Goodbye Burkina

Saying goodbye is never an easy thing. It’s not easy to say goodbye to people that we love. It’s not easy to say goodbye to a place we love. It’s not easy to say goodbye to a life we love. When you combine all 3, it makes it the hardest goodbye of all. Of course, we have the hope of eternity, so goodbye is not really forever. But try telling your heart that in the moment!

Our goodbye began back in June, with one simple phone call, although it took almost 6 months to finish. It wasn’t really unexpected though. After all, we had been seeing the situation in Burkina go downhill for some time. Who would have ever thought that the most stable country in west Africa would become the “epicenter” of African jihadist activity? Well, that’s what is happening, regardless of what we thought possible or impossible. Anyways, back to that phone call.... The news had been talking about terrorist attacks for months, some villagers killed here, a church shot up there. Oh, and of course in the 2 preceding years there had been 3 major attacks in the capital. But we didn’t see any danger where we lived. Bobo is a very peaceful city, in a very peaceful region. All of these events were happening a long ways from us. There was no way that this danger would come anywhere near us for a very long time. Nonetheless, we aren’t stupid, so we did ask some brothers at the branch about it. Their response gave us reason to be concerned. They were closely monitoring the situation, and some felt that we should be ready to leave at a moment’s notice (have a suitcase packed and enough cash on hand for plane tickets, things like that). It’s probably a good thing we heard that when we did, as it wasn’t even 2 weeks later that we got the call. Yes, THE call.

It was a warm, uneventful Friday night. In the middle of dinner with friends, the phone rang with a number from Benin. The message was (more or less): the branch has arranged for all missionaries to leave Bobo in 3 days time... and we are strongly encouraged to be on the same flight! The instructions were to take any possessions that have a personal attachement, as we likely would not be going back. Needless to say, expected or not, such a phone call is a shock. For most of the next day, we mostly wandered around our house, half numb, half in shock, wondering how we could possibly condense 5 and a half years of life into a few suitcases. Even now, 6 months later, the memories of all the good times we had in that house, the time spent in the shade of the mango tree with brothers making Bobo tea, the dance parties, the dinners, the friends crying on our shoulders, all of them bring a smile to our face and an ache to our heart at the same time. And we won’t even talk about how much we miss our animals! Of course, the shock didn’t just affect us. When the friends began to hear about it the next day at the meeting, many were crying at losing us all. Others were frightened, asking what’s going to happen to those who are left behind, ones who can’t just pick up and leave? Many are still asking that, and, in fact, we think ourselves often think about that. When the organisation says to evacuate, it’s serious. What is going to happen in the future?

If you don’t know the rest of the story, you have probably guessed by now... yes we got on the same flight as the missionaries, and no we never went back to Bobo. Thanks to the tremendous help of friends, we were able to get all our remaining things packed up and sent to Ouagadougou, where a brother very lovingly rented us a nice house with no contract and no strings attached. At first we were convinced that we could never endure Ouaga for any length of time (the traffic is intense, the sun and the heat are searing, and the dust is brutal). But we ended up staying much longer than we originally thought possible. No, we didn’t miraculously come to love the city. But we did come to love the congregation we were in! Not really a surprise, be we found a warm and loving welcome. We found loving, spiritual shepherds. We found zealous, fun pioneers. We found discouraged ones that we were able to encourage. We found all the things that we could have ever wanted to draw us close to the congregation. And the original reason that we stayed in Ouaga was to attend the National Convention, which we are so glad we didn’t miss. This is a once-every-10-years event, with every single Witness from Burkina and many from beyond. Not only were we overjoyed at the association, but we got to see a Bible student take the step of baptism, after we (well, Alisa) had studied with her for 4 years. We wouldn’t have missed it for anything!

So now we jump ahead to November.... near the end of the month, the US embassy in Burkina changed the country’s status again. This is actually what began this whole story. Back in June, the embassy declared that virtually everywhere in the country outside of the capital was unsafe. Well, this time, they finished the job by declaring the entire country unsafe and sending embassy families out of the country to safety. As you can imagine, we had quite a sense of déjà vu, and a sense of impending doom. Maybe doom isn’t the right word, but we definitely felt like we were about to relive the same story again!

