Je t'aime, Mon Afrique

Sunday's are set aside as a day of rest, but oftentimes they can be quite stressful or unnerving to me when I'm in a foreign land. This is particularly true if they are part of the 70% of the world or whatever it is that doesn't speak English or Spanish :) Africans know how to worship, I know that and yet the prospect of a four hour church service all in French wasn't the most appealing to me. At least the church at my guesthouse would be airconditioned. I always joke that Americans just need three things to be happy; coffee, internet and airconditioning. Well in Africa, you can usually get some variety of two or three of those things, but never quite to the extent that you desire. I suppose we can never have too many lessons in patience and contentment. Timothy had been trying for days to get in touch with his Togolese friends to direct us to his denomination in Cote d'Ivoire. I'm always for new things, and four hour french church certainly was not a new thing i wanted, i eagerly sacrificed guaranteed airconditioning for an adventure.

I slightly regretted that decision almost immediately when we made our way through the back alley by the soccer and basketball courts to the road to catch a taxi. When I finally stood in the early morning brutal sunshine, I immediately realized and lamented terribly not putting on my deodorant, that really could have killed my day as it could have been painful to me and unpleasant to others (although it doesn't stop like 90% of africans or so as i estimate that don't use it). I usually try to hide while Timothy negotiates a car rate b/c my whiteness is like a giant dollar, shilling, pound or franc fill in the african currency here. Additionally, Timothy handed the driver the phone to talk to someone in Togo about the location of this church in Cote d'Ivoire. We set off and I'm in the back seat, reading my Brothers Karamazov like the absorbed nerd that I am, I can just inhale that book, but I also am trying to savor my first read through it, so i will read back over impacting or mind-bottling passages.

Driving into Abidjan is beautiful as the city unfolds about several lagoons (most of which are tragically polluted) that are nonetheless inspiring and breathtaking. We had been driving quite a ways and things became much more and more rural and before you knew it the roads had disappeared along with the telephone and electrical wires. There were no street signs whatsoever and we quickly became lost and spent lots of time wandering as the driver would pull up next to someone and ask for directions and would invariably point us back in the direction we came to recalibrate and try again. After much driving and phone calls, we were eventually greeted by a bicycle messenger who had been sent from the receiving church. He pointed us in the direction and gave us instructions as we took off with hope anew. About twenty minutes later, he caught up to us, drenched in sweat and we picked him up, jamming his bike into the trunk of the taxi as we were defeated and forced to be ushered personally to the church.

As we are driving through long nothingness of palmtrees and thicket, the lagoon sweeps up alongside you without much warning and deposited us finally at the church in a secluded area right on the sure of expansive blue and solitude. The land faces a large island that is nothing but a giant mass of palmtrees and sand. The church is hardly a building but more of a tent of palm leaves thatched into a roof and lined with palm fronds to create as cool an interior as is possible for the typical 115 degree heat index. We invited the taxi driver into church and he declined, but we realized we would not be able to find another cab for miles and miles so we paid him to wait for us. Upon ducking into the tiny beach floored shelter, I was amazed at how pleasant it felt inside. We briefly sat on a bench at the back just in front of the nursury (open sand area with kids laying down and mothers sitting/playing with them) before they beckoned us to their pulpit. I always found it funny when guests sit at the places of honor and so i felt a bit silly trudging through the sand to the plastic beach chair behind the wooden bench and pulpit just off to the side and slightly to the front. As I carefully followed Timothy's every lead, I sat down and nearly fell over as my chair sunk several inches into the sand. I was slightly off guard and out of my element.

They brought us water that I'm sure was not bottled and so Timothy leaned over and whispered that i should either fake drink it or spit it out, but to look appreciative and make some kind of gesture. I withheld a giggle and opted to sip a little bit, but the essentially full glass on the bench sat there indicting me the entire service. We sang several songs which enabled me to loosen up, i love singing songs in languages i don't know very well b/c I have the spirit of praise, i am surrounded by my brothers and sisters and i can pick out the important words, heart, love, Savior, Lord, Jesus, etc. Even though there were only 20 people in this small town, they worshipped and man it ministered to my soul and I praised God and felt rest. Timothy, my pastor and my friend preached in English just for me and the pastor translated to French for the congregation. I later found out that many people in the church were Ghanaian and so several could speak some English at least and came up to me afterwards to welcome me and practice their English. He spoke from Matthew 26 about Jesus in Gethsemane and how he fully and finally laid down his will for the will of his Father, and how this is the gate to our glory and to our destiny; not my will, but yours. I have been sharing with Timothy what has been on my heart lately and beyond the fact that he was preaching in his second tongue, purely for my sake, I sensed that he crafted that message specifically for me and was speaking directly to me. I suppose this is the mark of a good pastor to make his people feel that way, but I was honored.

