Garibou

There is this boy that I see.

He works the intersection around the corner from my house.

Everyday he stands outside with a red tomato tin bucket the size of a Folgers container, begging.

Somedays when we drive past the intersection I don't see him because the light is green and we don't stop. But on days when the light is red, particularly Sundays, he comes up to the truck, places his hand on the window, and smiles.

On Tuesday I (and Marvelly) attempted to go to lunch with Anne. She biked over to the house then we all set off on foot to an Indian restaurant. On our way, I saw the boy. The boy with the bucket and the smile. The boy that I see.

He had his tin can connected to a piece of string and it was flung over his back. He was pushing an older man crippled with polio in a wheelchair. As we passed by, he stopped and waved and smiled his smile. He looks to be about 8 years old.

It turned out the restaurant was closed on Tuesdays, so we set off back to Anne's house and on our way back, we passed him again. This time he was with not only the crippled gentleman, but an older crippled woman as well.

He smiled to us again.

I have been seeing this boy many times since moving here last month. I will see him, and smile, and the girls will wave and put their hands on the window. And then life carries us on to our next stop and corner where there are others.

It wasn't until Tuesday though, seeing him standing in front of me without the confines of the car between us....that something unexpected happened. I didn't leave the house expecting much besides lunch and company with a friend. But, in the middle of that red dirt road, the Lord burned that boy's face onto my heart, and it completely broke for him.

For the past few days I have been swept up in tears for the life of the boy with the smile. I will be standing in the kitchen, and out of nowhere the image of his face interrupts my thoughts, and I'm overwhelmed to tears. A song will be playing, and I will see him, and cry. During my bible study each morning I pray for him, and cry.

You can not predict or prepare for when the Lord decides to interrupt your life to break your heart.

I started praying for him, but what I pray, I don't really know. It is mostly tears and wordless aching for his life. Sometimes....there are just no words. But what comfort it is to know that when my words fail me and all I have is tears Jesus is in Heaven interceding for me. For the boy with the smile.

I didn't know what to do, or what I could do. All I knew is that I wanted to know more.
I wanted to see him.
Talk to him.
Learn what brought him there.
Learn what kept him there.
I had so many questions....
Was he orphaned?
Did he work for someone?
Did he eat?
Where did he sleep?
How could I help him?????

My thoughts about him were relentless and unyielding.

I was consumed with praying for direction and, just something that I couldn't even put words to.

And then in the absolute chaos of my thoughts over this situation that is so much bigger than me....

... I heard the Lord encourage me to just, "start by finding out more about him."

"One thing at a time. You have to start somewhere. This is where you need to start concerning this situation."

And, may I just say, God is so good. He has blessed our lives with the most amazing people since moving here less than two months ago. All those prayers I prayed before moving here, prayers that the Lord would go before us and prepare our way, strategically place specific people and friends in our lives to connect with......wow....are we ever seeing that. There were a couple people I knew I could ask to get more information. But the Lord didn't want me to just ask anyone....He brought to mind the exact person He wanted me to talk to about this.

I attend a women's bible study on Thursday nights and there is a gal who attends named Heidi who is a missionary with Go To Nations and she has lived here for 9 years. The Lord knew, and I knew, that if anyone would know the story of the boy with the smile who begs each day with a red tin bucket....she would.

So, Thursday night as she drove me home after study, I asked her.

And this is what she told me.....

.....the children I see are called Garibou. They are sent from their villages by their parents to live in the city as young as four years old.

They live with a man called a Marabou. The Marabou is a Muslim teacher who spends 'x' number of hours each day teaching the boys the Quran in Arabic. The children's parents think it is a great honor for their child to go and live with a Marabou and are eager to send them away for this opportunity.

So, the boys spend time each day learning the Quran in Arabic, a language they do not speak, writing down the scriptures on a tablet, and orally reciting it back. In a few short years the children will know the entire Quran in Arabic by memory. Once their lessons for the day are done, they kids are sent onto the streets to beg for money. Each child has a quota for what they must bring back each day and give to the Marabou as payment for their lodging.

You will find people who are sympathetic to the younger children and give money to them but often times the older kids will get nothing. So, the older kids will beat up the younger ones and steal their money so that they can reach their daily quota. And then the younger kids return with nothing, and are again beaten by their Marabou. 

