ladder bookshelf.

I've felt such a quiet in my heart since moving into a house of my own that even writing has felt like too much talking, too much noise. I've been thinking of Jolie so much lately--mostly because of the way (partially due to the fact that I haven't had a fridge) tea has been my only offering to guests. I remember the way Jolie said that when someone offers you tea that you should never refuse. And if someone comes over for a visit, you should always make them tea. So much revolved around tea. Today, Anthony came through town and it was so good to catch up. He helped me secure this newest piece of furniture in its place.

the crushed and pounded.

PHOTO:  JOLIE POUNDS TEA.
La écrasée et les martelé--odorat très forte.

spending some time together.

PHOTO:  MARTHA--CRAZY, WONDERFUL, SLIGHTLY EDGY, MARTHA.
wait a second.

stare here,

in my old eyes for just a minute--

don't miss where i'm coming from.

run in my shoes for a day--

no a year,

a day will not be long enough--

not long enough for you to get blisters,

or get tired,

like i do.

it also will not be long enough,

for you to fall in love with my shoes--

a day is not long enough.

and unless you fall in love with my shoes,

for the reasons not at all obvious,

you'll never quite get why i keep wearing them.

dissipating fear.

PHOTO:  1.  GALAS AND MOTHER CECIL.  2.  GALAS AND I--THE DAY I LEFT.
During my last visit to Chad, Galas was born.   Because I saw his first months of life, held him, etc.,  I felt so bonded to him when I came back this second time.  However, he did not feel the same way.   Here he is, in the first picture, covering his eyes so he doesn't have to look at me.   Every time I would even be in the same approximate area, he would SCREAM and holler and I'd have to leave for him to stop. I just didn't get it.  I remember singing him to sleep last time --holding him while he peed on me, giving him a bath--why did he have so much fear this time?

Then, one day, as if it had simply been a decision, he called my name and wanted to give me a piece of his gato.   And after giving me that gato, he was not afraid of me anymore.  In fact, he would ask for me--call me by name and want me to hold him.   I don't know when or how the switch came--the whole family was baffled.  It was like time had passed and he figured out that he didn't know why he was still screaming--because he wasn't afraid of me anymore.   It was beautiful and for the last week, he spent alot of time in my arms.

the kingdom view.

Leaving Chad was a blur--just the way we flew out on a four seater plane, over top of the desert fields where the last of the rice was being tapped out of its sheaths.   We were low enough to see the bodies of the land owners, slamming the rice stalks down onto the threshing floor.   Unreal was the word that kept coming to mind, but I know now, after really making that place a home, that its simply real life for them. 

Arriving at the airport, things kept on blurring and we loaded onto ET938 flight to Addis Ababa.  I left almost everything in Chad--and my carry-on was a little white shoulder bag.   I found my seat and a nice Chinese man stepped out into the isle to let me into my middle seat.   I said, "Hello,"  and then, "Bon Jour,"  and he gave me five or so sweet shakes of the head--didn't speak a word of either language.  

Ok, I thought.   It's cool, maybe this other guy speaks something I do.  

The man next to the window is Arab--I can tell by his robe and "keffiyeh" wrap.  I guess that's assuming really, I mean, anyone could wear those things, but I test the waters and say, "Salam?"  He responds with a smile and a returned, "Salam."  And then he goes back to staring out the window.

So, I realize now that I've got no talking buddies.   I've got confirmed China-man on the left, and confirmed Arab-man on the right.   And I'm left with my arm talking--burning, blazing and talking.  Oh how I wished one of them spoke English or French even.

We fly up.   While we climb, the Arab man to my right pulls out a small book and begins to sing a prayer--its so pretty and I wish I knew what it meant so badly.

ET Air serves us food.   I'm at the bottom of the picky scale.  I'd eat anything really.  But they give us two options--fish or chicken.   Arab-man, China-man, and I all order chicken.   We open our little hot tins and I see China-man out of the corner of my eye--he shakes his head in disgust when he sees his chicken.   Mental note taken.  

