An excessively long post on dresses, Christmas, and the man who makes us food

On Christmas I wore a dress and didn’t get in trouble. In fact, I spent Christmas with two other men wearing dresses and none of us got in trouble. We were even complemented by most everyone we saw. They applauded the fact that we were wearing attire that would elsewhere be deemed questionable for people of our gender. Tommy hasn’t bought a dress yet, so he was stuck with slacks, a dress shirt and a power tie, which is okay, but simply not the same as a dress.

Now, I should qualify that these “dresses” are called “Saros,” and really are quite wonderful. You get matching trousers and a matching cap, and a very long matching shirt that extends from your shoulders to below your knees. It is quite the getup, and when you walk through Ndu town in such an outfit you are met with laughs of unbelief, cheers, handshakes, and exclamations such as “Cameroonians!” “Nigerians!” “Muslims!” We had no idea what we were getting into when we decided to outfit ourselves with these Saros. Muslims? On Christmas, Wesley and I wore our gowns, and all three of us presented one to Pa as a Christmas gift.

This picture is taken at Pa’s house, on Christmas day. He was excited to have a new Saro, and even more excited to have his three white missionaries at his house to eat and celebrate with him. We really did have a wonderful time, and ate more country chop than we have up to this point, combined: Fufu corn, njama-njama, rice, stew, chicken, coco-yams, jin-jin, it was all there.

One of the highlights of going to a Cameroonian’s home for Christmas (or for any occasion) is that you get another opportunity to see life from a fresh vantage point. We know Pa as the man who works on the other side of the left wall of our living room. He makes good smells waft through the house from about 6:30 to 12:30. He drinks coffee whenever you offer it. He carries food out of his hidden doorway, and we always eat it. We know that if we ever compliment his cooking he will make a strange, happy noise, and give us two thumbs-up. Some days we greet him in the local dialect, “We sa’a ke” (“How are you?”) already knowing the obvious response he will give, “Me sa’a yu ka” (“Fine.”). We pay him money from time to time to buy ‘needed’ food at the market, and when he returns from the market we ask him how it was. “Fine.” All of these encounters are usually short, brief. When I see him in town, we usually lapse into the rhythmic, “We sa’a ke,” “Me sa’a yu ka,” and I leave those moments knowing that there is much more to this man than any of us know. So we decided to spend Christmas with our Pa, in his house, which is made out of mud bricks, a cement floor and an aluminum top. It looks like it has three large, empty rooms, and next to this bare structure is a small hut in which his family cooks.

Sometime when we were sitting in Pa’s entry way, I learned that Pa doesn’t live on the other side of the left wall of our living room. He lives in a house, across town, with his wife and children. He actually has friends, believe it or not. Really—they drop by his house to chat and steal food from his table. Pa is a good listener. I know this because he leans toward you when you are speaking. He has a sense of humor. He firmly corrects those who suppose that we are with the Peace Corps (heaven forbid!), “No. They are teachers at CBTS. I am their cook.” He is loyal. Very loyal. He is loving. He is full of surprises. He is, in short, one of our life-preserver in Ndu, and for that we are very thankful. So thank you Pa, even though you will never read this, since you’re still not really sure what a computer is or how it works.

You will ask me what are the top 10 things I am most thankful for this year in Ndu, Cameroon, and Pa will be in the top three. Wesley informs me that I have two days to make my top 10 list, so when it is up, look for Pa. He will be there.

Charlie

Thanksgiving at Christmas

A quick update on our Christmas plans. Many of you have been asking us by email what we’re doing, so here’s the answer. Tomorrow, Christmas Eve, we’ll go to church as usual (Charlie’s preaching at a small French-speaking house-church at the nearby tea estate) and then have lunch with the new vice president of CBTS, Joshua Webnda and his family, and then spend the evening together at our house. Our cook, Pa Zachieus, has invited us to come to his house for lunch on Christmas Day and eat Cameroonian food with him and his wife and children. (Charlie and I will wear our new “saros,” a traditional formal kind of gown that men wear on special occasions---pictures to follow!) We’ll end the day with the Yongs, eating leftovers, hanging out, and maybe watching a Christmas movie or two.

