Entrusting Lives....

I never dreamed I could serve the Lord with my driving! God has given me the opportunity to use this gift in service for Him! And I never want to take it for granted regarding safety for the roads, though. He keeps me safe.

I drove a European media through three hours of traffic and pot holes to a village outside Abomey. Their angle for a story was to chronicle a nine year old girl born with a cleft lip and palate from before surgery to after surgery. My part was driving the team to the village to interview and video the family and her village.

Years ago God told me that I was not to despise the gifts he had given me and that I was the hands in the body of Christ. One of the abilities God has given me is driving. I have joy in serving God this way. I understand the quote from Chariots of Fire rephrasing here: When I drive, I feel God’s pleasure. That may sound crazy, but it is true. He has entrusted me with this and I gladly embrace this gift.

When we pulled into this picturesque, red earthen, foliage plush village, we were greeted by an entourage of adults waiting for this pre-arranged appointment. Our two vehicles made enough noise that rounded up another 50 or so villagers, mostly comprised of children. The patient, Christelle, was amongst the crowd leaning securely against her petite mother. The girl’s teeth were predominant above her lower lip.

The media team quickly surveyed and directed their footage with expensive video cameras, lights, sounds systems and even reflector umbrellas. I took out my tiny, Kodak, instamatic camera, a gift from my sister, and started taking photos of the children gathering around me, all wanting to hold my hand and stare at my white face and blue eyes. It took but a moment to realize the crowd of children surrounding me needed to be moved from the media team’s path. So I sign language motioned to the Fon speaking children that I wanted to stroll through their village and have them show me the way around.

We set out and I took many photos. They laughed when I showed them their image. One boy, Ruelle, about 8 years old stood out taking an interest in my camera. After a few quick instructions using sign language, I entrusted my camera to him to take the remaining photo taking to him. (I have felt that if my camera breaks during such a trust, it is well worth it.) Ruelle became quite popular with his friends as he began to pose them for pictures. He quickly learned how to press the right button to display the image he had just taken and enjoyed making his friends laugh as he showed them their photos. I taught him how to take his own picture by holding the camera arm’s length away. He was happy and I encouraged him to take as many pictures as he wanted. With that he took photos not only of his hand, the sky, a melon on the ground, the red dirt, a beat up truck but also got some amazing pictures of elderly women and an industry in action making fried grain/nut sticks that later would be sold on street corners far away. He had an inroad to take pictures that I, as an outsider, would not be able to get.

Via sign language Ruelle asked me if he could keep the camera. I said “no” but uselessly tried to explain that I would give him printed photographs upon my return visit. That explanation was not understood and I thought he would just be surprised when they arrived.

I felt like the Pied Piper walking through the village with all the children vying to hold my hand. I even made two small children cry with my white face. I started to sing songs. They tried to imitate my English words. One boy about seven years old especially repeated in English everything I said or sang assuredly having no clue what the words meant. Their favorite song seemed to be “Head, Shoulders Knees and Toes, Knees and Toes.” They loved the motions. My repertoire of children’s songs has virtually disappeared without practice, but the few songs we did were a hit.

As I walked and sang and met the villagers, I was becoming quite thirsty and hungry. I didn’t dare take a bite of a sandwich waiting for me in the car along with a full Nalgene bottle of water. I would have had nothing to share with all the children around me. Later I was requested by the media team to move one of the vehicles out of their picture they were trying to shoot so I was free in the driver’s seat from the children to quickly gulp down about half of my bottle of water. Still hungry, I at least emerged from the Land Rover to my awaiting audience a bit less parched.

During our tour of the village we saw red earthen adobe villages with palm fron roofs. I saw Voodoo shrines including a place where chicken were ceremonially sacrificed and another earthen figure depicting a head with crude figures of eyes, nose and mouth and just below the mouth a detailed, erect penis. I saw the industry of the aforementioned making of grain sticks to sell. I saw cooking fires on the ground outside and lizards. I rarely saw any insects except for ants. No electricity in this village.

Another thing I saw was a school made in the adobe fashion yet very plumb and solid. Then it dawned on me that no one was using the school, quite unusual for a Tuesday. We believe that the arrival of our two Mercy Ships vehicles and the cameras and lights and microphones made for an unofficial school holiday.

When we left the village driving away on the red dirt roads, the children ran behind us following as far as they could keep up waving and shouting. The patient and her mom were in the other vehicle. A few miles out of town we stopped at a relatively modern filling station where we all consumed massive quantities of water and ate a very late lunch. Sandwiches and beverages were provided to Christelle and her mom and we all ate leaning against the Mercy Ships’ vehicles.

As we continued on our way back on the three hour drive to the ship in Cotonou, we realized that this was no doubt that this was the first time the girl and, most likely her mom, had been out of their village. During the very bumpy, pot-holed drive back, the mom got car sick and we had to pull over until she recovered. We resumed and eventually arrived where the two villagers saw the huge city and then, for the first time ever, a ship. They boarded the ship, were admitted to the hospital and the next day, Christelle underwent plastic surgery to close the missing piece of her lip.

After the surgery, Christelle was full of smiles and happily talked away through a translator about her change. She knew that life would be different for her from now on. She enjoyed playing games on the ward, eating well and good sleep. Five days later she was ready for her return home.

We travelled back to the village to bring the young girl and her mother home. Except for some swelling, Christelle was transformed into a child that now looked like everyone else. As we pulled in we could see that a heavy rain had occurred with red mud and remainders of rivers of water throughout the village. As we approached the middle of the village, Christelle was greeted by the villagers with shouts and singing. Coming out of the vehicle she still stayed close to her mom. All the villagers were happy to see them.

I was glad to bring an envelope full of laminated photographs for Ruelle. Encased in plastic, the photos printed on regular paper from a very nice color, laser printer, will endure the heavy rains of that village. I hadn’t printed them all, but did include a nice picture of the sky and another of the old beat up truck taken by the young photographer. Ruelle had a big smile on his face as I gave him his gift. I let him take a few more pictures for the remaining hour we spent at the village. Through a translator I told Ruelle that he was a very good photographer and that he could keep or give away the photos as he chose. I leaned up close to hug him before we left and he kissed me on the cheek and immediately all his friends went “awwww” and embarrassed the boy. His life may be impacted to a lesser degree than Christelle’s, but none the less, unforgettable moments for both of us.