I have found the change of season here in Wisconsin startling this year. I stepped on a plane September 15, in the midst of an Indian summer and dove head-first into full-blown summery Cameroon weather... but when we returned October 6, the world at home had changed completely. Cool (too quickly shifting to cold) temperatures, leaves carpeting the backyard, and a spectrum of colors splashed across the trees. My brain screeched to a halt. What. The. Heck.
Anyone who knows me well knows I don't face extreme temperatures with grace. I really ought to live in San Diego where it is 72 and sunny most of the time, because that's my sweet spot, weather-wise. Kingdom Worker's director, Bill Meier, had warned me of the heat to expect in Cameroon. So I geared up mentally as well as I could - and, all things considered, I think I did pretty darn well with it. Oh, don't get me wrong. It was HOT. And more humid than I've felt in years. A sheen of sweat covering my body by 7:30 a.m. (doing absolutely nothing) was not uncommon. But I found the abrupt intrusion of cold weather (comparatively) infinitely harder on my mental transition back to home.
Before I had left for Cameroon, I had been resisting any mention of fall with everything inside me. I used to love fall. I loved the crispness in the air, the crunch of leaves under my feet, the earthtones everywhere you looked (although props to the Midwest for the extreme color action... Colorado and Wyoming mostly stick to browns and yellows, so these oranges, purples, and reds are AMAZING)... but when I moved to Milwaukee a year and a half ago, I knew I was making some sacrifices. The sacrifice of leaving behind 300 days of sunshine a year. One of giving up the familiar-to-me "yo-yo" winter weather that isn't unusual to have a few inches of snow on the ground one day and two or three later have temperatures up in the 50s. Giving up the luxury of not dealing with months-long snow-packed roads and constant fear of black ice. The bitter Milwaukee cold drives me indoors for days. I literally would not step foot outside if it weren't for school pick up. The cloudy skies fill my head like a lingering fog, damp and dreary. And the never-melting snow makes for a monotonous view out my icy window panes. So now, instead of a sense of anticipation and excitement of change, fall represents a warning of what is to come.
Dan turned on the heat this morning. I'd been bucking up and dealing with 63 degrees in the house... but at some point reality has to set in; fall is here and there is no turning back. Just like I'm back to the grind in Wisconsin with the palm trees, mountain views, and sunshine of Cameroon far behind me. A big part of me wants to pout. I have plenty of observation to draw from - my kids have it refined to an art form. And there has been a fair amount of internal "pouting" as I readjust to my daily life. I know that does absolutely no good and really just stands to steal my joy from me. The same joy I'm so diligently trying to reawaken in my life and am chasing after. My self-pity just douses the beauty and gifts of the season (or location) with darkness.
So instead, today I consciously opened my eyes to joy. Sure, I stubbornly turned off the heat after everyone was out the door for work and school and I piled on three layers of shirts - and I refused to wear a coat when I ran errands (which I survived, fear not). But I soaked in every ounce of sunshine and smiled at God's beautiful creation that has popped its way up through this urban tangle of buildings and roads and sidewalks. The trees intertwined seamlessly, blending bare branches with green, fiery oranges and reds, with browns and yellows, adding more dimension to the pocket-forests and boulevards than all the greens of summer. Though the breeze was brisk (oh, so brisk), the sun warmed my face and reminded me of the little blessings in life - like that same breeze being a welcome relief from that same sun while in Africa. It is all a matter of perspective.
Perspective cried out to me today. I shopped inside stores with organized departments on unobstructed, smooth floors that had dozens of options of anything you could possibly need. I used a piece of plastic to pay for my purchases and didn't have to count out coins or do any mental currency conversions. I got excited when I scored a $1 off coupon for Starbucks at Target and treated myself to a seasonal latte - a drink I didn't have to question the water source or cleanliness of the preparation utensils, not to mention the fact that I had $4 to spare without a second thought. I drove my own car through streets where drivers (mostly) follow laws and potholes now seem so minor. Cameroon refreshed my perspective on my blessings here, pending winter or not. I was able to acknowledge the joys God has put in my personal path - and see the joys He has given my friends across the ocean in their world too.
Winter will make its way here, regardless of how I feel about the season. And I have been planted in Milwaukee for the indefinite future, even if my heart yearns for somewhere else. But God has most recently given me warm memories from a distant land to help me remember that spring will come again when the flowers are source of endless color... and I can find new joys and gain new perspectives, wherever the Lord takes me: winter, Milwaukee, and all.
Friday, October 16, 2015
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Downton Abbeying
There were so many things I did not expect from my travels to Cameroon. Perhaps top of the list was getting hooked on Downton Abbey and blitzing through the first season while there. Now before you get all judge-y on that point, let me explain.
Cameroon, being so close to the equator, gets dark early. Every night. Like 6:30 p.m.-early every night. And with the dark comes more risks. The missionaries generally limit traveling after dark as much as possible because the traffic "laws" in Cameroon are more "guidelines" (night time or not)... or at least, in part, a way for the police forces to occasionally make some happy-hour funds for themselves. So, headlights aren't always a thing, police stops aren't always what they appear, "lanes" are open for interpretation, and, well, you get the idea. So Karen and I stayed home in the evenings after my class ended every night. And once Milton locked the gate and let the dogs out, there was very little going outside anyway unless you wanted muddy paw prints all over you.
Every day of teaching was a long one for both of us women. The two-hour journey over the road to Konye each way took a physical toll on both of us (and a mental one for Karen... that is a LOT of concentrating in order to not get stuck or damage the truck. The first day of class we hit a buried rock hard enough for the seatbelt to bruise my shoulder - a half-dollar-sized beauty that shifted through the entire spectrum of the rainbow over the following week. It was impressive). After the bumpy journey, I taught for two hours, we drove back another two hours, rested for a short bit (if we had time), I prepped for my second class, taught for ANOTHER two hours and then finally returned back home for the night. All that made for a long 11 hours day after day.
