Snakes Alive and New Names

Yes, I know I already posted this morning, but it feels like lots has happened today and I wanted to get it down right away! Obviously you don't really care all that much, because you're reading this right now.

Let me begin with a disclaimer: Sometimes I wonder about the believability of my posts considering my audience. What I mean is that I probably would have a hard time believing some of the stories or instances I'm going to be telling you, if I didn't already have experience and know that it's really not as far-fetched as it seems. For example...

There was a snake on the playground today.

To all my dear friends in the USA or elsewhere, I can imagine the reaction I'd get from you if I told you this in person. Depending on who I was talking to, there would be yells, widened eyes, looks of disbelief, and/or fear written all over faces. However let me remind you that I'm in AFRICA. No it's not normal for snakes to show up on the playground, but it's not surprising or shocking either. I'll continue by telling you that no one was bitten, strangled, devoured, or otherwise harmed by the snake. It met it's timely demise soon after it was discovered - probably with a machete or shovel head. Now while this is strange to be writing about, I realize exactly what this is - NEWS MAKING! Because I'd be lying if I didn't want to make you keep coming back for more... I tried to get a picture of the dead snake (you know, with me holding it or pretending to eat it) but the evidence had been removed and the crime scene wiped clear. So much for photographic evidence.

That being said, the less dramatic part of my day but definitely the more exciting part was my meeting with Chantelle McIver. She runs the girls center that I'll be interning at, and after our talk this afternoon, I'm SO EXCITED to get started! We realize that having two Chantelle's on the same team is going to get too confusing, so Chantelle asked the girls at the school to come up with an African name for me. She told me that the girls threw a few ideas around then asked to see my picture. Right after seeing it, they all agreed on a name: Leila. Apparently it means "dark beauty" so I'm kind of flattered. I like the name though, and it's certainly better than some others they could have chosen I think!

So far the only day they have scheduled for me to come in is on Wednesdays, and I'll be part of the teaching team. The girls are all at such different levels with literacy and math skills that it's difficult to keep them all in one large group. Instead they take placement tests and are put into a smaller group that's more centered around their skill level. I'll be working with girls who are continuing with basic math skills - around first or second grade level. Things like addition where numbers carry over, or subtraction where you have to take away from a higher place value. Being on Sahel's campus will really help me because I'll be able to ask some of the teachers for either resources or advice on teaching methods. Figuring out how to teach first grade to 16 year olds will be interesting, especially with the language barrier. I'll be getting a great opportunity to learn some Zarma though! I'll definitely be writing more about the work I'm doing at the center as it goes on - Pray God breaks down my barriers and turns me into a tool he can use in the best way at this school. Since it's a registered national school, faith issues and evangelism are not taught. My testimony will be through my character and imitating Jesus as much as possible.

Ephesian 5:1-2 Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children. And walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.

You know you're in Niger when... Part 1

Whole roads become blocked off during the call to prayer.

There's a mosque on every corner.

You hear Akon on the radio, with the DJ singing along - very badly in broken English.

You get a marriage proposal your first day in the city. (Honestly, I can't be positive that's what he asked me... I don't speak Zarma.)

It's assumed you're French because you're white, not American.

No one freaks out when the power goes out, but it's exciting when the internet works all day.

The only coke you can buy is out of a bottle.

You have both 220volt outlets and 110volt outlets on your walls and understand the difference.

Being called white isn't racist.

Having house help doesn't make you upper-class.

You'd be genuinely surprised to see a baby in a stroller, not tied onto mama's back.

Your money is color coded. It's also measured in hundreds.

No one knows what a cellphone plan is. (Everything is pre-paid here)

and...

The only times you can chat with your friends stateside are early in the morning and late at night because of the time difference.

So, to all my amazing friends, if we haven't gotten a chance to talk yet, I'm SORRY! Know that I still love you, and you're the people I'm writing this blog for. Well... maybe a little bit for me too, but mostly for you. Please comment on the posts, or message me! I'd love to hear from you, and I'll even mention you in one of my posts. Best of wishes!