Charlie, Tommy, and I had the idea that maybe we could close the year on the blog by each writing “top ten” lists of things we’ve experienced so far here in Cameroon that we’re especially thankful for. So, without further ado, here’s my list, in no particular order:

1. My prayer partner Ngankeng Divine. It is great to have an opportunity to “go deeper” with one of my students, sharing and hearing prayer requests with him every week and in the process developing a good friendship.

2. Pa and his cooking. Conscientious and cynical, protective and fatherly, talented and occasionally humorous in a wry and dry sort of way, Pa looks after us in more ways than one. His hamburgers and French toast and banana bread and chocolate chip cookies and pizzas sometimes make me forget that I’m in a West Africa, not an American, kitchen.

3. Visits to Cameroonian houses. Some of the most memorable and influential experiences I’ve had here are when I’ve had the chance to spend time with Cameroonians in their own natural environments. I especially remember visiting our friend Emmanuel’s sister’s house and holding her newborn baby in her tiny, cramped living room, and, just this week, visiting the village of CBTS student Shifu Elvis and hearing his father tell us about the struggles of trying to eke out a living and give his children educational opportunities in the midst of poverty.

4. Koni Francis and Ndu coffee. When we first got here, I didn’t know whether I could keep up my coffee addiction. I’m glad to report that that hasn’t been a problem. Between Starbucks beans that have arrived here in packages from home and our Cameroonian friend Koni Francis who brings us burned beans roasted at his brother’s house, I’m well taken care of. The Ndu stuff isn’t bad at all. The sludge at the bottom of my cups of French-press coffee has become my friend.

5. The chance to see the gospel lived out creatively in a very different cultural context. I’ll mention just one example: the way I’ve seen Cameroonian Christians wrestling seriously with the gospel’s demand for peaceable living. One of my students wrote recently: “When the Moslems attacked the Ndu Fon Palace [just a couple of months ago], I was so disturbed that the government did not send forces of law and order to arrest them and torture them. I even contemplated that the Ndu people should have gone down to attack them. After reading Raymond [Lull]’s story [in history of missions class], I see that this will only harden their hearts and make it difficult for them to accept Jesus Christ in the future…. In mission, one will need to show love even to the point of death as Christ did.” Or, similarly, when Tommy’s and my computers were stolen, one of our (Christian) friends said, “The only way to deal with thieves like this is to hunt them down and whip out a knife and teach them a lesson.” But most people we have gotten to know here at CBTS told us they were praying, in love, for the boy’s repentance and salvation.

6. The Yong family. Philemon and Linda have been very generous and helpful to me (and Tommy and Charlie), in dozens of ways: showing me how to get more malaria prevention medication at the nearby health center, inviting me up to their house for (chewy!) brownies, talking with me about making class syllabi and grading papers and dealing with sticky issues of students plagiarizing, etc., and, not least, lending us their “LOST” DVDs!

7. Emails, letters, and packages from home. There are few things more encouraging than this. Getting your weekly email updates, Liz, or over 100 of your incredible photographs, Joel, in the package you sent, that are now gracing the walls of my bedroom---these kinds of things remind me that there are friends and family back home who are “holding the ropes” for me.

8. Students’ questions in class. Sometimes they seem pointless, as in my Acts class: “Sir, I wish to know what it meant in that time in history for Peter to ‘look intently’ at the lame man he was about to heal?” But most of the time they’re thoughtful and born out of serious concerns and prove to be hermeneutically illuminating for me, their teacher. They may be what encourages me most in the classroom.

9. Charlie and Tommy. It’s been almost three years now since I first met these guys in Minneapolis, and I’m more grateful for their friendship now than I’ve ever been. It’s a sign of grace, I think, that instead of wanting to kill each other, as we literally spend almost every waking moment together, most days we like each other a lot and support each other well in the continual effort to figure out how best to serve and love our students and other Cameroonians we come into contact with.