There was also the uncertainty of what we would be eating for both lunch and dinner (provided by the pastors' wives), ranging from spicy fish soup (repeatedly) or only packaged cookies ("like America"). Choosing contentment with every meal (even when I got to the gagging on fishbones stage of the week - thank heavens they didn't sit with us while we ate, I would have felt TERRIBLE) - the gift of food and sharing what little they had with us reflected the generosity of the early Christian church and the eternal love of our Savior. And when Karen would cook us a supplemental meal, even if it was eaten at a strange time of the day, it, too, was received with joy. Believe me. JOY.
But by the end of the day, Karen and I were both beat tired. The difference between us, though, was that she was at home and I was a visitor. I remember that distinction SO clearly from when I lived in Japan. Living somewhere and traveling somewhere are two different beasts - which come with different types of challenges and sources of exhaustion. Throughout each day, my eyes and ears took in Africa for the first time, while hers had absorbed these sights and sounds for two decades. The "way things were" had two completely different takes between us; hers based on half a lifetime of experience, while mine brought an outsider's vantage point, both culturally and generationally. Karen was tasked with guiding a complete novice through this land and I was charged with bringing my skills and gifts to use for God's glory and complete my job to the best of my ability, despite having no real grasp on the culture from the get-go. As a former host in a foreign country, I KNOW how wearing that can be.
Don't get me wrong. Visitors in Japan were amazing. I loved hosting and guiding our family, friends, and exchange groups through our Japanese life and sharing with them bits of the culture in which we were immersed. But it was a LOT of work. Emotionally, physically, mentally... and I really empathized with Karen on that point (and truth be told, felt a bit guilty that I increased her work load). Added on to that weight for Karen, though, was the fact that she and I were virtually strangers. Sisters in Christ? Yes. Mothers of all boys, world travelers, and mission-minded? Yes, yes, and yes. But we discovered that my emotional disposition was as foreign to her as Africa was to me. And THAT is a demanding load for anyone to take on, particularly with the rest of the challenge in mind.
By the end of trip I think she and I had figured each other out as well as we could have in three weeks together. And our group as a whole learned some valuable lessons as far as what volunteers need on the short-term mission field and what strategies might help. Like I had mentioned early on, I was the odd one out as far as experience in Africa went and it was, at times, isolating to feel alone in my discoveries and growth. Adding to that the separation of Pastor and Mick from Karen and me, our individual support systems changed dramatically and I lost my volunteer counterpart's immediate support. I also noted that my perspective was so drastically different than my Africa-veteran teammate, that my observations and thought processes were interpreted differently by Karen than I actually intended at times. I found myself internalizing more than I perhaps would have if Mick and I had been onsite together, which lead to a build up of emotions. The release of those emotions caught Karen off-guard, and in the end, we had to learn how to work together for the second half of the trip.
While in the midst of all of that hiding behind my game-time mask, survival was my main goal- regaining my emotional footing and rebuilding credibility with my entire team. From a retrospective angle, however, I can see how directly Satan used my weaknesses and FEARS against me to try to prevent me from doing my job. Pre-departure I had three main worries: 1) That I was leaving my normal emotional support system (Dan and the boys, my mom, close friends, etc.) and I was afraid I wasn't going to be able to cut it; 2) That I wouldn't get along with Karen; and 3) That I wasn't going to be able to perform my jobs to the level that was expected by everyone involved. I did what I could to prepare for the "worst case scenarios" (and really, it never got to "worst case," even remotely), but when trials came, boy did Satan amplify my insecurities. Holy buckets, you guys. My confidence was severely undermined by several factors and, to be completely honest, I would have gotten on a plane halfway through the trip and never returned to Africa again, given the opportunity. At the lowest point, I felt like God was using this trip to take my longtime desire to travel and/or live in Africa with my family away from me. Which nearly broke my heart.
I felt so overwhelmed by challenges. My lesson plans had mainly gotten chucked out the window (so all my pre-trip prep felt like it had been done vain), I felt WAY over my head with the level of English the students wanted to learn, which in turn triggered fairly high levels of anxiety before every single class (which I tried not to verbalize). I didn't feel like I was learning as much as I wanted to about the Cameroonian culture, and cultural norms hindered me from using some of the channels I DID have available (being a woman sucks sometimes... seriously). And I had gotten past the "honeymoon phase" of the trip and homesickness sunk in pretty hard - all at the same time. My fear of failing (Kingdom Workers, my team, my donors, my students, the Lutheran Church of Cameroon, myself) was always front of mind and when Karen didn't know quite what to do with me when my emotions boiled up on my bad day, I felt like all my fears had been met. And I couldn't leave. Which is my go-to desire when everything blows up in my face. "Run away!! Run away!!!"
I feel like I should clarify, because this probably all sounds very dramatic. And this is part of my post-trip processing needs. So please don't walk away with the idea that I hated my trip, Karen and I didn't get along, and I never intend to go back to Africa again. Because all of those statements are false. But I do feel like honesty (if for no one else, myself) is needed. It has been hard for me upon returning to know what to say when people ask, "How was it!?" as I mentioned in my last entry. But I have found myself avoiding the topic and sort of keeping to myself, because I don't know exactly how to verbalize my quandaries - and most of all, I don't want them to be misunderstood and cause harm to Kingdom Workers or the mission in Cameroon. But I AM trying to give myself the grace to be ok with not needing an "Everything is Awesome!" (ala The Lego Movie) reaction in regards to my trip, even though some parts really, REALLY were incredibly awesome - including the copious amounts of laughter that Karen and I shared throughout the entire trip.
