Charlie's News

Digging It

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 18:57:00 +0000

For as long as I have known it, Djibo has always been orange. The houses are orange, the ground is orange and as a result my feet are often orange too. If left alone, the books on our shelves turn orange and there's orange between the letters on my laptop keyboard. It's generally a very orange place.

For this reason I have been quite excited about rainy season, as I am seeing Djibo in green for the first time. The dusty football pitch has turned into a cow pasture and the hills are alive with the sound of cultivating. There's quite a buzz in the air, and it's not just the mosquitoes. Rainy season is farming time and everyone and his donkey is out in the fields, planting beans, millet, corn and peanuts. There isn't a tractor in sight; this is all back-bending, hands-and-hoe work.

It was with a little trepidation, therefore, that I accepted my friend Dikore's offer to help work in the fields. "It's fun to give the white person a field to cultivate" she said. Fun, or funny – I'm not quite sure which she meant. This is a woman who pounds millet all morning, carries a two year old on her back and can walk miles with a bucket of water on her head. I get worn out watering the garden twice a day.

Nonetheless, I accepted and so have recently been out in the fields ploughing and scattering. I was amazed this morning as I rode out of town (I take the horse out to graze at the same time), at the number of people who knew I was going cultivating. If there was a local rag it would be in the gossip column "tubakku sows beans!"

As well as earning me a reputation, stomping around the fields in bare feet has given me a good workout, a farmer's tan and a lot of pleasure. It feels so…well, earthy. Meanwhile I am also learning more Fulfulde words, such as 'lamdam gertorde', which is a small grub and literally translated means 'salt for chickens'. I'm picking up other more useful words too, mainly about farming. Hopefully I'll soon have enough to tell the Parable of the Sower.

Language learning has really been my main focus of the last few weeks; I am now desperate to be able to communicate properly as I have so much I want to share and understand. I see the ladies from the sewing group regularly, although we only meet to sew together once a week now. We're going to start meeting in the shop so we can sell at the same time, but we're not expecting much business this month as most people are out in the fields. I have recently had some new contacts and ideas concerning working with more traditional crafts such as weaving and raffia-work which interests me greatly. More on that later!

Thanks for your prayers and emails, they mean a lot.

Back in the Saddle

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Sun, 29 Jun 2008 20:14:00 +0000

'Praise the Lord, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name. Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits - who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion, who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's. 'Pslam 103 v 1-5

This verse comes to mind when I look for some way to express how I'm feeling since my last sulky newsletter - much, much better!Thank you to anyone who prayed; I feel so different it is quite remarkable.

For two weeks in England, I nattered my heart out with friends and family, ate copious amounts of toast, bawled my eyes out in church and stocked up on books, DVDs and marmalade. My trip home came just at the right time. I feel refreshed, rejuvenated and ready to get back in the proverbial saddle. Hallelujah.

To our great relief, too, the rains started this week, and it is as though the baker has finally opened the oven door. The hens weren't quite so delighted to see their eggs floating around the chicken house, and the ground has turned into a mass of squelchy, slippery yet flip-flop-adhering mud, but it's great. Walking through the market after a downpour is a bit like competing in 'It's a Knockout' but without the goofy costumes.

Another door has opened, too, it seems, as the Ladies of Djibo have acquired a place to sell in the market. My sales efforts in England and on-line shop have been virtually fruitless, so the timing of this is spot-on. For now, I have decided to channel my efforts with the group into making business for them locally. I pray that it will be a success - they are mainly making disaaje at the moment - sarongs with colourful embroidered designs that the women use to carry their babies. Later on, I hope to teach sewing-machine skills so we can launch into children's and babies' clothes.

The Tuareg refugees that have set up camp on the edge of town serve as a reminder of how much we have to be thankful for. So what if my laptop has just packed up, and we have barely any vegetables to eat right now (being the end of dry season)? We have a house to live in and plenty besides. Most precious of all, we have the hope that is in our loving and compassionate God - and that's a hope that never disappoints us.

Sulking & Milking

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Tue, 27 May 2008 16:10:00 +0000

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.

