February Fast

As one could easily imagine, being an American missionary in Niger comes with its share of challenges. It is difficult to love people you do not fully understand. It is easy to develop a fondness, even a strong liking, for people you can hardly identify with. But love is greater than liking and stronger than fondness. It encompasses more than just kindness and entails much more than generosity. As Christians we are called to love everyone, even our enemies. But how do we achieve love without liking, charity without condition?

It is understanding that facilitates love and it is experience that facilitates understanding. It is easier to love the womanizer and rapist if you have ever struggled with the same issues of lust. It is easier to love the anorexic and the suicidal if you have ever been repulsed by the mirror’s reflection. The murderer suddenly becomes lovable when you, too, are washing away the bitter taste of hatred. Experience leads to understanding, and understanding reduces the villains in our lives to mere humans and it transforms our nemeses into neighbors. It allows us to see people for what they are… a wonderfully and fearfully made creation.

In all of my travels I think Nigeriens are one of the more likable people I have encountered. However, this instant liking does not always evolve into love. Sometimes love is blocked by a lack of understanding. They come from a world that is truly foreign to my western expectations and experiences. There are three major experience gaps that have hindered my ability to understand the way they act and think. There is a gap in cultural experience. Regardless of tribe, their languages, foods, values and customs are distinct from those of Western society. There is also a gap in spiritual experience. Though “spirituality” is the salient trend in the States, there is an overwhelming disregard for and disbelief of the spirit world, even amongst evangelical Christians, that Africans embrace. And finally there is the tremendous gap in economic experience. Even the poorest Americans do not have to walk miles to reach the nearest water source.

Over the past seventeen months I have sought to overcome these gaps in understanding by having as many experiences as possible. I have had tremendous cultural experiences, embracing the lifestyles of the Gourmantche, Hausa, Djerma and Fulani. I have had unforgettable spiritual encounters that have allowed me to better understand and appreciate the difference in spiritual background. While I still have much to learn in these two areas, my experiences now allow me to better understand these foreign peoples. It is the third gap of economic experience that has proven the most difficult to overcome. The African paradigm of money use remains an enigma to me. And as a missionary working in business development, this is an area of understanding that is vital to the effectiveness of my work.

In order to overcome the gap in economic understanding I decided to subject myself to an experiment. If experience is our oldest teacher, then what better way to learn their financial mindset than to experience their economic condition? During the month of February I resolved to live off 50,000 CFA, or roughly $100.00 US. This is the base salary for a Nigerien pastor in the Assemblies of God. I also put several guidelines on the experiment. First, I would refuse all aid from expatriate friends. This included meal invitations, personal ride offers (i.e. not work related) and gifts of any kind. Invitations and assistance offered by Africans, however, were considered fair game. I also decided to pay 5,000 CFA rent for my room since this is the rate paid by other students in the dormitory. The only real difference in our accommodations is my air conditioning unit, which I decided not to use all month. And finally, per normal spiritual discipline, I would tithe 5,000 CFA. This left me with 40,000 CFA in walking around money for the month of February, which works out to less than $3 a day.

During the short month of February I learned a lot about money. I learned how simple life could be. I learned how to trust God for provision each time my budget exploded. I ate almost every meal and still lost weight. But, more importantly, I believe I have taken a few steps farther across the bridge that traverses the canyon of economic experience. I hope in this update to take you on that journey.

February Fast 2: Expenses by Category

Rent	5,000 CFA	$10.00
Tithe	5,000 CFA	$10.00
Food	14,825 CFA	$29.65
Motorcycle	19,100 CFA	$38.20
Bicycle	2,000 CFA	$4.00
Cell Phone	3,800 CFA	$7.60
Other	150 CFA	$0.30
	49,875 CFA	$99.75

February Fast 3: Consider the Birds of the Air

In the miraculous feeding of the 5,000, we often neglect the sacrifice made by the boy who offered his bread and fish. We look at his gift in anticipation of the miracle. But what about the moment just before the miracle? He had little, but what he did have he gave freely. He didn’t give expecting Jesus to multiply his lunch into a banquet. He had every expectation of eating less when he gave away his food. Yet he resigned himself to hunger, choosing obedience over a full stomach.

