Child Friends

During college at Taylor, it was a future lineman named Jaxson. In Minneapolis, an architect and swinger named Anders, and a firecracker, Taylor Beth. The past four to five years, I've enjoyed friendships with infants and toddlers. Here are some friends I've made here in Cameroon:

(1) One of my Greek students, Mbotto, and his wife, Vivian (a French teacher) have an adorable one-year-old named Jonetta. She's full of life, often squirming around in her mom's lap, and apparently shy around, maybe frightened of, young white men. We often sit by Vivian and Jonetta in chapel. Sometimes, Jonetta will tear up a napkin, giving me each little bit or stashing the pieces in her ear and neck. Other mornings, she'll clap with the beat or sing the worship song in a private tongue.

(2) Behind the seminary, there's a path I run a couple times a week, through villages and by people carrying produce on their heads. In the past week or two, I've become acquainted with a five or six-year-old girl named Promise. She saw me running one day and squealed with laughter. It was really high-pitched. She ran from the field onto the path, and started running a distance behind me. I asked if she wanted to "do sport" with me, and as I jogged in place, she mimicced me. It sounds cute, but she was definitely making fun of me, finding the white man a hilarious spectacle. Now, whenever I'm on a run, she inevitable spots me, shreiks, and runs behind me (always at a safe distance) with a constant, shrill laugh.

(3) A staff-member here has a nephew named Zeal (pronounced "Zee-elle," with strong emphasis on "Zee"). He's a a year and a half old, I'd guess. I see him a couple times a week, often while he's waiting outside of his school in the morning. The toddlers and young children wait outside of their school by themselves every morning until it opens. They'll often walk to school on their own, too. I don't think I was allowed to be anywhere by myself until I was ten. Zeal's mother died a couple months ago from sickness. Because autopsies are uncommon, the cause of death is often unknown. Occasionally, Zeal is bubbling with vigor, laughing heartily and playfully. But usually, he greets the world with a blank stare. He recognizes me, and will wave at me sometimes. I caught his attention one day by making a loud whistle out of a blade of grass. And we have a shared connection of patting our bellies whenever we see each other. But for the most part, he's fairly stoic, rarely smiling, expressing only sadness in his eyes. Mercy, his aunt, said that he often asks for his mother; he expects her to return. In my experience thus far, I've often found Cameroonians to be less self-conscious than Americans. For example, at the start of some classes, I'll ask someone to lead us in song, and most students are willing to lead the group. In the states, I bet only those with a musical background and a bold spirit would be so courageous. I've wondered if this relative freedom from the opinion of one's peers is due to the reality of sickness and death here. A deceased mother or father, sister or brother is not uncommon, and trivial matters never ascend beyond triviality. Just a thought. Pray for Zeal if you think of it.

It's pouring down rain now as we eat hamburgers and macaroni and cheese for dinner. If you will, please pray for our chapel messages next week. I speak next Thursday, Charlie Friday, and Wesley Monday. I think we'll be working with the theme "Transformation," preaching on regeneration, sanctification, and glorification respectively. We hope God uses it to edify students. Thank you for reading! It's humbling and a bit unbelievable that you read about our experiences, reflections, and needs. Eat some candy for me (preferably Good and Plenty). Power just went out.

--tg