10. Sunday night spaghetti dinners. The one day of the week Pa doesn’t cook for us is Sunday, which has caused us to develop a little tradition of sorts. About 5 pm every Sunday, our friend Ally will come over, and we’ll slice tomatoes, onions, and cloves of garlic together, sautee and stew ‘em, add some tinny-tasting tomato paste, paprika and basil, a dash of salt and sugar, and, voila, it somehow usually turns out pretty well. We’re working on perfecting it…

Thanks, Cameroon and CBTS, for a great experience so far. Thank you, Lord, for being with and in and through and under and over our time here. Thank you, family and friends, for supporting us and keeping us in your thoughts and prayers.

Merry Christmas,

Wes

"Welcome to Cameroon," the Dean of CBTS said with a smile.

Yesterday was a fairly atypical day, with far more drama than what we've come accustomed to. Once we adapted to the tentativeness of all plans here--interrupted class, impromptu speeches, abrupt faculty meetings--the only drama that we deal with usually is Wesley hording one pancake too many at breakfast or goats in our garden.

Wednesday morning, a boy from a nearby boarding school visited our house at seven-thirty in the morning and was sent away by our cook. He came back an hour later and asked to come in for water to drink. He had began a friendship with Charlie a week ago; last Sunday, he was at the house for an hour or two, asking Charlie questions about Scripture and faith. He had asked Charlie to come to the boarding school to speak to students about Christianity, and he had asked me to take him on a jog sometimes. I gave the boy two glasses of water to drink and sent him on his way. I was a little annoyed; he had been coming over far too often in the past week, and at fifteen years old, he should have been a bit more conscious of respecting our space and time (even according to the cultural standards here).

Around ten o'clock, Charlie and I left for tea time with the faculty. Charlie and Wesley came back to the house twenty to thrity minutes later. When I returned at ten-forty, I joined them in conversation for a bit. When they got up to go to their rooms, I noticed that our living room seemed a little empty. I had left my laptop on the chair, and it was gone. I poked my head into Charlie's room to see if the computer had been moved, but it wasn't there. Back in the living room, I saw Wesley's computer wasn't there, either. I nervously said, "Wesley, where are our computers." He gave me a funny look, glanced around the living room, and said, "You're joking, right?" Charlie came out, and after we established that none of us were joking--a necessity in this house, especially with Charlie--we began the process of alerting people and trying to track down our missing computers.

Our cook, Pa, is also an ex-vigilante in town. I'm not sure how to explain what that means here. If someone commits an act deemed a crime in the communities eyes, the vigilantes could be alerted. They would track the supposed wrongdoer down, capture him, tie him up, beat him, and leave him tied up for a period before setting him free. This was Pa's description of the volunteer work, as I remember. About half-an-hour after we noticed our computers were missing, Charlie and Wes were at Philemon's house (another missionary), and I walking around our house with Pa. Pa spoke in the dialect with some boys swinging on a tree by our house, and then he ran into the house. I figured that our lunch was burning. Then Pa comes out with a butcher knife. I followed him slowly, a little afraid--not for myself or for Pa, but for whoever he was going after. He passed through a garden and stopped to pick up a large rock for his other hand. He wasn't running; just walking intently, like a killer in a movie who is above running. He didn't stop to tell me what he was doing, so I followed behind, deliberating whether I should tell him to chill out. Not far away, there were two men sitting in a the forrest next to our house. Pa spoke to them harshly in the dialect (harsh to my ears), and then his composure relaxed. It was just two CBTS students reading their Bibles together. I had approached them from the side to flank them, and was glad to realize that Pa wouldn't be using his knife for anything beyond our green beans and carrots.

Anyways (I told myself I'd keep this short), after we discovered our items missing, CBTS administrators called to alert the administrators of the school. The school disciplinarian found the boy and pulled him into his office. Three slightly-intense hours later, the discplinarian (a strange title--their language, not my invention) met with us on CBTS' campus and returned our items. The boy had stolen my laptop and Wesleys, along with Charlie's power chord. He put it all into my laptop, which already contained two large Bible commentaries. The boy also stole our cell phone. Fortunately, all of it was recovered and none of it was damaged. Yesterday and today, we've had many visitors come by to give us their consolations and to show their support of us. Students and faculty members have been very kind. We've found out just how fast news travels around here.