They will sometimes only eat one meal a day.
They are not provided clothing.
They do not go to school.
They are not taught French.
They grow up on the streets....with absolutely no prospects for the future. 

In many countries in Sub-Sahara Africa this system has been outlawed and is now illegal.

But not in Burkina Faso.

As I sat listening to Heidi telling me all of this, I asked, in my ignorance, "is there no organizations established here to help get these kids off the streets and into school?"

Her short reply, "No. None."

And in the short seconds between her saying that, and what she said next, I could feel this wave of discouragement trying to press down around me, like I  was in a vacuum and the life and hope was being sucked out. I can't type this without crying. Everything is so raw here. It is daily survival in its most raw form. I was assaulted with thoughts of these children growing up on the streets, no parents, no one to love them. The boy. The boy I see with the smile, who now, after knowing a little more what his daily existence looks like, I thought to myself, "how can you smile? how.can.you.smile? how can you look at me and smile that smile that is full of joy, and hope?" He lives in absolute deplorable conditions with no hope for anything better than what he knows (and there's the lie.)

.....and then Heidi said, "But......"

And immediately Jesus was there. His presence just enveloped me. "He reached down from on high and took hold of me. He drew me out of deep waters. He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes, who were too strong for me."-Psalm 18:16-17

".....a colleague who works with us runs a ministry called Kids of Hope that serves the Garibou every Saturday. The kids come to her property and do a craft, hear a Bible story, eat a hearty meal and learn new trades. She's always looking for volunteers, would you like to come?"

*tears*
Yeah.
Yeah I would.


And there is the truth.

There is the truth I will cling to. That despite the deplorable slave like conditions they may live in, there is hope. The boy with the smile smiles his smile because there is hope. There is always hope worth hoping for. It may seem on the surface that the system is too long established and too rooted and engrained in society. It may seem that the system is too big to change. Too many kids. No way to rescue them from their oppressor and change their fate. But that is the lie. The truth is that there is a hope for these kids, for the boy that I see. And it is taking place every Saturday just ten minutes from my house.

Their Marabou allows them to go because that is one less meal he doesn't have to provide for them. He allows them to go, and in doing so they hear about Jesus. How amazing is that?!?!?!

It may seem on the surface that these kids are too far gone to help....but God has shown me that He is always working behind the scenes fighting back the darkness. Always. Establishing ways to save. Opportunities to share hope. Calling up people to be His hands and share His love. Fulfilling a greater purpose in their lives besides a life of begging.

"Since the children have flesh and blood, He too shared in their humanity so that by His death He might destroy him who holds the power of death-that is, the devil- and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death."-Heb. 2:14-15

In two weeks me and Isaak hope to go spend a few hours with the Garibou. I can't think of this without crying. Seeing how God orchestrated all of this. Placing the right person in my life to talk to, who just happens to work with a gal who has a ministry for these kids. Only Jesus. 

I mean really, only Jesus.  
I am excited and nervous. And even if I don't do anything but sit with them and color, I know that I am not sitting with them alone. Jesus is sitting with us.

"I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do. I will not forsake them."-Isaiah 42:16

Clinging to that promise. Believing in that truth for these kids. 

Game night, brunch, a Marine going-away, and twirling with Aladdin

We had a busy weekend round here.

But, that seems to be pretty standard since we moved here. Our weekends are packed with activities.
Which is a blessing, actually. In a place with so little to do compared to where we use to live, it is nice to have activities and opportunities to have fun. And, we are finding ways to stay busy. When you have so many less amenities available to you, you really do find that you can have just as much fun with more simple things. And we are. Hallelujah we are!!!

So, Friday night we walked down to the Rec Center for dinner and game night with friends.

We have to bring a flashlight when we walk at night. Our street has no lights for a few blocks making it pretty black and a pot hole will swallow you up if you're not watching. :~)

 We played our new favorite game, 7 Wonders, and laughed and harassed each other.

And the kids had their own fun watching a movie on the projection and playing ping pong.

 Saturday morning was a ladies brunch at Kathy's house.

There were about 15-20 women there and Kathy had a gal come by to give 15 minute massages for $6, yes...$6.

Another gal was on hand giving pedicures and manicures for $2. And then there were two local artisans who brought some of their handmade baskets, purses, place mats, wallets, trivets, you name it.....to sell as well. I picked up a beautiful woven basket with leather handles for $14, a new purse for $24, and some wallets and coin purses for $2. I am becoming quite smitten with Africa. :~) 

We talked and laughed.

