“Sweet Salone”

It is my first morning here in my new home. As I write, I am sitting on my veranda overlooking a beautiful mountainside. The temperature is tolerable and wet. From my second story, I can see people beginning their day. Sounds of a mother scolding her son to wash echo. Unfamiliar chirping of birds and crowing roosters call to the morning sunrise. This hillside in front of me is dotted with tin roofed houses and small shanties. They sky bears a low gray fog with occasional breaks of blue sky.

After 24 hours of traveling, I feel relieved to be replanted. It was so nice to be reunited with Ron and Sharon in the Chicago airport. Their company was appreciated and needed on such a long commute. Upon seeing them, warm memories of their visit to Mali nine years ago filled my mind. How ironic I am returning to West Africa alongside of them. We caught up on life and shared excitement of returning to the work here in Sierra Leone. It was so interesting to hear them speak of their love for the people of Sierra Leone and of their time here during the war before their evacuation.

I reached Freetown, the capital, about 6:15pm after a stop through Belgium and Dakar, Senegal. My first impression of the landscape when landing was that it was so different than my other encounters with West Africa. Instead of hot, arid savannah, I saw from the plane dense, lush green vegetation, mountains and lots of ocean. After deboarding, we were quickly directed through customs while dodging many of the porters hoping to carry our baggage for a small tip. I was happy to be with Ron and Sharon because they were veterans at the process of getting to and from the airport.

We were whisked away by a van to the shoreline to catch a water taxi from the airport peninsula to the mainland of Freetown. When we arrived it was a beautiful sight. The sun was setting behind a line of palm trees next to the beach. The sound of the waves and the sea breeze was so refreshing. We donned our life vests and climbed aboard the water taxi. The waves were choppy, so we had to carefully jump from the dock to the boat and avoid a possible unexpected swim. The boat was small with rows of benches able to seat about 30 people. Several oscillating fans lined the walls for the passengers’ enjoyment. In the front corner of the boat, a large hi-def TV sat displaying the Brazil vs. Chile World Cup game. The ride to the mainland was grand. The rolling waves cause the boat to jerk upon every hit. For those who easily get seasick, this might have been a daunting task. It took us 30 minutes to reach the port in Aberdeen, a neighborhood in Freetown.

We arrived to find our logistics coordinator, Donald, waiting to greet us. Donald is Sierra Leonean and was a joy to meet. I felt an immediate kindred spirit with him. He oozed of Faith, Hope and Love. It almost felt like we always had known each other. Donald was kind enough to commentate for me as we drove the 45 minute mountain road to my new home. So many roads, sites and spots to remember. I am humbled at being a child again and in learning my new world from the beginning. When we arrived at the apartment, the rest of the team was waiting to greet us. Gabe, Sada, Christina and Chelsea had prepared some food for the famished travelers. They all have been so warm and friendly. We chatted and greeted for awhile over some fresh bread and sautéed meat. Afterwards, I was able to have a heart-to-heart with Gabe and Sada, the couple also involved in the medical aspect of the project here. It was so encouraging hearing their stories and sensing their hearts. It is obvious they have a rich passion for and a love for the people of Sierra Leone. We have much in common. Similar joys and struggles all came out of that conversation. It is an answered prayer.

So now, I am here, in “Sweet Salone” as they call it. Thank you God for safe travels and for bringing me thus far.

Kamikaze Donkey

This is a true story during my time in Mali. Many laughs have stemmed from this experience. I thought I would write it down and share it. Enjoy!

It was another day in the remote village of Kenieba, Mali. Myself, along with four students from California Baptist University, and my African friend Bala Musa, were driving down a narrow side street in the village. We came to Mali to paticipate in a short-term mission project. For some of these students, it was their first go at international travel and a crosscultural encouter.

Bala Musa was driving the brand new Toyota Land Cruiser. It had been borrowed from a partnering agency that was so generous in aiding us in taking the two day trek to our village. Bala Musa is a character. He and his wife Jiita are dear friends of mine. Bala Musa often drove me to my village three hours away when I lived and worked in Mali. He is known around town by his outgoing and free spirited personality. His laugh can be heard for miles accompanied by a smile as bright as the sun.