I've been learning alot about burns lately--just about their progression, their healing, and their effect on the body.   One of the keys to healing, among many other things, is getting protein in your diet--so your body can rebuild the damaged tissues.   The night I was burned, my sister Esther brought me a ball of rice and a goat sauce.  I ate every bit of goat meat in there---even though it tastes like a farm, because I knew it was good for me.  

So having chicken felt healthy.  It was good.  I ate all of it.   We had various other things on the plate too--like a little wilted salad, a cream/plastic-looking "cake" and a bread roll.  

When I was done with my chicken, I returned to my mental note about China-man's chicken.   There it was, sitting on his tray--untouched.   I tap his shoulder.   I point to his chicken, raise my eyebrows, and then flip my hands over like, "Whatcha gonna do about that?"   He scrunches his face and shakes his finger.   I point to myself, and raise my eyebrows again.  He raises his shoulders in like, "Ok, if you want it..."  I stab his chicken and take it to my plate.   It's good.  I eat all of it.  I give him my wilted salad as a trade, because for some reason which I don't get, he had devoured his. 

I finish eating China-man's chicken and say, "Thank-you," with a big smile, tapping my stomach like I'm full.   He laughs.   Just then, I see another chuck of chicken move into view.  Arab-man shakes his chicken off of his fork and onto my plate.   He smiles and I smile.   I say, "Thank-you," again...I mean everyone knows "thank-you", right?  I cut his chicken off the bone.  It's good.  I eat all of it. 

I'm full of chicken--haven't really eaten much else for the meal, and feel proud of myself.  I'm gonna kick this burn.

After our trays are gone, my arm begins to talk again.   But then, a few seconds later, Arab-man begins to talk too!   In ENGLISH!  He askes me where I'm going.  I say, "You speak English?!"

"Little, little," he responds.

I think, 'Whatever,' and then I say, "No, big big.  You speak big, big!"

He does speak big amounts of English come to find out and we make small chit chat.  Now that we're talking, I the feel freedom to be curious.   I tell him I liked his prayer.  Then I ask him what he said.

He smiles at me like I'm a child asking where the sun goes at night, or why we have a belly-button or something basic like that.   But his answer reveals that my question is not basic. 

He says, "Hmmm, in English..." 

I wait for it.   "I don't know how to translate it," he says.   I say, "Can you try?"   He does work in his head, with his eyes up to the ceiling in thought.   But he comes back down and says, "I can't, its just impossible to translate."   I say, "Well what are you telling God?   Did you ask him for something?"   The Arab man says, "Well, it is a portion of the word of God, but I guess it was like thanking God for all He has done," and he paused, then added, "But you can't understand the prayer unless you say it yourself.  Its something in saying the words of God...I feel..." and he looked up to the ceiling again in search, "...at ease?  Is that how you call it?" 

I give encouraging nods, "Yeah, 'to feel at ease,' it means to feel at rest or to feel calm."  

"Yes," he says. "I feel at ease when I pray.  We say that when you say the words of God, that you come close to Him...or in English I think you say, 'draw near to Him?'"  I'm like thinking, 'Goodness, you know English BIG, BIG Mr. Arab-man.'


He finishes his sentence, "And when you draw near, you feel at ease."

I've wanted to ask these questions for a long time.   In Chad, there is an Arab culture which remained so much of a mystery to me.   The men say prayers publicly five times a day, and sometimes, at the six o'clock meds, the men would be in the middle of prayers, and I'd have to wait until they were finished before administering meds. 

Without knowing Arabic, there didn't seem like there were ways to connect to that culture--they are such shy people, private people, and it seemed that they had more inhibitions than the Nangjere people.  They hid their children from pictures, avoided touch, and instead of persisting through verbal language barriers, the Arab people would typically withdraw from me and never tap into the other forms of communication that CAN bring so much connection--touch, smiling, laughing, charades, sign-language.  