So in the end, Downton Abbey helped dig me out of my hole a little bit. That sounds totally ridiculous, I know. But after our 11-hour completely draining days, Karen and I found some respite and created a point of Western-world commonality to escape to after a full day of service for the church. Occasionally with hot-off-the-stove popcorn with real melted butter. And frosty mugs of victory beverages. And shorts (I can't even tell you... obligated skirts everyday in the unrelenting heat got old... gym shorts at the end of the day were like a glimpse of heaven).
Downton Abbey in Cameroon... who would have guessed?
Cameroon, being so close to the equator, gets dark early. Every night. Like 6:30 p.m.-early every night. And with the dark comes more risks. The missionaries generally limit traveling after dark as much as possible because the traffic "laws" in Cameroon are more "guidelines" (night time or not)... or at least, in part, a way for the police forces to occasionally make some happy-hour funds for themselves. So, headlights aren't always a thing, police stops aren't always what they appear, "lanes" are open for interpretation, and, well, you get the idea. So Karen and I stayed home in the evenings after my class ended every night. And once Milton locked the gate and let the dogs out, there was very little going outside anyway unless you wanted muddy paw prints all over you.
Every day of teaching was a long one for both of us women. The two-hour journey over the road to Konye each way took a physical toll on both of us (and a mental one for Karen... that is a LOT of concentrating in order to not get stuck or damage the truck. The first day of class we hit a buried rock hard enough for the seatbelt to bruise my shoulder - a half-dollar-sized beauty that shifted through the entire spectrum of the rainbow over the following week. It was impressive). After the bumpy journey, I taught for two hours, we drove back another two hours, rested for a short bit (if we had time), I prepped for my second class, taught for ANOTHER two hours and then finally returned back home for the night. All that made for a long 11 hours day after day.
There was also the uncertainty of what we would be eating for both lunch and dinner (provided by the pastors' wives), ranging from spicy fish soup (repeatedly) or only packaged cookies ("like America"). Choosing contentment with every meal (even when I got to the gagging on fishbones stage of the week - thank heavens they didn't sit with us while we ate, I would have felt TERRIBLE) - the gift of food and sharing what little they had with us reflected the generosity of the early Christian church and the eternal love of our Savior. And when Karen would cook us a supplemental meal, even if it was eaten at a strange time of the day, it, too, was received with joy. Believe me. JOY.
But by the end of the day, Karen and I were both beat tired. The difference between us, though, was that she was at home and I was a visitor. I remember that distinction SO clearly from when I lived in Japan. Living somewhere and traveling somewhere are two different beasts - which come with different types of challenges and sources of exhaustion. Throughout each day, my eyes and ears took in Africa for the first time, while hers had absorbed these sights and sounds for two decades. The "way things were" had two completely different takes between us; hers based on half a lifetime of experience, while mine brought an outsider's vantage point, both culturally and generationally. Karen was tasked with guiding a complete novice through this land and I was charged with bringing my skills and gifts to use for God's glory and complete my job to the best of my ability, despite having no real grasp on the culture from the get-go. As a former host in a foreign country, I KNOW how wearing that can be.
Don't get me wrong. Visitors in Japan were amazing. I loved hosting and guiding our family, friends, and exchange groups through our Japanese life and sharing with them bits of the culture in which we were immersed. But it was a LOT of work. Emotionally, physically, mentally... and I really empathized with Karen on that point (and truth be told, felt a bit guilty that I increased her work load). Added on to that weight for Karen, though, was the fact that she and I were virtually strangers. Sisters in Christ? Yes. Mothers of all boys, world travelers, and mission-minded? Yes, yes, and yes. But we discovered that my emotional disposition was as foreign to her as Africa was to me. And THAT is a demanding load for anyone to take on, particularly with the rest of the challenge in mind.
By the end of trip I think she and I had figured each other out as well as we could have in three weeks together. And our group as a whole learned some valuable lessons as far as what volunteers need on the short-term mission field and what strategies might help. Like I had mentioned early on, I was the odd one out as far as experience in Africa went and it was, at times, isolating to feel alone in my discoveries and growth. Adding to that the separation of Pastor and Mick from Karen and me, our individual support systems changed dramatically and I lost my volunteer counterpart's immediate support. I also noted that my perspective was so drastically different than my Africa-veteran teammate, that my observations and thought processes were interpreted differently by Karen than I actually intended at times. I found myself internalizing more than I perhaps would have if Mick and I had been onsite together, which lead to a build up of emotions. The release of those emotions caught Karen off-guard, and in the end, we had to learn how to work together for the second half of the trip.
While in the midst of all of that hiding behind my game-time mask, survival was my main goal- regaining my emotional footing and rebuilding credibility with my entire team. From a retrospective angle, however, I can see how directly Satan used my weaknesses and FEARS against me to try to prevent me from doing my job. Pre-departure I had three main worries: 1) That I was leaving my normal emotional support system (Dan and the boys, my mom, close friends, etc.) and I was afraid I wasn't going to be able to cut it; 2) That I wouldn't get along with Karen; and 3) That I wasn't going to be able to perform my jobs to the level that was expected by everyone involved. I did what I could to prepare for the "worst case scenarios" (and really, it never got to "worst case," even remotely), but when trials came, boy did Satan amplify my insecurities. Holy buckets, you guys. My confidence was severely undermined by several factors and, to be completely honest, I would have gotten on a plane halfway through the trip and never returned to Africa again, given the opportunity. At the lowest point, I felt like God was using this trip to take my longtime desire to travel and/or live in Africa with my family away from me. Which nearly broke my heart.
