Archive for March 2nd, 2006

Life in Freetown

Life in Sierra Leone is quite an adventure full of new experiences. From the food, to the climate, to the language, each dimension presents challenges and lessons.

First things first: we eat well. Rice accompanies about every meal. The main course consists of chicken, beef, or fish in vegetables and oil. The three meats, different oils (mainly palm and vegetable), assorted vegetables, and some spices can be combined in many different permutations. A popular dish here is granut (peanut) soup served over rice. It is quite good. Soups here are more like stews in the states. The rice ensures that each meal is filling. The oil ensures that my stomach will have some aches a few hours after eating.

One of the real treats we’ve found here is frozen yogurt. Instead of T.C.B.Y., think frozen lemon Yoplait. My first treat to this heavenly gift was after a two hour walk under the hot African sun. The cold refreshment hit my lips and reminded me once again that God is real and that he loves me :) . The yogurt costs 500 Leones (about $0.16). So far I have reserved this treat for times when I can most appreciate it.

To answer many of your questions, no, the water is not safe to drink. We filter our water with ceramic filters or buy purified water in sealed plastic bags or bottles. No matter how I get my water, I can’t seem to get enough. Ay de sweat.

Ah yes, the heat. It is hot. But, come on Matt, you knew you were going to Africa. We’re entering into the hot season here. Apparently a woman scorned hath no furry like an African summer. I don’t think I’m prepared for the heat, but I don’t really have a choice. It’s coming in about a month.

Sleeping in the heat has been interesting. No longer do I snuggle up in my covers. I’ve forgone a top sheet altogether in the hopes that a passing breeze from the window will bless me throughout the night. I have not slept well in this past week which has resulted in me falling asleep during my Krio lessons and pretty much any other extended periods of sitting. While this doesn’t surprise many of you, I would appreciate your prayers for good sleep.

We started our Krio lessons here this week. The lessons are simple and good. There are ten vowels in the Krio language, as opposed to the five and sometimes six (that crazy ‘y’) vowels in English. There are also a few new consonants. We lose a few consonants too, but I never cared too much for the ‘x’ or stand-alone ‘c’ anyway … luxuries at best. We all look forward to knowing how to speak the local tongue. Only then will we really know what they’re yelling at us from the side of the road. In all seriousness, I feel like my ability to build relationships with the Lighthouse kids and other Sierra Leoneans will improve only with my improved language skills. Please pray that I would pick up the language quickly.

The living situation is going well. Ben has yet to move upstairs, but I think it will happen soon. We haven’t been there much, seeing that our first week was quite hectic. As we find our routine here in Freetown we’ll be spending more nights with our host family, the Zizers: Pastor Victor Zizer, his wife Marvel, his children Marvic, Marvin, and Marvina, and Thomas, a teenager that lives with them to go to school in Freetown. They are a very, very kind family. I feel very blessed to have such nice people with which to live.

There are more pictures up in the gallery. Enjoy!

Matt & Micah

 

On Silence …

As the days dogs bark seemingly without ceasing in the background, I write about silence. Here I have given up much of my precious silence. My room is not my own. The house is shared by eleven people: eight to one bathroom in the upstairs apartment, three to the bathroom in the downstairs apartment. Loud birds, gas generators, barking dogs, horns, people singing, talking, sweeping … there is always something waiting to steal the still moment I longingly await. The cloud of sound that surrounds everything wears down my nerves. I struggle to find peace – to process all that I see and hear, to remind (and sometimes convince) myself that I am still sane, I am love, I have worth. There are no coffee shops, no empty, quiet houses where I can escape. The color of my skin and the celebrity it provides does not allow me to find the silence that anonymity could provide. The brief moments that do come when the cloud cover breaks briefly or when I lose myself in my thoughts are sweet and cherished. Finding extended moments of escape is one of the challenges of my time here.

Even as I seek moments to be lost in silence that is mine to break, I am thankful for the silence from my routine back in the US – a silence brought about by the absence of the familiar. While I deeply miss friendships and family, the silence afforded me by my forfeiture of my routine allows me to start anew, to see what is really me and shows up here in Sierra Leone, and what is not and is left back in the states. This experience is a filter of sorts, leaving behind the things that are hindrances behind to create a silence to sift out what remains. Sadly, it also catches some things that mean so much, like family & friends.

So here I sit, seeking a literal silence to process the figurative along with all the lessons of the day.

Tearing through the outer shell of my heart …

I've said to many of you in emails that things here are hard, but good. The hardness comes in many ways: seeing extreme poverty, lack of conveniences, heat, walking, missing good friends and family back home, loneliness. But the hardness is good. It causes me to think about what is before me. One such hardness before me has been seeing people beg for money on the side of the street. There is a story behind each person: polio, victim of war atrocities, widowed, and many more. Each one is a person, deserving of dignity, but having to humble them self to beg from others. Enter a large white man. I stick out and am asked for money many times a day. My personal philosophy on giving here has yet to form. But beggars do not wait for personal philosophies. Here is the story from my journal of the first beggar to tear through the outer shell of my heart. 
While seeking a poda-poda to ride back to the Aberdeen house, we ran into Mr. Gooding, the house owner. He drove us to Congo Cross in his Ford Explorer. I wore my seatbelt and was mocked. It's humorous to do so in a country where seemingly no one does so. I haven’t even seen a seat belt in over a week. On the drive back a little boy approached the car to beg for money. Traffic was slow so the boy was able to approach my window several times as we stopped repeatedly. The first few times I tried to ignore him. There are so many beggars here that you become numb, or try to keep yourself numb so you don't end up utterly broken or broke, or both. But after a few stops, I could ignore him no longer. I turned to look upon his face and saw a child that had been scalded on the face and body. The protective shield around my heart that keeps me numb and rich was torn and my heart filled with emotion. Compassion, pity. I reached into my shirt picket for a 2,000 Leone note … only 66 cents, but enough to buy more than a day's worth of food. I gave. It was easy, temporary. The money would not fix his scars, nor keep his belly full for long. But it was something.

But then again, is the point to change his life? I can only affect his life for a brief moment. Our interaction was no longer than a minute. No, it was in this moment that he affected me. God used this moment, this thin place to break through my thick outer shell to show me that my heart beats, my heart breaks.  It was in this moment that I was changed, not the boy. I sat quietly as we drove on. I did not look back at my friends; I could not bear the possibility of their stares, questions, or remarks.

I sat there quietly, trying to figure out what had just happened.