Life in transition

"What's it like being back? How's your transition going?"

These questions are hard to answer, because most of the time I don't know how to respond. Sure, I've been back in the U.S. for over a month now, but I'm still very much in the midst of transition in every way. I'm still thinking through and processing what I experienced in Ivory Coast, and what my life looks like now in light of that. I'm loving spending time catching up with my family, and especially can't get enough time with my 2-year-old niece. And I'm also having to put energy into the logistical details of this next stage of life--finding a job, securing housing, paying bills... It's a lot. And most of the time it's good, but it's not always easy.

I thought I was prepared for re-entry, thought that I knew what to expect. But this is one of those situations I don't think anyone can be fully prepared for. It's different for each person, and I've found that my thoughts and feelings about it can change drastically from day-to-day, moment-to-moment. For me, this season has looked like:

• Feeling deep joy at spending Father's Day with my whole immediate family for the first time in years.
• Going to the grocery store for the first time and being amazed at the sheer quantity and variety of foods (and also shocked by the high prices of fresh produce, especially the "large" avocados).
• Wanting to stop by a coffee shop every time I'm out, just because I can.
• Struggling to reach my order in the drive-thru because I've trained myself to use my right hand to give and receive food and money (then reminding myself that it's okay to use my left hand in America).
• Seeing a small shadow on the bathroom wall and immediately thinking it's a gecko.
• Having a meltdown because I can't find my external hard drive in any of my suitcases, but also knowing that the hard drive isn't really the problem--it's just the general stress of transition.
• Paying for groceries in the self-checkout line and asking my mom, "Are these quarters?"
• Getting excited whenever I see or hear anything in French.
• Staring at a photo taken of me in Ivory Coast and feeling like it was already a lifetime ago.

I miss Ivory Coast deeply, but at the same time I am so happy to be here. That's the difficulty of life in transition.

Dear Sponsor

Last Friday afternoon I sat on the breezy porch of the Training Center, at a table with our social workers and several children who had come to write letters to their sponsors. One little boy was sitting next to me, thinking hard about each phrase he wanted to say, then quickly writing it down. After several minutes he proudly handed his finished letter and drawing over to us to review.

Words were misspelled, punctuation was lacking, and the grammar wasn’t all there, but the letter was beautiful anyway. I couldn’t help thinking about how excited all the sponsors will be when these letters show up in their mailboxes.

During the past few weeks, staff members have been handing out stationery during regular home visits, giving a few suggestions on what the kids might write to their sponsors, but largely leaving it up to them. The completed letters are brought to me for translation, which means I get to read them all.

To be sure, many of these kids don’t understand the full scope of what sponsorship means. They especially don’t realize what a blessing their letters are for those on the receiving end. But the truth is there no matter what—because of sponsorship, these children are able to go to school, get quality healthcare, and hear about Jesus.

It’s so easy for me to forget. I see the success stories, and I forget. I forget that many of those who are now healthy and happy, have come from dark places, and have experienced deep pain that I can’t even imagine.

In letter after letter, I read expressions of sincere thanks and am reminded that this ministry really does change lives.

All the feels

It’s really been starting to hit me lately that my time here in Ivory Coast is almost over.

In two months, I’ll be boarding a plane to go back home, and that’s giving me all the feels.

For one thing, I’m excited. I miss my family and friends. I miss living in a place where the language and culture are familiar and a basic conversation doesn’t require much brain power. I miss wearing sweaters and wrapping up in a fuzzy blanket when it’s chilly. And it’s exciting to think about getting all of these things back.

I’m also nervous. This upcoming move is a major transition and I don’t know exactly what it’s going to look like yet. Where am I going to live? What am I going to do? I don’t know. And the not-knowing makes me uncomfortable. I could end up somewhere amazing doing something I love. Or I could not. Plus there’s the very real possibility of reverse culture shock. This is the longest I’ve been in a foreign country, and I’m anticipating that “home” might not feel quite like I expect it to.

And of course, there’s a part of me that’s feeling a little sad. Despite the challenges of living and working here, I really enjoy it most of the time. I have my friends, co-workers, and routines that feel familiar and comfortable now. Over the last couple of months I’ve started to really feel that my work is useful and making an actual difference in the ministry. But I’m about to have to say goodbye to all of that, at least for a while.

