Hello Home!
This week has been one of yet more changes. Again, I feel
like I have a year’s worth of experiences to cram into a short blog.
Early Monday morning, Alex and I boarded a bus in N’Djamena
to travel to our home city of Moundou.
It was sad to see Angela go and realize that other than a very short old
French woman, we were the only white people on the bus. This meant I was the
only person in the vehicle to be French-ignorant. I should really get used to
the feeling…
The drive is meant to be about 7 hours. Thankfully, the bus
was air-conditioned and the roads were pretty good. We were stopped about 40
minutes into our drive and all the men were told to get off the bus. They were
searched for weapons (yikes) and allowed back on. I was in a perfect position
to watch Alex get interrogated about his missing passport, which was in
N’Djamena paving the way for our extended visas. After showing a letter of
explanation, giving a lot of gestures, and getting help from the crowd of
African men who had gotten back off the bus to witness the action, Alex was let
go. I regret now that I hadn’t taken a picture. We stopped in two cities along
the road for some breaks, and once so people could relieve themselves four feet
from my window. (There is no shame, and a part of me admires that. Another part
is scarred.)
We were met at the bus station by Sem Beasnael, who is not
only our caretaker here, but also a fascinating person I hope to write about at
some point. The short story - Sem and his wife lived in Texas for many years
before returning to do God’s work in Chad. Eunice, his wife, had prepared a
plethora of food (fries for the Americans – bless her), and a handful of people
we would interact with were gathered. I got a big hug from my host mother, Bernadette,
and a soft handshake from Pastor Joseph, my host father. Bernadette is a
round-faced, beautiful woman with basic English skills. I was shocked when she
hopped on a motorcycle to head home at the end of the night.
I feel like I need to tell you about my first night, because
I don’t think I will forget it for the rest of my life.
The Pastor’s family has a small dirt yard with a mango tree
(!), a guava tree, some papaya trees, and other foliage. The earth here is
sandy and very red, so the contrast with the green is very pretty. I have a
little apartment to myself – a bedroom and bathroom with an American toilet.
There is a TV in the corner that doesn’t work, and a mini fridge that the whole
family uses when they need it. Overall, a pretty nice set up.
I was feeling the second wave of culture shock set in as my
host mother helped me put up a musty smelling mosquito net. The electricity had
already gone out and come back on and I was realizing how different this room
was from my cozy one at home. Then a cockroach crawling across the wall caught
my attention. Now, I am pretty good about sucking it up and dealing with being
a little uncomfortable, but after my emotional day of changes I had to speak
up. I think I said,
“uuuuhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHH!” Mama Bernadette got the message, grabbed my shoe, and wacked
the crap out of that cockroach. Turns out the bathroom was covered in them, so
she locked herself in there with a spray can and came out smelling like serious
chemicals. Then she gave me the can, asked me how to say cockroach in English,
and wished me goodnight. That may have been the longest night of my life. I
could hear little critters crawling on the walls, my bed and net smelled funny,
and there was a bed spring digging into my spine. The next day I swept out my
bathroom with a traditional African broom (a bunch of grass). I counted 15
cockroaches. They hadn’t stood a chance.
Like that first night, the last few days have been a
rollercoaster. I have had some pretty low lows. I never thought culture shock
would affect me like this, but part of this experience is learning how to deal
with drastic changes. What a great time to lean on your faith!
Moundou has not had electricity for over half of the time I
have been here. Internet is not really an option unless I really go searching for it, which I haven’t. I been served a whole
fish (eyes and everything) twice already, and ate the whole thing (including
some bones which worry me a little). The boule, or ugali like substance, is not
my favorite, but I am managing. Little kids laugh at me when I drive by, and
adults stare. What do I use when my sink has no water? A bucket, dear Liza! A bucket filled from the
shower and then used to bucket flush my toilet. Buckets are great. I have three
in my room right now that catch the water dripping in from the torrent of rain
outside.
I can see myself reading this from the US and thinking,
“What a great adventure!” but from this side it has been pretty stressful.
However, right when I think I can’t handle it, God gives me blessing. Every day
that I have been overwhelmed something has happened that cheered me up. Many of
these moments have been rough English-French-Charades conversations with my
host family. My favorite moment was coming out of my room to find two naked children
covered in soap suds, giggling shyly at the white girl. I had walked in on bath
time in the yard.
I could keep going but it is getting late and I have my
second French lesson tomorrow. There may be a chance of getting access to the
internet tomorrow so I figured I should be prepared. A huge thank you to those
of you who have sent me messages in some form. I haven’t replied because of
internet connection but your words mean so much to me. Anyone missing me at
home should know I am missing them twice as much over here.
May God send little
blessings your way week. He has delivered some to me already.
Bon nuit!