And ate a lot of food. I made a cinnamon pancake cake with a syrup glaze, courtesy of pinterest. Definitely a keeper recipe.

 It was also Anne's birthday, which we celebrated with more food. These are my kind of people. :~)

And then later that evening we headed over to the Marine House for a "going away".

Someone now gone left behind a walking rope thingy. Not sure what they are called. But the kids had a good time trying to balance and walk back and forth between the two trees.

 It was a wee bit hot, hence the sweaty beat red faces.

Later on the Marines arranged for some entertainment. This guy is holding seven pans and spinning them simultaneously. I was impressed. The kids were roaring with applause.

All the kids were sitting on a bench behind him watching and he pulled a couple girls up to "assist" him. One of those girls was Sydaleigh, and she was through the roof excited. I mean, she thought this was the coolest thing she's ever done.

He then pulled them all up to dance with him. Marvelly was a safe distance away behind the fence not wanting to participate. And the girls just had the best time. That is ten little girls up there, all around the same age. Marvelly makes eleven and there are a few more with girls who couldn't make it. God just always seems to put us in the company of friends with girls! We love it!

 Me and my girl. She had the best time up there dancing around.

After Mr. Spinning Pots guy was done with his bit....Mr. Aladdin Pants came on. (I call him Mr. Alladdin pants, because he is wearing Aladdin pants.) I moved over to the side of the patio, way off to the side, and was sitting on a bench halfway under a palm tree. I thought I was safe. But after seeing Mr. Spinning Pots guy pull up some assistants to help out with his gig....Mr. Aladdin Pants got that same idea.

Now woulda been a good time to have mind reading super power.  I was just sitting there minding my own business watching Mr. Aladdin Pants twirl around and do hand stands on his roller skates when he rushes up to me and drags me against my will onto the patio with him.

 He tells me to dance, so I awkwardly bust out some dance moves (in front of a rather large number of Embassy staff ) hoping to slink away in a few seconds with my dignity partially in tact. But when I stand back up, after you know, dancing on my knees, He whispers to me above the music, "keep dancing, I am going to circle around and pick you up."

"Wait! What?! Come back! Did you say you're going to pick me up??!?!?!" And.....there goes the remainder of the dignity I had hoped to escape with.....

 "WHAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!"

That would be me, literally screaming, "NOOOOOOO!!!!" to Ima as she stood by laughing taking my picture. (Traitor.) I am not one to embarrass easily....but, that was pretty mortifying. And of course no other adults got swept up, twirled around and had to hang on for dear life for fear of being thrown into the pool that night. Just me. These moments always have a way of happening to just me.

So I have decided after this that dignity is overrated. There is really no way to maintain grace when you are screamin' like a banshee being twirled around in circles by a dude wearing satin Aladdin pants.

Touche Burkina. Touche.

Escargot

We have snails here. Lots and lots of snails. We were quite surprised when we moved in to see so many making their home in our front yard. I'm not entirely sure where they come from, or where they go after rainy season, but we sure are enjoying them nonetheless. Especially the girls.

They hang from the leaves in the foliage outside our patio. And they like to climb our pipes and sit vertically on our screen.

I really think they're quite cute....in a slimy alien-like kind of way.

Just us girls

Isaak left last night for Germany.

He was suppose to leave Saturday night, but after sitting on the plane for about four hours they canceled the flight and Isaak showed back up at home at 3:30 in the morning. I didn't wake up until I heard him close the front door, which is when Anna jumped off the bed and went to her guard post at the threshold of our bedroom door. (thanks Anna, your standing there was very effective) Next thing I knew a man was walking into our bedroom. I was putting on my glasses as he was entering, but I didn't know it was Isaak, so I said, "Hello?!".

I have determined that if an intruder were to gain access to my home in the middle of the night...a "hello?!" wouldn't do me much good. *Note to self....figure out a better scare tactic for confronting a potential intruder.

Thankfully it was just Isaak.

Air France booked him another flight for Sunday night so we got one extra day with Isaak before he had to leave again. It was a very peaceful Sunday. Maybe one of the most peaceful and relaxed days we've had since we've moved here.

We went swimming as a family. Sydaleigh practiced her back stroke.

 Marvelly floated contentedly in her swim ring.

