au revoir

Being relatively young, the Monkolé churches are still trying to work out how to do things as Christians within their culture. A good example of this is a question which arises whenever one of the Christians dies: “Pastor, how do we deal with this?”

The tradition here is to bury someone the same day they die. The Christians usually have a short ceremony at the graveside (which may be in the cemetery or may be within the family property in the village) with prayers and a brief message. Then traditionally people come and visit the family to support them in their grief. Far-flung members of the family must be lodged and fed, and all visitors are fed too.

Recently an old man from the church died, and Marc attended the burial and visited the family during the week following their bereavement. A week after the death, there was a notice in church saying that on the Monday (8 days after the death) there would be a service in open air in the village to mark the end of the time of mourning.

We wanted to be present for this, and went down at 9.30, since we had been told 9.15 … and even so we were still far too early! The service got started at about 11, and lasted a little over an hour. There was a lot of singing from the choir – deliberately chosen songs about the joy of knowing Jesus – some readings from the Bible, and a sermon from a visiting pastor. During this time and throughout the whole morning tens of women were hard at work preparing a meal for everyone around (our boys got a foretaste to keep them quiet when they got restless during the service!).

After the service there were instructions about who would eat where. Being missionaries, we got sent off to eat in the local government representative's house with the pastors. Pounded yams (the “best” food here, reserved for parties), chicken and spicy sauce were served to us, and we could have had rice too, if we'd had any room left!

We didn't remember the pastor having told us about such a service after the week of mourning, so we asked him about it. He told us that it can be difficult for a bereaved family because no one knows how long the time of mourning should go on for, and sometimes members of the extended family hang around for ages afterwards (requiring food and lodging). The Christians here asked their leaders how long the mourning period should last, and they asked a more established church among a neighbouring people group what they do. They said that it lasts for about a week, and then they have a big service to mark the end. Not only does this give a signal to family to leave (!) but it is also an opportunity to witness to the Christian hope that death is not the end, and that within the sadness of losing someone is the joy of knowing that they have gone to be with Jesus.

Speaking of which, Simon has learned the lesson well. Here is a recent conversation we had:

Simon: Why we can't eat the mushrooms in the compound but we can eat the mushrooms on the pizza?
Mummy: Well, the mushrooms in the compound might be poisonous.
Simon: And they can make us ill?
Mummy: Yes.
Simon: And they can kill us?
Mummy: Maybe.
Simon (looking happy and excited): And then we can see Jesus!
Mummy: ?!?

Sometimes applied theology gives unexpected results!

harmattan

We are now well into harmattan season - windy, white and dusty! Even with our windows closed, all surfaces are covered with a thin layer of white dust within a few hours of being wiped. Temperatures are much more pleasant though, in fact we've even been feeling cold!

Our New Year's Day family walk:


Benjy got a bit tired at the end...

Confusing Christmas

Our Christmas weekend was another good example of cross-cultural living! This was partly because we wanted to keep some of our own traditions while discovering how things were done here. What also happened was that the way the church did things didn't seem to be the way we'd been told it would be done. We didn't know whether that was because a) we hadn't understood in the first place, b) plans had changed and we hadn't heard/understood why, or c) things were exactly as we had understood but looked different from the way we expected!

We didn't go to the Christmas Eve meeting as it was at 8pm (ie. 8.30 or 9pm!) and so past the boys' bedtimes. And Marc and I felt that we wanted to spend our Christmas Eve together.

Our boys opened their stocking presents on Christmas morning and then we all went to church. The Christmas morning service seemed joyful but not particularly Christmassy, which we put down to the Christmas Eve meeting being the more Christmas-themed of the meetings. We went home afterwards to our Christmas dinner of guinea fowl, opened more presents and then spent the afternoon as a family.

Sunday's service was followed by a long discussion which I understood was something to do with “the youth”, “preparation”, “Saturday or Sunday” but the details were beyond me (however I was definitely missing the context, which I only learnt on Tuesday when we had a good long chat – in Monkolé – with the pastor).

