From March 2-11, Amy Rohler of Bethesda Covenant Church and eight other Covenant pastors and leaders traveled to the West African country of Burkina Faso to gain awareness of Covenant ministries and connections in the country and learn how to better pray and advocate for the work there. Below is her reflection on the trip.
As I sat in JFK waiting for my plan to board on Thursday evening March 2, I realized that I felt more than a little anxious about my trip to Burkina Faso and it did not take me long to figure out why: I didn't know what to expect, or worse (for me) would not have any control over the next week's activities and experiences. Everything was uncertain. Why had I been asked to go? What would I learn? How would I be changed? Would my view of God or understanding of faith be different when I returned? How would I both serve and be served throughout the week? What would be expected of me, during the trip and afterward? The scripture that kept coming to my mind was from the first chapter in Jeremiah; the young prophet was uncertain and afraid of his calling to speak for God. "What do you see?" God asked Jeremiah--twice. And Jeremiah saw what seemed like nothing out of the ordinary - a tree branch, a boiling pot - and yet out of these ordinary objects, the thoughts of God were revealed. One of the key characteristics of God's servants seem to be seeing, not only well and clearly, but with an eye towards God's purposes. Before you can speak, you must first see.
What was I going to see in Burkina Faso?
As I began to meet the rest of the team (some on my flight, others in Paris), it become clear that I was not the only one who didn't know what to expect. In spite of our varied backgrounds, theological perspectives, ministry contexts, and geographical locations (Manhattan, Brooklyn, Chicago, Detroit, Atlanta, North Carolina, Virginia), we were all a little uncertain, but also excited (not to mention tired from our long journey). We arrived in Ouagadougou (the capital city) late at night, greeted by our hosts and guides: Covenant missionaries Galen and Jill Johnson and their daughter Elli. After a gracious meal at their home and a hair-raising drive through the city (motorbikes, bicycles, cars, and donkey-carts sharing the road in what seemed like not-very-well ordered chaos), we fell into our beds at the hotel, quickly asleep.
The next morning I awoke to a hot, extremely dry, and dusty day, with temperatures nearing 100 degrees. The layer of dust that hangs in the atmosphere (especially at that time of year) is called the "Harmattan," and moves off the Sahara. We ate a breakfast of coffee, tea, and bread at the hotel while Galen briefed us on the week's activities, as well as the country and culture of Burkina Faso. Burkina Faso is a landlocked nation that is slighly larger than the U.S. State of Colorado with a population of 11 million (I think that New York City might have more people!). The main languages are French, Moré, Dioula, and Fulfuldé (but there are over 62 different languages and dialects spoken). The major tribes are Mossi, Gurunsi, Senufo, Lobi, Bobo, Mande, and Fulani. Over 50% of people are Muslim, and 40% indigenous animistic religions. Burkina Faso has the second to lowest literacy rate in the world, and its life expectancy is an average of 52 years. Its agricultural products are orghum, millet, maize, peanuts, sugar, rice, cotton. Its main exports are Cotton, shea nuts and butter, gold, cattle, poultry, fruits and vegetables, and sesame. The average income is around $300 per year.
The next day, we attended a Mossi Church in Ouaga.
It was a mud building with a cement floor. Women and men sat on different sides of the church, and there were both simple wooden benches and mats available. The music was fantastic, with lots of drums and various choral performances by a women's and a children's choir. Our song leader was a woman, and the musicans were men. Our group sang "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms" in English, which the church recognized, and then they showed us how the song was SUPPOSED to be sung! Rev. Conway Boyce (my neighbor in Brooklyn) preached, and was translated into both French and More. We worshipped together, attended the children's Sunday School, and saw the neighborhood.
We finished the day with a meeting with Rev. Kareem Zongo, the pastor of another local church; our topic was slavery, both its past and present-day expressions. The next day we began our journey to the town of Djibo, about 400 km north of the capital city over mostly dirt roads and an area that was mainly Fulani. We stopped at an orphanage in the village of Yako. The orphanage was started by Ruth Cox about six years ago, who was visiting a daughter stationed in Yako with the Peace Corps. Ruth stayed. She was later joined by Lynne Peters, and Connie and Mark Smith. You can visit their website, support their ministry, and even read blogs by Connie and Mark (pay special note to Connie's perspective on our visit--I believe she said that we were "middle-aged" and "hysterical" :) Enjoy...).
