MISSIONARY MOMENTS: what kept me going this summer; what might inadvertently end world hunger with pennies

Dear kind old woman who introduced me at my final speaking engagement,
Africa is a continent.  Not a country.  If I had a penny for every time you said “the country of Africa” in your introduction, I would be the richest person in the state of Owasso.  Or I could use all of those pennies to buy you the award-winning children’s book Africa is Not A Country.

But honestly, how could I blame you for a silly mistake like that?  It’s obviously not your fault.  Who is to blame you ask?  Let us turn to the profound words of a famous orator whose widely quoted speech boasts over 30 million You Tube hits!  Miss Teen USA South Carolina wisely points out that,

“US Americans out there in our nation don’t have maps and I believe that education like such as in South Africa and the Iraq everywhere like such as and I believe that they should our education over here in the US should help the US or should help South Africa and should help the Iraq and the Asian countries so we will be able to build up our future for our.”

Well, duh.

So lady who introduced me, get a map.  Or just watch Miss South Carolina’s speech and you’ll feel a lot better about yourself.  I know I do.

Thanks for making my missionary moments more memorable,
Amber (The Missionary, in case you didn’t read my name tag)

Why did you leave? In a stadium of 2,000 Malian men, we’re supposed to stick together! You don’t know what a relief it was to see you at half time. I sat on the hot cement seat for a whole 45 minutes wondering what the heck was I doing at this soccer game watching the Djolibas play that other team wearing the nice black jerseys (Do you happen to remember their name? Memory retention for Bambara words is at its lowest as I’m T minus 6 days from being an English-only speaker). I sat on the hot cement seat thinking I was the only white girl there. Ever so lonely, I sat deploring my decision to accompany my friend and taxi driver to this apparently male-only event.

After almost an hour of settling into the stares and questioning looks, I saw you—my homegirl! All embarrassment and awkwardness disappeared. I wasn’t alone anymore! Our status doubled, and I was feelin pre-tty good.

I only got a glimpse of you before you ran off somewhere with your Malian boyfriend for the rest of the game. Why did you leave? Did my presence make you feel overcrowded? Does one white girl meet maximum occupancy at a professional Malian sporting event?

Oh well. I gladly held my place and represented.

In case you’re wondering what you missed (and for the folks playing at home who haven’t had the privilege of gracing the Modibo Keita Stadium), I present to you every bullet-worthy detail I can remember:
• Affordability and Convenience. Check! Where else in the world can you watch professional teams for $2? And where else can you park right next to the stairs that take you to your seats (without having a handicapped tag hanging from your review mirror)?
• Hungry? Thirsty? While they were seriously lacking our typical white girl food and beverages, I savored every drop of my Fanta Orange. Too bad my palate wasn’t craving the available hard-boiled eggs with hot sauce, meat pockets, peeled oranges, pineapple or bissap juice, and of course packets of water. If you didn’t see any of this, you must not have noticed the handful of women who managed to carry it all on their heads while climbing up and down the stairs for 2 hours. In my opinion, they are the real athletes.
• Other items you could have purchased from the walking vendors include raincoats, newspapers, radios, jerseys, socks, Air France eye masks (used for moto drivers), tissues, fake Adidas flip flops, and soccer balls.
• Since I suspect you weren’t there for the entire game, you cannot attest to hearing 2 solid hours of drums. Yes, the drummers played without stopping. Without. Ever. Stopping.
• The real gem you will regret not seeing is the now famous Funny Bird Dance Man. When his team got the ball into the net thing, he showed our whole section his wicked dancing skills. Picture a mama bird celebrating when her babies can finally fly. He spread out his wings and flapped them in and out while contorting his mouth from a wide open regurgitating food type of O shape to a closed joker smile.
• In true Malian style, there was a fight in the stands. Since I still can’t understand how men fight over something that is happening with players on a field a hundred feet away, I attribute the fight to the massive windstorm that swept through in the second half. The Mean Man with Beard probably just got something in his eye and retaliated against the guy next to him. They took several swings, yelled rapidly in Bambara (probably insults about each other’s moms or bean-eating families), and let hoards of strangers pull them back to their corners. The Mean Man with Beard then sat next to me to “cool down”. In case you’re wondering, yes, I was a good missionary and waited for the Holy Spirit to prompt me to witness to him about the Peace that Jesus brings to those who believe. However, even with all the confidence I had at this point knowing I wasn’t the only white girl in the stadium, I didn’t muster enough courage to talk to Mean Man with Beard. Blame it on bad timing.