A budget can be a dangerous thing. It is wise to plan and prudent to prepare for anticipated expenses, but this month taught me the foolishness of putting total trust in good budgeting. For the first week my budgeting bordered on obsession. Every day I would make projections and, based on my projections, calculate how much I could afford to spend on food that day. But, no sooner was every franc mentally accounted for than some incident blew my plan to smithereens.

There were some things in my budget that were fixed, and others could fluctuate. I knew I would spend about 4,000 on phone cards, so that was mentally accounted for. I had three village excursions planned, which I knew would demand about 15,000 in gas and oil for the motorcycle. I planned on using my bicycle for city commutes, cutting down on gas expenses. So in my mind I allotted 20,000 CFA for food, which broke down to around 700 CFA per day (roughly $1.40). That budget lasted less than 24 hours.

Riding on my bicycle to the Teague’s I noticed my front tire go flat. I pulled over at the nearest tire repair shop, expecting to pay around $0.50 for a patch. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just a puncture in the tube. The air valve had been ripped off, mortally wounding the tube. That meant 2,000 CFA for a new tube and a change to my per diem. I was knocked down to 640 CFA per day on food (roughly $1.25).

On the 6^th day of my experiment I had my first village voyage. I rode out to meet a group of men in Chileda who still had questions about Jesus following my last visit. After teaching on Jesus healing the paralytic in Mark 2 and answering questions, they implored me to return later that week. I had not planned to make another trip till the next month, but I felt I needed to respond to their request. Mentally I took another 3,000 CFA from my food budget, reducing my per diem to 530 CFA (roughly $1.06)

This mental accounting continued until week two. At this time I had started counting unforeseen expenses in terms of missed meals. Spending an extra 200 CFA meant missing a breakfast or lunch. Midway through my second week I was walking to buy a plate of rice and beans when I ran into my friend, Allie. I could tell by the way he greeted me that something was troubling him. Walking with me to the restaurant he started confiding his woes and asking for counsel. I felt compelled to invite him to eat with me. I knew full well Allie’s full stomach meant an empty stomach later that week. I decided to trust God, sure that I was following his prodding.

Never has my obedience to God’s direction been so immediately rewarded. After eating with Allie I returned to my apartment. On my way I ran into my friend Issoufou. He was carrying a sack of groceries and said, “Hey stop by the dorm tomorrow afternoon. I’m going to fix lunch and want you to come join me.” Just like that the hole in my meal schedule was filled. It was even more remarkable because, until that day, Issoufou had never invited me to share a meal.

I know this is a simple example of the Lord’s provision. But in February I learned just how much generosity is magnified when the means are minimized. In January, offering a friend a plate of rice and beans would have been no sacrifice at all. In February it was a leap of faith. In January, a lunch invitation would have been a nice gesture. In February it was salvation.

After that lunch invitation, the mental budgeting did not completely stop. I still made per diem calculations to keep from overspending. However, I stopped trusting in my budget to get me to the month’s end without going into the red. I trusted God to provide. This is an easy task when there is money in the bank and groceries in the fridge. It becomes a serious exercise when money runs out and the pantry is empty. Can God provide? Will he catch me when I fall? It is only by leaving behind our parachutes and taking away our safety nets that we will ever know for sure.

February Fast 4: Silver and Gold have I None

Much is made of the indignant reaction of the scribes when Jesus told the paralytic his sins were forgiven. But what of the four men peering through the hole in the roof? What were their reactions in the moments between the proclamation, “Your sins are forgiven,” and the ensuing command to, “Rise, pick up your bed and go home?” They had not carried their friend for miles in search of salvation. They had not fought crowds and vandalized homes hoping for forgiveness. They had sought the Jesus who made the lame to walk and the blind to see. To those men the forgiveness of sins must have sounded like a bitter refusal of what seemed to them to be the more salient need.

