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