Stars

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Fri, 25 Apr 2008 10:43:00 +0000

It gets dark early here in Djibo. By about 7:30pm every day, the sun has disappeared and so have all our visitors, back to their yards to eat Nyiiri and drink tea. The heat of the day has lost its edge, but being April, it is still like being in an oven - only with the grill turned off now. This makes sleeping indoors unthinkable, so we've been dragging a mattress outside and hanging a mosquito net from the washing line to sleep under. I never had any of those luminous star stickers on my bedroom ceiling, but I have thousands now.

I didn't have to look up too long, therefore, to find inspiration when I was invited to preach a couple of weeks ago. I kind of fell into it unintentionally when the ladies at church were given responsibility for the service one Sunday. It was a challenge (my French would still appal my A-level teacher) but quite a satisfying one. I took Philippians 2v14-16 as a starting point 'Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you make become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life…'

It's difficult to feel satisfied when there are hundreds of people around you who aren't hearing the message of the gospel. And I find it hard not to complain - especially when it is 42 degrees centigrade. However, I've been reading the biographies of Hudson Taylor, David Brainerd and Don Richardson lately and that helps me keep my perspective. At least the Fulani aren't head-hunting cannibals. If they were we probably wouldn't be sleeping outdoors.

Thankfully, the Fulani that I have come to know are much friendlier than Don Richardson's neighbours were. I now have ten ladies doing embroidery with me. We sit on the veranda in the afternoons and there is much laughter, although I gather that most of it is at my Fulfulde. If it's not me saying words that sound like something rude, it's my regular announcement at 6 o'clock that 'I'm finished'.

Their tenacity to learning has been impressive so far, but we're still a way from producing really good quality work. There is just one lady so far who has been embroidering sarongs that I am ready to sell. She is Haybata, pictured here wearing one of the sarongs she embroidered. If you would like to see the detail and colours of others, you can do so on the Ladies of Djibo webpage. I am selling them for ₤10 each (postage excluded) and would love to know what you think (or if you'd like one). I'm hoping to use some of the profits to start a market stall to help the ladies to sell their work locally. It's a small idea but one that I hope will make a big difference to this particular group of stars.

Pony Tales

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Sat, 22 Mar 2008 15:42:00 +0000

I've been dreaming of having my own pony for several years. Up until the age of 14, horses were my main obsession; my bedroom wall was plastered with rosettes and when I wasn't mucking out at the local stables I was reading Pony Magazine. At the age of 10 I was lucky enough to have my own, until GCSE's, boys and fashion put equestrian pursuits on the backburner, but I never stopped hankering after the beautiful quadrupeds. All the time that I lived in London and then in Cambodia, the longing was there but the horses were not.

I'm painting the picture so that you can understand a little bit of how utterly thrilled I am, therefore, to find myself living in a culture which has a rich equestrian heritage. Earlier this month, Steve and I travelled to the West of Burkina to spend a few days at a special festival for Fulani and their horses. The bumpy, arduous journey there was absolutely worth it; there were dozens of horses, hundreds of Fulani and more colourful tassels than at a Dolce & Gabanna fashion show. It was a real feast for the eyes, and a brilliant time of meeting new people who were fascinated to come across white people who speak Fulfulde (mine is still very basic, you understand, but Steve's fluency gained him instant local celebrity status).

Now we're back in Djibo and one of my dreams has become a reality, as we have acquired our own pony. Psalm 37v4 says 'Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart'. I've clung onto that verse through difficult times, but never thought that it would extend to God giving me a horse one day. But there are no bounds to His generosity it seems, and I thank Him every time I go out riding around Djibo – there are hundreds of kilometres of beautiful landscape here and nothing quite like exploring it on horseback. It is a wonderful way to go out greeting people too – the women and children have been particularly excited to see me riding, and a few have had a go themselves. Traditionally, equestrianism has been the preserve of the marabous – Fulani religious leaders, so it is the first time that most of them have ridden.

We've also been able to share this month from the fruits of our garden – the lettuces, tomatoes and eggs have been abundant, praise God. It has been a real blessing to have salad on tap, as hot season has now begun. As well as the soaring temperatures, the daily power cuts have been a challenge – early afternoon seems to be the worst time, when the heat seems to overwhelm all hope of achieving anything physical or brain-taxing.