When Nigeriens see white skin what they really see are dollar signs. It is the status symbol equivalent of driving a Mercedes. Walking through the markets I am instantly profiled and shopkeepers mentally add 50% to their normal asking price. Even the children in my neighborhood, who see me walking to the baker’s almost every morning, never tire of asking the Anasara (white boy) for a handout. They know who I am. They know I live in a modest apartment and drive a motorcycle. Yet they can’t dissociate the connection between white skin and money. This racial profiling is a mild nuisance in the neighborhood. It can grow to tremendous frustration amongst price gouging vendors. In evangelism, however, it can inflame into a curse.

During my first visit to Chileda my friend, Allie, had told me that he had accepted Christ as his savior. He told me there were at least 10 others in the village that had made similar confessions thanks to my evangelistic efforts. It was Allie who implored me to return within the week to meet with him and the other new believers. Greatly encouraged, I agreed to return despite the strain it put on my already tight February budget. As a result my friend and Fufulde interpretor, Alzouma, and I rode out to Chileda early that Thursday morning. We rendezvoused with Pastor Lawali at the town square and waited for Allie and his friends to come.

Allie was the only one who came. Not wanting to waste the morning (and the fuel that had brought us there) the four of us found a tree nearby where we could sit and talk. I shared from John 3 about Nicodemus and being born again. By the time I finished sharing three other villagers had taken seats to listen. Lawali, Alzouma and I then took turns sharing our personal testimonies. We then asked Allie when he first accepted Christ and what inspired him to do so. He said that he had accepted the first day I preached by the flooded road and that it was my sermon that had inspired him. What then followed this awesome and encouraging time was a series of events I will never forget:

“So when do you think you will be able to come back?” Allie asked.

“Well, I have a busy schedule this month but I am already planning to come back March 5^th,” I responded

“Well, all of us work in the fields and some of our fields are far away,” Allie explained. “If we do not know you are coming it will be difficult for us to meet with you. That’s why some could not come today. You should call me to let me know so I can tell people.”

“Ok, what is the phone number I can reach you at?” I asked, pulling out my phone to type in the number.

“Oh, I don’t have a phone,” Allie said. “You need to buy me a phone,” he added.

“I’m not going to buy you a phone,” I said. “I don’t have the money to buy you a phone.”

“That’s not true! You have the money to buy me a phone. You just won’t. How can you expect a plant to bear fruit if you won’t water it?” he argued

Normally, he would be right. But this is February. So with a clear conscience I responded, “Honestly, I do not have the money to buy you a phone. And even if I did I still wouldn’t. I told you from the beginning that I came to share the Gospel, nothing else. If you are looking for money or gifts then you came to the wrong person.”

“Well, if that’s the case then I’m no longer going to follow Jesus. If you don’t give me a phone then Jesus and I are finished,” he concluded, clapping the dust off his hands for emphasis.

At this point the conversation took a turn I didn’t expect. The truth was spoken from the most unlikely of sources. One of the strangers that had come to listen stood up and started speaking:

“Don’t listen to Allie! He’s a liar! NOBODY in this village has accepted Jesus. We are all Muslims. Maybe some have questions, maybe some want to listen to your teaching, but NOBODY has accepted Jesus.” In my heart I knew his words to be true.

Allie, irate with anger, jumped up to defend his honor. “You lie!” he shouted back. “I have accepted Jesus! I believe in Jesus! If it weren’t for this cell phone business I would still follow him! It’s because of that that I stop following.”

“If that is the truth then you never really accepted. You never really believed. You just said you did so you could get a cell phone. You are nothing but a swindler and a con artist!”

Allie can no longer stand it. In a rage he charges the bystander, throwing punches with reckless abandon. A couple of stout blows are landed before the bystander realizes he’s in a fight and starts throwing punches of his own. Lawali and Alzouma and I, with the help of the other two bystanders, jump up to separate the two combatants. Eventually they are ripped apart, still shouting curses in Fufulde. Allie, between curses, manages to free his right arm and stretched it out toward the bystander with extended fingers, giving the Nigerien equivalent of the middle finger. The bystander, still being restrained, spits at Allie over Lawali’s shoulder and returns the gesture.

After much arguing, most of which I did not understand, Allie calms down and the bystander storms away. Allie then gets the guts to make one last request for a phone. This time I laugh. “I won’t give you a phone, “ I said. “But if you ever stop thinking about that and want to learn more about Jesus, I will be here to teach you. “ With that Alzouma, Lawali and I mounted our bikes and took the road home.

