Toxic Air and Unexpected Benefits
Posted by Linnea...

In mid-August a ship unloaded 500 tons of toxic waste at the port of Abidjan, and the sludge proceeded to be improperly dumped in at least 16 sites around the city. It was petrochemical waste which reportedly included petroleum distillates, hydrogen sulphide, mercaptans, phenolic compounds and sodium hydroxide. People began to experience various symptoms, depending on their exposure to the product or from just breathing poisoned air: respiratory distress, dehydration, intestinal bleeding, nausea and vomiting, headaches, skin rashes and eye irritation. At last count over 44,000 people have needed medical treatment, and seven have died. When we first heard about it, it was via a phone conversation with the Nyarafolo Project translator-in-training, Abdoulaye, who is in his last semester of work at seminary in Abidjan. We asked how the family was and he said that they were all suffering some symptoms as a result of some product that was contaminating the gutters. It was about a week later that the toxic waste scandal was reported in the news, and the Cabinet of ministers all resigned as a result. (The Cabinet has now been reinstated, with two important exceptions, but the investigation into responsibility continues.) When we talked with Abdoulaye on September 8 he and his children were standing in line with thousands of others for “free” treatment. By the end of the day they had seen a doctor, but most of the free medications were gone. Fortunately he had money to go buy what they needed at a pharmacy. We called again the evening of the 9th, and he agreed that the air was just bad and recovery was not going to happen in that atmosphere! He couldn’t study or write his thesis with his own respiratory distress and his family sick. So we agreed to evacuate the family, bringing them to Ferke (about 400 miles north) on Tuesday. (Glenn and another “Abdoulaye” who is our courtyard manager, ‘Doulaye, drove down and brought them north.) Monday night as the family was preparing to leave the air got even worse, probably from a shift in the winds. They said it burned their lungs and skin, and even with fans blowing wherever possible they were miserable. The next evening, arriving in Ferke, they kept remarking what a relief it was to breathe pure air! And after a couple of days, the stomach aches and coughing just kind of went away. So,with Abdoulaye and Gnimeni in our former daughters’ room, and the two kids, Marie (8) and Betsalel (7), in Bryn’s former bedroom, we settled into sharing life in Ferke. Our friends spent the first day and a half visiting their relatives in town and a nearby village, as is proper when you first arrive, then Abdoulaye got back to work on his thesis using our house study as his workplace. It was not easy, because as soon as word was out that he and his family were back in town, various friends and extended family trickled in to see them. Many nights he stayed up until 2 am, taking advantage of the quiet. Two teenaged nieces currently live with Abdoulaye and Gnimeni in Abidjan as well, but they decided this was their opportunity to visit their extended family so they moved out to the village, only staying with us the first and last days of their time in the north. We shared kitchen duties, which really made life easier for us all. Gnimeni never eats breakfast, so Abdoulaye prepared cocoa and bread for him and the kids, except for the days when he cooked up inyams or omelets for them all. (Glenn and I make a simple meusli from oatmeal, fruit and milk or yogurt – too big a stretch for a Nyarafolo.) Glenn or Gnimeni often prepared the main meals at noon and in the evening, so that all I had to do was make sure someone was cooking. We had lots of rice and sauce, but the sauces were out of this world – delicious concoctions of vegetables and sometimes meat, using whatever was being harvested from the garden or in season in the market. Glenn cooks with random creative virtuosity, making “sauce Glenn” as we call it, never the same thing twice. It was fun hearing him share his recipes with Gnimeni. I did some cooking too, using up the rest of whatever was in the fridge, showing her how to make moussaka, scrambled eggs, and “Mom’s barbecue sauce” over couscous – one of our favorite heritages from my mom’s African kitchen. Gnimeni, in turn, made inyam stew and peanut sauce. And then there were several meals that were gifts, food sent over by a Nyarafolo relative as kindness to the evacuated. I worked across the courtyard in the Nyarafolo translation office, and Moise and I finished our drafts of the Abraham story in Genesis. Glenn was working on some programming at home and various projects at the hospital. Abdoulaye read several books on “love” in the New Testament, wrote up his thesis introduction and outline, and had the other members of the translation project answer a questionnaire on several Nyarafolo words and phrases that deal with various aspects of the concept “love.” It’s a tough one for us, which is why he is studying it. The main phrase used in most conversational contexts is literally “he/she pleases me.” Try putting that into John 3:16 and you’ll see how we are challenged (“for the world so pleased God that.....). The kids, like most kids suddenly transplanted out of their neighborhood into new territory, were alternately excited by all the new experiences (like going out in the fields when visiting in the village, watching DVD’s or videos at our house they’d not seen before) and at loose ends. When little cousins came to play they were faced with the same linguistic challenges our kids had faced at first– communicating when they had no language in common. Gnimeni is not Nyarafolo, although she speaks three related languages. So their family language is French. When they move home to Ferke in January Gnimeni and the kids will be immersed in Abdoulaye’s mother tongue, and it will come, but for now it is difficult. The great plus for Glenn and me, though, was spending this time sharing our home life with this very special family. It’s been over six years since Abdoulaye left Ferke for his studies in Abidjan. During that time his wife Mariame, our dear friend, died of breast cancer, and he married Gnimeni. The kids have grown up. We spent almost four years in the States after our evacuation. Now we were thrown together, and in the intimacy of preparing warm water for our bucket baths, sharing kitchen detail, caring for the kids and receiving visitors, we also had time to get to know each other on a new level. At least three times, Gnimeni and I ended up with a couple of hours together, talking the way new friends do as they discover that they have more in common than they ever guessed. I received an email from a friend who is dealing with hard stuff in her marriage. When I shared my concern for her with Gnimeni, we talked for hours about how women in this part of the world suffer. We shared our views on marriage partnership, and on ministry. She told me much of her life story, from her birth in a village in the far northwest of Ivory Coast to school in two major towns (Dabakala and Korhogo), to her years as a single woman in Abidjan. She told me how a Christian uncle had taken her to a children’s camp where she heard about the Lord, mentioned the missionaries who had helped her along the way, and finally how pastors had seen her gifting for ministry and encouraged her to attend Bible school. It became increasingly clear to me that I was finding a new and very special friend, as well as a true ministry partner. So the toxic air caused suffering and temporary displacement, but it also produced some excellent dividends. Here is another example of how the Lord lovingly brings good out of hardship! By September 20th we were hearing that Abidjan situation was improving, as experts from the United Nations and France determined how to neutralize some of the noxious gases that were filling the air and began clearing the dumps. So when Glenn and I drove south to Abidjan on Sunday the 24th, we brought Abdoulaye and his family home. They have settled back into life here, although it is not easy – their rental house is being renovated by the landlord and they have had to move into the tiny “dependance” rooms outside the house, at the back – ordinarily used as guest rooms or servant’s quarters. Lumber and concrete-in-process litter the cramped yard, and the house itself is unliveable. Abdoulaye has set up his books and desk in the back shower room! Fortunately he is near the seminary library, and he can use the pastor’s office at his church. So far, the big city is calm. The air no longer reeks of poisonous gases in the places we have traveled. But garbage lines many streets (since the dumps are off limits). The demonstrations against the toxic waste have stopped, and although the political situation remains tense, the militants have not yet answered the call of some leaders for them to take to the streets. Of course no one knows what will happen tomorrow. But then, we never do!

