Lattes and "Lemps"

What do paved roads, smoggy skies, lots of heat and humidity, lattes, Snickers bars, people speaking French, mosquitoes, go-carts, missionary team meetings, and one big Chinese restaurant have in common? Answer: They're all things that we saw, felt, tasted, met, experienced, talked to, or ate last week in Yaounde!

Yep, that's right. We arrived back here in Ndu in a cloud of red dust (dry season is definitely here, and the lingering, all-pervasive haze of dust in the air has begun) on Monday night after spending just under a week in Cameroon's capital city. We went, as Tommy said in the last post, to meet with other Baptist General Conference missionaries from around the country. We stayed at Wycliffe Bible Translators' SIL Center in Yaounde and had all our meetings there. It's a nice place, with a boarding school on campus (and a team of technicians who were able to repair my laptop---hooray!). We got to meet great people like Jim and Ina Smith who work with a health clinic in the town of Banyo, just a little northeast of where we live, and Rachel Scherer, a 21-year-old who's spent the last few months living in the village of Mbingo working with deaf students and doing a fantastic job, according to two other missionary families who live near her. (So, Ellie, there's great work to be done here in Cameroon too!)

It was really encouraging to hear reports about what God is doing---the incredible variety of things he's doing---through the BGC missionaries scattered throughout this country. One of the things I came away thinking about is how indispensable career missionaries are. When you think, for example, about Doug and Stephanie Lewis' work among the Fulani---a just-beginning-to-be-reached Muslim people group here---you realize how little can be accomplished in a short burst of activity but how much could be accomplished over a long haul. There's just no substitute for a lifetime commitment, and I can say as one short-termer that I'm inspired and challenged by the commitment I saw among most of the missionaries I met last week.

In addition to sitting in on strategizing and team-building meetings, we also got to play a lot. Our Peace Corps friend Ally told us about a coffee shop that we got to go to. It felt almost European---a big change from the “bush” where we live in the Northwest! We bought ice cream at a real(!) supermarket, and Charlie got to drive a go-cart with Philemon Yong, Doug Lewis, and lots of kids. We watched several episodes of “Lost” (season one) and spent a lot of time just hanging out.

One of the highlights of the week was the worship service for all the BGC missionaries on Sunday morning that the three of us got to lead. Charlie found a guitar, played some choruses, and led a time of corporate prayer, Tommy read Scripture, and I gave a brief meditation on the love of God from Romans 5:1-11. It was great to be worshiping together with others who care so deeply about God's global mission.

Now that we're back at CBTS, we have one more full week of classes left and then a week of final exams and then we're finished for the semester. (Can't wait to see the team from Bethlehem on December 31st! You guys will have a happy welcome at the airport!)

We'll blog more about it as the semester wraps up, I'm sure, but for now I think I speak for all three of us when I say I was really glad to see my students again after spending some time away. I got so many hand-shakes and back-slaps when I stepped back into my classrooms. Everyone was beaming. It felt great to be back among this seminary community.

On a humorous note, to give you some idea of how much fun and how frustrating it can be at the same time to be a teacher here, I gave an assignment last week in my Acts class and have just started grading the papers I received. This class is for second-year Certificate of Theology students---an eager, interested group of people who have about the equivalent of a U.S. seventh grade education. The assignment I gave was for my students to choose a block of text from the latter half of Acts and answer several questions about it in a short paper. One of the questions I wanted them to answer was what their chosen passage contributes to the larger whole of the entire book: Why did Luke include that section in his book? What role does it play in the macro-purpose and structure of Acts? One of my students wrote on Acts 20:7-12, the section that describes Eutychus' fall and Paul's rescue. Verse 8 says, “There were many lamps in the upper room where we were gathered,” and my student had this to say in his paper: “[Luke] want to show us that the Lamps are not exempted from hearing the word of God (v. 8).... I will like to know where Troas is found and know the kind of people that were there, whether they were only Lemps as found in verse 8 or they were other peoples.” Wow. In my comments on his paper, I tried to encourage my student's curiosity---and I referred him to a dictionary. :)

Grateful to all you pray-ers and supporters who keep making it possible for us to be here,

Wesley

P.S. I killed a chicken today for dinner tomorrow.

The Chicken Run again

Tomorrow, we’re heading to Yaounde, the capital city of Cameroon, to meet with other BGC missionaries for an annual gathering. There will be business meetings and plenty of free time. We’re hoping to visit a Western-style coffee shop to drink lattes and espressos. We’ve also heard rumors that we’ll be able to buy burritos somewhere, and visit a Japanese buffet. And of course, there will be the consumption of many candy bars. It should be great! If you think of it, please pray for traveling mercies and for this getaway to be a time of refreshment and renewal. There will only be two weeks of classes left in the semester when we return next week, and we want to finish well.



