Category: community

At first I didn’t think we could communicate.  I met her outside of the missionaries’ house after coming back from the bush.  She smiled sheepishly, and I smiled back.  I reached out and rubbed her back.  I found myself doing that when I met the children.  It was my way of saying what they couldn’t understand through my words. 
You are important. So I came here to meet you. 

She had a large, full smile, and the features of her face were dainty and defined and beautiful.  Jeweled braids fell precisely from her head and moved from side-to-side as she walked. 

I began to ask her questions.  She would just look at me and smile. So I tried harder with hand motions and drawing pictures in the air.  But again, just a smile. 

I asked her if she wanted to come and sit beside me on the bricks that were stacked nearby for the new wall we were building.  She accepted, and we made our way over and had a seat.

“My name is Imelda”, she whispered.

“What did you say?” I asked surprised that she spoke and making sure I heard her correctly. 

“My name is Imelda”, she replied. 

And she became my first friend in Burkina Faso. 

That afternoon, sitting right there on those bricks, I painted Imelda’s nails.  I talked to her about school and her family and where she lived.  Her English was limited, but it was good enough to get to know a friend better. 

Each day Imelda came to the LAC where we stayed.  She would ask one of the missionary children to go in and get me.  I would come out, and we would spend a little more time together.  It became our standard date.

The day before we were leaving I had one of the missionary children translate for me that I was leaving the next day.  We took a picture together, and she asked if she could keep it.  I told her I had no way of making a copy of it, but that I would send a copy to her with the next team from our church that goes to Burkina Faso.

Then she handed me this letter that she handwrote. 

Some often wonder why people would travel that far and spend such money when there are plenty of needs here.  And that is true.  There are plenty of needs here.

But for me the answer is simple.  God knew I needed a friend named Imelda who lives in Burkina Faso.  He knew that only through that special friend, in that special country would my mind fully open to see his kind of love – a love so deep that he was willing to die for us just to claim us as his own. 

God wants Imelda as his own.  God wants me as his own.

Now, each day, she is a part of me.  I pray for her.  That she will know God’s love too. And eternity will be sweet as we sit in the sunlight and talk as I paint her nails. 

My friend Imelda is important.  So I went to meet her.

There were a sea of children when we drove up.  Running from all directions as if a bull-horn announced we were close two miles back. I wondered where they were coming from.  And where their mamas were. 

They stood in a pack and stared.  Mesmerized.  And to me they looked like the way children truly want to be – no shoes, shirts untuck, red dirt caked to their knees and dusting their faces.  Not confined by time or space.  Enjoying the day of sunshine and warmth and digging in the dirt.  Except that for them I knew days like these are like most other days.  Here digging in the dirt isn’t something the mamas have to bribe their children to do like back home.  The dirt is the prized toy.

There was one dress, though, different from all to others.  It was blue and silky made from chiffon or satin. The wide collar held embroidered flowers and pleats fell from the waist.  It was a fancy dress – a party dress.  It stood in front of the sea, torn and stained, full of work and fun, but still beautiful. 

Her little nose needed wiping and her face needed cleaning, but she still looked like she was on her way to a party with those round cheeks and perfect, small braided tight against her little head.

The next day just as expected.  Full of light and sounds of cock-a-doodle-doo.  The earth shows its glory no matter where it is positioned.  The sun rises just as bright and the sky hangs just as blue no matter what it’s shining upon. 

The children came back the next day from wherever they were coming from.  Some ran through on their way to school with their lunch pails clanging against their legs as they ran.  Others just came to be with us for one more day. 

I noticed her from afar as she walked up to where we were.  She could barely walk from holding her new dress off the ground. Pink and made of terry cloth covering only the essentials.  It was nothing like the party dress from the day before.  Today was different.

Today it was just a towel.

Look closely at her face.  Look closely in her eyes.  Does she know that today is different?  Does she know that she woke up without a dress to wear? 

We had a little girl’s dress.  And we gave it to her. 

The village we visited was in the middle of a cotton field. As we went off road to where we were building the hangar we drove right through it.  Dried up and withered.  Only left the prickly bolls.  The children came running.  Straight through those bolls just bare skin to the ground. 

We got out of our vehicles and came face-to-face. Face-to-face with the women and children and men. The people we were going to live with for the next few days. The people we were serving.

They reached out their hands, each of them.  I had an urgency to grab hold of them and hug them tight.  But I held back and just touched their hands.

Their eyes stared at us hard and long. Like they were looking deep within our souls. I wondered what they were seeing. I knew what I hoped they weren’t seeing.

The differences.  The opportunity.  The prosperity.  The wealth. 

I found myself wanting to tell them how beautiful and special and smart and talented they are because I felt like that’s what they were thinking about us. We were the Americans. The people with everything – literally. 

But my words of English couldn’t reach them. So I smiled big, patted their backs and held their hands, and said over and over again in French “Jolie” – “Pretty”.

I continued to look that first day in the bush. Look for the happiness I wanted desperately to see.
I thought there would be an oblivion to the world outside the dust and cotton and huts and goats.  The happiness must come from not knowing any better.  Not knowing what’s really outside of this land in Africa. 

In some ways this was true.  For most of them the image of their faces on our digital cameras was the first time they had ever seen the beauty of their faces.

But as they looked in my eyes and mine in theirs, it’s like they knew.  They knew what could be.  They knew what there was on the outside. 

I didn’t see happiness. 

I saw envy.

Not an evil kind just a kind out of desperation.  Their eyes were pleading deep down inside. Pleading for reprieve. 

We slept that night under the night sky and more shooting stars than I ever knew truly existed.  As I looked up at each one of them it was funny what I saw.  Focusing on just one star at a time I only saw one.  But when I moved my eyes just slightly away, that one became many. 

At the time I did not know it, but as the week went on I began to see something in those stars.

I was focusing on happiness as one bright shining star.  But turning my attention away allowed me to see the whole picture.

I invite you to follow along over the next few weeks as I unfold my thoughts from Burkina.  I am taking it slow because there is a lot to digest when writing one post.  It is hard and draining looking back and reflecting.  And it can’t be captured quickly. 

Read the before story and the other posts I’ve written since returning HERE!

And don’t forget to learn more about Engage Burkina and another wonderful organization Hope for Burkina.

Burkina Faso Overview from Living Water International on Vimeo.