D Gets a New Lease on Life
Posted by Linnea...

When our Marisa was a preschooler named “Misty,” she used to think umbilical hernias were fun to “beep” – you know, you walk up to a kid with a distended balloon protruding from his belly and poked your finger into it, smiling! For some reason, they are not that uncommon around here. And the older the kids gets, the more embarrassed he or she becomes about the deformity. Little Diesengeton (call him “D”) comes with his family to church, walking across the wetlands between his village and Tiepogovogo. Lately he’s been getting to the stage (maybe age 8 or 9?) where he wanted his belly with its protrusion to be covered. He didn’t know it, but the hernia can be dangerous, too. So when a donor in far off Colorado heard about the need and contributed money for his surgery, his family was elated. His dad, Kurugo, is one of our night guards, so he brought D with him to stay overnight in the guardhouse and to be seen at the hospital. A date was set for surgery, and three weeks ago the hernia was repaired. While waiting for the surgery D enjoyed playing with some of the toys that are still around from our son Bryn’s younger days. He pushed the yellow Tonka dumptruck around the yard, mostly. After surgery, it hurt to move, so he lay on our couch sleeping or watching old Bugs Bunny cartoons – his first-ever exposure to video/television. But when he came back for his follow-up appointments he was both feeling both better and more at home with us. He waited on the front porch each morning for me to let him in. The first time he saw the car gone, and then met me as I came back from my power walk at the hospital station, he was in awe at my tennis shoes. He has never had any. He came in to join me for breakfast, and while some oatmeal was cooking I cut him a piece of baguette, spread it with peanut butter and guava jam, and set it before him. “You’ve never had this before,” I told him, “ but my kids really liked it.” I turned back to the kitchen, but when I turned my head to see if he was trying it, he was sitting at the table with his head bowed, praying quietly to thank the Lord first. It hit me that this is a village kid who is being raised in a believing family, who actually has learned to “say grace.” This is not Nyarafolo custom! It turned out that he loved the p-b-j sandwich, and rejected the oatmeal. He told me if it had been cornmeal porridge (what he eats every day in the village) it would have been much better. I apologized. For the next couple of days while he waited for the stitches to be removed, and to have final clearance, D followed me almost all day. Like any kid is age he is a tactile learner and kept touching everything while he asked me whose it was, or what it was for. So I wiped fingerprints off Glenn’s computer glasses, told him why the refrigerator door needed to stay shut (not open for an extended period while the contents were explored), asked him not to touch my computer keyboard while I left the study, and not to put his hands near the sewing machine needle. But I also found myself trying to find Nyarafolo words to explain about sterilizing jars for jam or tomatoes, about the television, and about how to use all the plumbing in the bathroom. When I asked him to wash his hands, though, he went at it as though scrubbing for surgery! D has gone home to his village now, and we’ll see him at church on Sunday. Our relationship will never be the same as before. I wondered, watching him the other day, what he will take away from his days in town and in our courtyard. And I wondered what plans the Lord has for this very sharp little guy, who is learning about Him and growing up in a church that is full of enthusiastic young Nyarafolos. What if this is one of those called ones who will really impact his people for Jesus? If so, the donor who has never met him will have played a crucial part in a story that was bigger than she knew. As it is, her love has given this cute little boy a whole new lease on life, literally.