I felt so overwhelmed by challenges. My lesson plans had mainly gotten chucked out the window (so all my pre-trip prep felt like it had been done vain), I felt WAY over my head with the level of English the students wanted to learn, which in turn triggered fairly high levels of anxiety before every single class (which I tried not to verbalize). I didn't feel like I was learning as much as I wanted to about the Cameroonian culture, and cultural norms hindered me from using some of the channels I DID have available (being a woman sucks sometimes... seriously). And I had gotten past the "honeymoon phase" of the trip and homesickness sunk in pretty hard - all at the same time. My fear of failing (Kingdom Workers, my team, my donors, my students, the Lutheran Church of Cameroon, myself) was always front of mind and when Karen didn't know quite what to do with me when my emotions boiled up on my bad day, I felt like all my fears had been met. And I couldn't leave. Which is my go-to desire when everything blows up in my face. "Run away!! Run away!!!"
I feel like I should clarify, because this probably all sounds very dramatic. And this is part of my post-trip processing needs. So please don't walk away with the idea that I hated my trip, Karen and I didn't get along, and I never intend to go back to Africa again. Because all of those statements are false. But I do feel like honesty (if for no one else, myself) is needed. It has been hard for me upon returning to know what to say when people ask, "How was it!?" as I mentioned in my last entry. But I have found myself avoiding the topic and sort of keeping to myself, because I don't know exactly how to verbalize my quandaries - and most of all, I don't want them to be misunderstood and cause harm to Kingdom Workers or the mission in Cameroon. But I AM trying to give myself the grace to be ok with not needing an "Everything is Awesome!" (ala The Lego Movie) reaction in regards to my trip, even though some parts really, REALLY were incredibly awesome - including the copious amounts of laughter that Karen and I shared throughout the entire trip.
So in the end, Downton Abbey helped dig me out of my hole a little bit. That sounds totally ridiculous, I know. But after our 11-hour completely draining days, Karen and I found some respite and created a point of Western-world commonality to escape to after a full day of service for the church. Occasionally with hot-off-the-stove popcorn with real melted butter. And frosty mugs of victory beverages. And shorts (I can't even tell you... obligated skirts everyday in the unrelenting heat got old... gym shorts at the end of the day were like a glimpse of heaven).
Downton Abbey in Cameroon... who would have guessed?
Friday, October 9, 2015
Processing
I haven't posted for quite awhile... and you never really got to hear "the rest of the story" of Cameroon. Now, as I sit in my own house, sipping coffee with the sounds of my boys getting dressed for school (which always involves singing for some reason), I find myself trying to process everything that happened in the last four weeks.
Looking back, my last entry was from Tuesday and entailed my partial trek home from the grade school in the rain. Oh, how I loved that. I found the alone time refreshing; me, out in the open air, surrounded by nature and humanity intertwined in the most intuitive of ways. Which is immensely hard to explain, perhaps even to someone who was there too. And there in lies my challenge on the back end of the trip. I can recount the happenings and attempt to give a taste of my interactions, but that's all it will be - a nibble. Because it is nearly impossible to verbalize my feelings in a way that will make sense to anyone else. Which, in turn, provides for a lonely return in so many ways. "Reverse culture shock" or "transition" upon coming home is a process that can be very isolating. I realize I have a slew of interested readers and listeners, but too often when I return from a life-changing trip like this (or either of my trips to Japan or to Cambodia or to the Philippines), the question I always run into is a very well intentioned "How was it?"
It is impossible to answer that question. It was many things. It was beautiful. It was challenging. It was discouraging and encouraging in the same breath. It was frustrating and exciting and dirty and adventurous, overflowing with laughter and sprinkled with tears... and all that can't be summed up in a quick elevator speech that most people want before moving the conversation on to "regular life" topics with which they are more familiar. I don't mean that as an insult and it certainly doesn't apply to everyone. But in general, that is the most difficult part of returning home for me after these trips.
I do, in this case, have the opportunity to share some more details about the trip with an intentionally listening audience, as I'll be asked to make some presentations on behalf of Kingdom Workers at my church and in others if they would like. That can be very cathartic and allows me to consciously boil down what I want to share and focus what I learned. And fear not, I intend to continue to recount some of the "snapshots" of my time in Africa here in this blog as I shift back into the routine of America - especially since you didn't hear about my last week there!
I guess my point is, as I make this adjustment, please be patient with me. I'm doing well, particularly since I knew what to expect to a degree because of my traveling history. But in your encounters with travelers, I'd encourage you to be cognizant of the difficulty of answering such a broad question. Any experience of this scope (spiritually, emotionally, and physically) is much too complex to squeeze into a sentence or two.
Now I feel all lecture-y and I don't mean to insult any of you. That is just what's on my mind this morning as I decide what to write about to catch you up on the rest of my journey. And clearly you are here because you DO care and WANT to know what my trip was like, so perhaps I'm preaching to the choir. But I needed to say it. You understand. It's just part of my process of transitioning.
More to come...
Looking back, my last entry was from Tuesday and entailed my partial trek home from the grade school in the rain. Oh, how I loved that. I found the alone time refreshing; me, out in the open air, surrounded by nature and humanity intertwined in the most intuitive of ways. Which is immensely hard to explain, perhaps even to someone who was there too. And there in lies my challenge on the back end of the trip. I can recount the happenings and attempt to give a taste of my interactions, but that's all it will be - a nibble. Because it is nearly impossible to verbalize my feelings in a way that will make sense to anyone else. Which, in turn, provides for a lonely return in so many ways. "Reverse culture shock" or "transition" upon coming home is a process that can be very isolating. I realize I have a slew of interested readers and listeners, but too often when I return from a life-changing trip like this (or either of my trips to Japan or to Cambodia or to the Philippines), the question I always run into is a very well intentioned "How was it?"
It is impossible to answer that question. It was many things. It was beautiful. It was challenging. It was discouraging and encouraging in the same breath. It was frustrating and exciting and dirty and adventurous, overflowing with laughter and sprinkled with tears... and all that can't be summed up in a quick elevator speech that most people want before moving the conversation on to "regular life" topics with which they are more familiar. I don't mean that as an insult and it certainly doesn't apply to everyone. But in general, that is the most difficult part of returning home for me after these trips.