Oh, and in the midst of all this excitement some guys on the field passed a ball around and tried to make it in the white net things at the ends of the field. I think it was a tie.

So I’m still a little passive aggressive that you weren’t more supportive of our extreme minority situation. No hard feelings though. I had a great time! But maybe at the next game we could at least bring some friends and have our own little section of white girl awkwardness. Of course, we’d have to make t-shirts so we’d all match, bring our own ice chests of Diet Coke, and spend more time looking at each other’s cell phones than actually watching the game. All in the good name of furthering the Out Of Place White Girl at African Sporting Event stereotype. I’d hate to let all of those Malian men down.

Here’s to you, sister.

Amber (White girl in t-shirt and jeans, Life Is Good hat, and Chacos).

I’ll get to you in a minute. But please read on.

In the car on road trip through Mali, L1 and L2 talk about where their families descended from. Small talk ensues. Then…
J: I don’t really know anything about where I’m from.
L2 (gasp!): How could you not know your heritage?

Shocking! How could she not know? We live in an age where National Geographic’s Genographic Project will take anyone’s DNA and trace it back to Mesopotamia! An age where over 2 million microfiche and microfilms of genealogically relevant material are housed in—you guessed it—Salt Lake City! An age of Genealogy computer software and hundreds of Hereditary and Lineage organizations at our service!

Wasn’t every 5th grader was subjected to the same report about their heritage? I have vivid memories of being bored out of my mind on presentation day when I heard 22 versions of crossing on the Mayflower or living in a teepee. I was a teepee person. One-sixteenth, thank you very much. Yes, I know where one-sixteenth of me came from.

But all of these genetic thoughts didn’t start with J’s blasphemous comment. It was tonight’s scene with roommate-brother and S at Asian restaurant…
S: Cory, you have really white teeth.
C (smiles)
A: And really big lips. Where did those come from?

They are NOT part of our family tree.

So, Milkman. Can you explain some of the 15/16ths that are unaccounted for?

It would have made for a more interesting presentation for his classmates.

On his identity-confused behalf,

Amber

Today was an ambitious birthday. So I’ve made some plans for us…
1. Take more naps. “I’d love a good nap. That’s the only thing getting me out of bed in the morning.” –George Costanza
2. Wear any and all clothes that still have tags on them.
3. Take piano lessons. The fingers are a little rusty after 12 years.
4. Reusable bags. Better than plastic. And fashionable to boot.
5. Try coffee. It might be an acquired taste. I didn’t touch salad until I was 18, so yes, Starbucks, there’s hope for yet another addict.
6. Read for pleasure: NO lesson plans, vocabulary quizzes, or essay questions. The first book of my 24th year will be Starting from Scratch: Memoirs of a Wandering Cook by the only professor who told me I wrote something worthy of being published or presented at a conference.
7. Organize my iPhoto folders.
8. Vote in my first presidential election. Where was I in 2004?
9. Go on a cruise. Addendum: On said cruise, meet exceedingly charming young man who fills my stomach with butterflies and my heart with summer lovin’. And whose name and face I forget immediately upon disembarkation.
10. Ride my bike. Inevitable result = save money. (Don’t spend money on shoes.)
11. Wear black cocktail dress to a musical. Phantom of the Opera will be in Tulsa this summer. Too cliché?
12. Memorize a book of the Bible. Or a chapter. Or just some more verses.
13. Win a raffle. It’s about time those kids let me cash in.
14. Boycott something. Suggestions? (Not meat.) (Or indoor plumbing.)
15. Send packages. I now know the fulfillment found in the glorious red, white, and blue USPS Priority Mail box. It even smells like America. Must share it.
16. Discover a rare ability that only manifests itself in one’s 24th year of life. Whistling! Please let it be whistling!
17. Drink more green tea.
18. Meet a dashing Frenchman who has somehow landed himself in Oklahoma…and who needs to learn English…and helps me with my French pronunciations of words like les fleurs and une soirée…and who can successfully wear a scarf in all weather.
19. Make my bed in the morning. Again, it’s about time.
20. Give it all away. But not like this.
21. Learn to change my own oil. Without actually changing it, as to not offend my father who must still feel needed in my big independent life.
22. Watch as much college football as possible to make up for its two-year absence in my life. Cross fingers for tickets to OU-Texas game.
23. Teach. I belong in the classroom; however the coming years of grad school make me a student by force. Must find a way to teach something.
24. Show. Don’t tell. It’ll mean a lot more.