Above, you see a picture of a chicken that we ate a couple of weeks ago. Except we didn’t just eat it—Charlie and I plucked it (as we’re about to do in the picture). And we didn’t just pluck it—Charlie held down its talons while pinned its head with one hand and slit its neck with the other. And I didn’t just slit its neck—I had to slice over and over again, over a dozen times, until I had even pierced its skin. The knife was not sharp at all, and the chicken’s neck skin was hardly taut. We got ‘er done, though. And if you’re cringing now, imagine how I felt. The chicken stared me straight in the eye for an eternal thirty-seconds before it entered the big sleep.

After killing it, we boiled the chicken in water to loosen the feathers. Then Charlie and I began to pluck it; we grabbed a couple feathers at a time, pulling them cautiously and daintily. In response, Pa (our cook) pushed us aside and began manhandling the chicken, swiping handfuls of feathers in violent, efficient motions. We felt pretty American; it was a poultry effort.

"Sir, you know kung fu?"

It's been a bit. What's going on? ("Harold, don't you like to know...what's going on?!"--Maude to Harold, in my mom's favorite movie, Harold and Maude.)

Last Sunday, I was given the opportunity to preach at a small local church I attend with Wesley. Charlie recently began attending a small francophone service, led by some students. I was asked to preach the Friday night before that Sunday, so I spent much of Saturday preparing a simple message about the value of service and sacrifice in the Kingdom of God. I worked from Mark 10:42-45 and concluded with two summarizing points--we must be willing to be served by Jesus, and we must follow Christ by serving others. So many sermons here are from the Old Testament and devoid of reference to Christ that I thought a simple message about Christ and Christianity might be encouraging and helpful.

I arrived early at the church to let my interpreter read my manuscript. Half the congregation speaks English; the other half, a local dialect. While I was discussing the sermon with the interpeter (named Theodore), a deacon walked in and asked for the sermon's title, in order that he could write it on a chalkboard at the front of the congregation. "Uhm...'Greatness in God's eyes' would be fine," I answered. Ten minutes later, Theodore and I met with the pastor of the church in his office. The deacon entered and asked for the title once more. I repeated, "Greatness in God's eyes." The pastor seemed to correct me--"'Greatness in God's sight' would be fine. Very fine." I guess there was room for improvement with my title, but the evolution was not yet complete. I sat at the front of the church the whole service, facing the congregation, so I wasn't able to read the chalkboard. After the service, I found out from Wes the final product presented to the congregation: "Greatness in God's Side." Just about what I intended, I guess.

It felt a bit awkward preaching with an interpreter. I didn't feel like I could build up any momentum or enthusiasm because of the consistent long pauses. Nevertheless, I was thankful for the opportunity and experience. People were appreciative afterwards; I hope it was edifying for the congregation. I caught many of them got a kick out of seeing the white preacher dance up front during the offering. (Everyone was dancing, so I wasn't getting too charismatic on them.)

It can be difficult to transform Sunday services here into worshipful experiences. As said earlier, many sermons are not only moralistic, grace-less, and Christ-less, but they're loooong, too. Coupled with almost interminable announcements, the 90-degree wooden pews begin to change the curvature of your spine. Without printed bulletins, email, or telephones for communication, and without any other venue for more-general community announcements, all church-related and community-related news must be given on Sunday mornings. That includes Sunday school attendance and lesson reports. Add to this dedications of choir uniforms or other segments, and the rice and stew waiting for you at home can become a filet mignon smothered in steak sauce.

With that said, I have grown in appreciation for the church I attend (named Calvary Baptist), and Sundays are becoming more enjoyable and worshipful. I've become familiar with the services and recognize people every week, which allows me to better focus on why I'm gathering with these people. Every Sunday, I'm reminded of the work of Christ in creating and gathering a people for Himself, resulting in my traveling around the world to a completely different culture to find a community of people I can join and with whom I can identify.

One more newsworthy item. This has been a difficult week at the seminary. Students were expected to pay off remaining tuition dues, and many were not able. Some did not have any plan for paying their tution off; they were praying for God to provide. Others came with plans, only to find them once again submitted to the unreliability of Africa. Wesley was able to help a student who has had recent serious medical problems that created massive debts. Charlie and I were able to help a student who's financial stability was destroyed by a monkey in the garden (literally--that's not an African expression).