On Christmas Day the pastor told us we were invited to eat with a lot of people from church on Sunday. But he said, “Go home after the service, and we'll call you when it's ready, because the ladies can't start preparing food early because they'll be in church.” We figured this would be a midday meal but certainly not before 1pm and probably not until 3 or 4pm. We just snacked, and put the boys down for their usual nap at 2pm. But by 5pm we were starting to wonder whether we'd got it wrong. Finally at 5.30pm the pastor rang to say that … the meal still wasn't ready! But at least that reassured us that we had understood … just hadn't understood the likely timing! At 6 he rang again to tell us to come down to the village, and by 6.30-ish we were tucking into a delicious meal of pounded yams, chicken and spicy sauce.

It just brought back to us the frustration of living somewhere where you don't know the unwritten rules of social interaction! And reminded us how as Westerners we really don't like to just be hanging around waiting for someone else! Part of me also felt it was a shame we hadn't gone down to the village earlier, but we had been told to wait at home because they didn't want to keep us waiting around. So I was afraid that if we went down earlier they'd feel under pressure to get the meal served earlier.

More became clear on Tuesday during the aforementioned chat with the pastor. First of all, they hadn't celebrated Christmas with as much gusto as usual because someone linked to the church had died, and so they felt that out of respect to his family they couldn't have a party. The discussion after church had been about the youth not having done the preparation they were supposed to for the party, and others saying that it wasn't appropriate to be having a party anyway. Secondly, usually the big meal we'd been invited to would have been earlier (at 3 or 4ish) but that's because usually Boxing Day isn't a Sunday so the ladies can get cooking much earlier. So we'd kind of got it right but not made allowances for it being a Sunday!

I do feel sad to be so far from our families at Christmas, so I am very thankful that the church here is so welcoming and supportive of us! It would make it even harder if we weren't feeling at home here.

The choir at church all dressed up in their Christmas finery:


Our family (in the Christmas material chosen by the church women):


Me showing off my new outfit:

from grain to table!

Here is the last stage for our corn! First a photo of Marc and Benjy de-graining the dried corn cobs. Then I'm afraid no photo of it being milled in the village, as I had to leave it there in the morning and go back and collect it in the afternoon. Next, a photo of it made into "pâte", a fairly solid paste which you eat with whatever sauce takes your fancy! In this case a fairly non-traditional mince and tomato sauce with tinned peas!

Benjy may be looking as if he has been forced into child labour, but I promise he volunteered his services!



Of course, it would usually be eaten with fingers, but we were hungry and it was hot!

context

A: Is it true?
B: Yes, it happened just like we thought it would.
A: Oh no. And is it bad?
B: Uh-huh – at least 5 have been affected.
A: Oh dear. How long do they think it will last?
B: It could be up to three weeks.

I hope that as you read this conversation you found that you understood every word and yet still didn't have a clue what these people were talking about. This is how I sometimes feel at our current stage of language learning (though I also have times where I don't understand many of the words!).

Language is more than just learning vocabulary and getting to grips with grammar. It also involves relationships, and knowing what the person you're talking with knows about which you therefore don't need to mention explicitly.

This means that when you come into a village where everyone has known everyone from birth, and spends most of their time together, you are bound to lack a lot of the shared knowledge. I sat through an hour-long church meeting recently where everyone else knew what the problem was which was being talked about, but I didn't! So although I understood quite a lot of what was said, I was missing the crucial bit of information necessary to work out the relevance of what everyone was saying!

Of course, when people are talking directly to us they do adapt what they say accordingly. They know we don't know the same people, and haven't experienced the same events. But even then, there may be cultural assumptions we don't share.

For example, I was telling my seamstress how much Simon liked the new trousers she had made for him.

Me: This morning he told me, “Mummy, I want to wear my new trousers!”
Seamstress (in a jokey manner): Ah, was he going on a journey?
Me: (puzzled silence until I remembered that here people dress in their best clothes if they are travelling somewhere – quite the opposite from what I would tend to do!)

We could allow ourselves to be discouraged when we realise that we have a far greater task ahead of us than simply learning the rules of a language. Yet it also makes it more exciting, as we have a whole new world to explore, and a new community to become part of. Yes, we'll always be outsiders to some extent, but that doesn't mean we won't have real friends and a positive role to play.