Well, I suppose we should get on with it. The most logical place to start seems to be #1. And only 364 more days to get around to the others.
Amber

You’re just an amateur. Don’t get too excited that a little group of bloggers chose one of your little letters for one of their little online collections. But take this moment of recognition to remember where you came from.

You were never a novelist. Or a poet. Or a playwright. You have no nostalgic reminiscence of hiding under the covers flashlight in hand to write just a few more lines of your short story The Magic Oyster. You couldn’t even manage to keep a diary for more than a month.

You were, however, a letter writer. “List Frank Stationery and Stickers” appeared somewhere on your Birthday Wish List from ages 5-15.

You have a brimming shoe box full of notes to prove your middle school years were fruitful in your development as a letter writer.

Then, all of a sudden—1998 and Hello E-mail. Your exchanged a real name and address for Cheer4BA and your AOL Inbox. You prided yourself on never using ridiculous fonts and colors or cheapening your words with acronyms or smiley faces.

College also found you frequenting the post office and even working for DaySpring who offered a sizable discount on frilly stationery supplies.

Your letter love affair runs deep. Rejoice that you finally found an outlet for it. Give thanks that someone took note of it. And go ahead, do a little dance that your Blog Stats are up 700% from yesterday (You have the line graph to prove it).

Hey, your 24th birthday is next week. Remember your roots add this to your wish list.

Humbly,

Amber

Enter the mind of Hypothetical Student A with me. We’ll call her Sarah—your typical 16-year-old private Christian school sophomore. Bust out those inference skills you’re so fond of employing and assume she’s a Christian or has sufficient Bible training. Sarah is taking your Bible test as a part of the required annual standardized testing at her school.

She breezes through the first eight questions, only stumbling over the one about the difference between justification and sanctification—she was a bit distracted during that particular lecture with a slight chipped nail polish emergency. Suddenly, question 9 (The following is an actual paraphrase from a combination of students’ post test recollections):

Ben and Rachel are lab partners in Biology. One day, Ben asks Rachel to go to dinner and a movie with him. Rachel firmly believes she shouldn’t date nonbelievers. Ben claims he believes in God, but he’s not so sure about “all that church stuff.” Rachel thinks she likes him, but she’s not sure if she should go on a date with him. What should Rachel do?
(A) Go, she might get a chance to talk with him about God.
(B) Say no, she refuses to compromise her standards.
(C) Go, things will get awkward in Biology if she turns him down.
(D) Say no, she doesn’t like to date boys she is lab partners with.

Sarah has a momentary crisis dialogue, but quickly reverts to the proper test taking procedure: one must give reasonable consideration to every choice before making the bold move of bubbling in.

Choice A) Yes, definitely! Missionary dating is such the trend now! Rachel should totally go with him! Maybe he’d even choose a raunchy R-rated movie—then she could witness to him about why she isn’t allowed to fill her temple with such immorality.

Choice B) Well, if God has already convicted her that she shouldn’t date nonbelievers, then she is covenant-bound to say no. She could invite him to church camp or Wednesday night Bible study, but no dates. What would her parents say? Or worse, her friends?

Choice C) Awkward is an understatement! Boys never know how to respond to rejection. It will likely manifest itself through a series of actions including but not limited to ignoring her completely, teasing her about irrelevant qualities like her penmanship or taste in music, talking bragging about his new (but imaginary) girlfriend or car or awesome spring break plans.

Choice D) A girl’s got to set some boundaries. It gets too complicated when you date someone you work with—all that pressure of a fishbowl relationship. Take Ashley G. (singer in the worship band) and Kyle (the drummer). Doomed! After only one date. Plus, how weird would it be when they get to the reproduction unit? Eww!

Sarah reasons that it’s a Bible test, so she should base her answer on something biblical. After all, the objective of this assessment as stated by the testing company is to “measure mastery of the basic facts of the Bible, as well as the understanding of Bible content and the application of principles to life.” However, Jesus seems to have forgotten the parable of the sweet Jewish girl drawing water at the well and the squeamish Gentile who stammers, “Hey, wanna help me separate the wheat from the chaff?”

She continues: Jesus said go make disciples, but he also said flee from temptation and don’t let your testimony be ruined by bad company. He hung out with prostitutes and tax-collectors, but Paul says not to be “unequally yoked.” Maybe that’s just for marriage, and this is only…

Her mind melts to spaghetti. Every thought a slippery strand connecting to another until it becomes an indigestible mess of boys, crushes, dating books, purity conferences, parental lectures, and pressure.

