Canoe Ride to Heve (aka Voodoo Village)

While we were at Grand Popo, we took a canoe ride to a village called Heve, which is known as "Voodoo Village" because the community contains many voodoo gods and worship sites.

How many people can we pile into a taxi the size of a Honda Civic? Let's see...three in front...

Four in back.

Our canoe was made from a hollowed out tree.

From left: Christina, Jess, Kelly, our guide, Jamie, me, and Paul

On the canoe...

A local fisherman...

A basket for catching fish

A basket for storing seafood
Watch out! They are eager to escape!

A little boy cut a coconut for us.

And we're off again...

Arriving at Voodoo Village

The figures on top of the building below are called "fetishes," and they are a tribute to one of the gods.

One of the gods

Paintings of items used in worship

Another god

The well

A painting of spirit that the people see at night. From what I've learned from other believers in Africa, the people really do see spirits at night. Obviously, these are demonic spirits and not reallly the gods that the people worship. It seems so foreign to those of us from a western culture, but the spirit world is just as real as the physical world. I've heard someone say once that Satan's biggest victory in the western world is convincing us that he doesn't exist. Probably true. We won't stand against an enemy if we don't believe he's real.

On our way back after a very eye-opening experience.

Camping at Grand Popo

We had a ship holiday this weekend. (We don't have off days for any national holidays, so we have one long weekend every couple months.) Usually, people take advantage of the ship holiday to spend the night off the ship. A group of my friends decided to go camping at the beach. We borrowed some tents, packed our bags, made a few sandwiches, and piled into a mini-bus on our way to Grand Popo.

Does that speedometer say zero km? I do believe we are moving fairly quickly. Whoops! (Don't worry, Mom, I made it home in one piece.)

Christina setting up our tents...

Our $3 campsite...

No, we're not in Maui.

$3? Really?!!!



Fishermen on the beach



Playing with the color features on the camera

From left: Jessica, Kelly, Christina, Jamie, and me

Paul and the girls (He was our bodyguard for the night.)

We found a machete on the beach (used to crack open coconuts only).

On the way home, we saw a car loaded down with bananas...and I do mean LOADED DOWN.

Mon Nouvel Ami (My New Friend)

I met a new friend yesterday. Her name is Danielle. She is four years old, and she lives in a prison just a few miles from where we are docked. Yes, you read that correctly. Danielle is four years old and lives in a prison.

As you probably noticed from my previous post, I've felt a bit disconnected from the people here. Trying to excuse my own self-centeredness, I've verbalized all of the possible reasons to anyone who would listen. (1) We live in a bubble on the ship, our own little world completely separated from the culture. (2) I spend my days teaching, so I don't even meet the people in the hospital unless I have "adopted" a patient for the week. (3) I don't speak French. (4) I've only been here for a month. Etc., etc., etc.

I decided to rid myself at least a few of my excuses by participating in the prison ministry with my friends Jamie and Kelly on Saturday. I have to be honest that I was not excited about it at first. Prison ministry? No thanks. But the orphanage is only an option on the weekdays, and the trip to the psychiatric center had been cancelled. So I went. Hesitantly. And I'm so glad I did.

When we arrived, I was surprised that the set-up of the prison contained no cells or bars. The prisoners didn't even wear uniforms unless they had earned a job working security. It seemed more like a packed community than a correction facility. There were separate sections for the men, youth, and women, but other than that, people appeared to be doing normal, everyday chores--washing dishes, laundry, cooking, etc. A normal community at first glance, but surrounded by thick concrete walls that prevent any thoughts of freedom.

After asking a few questions, I learned that many of the prisoners there aren't even from Benin. Apparently, Benin has more credibility than many of its neighboring nations. People often come to Benin with falsified documents in hopes of getting a visa to leave their home country. When they are caught, they end up in prison in Benin. This is the case with many of the female prisoners that we met.

But what about Danielle? Why a four-year-old? Most likely, Danielle's mother didn't have anyone else to take care of her daughter, so she had no choice but to bring her to prison. Like the other prisoners, Danielle gets one meal per day. She sleeps on a mat on a dirt floor. She cannot go outside and play. There are very few other children in the prison, and none of them are her age. Despite all of this, Danielle is one of the most joyful little girls I have ever met, with a bright smile and an infectious laugh. It didn't take long for her to capture my heart.

With what little French I know, I learned that she has four pets at home--two little animals and two big ones. She asked me if I had a baby, and she told me that my hair was long but not good for braiding! Most of the time, though, I couldn't understand what she was saying, despite her animated hand motions and dramatic facial expressions. I could say nothing but, "Je ne comprends pas." ("I don't understand.") Each time, she would repeat her story, this time a little louder or with a bit more animation.

As I continued to tell her I didn't understand, she finally exclaimed, "It's not possible!" I guess she didn't grasp how I could clearly tell her I didn't understand, in French, without understanding what she was trying to tell me. Over and over, I had to repeat my go-to French phrase, and then she asked, "Why? Why? Why?" I explained that I only spoke a tiny bit of French.