He asks me how much I know about Islam--and then we have the most open honest conversation about Islam that  I could have imagined.   I feel free to ask questions, to admit I don't know much.  He feels free to tell me what he believes.   In fact, at one point, I ask what Mohammad's main message to the people was.  He says, "Well, he came to tell us the way to heaven."   Arab man goes on, "If you want to go to heaven, you must believe two things,"  and as he says this, he gauges my reaction.   I encourage him with more nodding.  He says, "You must believe in one God.  Not two, and not that God is three people, not that God had a son, but that there is one God."  Then, he said, "And you must believe in Mohammad and everything he said."   It is at this point that I can tell his eyes are seeing me as simply a "Christian" and assumes all our differences and all of my beliefs he believes must go along with the label which he knows.  It's also at this point though that he smiles, and says with the most sympathetic and cute smile, "Sorry, but that's the truth."  I assure him that I'm not offended that he had just assumed I was going to hell....and we laugh at the honesty which has been so present between us.  He continues and explains how women are precious and to be cherished and valued, he explains his view on personal prayer, he asks why Christians hate Muslims, he tells me he believes in what Jesus said, and what Moses said.   He finds common ground, but also is not afraid to break ground.   I feel the same.

During our descent, I pull out my prayer journal, which I'd been writing in during our ascent.   I flip to the prayer I had just written out.   Part of is said, "Lord, I'm trying to make you the center of everything, but I keep on failing.   I need You to teach me how.  Please show me more of yourself."  I show this to Arab-man.   I tell Him that our conversation has been inspiring to me--and that I feel that God is still teaching me and that he had been a part of that there in the airplane.   Arab-man is so encouraging.  He tells me, "Don't learn about God through Muslims, or through Christians, but go to the source.  Many people's behaviors are deceiving."

I want to learn Arabic.  I'm inspired by the way God is permeating every minute of Arab-man's day--by the way he remembers him five times a day in prayer, by the way which God is involved in his conversations, and by the honesty with which he shared.   I'm not on the same page as Arab man in many ways--its just that our experiences of God are different.  But someone recently reminded me that when you enter a kingdom from the east, west, north, or south gates, each view is going to look different, but you're all still seeing the same kingdom, and you've all four got a whole lot of exploring of the grandeur to do.  

awake yo!

PHOTOS:
1. aaron, emily, armelle, ugga, goma, koumatei, pabris, and crispen  2. day one of arm burn (gross!)  3. i love this girl!
my body clock is still outta wack i think--slept from eight to now, and now i'm wide awake!  i am so tempted to go hiking in the snow!!! but i'm too scared!  someone come with me!   drive to my house and come with me!

times when the drums are silent.

PHOTO:  ESTHER BLOWS AT TRICK CANDLES.
Alex forgot to bring a watch to Africa (I did the first time I came 
 to Chad too! hah) She told me that you can tell the time of the
 night by the village drums. If drums are still going, it could be 
 midnight, one, or maybe even two. If the drums are silent, its 
 probably more like 3, 4, or maybe even five in the morning.
 
 Last night, the drums were the most discouraging sound. They felt 
 like a beat that was saying, "Morning will never come! You'll be 
 lying there forever." I was just in so much pain--on top of my 
 burns, I had an incredibly achy fever and my nerves were all on fire.
 
 We were making bean patties for Esther's birthday party. She had 
 never had a birthday party--in fact, she knew she was born in 
 December, but she didn't know what day. We asked Jolie and she did 
 some thinking and remembered it to be the fourth--which was last 
 Saturday. For her birthday, I wanted to make bean patties, sweet 
 chapatis with lozea sauce. It was going to minimal, but we were 
 going to celebrate to the maximum. Tony was going to bring a banner 
 that said, "Happy Birthday!" Mounden said we'd dance. I had invited 
 alot of her friend. And Shade and Alex said they had some little 
 gifts they could bring for her.
 
 Anyway, I had pounded the beans in our African pounding bowl, and 
 mixed them with Alum. I had fried up some onions and began cooking 
 the beans in a regular pot when Alex suggested that the pressure 
 cooker would save us a lot of time. We let the beans cook in the 
 cooker for probably an hour and then let out all the steam until
 nothing else was coming out. We kept pushing it but finally we just 
 assumed it was all out. I should have known though because there 
 were bits of bean mush coming out of the top of the de-pressurizer 
 hole. I think the beans had expanded so much inside that there was 
 no more air, but still so much pressure. Anyway, I tried sliding it 
 open, and it slid ok at first, but then felt like it got stuck. It's 
 a hard little seal anyway--we always have a little trouble opening 
 it, so Alex pulled at the top handle and I grasped the bottom. But 
 it was kind of awkward for us both to do it, so I took it and opened 
 it myself. That's when it exploded.
 