I baked bread. The girls played nicely. Me and Isaak lounged in bed for a while watching The God Father. It was reminiscent of our pre-kid days in California where we would stay in bed watching movies every Saturday and eat Digiorno pizza (because we had no money and it was my favorite pizza. Still is actually. :~) ) *(And may I just say I am writing down that I did in fact sit for an extended period of time watching The God Father Trilogy. Let it be known....in the event that I feel the need to have a Meg Ryan marathon.)

And then evening came and he actually got to leave this time.

And Isaak is now in the amazing Heidelberg. After seeing all of Bekah's pictures when she visited there this summer, and now Isaak being there....I need to go Germany someday! Oh, to roam the castles and cobblestone streets and take in the glory of the countryside would be wonderful.

But I digress.

Me and the girls are alone here in Burkina Faso. There are no castles or cobblestone streets, but we have red dirt roads and clay houses and the sub-Sahara as our countryside, and it is just as wonderful and picturesque.

And we're just hanging out, doing life until he gets home.

If you'd a told me before we came here that I would be husband-less just five weeks into living in a foreign country, in a language I don't speak, with no means of transportation...I probably would have cried.

But, I'm not dismayed. God's peace is ever present. Looking at our current circumstances it would be easy to feel anxious and worried....with all the recent uprisings and violent protests against Embassy's overseas and not too far from here, having no means of transportation if we had a problem medically or otherwise, and just the grind of daily life. But I'm not looking at my circumstances....I'm looking at the Lord. And by His strength I feel strong and well equipped to keep on handling life here until Isaak returns. Even if he is only gone for a week. :~)

(I have decided to spare Isaak from having to watch Australia with me, so I am watching it this week in his absence, but I make no such promises for You've Got Mail, Sleepless in Seattle, and City of Angels when he returns. Seems only fair. :~) )

I'm really here.

It hits me at the strangest times.

That feeling.

The, "I can't believe I live in Africa" feeling.

It's hard to explain.

It's hard to explain why even though I know that I live in Africa, I don't always have that,  
"I can't believe I'm really here!"feelings. You'd think, that everyday I would be assaulted with the reality of my new and different surroundings. But I'm not.

It hits me at the strangest times.

On Friday afternoon I was on my way to the Embassy. Motorpool had just dropped the girls off at a friend's house to play so that I could go to a coffee date/meeting with the other spouses. I was sitting in the back seat, alone, looking out the window like I always do. I have ridden down this road numerous times, but for some reason, it felt different today. An upbeat African song was playing on the radio and it reminded me of the opening scene in Dirty Dancing 2 where they are just arriving in Cuba. The bright sun was warm on my face. I sat listening, letting the song carry me away to Burkina Faso. And it hit me again, "I really live here. I live in Africa."

And I just let that truth wash over me.

I sat in the back smiling to myself while I looked out the window and took in my surroundings...

women balancing baskets on top of their heads
mamas riding motos with babies swaddled on their backs
tiny little boys riding adult sized bikes,
ladies on the side of the streets fanning their roasted corn to keep the flies away
cars driving on the wrong side of the road because no one has any patience for traffic
lads louging on benches in front of their shops taking a mid day nap
the boys coming up to the windows trying to sell phone cards and lemons
the men on their rugs bowing to pray
a man washing the red dirt off his feet
donkey's pulling heavy carts
goats grazing on the side of the road

It was surreal and overwhelmingly delightful. 

I'm really here. God has really brought me here.

Sometimes it just hits me.

Eating out.

We have some nice little restaurants within walking distance from our house and last Friday we tried a new one. Every time we go, without fail, we are always the only people there! Must not be a very happenin' part of town! Either that or we eat way earlier than the Burkinabe's.

I gotta say though, being the only customers at the restaurant we always get out food really fast and have very prompt service. Not too shabby!

This is no job for a vegetarian

Every Monday I get a large basket of vegetables delivered to our house from a local orphanage and organic farm just up the road from me, called AMPO .

in addition to the veggies I get a tray of eggs once a month,

and each Monday I get one chicken as well. This is how the chicken comes.

Gah, makes me shudder just looking at it. Now I'm sure that you can purchase chicken like this everywhere, but in the states, when I went to the supermarket, I didn't buy no chicken like this!

When I went to the store, my chicken no longer resembled chicken, okay. The breasts were just nice little slabs of meat. No body parts still lingering around...like, a bloody neck. Or ankles. 

