I’ve walked into my host family’s house for the first time. All curtains are drawn, and I’m greeted by seven hulking couches and the head of a stuffed antelope mounted above the entrance to the dining room and rooms beyond. Cecile, my host maman, pours some water into glasses on a shiny silver tray. I’m told to sit down, and people start talking at lightning speed, jumping from French to Moore to French to Moore. What am I doing here? I want to show people I’m grateful, but how? The TV is on, a nice buffer between my disorientation and what’s happening around me. After thank yous and last-minute details my MCC friends leave. I’m here with my host parents. Alone. I smile, and they smile -- silence. But only for a moment. Marius, the son of Lamusa, the woman who diligently cleans my family’s house and the surrounding area, appears in the doorway. Marius is probably eight months old, and is fasnicated by me, probably because I’m white. He’s adorable, and in broken French I start talking with him. My host parents laugh at me as I play with him, and try out a few English words with me about babies. “This is fun”, I think. “I’m making a connection with my host family – I can do this.” Marius sits on my lap, and we talk a little more. And then Marius pees. All over me. At first I didn’t realize it, but once I do I start to laugh. My host parents look at me, confused as I find a way to say, “Marius is not dry”, because I don’t know the word for “wet” or the verb “to pee” in French. They say, “ahhh, go take a shower and change”. They aren’t surprised at all. Or maybe they’re embarrassed? I’m not sure, but I this has probably happened before. I manage to hand off Marius to Lamusa and go to my room, trying not to let my wet skirt touch my skin. Moments later, there’s a knock on my door. Cecile says something through my door – her muffled French is hard for me to understand, but I’m able to pick out a few words I know: l’eau (water) and coupe (cut). What she has told me is that water has just gone out, and that it might be out for a few hours. I stare at the ceiling, close my eyes, and smile as I hear the shuffle of her plastic sandals on cool grey tile grow fainter. This is hilarious. Within the first hour of living with my host family I’ve managed to get peed on. I can just change, and then shower later, right? I find a few babies wipes I had packed (ironic, I know) and clean up a bit. At least to a point which I feel like I can wear other clothes. I enter the living room again, and Blaise, my host father, has changed the channel. He’s watching a Telenovela in French, so the mouths of the people and the words they’re saying don’t match. I sit with him, enveloped by one of the large couches. He smiles at me, and explains to me what’s happening with the show. Blaise is an important man. The retired governor of a neighboring city called Ziniaré, he carries with him a sense of excellence and prestige. But he’s also incredibly generous and authentically kind. We talk for a while -- well, I try to talk -- and he helps me with words and phrases I don’t know. After apologizing once again for my French later that night at the dinner table, he stops me and in French explains, “Rachelle, learning another language takes courage. To have courage. It’s important”. I’ve heard the word “courage” several times already during my time here, and I think it’s something the Holy Spirit is encouraging me to remember. To have courage is not easy no matter who or where you are, but I know it’s vital, especially as I start out. It will take courage for me to spend time with people when I could choose not to. It will take courage for me to buy more credit on my cell phone, because words don’t come easily to me in French. It will take courage for me to build relationships with artisans, to ride my bike on cramped streets, to ask questions. But as Blaise reminds me, courage is required in all of this. And it’s something I’ll probably receive slowly, inviting the Spirit of God to sustain me moment by moment. I’m brimming with nervousness, excitement, and a little bit of dread as I anticipate how difficult some of this might be. My daily prayer is for God to provide me the courage to fail, and then succeed (maybe). All that said, I know that it will take me some time to work up the courage to hold Marius for extended periods again – and I think that’s okay.
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AuthorThis year, I'm living in Burkina Faso with the Mennonite Central Committee and learning more about art, development, and peace. You can follow my journey here as I seek to tell many stories. ArchivesCategories |