Peter and John once told a lame man to rise and walk. This man, however, had a different sort of blessing in mind. He was looking for money. The moment just before he was healed his solicitation of funds was refused. I wonder how he felt in that moment just before the miracle. Was he upset at the refusal? Was he mentally cursing Peter and John as a pair of self-righteous Jews who refused to help a man on hard times? While the man did not get what he was looking for, the gift he received was far greater than the alms he had requested.

It would have been far easier for Peter to drop a few coins in the paralytic’s palm. It would have required almost no effort and even less faith. But the immediate blessing would have come at the cost of the greater miracle. And on that particular day, the coin was not an option. What did it take for that man to walk? Nothing. Nothing was necessary. I don’t mean, “nothing was necessary” as in “it was not necessary for them to have anything.” I mean, “nothing was necessary” as in “it was necessary for them to have nothing.” Empty pockets were a requirement.

The streets of Niamey are literally crawling with widows, blind men, cripples and lepers begging for money. When I have money in my pockets these beggars can be seen as a nuisance. In February, when my pockets rarely held more than 500 CFA, these beggars ceased to resemble parasites. Even when being hassled for money, my empty pockets allowed me look past the open palm to the person extending it. I think it no small coincidence that the most ridiculous outburst I have ever seen following a sermon happened during the month of February. Any other time I would have been indignant with such a brazen request. I might have joined the bystander in labeling Allie a swindler and a cheat. But because I had nothing, because I could honestly say, “Nokia and Samsung have I none,” I felt no offence and less resent. I needed no defense because I had nothing to protect. I was not a wealthy man rejecting the poor man’s plea, insulted at the asking. I was his brother in suffering who could find no fault in his trying, laughing at the absurdity of the asking.

It’s hard to love people when you are constantly on the defensive. It’s hard to pray blessings on those you view with caution and suspicion. It was because I had no defenses and no suspicion that I left Allie with love, rather than bitterness, in my heart. I prayed for Allie the whole ride home. Maybe this is just the moment before his miracle. Maybe, like the four friends or Peter’s paralytic, he is only upset at what appears to be the denial of his request. Perhaps he will someday understand the blessing he was offered instead.

You Prepare a Table

Sitting on my motorcycle under the Saturday sun I listened to speech after speech praising the courageous soldiers who brought an end to President Tandja’s rule and his short-lived 6^th Republic. Al-Hassan and Al-Husseini, my twin companions, and I had ridden out to Rond Point de L’armée to witness the rally being organized in honor of Thursday’s coup d’état. We found ourselves on the fringes of a crowd that numbered well over 50,000. Men and women of all ages and all tribes came to celebrate what they considered the rebirth of democracy. The assembly encircled a 19-place van whose luggage rack held four speakers and a makeshift podium for the day’s orators. The leaders of the Supreme Council for the Restoration of Democracy, the interim governing body, were scheduled to appear, but had not yet arrived. In the mean time, each of Niger’s political parties expressed their pleasure in the coup’s success and their wishes for a speedy return to order. Many of the speeches were repetitive and redundant, but there was one statement that stuck in my mind:

“The 6^th Republic left just as it came; by force! It forced its way in through the back door, and through the back door it was forced out!”

He spoke well when he used the word “force.” I heard the force of which he spoke. There was no finesse to their tanks and no stealth to their cannon fire. Their force was deployed without hesitation or reserve. The sounds of their force shook the house where I had taken refuge.

At 1pm on the 18 of February I was at the Teague house, a Google Earth-measured ¾ mile from the Presidential offices. I had just finished changing the oil on their generator when Pastor Adamou, who had left only a few minutes prior, came running back through the gate warning us to go inside. Ten seconds had not passed before we heard the first cannons and machine guns. I ran to the front gate to pull in my motorcycle and lock the gate behind me. The dust flew in the street as husbands raced home to wives and fathers raced home to children. After locking the gate, I ran back into the Teague house, joining Brent, Shelley, Julie, Pastor Adamou, Dankarami and Pastor Terah. Each was shouting over the gun blasts into their cell phones, locating friends and family and cautioning them to stay inside. At the conclusion of each call, updates were shouted to the others in the room:

“Jeremy (my roommate) and the girls (Ashley and Amber Teague) are at Sahel! They heard the shots and are locking down the school!” exclaimed a very relieved Shelley.