 Beans flew all over us. It was hard to register what was burning 
 really. We ripped off our shirts because the beans were so close 
 against our skin. Alex and I shoved our faces underwater, but 
 realized it wasn't enough. We needed more water. Because we were 
 cooking in a little side apartment, we both jumped in a shower
 spicket that was in the bathroom. Those next thirty minutes were 
 incredibly painful.
 
 It was hard for Phil and Shade I know. Of course Phil stayed outside 
 the bathroom so all he could hear was us crying--but when we needed 
 him to call Wendy, to get us the phone, to get us cold water from 
 James' house--he was on it. Shade was awesome too and helped us so 
 much. At one point, when the water was just too painful, Alex and I 
 stepped out of it--kind of dazed and crying, and Shade made us get 
 back in--which was the right thing to do, but we were in too much 
 pain to want to do it. She really acted quick and mindfully.
 
 At one point, in the long thirty minutes of shower and pain, it hit 
 me like a ton of bricks and it was probably a combo of physical pain 
 and emotion that brought it all to an intensely broken heart It was 
 a very, very similar wave of internalization as what I felt when I
 got word that my African sister Dinga died over a year ago.. It was 
 the way that something personal can make everything that is distant 
 and universal, personal and internal. I instantly thought of my 
 little brother Gabby--of the way he was burned--full body over, 
 during the year and a half between now and my previous visit. I 
 began to visualize the trauma of that exact moment for all the other 
 families who go through burns--and those who run water over their 
 small children or their siblings. When Samedi told me Gabby's story, 
 he motioned holding little Gabby in his two hand, and dunking his 
 little body in baths of water daily--washing with soap and then 
 applying the bandage. Every morning noon and night, Samedi had to 
 change the dressings---for weeks he did this. And he commented, 
 "But Gabby was so strong, and would barely give a little cry every 
 time we had to bathe him or reapply zinc oxide." I can't imagine 
 that moment for a father--where every morning you dip your little 
 grandchild in a basin of water to wash his burns. Oh man, its just a 
 heavy image.
 
 The portion of my face that was burning was fairly small, but for 
 some reason brought all these images of deformed and malformed faces 
 that I've seen here--like the image of the woman the just that 
 morning for whom we weighed the big sack set on her head which she 
 was taking to sell at the market--she had a massive tumor on her 
 face, and yet a huge smile--there was no shying away from me, no 
 shame or hurt pride--just a woman who was working out of her
 circumstance and really being herself, despite how herself had been hurt.
 
 Something personal makes everything that was simply just a distant 
 and universal thing--personal and internal, doesn't it? And our 
 heart experiences a break we don't anticipate or expect.
 
 It's 3 am right now. There are no drums and I'm beginning to think 
 that Alex's way of telling time is pretty accurate. My burns are
 really painful still and its been just impossible for me to 
 sleep. We've been here at Gary and Wendy Roberts' home in the near 
 village of Bendelay--trying to keep the burns out of the dust and 
 dirt. I have a flight home tomorrow--there is just no way my body 
 will heal from these larger burns here in these conditions and in the 
 state of nutrition I'm in. I can't express the amount I want to say 
 thank-you to Wendy. While Alex and I have been recovering, Wendy has 
 been making us food, three times a day, and its been really good 
 food--proteins (pigs in a blanket, peanut milk, almonds, banana bread 
 with walnuts), fruits and veggi's (salad, squash, prunes, bananas, 
 canned mango spread), milk--everything. She's made tea compresses to 
 put across our burns, applied zinc oxide, and given us clothing that 
 would rub on our burns less--everything she could do to help. I
 don't know what we would have done without her.
 
 Yesterday, Jolie came here to Bendelay to see me. It was a really 
 meaningful time, and as I tried to write it out, its another of those 
 things I can't make mean what it means by putting it in words. So I 
 end up explaining that I don't have the words, and I guess I leave it at that.
 