1 Thessalonians 1:2a [I] give thanks to God always for all of you

Just Off The Boat

I wasn't sure whether or not I'd have something to write about today, considering I just posted last night. However that mindset changed while I was sitting in the market just an hour ago. I found myself trying to collect my thoughts and think of ways to describe what my senses were taking in. How can I explain what it is I'm seeing, the smells that are wafting up my nostrils, the sounds and voices that echo around me... Well I'll try.

I was excited to go into the Petit Marche (Little Market) with my mom, and expected it to be a reunion of sorts. We drove further into town than I had gone with Dad yesterday, and I caught myself feeling like a tourist - something I hate - looking around at everything. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that acting like a tourist means you're treated like a tourist. Me being white as a marshmallow and not speaking Hausa or Zarma doesn't help either. Being an 'Anasara' (White person) means that prices on all goods in the market are jacked up, you're constantly pestered for 'cadeaux' (gifts), and you become the center of everyone's focus as you walk by. Dear Jesus, why couldn't you have made us all the same color? It would have saved the world so much trouble.

Walking into the market means crossing busy streets with the previously mentioned crazy-taxis, pushcarts selling any ware you could think of, and pedestrians who truly believe they have the right of way. All around me, men are calling in French after my mom and I, "Madame! Buy my tomatoes! Madame, look at these tangerines! Taste them they're so sweet!" We shoo them of with, "Non, merci," and "Pas aujourd'hui." (No, thank you, and Not today.) Making our way into the stalls and shops that compile the Petit Marche, you see tables stacked with fresh (and not so fresh) produce, huge bowls overflowing with spices, wheelbarrows filled with potatoes and lettuce, and people everywhere. The tiny walkways between the vendors are blocked with children begging or selling small candies, women with babies tied to their backs, and men pushing their wheelbarrows piled with veggies. We make our way further into the center of the market and we pass the meat section. Entire goat and sheep bodies are hanging from hooks and nails on the stalls, skinned and ready for a leg to be chopped off. No one minds the flies because you know that it's fresh - that sheep was probably breathing at 4 am.

Our first stop is to buy baskets for the upcoming banquet. Mom wants there to be bread baskets on each table. We bargain the price down from 500cfa per basket to 300cfa. With the approximate exchange rate, we walked away with 20 baskets for $12.00. We enter a small store that has everything from disposable diapers to rice sacks to juice mix. Mom gathers what she needs and a boy is waiting at the door to help us carry our things to the car - for a small fee of course. We hand him our bags and he follows us around the market for the rest of the time we're there, becoming our own personal porter.

I don't like thinking I'm having a culture shock, but I might as well call it that. I've seen this all before, and it's not 'shocking' but it is a revealing reminder for what culture I'm in again! It helps some to be writing this all out, because I'm forced to look at it through the eyes of an outsider. Again, I don't have pictures to add because the part of me that wants to fit into the culture knows that's far too touristy of a thing to do. Doing so will label me as 'other'... maybe that's a pride issue I just need to get over. Really, my skin color is one of the main reasons why I can't 'blend in', as cliche as that sounds. The word 'Anasara' is what they call all white people here - whether or not you're a foreigner. It's not a racial slur, like singling out a certain race in the US usually is, but it is a separator. It's them saying, "You're different. We can see it." Yeah, I know, I can see it too. I'm glow in the dark - the only way I'd look like them is if I walked out of a coal mine. But God is doing so many redeeming things in the people here... I wish I had a personal story to share about it, but I know those will come. Praise God for his love!

Revelation 5:9-10 And they sang a new song: “You are worthy to take the scroll and to open its seals, because you were slain, and with your blood you purchased men for God from every tribe and language and people and nation. You have made them to be a kingdom and priests to serve our God, and they will reign on the earth.”