I do, in this case, have the opportunity to share some more details about the trip with an intentionally listening audience, as I'll be asked to make some presentations on behalf of Kingdom Workers at my church and in others if they would like. That can be very cathartic and allows me to consciously boil down what I want to share and focus what I learned. And fear not, I intend to continue to recount some of the "snapshots" of my time in Africa here in this blog as I shift back into the routine of America - especially since you didn't hear about my last week there!
I guess my point is, as I make this adjustment, please be patient with me. I'm doing well, particularly since I knew what to expect to a degree because of my traveling history. But in your encounters with travelers, I'd encourage you to be cognizant of the difficulty of answering such a broad question. Any experience of this scope (spiritually, emotionally, and physically) is much too complex to squeeze into a sentence or two.
Now I feel all lecture-y and I don't mean to insult any of you. That is just what's on my mind this morning as I decide what to write about to catch you up on the rest of my journey. And clearly you are here because you DO care and WANT to know what my trip was like, so perhaps I'm preaching to the choir. But I needed to say it. You understand. It's just part of my process of transitioning.
More to come...
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Observing
Yesterday was a really blessed day. Given my propensity for stressing, I really felt surrounded by God's peace. My tummy still has not gotten back to 100%... I often feel just "icky," so the drive to and from Konye every day is a nonstop jostle of my innards. Haven't had to stop to puke yet, but it wouldn't be beyond the scope of possibilities, to be honest. Taking that and adding to it a touch of nervousness about my lesson plans for the adults that are more advanced than I had planned for, my anxiety at any point of the day tends to fluctuate. But despite the factors in play yesterday, the Lord really went with me in a visible way for me.
One of my very favorite parts of yesterday though was attending the Lutheran grade school that is run by the church on the same grounds. Pastor Israel welcomed med me into his classroom of 2-5 year olds and let me watch them sing some songs they knew, practice introducing themselves and reciting a rhyme for the class. Needless to say, it was a 10 out of 10 on the adorable scale. I think only one little girl was terrified of me (which always cracks me up). After visiting the other two classrooms of older students, I got to see the church building and the parsonage in progress behind the church and talked a little bit with Pastor Israel about their work in the Tansha area.
But my FAVORITE part of my day was getting to trek (walk) back home by myself. It was drizzling rain and a bit muddy, but my mantra this trip has been "THIS is CAMEROON!" and I loved every moment of it. I find so much joy looking at life at a walking pace, absorbing the details that normally whiz (or bump) by in the truck. I drew a lot of surprised looks from locals in their yards and those driving by (who were very kind to minimize splashing). I got to see a small snail that they catch to dry and sell to eat in the markets and on the roadsides (its shell was about the size of a large gumball you would find in a gumball machine at the mall). I had to navigate the driest parts of the mud and got to see the variety of homes along the road more closely. I shared many hellos with people and also managed to pick up a shadow who insisted on walking with me. Thankfully Karen pulled up not too long after that so I didn't have to walk the entire way (it is a bit far), but the experience was a great cultural adventure to me in a very safe environment. One I certainly would never have in Milwaukee, that's for sure!
My evening class covered possessive pronouns and nouns. I was pleased to hear Milton tell me he learned that the plural possessive ending with s' was a new concept that he had always written off as an error. Cameroonian people are not great with feedback and asking questions because they don't want to sacrifice their pride too much, but it was SO good to hear that Milton learns "one thing every day." One is better than none, I suppose!
Karen and I shared a really great devotion based around Ephesians 3:14-21. We have said multiple times this trip that the four of us have become a family here. Learning from each other, leaning on each other, and loving each other has become a part of daily life that makes me sad to see the end of the trip approaching. But I'm living in today and absorbing this life while I can and seeing Jesus in new ways. It is truly awesome.
Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Climbing
I'm writing this in a room dimly lit by solar lamps (that we thankfully charged today), listening to the rain pour down outside. Power fluctuations and complete outages are a very normal thing, as I may have mentioned in an earlier post, but this is the first that is threatening to last overnight. The rain is a blessing, cooling the air when the fans cannot. I think I may figure out a way to pin up my mosquito net so I don't overheat. It's amazing how a simple net can block airflow. But I have been very well taken care of - much better than I could have asked for (I'm a spoiled girl here with a mosquito net and air conditioning in my room). And the Krolls have been so generous with their food supply. We are rationed bacon to one slice a person because it is so ridiculously expensive. I still can't believe that they share it!
Ok, so first, I have to rescind something in my last post. It was NOT Ramadan last week... Just some other Muslim holiday. That's what I get for asking a Christian with a minor language barrier. Oops. I've been fretting about that since Friday morning... The very time I was going to be off grid for several days. Those of you who know me well can imagine my irritation of not being able to fix that!
So when last we saw our heroine, she had wrapped up her first week of classes and was heading to the Northwest region of Cameroon to be reunited with her dear friend Mick and his comrade Pastor Dan. The drive was beautiful and we got to see Mt. Cameroon in it's amazing sunrise splendor. The mountain is over 13,000 feet tall, but starts near sea level. It is an active volcano and apparently takes three days to climb. I have a personal goal that if I get the chance to return to Cameroon someday, I would like to train to make the climb. How cool would that be?
The drive to Mbingo (near Bemenda) was long (mostly due to the fact that a road that would have taken us an hour to get to one point, took us four hours due to the detour that was necessary because of the conditions of the road!) we left around 6 am and arrived at our cabin at about 4:30 pm. We stopped at a reputable butcher shop and bakery on the way, but still. That is a long drive. But BEAUTIFUL. You guys. The farther we went, the more incredible the views became. It was like another world. I'll post pictures on Facebook when I can get them uploaded.