 Last night I went back to Bere--pretty much to spend a bit of time 
 with my family before I left and to gather my things/give them my 
 things. It was so hard to tell them I was leaving in ONE DAY. They 
 looked at me like I had betrayed them or something. I kept running 
 it through my head what my dad had told me, "It will be just as hard 
 for them as it is for you, Emily." And so I flipped it in my head, 
 their looks that I almost took as betrayal, as just a whole lot of 
 care. And Samedi assured me that it was good that I was going 
 home--that I needed to heal.
 
 We immediately shifted the mood though and I reminded them that this 
 tea project which we had started was not going to go 
 unfinished! Everyone got excited and ready to go on it. Jolie left 
 right away to the market, to go buy more lozea tea and ginger to add 
 in each bag. When she got back, we began filling the bag with the 
 pounded tea. It smells SO good. It tastes SO good. I can't wait to 
 share it with you all. We got a system going: Mounden and Esther 
 filling the bags. Salmon, Izeedoor, and Jolie tieing them shut. Me, 
 I was cutting string to a good 9 inch length. Oh, and then there 
 were all the other siblings crowding around, and receiving big 
 scoldings from Jolie, telling them they were "little" and "dirty" and 
 that they would "make the tea dirty!" Hah, don't worry, none of them 
 were offended, they just pressed in more. We had so much fun sitting 
 and making tea bags.
 
 At one point later in the evening, Jolie asked me if I wanted to eat 
 some boulle (that big ball of rice). I said, "sure." While she 
 went to get it out of her hut, I ran and got the trick candles which 
 I had been planning on putting on Esther's birthday "cake." When 
 Jolie brought the boulle, I went into the cooking hut and lit one of 
 the candles on some coals that were still lit. I shoved some random 
 number of candles into the boulle and carried it out to Esther. Phil 
 was there too, and so we sang happy birthday in English, which they 
 probably had never heard, and it probably was funny to them--no, I 
 know it was funny for them.
 
 With the whole family crowded around, I said, "Esther, go like
 this!" and I motioned how to blow them out. "You must get them 
 all! Don't leave any on fire!" Esther blew, but three stayed 
 lit. The whole family goaned and boo'ed. She tried again, and 
 again, but could not get the candles to go out! Finally, Wiejba
 pressed forward and said he'd do it. Jolie hollered, "No! It's not
 your birthday!" haha He went for it anyway, because Esther was all 
 out of breath. Each time Izeedoor would get them all out, make some 
 comment about how it was finished, and then a second later one or two 
 would jump back on fire and everyone would laugh again! It was so 
 fun, and there were wax streams running down the side of the boulle.
 
 My arm bandage had unravelled by this point--all my burns were 
 totally open to the air and the dirt--really beginning to throb. I 
 knew I needed to get home. I gave my clothes to my sisters. I gave 
 Jolie my blanket and my pillow. I left Esther my watch, and Salmon 
 my paint set. I gave away everything--which felt really good. I set 
 a few things aside for Samedi, including a bottle of IbProfen--but 
 Jolie said, "No! Don't give it to Samedi! He will give it to every 
 sick person who comes to our house with a headache, and there will be 
 none for us!" haha
 
 In a couple of hours, my brother Tony is going to come pick me up on 
 the moto from Bendelay. We'll take a family photo before the kids 
 go to school, I'll pick up the tea and my bags (they gave me their 
 pounding bowl and a chicken cooking pot!), and then we'll all say 
 goodbye. I feel like I needed more time--this is all happening to 
 fast, like we're battling the rate of infection. And while I get so 
 upset that "this accident arrived," as the Chadians have been saying, 
 I have to remind myself that it was a privilege to even be able to 
 come at all--such a gift to me.
 
 I miss them already--wow that sounds cliche, doesn't it? But its 
 more like, I know exactly what parts I'll miss--or like I appreciate 
 certain things about them SO MUCH right now that the fact that I know 
 that we'll be apart, it already allows me miss them...does that make sense?
 
 Thanks for your prayers, your letters, your thoughts, and your friendships,
 I'm excited to see all of you,
 and I'm bringing home a lot of tea--be ready to drink with me!
 
 Love. Emily

massage.