Beginnings: The first 48 hours

I've arrived! Finally, after almost 20 months, I'm home. It took 36 hours, 100 lbs of baggage, and a whole lot of nerves, but I made it. I was talking with my mom a few hours after I landed and had finished telling her my "airport adventures" and she told me she knows some women who refuse to travel alone. I can't imagine why, I enjoy it! While it would be nice to pass the long layovers with someone, I've discovered sudoku to be an acceptable substitute. I suppose it's just another piece of my independent side I've uncovered.

So, here's a short list of my conquests during my 36 hours between the worlds:

- Dominated 5 airports

- Spent over 18 hours in the air (thankfully sleeping for at least 12 of those hours)

- Learned that a macchiato in England is not the same as a macchiato in the US

- Took a train into the city of Casablanca

- Didn't burst into tears when I ran into my parents arms at the Niamey airport

The last one was the hardest...

It's been so surreal being back in Niger. I've stopped thinking that I'm going to wake up from a dream, and switched to accepting the truly bizarre. I've also gone from thinking, "What am I doing here?" to thinking, "No one will believe this." Thus the beginning of this blog. Since I've been back, I've come to the somewhat selfish realization that life continues without you. Seeing how Sahel Academy has changed in the year and a half I've been gone has been a wake-up call, and has already helped me "disconnect" myself from it in a good way. I've also seen just how key these next 4 months are going to be in my transition away from Niger being my 'home'. The MK Home Paradox will never change, but leaving a place correctly sure can help with the confusion.

Being back with my family has been one of the greatest things. I hadn't seen them at all since January of 2010... so much has changed! My younger brother is no longer my little brother - he's at least 4 inches taller than I am! My sister is one of the top-dogs in school now as a senior. It's weird feeling like I should have seniority as a returner, but not really having the rights to it anymore. Mom and Dad are busy as ever - Mom has already enlisted my help in the kitchen for the upcoming banquet. We're actually leaving the country next weekend for the annual softball tournament in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso. My passport is going to be totally full by the time I need to renew it.

I am proud to say that I am a survivor of infamous Niamey traffic now! I went driving with my dad this morning to warm up on my stick-shift driving (which was more than a little rusty, let me tell you), and he eventually led me off the dirt road to the school onto the paved city road. My defensive driving skills will be amazing once I get back to California, that's for sure! I can't tell you how many times I was cut off - and not just by cars. Motorbikes and bicycles are everywhere, and the taxis in the city don't know what mirrors are. There are also the smaller moving obstacles: pedestrians who don't look before crossing the street; donkey carts moving down the shoulder; goats, sheep, and dogs run across the road... All of this on top of my dad reminding me every 15 seconds, "Clutch! Shift down! Second gear! CLUTCH!" I'm alive to tell the tale though - no one is dead or maimed, and my dad didn't go grey an hour later; I think it was a success. Next time I go driving though, I want to have a camera on the dash, so you can SEE how truly crazy it is. Words can only describe so much.

I've had several encouraging encounters with old friends since coming back too. Crystal Rendel was a student at Sahel before my family arrived in 2004. She came back for a semester in her second year of university during my 9th grade year. She arrived the day before I did to return as a full time missionary here in Niger. We were able to talk some today, and I know her experience is going to be a huge encouragement to me during my time here. Since I'm pretty much mirroring what it is she's gone through, her wisdom will be invaluable to me. I've also gotten an invitation from 'Aunt' Joy Freeman, to come out and visit her in the village of Makalondi. Not sure when I'll be taking her up on this invitation, but it will happen soon! She grew up as an MK as well, so she understands everything I'm feeling about being back and figuring out all my questions.

I'm still jet-lagged, and wide awake after my nap this afternoon, but that pretty much covers the most exciting parts of my first 48 hours being back! I feel like I need to do everything right away because I MUST be leaving soon. How wonderful when I remind myself this isn't the case!

Isaiah 60:19-20 The sun will no more be your light by day, nor will the brightness of the moon shine on you, for the LORD will be your everlasting light, and your God will be your glory. Your sun will never set again, and your moon will wane no more; the LORD will be your everlasting light, and your days of sorrow will end.