We stayed at a Baptist-run compound that has one of - if not THE - best hospital in Cameroon. They have little guesthouses to accommodate various numbers of guests. But since Mick and I aren't married and there was no one staying there, I got the privilege of staying in the adjoining cottage. And when I say cottage, I mean cottage, curved stone doorways and wooden doors included. Seriously the cutest place I've stayed. Again, I'll post pictures to Facebook later.
Pastor and Karen left Mick and I for a few hours to debrief, have some friend support time, and they got a date out of the deal. I'm not kidding when I say I cried when I hugged Mick after our week apart. I was SO happy to see him. We laughed and cried (well... I did. Mick didn't), relayed stories and tried to start a fire in so many ways I lost count. A narrow fireplace with long logs that were too hard to saw through was a formidable enemy... Lighter fluid, paper kindling, rearranging the logs, an entire magazine's worth of pages from a 2007 issue of "Canadian Living" (Sorry, rest house owners...) All we really succeeded in was filling the house with smoke. But I'll tell you what. That was some funny stuff that night. And sharing those memories with my brother from another mother (how NOT gangsta was that!?) was awesome.
The next morning (Saturday) we all ate breakfast together. We had some difficult conversations and tensions were a bit high, so Mick and I went for a hike to find some waterfalls. We found one, but took a wrong turn and never got to the second (big) waterfall. To be totally honest, a good portion of the hike was me talking and crying. Mick let me cry, kept me breathing, and didn't make fun of me when I picked up a stone and threw it as far as I could out of frustration (actually, we talked about it later and it was a pretty good throw. He was apparently impressed but wisely decided not to say anything!)
Our hike was really good for my soul. After I settled down a bit, Mick was able to help me sort my thoughts and encourage me and find a better perspective. I think that hike bonded us for a lifetime. Mick is amazing.
On our way back, we off-roaded a bit (the trail at that point was sort of ambiguous anyway) and got to see the waterfall we didn't reach. Absolutely beautiful. Tiny in the selfie of the two of us I posted on Facebook, but a good reminder of lessons I learned that day with a dear friend.
As we descended (no joke, we had hiked UP), we ran into four men from the Filani tribe. They are the horsemen of Cameroon and it is speculated they have some Arab blood in their ancestry. The look different than the tribes with whom we have been working. Mick and I ended up sharing a bit of our journey with the Filani men and had some fascinating cultural exchange as we walked and talked together. Another experience to add to my Cameroon memory storage unit!
So, let me back up just a touch for the next part of the story. As most world travelers know, it is highly likely that at some point you will come across a time where you can't avoid contaminated water, even if it's a few drops. My biggest suspect is the glasses that had been served to us with our lunch at one of the churches I've been teaching at were always still wet, but it was rude not to have some juice they were serving us (especially since they noticed). At any rate, I contracted a stomach problem and was frequently on the toilet Saturday morning before our hike. Unfortunately I forgot to bring toilet paper along on our hike and as you can probably imagine, I ended up praying fervently that the leaves I had to use on my rear end were not poisonous. I can't say that I remember ever getting the runs while camping or hiking, so I guess I can check that off the list and not revisit it.
ANYWAY, I ended up sick in bed (except for the getting up every 20 mins to use the bathroom). That was disappointing because that afternoon was my only chance to shop for handmade goods on the trip. But I knew I couldn't make it through the afternoon in my state, so I started antibiotics and stayed home. Pastor and Karen got a second night out and Mick played sick nurse/chef of the most delicious food I couldn't eat but he was so excited to have meat after the previous week, I didn't even feel envious. He enjoyed every single bite. I took it easy, but took several pictures of the view from our cabins with the changing light of the sunset. It was a humbling view of what our great God created for our enjoyment. His love notes to me this weekend were unmistakable. Then Mick and I enjoyed the fire and pretended we were camping (fake lantern lamp and all) and just relaxed. Laughter sprinkled in among snippets from the Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt theme song and Flight of the Conchords lyrics. It was a good wrap up to a long day.
Everyday the members of our team do a Bible study together (now done in pairs since we are split up). The readings were selected and prepared by Kingdom Workers. We use what is called the S.O.A.P. method - read the Scripture, make Observations, Apply them to our lives and the mission at hand, and Pray. Those have been good, but my very favorite time is when we discuss our blessings of the day and what senses were triggered - smells, sounds, etc. I feel like it is the Kingdom Worker version of our family ritual "What was your favorite thing today?" game. It is a great way to recount the day and learn more about our teammates. Our drive to the rest house triggered the sense of a smooth road underneath us. The road to Konye has rattled my bones nearly apart, so the blessing of pavement was HUGE.
Sunday was spent driving home. I was SO happy to be able to call my boys. I missed them very badly knowing I couldn't call them for three days - especially when I didn't feel good. The evening with Karen was spent watching the first episode of Downton Abby (I haven't seen any of it before last night) and eating roasted chicken and cheesy hash browns. We were interrupted by a few power outages, but it was nice to have a night that felt sort of "normal". I haven't watched TV or anything (no non-Cameroon related stuff on Facebook) since I left home, so it was comforting.
Today (Monday) I was back to my regular teaching schedule. I felt like both class periods went really well. The children, as usual, were so happy to see me. They really take the edge off missing my boys' hugs. That human contact has been limited and I am craving it. The children are a really awesome part of my day. They are already dreading me leaving. I will miss them too! I smiled when after they hug-attacked me, they went and smothered Mama Karen. It's been heartwarming to watch them extend their affections to encompass her as well. I hope that proves helpful to their long-term ministry here.