PHOTO:  JOLIE AND EMILY, PREPARING CHICKEN 
I love having Alex close by and the fact that I can skip on over and 
 lay out on her family's big mat with her--we can talk for hours. We 
 happened to feast on some oily rice and a chicken leg tonight. We 
 really know how to strip the bones I tell ya, sucking on the joints 
 and pulling the meat out from between what I imagine is the tibia and 
 fibula of the little hen.
 
 We watch the mass of stars while we talk--its like watching a hockey 
 match or something, the way that the shooting ones fly around. I'm 
 pensive when I'm there--and all soft parts of my heart become pillows 
 for Alex's thoughts. Oh but its not just me, she also takes all MY 
 burdens and listens, cares, and feeds back. I'm so glad to have her 
 and Phil here--they're really special people.
 
 Feeling ready to go home, I get up and walk back to my place. I come 
 home and crash on the family mat--it's burned on one side from the 
 fire that recently started in Esther's hut (that's a story in 
 itself--a lot of my family's clothes were burned but all the children 
 were pulled out, only a few minor burns). Jolie is there and I crash 
 down beside her legs. She's sitting in her favorite position, the 
 one where her legs make an 10 o'clock 2 o'clock angle in front of 
 her. I lie on my stomach, lie my head on my crossed arms, and bury 
 my face in my fleece (yes, I'm wearing a fleece, call me 
 habituated). Just then, Jolie says, "Oh your body is tired, 
 Emily! It's hurting you?" I don't even have a chance to answer, 
 she's just starts massaging my back. She massages like no one ever 
 before--in big deep strokes across my back. I think it's because her 
 hands are SO strong--they're so tough and accustomed to holding heavy 
 loads, carrying heavy buckets, and holding hot things. I 
 immediately exaggerate how nice it feels and the boys are dying 
 laughing at Jolie--at her pure assumption of permission to handle my 
 body like that. I love it when she pretends to ignore laughter--when 
 she keeps doing what she is doing besides all the people 
 laughing. But I know she is encouraged to make them laugh harder, 
 because she immediately moves to massaging my butt. They laugh so hard.
 
 And this may seem odd, but her release of the social barriers is part 
 of what tells me I'm family.
 
 When someone lets you in on a secret.
 When someone lets you see them crying.
 When someone makes a fool of themselves.
 Yeah, its those times that we're so very in the hands of another--
 we''re certain we're close and we're certain we belong.
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luxury.

PHOTO:  WOMAN WITH CHILD ON FRONT AND BACK.

We get to the main road--trickle out on to it by means of some tiny 
 cow path which we've been following for some time. Our feet have 
 been breaking through the light whisps of grass that lay over the 
 trail--Alex and I both love the brush on our ankles. We've been 
 talking for hours. We've crossed burned rice fields--ones that look 
 like ocean bottoms--so bare and barren. We've been lost. We've swam 
 in a river. We've contemplated hi-jacking a dug-out. We've 
 followed close behind a cow drawn cart for a mile--across rough bean 
 fields. The cart's loose metal wheels have been crushing some 
 strong scented plants--making the desert smell like the 
 mountains--Alex and I both notice it. Mayyyyybe we've been 
 happier...I don't know. Maybe. But THIS is a different kind of 
 happy. It's contentment and satisfaction--a feeling of luxury in the 
 least luxurious place.
 
 On the main road, we meet up with two girls who are not much 
 different in age than us. They have babies on their backs and say, 
 "Mn Sai Ca Mnda?!" Where are you coming from? Then they look down at 
 our feet--all bare, and our hands--so barren. We don't look prepared 
 for a trip and they wonder what we're doing way out there. I say, 
 "On Sai Ca Copka!" We are coming from the river. They do the 
 African, "Hyyyyy!" expression, and repeat, "Copka?!" The 
 river?! One girl feels my hair and says, "You washed your hair and 
 everything!" Then they ask, "Where is your moto?! You didn't come 
 this long distance with LEGS, did you!?" Yes! I tell them. They 
 ask us why we didn't take a bike, or a car. They tell us to put on 
 our shoes RIGHT THIS INSTANT (I added that last part--because I can't 
 convey tone in email. They were not kidding!) They think we're 
 crazy. They joke, "Take our babies, attach them to your backs, we're 
 tired!" I turn to Alex, "Wanna carry their babies?" Alex of course 
 says, "Yes I want to carry a baby!" I tell the women we will do it 
 and reach to untie one of the babies. They look shocked, and start 
 to laugh so hard. She was kidding, was she? Well...she better not 
 kid about her kid--we like her kid. We want to carry her kid. They 
 think we're crazy but keep us company until Casera, a little village 
 about 5k from home. They turn in and we keep going.
 
