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.