As we approached the main dirt road that dissects the village of Kenieba, I caught a glimpse of a gray blurry object approaching us from the right side of the Land Cruiser. Before I can process what this object was, I hear muffled screams and see bits and pieces of twigs from a fence being projected through the air. Then I see it, but I do not believe it. A gray donkey moving at the speed of light is running through a neighboring courtyard fence and headed straight for us. BAAAM! Before I could even warn Bala Musa, the donkey plows head first into the right front fender of the shiny new Toyota and then falls over dead-like in the road next to the truck.

Silence.

Shock.

More silence.

My mouth is now open wide wondering what just happened. No one is speaking in the car. My first gut reaction is not concern for the damage to the Land Cruiser, but it is concern for the donkey I just killed. I envisioned a mass of people surrounding our car accusing me of murdering someone's livelihood. Still, no one has said anything in the car. I slowly turn and look at Bala Musa. I am sure he could see my tonsils because my jaw was laying on my chest. My eyes were bulging as were his. Bala Musa then broke out in the loudest laughter I ever heard. I turned and looked at the poor students in the back seat. All of them looked like their kitty cat just died. I did not know whether to laugh or cry.

I said, "Bala Musa, what just happened?" Between the laughter, he sputters out, "Fatoo Faloo!", which means 'crazy donkey'. I was still sober and on the verge of getting angry at his laughter. I jumped out of the car to see this large donkey laying limp on the ground next to my door. Bala Musa comes around still laughing hysterically. We both stood over this donkey. It was the largest road kill I had ever seen. At this point, I am discussing with Bala Musa, between his giggles of course, about how I am going to need him to explain to the owner that this was a suicide mission and not murder. This made him laugh even harder.

In that moment, the gray blur returned. The 'dead' donkey laying between us begins to stir and kick. A cloud of dust arises and the donkey jumps to his feet like Lazarus from the tomb. All I could do was jump on the hood of the truck while Bala Musa scrambles to keep from getting kicked or trampled. The resurrected donkey immediately took off in a flash and made a beeline for a group of women cooking under a baobab tree. Through the cloud of donkey dust, I could hear screams and clanking of pots. Then a stampede of women, with children and cookware in hand, scatter like ants. The donkey zoomed right through the middle of their encampment running full speed. It finally disappeared over the hill with nothing but a trail of dust and a dented fender to show for.

I was later informed by Bala Musa that it was mating season for the donkeys. He stated that they actually announce on the radio station this fact and instruct parents to keep their children close to keep them from being trampled. I missed the memo.

To this day, I laugh thinking about the kamikaze donkey of Kenieba. The moral of the story? Always look both ways at a crossroad because you never know...a frisky, suicidal donkey may just be coming straight for you.

Goodbyes

The Malinke phrase for “I miss you” is “I kidee xa’n muta”. Literally translated, it means, “Your absence has captured me”. This phrase is becoming more of a reality the closer I get to June 27th. I have begun the goodbyes this past weekend. I finished up my job at Shands Hospital this past Friday. I spent Saturday saying my goodbyes to my coworkers. It was such a beautiful time seeing everyone and celebrating a new season of life. They will truly be missed. I have reaped so many wonderful friends during my three years at Shands. To all of you in the MICU, “Ala xa misara a la!” - “May God give you what you have given me.”

I hate goodbyes, so I have resigned to tell all of you “see you later”. Yes, it will be 2-3 years before I will return for any length of time, yet let’s be honest, some of us see our family members once a year at Christmas! ;-) It’s not so bad. Before, when I was in Mali, I was able to send an email once a week and a phone call once a month if I was lucky. In Sierra Leone, I will have internet access, a phone and even have the advantage of having Skype (chuckpluke). I am reassuring my family that I probably will talk to them and communicate more across the sea than I do now. Distance truly makes the heart grow fonder.