You, writer of the absurd question, bring Sarah’s brain to boiling point until it loses its stiff independence and becomes submissively squishy. She simmers until finally filling in the answer she knows you have designed to be the correct one. Because if she were to really think about it, that’s what she’s been taught to do. Just fill in the right answer, and everything will be A(+) OK.

Let’s look at your demographic. As a Christian teenage girl, Sarah’s life is anything but standardized. Everyday she takes tests that don’t offer four simple options or have one right answer. From the relationship with her “perfect” Christian boyfriend to her daily battle with the mirror, she strives to fit the mold. To live the cookie-cutter life she has been bred into. To be the quintessential Christian!

This is why she bubbles in Choice B. Although she could spend hours debating the theology of your question—as God created her to be an analyzer by nature—the pressure of time limits and test scores pushes her to darken B and move on.

Ok, number 10: When Paul wrote to the Roman church, “Do not conform to the patterns of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind,” what basic Christian objective did he then affirm to the believers?

The cycle continues. While her eyes glance at the clock, stomach ties itself in knots, mind attacks the question, and heart wraps itself around this moment, Sarah is distracted. No, not from your test. She is completely focused on recalling her memorization of Romans 12:2. Her attention is drawn away from what you should be testing.

Sarah gets question 10 correct, oh and number 9 too. Hooray! But when she still doesn’t get what Paul really said to the Romans about knowing God’s good, pleasing, and perfect will…when she finds herself in gray areas far shadier than Ben and Rachel’s, did you Mr. Testwriter really create a “valid and reliable tool needed for objective measurement of achievement?” I would say you failed.

Petitioning for a Choice E) ANSWER NOT HERE, WORK IT OUT FOR YOURSELF,

Amber

Sorry to bother you, but I need some of your personal information for the adoption papers. You see, I cannot officially take these children home until I prove that you indeed exist. While I’m certainly convinced that you’re (cue Fievel music) somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight, these orphanages have their technicalities.

You should also know that the kids keep asking about you. I’ve tried to indulge them: Oh dears, he’s in the middle of working on the nursery for you…Daddy couldn’t make it because he’s got the Olympic Trials this week…Today he’s, umm, slaying dragons? However, after 2 years of hearing this, I think they’ve become a bit wary of my excuses. They seem to have their mother’s cynicism already.

Don’t worry about me (sigh). I would be quite content to continue sitting here, gazing out the window, waiting for you to come galloping up on your white horse. Yes, my solo status fits me a little better each day, as does my affinity for cats. Oh, but the children! Think of the children! Brought in from the streets, sleeping on soiled sheets! No one to wipe their snotty nosies or tickle their tiny toesies!

How could you delay another minute when you see a face like this?

So hurry up, will you!

Do it for the kids,

Amber

I have a proposition for you. Since the Dogon people so highly regard your decision making skills, I would also like to call on you for some prophetic words—or tracks rather.

Checking my notes from our 4-day trek through Dogon Country, I see that you are often used in predicting everything from births to harvests. As we passed through Sanga and looked over some of your handiwork, my semi-English speaking guide was quite concerned that I didn’t employ your wisdom in foretelling the details of my marriage. Don’t take it personally, but I don’t think you have the resources of eHarmony or even better, my Mother who claims to have a direct line to God when it comes to my relationships.

So just for clarity’s sake: the Dogon people mark their questions in the sand. By moonlight you strategically make your tracks, knowing they’ll be interpreted the next afternoon by the elder of the village. What a responsibility for you—the smallest member of the dog family! Yet you faithfully do it each evening. Though I wonder if your consistency is at all influenced by the meaty sacrifices they leave behind?

I’ve discovered you’re most revered for your political expertise. Apparently when it’s election time, yours is the only vote that counts. The next hogon (spiritual leader) is chosen after each “candidate” places a stick in a grid drawn in the sand. As cunning as a fox, you knock over only one stick. At daybreak, Congratulations, the new hogon is presented to the village! Sacrifices of millet and chickens all around!

I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but in America they’re choosing their new…errr, hogon of sorts. This isn’t exactly a “spiritual leader,” but that’s just logistics and even my pastor would probably disagree on that point. Hopefully it won’t prevent you from taking the job. Do we need to talk specifics? How do you feel about trans-Atlantic flights? Are you partial to a particular type of sand? What are your thoughts on media coverage? Pretty sure FOX would get exclusive interview rights.

Ok, well let me know.

Checking the sand,
Amber