Thanks you all who are enabling us to give to these students. Without your support, they would not be able to finish the last month of the semester to receive credit. We hope we're being good stewards of your resources, thoughts, and prayers.

--Tommy

PS. Just so I don't lose my youthful edge--two days ago, I told a student to say to Charlie in the middle of class, "Sir, does your black belt in karate help you with our class, Research Methods?" Surrouding students raised their eyes and began chattering softly about kung fu and Jackie Chan. Charlie felt embarassed. When he recounted the tale to me, I, on the other hand, felt triumphant. That's what he gets for trapping me in my room.

A visit to the Fon's Palace

One of the things that's interesting about Cameroon (among other African countries) is that there are at least two different government structures. For example, the village of Ndu is located in the Donga/Mantung division of the Northwest Province. And instead of having a mayor or governor for this division, there is a man---actually we've gotten to know him and his family, since his son attends CBTS and is in our classes---called the Divisional Officer who is an official of the government in Yaounde stationed here as a kind of cross between a mayor and a sheriff or police chief. But there are also "traditional rulers"---tribal chiefs. These chiefs are called "fons." They have dynasties and also lots of clout with the "real" government when it comes to influencing what happens with the various villages and ethnic groups that live here.

Apparently, once a year, the whole faculty and staff of CBTS pays a visit to the fon of Ndu, to let him meet any new faculty and also simply to greet him and pray for him. Yesterday was the day of the visit to the "fon's palace," and it was quite an experience for we three Westerners.

About 3:30 yesterday afternoon, we all met near the library on campus and piled into four or five vehicles and drove about 10 minutes to the palace. We had already heard a few things about the fon before we met him: he was formerly Muslim, he is now a Christian (in fact, we've worshiped with him several times at Calvary Baptist Church, a tiny fellowship in the quarter of Njimtop about a half hour walk from campus), and he has recently experienced some vandalism (of some sort) from Muslims who live near him. We were told not to speak to him when we arrived at the palace unless spoken to first. We were also told not to give him the traditional "salute"---three claps and a bow with both hands clasped together close to our mouths---unless we had also brought one live chicken and a jug of palm wine as a gift.

When we arrived at the palace, we had to pass underneath a big wooden gate that was decorated with traditional masks and simple paintings of different scenes with people (hunting, etc.) There was a large courtyard with a mosque bordering one side of it. Several of the men who came with us started unloading the gifts we had brought for the fon (bottles of soda, a fake animal skin, among other things). After several minutes of waiting, we went inside to the "throne room"---a musty, dingy, dim room with a concrete platform in one corner and a small wicker chair on it where the fon sat. There were statues or idols of some sort on either side of the throne. The walls were covered with yellowing photographs, awards, carvings, and other memorabilia. We filed in silently and sat on wooden benches. Dr. Fon---not to be confused with the fon---greeted the fon as "your royal highness." One of the teachers at CBTS brought a brief devotional, and we prayed, and then the fon left the room, we all started drinking sodas, and the three of us were left wondering, "What just happened?!"

Before leaving the palace, we wanted to greet the "royal wives." Meandering out of the throne room, we went out into another, smaller courtyard where dozens of barefooted children were playing in the dust and staring up at us with wide, wondering eyes. We all ducked into one of the mud-brick houses, into a room even darker than the throne room had been with a fire pit in the middle of the floor. The "royal wives" were all sitting against one wall. The fon has many wives---some of them Muslim, some of them Christian, and some of them feeling, I think, more or less coerced into being royal wives---not all of whom were there at the palace yesterday. I counted around a dozen who were in the room. One of them I recognized as a very friendly woman with a wonderful smile who sometimes leads worship at Calvary Baptist Church. She translated for us as we gave greetings to the wives and also as they greeted us in Wimbum, a tribal dialect that many people speak around Ndu and CBTS. We sang a few Christian choruses, and then said goodbye and were on our way.

I think the three of us left yesterday feeling like we had just experienced one of the most unusual and memorable events of our time here. Personally, I felt again the huge gulf between my rich American upbringing and the life of the royal family that lives by such different cultural rules and experiences such poverty, even as one of the better-off families here. I also left thinking again about what I read in Phillip Jenkins' book The Next Christendom last summer---that these Christian women who are trying to be faithful to Jesus while living and bearing children as the fon's royal wives in dusty mud-brick houses blackened by fire pits, these women are "average" or "typical" Christians in our world today. That's an amazing thought, and, in a roundabout way, encourages me to keep giving it my all in the classroom at CBTS, as I help train pastors who will go out and shepherd Christians like these.

