Today was a significant day. All the past 30 days have kind of
squashed together (this is true except for the tarantula-like spider
Carol found in her clothes last week that Steve is now keeping in an
upside down drinking glass on the table or the black widow-like spider
in a large mason jar on the table or the huge Gaboon Viper I saw last
week on someone’s porch. It was dead. I have photos.). But not this
day. Today I consumed my first Cameroonian mango. Although not
completely ripe, it really did remind me of mangoes I’ve eaten in the
States. So good. I’ve waited and waited and waited for the mangoes to
come, using their arrival as another indication of the time that has
actually passed. I’ve waited for mangoes for 6 months. And they are
finally here. I admit, though, that during my long period of waiting I
made these African mangoes into something more than what they actually
are. Even if they are less then I expected, I’ll enjoy them
whole-heartedly. The small things really are huge blessings from God.
Today is also Lassin Market Day. Market Day comes every eight days (so
next week it will fall on Friday); two days after Market Day is
Country Sunday for the village. The 8-day week makes the reality of a
Sabbath inconvenient for many here. We are good at coming up with
excuses that will one day pale in comparison to the majesty of our
God. Since my arrival here, I’ve pretty much avoided the market…
mostly. This was, of course, encouraged by the other missionaries
here- and even locals. The markets the place where people waste time,
get into trouble, frequent the bars, etc. My bad feelings toward the
market have come and gone, really. Since Kim and Kataya left, I find
that going to the market really only reminds me that they’re not here
anymore. From the beginning, I also hated being stared at and called
by so many people. I like to think that I never have enjoyed
attention—good or bad. I definitely have disliked it from people I
don’t know. I’ve never experienced it on so great a scale as I do here
on Market Day. I’ve become used to it, but I still like to avoid the
crowd. A few weeks ago I happened to be in the market past about4 o’
clock. Never again will I go to the market past 3. One of the items
people enjoy on Market Day (and in the market on every other day as
well) is palm wine. Palm wone is the fermented juice of the raffia
fruit, I believe. And it smells awful. Anyway, by the time 4 comes
around, many are inebriated by the stuff. And on this Sunday market, I
was walking to Julianna’s booth, minding my own business when BAM! A
stranger grabbed my shoulder with his strong hand. I tried shrugging
him off but could not shake him until I physically shoved his hand off
my shoulder. This really shook me. I had the only other Adventist
family here escort me out of the market, past the bar just outside the
market, right to the path to my house, vowing never to go to the
market again. I have. I understand that people under the influence of
alcohol cannot be responsible for their actions. That’s too bad.
Another interesting thing I’ve confronted in the market (besides juju,
which I’d call a combination of alcohol and this next occurrence) is
insanity. I remember Divine’s little niece (and my neighbor) coming to
see me a few days ago. Her name is Loco. Despite my reclusive
tendencies this day, she managed to catch me outside on my porch, and
I was happy for the visitor. It seemed, though, that everyone else in
the village was somewhere else. It was pretty quiet in the quarter.
She said, “There is a madman at the palace.” “Oh, really… Did he pass
by here before?” “Mmm,” she confirmed. I figured it was the same
madman who’d been around before, the one who lives in Lassin. Later, I
learned that this was a different guy. And on the day he was “at the
palace” he was completely naked. Glad I didn’t happen to meet him on
that day. But, unfortunately, I did meet him the next day. And oh boy.
I don’t know what else I can say about it. I think it was Tuesday
morning. I left my house at a decent hour, headed for school. I walked
through the market as usual, past John’s store, down to the bike park.
I noticed a man sitting in the middle of a clear area, equidistant
from the village phone and the two Muslim shops. I didn’t think
anything of it. But then I met the village phone guy coming up to his
shop. He let me know I could come and buy credit, so I followed him.
Well, then I discovered the madman. I just walked right up into the
village phone booth, trying not to look at the crazy person speaking
some alien language. I’m telling you, the guy sounded like one of the
aliens from the movie Signs. Really. I casually mentioned to the phone
guy and his other customer that “there’s a madman outside.” They
agreed with me. Well, by this time the madman had noticed me also.
Around here, when people see a “white man”, they really see a walking
10,000 cfa note. That’s too bad. So the guy sauntered up to the
village phone booth, sitting on the ground just down from the veranda,
hand extended towards me, still muttering in clicks, gurgles, and
groans. Wow. I wasn’t thinking much to myself besides “don’t look at
him, don’t look at him.” Mostly I was talking to God. The madman even
threw something, a little metal piece like a small, old rusty bracket,
up at my feet. That really startled me, though. At that point the
phone guy started yelling at him in Fulani to get away, I guessed. He
and his other customer assured me that I should not be afraid of him.
They could tell I was upset, ha. Oh, I forgot to mention that, just
next store, standing right in front of Shey John’s store, was the Fon
(traditional king of Lassin). It is the Fon’s responsibility in his
village to make sure that the guests of the village were treated as
guests should be. He was watching all this happen, and I felt better
knowing he was seeing it all. The madman did back away by the time I
exited the booth and darted for the road toward Kibo. I wanted to be
far, far away from Lassin as quick as I could. Well, he wouldn’t have
that, of course. He started after me at a slowish but steady pace. By
the time I reached the very edge of the high veranda, just before the
path (with the Fon on the other side), the man chucked some sort of
heavy garment in my direction. The dirty clothes landed just beneath
me, right in path. I shot a quick glance toward the Fon, jumped down
off the veranda (as faaaaaar as I could jump haha), and walked as
quick as I could toward school. Some school girls joined me about this
time and I saw D in the distance. I knew God had delayed him just the
right amount of time- and the girls, too. I was so happy to see these
familiar faces. I walked/jogged toward D and school, the madman
following us. Now he was speaking Fulani or Hausa, and the girls could
understand. I kept hearing him saying something about ‘nasara’ (white
man). Ummi and Zenabu said, “Madam, he is insulting you.” I just said
“Oh, okay. I’m just walking to school.” I never looked back, just kept
on keeping on. He stopped following after some time, I guess,
encouraged I’m sure by D’s presence between us. So I’ve put yet
another thing on my list of reasons to stay away from the market.
Besides mangoes and madmen, there’s not a whole lot of news. I admit
that I’ve been through the routine here just enough times to dub it
mundane. When things are still exciting and new, it’s hard to imagine
that they could one day become the boring norm. And I still can’t
really bring myself to say that about life here. I mean, c’mon, I’m IN
AFRICA. How could I be bored?? How could things be dull?? That makes
me wonder if it’s just me. Eh. I think I’m coming full circle. In the
beginning, I noted every single bright spot of every day. I had to. I
couldn’t survive otherwise. I had to acknowledge the blessings God was
pouring out on me. I think now, after months of becoming accustomed to
life here in Lassin, I need to do the same. Mangoes are such a
blessing. Safety from harm and my sanity are huge gifts, too. And did
I mention the baby goats? Without these little bundles of joy, I’d
really be discouraged, my mind stuck in my mundane “reality”. The
reality is that God is here with me in Lassin, just as He is with you
(wherever you are). The reality is that He knows my every thought, His
future plans for me, the number of hairs on my head. Amd He loves me!
What an amazing God we serve.
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