And then came my favorite part of the conversation. She said, "It's not good!" I laughed and agreed with her as several of the women sitting nearby laughed along with us. A four-year-old told me my French is not good. But hey, at least I understood her!

I can't wait to talk to Danielle again when we go back to the prison in two weeks. Maybe she'll notice an improvement. :)

My HEART!

(For those of you who know my friend Matt, please read the title of this post with the same voice inflection that he uses to make fun of Cody for calling A Walk to Remember a perfect picture of love.) :)

Silliness aside, my heart seems to be an inescapable theme these days. Whenever I leave the ship, I run across places like the areas pictured below.
Every time I see trash rotting by the side of the road, or strewn haphazardly across an otherwise picturesque landscape, I wonder how anyone can let a place that could be so beautiful be destroyed by so much garbage. I realize this is going to sound really cheesy, but last weekend it struck me that this may be just what God sees when He looks at our hearts. Created for so much beauty, but littered with so much filth. Sure, I may do a decent job of burying my mess so that it isn't brazenly exposed for all the world to see, but it's still there...permeating my thoughts, emotions, and motives with the same stench that pervades the streets of West Africa.

"The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?" Jeremiah 17:9
"For from within, out of the heart of men, proceed the evil thoughts, fornications, thefts, murders, adulteries, deeds of coveting and wickedness, as well as deceit, sensuality, envy, slander, pride and foolishness." Mark 7: 21-22
One of the things I quickly discovered I missed most about being home is fellowship with my "how's your heart?" friends. You know, the friends who don't accept "fine" for an answer when they ask how you are. The friends who want to know where you are struggling so that they can hold you accountable. The friends who call you out when your attitude or actions don't line up with Scripture. The friends who make you "think on things that are true" (from Phillipians 4:8) and who "spur you on toward love and good deeds" (Hebrews 10:24). They love you for who you are--with all of your quirks, temptations, and insecurities--but they care enough to make sure you don't stay that way. I miss my "how's your heart?" friends.

Thankfully, I think I may have found some new ones. Several of the girls from my Gateway training recently started a small group Bible study together. We're using Beth Moore's A Heart Like His to learn how to be a person "after God's own heart" by studying the life of David. The first homework assignment included the question: What does it mean to be a person after God's own heart? I couldn't help but think of the lyrics to one of my favorite praise songs, "Hosanna" by Hillsong United:

Heal my heart and make it clean.
Open up my eyes to the things unseen.
Show me how to love like You
Have loved me.

Break my heart for what breaks Yours,
Everything I am for Your Kingdom's cause
As I walk from earth into
Eternity.

Often you'll hear believers talk about how they "have a heart for ___________" (a specific nation or people group). I've been bothered lately that I don't "have a heart for Africa." I walk the streets and feel no connection with the people whatsoever. At my best moments, I may feel a twinge of pity for a child who looks dirty or malnourished. For the most part though, these people are just...foreign. I can't understand what they are saying because I don't speak their language. The smell is sometimes nauseating and I judge them, thinking, how hard is it to find a better way to dispose of trash? They try to charge me higher prices at the markets because the color of my skin is synonymous with wealth. They stare because I am just as foreign to them as they are to me. In my most self-absorbed moments, they are the reason I am not at home. And in these moments I don't even want a heart for Africa...because that might mean I'd have to stay!

Yet I know God's heart is broken for the people here. I know that I am blinded to the things unseen. I know I need to learn how to love them like He loves them, like He has loved me. But it's impossible. I cannot do it. My heart is covered with trash.

"Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!" Romans 7:24-25

"I shall give them one heart, and shall put a new spirit within them. And I shall take the heart of stone out of their flesh and give them a heart of flesh, that they may walk in My statutes and keep My ordinances, and do them. Then they wil be My people, and I shall be their God." Ezekiel 11:19-20

"Moreover the LORD your God will circumcise your heart and the heart of your descendents, to love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul, in order that you may live." Deuteronomy 30:6

Beth Moore shared Deuteronomy 30:6 in the video we watched at small group last week. She used it to explain that even loving God is a work that God does, not us. All we can do is hand over our hearts to Him. My friend Christina added her own thoughts on circumcision of the heart. She said that as a nurse, she's witnessed her fair share of circumcisions. At one point in her life, she swore she would never allow the procedure to be done on her child. She continued, "It's painful...and bloody. It's a courageous thing to hand over your heart because circumcision hurts."

For a little boy, circumcision is done for cleanliness. Hmm...perhaps it works the same way with our hearts.

Heal my heart and make it clean...

Fabric Market and City Life

We went to the fabric market on Saturday. My friends Jamie and Kelly captured some great photos of daily life in Benin (and a few of us as well).

Our group with the sales people.

The women carry everything on their heads here.

Even with babies strapped to their backs...

Plenty of fresh produce...

Luggage anyone?

Victoria's Secret :)

a West African gas station

Houses in the poorest section of town...

