Tagibati, Days 5 &6

Evil is real, certain locations are dark, and mission work doesn't always feel good. 

That's a statement of truth.  How we deal with it makes all the difference in the world.

 I've had the opportunity to hear Buddy Berry, the superintendent of Eminence Independent Schools, speak twice.  He has made amazing things happen for students and teachers in his district.  He does not accept defeat.  When presented with a problem, or a statement like the one above, Buddy's response is, "Yes, and what will we do?"

Yes, evil is real, Tagibati is a dark village, and our mission work there did not feel good.  I have heard missionaries speak of "dark" locations before and didn't understand, until we arrived in Tagibati.  The air was heavy and close feeling, the heat was oppressive, we weren't greeted with a lot of smiles. 

In the first location we shared the gospel, a woman responded by asking why we did not bring gifts.  She told us she wanted gifts, not Jesus.  The children seemed to enjoy listening to our bible stories, so we continued sharing.  All of a sudden, two little boys in the front started rolling on the ground punching each other.  They were going at it like prize fighters.  The woman who told us she didn't want Jesus broke up the fight with the Tagibati version of a "switch."  It was a branch from a thorn bush. Those kiddos scattered and it was heartbreaking to see them get smacked with that branch.

With heavy hearts, we left that compound.  The feeling intensified when Jody (one of the local missionaries) told us he wasn't comfortable with us eating in the village--too many people would be angry that we were eating during the day during Ramadan.  We piled in the bush taxi and found a lovely, big tree above the village.



 

After lunch, I didn't want to go back to the village.  Jody had lined up women for us to talk to.  He walked us to each compound and no one was home.  We decided to prayer-walk.  We asked God for just one opening.  At the next compound, Biba asked if we could talk with the women and they invited us in to try our hands at pounding millet.

 We were willing to make fools of ourselves, in Jesus' name.  This was the opening we'd prayed for.  As we provided lots of laughs for the women of this compound, another woman came in with a huge load of basil.  When the women sat to strip the basil leaves from the stalk, we asked if we could help.  This was a job I knew I could do. We spend a precious hour or so with these women.  We shared the gospel, they told us what a nice story it was (sigh), and then we just shared our lives as women.  One woman told us how lucky we are that our husbands can only have one wife.  It was a sweet time, but none of us wanted to return to Tagibati the next day.  We couldn't see that there was anyone else to try to talk with.

Of course we followed the plan and returned the next morning.  Again we were greeted with requests for "Cado, Cado" (gift, gift).  Parker (another local missionary) accompanied us that morning.  We did find a compound where the women were willing to let us share and strip basil leaves.  After hearing a few bible stories, they told us we were not loving if we did not bring gifts.  Parker, the trained missionary, instructed the women that we were bringing the greatest gift, the gift of Jesus and eternal life.  While Parker was speaking about Jesus, all of the goats in the compound started bleating.  The babies all began to cry, the Call to Prayer sounded over the loud speakers mounted on the side of the Mosque, and an old man burst into the compound and yelled at the women for listening to us.  Whoa!  The name of Jesus has power and light can be painful in the dark. 

I won't lie--I wanted out of Tagibati.  At lunchtime we left and headed back to Boubon.  We ladies were treated to Henna on our feet--a Boubon spa treatment!


 
 By the end of that afternoon, after 5 days in the villages, I had gotten what I'd asked God for.  I was broken...physically, emotionally, spiritually. 

After sitting on mats on the hard ground for hours, with no back support, and wearing a backpack full of food, bible, and water bottles, my back screamed at me.  I slipped and slid down a bank on our first day in Yourizey Koira and the top of my left foot was skinned and sore.  I had tried so hard to keep it clean and dry.  After the henna dried, the sweet girls rinsed off our feet with river water.  My bandage was soaked with brown filthy water.  I wanted to cry, but decided starting my anti-biotic that night would do more good.  I felt dirty in a way I never have before.  Despite showering every day, I felt like my pores were clogged with red dirt.  I was tired of peanut butter Cliff bars (may never eat one again), tired of Gatorade, and tired of lukewarm water.  I was so tired of squatting behind bushes and walls.

Emotionally, I found myself becoming impatient with the dirty, half-naked, children hanging on me.  I know that sounds horrible and mean, but I couldn't stand anymore suffering that I was powerless to soothe.  I WANTED TO GIVE A GIFT!!  If I couldn't make it all better, I wanted to at least make today, this hour, this minute, a little better. And if I couldn't, I wanted to stop seeing it and hurting.

Spiritually, I was broken from rejection.  I so easily became discouraged and gave up hope.  Even the women and children who did understand, receive, and believe the love of Christ that we shared, could not acknowledge this gift.  The questions, the smiles, the eyes, the whispered words that assured us that "His sheep hear His voice," could not be publicly declared.  The only way a woman can identify as a believer is after her husband has publicly acknowledged his belief.  Guess what happens then?  They are shunned, mocked, disowned, and persecuted.

 The believers we met and taught are the bravest people I have ever met.  I was so broken to realize that my faith is so easy.  How do I "suffer for Jesus"?  I squirm  when some members of my family mock born again Christians and gleefully point out examples of hypocrisy.  I can't join in discussion about Fifty Shades of Grey and get snickered at for not reading it.  And if these little inconveniences get me down, I can read my bible, call a believing friend, or go to church and be reassured and uplifted.

These brave believers reminded me of this description of Abraham in Romans 4:20 "Yet he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, being fully persuaded that God had power to do what he had promised."  When Nigerian believers accept Christ and are baptized,  there are not rows of families seated near the baptismal pool taking pictures, nobody has a luncheon with a pretty cake, very few people celebrate with them, there's no big community praying for them.  They make my faith look so small.

So, at the end of our time in Niger, here we are, back to Buddy Berry's response.  "Yes, and what will we do?"  We'll debrief.  We'll ride camels for a bit of fun. We'll say tearful good-byes to new friends.  We'll make the long (long, long, long) flight home.  We'll joyfully greet our families, take long hot showers, and sleep in our own beds.  I'll go back to work and try not to cry.  I'll be surprised by the anger I feel.  I'll pray and cry and pray and cry and pray.  I'll spend long hours processing.  I'll realize some changes have to be made.  I'll pray and talk with my husband and talk with my friends and pray.  I'll make the painful choice to cut some things from my life; things that I thought were good things.  I'll add some beautiful things.  I'll be so thankful for those who understand and sad about those who don't.

To be continued......