I would have the opportunity to return the favor as following his message, they asked me for an encore message. I smiled knowing that it was likely to come and so I preached out of the Psalms of Ascension and Ephesians regarding the relationship between communion with God and fellowship with one another and the joy that comes from worshipping God together in community. I even gave my first paragraph about God, love and community in French (or at least I believe that I did lol) By this time, I know that if I look around and I'm the only white person in the room, especially if it's somewhere remote, i better be prepared to give a message! How joyful it is to talk about community, to worship with my brethren and to rejoice in the kindred spirits we share through our pursuit of God and death to our will's that His might be born completely in us. My spirit was so encouraged by church and meeting with people afterwards, but the day only got better as we headed back to civilization to meet with the denomination leaders over Coca-Cola and cookies (Coke was meant to be drank in a glass bottle).

Unfortunately the road to the bishop's house is also the road to beach where anyone and everyone was headed and so two lanes of traffic were a standstill for miles while the other side of the road sat practically dormant. I thought to myself that they should have variable direction lanes and before I knew it, drivers began to cross the muddy sandy divide and take matters into their own hands driving on both sides of the divided "highway"I sat there as Timothy shared his vision for the church, his heart for West Africa and how this project could be a great resource to the church. He got many head nods and affirmative gestures from the mostly older elders. I had a chance to share a bit and they were encouraging to me, but my job is to equip and empower people not be the Moses or Aaron. Interestingly the head bishop of the denomination really opened up once we began to mention the football match we were going to attend in the afternoon. He studied English in the UK and was a big Liverpool fan and he started asking me all sorts of questions about Rafa, our current midfield configuration and testing my knowledge about the great sides of the 70's and 80's. I loved it, I love how football connects people. We headed across the biggest lagoon back towards the major district of Abidjan for the National Stadium to watch the local National team play Les Elephants square off against the Sparrow Hawks from Timothy's homeland of Togo.

African's are so passionate about their teams, that they must separate the fans very carefully so that violence doesn't break out. Sadly this mirrors the political situation which is also fighting amongst the same people. Timothy remarked at how many people were speaking his mother tongue language from Togo all throughout the city. Both countries boast vibrant colorful flags and proudly wore, waved and touted their particular variety. The visiting Togolese even toted a working orchestra of drummers and buglers to support their troops, though paling in comparison to the orange and green symphony of musicians and official supporters given the most prestigious place of cheer outside of dignitaries. The Ivorians even sported an adorable army of children who danced whenever their heroes broke through notching goals that sent the crowd into a frenzied state. They had much reason for dancing for although the game was a fairly conservative 0-0 draw after the first half, the mighty orange broke through and exploded for four goals in the second half. In doing so, they just missed out on Timothy's grim, but realistic 5-0 defeat which he predicted of his compatriots before the match began.

Each goal was noted on what appeared to simply be a large piece of poster board labeled "CI (Cote d'Ivoire) and TOGO and volunteers or staff scribbled numbers on placards to place on the makeshift "jumbotron" (I tried to explain the new Cowboy stadium sign to them and they couldn't imagine it, I still can't for that matter)The Ivorians cheered and cheered, but cheered more for the artistic and beautiful plays that usually failed to materialize into any substantial tactical move. They just loved to see the beautiful game played and celebrated the artistic. Poor Togo, as soon as they went down a goal, they gave up and the flood gates opened.

Midway through the second frame, they brought in a tall dreadlocked midfielder matching the frame, appearance and number of Togo's hero and 2009's African footballer of the year. Every time he touched the ball, the Ivorians cheered and yelled out Adebayor's name. It became clear why he was merely a look alike and not on the real national squad as he had little pace for the game and trouble finding his spacing. His culminating act was taking a pass in stride late in the match and proceeding to step on the ball tumbling to the ground as the whole stadium erupted into joyous laughter. When the final whistle sounded, the fans congratulated each others and the players, even the defeated sparrow hawks, approached the stands of their adoring fans to salute and honor their supporters. It was really neat to be a part of this. (I still hate those vuvuzela horns that Africans blow incessantly and obnoxiously during FIFA tournaments)

We celebrated with the fans and enjoyed a chocolate covered banana popsicle outside the stadium before heading back to our part of the city for an incredible meal of beef grilled over an open flame served with onions, spicy pepper sauce, and seasoning accompanied by the local treat, casava couscous accompanied by nothing other than a refreshing Coke, straight from the bottle of course. Perfect ending to a marvelous day...je t'aime, mon Afrique.