As I’m sitting here thinking about this cocktail of emotions—excitement, nervousness, and sadness—I realize that this is exactly the combination of things I was feeling seven months ago, as I was preparing to come here. And yet, everything worked out. It hasn’t been easy every second of every day, but it has been really, really good and I’m so thankful. I guess the best thing I can do now is to trust that the same God who carried me through that transition, is right beside me during this one, too.

Open Heart

A fairly recently developing excitement/passion of mine has been child sponsorship ministries in developing countries. This started with my trips to Malawi with Children of the Nations, where I was able to see firsthand lives that had been drastically changed for the better, because of sponsorship. I then wrote my senior capstone paper on the topic, because I found it so interesting. So I've loved spending most of my days here working with CMF's Ivory Coast child sponsorship program/ministry, Coeur Ouvert (which means "Open Heart" in French).

Much of my work with Coeur Ouvert so far has been in the office, gathering and organizing up-to-date data on all the children, and sharing pictures and stories through our online blog and facebook page. Recently, as my language skills are improving, I've been able to get more face-to-face interaction with the children and their families.

Home visits
A few times a week I get to travel around town with our social workers, Marc and Francois, visiting children in their homes, checking in on their health, studies, and general well-being. I've loved building relationships with the families that Coeur Ouvert serves, and gaining a better cultural understanding of what life generally looks like here.

CHE
One of CMF's major focuses is CHE (Community Health Evangelism). CHE lessons are on a variety of topics relating to health, community development, and Christianity, and are taught during home visits or other specified meeting times. At the beginning of February I was asked to teach a CHE lesson on hygiene during a meeting with the high school aged students. We talked about the importance of hand-washing to prevent sickness, and each student practiced washing their hands correctly. The lesson went well, and I was especially thankful to Pastor Wisdom who helped explain things when I struggled to come up with the right words in French. This coming Saturday (March 4) I will be teaching two more CHE lessons at a field trip with all of the children in the program.

English Club
We've also started a weekly English Club. Starting in about 6th grade, all students study English, so the club is here as a supplement to aid what they're already learning at school. We've had four meetings so far and I think we are getting into a rhythm that works pretty well. I'm starting to understand what levels they are at and how to get them speaking and interacting, and they are getting used to my teaching style and understanding what they're expected to do. As the weeks go on, I am hoping for consistent attendance and excitement.

Staff Meeting
We recently had an all-day staff meeting/training on HIV, which is, unfortunately, an extremely relevant topic here. It's important for us to have a solid understanding of HIV, what it looks like, how it is prevented, and, really, how Coeur Ouvert can best reach those in our community--whether they themselves are infected by HIV, or have a family member who is, or just want to ensure they prevent either of those things happening.

There's a lot of good stuff happening here, and tons of potential as the program keeps growing. I'm so thankful to be here, learning how to serve with an open heart.

Dust, Sweat, and Tears

While most people reading this blog are currently in the midst of a very cold and particularly snowy Winter, I'm experiencing a season that is new to me, but is a regular part of this time of year for West Africans: it's called Harmattan (pronounced HAR-muh-tawn), and it is caused by a dry, dusty wind that blows in from the Sahara Desert.

source: http://updatesfromfreetown.blogspot.com/2015/12/harmattan-everybody-this-is-sahara.html

The best thing about Harmattan (and possibly the only good thing) is that it brings with it refreshingly cool nights. In fact, there was a period of about a week and a half recently that I actually slept under a quilt. (My fan was usually on too, but still, the need for a blanket is a big deal!)

Unfortunately, while the nights are cool, the days are continuing to get hotter and hotter. I have never sweat so much in my life.

The biggest downside of Harmattan is the dust. The bottoms of my feet are dark brown by the end of the day and the surfaces in my house are coated with a fine layer of dirt. The dust also causes sinus irritation, watery eyes, and other sicknesses, plus the risk of wildfires goes up.

source: http://www.fao.org/docrep/008/y5749e/y5749e09.htm

And over here in Ivory Coast, we are much less affected than other countries, like Nigeria. When it's really bad, Harmattan can cause a thick haze in the air, severely limiting visibility and, apparently, even sometimes causing flights to be cancelled or re-routed. (read more here)

Here's a picture of Abidjan (the biggest city in Ivory Coast) during Harmattan a few years ago. 

source: http://koaci.com/cote-divoire-pluie-remplace-lharmattan-lorage-coupe-courant-87946.html

Feeling like a toddler again

If you have talked to me for any amount of time in the last couple of years, you probably know that I have a niece. Her name is Lydia, she is one and a half years old (20 months if you want to get technical), and I think she is the best, cutest, smartest little person who has ever lived.