So it is in the late afternoons that I have begun to run the embroidery club. So far, I have six students of varying levels of ability although most of them have never done any sewing before.
It has been a great way of making friends and improving my language – I now know many useful phrases such as 'keep it tight', 'they need to be all the same' and 'it's wonky'. I'm hoping not to have to say 'it's wonky' too much as it would be good to have some marketable produce soon. Hot season is also known here as hungry season, so I hope to be able to give them a means of earning an income to help them get by. For now, the women are enjoying learning and more are asking to learn every week. It's an encouraging start.

A Happy Easter to you all and your families.

Look Back In Wonder

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Wed, 20 Feb 2008 17:50:00 +0000

I'm not big on camels. They worry me, with their sheer size and legendary ability to scalp a man or at least spit at him. Nevertheless, I do admire them - from a distance. You see them often in Burkina, loping alongside the road to Djibo, a turban-swathed rider perched on top. Sometimes you come across them grazing out in the bush, doing their best to demolish prickly trees while pitifully hobbled. Or my personal favourite – pulling cart loads of people through the town, formidable as double-decker buses next to the usual donkey carts. I always give them a wide berth.

I was surprised, then, to find myself not in the least bit intimidated by the lofty giraffes of Niger. These elegant creatures are the last left in the wild in West Africa. Their snake-like necks, sloping backs and legs like sculpted bar stools give the animal an alien-like demeanour, which is enhanced by the pair of funny stumps between its ears. Maybe it's their huge almond eyes and long, feminine lashes (apparently used to protect their eyes from prickles) that make them seem friendly. Anyway – I was very pleased to come within just a few metres of them recently on a trip to Niamey.

I'm glad to be a missionary in Africa. The wild giraffes and camel buses are just part of it. Sometimes I wake up in the night and feel so happy to be alive that I can't get back to sleep. It's that serious. I guess that's how people like me got nicknamed happy-clappy. I don't mean that I go round smiling all the time and think that everything is great. To my shame I do grumble a lot and have moments of self-pity. But when I stop and think about my life with God, I get quite excited.

Mostly it's looking back that makes me reel. I became a Christian nearly six years ago, after I found myself in the most traumatic circumstances of my life. Since then, my life has been divided into two parts – before and after I gave my life to Jesus.

The catalyst for the big change of direction was when my ex-husband announced he was leaving me for someone else. It broke my heart. But that was just the last heavy straw. Before that I had been starting to wonder if there was more to life than met my eyes. By the time I reached 28, I had everything I thought I wanted – a rich husband, along with a house in London, a cottage in the country, a great job and designer shoes. But I had this haunting feeling that something was missing- something I couldn't quite put my finger on. So when I was suddenly and involuntarily faced with a big life change, I decided to make it a good one. I hated being miserable and wanted to find the key to happiness that didn't depend on my circumstances.

Christianity was the option I most wanted to avoid. I thought it was soft, and far too obvious. I'd much rather have found happiness through Buddhism or even better, no religion at all. So I tried to avoid it. But it kept coming up in ways that seemed weirdly supernatural, as if I was being called. If I was going to be genuine in my search, I realized I'd have to grit my teeth and give it a chance, so I went to church. Throughout the despair and pain of divorce, there was nowhere else that I felt as much peace as I did there, even though I didn't know anyone. Most Sundays, I would hide behind a pillar and quietly bawl my eyes out.

I look back and remember the pain. It was awful. But I know it was also one of the best things that ever happened to me, because it propelled me into the arms of the Lord. I gave up caring what people would say and how my credibility in the fashion industry would probably plummet. And it felt good.

It's since then that I've had this irrepressible sense of joy and peace. The two words sound like clichés that are smattered on Christmas cards, I know, and no one but Christians seem to use the word 'joy'. But there's no other word for it – it's deeper and more rooted than happiness. And it doesn't depend on circumstances to exist.

As far as circumstances go though, I know mine are good. I now have a wonderful husband, a home on the edge of the desert with a colourful people group, the privilege of working for the Lord and even the odd giraffe. I believe that God is real and He calls us to know Him, invite Him in and let Him show us life in all its fullness. It's a risk, but it's one I recommend taking.