Some of today's personal highlights included receiving a ring that my friend Milton made for me. I left my wedding ring with Dan so I didn't need to worry about losing it or anything, but I kept feeling for it and feeling a naked finger! I'd at least stopped having a mini panic attack every time. Anyway, Milton took a 25 franc coin (the equivalent of about a nickel) and made it into a ring. VERY cool souvenir and Milton made a little money too! I also got to visit his wife Juliet at her shop before evening classes. She made me a few skirts out of fabric from the market. I haven't seen them yet but I can't wait! It was a blessing to me to be able to support each of them for their skills and art! I especially enjoyed the walk to her shop - I spend so much time whizzing by in a truck, I miss the details. I liked the feeling it gave me today.
So that's been the last few days. Lots of growth through adversity, humility through grandeur, and blessings through friendship, but I am on the constant lookout for joy, reminding me it is there.
Thursday, September 24, 2015
Ascending
With the sun rising (even behind a sky full of clouds) comes a new day. A fresh start meant an opportunity to leave yesterday behind and try again.
Both my classes went smoothly, particularly because I took the drive to Konye, constant bumps and all, to get a good set of sentence examples written along the way there. That set me up for both classes geared toward adults (although I did have an off the cuff lesson on adverbs vs. adjectives tonight as well). I think my students are happy. The number of children was smaller tonight as it was the first night of Ramadan and a few of the students may be Muslim. But my joy for the day was reading the story of David and Goliath to them, pulling in a touch of acting skills, and seeing them riveted, enjoying the listening practice.
The children I call my paparazzi because they are a swarm around me and surround the car as we try to leave. Literally kids hugging on me until I climb into the car. They of course are fascinated by my hair - long, smooth, and soft and sneak every opportunity to touch it they can. I've been impressed with their English levels from school, but since we are in an Anglophone region, it's not entirely shocking for the kids. They make me smile.
And Mama Sabina, the president of the Lutheran Church of Cameroon (LCC) prepared the most delicious dinner tonight. We ate it ALL! It was a nice break from pepe soup with fish. I got three solid meals today... Lunch just didn't happen until 3:30. Don't tell my boys that the Konye church served us only cookies for lunch "like America". Lol... Oh my.
The evening ended with yet another deep conversation with Karen. God has stuffed me to the point of bursting with emotion and I really wrestle with Him on that. It would seem pretty ridiculous to me to come all the way to Africa to "fix" my life. Anyway, I'm blessed by her and her deep faith and hope I am able to process through God's grace the conversations we have had and really start growing in my faith again.
I will be headed up to the Northwest region early tomorrow morning and won't have any internet for most of three days. I didn't want to leave you all that actually read this on a down note from last night. Just rest assured that the prayers of the individuals I reached out to with specifics were affective and I am so very grateful.
I hope to return with a plethora of adventure and growth stories after the weekend. Don't miss me too badly. 😉
Both my classes went smoothly, particularly because I took the drive to Konye, constant bumps and all, to get a good set of sentence examples written along the way there. That set me up for both classes geared toward adults (although I did have an off the cuff lesson on adverbs vs. adjectives tonight as well). I think my students are happy. The number of children was smaller tonight as it was the first night of Ramadan and a few of the students may be Muslim. But my joy for the day was reading the story of David and Goliath to them, pulling in a touch of acting skills, and seeing them riveted, enjoying the listening practice.
The children I call my paparazzi because they are a swarm around me and surround the car as we try to leave. Literally kids hugging on me until I climb into the car. They of course are fascinated by my hair - long, smooth, and soft and sneak every opportunity to touch it they can. I've been impressed with their English levels from school, but since we are in an Anglophone region, it's not entirely shocking for the kids. They make me smile.
And Mama Sabina, the president of the Lutheran Church of Cameroon (LCC) prepared the most delicious dinner tonight. We ate it ALL! It was a nice break from pepe soup with fish. I got three solid meals today... Lunch just didn't happen until 3:30. Don't tell my boys that the Konye church served us only cookies for lunch "like America". Lol... Oh my.
The evening ended with yet another deep conversation with Karen. God has stuffed me to the point of bursting with emotion and I really wrestle with Him on that. It would seem pretty ridiculous to me to come all the way to Africa to "fix" my life. Anyway, I'm blessed by her and her deep faith and hope I am able to process through God's grace the conversations we have had and really start growing in my faith again.
I will be headed up to the Northwest region early tomorrow morning and won't have any internet for most of three days. I didn't want to leave you all that actually read this on a down note from last night. Just rest assured that the prayers of the individuals I reached out to with specifics were affective and I am so very grateful.
I hope to return with a plethora of adventure and growth stories after the weekend. Don't miss me too badly. 😉
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
Falling
Well.... today was the day.
I knew I would crash emotionally at some point, and it turned out that this was it. I'd like to say that everything is all always amazing and and incredible, but you know what? That would be a lie. The ups come with the downs... and I am in big trouble when I don't release my downs.
My classes went well enough. We didn't get stuck on the road. And so far, I have not stumbled across any African critters today (there were 4- to 5-inch really skinny worms crawling out of the drains and straight up the walls in the bathroom last night just before bed. It made for a really relaxing night, let me tell you).
Traveling in different cultures is exhausting. It can be lonely and isolating. And it is a dang good thing it is filled with interesting things that out weigh the bad. Today I miss my boys so much and need their little tight squeeze around my neck and sweet smoches on my cheeks. I need a back-crunching hug from Dan, and to be honest, a good, freaking long cry session with the person who knows me best.