He's still got his freakin' ankles man. Gah. 

Of course you can buy chicken breasts here. You can. If you want to pay $20 for 2lbs. Which, I.do.not! And, Isaak is not a picky eater, which is why we buy the whole chickens.

And, for the past four weeks this buying a whole chicken thang has worked out fine. Isaak cooks the chicken at the beginning of each week, does all the dirty business of taking the nasty skin off and prying the meat from its brittle bones. And I, in turn, don't have to look at the freshly killed carcass sitting on my counter.

Until yesterday that is.

When another chicken was delivered while Isaak was at work, and there was no way I was about to leave that bird sitting in my fridge uncooked and headless until he got home from work 12 hours later.

So I put on my big girl panties.

I gave myself a little pep talk.

"You can do this. You can cook this. It's not that different. Try not to look too closely and you'll be fine. It's not alive. You can probably manage this without ever having to touch the thing. " 

The chicken comes wrapped in a paper bag, so I successfully managed to take it out of the paper bag using tongs and transfer it to a pot of boiling water without touching him. Whew!

After 20 years of being a vegetarian I have artfully mastered the transfer of raw meat around the kitchen without ever having to touch it.

I have unfathomable skill. 

Two hours later I noticed he was still boiling and I figured I had delayed long enough.

The time had come to take the meat off. While I managed to keep my distance and avoid headless eye contact up to this point, I had to look at him now. 

And when I did he screamed at me with his little wings all tucked in and sad looking, "I USED TO BE ALIVE! BUT NOW I'M DEAD! DEAD! LYING ALL CURLED UP AND HEADLESS ON YOUR COUNTER."

Uhhh, did anyone else hear that??? It can't be a good sign when I hear animals screaming at me in my head. It's like the 6th Sense where the kid sees dead people. Except I see dead animals. And they talk to me in their deadness. 

Gah, that is one dead lookin' chicken. Clearly this is going to be nightmarish.

Eish. Looking at this picture and seeing his clawed feet, and shins, and elbows still gives me the shakes. But I had to appear strong. Because the girls came in and climbed up on the island right after I pulled him out of the pot and they were fascinated with what I was doing. I couldn't lose face in front of them....or lunch for that matter.

I'm not gonna lie. It was bad. Real bad. I tried at first to use two forks to pry the meat off of him....but it didn't work. There wasn't enough meat and the little that was on there was not coming off without a fight.

I had to touch it. It was horrible! Absolutely horrible! Having to pull back his skin and there was some weird slime on him! Slime?! Why is there slime? And his heart was still in there. And his muscles. And I kept snapping bones. And his claws.....ugh, they kept brushing up against my hand. It took all the strength I had to keep my gag reflex under control.

And for my effort....all I got for it was this pathetic tiny little bit of meat from this savagely mutilated chicken carcass!

That's it. Big girl panties are comin' off. I don't know if I can do that again. Of all the change and adjustments we've had to make so far, this is by far the hardest. None of them...not the daily malaria meds, the culture change, the language barrier, the security, the no car, new church, mosquito net sleepin', electrocution getting, living amongst bats......none of that even comes close to being as difficult as having to will myself to take the meat off that chicken.

That was rough.

*I still gotta breathe through my nose when I look at these pics. It helps the throw up from creeping up my throat.*

A conversation at dinner

Marvelly- "A boy tried to kiss me on the lips at church." (she tells me with a bashful yet mischievous smile on her face like she's secretly pleased.)

Me- "Did he?"

Marvelly- "No."

Me -"Did you tell him to stop."

Marvelly- "No."

me- "Who did?"

Marvelly - "My teacher."

Me- "Next time, tell the boys you're not old enough to kiss."

Marvelly- "No no! He was small like me. He was just my size"

Me- "You're still not old enough to be kissed."

Marvelly- "No no. He was four, like me."

Me- "I understand. But four year olds are not old enough to be kissing each other."

Marvelly- "No no. He was just my size."

Ah forget it.

I let Isaak deal with that one when he got home from work.  :~) As I walked out of the girl's room at bedtime I could hear Isaak down the hall still telling Marvelly that no boys are allowed to kiss her and coaching her what to say if they try (ugh, if?.....more like when they try again).

You could hear the girls giggling as he left the room. :~) 

Eyeyeye.

They call them "curtains"

The girls call their mosquito nets, curtains.

