Do you believe in miracles?

We both kept journals during our time in West Africa; which is a habit I'd like to continue.

I'd prefer to call it a journal rather than a diary, because I think the word diary conjures up images of a pink book with a Barbie lock on it.

Either way, we both found writing about our daily experiences therapeutic...and having a record of our time abroad has helped remind us of the daily answers to prayer we received.

Here is an entry I almost forgot about:

June 19, 2008: Do you believe in miracles?
Two missionary friends went out to a village in Burkina Faso to help fix a well. It had been broken for two years, which meant villagers had to walk 3km to the nearest water. The missionaries bought new parts to replace the broken bits, and they started pulling up more than 30 metres of piping. It was all going well, until they realised the entire system would not work because they were missing one, special bolt. It was a big bolt that at best may be found in a capital city. More likely, it would need to be imported. But it definitely couldn't be found in a rural African village. The local African pastor said he'd have a look around for one...so he hopped on his small motorbike. Twenty minutes later he returned with a brand new bolt, which met all the specifications. The missionary said: “He found it where God put it.” Now the village has water.

Jon

One of our favourite African pics

Overwhelmed by dust, vultures, stray dogs and poverty, it took us a while to find beauty in sub-Saharan West Africa. And then we saw it.

The seven deadly fears of a missionary

Missionaries in West Africa fear neither disease nor isolation, neither persecution nor loneliness, neither poverty nor heartache. But they are really scared about returning home to Australia.

During the past 12 months, we've spent a lot of time speaking to our brothers and sisters serving for extended periods overseas. One elderly Canadian was into her 50th year of service.

I would have thought that their trips to their native homes (usually once every 3 or 4 years), would be a time of great joy and respite. But instead, more than a handful of those we spoke to found coming home very difficult.

[As a sidepoint, we've had the best group of supporters we could have ever hoped for (or prayed for)...and I've learnt through them how we can then go and support other missionaries more faithfully.]

Here are 'seven deadly fears' long-term missionaries face when they return home, either at the end of their overseas service, or for periodic home assignments. My hope is that we can help serve them better by understanding their hardships. Please add some more comments if you've had some insight into this area.

* (1) I used to be a trained accountant/doctor/engineer. But after 20 years of service on the mission field all my qualifications have lapsed. (From the missionary's point of view, they've just gone from conducting exciting and influential work overseas, and found themselves with no apparent employable skills back home. Aside from the financial implications, the impact on that person's feeling of selfworth is extreme.)

* (2) I've planted churches, sat on councils and have a lot to offer my home church...but there's no role for me. (This is especially difficult for women serving on the mission field who may not be able to find a suitable position at their home church, or related churches, to use their amazing gifts to continue their service.)

* (3) No-one knows, or cares, what I've been doing these last 25 years. (There is actually a ministry among mission agencies to visit retired missionaries and just sit and listen...although I'm not sure this shouldn't be the responsibility of the local church.)

* (4) Friends in Australia just talk about home extensions, investment property and superannuation. (It was probably just a random remark at a BBQ...but a missionary I once spoke to came back to the field very depressed because he was made to feel like he wasn't a good husband or father because he hadn't accumulated a house, nor substantial superannuation.)

* (5) My supporters think I'm lazy when I'm on home assignment? (I previously had many misconceptions about home assignments. I thought that a missionary spends 3 or 4 years overseas, and then receives a 1 year supported holiday back home, before going back over. I think it's helpful to think of home assignment as a continuation of the mission work...just that it takes place in the home country. Usually we, as outsiders, are unaware of all the work they are actually doing during this time.)

* (6) I'll scream if one more person says "How was your trip?/How was your holiday?" (It can take missionaries returning home several months to lose the bags under their eyes after a tough month/six months/year/three years...so the notion that it was a 'holiday' stings.)

* (7) Even my Christian friends think I'm a bad parent for having kids on the mission field? (We've met some of the most delightful and switched on missionary kids during our stay...it's hard to think of a better upbringing than being exposed to the languages, cultures and social structures evident in the field, not to mention their spiritual refinement that takes place.)

Jon

Barretts not in Burkina

Technically this blog name is no longer true, since we got back to Australia on Saturday. So, some thoughts on our time 'there'...and coming back 'here'. What we're adjusting to:

* the power staying on all day (it's amazing!)

* being able to wash an apple under the tap and then eat it... no bleaching or peeling

* ditto brushing our teeth with tap water

* going outside without slathering on the insect repellant

* sleeping with no mosquito net

* walking on footpaths

* being clean! Dust here will never have the same meaning

* not shaking hands with every person we greet...in fact, not greeting people on the street at all

* things workly smoothly - transport, supermarkets, customs inspection at the airport...

* having lots of 'stuff' in our lives again - that we lived just fine without for a year (except maybe the coffee machine...)