I think this is one of the hard parts of technology. I write here to emote, to get some ounce of release, but I don't want anyone to worry. I'm sure we will have many adventures more. Friday will bring the drive to meet up with Mick and Pastor again and I am fully confident that is what my heart needs. It's been a long week of fearing that I'm making critical social errors, not understanding much of what's being said, and not fully grasping what my brain interprets as tangled up bureaucracy and related cultural issues that come with working with a foreign organization. That sounds so harsh, and I feel guilty even saying it. But I really struggle with wrapping my head around everything and today the smile fell off my face into sudden, unexpected tears. Unfortunately in front of a national. Which was also a no-no, as I found out. *headdesk*
I just said the other day to a friend that this is the longest period of happy I have had in a long time. I have been dealing with stress quite well and been rolling with whatever came our way. But I finally was honest with myself about my trepidation with my English classes and needed to release that tension. Every day, every class period is different... some days I have awesome sessions with one group and mediocre with the other. I feel under-prepared on so many levels, between the unexpected class-makeup and the change in plan for the curriculum. I'm hoping I get a chance to gain some ground on my updated, more advanced lessons by Monday and start fresh,but tomorrow will just be what it is... I'm praying for a good enough resource to jump out at me off the internet before we leave the house at 8 am. It may be a late night because I am going to go share my coconut that a student gave me with Milton and Juliet when she gets back from her classes. That's a plus. As long as I don't burst into tears. I don't know if I have a good enough list of excuses to get myself out of that one fast enough.
Through this entire process I had Moses Syndrome; Surely, Lord, you can't mean me. Are you sure you think I'M the one you want to send? What if I screw this up? What if I can't handle it? What if I hate it? I think you may have me confused with someone else.
And as awesome as Cameroon has been at times, today many of my fears became true for me. I didn't hang in there well enough. I was barely able to compose myself enough to eat dinner and teach as if I did not have the overwhelming urge to sob my heart out. I thank God that I was able to put my happy and confident mask back on and get going in the classroom, but three weeks was unrealistic to go without crying, I guess.
I most certainly can't expect myself to be perfect and an expert at navigating the difficulty of a new culture in one week. I don't know if I could do it even in a lifetime. But today I just feel like optimistic, idea-concocting, put the best construction on everything Andi is the wrong person to have here. But I'm here... so there must be a reason for that. I just hope I can figure it out before I ruin the chances for any volunteer to come here again.
Ok, so that is maybe a bit dramatic. But my heart sure feels it.
And Mick, if you are somehow reading this (which I'm highly doubting since your in the bush), please save a humongous hug for me. I'm going to need it.
And on the funny side of things, the truck that stopped and just watched us with our vehicle stuck in the mud yesterday was stuck today only 100 feet from our sticking point. How's that for irony, huh?
Now, back for seeking that joy.
I knew I would crash emotionally at some point, and it turned out that this was it. I'd like to say that everything is all always amazing and and incredible, but you know what? That would be a lie. The ups come with the downs... and I am in big trouble when I don't release my downs.
My classes went well enough. We didn't get stuck on the road. And so far, I have not stumbled across any African critters today (there were 4- to 5-inch really skinny worms crawling out of the drains and straight up the walls in the bathroom last night just before bed. It made for a really relaxing night, let me tell you).
Traveling in different cultures is exhausting. It can be lonely and isolating. And it is a dang good thing it is filled with interesting things that out weigh the bad. Today I miss my boys so much and need their little tight squeeze around my neck and sweet smoches on my cheeks. I need a back-crunching hug from Dan, and to be honest, a good, freaking long cry session with the person who knows me best.
I think this is one of the hard parts of technology. I write here to emote, to get some ounce of release, but I don't want anyone to worry. I'm sure we will have many adventures more. Friday will bring the drive to meet up with Mick and Pastor again and I am fully confident that is what my heart needs. It's been a long week of fearing that I'm making critical social errors, not understanding much of what's being said, and not fully grasping what my brain interprets as tangled up bureaucracy and related cultural issues that come with working with a foreign organization. That sounds so harsh, and I feel guilty even saying it. But I really struggle with wrapping my head around everything and today the smile fell off my face into sudden, unexpected tears. Unfortunately in front of a national. Which was also a no-no, as I found out. *headdesk*
I just said the other day to a friend that this is the longest period of happy I have had in a long time. I have been dealing with stress quite well and been rolling with whatever came our way. But I finally was honest with myself about my trepidation with my English classes and needed to release that tension. Every day, every class period is different... some days I have awesome sessions with one group and mediocre with the other. I feel under-prepared on so many levels, between the unexpected class-makeup and the change in plan for the curriculum. I'm hoping I get a chance to gain some ground on my updated, more advanced lessons by Monday and start fresh,but tomorrow will just be what it is... I'm praying for a good enough resource to jump out at me off the internet before we leave the house at 8 am. It may be a late night because I am going to go share my coconut that a student gave me with Milton and Juliet when she gets back from her classes. That's a plus. As long as I don't burst into tears. I don't know if I have a good enough list of excuses to get myself out of that one fast enough.
Through this entire process I had Moses Syndrome; Surely, Lord, you can't mean me. Are you sure you think I'M the one you want to send? What if I screw this up? What if I can't handle it? What if I hate it? I think you may have me confused with someone else.
And as awesome as Cameroon has been at times, today many of my fears became true for me. I didn't hang in there well enough. I was barely able to compose myself enough to eat dinner and teach as if I did not have the overwhelming urge to sob my heart out. I thank God that I was able to put my happy and confident mask back on and get going in the classroom, but three weeks was unrealistic to go without crying, I guess.
I most certainly can't expect myself to be perfect and an expert at navigating the difficulty of a new culture in one week. I don't know if I could do it even in a lifetime. But today I just feel like optimistic, idea-concocting, put the best construction on everything Andi is the wrong person to have here. But I'm here... so there must be a reason for that. I just hope I can figure it out before I ruin the chances for any volunteer to come here again.
Ok, so that is maybe a bit dramatic. But my heart sure feels it.
And Mick, if you are somehow reading this (which I'm highly doubting since your in the bush), please save a humongous hug for me. I'm going to need it.
And on the funny side of things, the truck that stopped and just watched us with our vehicle stuck in the mud yesterday was stuck today only 100 feet from our sticking point. How's that for irony, huh?
Now, back for seeking that joy.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)