On a Wing and a Prayer

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Thu, 24 Jan 2008 10:17:00 +0000

"He's in a bad way, I'm afraid", said Steve, carrying the patient across the bus station. Six hours of dust, fumes and bone-rattling on the road from Ouagadougou had clearly been too much. His head was limp, his whole body flaccid. We laid him out on the ground and a crowd gathered. Instinctively I stretched out my hand, gently laid it on his chest and prayed. As I did, he shuddered and took his last breath. It was a sad moment.

This was the first time that I've ever prayed for a dying cockerel and I hope it's the last. I suspect that Jesus didn't do it in His lifetime, but I'd heard about a sick donkey in Djibo who sprang to life when a local missionary prayed for it. Sadly it didn't work for this chicken. The man who helped us with our bags back to the house was pleased, at least. It was a big bird and enough to feed his whole family that night.

Thankfully, the other seven French hens were fine and have been settling in nicely to their new accommodation. It's a deluxe straw and wire-domed enclosure with ensuite clay waterpots for nesting. In a few weeks we're hoping to have eggs to share with the neighbours so we'll be able to return the gestures of milk and nyiiri that they have brought us frequently.

It's amazing how generous people with very little can be. It's easy to give away when you've got more than enough for yourself, and I've never been really poor. The testing comes for me when my supply of English chocolate is nearly up and we've got English guests (I'll confess now that I've failed badly in that area).

But in all seriousness, giving is a complicated issue. I'd be happy to hand out rice to everyone in the neighbourhood but it would create an unhelpful dependency, I'm told. So I've been wondering how I can best help those in need around me.

I believe that faith in Jesus Christ is the answer to personal and social transformation for the better. Without Jesus I'd probably still be wasting my life away, more miserable inside than ever. I'm so glad I'm not, and that's only by God's grace. Christ is so good that I am compelled to share what I know of Him with others. And unlike the chocolate, there's enough of Him to go round.

I'm not the kind of person to stand on a soap box and preach. And that would be an especially weird thing for a woman to do here even if I wanted to. I like the St. Francis of Assisi quote that went something like "Preach the gospel – use words if you have to". I do intend to use words (once my Fulfude is up to scratch) but I also want to live out the gospel – which means doing good, sharing my wealth, loving and living with integrity. I want to use the gifts that God's given me to bless others if I can.

I wish I could dig wells or perform life-saving surgery but that's not going to happen. An ex-fashion editor isn't the most likely candidate for benefiting a developing community on the edge of the desert, I know. But hey – God's creative and He knows what He's doing.

So I've got a plan brewing, and I'd love your thoughts on it. I'm going to set up a sewing club to offer to teach embroidery and basic sewing skills to local women who are interested. I have some ideas for some simple accessories – sarongs and bags, which I think would be fairly simple to market back in the UK, and I'll make sure the women get paid well for their work.

The club and label will be called Ladies of Djibo. I'm hoping to establish it as a local charity called The Ladies of Djibo Sewing Society, because it sounds kind of English-retro and I like the idea that it will be something sociable as well as income-generating for the women involved. I've started running up samples and sourcing local materials already…so any ideas are welcome! I'm excited about the plans – I thrive best when I am able to be creative and have a tangible task to work at.

Most days I am still in contact (via a very temperamental internet connection) with the Precious Girl Magazine team in Cambodia. Since I left last June, they've been carrying the vision forward and have been doing remarkably well. I still quality-check all of their articles before they go to press and help them with ideas. The 9th issue has just come out and they recently ran a high- profile dress design and song writing competition in conjunction with some other NGOs so the magazine is more popular than ever with Cambodia's garment factory workers. However, the project continues to exist while teetering on the edge of an empty bank account and so my prayers are frequently for its funding. They also need more staff – a Khmer writer and sales person to keep going. If you are at all interested to know more about the project or to help support it, the website is http://www.preciousgirl.co.uk/ . Since I left Cambodia, international support has been non-existent but their needs are as great as ever. It's hard for me knowing this – a bit like having a struggling grown-up child in another country. Praying for the situation seems to be the only thing I can really do now. I only hope it turns out better than it did for the cockerel.

Togo? Oh no!