* the time difference...I'm writing this early morning after sleeping for just 3 hours in the night. I'm waiting until my body gets ready for sleep at northern hemisphere bedtime.



Cathlin

Goodbye is the hardest word

It's just after 7 in the morning and there's every possibility the guard will soon come round to tell me that we have a visitor.

It has been interesting living in a society where, for the most part, relationships take priority over just about everything else. Running late for work, being generally busy, or even having a pain in your stomach caused by that questionable meat aren't good enough reasons to cut a conversation before its natural end.

When we arrived I got to know several people on the bicycle route to work. After a couple of weeks I found that the 15 minute bike ride had just turned into a 30 minute ride, because I was obligated to greet everyone en route. If I was running late, I'd go a different way to work...but those extra streets would add 15 minutes to the journey anyway.

We started to really enjoy this part of the Burkinabé culture, and we thought we'd adjusted to it...until we started trying to say goodbye. We leave in a couple of days.

Last night we had a few of our students over for dinner. We had a great night...and the guitar and djembé made an appearance after the food. When they left, we tried to say goodbye.

'I'll come by tomorrow to say goodbye,' one of our students said. (Thinking of how many people we will say goodbye to tomorrow, we hinted that this was 'goodbye'.) 'No, no...first thing tomorrow.'

We've had this same experience over and over, with the final act of saying 'goodbye' delayed to the last possible moment, even if it comes at a great inconvenience to the person, who is willing to trek back out to your place to say 'goodbye', again.

We will miss this outward show of affection, even though trying to get everything organised today and tomorrow will be next to impossible...because relationships take priority over packing.

One great benefit, however, is that the handshake is the only acceptable way to greet and say goodbye...so there won't be any awkward moments.

Jon

Teaching in Burkina

With just a couple of days left in the country, we realised that we only had a few pics of our students and of us teaching, so we remedied that the other night. This photo is of Cathlin teaching on the enclosed patio. This "classroom" has had a few issues. It seems impossible to have both the light and fan working at the same time...so it's a choice between being comfortably unable to see, or uncomfortably able to see.

I think I read something about making English lessons relevant to your students...so I used the djembé to teach the rhythm used in English words and phrases. We've met some very, very good djembé players here...including one of the workers at the office. Since many grow up playing it, it looks very natural...and impossible to replicate.





And here are some of my current students, pictured on the left...listening intently I might add.







...and a handful of Cathlin's students, who either can't see (because the light isn't working) or are incredible hot (because the fan isn't working).

Up close and personal with African elephants

This weekend we took a trip to a safari park called Nazinga, a 4-hour drive south from Ouaga. We went with 4 other missionaries, all women, prompting this question from the 'welcome guy' upon our arrival: "Are these women your wives?" Fair enough question, thought Jon, when a guy turns up in a car with 5 young women, in a country where polygamy is accepted and practised by many.


Burkina Faso has the largest population of elephants in West Africa, and so the real attraction of Nazinga are the elephants (there are about 700 in the park), although you can also spot baboons, various types of antelopes and gazelles and the odd warthog (whose name in French is equally silly). The only thing on the menu the night we stayed was antelope stew, so that's what we ate. It didn't taste too unusual.

We did the sunset tour and the early morning one, driving around the park a respectable distance behind the other tourists and their 4WDs. ("Where did all these white people come from?") Most of the animals ran away from us as we approached, but not the elephant as it has the size advantage. Our first elephant spotting took us by surprise, as we'd been driving around for a while without seeing any animals, and we were starting to wish we'd stayed in bed. Then we rounded a corner, and there was an elephant chomping away on bushes, right next to the path. I was riding on the luggage rack on top of the car, so had a great view. However, this position turned scary when the elephant decided he didn't like us being so close during his meal time. He flapped his ears and stepped towards us, prompting our guide to shout "avancez, avancez!" (go forward). I had visions of the elephant reaching out and plucking me off the roof with his trunk, although Jon says that this only happens in children's story books. So I also yelled at our friend to drive forward, as we'd been told of missionary friends' visits to Nazinga where they'd been chased by elephants.

After this sighting we decided that we'd now only stop for elephants, as the other animals weren't nearly as exciting, or willing to stand still for our cameras. We came upon a group of 3 males, and watched one powerfully snap a large branch with his trunk and stuff all the leaves into his mouth. We followed these guys back to the lodge where there's a large waterhole the elephants go to each morning to cool off. The water's pretty dirty-looking, so we're not sure they actually get clean in there, but they have a lot of fun playing with each other. We had breakfast while watching the elephants link trunks and play a game of 'push and pull', while others submerged so that they looked like large rocks...until a trunk came shooting out of the water.

It was so special to see these amazing creatures up close in their natural habitat. Even better was the surpise on the way home to Ouaga, 50km from the safari park, when we had to stop to let 6 elephants (mothers and their babies) cross the highway. A truly African experience.

Cathlin