Spilling the Beans

It was past eight in the evening and we were clearing away our supper dishes when there was a knock on the gate. Unlike British summertime, there are no languorous sky-streaked sunsets this close to the equator; here it's a quick nod and the sun is off to bed by about 6 pm - although sometimes this is preceded by a change of light so dramatic that it gives the place an almost radioactive glow for a few minutes. By night fall, the correct greeting will have changed to Jam hiiri (did you pass the evening in peace?), although very few people are out greeting at this time and there is a hint of suspicion about those that are.

So we were a little surprised to hear visitors rattling at our gate at this late hour and went to investigate. In the darkness I could just make out the figure of a girl, and lurking around the corner were two more. With an air of espionage she timidly approached and spoke quietly. I've read about this sort of thing with bible smugglers in China or Vietnam and prayer teams in North Africa, but never here in Djibo. It was quite exciting. What could they possibly need that required the cover of darkness?

Actually it was pretty simple. She wanted to know if her friend could join the Saturday morning sewing group that I have just started for surbaabe (girls aged from about 12 to 20). I was glad to welcome her along, of course, and was discovering that this under-cover-operation approach to asking was just one more lesson in my education in the perplexing habits of Fulani teenage girls.

I had decided to start the group the week before, after a group of neighbouring girls kept coming and asking if I would teach them to embroider. We had set a day and they were clearly looking forward to it and greeted me in the street a couple of days before confirming their excitement. I bought the ledde teme (wooden sieves used as embroidery hoops here), prepared the materials and a Fulani lady from church came along to help on the day. From ten until noon was the agreed time. We sat and waited for the group to appear but by half past eleven realized that no-one was coming.

As if this wasn't puzzling enough, I was further mystified by the cool reception when I visited the girls' yard to find out if there was a problem. I never did get to the root of it, but I suspect it may be due to pressure from their religious father not to be involved with Christian activities. It's a shame for all of us but not altogether surprising. We think the same thing is happening with the Thursday kids' club that we run; numbers have been dwindling and the other day a lively eight year old who has never missed a week came and said that she wasn't allowed to come anymore unless we were giving away free food. You can see how the term 'rice Christians' has derived.

Such frustrations are all "perfectly natural", according to my pseudo-psychologist husband, and will help give me character and hope, if the apostle Paul is to be believed. And I know that no one plants and harvests immediately – the process requires patience, if not always understanding. (Incidentally, I found Graham Tomlin's talk on Learning Patience very helpful, and would thoroughly recommend this and other podcasts from our home church, Holy Trinity Brompton, which can be downloaded for free at www.htb.org.uk/audio )

We may not get to harvest what we sow, but sometimes we may harvest what we haven't planted. One of our neighbours has recently started going to church with his children and I know that this is the result of years of missionary influence and God's timing; it's not been grown overnight. Even still, harvesting is the most fun, and there's nothing quite like holding your first fistful of beans.