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Mon, 31 Dec 2007 21:00:00 +0000

Well Christmas has been and gone and I'm sorry to say that I virtually missed it. My plans of nipping back to the UK the week before to attend a close friend's wedding, then being back in Djibo for Christmas Eve, were scuppered. The second leg of my return flight was overbooked and Afriqiyah bundled me off to Togo for two days, sending my bags on to Burkina four days later. C'est la Vie, people kept telling me. Grrrr, c'est bad management and I was heartbroken to miss the most important event of the year (my own wedding aside).

Of course, when you are stuck with four strangers in a foreign country for two days you can't help wondering if God has a greater purpose in mind. For sure we were a curious bunch – an unlikely throng comprising a Burkinabe businessman who lives in Norwich, a Muslim returning from Mecca, a French backpacker and a Islamic religious leader who pioneers Mosques around Burkina. All were very friendly and we got on remarkably well, united in our grievances and swapping cards and email addresses at the end of the ordeal.

Thankfully Steve made it to the meeting in Djibo and the Christmas message was explained to a crowd of 200. Our Christmas Day party for the neighbourhood kids went ahead too, albeit 3 days late. They didn't seem to mind though, and about 50 turned up for games and story telling. Apart from the mobbing incident when Steve started handing out balloons, it was great fun and good to be able to relate the Christmas story to this young generation of Fulani.

Most of the last month has been pretty pedestrian by comparison. I've been plodding on with learning Fulfude and cultivating the vegetable patch, which is now attracting more than just the neighbours' interest. The lettuces no sooner appear than vanish – courtesy of several hungry lizards and a few red birds. The tomatoes and carrots are doing well though, and, also on the domestic front, I'm thrilled to have discovered how to make ice cream.

Occasionally I have dreams about being back in London doing my old job as a Fashion Editor. Of stylish clothes, a clean desk and bags of free beauty products. Of streets with pavements, shops with windows, and houses with loos and baths. But then I think about my goat, my husband and how good it is to be living in a community where everyone knows each other and keeps donkeys and sheep outside their front door.

One of my favourite things here is watching the cows come home at night. In their hundreds they return from the bush, following the herder down to the lake for a sunset drink. Then, one by one and without instruction, they each make their way back through the town and into their own yard for the night. It's a heart-warning sight and just one of the things that makes being here really special. I wouldn't be anywhere else.

November 2007 - Lettuces and Lingo

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Sun, 25 Nov 2007 17:23:00 +0000

My diary tells me that it's been only been a month since I got to Djibo but it feels like at least three already. It seems like a year ago that I last walked on a pavement or ate a crunchy salad.
Letting go of England and diving into deepest Africa has been a bit of a shock. Not that I hadn't been expecting it – I've been thinking about it for years. But actually doing it is a bit like putting down Vogue and picking up National Geographic. It requires a whole new mindset to take it all in properly.

Firstly there's the people – lovely, jolly, smiley (usually) people everywhere, calling out to me wherever I go – every morning it's 'Jam Waali Sama' (Did you sleep in peace, Sama?) which requires a ping-pong-like round of answers and reciprocating greetings. Everyone in this town seems to know me already. I'm 'Sama, jeyoowo Sambo', which means, 'Sama, the owner of Sambo'. The women in particular like repeating this over and over to me which is quite amusing and perfectly forgivable at the moment when any real conversation with me isn't an option. It hasn’t stopped them trying though, and I don’t know who gets more frustrated when barrages of questions are all met with a polite shrug and a 'Mi nanata Fulfude'.

Thank God for non-verbal communication is all I can say. Smiles, nods, head shakes, nail polish and football are trans-global languages. The last of these is not one I'm all that familiar with, I hasten to point out , but being faced with fifteen Fulani kids in your yard with no translator around requires desperate measures. They all just trickled in one afternoon and sat down on the bench opposite me expectantly. It was a good five minutes of being stared and giggled at before I remembered I had a blow-up ball in the house. By the time Steve got home, the yard was consumed in a cloud of dust, we’d had one hurt arm and a wailing baby. I hadn't noticed the poor thing was strapped to his sister's back until she went flying in a scrum. Accidents aside, it was great fun and a relief to be able to engage meaningfully with some of the locals.

Evidently, I have my work cut out for me trying to learn Fulfude over the next few months. I'll be piecing it together with the help of Steve and a local lady, Haoua. And quite a few neighbours too, no doubt. It shouldn't be hard to find things to talk about. Almost everything I've set my hand to do here has become a point of discussion. There's not a person within a five mile radius who doesn't know I'm trying to grow lettuces, and there are various opinions going around about whether I'm feeding the goat properly. Judging by the size of his belly I think he's doing ok, although it has been said that he's on the skinny side.