At this point, I should interject that we had actually already decided we needed to leave. Literally the day before the embassy’s announcement, following weeks (actually months) of tears, discussions, debates, prayers, and sighing, we had finally accepted the reality that we couldn’t stay in Ouaga for so many reasons. So in a way, this time it was a relief! We will never be able to second guess the decision, and wonder if we should have stayed, if there was more work that Jehovah had prepared for us in Burkina. There’s no question now, especially because we have since learned that the few remaining missionaries will also be leaving the country in coming weeks and months.

Still, it’s not easy to say goodbye. One young boy in our congregation couldn’t understand that we were leaving, and asked his mom why we were going to stop going to meetings. One of our best friends in Bobo said that as long as we were still in the same country, it still felt like we were present with him. More than a few tears were shed when we had to tell our friends that we were leaving. This time it didn’t feel like a “possibly temporary” situation. No, it was clear that this time is for good. We sold or gave away everything we owned that wouldn’t fit in 5 suitcases and our carry-ones. We gave up our house. We said goodbye to everyone and everything in Burkina Faso.

Now we aren’t the first people ever to go through this experience, nor will we be the last. Many have fled their homes with bullets whizzing by. Some have seen unspeakable suffering as they fled. Others have had nowhere to go and had to live in the bush or in refugee camps. And that’s not only in Africa! Despite our pain, we aren’t suffering nearly as much as some of our brothers and sisters. And in the end, would we say we regret going to Burkina because of the pain of leaving? Never! The last 6 years have been an unforgettable experience. Never had we imagined how close we would become with the brothers and sisters there, or how attached we would become to life there. Would we ever suggest not to go serve somewhere because it may not last forever? Again, never! The joy and blessings can’t even be measured. The pain at leaving may last for as long as this system does, but ultimately is is temporary. So there is no reason to hold back. We are so glad that we didn’t!

The logical question now is: where are we going, what are going to do? To be honest, we don’t yet have an answer to that, beyond the immediate future. But we are confident that Jehovah will help us answer that question in due time. Will it end being somewhere like Burkina? We have no idea! But we are confident that we will again be blessed, if we don’t hold back!

Economy class? No, even worse!

“Economy class”.... the words are enough to make many Americans sigh. They evoke cramped quarters, uncomfortable seats, generally suffering at 30,000 feet. For those who must travel across the country, or worse across the ocean, oh that they could avoid this dreaded condition and get a coveted place in business or first!

As I sit here in my economy class seat somewhere over Greenland, I remember a time that I felt the same way. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still much happier sitting in front of the curtain, rather than behind it. But now I don’t feel so uncomfortable, even facing 9 hours in this seat. It’s funny how everything depends on perspective. And Africa will certainly change ones perspective!

Even now, the memory of 10 hours in the bus makes my current surroundings seem downright paradisiaque. And that’s without even reflecting on the next trip, which included 7 hours broken down under the hot African sun. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? After all, it all started so far away.....

The taxi driver was willing, but little did we know where we had just asked him to go. As we left the auto-route and began entering smaller and smaller roads, we could tell that this was not an upscale area. The crumbling concrete balconies, the tin roofs and tarps shading walkways and barely surviving vendors, all tied to dirty apartment buildings, their inhabitants going about the hard business of living off of nearly nothing. But this wasn’t what surprised us, it came as no surprise given where we were. The surprise came when we turned the corner and entered the market area. The taxi entered the mass of humanity much like an Olympic diver enters the water, with no hesitation and barely a splash. Unlike the diver, though, the taxi had to bring his speed to a near stop in order to mingle with thousands of pedestrians and hundreds of push-carts delivering nearly any product imaginable. Thanks to the wonders of technology (smart phones with Google maps), we thought that we knew exactly where our destination was, and toyed with the idea of getting out of the taxi since walking would have actually gotten us there much faster. In the end, reason won out, and we chose to sweat in the near stationary taxi for 15 minutes instead of joining the pedestrian war going on all around us.

You would think that this innocuous start would have given us a clue what we were in for, but we remained blissfully ignorant. Even when we finally found the grubby bus station, we remained unperturbed. However, the worry began to creep in just a little when, speaking through a literal hole in the wall (just large enough to see his face), the station agent said that tickets are sold on the day of only, first-come first-served. He recommended returning the day of our departure by 6 am to ensure a place. Now obligated to join the seething crowd until we could get a taxi, we mulled over this development as we walked away. Our friends had assured us that this is the best company that serves their town... the big question was whether our friends were in their right minds?? How could this be the best option.

