce, sleeping under a mosquito net, traveling to Ghana, and working in the rice fields. On Saturday, my friends called me courageous. But I felt more than that - I felt alive. 

After about 7 hours of work, 7 fields planted and another 8 or so weeded, we packed up our coolers, bowls, pots, and spoons, and left the fields around 3 pm, all 30 of us, invigorated and exhausted from a long, hard day’s work. Zahatia waved at us, with a huge smile on her face, saying “anie-che! Anie-che!” (thank you!) as we packed up the car. The work we did that day may have taken her weeks on her own. Not one person wasn’t touched by providing for Zahatia’s needs. I pray that this is only the beginning of much more than is to come. I would give anything to see our church mobilized to care for it’s widows, and I think that this is finally starting to happen.

Check out these photos from the day.