Sulking & Milking

I've just passed the six month mark of being here in Djibo, and I have probably just officially hit level four of culture shock. I mean the one when everything seems more difficult and it feels like my sense of humour is hiding behind a cloud. So please excuse the rather sulky tone to this newsletter!

Of course, many things about living here have become easier since my arrival in November. I now know exactly where to buy groceries, how much a handful of aubergines should cost and what I can do with them. I can communicate, albeit basically, in Fulfulde. We have our own egg supply and a couple of kittens who are as entertaining as French & Saunders, which is good when you're living on the edge of the desert without a telly.

Other things have become harder – I miss having girlfriends with whom there is a mutual understanding. With local people it is hard to talk about anything much deeper than the weather or the washing with my limited knowledge of verbs and nouns, and some days it feels as though the omnipresent orange dust has finally filled my head where my brain should be. I think the sun's potency is enough to have even the hardiest of us English longing for the green grass of home.

I am ashamed to admit that while we live in Sector 1 of Djibo, surrounded by people who can barely afford to buy millet to make nyiiri for their family, millet makes my stomach turn; we live on pasta, meat and vegetables instead. I am supposed to be sharing the love of Christ with these people but we have so much compared to them, that I often feel no better than the rich man with Lazarus on his doorstep. I am frequently unsure of how and when to help. I want to create work and life skills for people, not dependency. I want them to see through us a God who loves and cares deeply for them, not just white tubaakus who give stuff away. It's a constant struggle to do the right thing.

The embroidery club is a success in one sense – seven ladies who couldn't sew can now embroider and one of them has just sold a piece of work locally. That's me with a group of them pictured here. Mariama (in the front row on the left), who suffers from a debilitating illness and finds it hard to earn a living, has appreciated being paid to embroider insects onto napkins for me – one quirky idea I am hoping will sell in the UK. It's been two steps forward and one step back a lot of the time though as I've had to redo some of her work myself.

I am happy to say that I am about to head to England for two weeks. As well as seeing family and friends, my plan is to approach some retailers, in the hope of getting commissions for the products I have designed that the ladies can produce. The new products will be on the Ladies of Djibo webpage next week if you would like to see them. I'd love your prayers for the success of this project please.

In case I've left the impression that I'm finding life here unbearable, I had better explain that there are aspects of it that are unbeatable – riding my pony out in the bush, the animals to-ing and fro-ing, bleating and crowing all day long (I helped milk a cow the other day) and the neighbours who always say hello. And when we fantasize about moving back to Battersea, the thing that pulls on our hearts the most is the fact that there are still hundreds of people here who have never heard about Jesus, who know nothing of the hope and freedom that comes with following Him. There aren't churches or Alpha courses here like there are at home; people don't realize they have a choice. As it says in Romans chapter 10v14, 'How then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them?'.

That's what keeps me going. Please pray for His grace and strength for me to do that.