The orphanage had about 40 children, from age newborn to 19 years old. There was school onsite, as well as a medical clinic planned. The stories of how and why the children arrived there were heartbreaking - of abandonment or death or mental illness. One infant had been born out of wedlock, and although his father's family had briefly taken him in, there had two deaths in the family shortly after his arrival; they believed he was cursed and dropped him off at the orphange gates.
Ruth and Connie decided to join us on our journey to Djibo, and on the way, we toured a radio station, had lunch under some mango trees, and I fell in love with the Baobab tree, an African tree that looks dead and upside down, but only has the leaves picked off (see below). I enjoyed a great conversation with Ruth and Connie, about pastoring a church in Manhattan and how we can get more funds for their orphanage. (I suggested a celebrity spokesperson, so if there are any celebrities reading this--take note!)
As we neared Djibo, we stopped at the village of Bani, where Galen and Jill Johnson had done their language training in Fufulde. What seemed like the entire village immediately greeted us, surrounding our cars with laughter and exchanged greetings with the Johnsons. These traditional greetings were a series of questions about family and children and livestock, to which the answer was always the same: "jam nali" (Peace Only). As in the Christian Church this Muslim village quickly divided into gendered groups, and we women found ourselves on a straw mat, and were given bowls of cloudy water to drink as refreshment from our journey. (We pretended to drink, although they must have wondered why the water-level stayed the same, and probably were laughing at us.) At first, most of the women and children hung back watching and waiting for the host to sit with us; when she did, they soon came forward and we were surrounded. An air of hospitality and shared laughter seemed to envelope all of us, and we left soon after--shaking hands and spinning children and offering our thanks.
We arrived in Djibo soon after, and over the course of the next few days, experienced many things. We went to the weekly Market, which occurred every Wednesday and brought thousands of people from the many surrounding villages. There was an animal market, which sold camels and cows and bulls and goats and sheep, and most were running in free in the large enclosure that held them along with several hundred people. Galen told us that instead of signed contracts that proved a sale or ownership, they used witnesses who acted as walking contracts. One day, we went camel-riding. We visited with a woman named Howa, who oversaw the Milk Project (funded by Covenant Women Ministries), a ministry that gives free powerered whole milk to supplement the diet of babies and provides nutritional education to mothers. She told us about the details of the project, and also how difficult and unacceptable it was for Muslim women to become Christians; they were often forced to leave their homes, husbands, and children and left on their own, with little means with which to provide for themselves. We stayed at the Djibo Hospital of Surgery, run by Austrailian couple Ken and Jocelyn Elliott, who had lived in Djibo for over 33 years. Although in his seventies, Ken performed an average of 10 surgeries per day. The hospital itself had no beds, only mats, and the patients were cared for by their families who stayed with them on the grounds.
