June 25, 2011

On June 7, the MAF plane circled the village, and touched down in a cloud of dust and sand. We were home at last. All our friends came out to the airstrip to greet us and the band played (ok, so it was the church percussion choir making a racket, but you get the idea),  and in a few moments, a long train of young boys were heading to our home 200 meters away with all our baggage and supplies perched on their heads. 

It was strange being home. On the one hand, it seemed like we had only been gone a few weeks, not seven months. On the other hand, we keenly felt anew the hard edge of life here in Chad. This was something of a surprise to us, because we left Chad 7 months previously feeling very positive, and somehow expected our return would be the same. Alas, the comforts and complete lack of stress in the USA make even the most positive things about Chad seem, well, not so nice. Not to worry, though, By the time a week or so passed, we were once again feeling in our element.

We were pleased to find things in order. The termites hadn’t eaten any furniture, the rats hadn’t eaten the car’s radiator hose, our cats were healthy, if a bit skinny, the radio station worked, and the clinic staff was doing a good job.  Rachel, our house worker had thoroughly dusted the house and cleared the cobwebs, so our arrival was more comfortable than it might have been. We were especially pleased to find that Joseph and François had been working hard on drafting the book of Acts in Kwong and were in the final chapters when we arrived. And to top it off, we got word at the end of our first week in the country, that the piece of baggage  which Air France had misplaced somewhere in Chicago or Paris had showed up mangled at the airport in N’Djamena.

The days following our arrival were marked by several deaths of people we knew, including the dear old deaf lady who lived behind us. They were also marked by some encouragement. Several new mothers informed Diane that years of relentless badgering in person and over the FM radio had finally  persuaded them to breast-feed their babies from the first day. (Their tradition is to squeeze out the colostrum for the first three days and give the newborn contaminated water instead.)

As the month of June winds down, we will return to N’Djamena for a special gathering of the 20 or so TEAM missionaries here in Chad. We will be joined by our bosses from the USA for several days of thinking about the future direction of ministry here in Chad. We hope to return to Chageen on July 4 and then hunker down for the rainy season until October.

Vignettes of life in Chageen

What does a fly weigh? Maybe a few milligrams? Then how is it that a person who is sound asleep can be woken up by one landing on his arm? It happens to be one of the more unpleasant ways to wake up. And it is one of those little aspects of coming back to Chageen which calls forth from us a sigh of resignation. They are simply everywhere and keeping them out of the house is impossible. While in a dull moment you might pick up the TV remote and flip through a few channels until, say, the call to dinner comes, we, lacking anything like a remote, let alone a TV, pick up the fly swatter and whack away until something more interesting (like dinner) catches our fancy. Still, there’s always one left to wake you up.

Now what does a grain of sand weigh? Less than a fly. Probably something with micro- or pico- as a prefix. But you know what? A grain a sand can wake you up, too. Actually, just one grain of sand (of which we have many in Chad) in the sheets of your bed will make you itch in just that spot. We know, only too well, because it happens to us about every other night, and is another sign that we have returned to our home in Chageen. We are never real sure where the sand comes from. (We do take showers.) Last night it seems an unusually large quantity was sequestered under Mark’s watchband. So each evening before retiring, we perform a little ritual which involves each of us brushing all the foreign matter out of our respective sides of the sheets. But sure enough, a couple hours later, an itch in some inaccessible corner of one of our backs alerts us to the fact that by some mysterious means, another grain of sand has appeared. Yes, this is life as we know it in Chad.

Approaching Chageen, MAF pilot Greg Vine. Our airstrip is visible behind the village. 

Tooda lived behind our home and made clay pots to sell. She was deaf and dumb, and for the last two years, lame as well. Notwithstanding her infirmities, she was a very spirited lady. She died 5 days after our arrival. Being mute, it was difficult to tell if she was a believer.

Suzanne (with husband Bale) breast-fed their baby from day one. They display our influence on their lives in that they are sitting on our couch together – not something Kwong couples usually do.