 We end up finishing the last few miles in the dark, still barefoot, 
 and passing only a few people. At one point, we stop, look around 
 us, and we can't see any light, any person or any form of habitation 
 other than the road we're on. We've got so much space, so much freedom.
 
 Someone inquired about how we live in America the other day. They 
 said, "Is it true that you have so little space in America that you 
 have to live on top of one another?" I laughed, "Yeah, sometimes 
 there will be house after house after house stacked up to the 
 sky!" The person bragged in response, "Here, in Africa, we have so 
 much space." It's true, I thought, what luxury in a place not at all luxurious.

film. enjoyment. cartwheels.

PHOTO:  GOMA AND PABRIS.

The film is really coming along. Phil heads up the project and I'm 
 like the translator with really bad grammar. It's been really 
 fun--but Phil, he's capturing things that I can't wait for you all to 
 see. It's beautiful--some of the footage. Yesterday, Pabris, my 
 little brother here, told Phil, "Film this!" And then he proceeded 
 to drag a shoe on a long string all through the huts and 
 passageways. Phil followed the shoe with the camera down low and 
 followed Pabris, and the footage is enough to make me realize that 
 enjoyment is 99% attitude--and 1% activity. Tomorrow morning we do 
 an interview with Jolie about a couple different topics. Then we 
 also asked her to do her cartwheel--she does an awesome 
 cartwheel. When I asked her if we could do some filming in the 
 morning, she said with a sly look, "Emily, I need food if I'm going 
 to work." She went on to say that if we brought her porridge, gato 
 and tea, and that if she could eat those first and be full--that 
 she'd be ready to work. Hahah She's so fun. I wish you all could meet her.

whispering your warning.

 PHOTO:  BIKERS.
 Mounden came and found me over at the side house and told me that 
 there was, "really good goat at home," and that I should go and fill 
 my stomach like his. Haha I went home to find everyone playing 
 games. Clapping games and a game I can't wait to play with you 
 friends at home. When the games stopped, Esther pulled out a ball 
 of rice and some goat sauce. I ate it with Phil who happened to be 
 there filming my family. When we were done, we walked back over here 
 to send some emails. Pabris, who is five or so now, came too. As I 
 write, he's sitting on the mat drawing and eating a granola bar that 
 my mom sent me. On our way over here, he held my hand and WHISPERED 
 all his words, I'm not sure why. But half way over, I hear a little 
 whisper, "Velo!" which means bike! Just as he said it, the man 
 swerved from hitting us in the dark and hit a big pile of sand 
 instead. I whispered, "Desole!" Kind of like a combo between, 
 "That's too bad!" and "I'm sorry!"
 
 I asked Pabris, "Why are you talking so quietly?!" haha 

not really a big animal person.

PHOTO: CHADIAN CAMELS ON THE WAY TO N'DJAMENA.
We've been taking care of James' animals while he's been gone. Alex 
 has been nursing his crippled kitten back to health--the kitten fell 
 off of James' shoulder and the little guy got some brain bleed that 
 caused his back legs to stop working. Today, Alex said that the cat 
 was standing up--progress. Phil, Shade and I have been in charge of 
 the horses. We take them out to the fields and tie them up to 
 bushes....then we take them in at the end of the day. Anyway, 
 today, I brought them in alone--I easily brought the first two in, 
 but going for the third was harder. Phil had tied the horses rope to 
 this branch way up high--one of those over hanging mango 
 branches. I tried like jumping and grabbing the branch with one 
 hand--unsucessful. I tried jumping and grabbing with two hands--more 
 successful, but then the second I'd be hanging there by one hand, 
 with the other un-tieing Phil's knot, my hand would slip. I tried 
 like hanging from the rope and unweaving the knot while hanging from 
 it--stupid idea--obviously unsuccessful. Finally, I just unhooked 
 the horse from the rope and held onto his harness. Left the rope up 
 in that tree. He kept trying to bite my arm as I trudged across the 
 field with him--and while last time I was here, I rode horses all the 
 time--I'm just not feeling it this time. I think Ansley made me 
 gutsier last time. 
 

name.