We later found out that the boy had stolen Charlie's keys at some point, and that's how he entered the house.

All of it made for a crazy day. I think Charlie and Wes would agree with me that it was a good reminder of God's sovereignty. Even if our computers are used to teach here at the seminary, we're still ultimately just stewards of them. If they're taken away from us, they're taken away from us. While the items were missing, I kept thinking about the text in Hebrews describing how the community had "joyfully accepted the plundering of their property." The students here reacted with much indignation over the crime and sympathy for us when they heard the news announced this morning in chapel, but we've heard far more serious announcements far too many times this year in chapel to get _too_ upset over stolen computers. Some of the students here have responded to the incident with words of grace toward the boy, which has been encouraging. From what we've been told, the boy was most likely beaten for his actions--something the three of us find disturbing and unsettling. I heard today that he's run away, probably anticipating that he'd be dismissed from school for this and previous offenses.

One final thought for this already-too-long post. Many people here have told us not to let people in the house, or to only welcome in those whom we are confident are trustworthy. It's reminded me that love necessarily involves risk. I've had to reflect on what's most important: pursuing people or preserving possessions. The banner of love certainly does not cover all foolishness, but I think it covers some.

--Tommy

PS. Charlie and I are watching the second season of LOST now, at an aggressive pace, and I was sure I could find the trail of the culprit outside our house. I determined the two most likely paths of departure from our house, and scouted them both for many yards to look for any sort of clue or sign. Of course, it was a fruitless venture. Just like how I had hoped being in Africa would improve my health in miraculous ways, just like John Locke was able to use his legs on the island.

Fred? George? Robert?

Sorry for the lengthy silence here lately. Final exams are this week, and we’re busy making exams, administering them, and finishing up marking assignments, before moving on to mark exams. Last night, I had a study session in the classroom with about ten of my Greek students. They look fairly enthused in the picture, but come 9:30, after reviewing Greek verbs, nouns, and adjectives for two and a half hours, their interest began to lag. We’re going to have another review session tonight. With some of the ministry money you’ve entrusted to me, I’m planning to buy some Greek New Testaments for the students with the highest marks. Another missionary here has some that he’s willing to sell. I love the idea of some of my students gaining a foundational grasp of the language this year and being able to use it in years to come. Greek is difficult for many of the students, partially because many of them don’t have a strong knowledge of English grammar, but also because many of them have trouble finding time each day to review and memorize Greek paradigms and vocabulary.

The other picture shows us with our two friends, Edith and Glory, along with Glory’s older sister, Delphine, and Delphine’s daughter, Victory. (Delphine is on the left, Glory is in the middle, and Edith is on the right.) Victory is wearing a bandanna because hair had been tied into small clumps t hat were not long enough yet to be presentable in public. Glory and Edith came over to say hello and to introduce us to Delphine. On Sunday, we had a possible record-setting twenty-one visitors. Visiting is a fundamental aspect of this culture, a sign of friendship and affection. Proper etiquette dictates that the visitor initiates the conclusion of his leaving. Given all this, it can be awfully difficult at times to be kind and respectful to visiting friends, yet at the same time to preserve time for grading and class preparation (and for personal time). When we saw Glory later than night, she told us that her sister had said that when you visit a white man, he stands at the door and asks how he can help you or what he can do for you (implying that he doesn’t invite you in and sit with you for extended periods, despite possible long periods of silence). We feel a tension at times between integrating as members of the community here and performing well as professors (while maintaining time for ourselves as well).

Thank you for your prayers, support, and encouragement for us. To use a Cameroonian expression, “we are together!”

--Tommy

PS. In church last Sunday, I greeted a student behind me who was holding a baby. I asked for the baby’s name, and he asked me the same. He wanted me to name his baby, which I quickly refused. Maybe it would have been a kind act, but I couldn’t bring myself to it. It’s hard enough naming my blog posts.