Are the people in Burkina Faso happy?

So. . . I am going to Burkina Faso, West Africa the day after Thanksgiving.  It will be my first mission trip.

After seeing the word on the screen and then much rationalizing, fretting, crying, and fasting, God told me to apply for the trip, and my teenage prayer went unanswered.

The only way I have grown to be o.k. with it is through the realization that my unanswered teenage prayer is my answered adult prayer, which leaves me amazed at God’s workings and His good in all things.
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A few weeks ago I walked into our first meeting about the trip with my eyes just as big as when I read the email that I was a part of the team going and with a heart just as full with fear, anxiety, and uncertainty.  I was fighting back tears.

I immediately began to learn about the logistics of the trip – what we’ll wear, where we’ll sleep, what we’ll eat. 

Then, I heard about the people in Burkina Faso along with their culture and their needs. 

• The people are known as the Burkinabe. 
• Their primary language is French (which I found interesting). 
• Burkina Faso is one of the poorest countries in the world and has one of the highest illiteracy rates in the world. 
• And one in three children die before the age of ten.

For one or two nights we will sleep out in the bush.  We will sleep outside, and we will eat the meals that the Burkinabe women make for their family.  This is where we will help build a hanger to be used as a church, and this is also where wells are built so that there can be fresh water close to where the Burkinabe live.

As the meeting wrapped up I began to hear about what it feels to be in a third world country, as an American, who in comparison has the world right here in my hands.  I watched a slide show with pictures of children and women and outdoor kitchens and huts.

My mind was full.  “Please, just please tell me they’re happy.  Tell me they don’t know.  Tell me they don’t know the difference”, I thought as I sat there seeing slide after slide.

So I asked, “Are the people in Burkina Faso happy?”

The answer . . . “They are happier than anyone in this room.”

If they are happier than I am, then what kind of happiness is mine?

Is my happiness a facade covered up by convenience and objects and security and health?


Is it possible for me to ever have their happiness – a happiness where every day you wake up and go about your daily tasks just to feed yourself – just to stay alive?


Or the kind of happiness that you have despite knowing that your child may very likely die before the age of ten?

Or the kind of happiness that when you ask a Burkinabe child, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”, he replies, “I want to be a doctor so that I can come back home to Burkina Faso and help my people.”

I suspect that their source of their happiness comes from a deep appreciation for things that give life and receive life. I don’t seek happiness in these things.  I seek happiness in things that don’t give life – in things that prevent me from experiencing the abundant life.

This is why God is sending me to Burkina Faso.  

My mind cannot wrap itself around this kind of happiness.  And until I get a glimpse of it, I will never understand all that God has in store for me.  I will never understand His heart.

You may enjoy reading my story to Burkina Faso from the beginning:

• The Word . . . A Revelation
• The {Un}Answered Teenage Prayer