“The dorm students heard the shots and are locked down!” came Brent’s update.

“Danika isn’t answering her phone! I hope she isn’t on her motorcycle!” shouted a very concerned Julie.

“I just called Moumouni (the day guard at Julie and Danika’s house) and he says they heard the shots and are locked in the house!” I added, seeing instant relief on her roommate’s face.

“Rodrigo and Juanita are safe at home!” came Shelley’s second update.

“Isn’t Rod supposed to be in Alambare till tomorrow?” asked Brent.

“Yeah, he said for some strange reason he felt the need to come back this morning. He just got in 30 minutes ago,” Shelley explained. We all stopped at this, acknowledging God’s protection and provision. We all knew that neither of those lovebirds would tolerate being separate from their other half during such a crisis.

By the time all friends and family were accounted for the Armageddon explosions had ceased. All that could be heard were the occasional spurts of machine gun fire. Dankarami and Adamou, confident that the worst was over, headed in the opposite direction of the battle to join their families. Our cell phones were put aside in favor of laptops, tapping out hurried messages to the loved ones in the states. After Facebook and Twitter had been sufficiently updated with our statuses and emails were sent to close friends and families, we all gathered around Pastor Terah. He was vigilantly scanning the radio. The first thing successful over throwers do is take control of communications. They broadcast their military march on all radio and TV channels before making a statement announcing their new regime. All stations were continuing with their normal programming. This, combined with the rattling gunfire, assured us that the attackers had not yet been successful.

After listening to the radio and spending some time in collective prayer, Shelley beckoned us to the table. “Lunch is ready,” she said. “Seeing as we can’t go anywhere and there is nothing else we can do, we might as well eat.” So we all heeded her call and sat down to a feast of pasta casserole complete with bread and salad. Brent prayed a special prayer of blessings and thanks before we started to eat.

That was one of the strangest parts of the whole experience. Not a mile from our location a battle for control of the country was unfolding, and we gathered around a table to eat. The dogs were barking at the sound of machine guns and we hushed them so we could eat in peace. We sipped sweet tea and passed the salad dressing while people died on the streets. We talked about the coup like it was something we heard on the news, but it was still happening. My problem was not a fear of danger or anxiety over the outcome. I was troubled that we were going on with ordinary life while extraordinary circumstances were afoot.

After lunch I spent some time alone in prayer. I could not shake the aftertaste of lunch’s situational irony. All of my thoughts on the subject led me to the same question: What is the appropriate response? After chasing all the answers down their rabbit holes, I arrived at a Psalm that most churchgoers will recognize.

Psalm 23

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in still pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

I have a new appreciation for David’s sentiments, which share the same irony as our lunch. I wonder how many times, while surrounded by the enemy, David and his men sat down to a meal. When the battle raged in the distance the Lord prepared a table. I wonder how many times David ate at the same table as those who conspired against him. In the face of sedition and mutiny the Lord prepared a table. Did David refuse to eat because his enemies were present? Did he fast because there was chaos all around him? No. With his confidence in the shepherd, David would sit and partake in the feast because “you prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.”

On February 18 those verses came to life in Niamey. While the army was forcing President Tandja’s regime out the back door, the Lord prepared a table for us. At around 5pm the fighting had waned to where Jeremy, Danika and the girls were able to make it home. That evening, to the sound of the military march playing on the radio, the Lord prepared a table once more.

The Lamb is Risen

Political cartoons are a fantastic glimpse into the public opinion. On Saturday the 20th, when I went to the rally for the new regime, copies of the cartoon below were being sold on every street corner. Before we get to the cartoon, however, you need a little history.

Last May, President Mamadou Tandja wanted to pass a referendum to amend the constitution of Niger. His second term as President was due to end on December 22 of 2009. The constitution at the time had a two term limit for the president, much like America's. Should the referendum be successful he would be allowed a third mandate of 3 years. Parliament ruled that such a referendum would be unconstitutional and therefore illegal. Tandja shocked the nation by dissolving parliament on May 26, 2009. His actions were condemned by the Supreme Court, which was swiftly dissolved as well. On August 4, 2009, the referendum for the constitutional amendment was put to a vote. It passed with 92% approval.