Apart from getting to grips with the language, I'll keep on grappling with the challenge of just being in this new, dry, rural place. I'll do my best to get used to having feet that are always dirty and a loo that's the other side of the yard and just a hole in the ground (the biggest challenge yet, I think). I'm looking forward to keeping chickens and hearing the comments on Steve's new ground-breaking chicken house design which we hope will be a success and an inspiration (after it's been the inevitable butt of a few jokes). I'm anticipating a great Christmas (we're planning a feast and outreach for the neighbours with the local church) and we're looking forward to seeing more of God's power at work in this place. It's encouraging that some of the people who have asked for prayer have been healed of their sicknesses, and I am sure that there is much more from where that came from. Between that and the lettuces, there's lots of sowing to be done and a harvest to be reaped, so that's plenty of gardening to keep us busy.

October 2007 - Leaving England

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Thu, 11 Oct 2007 10:18:00 +0000

I feel very privileged to be posting on Steve's website now that I'm his wife. Come to think of it, I feel very privileged to be his wife! Contrary to the impression that the title of this blog may give, I am also very much looking forward to being his wife in Africa.

Over the last couple of months in England I've met people who are horrified to learn that I am going to live in a place where the temperature gets to 48 degrees, there's no running water and they eat millet for breakfast, lunch and dinner. These people have read The Poisonwood Bible and they've seen The Painted Veil – "it's all going to go horribly, tragically wrong!".

Well by God's grace it won't, and I'm actually rather looking forward to having bucket showers and seeing the sun again. The millet, though - that'll be the difficult one, I think, because I love food – I mean good, nutritious, yummy food. I've got more recipe books than Steve thinks is morally right and my idea of a good evening is cooking up a three-course feast for friends. The idea of sitting silently around a bowl of rancid milk mixed with millet doesn't sound like my cup of tea at all, if you'll pardon my Englishness.

If I'm beginning to sound spoilt it's probably because I am. I've only ever gone hungry out of choice and I've more or less been able to eat what I want, when I've felt like it, for most of my life. The idea that there are millions of people living in this world without enough food and without any variety in their diet is really hard for me to grasp. It's just not right. It breaks my heart and I know it breaks God's heart too.

He spoke to me clearly in December 2004 when I was in Wales, on a training course with World Horizons to prepare me for my move to Cambodia where I was to start Precious Girl Magazine. One day I was fasting, and it was about 4pm. I was intending to break the fast at 6pm and was suddenly tempted to break it early by a food stall in the market I was walking through. As I wondered if it would matter to anyone if I broke it, I looked up and saw a sign that clearly read 'AFRICA IS STARVING'. The words sliced straight into my conscience. I looked closer to see what the words referred to, but the sign dissolved into nothing – there was no such sign, just a whole mass of commercial signs in the market. As I walked away and drove back home, the phrase kept repeating in my head, pummeling my conscience because I knew it was true. People were dying of hunger as I contemplated breaking my fast for the pleasure of a pint of prawns. People are starving while I am feasting. AFRICA IS STARVING. The phrase haunted me for days. When I walked around Asda and saw the heaving shelves, the trolleys piled high with food, it went round and round in my head. I cried a lot that week over Africa, and I prayed too because that was about the most useful thing I felt I could do.

Later that week in Wales, Steve came to talk about his work in Burkina Faso. He talked about his plans for the radio station, and also about the swarms of locusts that were destroying crops and causing famine in his region. I went to talk to him during break-time but I didn’t say very much before I burst into tears – I couldn't actually say "Africa is starving'' out loud to anyone then without falling apart.

So that was how I met Steve. I thought he was interesting, he thought I was weird. But we stayed in touch and the rest is history. Just how God managed to bring us together when we lived on different continents with different callings is beyond me but it was apparently easy for Him and a testimony of His goodness. I don't know what His plan and purpose is exactly for me in Burkina but I know that it is to be there with Steve and share Christ with the people there. He came to be with the poor and the hungry, and that's where I know I'll find Him.