-Wes, for the team

Fake Words, Big Trucks, and Near-Death Experiences: These Are a Few of Our Favorite Things

Ten minutes ago Tommy and I bid adieu to two of our new friends at CBTS—Samuel (13) and Leonard (15). The former is the son of a student of mine, the latter the son of a faculty member here. I was surprised a few weeks back when they asked us to meet with them weekly to be “prayer partners” (Tommy with Leonard, and me with Samuel). Here’s why. They are 13 and 15 years old. We spend most of our days teaching and interacting with people twice our age (nay, some thrice), so when these two asked us to meet with them weekly to pray, I wasn’t really sure that I knew how to pray with a 13 year-old. Besides, oughtn’t I to spend time with those students that I came to teach? My time should be devoted to smart people, deep people, and people with a direction in life. Then I opened my eyes to see that this 13-year old Samuel came at his own initiative to ask me to pray with him once a week. I decided to really invest in this relationship, and I am so glad that that decision was made. In our prayer partners, God brings a voice of Cameroon to our house every Saturday at 2:00. I have sat speechless, even cried over some of the things that Samuel and Leonard have shared with us, and as a result my heart has been softened and moved to pray for this region of this country more and more. So many aspects of life in the NW Province need to be redeemed.


That is the introduction. So, after praying today, Tommy and I played “Speed Scrabble” with the two boys (a frantic race to make as many words as possible with your allotted letters). The last game ended when Samuel announced that he had finished. We all turned to look at his words. I’m not sure that any of them were real words. In fact, I know that they weren’t. Two examples: first, “tevisubi.” “What’s tevisubi?” Tommy asks. “It’s what the Muslims yell,” replies Samuel. Right. What the Muslims yell. Second word: “zib.” Upon being asked what this means, Samuel starts moving his hand up and down in front of his shirt, “You know, a zibber. You zib a zibber on a coat.” Apparently ‘Hooked on Phonics’ has made its way to West Africa. That’s how the game ended. Tommy was laughing, I was brooding. I could have won.



Yesterday was a big day for CBTS. Many readers of the blog will know what I am talking about when I say that the container sent by Bethlehem Baptist to the Seminary arrived, with all of the contents inside. The eagle, O Bethlehem, has landed. A large green truck made its way in front of Dr. Fon’s house, where the container was opened, and many students in green uniforms with softball helmets handed the items to others who carried them throughout the campus. For nearly two hours the eager students and faculty (with Dr. Fon leading the pack) unloaded all the boxes, couches, bikes, sewing machines, generators, computers, etc. The school shut down for this event—Tommy and I both had to cancel class because our students were preoccupied with carrying things on their heads. Tommy attempted to give a student his hermeneutics quiz orally, while he was helping to unload, but the student protested. I can’t imagine why. Again, this was a very large day for CBTS. A large thank you to those who contributed to the container—your gifts will go further than you can imagine. Things like this are like a shot in the arm—I mean “shot” in the good, healthy, life-giving sense. Not how Tommy thinks about shots.


Lastly, I need to share a near-death experience with you. I will be brief, and I will take all the blame. I locked Tommy in his room. Really—I shut his door, heard a strange click, then I couldn’t open it. Tommy was trying to open his door from within; I was trying from without. To no avail. After we convinced each other that the other really was being serious, Tommy told Wes to get on the computer and do some “live” blogging. We unscrewed the handle and pulled it off, yet it still wouldn’t open. Tommy was planning to have his classes come to his window, where he could lecture ex cathedra. Then we realized that we couldn’t get to the hinges to take the door off. So I tried to communicate with Tommy under his door. First, a peace offering of a sour gummyworm. Second, an agreement to give me his i-Pod if he died before we got the door open. The reality of the situation was that we were separated by a sheet of balsa wood (the kind of wood you make those little flimsy airplanes out of). Nevertheless, it was serious. The situation sent me on a run throughout the campus—to the Kome’s house, to the Fon’s House, to Amos Nchuoji, to Milton, and finally to Fambfu. Fambfu showed up to help with a pair of pliers. Oh phew—a pair of pliers has arrived, everyone. Yet surprisingly, the pliers worked. They were jammed around the handle and hit with a big rock from outside. Wood splintered, sweat beaded, grunts sounded, and embraces followed. The door opened and Tommy emerged—looking as one who had made peace with whatever his lot was to be. He was alive, and still has his i-Pod to this day.

-Charlie, for the team