Everyone expected that December 23, 2009, would be a day of action and intrigue. Since December 22 was Tandja's last day in office per the old constitution, the 23 marked the birth of Niger's 6th Republic. The protestors rested and the demonstrators sat silent. On February 2nd Tandja issued the following statement in reference to the bygone 5th Republic during a radio broadcast:

"The lamb has been slaughtered. It is finished. Nigeriens who are outside the country have nothing more to wait for. They should return. The lamb has been slaughtered."

Now the political cartoon. Tandja is drawn on the right and the military leaders are on the left. The military men are saying, "You thought the lamb was dead. He has risen and his coming for you."

Tandja, who has left a shoe behind as he flees, is responding, "Oh no, I didn't do a good job of killing the lamb."

This is Africa

Africans have an unusual way of greeting you after returning from vacation. After spending a month in the states most of my friends and acquaintances welcomed me back with the same phrases:

“What’s the news from America?”

“How is the family?”

“You look refreshed. You have become young again!”

“Wow, home must have been good! You have gained so much weight! Really, you look great!”

To Nigeriens, a vacation’s worth is measured in pounds gained. Gaining weight is a compliment to the voyage. It shows that work was exchanged for relaxation and stress for indulgence. Like most compliments given in any culture, it can be used regardless of truth. Some people, particularly American women, have a hard time handling this compliment. I, on the other hand, embrace it. After all, it would be a terrible shame to come back to Africa from an American holiday lighter than when you left. Thanks to Slurpees, barbeque, burritos and the #1 combo at Chik-Fil’A, I successfully traded in my cares for a couple additional pounds.

I had forgotten how much social activity in America revolves around meals and beverages. I spent a lot of my time catching up with old friends at familiar restaurants. My daily routine was breakfast, then coffee, to lunch, afternoon coffee, to dinner and finally out for desert, usually with a different person/group of people at each place. While doing my restaurant and coffee shop circuit, most people would eventually ask how it felt to be back. I knew that it felt great to be in America, but I had the hardest time explaining why. Most people were ready to fill in the blank for me, noting that 15 months in Africa is a long time. The simple answer was usually the burger in my hand or the friend across the table. It was not until I returned to Niger that I was able to put my finger on the exact reason America was so refreshing.

When I started this blog I titled it “Fruit Growing in the Desert: Ministry in a Muslim Nation, Business in an Impoverished Nation.” The title shows my desire to encourage spiritual and economic growth in a country where it is so desperately needed. These are also the two areas where change is hardest to affect. Aware of the challenges, or at least aware that there would be challenges, I came to Niger with hope for change. However, as months went by that hope was replaced by an acceptance of the status quo, or what I like to call “DiCapprio Syndrone.”

In the 2006 film Blood Diamond, Leonardo DiCaprio damns the continent with three words:

This

Is

Africa.

This statement of defeat is used to acknowledge everything he knows needs fixing but will never be fixed. Outrage at government corruption, child soldiers, AIDS, starvation and a general sense of injustice are silenced with each repetition of “This is Africa.” Speaking as a resident of Niger, I can attest that this attitude begins to settle in with each month passed in Africa. The status quo becomes at first tolerable, then acceptable, and finally the standard. Hope for change still exists, but hope is slowly rocked to sleep with the gentle lullaby of “This is Africa.”

The best part of my month spent in America was that my hope for change was shook awake. This reveille was inspired by a variety of people and circumstances, but is ultimately boiled down to a fresh encounter with the power of the gospel. Can Africa change? I have to believe so. To deny Africa the possibility of change is to deny the very gospel I preach. To accept the status quo is to reduce Jesus to a teacher and the Bible to moral code. This is Africa… This is Niger… This is Niamey. Were it left up to men those places would be like the phrases in which they are mentioned: defeated and incomplete. But in Christ we have hope for change. We have hope that those places can be redeemed and transformed. Things will not always be as they have been. This is Africa… ready to be made new.