I mean, seriously. The cuteness is real.

She's at a really fun stage where she's growing and learning so much. Whenever I get to Skype with her and her parents, I love hearing the new words and phrases that she has picked up since the last time we talked. During our call on Christmas Eve, my sister told Lydia, "Say Santa," and she confidently replied, "Hee-ha." Even though that's obviously not quite right, it's funny, and still a step in the right direction. There's very little pressure on her to speak well. No one expects her to be a master of the English language right now, so every new word or phrase is celebrated as a huge victory, and mistakes are brushed over, or seen as an opportunity for growth.

Learning a new language sometimes makes me feel like a toddler.

Today I came across a recent post by Jerry Jones at the Culture Blend in which he speaks of this very thing:

"It was one of those powerless foreigner moments that expats get used to.  The chasm between my irritated desire to express my true feelings and my pathetically lacking vocabulary was monstrous.  I’m basically a two year old in situations like this."

Amen. I don't always know the right thing to say. Pronunciation can be hard. Understanding people can be extremely hard, especially if I am tired. I rely on the few words that I know really well to get through unexpected conversations. Sometimes I think I do know the right word to use, but when I say it in conversation, I'm met with confused stares, or my favorite question, "Is that English?" to which I sheepishly reply, "No... I think it's French... but maybe that's not right."

The thing is, I'm not a toddler, and I'm just not cute enough to totally butcher new words and have people applaud anyway (except maybe my parents--thanks, Mom and Dad). And I don't want to be seen as a toddler. I am an adult, fully capable of expressing deep and complicated things when necessary, but so many people that I interact with don't see that side of me, because of this pesky language barrier.

The good thing about these moments of frustration is that they motivate me to keep learning, and they make the good moments even more rewarding. When I use a new expression correctly, or when someone asks me a question and I am able to respond without asking them to repeat, or when I'm able to follow most of the sermon at church--these highs are worth all the lows. 

Joyeux Noel! 🎄

It's Sunday evening and my first African Christmas is winding down. Experiencing Christmas away from my family, in foreign culture, has been interesting as I've had to set aside some of the traditions that often define Christmas for me, and simply enjoy the holiday for what it is.

One tradition that I do think is worth keeping no matter the circumstances is holiday baking! I love any excuse to eat cookies, so on Thursday I made some chocolate peanut butter no-bake cookies (one of my favorites, and so so easy), and then on Friday, the Gable girls helped me make some brown sugar/cinnamon cookies (that ended up tasting just like snicker doodles--yum!). Between those cookies and the other sweets I have been given, I'm pretty sure my diet has consisted mostly of sugar and butter over the last 3 days. No complaints here, though!

Last night we went to church, and it was not like any Christmas Eve service I have ever been to before. There were no candles, no silent night, and no familiar Christmas carols. The service began at 9:00 pm, and it was loud and energetic, definitely a celebration. While there were Christmas themes presented throughout the service, the songs were the same songs we usually sing on Sunday mornings all year long, and the kids performed a skit of the story of Esther. Our crew ended up leaving early, around 11:00, which was only about halfway through the whole service. As a culture, Ivorians generally love these long, late-night celebrations for Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve. It's an interesting contrast to the short, calm services that I am used to, but just as special and powerful in its own way.

All decked out with lights and tinsel

Christmas Day itself has been nice and relaxing. I checked my stocking this morning because I was told that some of Santa's elves had filled it up yesterday, and I found a bottle of Coke and some chocolate. Our church did cancel their service today (I know, I know--but may I remind you that they were celebrating and worshiping into the wee hours of the morning? :) ), so we had a little team home-church experience at the Gables' house next door instead.

While I've been celebrating my non-traditional Christmas over here, I've loved seeing glimpses of so many celebrations all over the world, thanks to social media. I was able to call some of my family members (both in Cambodia and Oregon) and share part of the holiday with them, too. This year is really reminding me that there are so many different ways to celebrate Christmas, but what unites us today (and everyday) is the miracle of Jesus, Emmanuel--God with us.

So wherever you are--Merry Christmas from Ivory Coast!