Life in Coco: Finding the Kingdom

Another post that was really funny and profound—when I started writing it, about 3 weeks ago…

This past weekend D organized a trip to the village of N’Golo. He and a team had done one other such trip last year, and it was a huge success. The goal of the trip was to do consultations for the women of the village—the consultations range from nothing more than a well-check-up, to prenatal consults, to screening for diseases that need referral to our hospital or another center for treatment. There is no health clinic in the village, so last trip the team did 200+ consultations. It is a very tangible way of showing the love of Christ. The trip was coordinated with the local pastor, a missionary in his own right. He started a church a little over a year ago in the village, which had no prior church. We came as a way of supporting his work and showing what the Kingdom of God is really all about.

I had the great privilege of going along. The team consisted of 8 Canadians who had come out for a two week trip, a handful of us mishs, and several of the W.Africans who work at the hospital. It was really exciting to see how many of our staff wanted to join in. We actually had to put limits on the number of people that could come because the vehicles were too full. The days before the trip, D and I spent a lot of time talking about where to put people, and who should perform what jobs. We drew up a mock plan of what our impromptu clinic would look like. We would be using several classrooms and the school yard as our clinic.

The morning of the trip, we were busy packing supplies into cars, doing head-counts, and making last minute arrangements to the mock-plan. Several people had joined the team at the last minute, and others had dropped out. (Which was not a huge surprise to us…it is the nature of a trip here in WAfrica.) I was busy running around counting people and giving them their job position for the day. Despite all the changes that had to be made, I felt that my plan was coming together quite nicely. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was a tad-bit self-congratulatory on my competence. (At this point in my life and especially here in Africa, I should realize that this is a big red flag, signaling imminent disaster for me. But some days, I’m just not that bright.)

Because the vehicles were packed full, I had agreed to ride D’s dirt bike out to the village. B, another mish, was also riding his bike out, and we picked up a third when one of the national guys agreed to drive his bike. I was a bit nervous about riding D’s bike, because it is bigger than my little moto and it has a clutch (mine is a cheater bike, you shift, but without clutch)—in other words, it is a real bike. I’m not sure why I get so nervous about these things. I had practiced with it on Friday afternoon, and I felt like I had a rough handle on it, so by Saturday morning, I was actually anticipating the ride. However, in the morning, it became evident that the vehicles were so full that B and I would each need to take another guy on the back of our bikes. I had known this was a possibility, but was kind of hoping to avoid it, since it adds a whole other dynamic to the ride (like worrying about killing yourself AND the other guy!). We picked two of the new hires at the hospital, who are smaller and are very experienced in riding on bikes. (As good of a passenger as you could ask for.)

We all prayed as a big group, and then we all loaded up. We on the bikes took off immediately so as to be ahead of the vehicles and the clouds of dust they would create. B took off, and I had a little trouble getting my bike started. I finally got it started, but was a little too eager to catch up. Coming out the hospital gate, I shifted, let out the clutch a little fast and gave too much gas at the same time; this made the bike lurch hard and even picked the front tire up a bit. Michel, my very unfortunate passenger, had to grab my shoulders to prevent himself from falling off the back. I tried to laugh it off, but in my head I was embarrassed and I was beginning to regret my choice of passengers.

Now, I’m perfectly aware that what I’m about to say makes me look like an incredibly horrible and shallow person, but as the cliché goes, sometimes the truth hurts. Michel is one of our new hires at the hospital. He also happens to be, hands-down, one of the brightest people we’ve hired in a while. He is a natural leader and seems to have a very committed walk with the Lrd. After lurching the bike, one of my first thoughts was, “Oh man, if I injure or kill him today, T (director of nursing) is going to kill me.” (Because it would have been so much better to kill or injure someone else!) This was followed by the thought that if I was going to make a fool of myself, I’d prefer to do it in front of someone who was a little less cool. And then immediately I did some self-scolding: “Didn’t you graduate from high-school a long time ago, dork?”

Well, that was the last incident for a while, and the ride progressed well. The sun was bright, the dirt road provided just enough challenge to keep things interesting but not difficult, and the surrounding countryside was beautiful. I began to feel more confident on the bike, and I was really enjoying the ride. (read: red-flag #2) I was riding behind B and Josh (the national driving his own bike). At one point the driver of a van headed in the other direction flagged us down. I circled back and pulled up alongside his driver’s side. He had just come from the village we were going to and wanted to send a borrowed water bottle back. We obliged and took it from him. I again, circled back and caught up with B and J. They had both stopped their bikes, so I rolled past them slowly waiting for them to take back their positions, but they had decided to let me lead. Bolstered by my increasing confidence, I decided to try my hand at leading. (read: red-flag #3 and #4)

