Me, mostly.
And my cupboard. (But I think there's got to be an animal in there, because everyone knows cupboards can't talk. Except sometimes when I'm lonely.)
I've been staying up to extreme hours in order to do silly things, one of which was make a presentation on Canada and share some maple syrup treats. The presentation turned out okay, but my class consisted of six students and one teacher (most of whom still believe that 'Indian' and 'Native American' are interchangeable terms - yes, Missionary Kids inhabit a strange, strange little bubble that would definitely be popped by a punch in the mouth) who were two days from Christmas break. Besides, they'd already admitted wholeheartedly that they adored my presentation.
This confession occurred before my presentation, and just after I'd brought the treats out. (I was assured this had nothing to do with anything.)
The final performance of the Messiah was on Friday night, the choir enjoyed dinner together on Saturday night, the annual Christmas program (organized by the hospitable SA) was on our yard on Sunday night, our mission had a Christmas party on Monday night... and I've basically been quite the social butterfly for my last two weeks in this country. It's wonderful and a little sad, because I don't think I'll be able to process that I'm really leaving until I'm back home.
At which point I may walk out of the house one night, sit in a heap of snow in my flannel pajamas, and start crying. My mother will find me, frostbitten (or heavily rained upon, judging by the weather reports so far), and sobbing incoherently about my talking cupboard.
I've met the sweetest, most generous missionaries here - in a dry, red polygon of a country that doesn't have much to boast about except the loving hospitality of its people.
Oh, there have been bumps in the road. For example, when I was gently and regretfully identified as having an 'Indonesian' accent during ESL class... Another time when I was helpfully informed that they needed 'native' English speakers for the 'right' accent during English Club... A few occasions where people have been outright rude upon learning that I don't speak Bamanakan... But this country's still got a piece of my heart. And I've got a little sliver of every beautiful person I've met here - even the fantastically weird Missionary Kids who won't remember me, but whom I'll get to creep on Facebook to see what fantastically amazing things they do for the the glory of His name.
I hope I'll get to come back, but I can't say for sure. Besides, it'll be different if I do. It won't be the same people, the same jokes, the same problems - they'll be all brand new, all hard, all impossible without our awesome God. It'll be a bunch of new, weird, different people who might not necessarily want to be around each other or around West Africans all the time, but who love the Lord and know that sharing His love is all that matters.
As I was reminded on Facebook: "Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open." And that's made all the difference I see here. Please pray that it continues.
(Yes, it's a Harry Potter quote. Just go with the maudlin flow of it all. No, I'm not crying. Very much. Any more.)
Anyway. I still have whole nights of carol singing and church services ahead of me! I can't believe I wrote out a whole sappy goodbye post so early! Now my last post on this sadly neglected blog will be something like, "Goodbye," and that'll be all you remember.
I meant to talk about so many other things today. Like going hiking to a gorgeous natural bridge along a perilous route which wild animals (if this country had any animals that weren't tied up in a front yard glaring balefully at you and yodeling a funeral dirge and an invitation to come over for mutton in a bit - all in one soggy bleat) would fear to tread.
(It is also a route which was undertaken by the stately MK, Broke-Toe Becky, and a real-life, bespectacled Thumbelina. But we don't have to advertise that.)
I also meant to say something suitably witty and amusing about an unidentified animal that sits in my cupboard and croaks at me. It sounds like this: "MUAHA-HA-HA-HA."
I'm dead serious. When I finally asked the wise MK about it, after enduring mental anguish for the past four months, she said confidently that it was a lizard.
I asked what the lizard was doing to make a sound like that.
She looked at me like I'd suggested we start a commune in the Netherlands.
It had been a long day and neither of us were at our best, so after a few moments of hysterical laughter, I bid a hasty retreat. And now I'm all alone in the house (as SA has scarpered to a Very Lori Christmas a few hours away) and scared to go into my bedroom and face my cupboard.
Go ahead; laugh. It's all fun and games until someone throws open a cupboard and finds a lizard chortling evilly to itself with its fingers steepled under its chin.
Fact: If a Malian is listening to you/understanding what you're trying to convey, he/she will click his/her tongue on the roof of his/her mouth. I have an aunt who does almost the same thing, but she is not Malian, nor does she understand me; she has itchy sinuses. So when I first got here, I wondered at the disproportionately large number of Malians with sinus problems. Later, I figured the clicking was a sign that the speaker could speak faster - sort of like you'd encourage a horse into a canter. Thus, I, like a horse, spoke faster. In French. Which abruptly made all clicking stop. Forever. It was like having a time bomb stop ticking. You're staring at your conversation partner in horror, wondering how you started talking about your aunt's sinus problems in French, wondering if you accidentally clipped the red wire or the yellow wire...
Moral of the Story: The Malian lizard in my cupboard is clicking his tongue in an understanding fashion as I talk to my cupboard. It's the only rational explanation, really.
No comments:
Post a Comment