And they think they are super cool. They like the privacy that they feel it creates, giving them their own personal little bubble or mini fort just to themselves.

And I'm like, hey....mosquito nets, curtains, forts...call them anything you want....whatever keeps you under them at night! (and a thank you shout out to American Girl doll for making Josephina's bed with "curtains". When we looked at it in the magazine I told the girls they would have a bed like that for real in Africa....and that sealed the deal! )

Funny little quirks of our new home

We love our house here. It is an incredible blessing to us. Really, it is. We haven't lived in a single famiy home in 9 years and we finally have a little bit of extra space to spread out. Not to mention the pool and yard. And the massive screened in patio. Most people here do not have a yard, or a screen patio, so the fact that we have both does not go unthanked by us.

It's easy some days to forget that I am living in Africa. We don't yet have a car and we found out today that our Africar, that we were told had arrived last week, was actually somebody else's...and ours is still floating through the Atlantic....arrival time unknown. So. There are many days due to lack of transportation and fear of being crushed to smithereens on my bike that I just hang out at home. Hence, the reason why it's easy at times to forget that I live where I do.

It doesn't take long though...for me to remember where I am.

Actually, all it takes is sitting down at my computer and getting electrocuted.

We were told before we moved here that our assigned house had some small electrical issues...like, whenever you touch something metal you get a small electrocution because of improper grounding. We were also told that it was going to be fixed. At least, I think that's what we were told. That could have been my imagination. 

Either way, whether I imagined that conversation or not, it is not fixed. So whenever I sit down to the computer and touch my metal keyboard, I get painful little shocks in my fingers. I'm sorry, but that is not some small electrical issue! It feels like somebody is stabbing me repeatedly with a needle! At first I thought that little microscopic bugs had crawled into my keyboard and were biting my fingers (which is a totally believable conclusion for where I live, okay, I am not insane). But every time I looked down to see if something was biting me, there was nothing there. (I have faulty logic...apparently I'd already forgotten that I determined they were microscopic).

When I told Isaak that it felt like something was biting my fingers every time I typed, he told me not to worry, there were no bugs, I was only being electrocuted.

Phew. Thank goodness! Just minor electrocution.

It's gotten so painful in fact that I am currently typing in gloves. Have you ever tried to freakin' type on a keyboard in gloves?! Every three words I have to auto correct my spell check because I keep typing stuff like rthids/. But, if electrocution is the price I have to pay to be able to bloig, so be it. My fingers will toughen up eventually, or go numb from nerve damage.

Thankfully there is nothing metal right inside the kitchen door, because we have a...good sized leak in our roof over the kitchen, and when it rains, of course it drips, and creates a nice sized puddle on the floor right inside the door. Which, after living here for almost a month now, and having it rain and leak and rain and leak almost every day, you'd think that I'd remember, "hey, we have leak in our kitchen ceiling! Do not to go running in there while it's raining expecting it to be dry! Because you will slip on the water!" But, funny enough, I still forget. And there I'll go, crashing into the kitchen right through the growing pool of water...always grateful in that moment that I am not touching something metal so that I can escape greater electrocutons.

I mean, of all that things that could kill me in this country....I never thought it'd be my house.

Thankfully though, I don't have to worry about escaping electrocution all day long from metal objects and leaky roofs, because our power goes out about ten times every day (on average, sometimes more). So, during those times I'm safe. The city electricity here is not good. But when we moved in we didn't realize this because our generator wasn't working properly so it would run non stop 24 hours a day. So, we never lost power. But then they came last week for the 60th time and finally fixed it, and now it only turns on when the power goes off. Which, we discovered, happens quite frequently. Some days it's really bad and we lose power every ten minutes or so. And after the power goes off, it takes about 5 seconds for the generator to turn on and switch over, and then when the city electricity comes back up, we lose power again when the generator shuts off, and then everything turns back on again five seconds later.

Repeat that dance ten times a day and I finally gave up resetting the microwave clock.

Add to the mix our family fruit flies, flees, ants, rice bugs, and ninja mosquitoes (mosquitoes here have freaky ninja Jesus powers where they can disappear from right in front of you and materialize in another room to escape mid air squishing. It's crazy.)