It may be my imagination, but after I started leading, it seemed the road became considerably worse. I hadn’t been leading long when I came to a large hole in the road. It spanned the whole road, with only a small path around it on the far side. It seemed to have a high center that would be dry enough to drive on. I came up on the puddle a little fast, and not wanting to brake too dramatically in order to take the path on the far side, I decided to run right down the middle ridge. Had this worked out like I was planning, I would have avoided hard braking and would have looked like a very accomplished biker. Instead, the seemingly high and dry ridge through the puddle was nothing more than a quagmire of soft and deep mud. As soon as the rear tire entered the mud, the bike jerked to a stop, stalled, and promptly sunk into the mud. I stuck my feet down into the mud to keep us upright, and then tried restarting, as if, once stuck, I was really going to be able to drive us out.

It soon became apparent that we were going to have to completely dismount and pull the bike out backwards. I was soon muddy to my knees, and Michel lowered himself carefully into the mud, and helped pull the bike out. I emerged from the puddle, covered in mud, embarrassed, and shaking my head. I tried wiping the mud off on bushes on the side of the road, while Josh poured his drinking water on my hands and feet. Meanwhile, Michel brushed himself off and looked like he had walked on top of the mud without really touching it. This is one of those weird truths—WAfricans live in a world of dirt and dust, and yet they hate getting dirty if it can be avoided. And somehow, they have amazing techniques of staying clean. I, by contrast, am a dirt magnet.

We restarted, this time with B back in the lead. We left that dreaded puddle behind. B and the rest of the guys would later joke that the puddle was being declared my kingdom. This provided near endless fodder for the rest of the day. By the time we arrived in the village, I was covered to my knees in mud, my shoes were full of now-dry mud, and my face was covered in dust from riding behind the other two guys the whole way. So much for being cool…
After washing with a provided bucket of water, and changing into a pair of scrubs, I began to feel a little more ready to face the rest of the day. We quickly began to set up the classrooms, and prepare them to become impromptu clinics. The vehicles arrived and we unloaded all the gear. And though we were moving and getting things done, it felt very much laid back. There was some initial confusion as to whether or not we would be seeing children, but we didn’t have permission from the government minister of health to see kids in the village, so we had to turn them away.

The clinic went very well. While the patient’s waited, one of our nurses did teaching on basic health topics. Because rains were later this year, many people were out in the fields to bring in the harvest, so we only ended up seeing about 85 people. During the afternoon, we organized a soccer game with the local kids. The nurses did a great job of organizing them, telling them the rules, and praying with them before we started. As I reflect on the whole day, the feeling was that we were “not far from the Kingdom” as Jesus says to the scribe who correctly grasps the importance of loving God and others.

Around 6 pm, we closed up shop, ate a wonderful meal, and then began to setup for our evening event. That evening, we had invited everyone who wanted to come, to watch a film and hear the pastor speak. The group was small at first, but it began to grow and grow. At night fall there were already 200 people gathered as the pastor began to speak. Before starting, we learned that the local marabous (Muslim witch-doctors) had organized an event to oppose us and to distract people from our presence. The year before, after the pastor presented the gospel, a large number of people stood and started walking forward, and suddenly the older people in the crowd grabbed the people and forced them to sit back down. So the opposition was not at all shocking.

The night was pitch black, with a sky full of incredible stars, and people kept pouring in to the little gathering area. I was on the edge of the crowd and I was just completely overwhelmed. While the pastor spoke and then while the movie played, I stayed on the outside of the crowd, walking back and forth, praising the Lord and asking Him to be powerfully present. The excitement and possibility of people stepping into the Kingdom of the Lord that very night hung in the air, like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

In the end, no one overtly responded to the presentation of the gospel, despite the crowd growing to nearly 450 people (there are only 60 known C in the village). However, in the days following, several people approached the pastor to discuss what was said that night. Two people made concrete decisions to follow Jesus, and I trust that seeds were planted in many other hearts.

Over the past several years, there has been a correction to evangelical theology, which has changed our prior neglect of social justice issues. One large vein of this correction has come under a renewed emphasis on what Jesus said about the Kingdom of God. He taught that He had come to establish the Kingdom—literally a people among whom the will of God is done and who, empowered by His Spirit, work to repeal the effects of sin in their own lives and in the world in general. He repeatedly emphasized the two most important commandments of this Kingdom—loving God and others. And He gave repeated signs of how the world would look under the reign of God—healing from disease, justice for the poor, freedom from demonic influence, and a friendship with God. I’ve really appreciated this theological correction, and have seen how it has practically affected how I view myself in this world. Days like this past weekend, I’m delighted to be a part of advancing that Kingdom in all its fullness.

After all, in comparison to His Kingdom, my own fabricated kingdoms are nothing more than big, muddy puddles.