Nonetheless we found ourselves getting up at 5 am a few days later, to see what would happen at this same station. At this hour, the streets were quiet and tranquil... at least until we left the pavement to drive the last muddy 500 feet to the station. As if banging the bottom of the taxi on the rocks hidden in the mud wasn’t punishment enough, just before arriving at the station, 2 men stepped in front of the taxi. Their intention was quite obvious, the taxi wasn’t passing until he paid the impromptu toll. The fact that he was carrying 2 foreigners simply strengthened their resolve to have their fair share of his profits. Being a reasonable man, the taxi driver was willing to negotiate. How much did they want? Almost a dollar.... his negotiation abilities got them down to about 35 cents. Welcome to Africa!

Not just anywhere in Africa... we were about to leave Abidjan, the largest city in Côte d’Ivoire, from the notorious neighborhood of Adjame. I say notorious, but obviously not world wide. But if you ever meet someone who is from Abidjan, or has ever traveled through it, and you have both shared the experience of Adjame, well, now, you have a link like very few others that exist in this world!

That, however, is just a footnote in this story. In fact, the story is just starting now, with us in a sleep-deprived condition, stepping over burlap sacks full of 3 inch snails, literally elbowing our way forward to keep place in the line for tickets. Highly coveted bus tickets in hand, we expect to soon be boarding the bus for our orderly departure. How wrong we were! It was at least another hour before either of the 3 buses sitting waiting even started, and then another 20 minutes before any sign was made that we could have our bags loaded. Suddenly the hundred or so bystanders entered into a frenzy of activity. Everyone who had a bag to go on that bus was doing everything possible to ensure that theirs made it on. As it seemed clear to us that some bags were obviously not going to make the cut, we felt it wisest to join in and do whatever possible to push our bags into the hands of a bagagiste. Having successfully seen them go on the bus, it was time to negotiate our own entry into the bus, thankfully a much easier task as they were verifying tickets and even had assigned seats.

Once on the bus, though, we quickly realized how long this ride was going to be. In order to get the most passengers on board, there were 5 seats across instead of the 4 that we are used to in neighboring Burkina. These seats seem to have been specially fabricated with some miraculous capacity to be at least 1 inch too narrow for any human occupant, regardless of how skinny his/her derrière may be. The only solace was that we were just 2... the side with 3 seats meant spending 10 hours in physical contact with your neighbor, contact so close it’s likely illegal in some places! That solace was rather short lived, though, as we soon began stopping to pick up more passengers who were soon to fill the aisle, the steps, anywhere that they could find room to sit down. Perhaps you can imagine the discomfort now, but believe me that after 5 or 6 hours, it becomes more than anything you are imagining. The sole relief is a pee break every hour or two. Even if you don’t have to, or can’t bring yourself to join all the other passengers in literally lining up at the pavement’s edge, at least you get to stand up and stretch. What a needed relief!

Thinking that a break was a good thing changed a little on the second leg of our trip, another sardine can bus ride from sunup to sundown. This time the break came when we encountered what can best be described as a parking lot in the middle of the road. It seemed that the road was blocked.... blocked by what? 3 trucks stuck side by side in the mud. Mud? What mud? Isn’t the road paved? Well, it turns out that paved roads in Côte d’Ivoire are somewhat of a loose concept. Sure the highways started out as pavement... but over time the swampy areas have swallowed up some of the pavement, and general lack of maintenance has left more potholes than pavement in other areas. At times this leads the bus to follow a slalom course down the road, as the driver does his best to avoid the largest holes, all while keeping his speed as high as possible (after all, the universal truth that time is money even applies in Africa!). This time, though, the swamp had won, and as spoil it gained 2 semi-trucks and a box van. The semis had quite literally sunk in the gravel dumped in the road as a weak attempt to keep the mud at bay. Then the box van driver figured he could follow the track that passenger cars were still using to get past the big trucks. He soon found out he was wrong...