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I have found no prettier place than whatever the surroundings of the place you're at when you feel some kind of grace lift off some kind of realized weakness--you feel some sense that despite the fact that you see parts of yourself that are less than those around you, less than pretty, less than what would be best, less than nice, patient, or selfless--you feel GRACE to let go of the moment where you were mean, where you were impatient, you were selfish.  Maybe you find COURAGE to apologize for it, but you find GRACE to claim that your name is not MEAN, its not IMPATIENT, it's not SELFISH, and that you can act differently the next time.  And I've never heard God call me by name--but His call always sounds personal--in the language of wind and stars--morning smoke, and sleeping baby.  Goodnight family and friend, I love you all, Emily

i'm afraid of you because I don’t know you.

PHOTO:  BABY BROTHER GALAS, AFRIAD OF ME AND COVERING HIS EYES.
Running out down the trail, I feel like I'm trying to shake off all sickness and weakness.   Running itself is an act of running away from this deteriorating health which I've been finding my body accepting--it doesn't matter which way I go--as long as I'm moving.  The village yells, "Lapia" to me--I literally mean the whole roadside--everyone is so friendly--everyone will offer a smile--a greeting, if your eyes are ready.

I come to a big tree--bigger than any tree I've ever seen in Chad.  Its branches are thick, like flexing biceps and I just stand underneath and look up at it.  When my head comes back down to the road, there are many little eyes, moving via bodies, towards me.  I connect to them, and they totally ignite--begin to fly via those bodies, away from me.   I scream, "Laja Muta?!"   What are you afraid of?!   Bodies stop--eyes still look wild.  I take slow steps.  These children are more afraid of me than any I've ever met.   They pace backwards at my same pace.  So I stop.  "Laja oneng waymutta?"  You are afraid of me--why?  I take another step forward.  They stay.  Another.   I stick my hand out and say, "Lapia."  It's like magnetic repulsion.  4 of them fly backwards, 3 stay put.   Only 1 brave one comes forward--takes my hand.  We greet and he intently watches our hands connect, as if its I'll light him on fire of something.  We don't explode, and that makes the 3 come forward, and the 4 stay put.   I say, "See, don't be afraid."   Of the 4, three come forward and one, as I encourage him forward, RUNS FOR HIS LIFE.

We're all in a group now.   I can ask again, "Why are you afraid of me?"   They look shy and say, "Don't know."
I pinch up my skin and ask, "Is it this?"  One kid takes the liberty to go ahead and pinch my skin too, since I'd offered it.  The others laugh.  They know that's silly.   They don't know why they are afraid.   We don't know why we are afraid, do we?

I say, "I'm going running.  You want to come too?"

They all want to.   Even the one who had run for his life.

We run and everyone stays behind me, which I hate--wish we could run more side by side, but everyone is keeping me in eyesight--there's still no trust.  We stop and do jumping jacks--well, I do jumping jacks--they flail!   I remember trying to teach kids jumping jacks here before--arms at side, legs together, arms up high, legs apart.  But then when I speed it up, they just forget my instructions and flail--which is just as good an exercise.

We keep running.  Two boys holding these ropes guide us on which trails to take--I can tell they are turning our run into a way to get their chores done--I ask them if we are going to get their cows from the fields--"Yep."

The 4, the 3, and the one--all of them trust now.  In fact, the one is at the front of the pack.  Saying good-bye, I shake each of their hands with that "fiery hand-shake"--"Merci Koma, Merci Quia, Merci Quia, Mercy Koma."  Thank-you to you girl, and to you boy, and to you boy, and to you girl.   What am I afraid of anyway?   I don't even know.