As I finish up these last 13 days of preparation and “see you laters”, I am praying for strength. Honestly, my excitement about returning to Africa is outweighing the sadness of goodbyes. At any rate, I wanted to tell all of you, friends, family, coworkers and supporters, how much your lives mean to me. Each one of your lives has left a beautiful impression on my own. Each one of your absences will capture me as I journey to Sierra Leone. Although you all will not be with me physically, your love, prayers and support will be with me always. I love you all!

P.S. I received my visa today from the Embassy of Sierra Leone! Another answered prayer!

One Step Closer

I think I need a good slap across the face to wake me up from this surreal dream state! I cannot believe I have been cleared to leave for Sierra Leone, West Africa this month. The day of departure is around June 27th. I say ‘around’ because I have not officially purchased my tickets nor secured my visa, yet I am trusting God in the details.

WOW! I am in such a whirlwind right now. My last day at Shands UF Hospital is this Friday, June 11th. I have worked there three years in the medical intensive care unit. It has been three years of learning, growth, close friendships and preparation. I can honestly say that my coworkers and patients will truly be missed. I could not have asked for a better group of nurses to work with on the night shift! I love you guys! This season of my life will always remain special. It has truly prepared me for my new season beginning in Africa!

I am also just realizing the brevity of these last three weeks before I leave. So much to do…so little time. I am trying to sell my car, see friends and family, pack, etc. However, I confess it all has went amazingly smooth thus far thanks to God’s grace and your prayers. I ask that you continue to pray as I begin my season of closure and goodbyes to my life here in the states. Pray God will give me, my family and friends understanding, hope, strength and faith. ‘See you later’s’ are always difficult, but I ask each of you to trust that God has called me, and my joy comes in going and glorifying him in my obedience. Plus, I am just an ocean away…so come on over! ;-)

I thank all of you again for your love, financial support and encouragement. It means so much and God amazes me by how he uses his people for His glory! I am praying for the remaining monthly support ($250 per month) to come in over the next 21 days. God has proven his faithfulness so many times in my life. I have no other choice but to throw myself and my concerns on this truth now.

I love you all! Love God. Love People.

The Call

For 8 years, I have prayed and asked God for the chance to return to Africa. Within this 8 year span, there have been seasons of joy, growth, mourning and trials. For so long, Africa has been the happy ending of an eight year prayer, but in reality, it is the beginning of a new chapter on my journey of faith. In 26 days, I will be leaving for Sierra Leone, West Africa. My monthly support is quickly accumulating. May God receive glory for this answered prayer. I anticipate God providing the rest based on his promises and faithfulness.

I have had the chance to speak at various churches, groups and with individuals about the call God has placed on my life: a call to love and serve the unreached of the earth. For some, it resonates and echoes their own heartbeat. For others, it is misunderstood and questioned. Regardless of the mixed responses, it remains. This “calling” is the only immovable object that withstands the waves of life and winds of change. Only it remains when everything else is eroded away with time. I thank God this calling is not dependent upon others’ responses or approvals. The only constant, driving force for this calling is my passion for the One who has called me. All else is contingent upon this foundational necessity.

So you may ask, “Why do you want to live so far away?” or “How can you leave your family for so long?'”, or maybe even, “How can you go to a place that is so unsafe?” My answer? I do not know. But I will tell you that avoiding my call to go and obey would be equivalent to telling me to not breathe. It would be like asking me to never take another bite of bread and await a long, cruel unnecessary death by starvation. I simply cannot. This fire in my bones will never be extinguished, and my love for Christ will forever compel me. Only by His supremacy through His perfect grace, mercy and love, can I claim this calling.

God never promised us safety, security nor lavish comforts in this life. He did, however, promise peace, love and joy despite our surroundings and situations. True passion and worship for God transcends any moment of hardship or despair that we find ourselves in. Often, these very times of darkness are the times God increases our passion for Him even more. So, why do I go? How can I do this? Because He went for me and will go with me, and all glory will be His now and forever.