So yeah, it doesn't take long to remember where we live now when I start to forget. I have lots of wonderful little quirks to remind me. And they're not so bad. If you can learn to deal with ninja bugs, and electrocution and leaky roofs and frequent power outages....it feels quite homey. It is quite homey actually. Most of the time it makes me giggle. The quirks are a part of what makes this our home. Random little oddities that are a part of our new life. So I'll take it all. If it means this is home, then I'll take it.

*(Except the whole being electrocuted thing. That actually hurts. Someone needs to come and fix that. And the leaky roof, after rainy season ends and the roof dries out, the landlord is having it repaired. Hallelujah! I don't want to break my neck slipping on the floor. And the bugs, they can get ta steppin'. I actually try to kill them every day and do a victory dance when I succeed in squishing one of those evasive little buggers. Other than that....it's all good! We are loving our new home!!)

"Mamma said there'd be days like this."

..."there'd be days like this, Mamma said. Mamma said, Mamma said."

Had one of those days round here today.

One of those days that just leaves you wanting to cry, and not much else.

Nothing significantly monumental happened to make me want to melt into a puddle of tears on the kitchen floor. Just one of those days.

I suppose it had to come at some point.

The day started out fine. Until that little jerk wad Freddy Kruger showed back up with freshly sharpened claws inside Isaak's stomach. It was his day off and we planned to take a bike ride, but the poor guy was confined to the couch most of the day.

Later on after Odette got done working I told her I wanted to sign her contracts before she left for the day. I went over the terms with her multiple times before it was written up, and we were all in agreement, until now, when she decided that she didn't want to sign it. Except I couldn't understand why so I had to call a friend who speaks French to translate. They talk, we talked, we were all in agreement again, until two minutes later she changed her mind. Couldn't figure out what the deal was, and she refused to sign until someone who spoke French could be present with her, so on Wednesday we have someone from the embassy coming over to, again, translate, because I don't speak this language. And the meager effort I make to learn new words and sentences each day isn't good enough. It gets me no where. After an hour and a half of going back and forth and back and forth she finally left for the day.

I was beyond frustrated concerning this situation.

And now it was past dinner time.

And there is no such thing as convenient food here. There's no fast food joints. Even if you went to a restaurant it takes about 40 minutes to get your food. There is no "pre-packaged frozen just pop it in your oven and have dinner in a minute" kind of foods here.

Everything needs to be made from scratch. Which is normally fine on days when it's not passed dinner time. And my kids are hungry. My husband is sick. And I'm already ready to melt into a puddle of tears on the floor.

So, I decide to make rice and chicken.

But when I take out the rice....low and behold....there are bugs in it.
Right, of course there are.
Little.gross.bugs.
Just a crawlin' around like I invited them to be there. Like they were totally welcome and I had no desire to actually partake of the food that their tiny little crunchy bodies were walking all over! Gah! Gross!

But hey, welcome to the party! You can join the mosquitoes and infuriatingly annoying fruit flies that I can't get rid of either! 

And by the way, those YouTube videos that show how to get rid of fruit flies in "minutes"....is.a.filthy.LIE! Total rubbish! I tried it, and it doesn't work! Either the fruit flies here are way dumber or way smarter to fall for the tricks in these videos. Either way....I still have fruit flies. And mosquitoes. And now some other kind of bugs that crawls in rice!

Oye, there is just a parasite waiting to be born in us.

Then I had to scrub chicken poop off 30 eggs and bleach and rinse each one, bleach and rinse over twenty tomatoes and egg plants, and two pounds of spinach.

I then did school work with Sydaleigh, put the girls to bed, did the dishes, and at 9:30pm finally sat down to cry from exhaustion and frustration over my bowl of Cheerios.  

But, it's okay. By the grace and strength of Jesus He held me together and I didn't unravel and come unglued. I let out little tears of frustration over the day that He caught and carried away.

And He reminded me, "Mamma said there'd be days like this, there'd be days like this, Mamma said. Mamma said, Mamma said."

And there will be. There will be more. I'm sure of it. I don't have to live in Africa to have days like today....well, except for the whole Freddy Kruger in the stomach, having an employee, speaking in French and having bugs in my rice. Those are new Africa things. But other than those...I've had these kinds of days before. So, it's okay. It's not ideal. But it's okay.

It's nothin' a little Jesus and a little cereal can't fix. :~)

Loumbila Beach

Loumbila Beach, Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso, Africa-visited Aug. 15th, 2012

"Take delight in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart." Psalm 37:4