Hammock under a work truck, where its driver sleeps at night...

Sunset over the Africa Mercy...

How do you entertain yourself on a ship in the middle of West Africa?

You throw an 80's dance party! Last night we had the most fun finding odds and ends on the ship to turn into 80's party attire. We did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself. Wouldn't you agree?

We even had a brief appearance from Bon Jovi (aka PJ) singing "Livin' on a Prayer."

Girls just wanna have fun...that's all we really wa-a-a-a-a-nt!

Those of you who know me well are not going to believe this, but I danced. Yep...freestyle. And by danced, I mean totally went crazy. So much that they tried to push me into the middle of the watch-my-moves circle during “Can’t Touch This.”

Perhaps it was my rockin’ 80’s hairstyle. Maybe the white mini-skirt is to blame. Or it could've been the fact that I’m in Africa, and no one knows I’m supposed to be the wallflower. Whatever it was, I had so much fun. My girls back home would be proud.

From left: Jamie, Danae, me, Kelly, Christina, and Becca

Ouidah

Last weekend, we went to Ouidah, a renovated Portuguese slavery fort that has been turned into a museum. Portuguese Catholic "missionaries" housed the slaves here before they were sent to Europe or the Americas. I wish I could post pictures of the artifacts we saw inside, but we weren't allowed to take pictures. We saw the original chains that were used to hold people captive, in both adult and child sizes. It was so, so sad. We also saw items that are used in voodoo practices.

Here is the church where the "missionaries" forced the slaves to attend on Sunday mornings. They would still participate in their traditional religions at night. That is why it is common today for people in Africa to mix Christianity and voodoo. I had always wondered how that was possible, and I was horrified to realize that "Christians" (by that I mean people who called themselves Christians) had something to do with it.

The "Point of No Return" marks the last place the slaves touched African soil before boarding the ship that would take them to Europe or the Americas. They had to walk from the fort to the beach to board smaller boats that would take them to a larger ship anchored in the deeper waters.

Kind of funny...cows on the beach past the "Point of No Return."

Another monument on the beach in memory of the people who were sent as slaves from Benin.

It was really difficult to see all of these things. People warned me that I would be able to physically feel the spiritual darkness in Benin, and I have to admit, I didn't really believe them. After leaving the slavery museum and learning about the voodoo culture, however, I had the worst headache and felt extremely depressed for about two hours. There aren't many words to say to describe any of it except to say that it was very eye-opening. Please pray for the people here that they would be released from the lies of voodoo and ancestor worship, and seek a relationship with the One True God.

Pictures

Just a few pics from around the countryside...

If you look really hard in this picture, you can see a line of men all holding onto a rope. This is a common way for everyone in the community to fish.

Pleading the 5th on the next one...

2 Corinthians 1:3-4

I can't say they didn't warn me about the fourth week. They told us to be ready for it. Ready to feel a little out of place. A little homesick.

Maybe it's because the novelty wears off around the fourth week. Maybe it's because new friendships are budding, but you haven't reached a point of genuine closeness yet. Maybe it's because friends from home have started to adjust to you not being there, so there are no longer constant reminders that you are missed. Out of sight, out of mind, you think (even though you know that isn't really true). And then all of a sudden, home is all you can think about.

On Tuesday my mom told me a funny story of how my dad had seen my car in the driveway and thought that I was at their house. Ordinarily, I would have laughed and said that I needed to start looking into retirement homes for him soon. Not so this week. Instead I just burst into tears. Fourth week.

As I lay in my bed that night, I decided that if I could be real with no one else, I needed to be real with God. I don't know why it's my natural tendency to seek comfort in another person first. I tend to ignore Him as long as there are people around. I guess that's why sometimes He has to strip us of all of our people. So He did, and I was real with Him. I told Him I was sad and homesick and that it hurt. I asked Him to be my joy.

He listened. And whereas another person doesn't have the capacity to be my joy, God does. The next morning, I woke up with a sense of genuine joy and peace that could have only come from Him.

God used my sadness and His answer to my prayer to give me a special bonding moment with my students yesterday.  At one point during the day, they started to talk about feeling homesick on the ship.  I was able to be real with them about how I had been feeling a few days ago.  I told them about how I had taken my sadness to God and how He had answered me so clearly.  It brought 2 Corinthians 1:3-4 to life, as I was able to comfort my little ones with the same comfort my Heavenly Father had so graciously given to me.

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4).

Kisses from Katie

I've posted this link before, but I've just spent some time reading a blog that challenges and encourages me every time I read it, and I feel the need to share it one more time. It is written by Katie, a twenty-year-old girl from Brentwood, Tennessee. After graduating high school, Katie flew to Uganda for what she thought would be a temporary mission trip. The Lord had other plans. She is now the mother of 13 orphans and oversees Amazima Ministries International, providing over 300 children with food, medical care, school fees, and spiritual encouragement.

Seriously, if you've never read her blog, you need to. The link is www.kissesfromkatie.blogspot.com. I promise you will be touched and challenged.