Finally, five of us had the opportunity to stay the night in the village of Deperibella, which was perhaps the most significant part of the trip for me. We were quite nervous by this "opportunity," not knowing what to expect in where we would sleep or what our meal for the night might be. Our translator was not Galen, but a New Zealander colleague of Galen's who had lived in Djibo for 3 years and done his language-training in the village we were to visit. We arrived to an emptier village than Bani - several of its members were away at a wedding in a neighboring area. But we were welcomed warmly by those present, and they invited us to sit, and again the men and women were separated. The women were busy, beginning to cook the evening meal of niiri (a porridge made out of millet with a consistency and texture like play-do). Goats and chickens wandered through the village, following groups of dusty children, and we were soon engaged in a game that, by that point in the trip, I had come to know well: taking digital pictures of people and then showing them their own picture, which often made them laugh in amazement. Our meal began when it was dark, and so did my frustration with the culture. Again, the women ate on a mat by ourselves, only this time we had no translator or means of communication. It was Maryanne Owens, myself, and two women and their children eating together (see the picture of one of the women below). The men had a fire nearby, a lantern, a translator, and were given bowls of water with which to wash their hands before the meal. We women were given none of these things. The meal itself was not as bad as I had expected, although every so often my teeth found some grit or sand in the porridge. One scooped out the niiri by hand, rolled into a ball and then dipped into a sauce made from some kind of leaf that resembled okra (the sauce was called "hoy manasa"). We wanted to thank the women for the meal. We wanted to ask them about their children and lives. We wanted to tell them things about ourselves. But we could do none of those things. We could hear the men nearby, having complex conversation about Abraham and faith and cultural difference, and even the meaning of life; we attempted to gesture in the dark, feeling uncomfortable and frustrated and even angry. Every so often the men might yell a question to us, for example, the village elder wanted to know how it was that our husbands had allowed us to travel so far without them. This was the extent of our voice that night. Maryanne and I finally went to bed, sleeping on a straw mat out in the open (only about 30 feet from a camel nearby). And after a long and sleepless night of hearing unfamiliar noises, babies crying in their sleep, and chickens in their pens (I also kept imagining creatures curling up next to me), we left early in the morning to join the rest of our group. It truly was an amazing experience, not only because it felt so vastly different from my ordinary world, but because it allowed me an empathetic glimpse into the experience of women in that culture.
What I learned in Burkina Faso is that we are all missionaries, called and prepared by God to do mission in whatever context we find ourselves. What I learned from people like Galen and Jill Johnson is that missionary way of life must be relentlessly and joyfully community-oriented—that in order do mission in the place we find ourselves, we have to be involved in the community. We have to know and love people in the community—friends, colleagues, even strangers—before we begin to talk about Jesus. I also learned from Galen that because mission is communal, it ultimately involves partnership. We can’t do everything by ourselves, but need the gifts and resources of others, and also other local organizations. What I learned in Burkina Faso from people like Howa and the Elliots was that our missionary way of life must be holistic. When we preach the good news of Jesus Christ to people, it’s not just spiritual good news. It’s emotional good news, and physical good news, and relational and intellectual. And doing mission IS feeding the hungry, educating and training people, caring and for the sick. What I learned from Ruth and Connie at the orphanage was that if we are not paying attention to the needs of the oppressed, then we are not living a missionary way of life. Doing mission IS about caring for orphans and widows and AIDS victims and handicapped and outcasts; doing mission is asking who are the people that have no one to care for them or speak for them or provide for them? Who are the people in our society that systematically never catch a break?
I saw many things in Burkina Faso, more than I could possibly relate in one (relatively) short article. Most of what I saw was not extraordinary, perhaps no more significant than a boiling pot of niiri or the tree branch of a Baobab; yet God was revealed through these ordinary things. I saw chronic poverty, and children with no homes or families, and the difficulty of getting water (let alone clean water). I saw Fulani hospitality and the difference between the institution of Islam and the Muslim people who offered me their hands and their best food and their mats on which to sit. I saw amazing ministry taking place, and caring people who would break your heart in their passion for God and people. I saw exiting visions for the future and saw justice being done in the name of Jesus—changing laws and political systems and oppressive cultural norms.
But I live in New York, and my mission is here. What I learned in Burkina Faso is that when it comes to mission, our model is God, specifically in the Incarnation. We have to think globally - which means we cannot forget our family of faith overseas in Burkina Faso and other developing countries in how we partner and share resources and help each other. We have to think globally because we are all connected, whether by faith or the immigration of people groups, or the effects of globalization. Our concern must be the world in its diverse entirety. But we also cannot forget to act locally; we have to have a missionary way of life in the particular and local context in which we find ourselves placed - one that is holistic, and community and partnership-oriented, and that doesn’t forget the needs of the oppressed. Our global concern and love comes to concrete expression in our own local culture. This, I believe, is how ordinary people make a difference in this world.
Thank you to all who supported me on this trip, both financially and in prayer. You have been a blessing to me.
~Amy