The novelty of this situation was exciting at first, as we walked forward to investigate. After the first hour or so, though, we began to consider our options. Should we join the passengers that were abandoning ship, literally packing their luggage on their head across the mud hole and catching a ride in one of the many mini-buses stuck on the other side? Or should we stay with the bus, hoping that our driver would eventually decide to turn around take an alternate route? Fortunately we chose the latter option, as a solution eventually surfaced. Actually, we thought that it had surfaced more than once. An empty truck was backed into place to try his hand at towing out the stuck ones. The driver was obviously sure that his truck could do the job, but he had several hundred helpful assistants to aid in the towing process. When he first hooked a cable to the central truck, and tugged gently, nothing happened. Perhaps giving in to encouragement from the onlookers, perhaps just not fully considering the situation fully, he then decided to give it a running start. Maybe not too surprising, the cable split like a spaghetti noodle. Now everyone was back at zero, as none of us had thought to pack a spare towing cable in our carry-ons. Finally, a dump truck finally arrived that was able to rescue the stuck big-rigs and free up this central ivoirien parking lot. As our bus got to it’s turn to navigate the now highly rutted mud hole, our thoughts went back to what we had seen and felt so far on this trip. Early on, we passed a truck that had tipped over when the road under it had collapsed. Later we were sure that we would have a similar fate when the bus traversed a water hole. Well, better to say that the highway had a water hole in one lane, and that it disappeared into a lake in the other lane... despite the swaying like a Tokyo high rise in an earthquake, the bus made it through both mud holes, much to our relief!

You would think that nothing could top that break, especially as we made our way back along the now familiar road to Burkina. But we didn’t count on the bane of African transport... the dreaded break down. Well, dreaded by us foreigners that is. Many locals don’t seem to dread it at all. It’s rather just accepted as a part of life. And why wouldn’t it be? After all, in Africa, anything with wheels is driven to the last possible minute of its useful life, and usually 20 years after that. Maintenance is generally regarded as replacing the vital components that break and prevent further forward movement. To avoid unnecessary expenditure, this is generally done whenever and wherever the piece in question breaks. Sometimes this means that a bus/ truck/ car will sit in the traffic lane for days as parts are sought out to make it move again. Fortunately for us, our piece was a relatively easy power steering hose. Also fortunate was that the hose blew out close to Bouake, the second largest city in the country. This meant that the driver was able to send for parts and have them within 2 hours. Don’t get too excited though, not all is sunshine and rainbows in this story. The hose was repaired, with a new fitting, and he and his helpers got it put back into place. Yes, we are going to be moving again! .... BOOM! The new fitting didn’t even make it 30 seconds..... back to town again. Another 2 hours, another fitting. This one made it nearly 5 minutes. Back to town again. Don’t forget during all this time that the bus is turned off, meaning no air conditioning. Getting off the bus means going into the brutal African sun. Staying on the bus means sitting in the shade, but doing it in a 100 degree oven. This could safely be referred to as a no-win situation. We had actually begun looking for buses going to Burkina to flag down and ask for 2 seats, figuring that paying double to get home was better than staying where we were. Do I need to say how happy we were that on the final trip, the driver had a real mechanic come back? After berating the driver and his team for their shoddy work and thinking that they could, in effect, glue things back together with chewing gum, he finally effected a real repair. After a break of 7 hours, we were finally on the road again. Needless to say, no one was interested in prolonging pee breaks after that! What a relief it was to get off that bus back home in Bobo. For us, the day had begun at 4 am in Yamoussoukro, where we joined the bus which had left Abidjan at 1 am. When we got off near midnight, the driver told us that he was going to push on clear to Ouagadougou, another 6 hours away. The same guy drove that whole time, with no sleep en route.... need I explain why we decided that we would never be making that trip by bus again?

As they say, all is well that ends well, and our trip ended well because we got back home safe and sound. All told, we spent 10 days in Côte d’Ivoire, in 3 different cities, with lots of new friends and a few older ones. While it may seem that the bus rides are what made the biggest impression, that’s not actually true. They just make for the most entertaining story! In reality, we can’t say enough good things about the Abidjan Bethel. This has to be the most hospitable Bethel in the world, which is really saying something.  All needgreaters are invited to stay there, and are even picked up and dropped off at the airport by a member of the branch committee. If you ever have a chance to visit, don’t miss it! And if you are fortunate enough to begin your experience in West Africa there, even better.

Just be prepared for the bus rides after!