PS Even I don't know what A and B are talking about above ;o)

circle of the year

Spring is green and yellow
and the summer, pink and gold.
Autumn's red soon turns to brown –
the year is getting old.
Wintertime is blue and white –
the ice is crystal clear:
All the colours dance around
the circle of the year.

(Lois Rock, in “My Very First Prayers”)

This poem is in a book of Simon's. It is interesting to read it with him, because he doesn't really remember about European seasons. He is quite fascinated by the idea of snow and ice!

Here in the North of Benin, the harmattan wind is blowing again. This brings us right around our circle of the year, since when we arrived here in February it was the end of harmattan. The harmattan wind is a cold(ish) north wind which blows down to us from the Sahara. At the moment our nights are chilly (down to 15°C) but after some mist early in the morning our afternoon temperatures can go up to 33°C or even higher. The air is very dry, and I have to dig my moisturising cream out again.

The year is basically divided into two parts – about 6 months of rainy season and about 6 months of dry season. The dry season includes harmattan and hot season. Hot season is well-named! We didn't have our thermometer during the last hot season, but we know it was 43°C in our nearest town at the beginning of hot season! The hardest part is that the temperature doesn't even go down much at night, which makes sleep difficult, especially if like us you don't have electricity at night-time, so no chance of ceiling fans. By the afternoon we have hot and hot running water, and one of the loveliest things my husband ever did for me was to manage to cool some water overnight so that I could actually have a coldish shower in the morning!

By the time the rains finally come, it is a real relief to feel the freshness they bring, though at first the drop in temperature doesn't last much longer than the storm! We had big storms at the beginning and the end of rainy season this year – with several trees and branches knocked down in May. The boys found it quite scary, as they couldn't remember the last rainy season, and the rain sounds very loud on our metal roof!

The other wonderful thing about the beginning of rainy season is the speed at which the vegetation grows back. One day everything is dry and bare, and then in the space of a few days there is grass everywhere!

The rains were heavy in the middle of August, and there was one week where we didn't see the sun at all, putting a strain on our solar-powered electricity system and making it nearly impossible to dry laundry. We were grateful to have a generator (and I even resorted to using my hairdryer to finish drying some nappies!).

Then by October the rains are usually dying away again, though this year they went on longer than usual (see my post here). And then we end up back in the harmattan end of dry season. I love harmattan, it is definitely my favourite season here. The only thing I find strange is to know that Christmas is on the way, but not to “feel” Christmassy. There is too much warmth and sunshine, and whereas down in Parakou there were quite a lot of Christmas decorations and things in the shops, here up North I haven't seen anything yet. Simon and Benjy do have an Advent Calendar, and I think I'll put the Christmas tree up this weekend, so we will try to get into the spirit of things. We have been told that Christmas is a big celebration in the church here, so that should help!

We have yet to find out how much of a shock to the system it will be to fly into the UK at the end of February, dropping about 30°C overnight!!

A few photographic memories:

Dry season



After a storm


Near the end of rainy season:

But...?!

Two good examples of how your cultural background can both help and hinder your reading of the Bible came up this week.

On Tuesday we were reading the passage in Mark where Jesus sends some disciples to prepare the Passover meal. He tells them to go into town, and when they see a man carrying a water jar, to follow him.

In discussions in Europe, I've heard comments like, “But that's so random! How could they tell whether it was the right man?” Yet here in Benin it is very rare to see a man carrying water – he would stick out like a sore thumb. So no one here is surprised to hear that the disciples had no trouble finding the right man.

This morning, however, we were talking about the story of Jacob stealing the birthright from his older twin, Esau. The pastor said that Monkolé people may well be confused when they hear this story, since in Monkolé tradition the twin who is born in second place is considered the elder twin – and the text clearly states that Jacob was born after Esau. In Monkolé understanding he would have no need to steal the birthright as it would be his already!

Which all goes to underline the importance of understanding the historical context when you read a text … and why you might not understand what you read if you don't!