October 26

     This past weekend felt like Christmas.  First the packages arrived.  Then it was Tabasky. 

     For the missionary community, package time is awaited with much excitement and anticipation.  Every two months a ship from the mining company arrives, carrying with it containers full of merchandise for the stores, and packages for the missionaries.  So for the past two weeks everyone has been talking about the date the ship was going to arrive.  Then it was the question of how long it would take to get all the paper work for the packages to clear customs.  Finally the day arrived and Andres drove out to Kamsar to pick up the boxes.  That whole morning the kids in school kept talking about packages. “Are you expecting lots of boxes?  Who is sending you a package?  What do you think will be in them?”    

     Quite frankly Jen and I weren’t sure if we would get any.  We knew our families had sent some boxes, but we weren’t sure if they had gotten to the ports in time for this shipment or if they would arrive in the next one.  We were quite surprised when Diana informed us that Andres had picked up 7 packages for us and was on his way home from Kamsar.  About an hour later, Andres pulled into our driveway and delivered 6 large shoeboxes.  “Sometimes it happens that they miscount a box or another family takes the wrong box home,” Andres announced regarding our “missing” package.  This explanation didn’t bother us a bit as we were still very much surprised to have any packages, let alone six or seven.  We then proceeded to read the labels to figure out who on earth had sent us these marvelous gifts.  The four from our families were expected, and since we knew they contained gifts for Christmas we decided to wait and open those when the kids were asleep.  So we proceeded to open the two mystery packages.  Both boxes were from friends at CBC and contained a random assortment of gifts from seasoning packets, to candy, gifts for the kids and a whole assortment of goodies. 

     As our kids danced around with their newfound possessions, I was blown away at the kindness and generosity of these gifts.  It wasn’t just the fact that we had received unexpected presents, it was the feeling of home that came with them: a taste of home in the familiar products, and the knowledge that someone back home was thinking of us.  We were further surprised when Andres called and informed us that he had two additional boxes for us, presents that had been included in their stash of goods.   

     Of course the following day that’s all the kids could talk about again.  We spent our journal time sharing all the wonderful blessings we had received, comparing the contents of our packages, and discussing which items were our favorites and which items were, well, a little weird.  All in all it was so much fun, and we now understand why package time is looked forward to with so much excitement.  My only concern now is that Christmas will feel like somewhat of a let-down, having celebrated all these gifts so early.  I suppose it might be healthy for us, though, giving us more cause to focus on Christ as the real reason for the holiday.  Still, I have to admit, I’m definitely looking forward to the next shipment.  I wonder what surprises will await us then.

Thank you, family, and thank you, Lord, for your amazing generosity and love.  We are so blessed!

     The second reason this weekend felt like Christmas is Tabasky (spelling?).  Other than sounding like a popular brand of hot sauce, Tabasky is a religious holiday also nicknamed “la fete du mouton”, or the celebration of the sheep.  It’s the time Muslims remember that God provided a ram for Abraham to sacrifice instead of his son; except Islam teaches that Abraham was going to sacrifice Ishmael, not Isaac.  I’m not sure why this is cause for celebration, though, considering the fact that Muslims still don’t have a way to atone for their sins.  Basically Muslims believe they are saved by following the five pillars and being good Muslims.  But no Muslim truly knows if he is good enough to get into paradise.  The only guarantee for that is Jihad, or as we know it, suicide bombers.  Nevertheless every Tabasky, Muslims get together and have a great big feast, slaughtering a perfect ram and then roasting it over a fire. 

     Apparently in Boke Tabasky is even bigger than Independence Day or the end of Ramadan.  The day started at 5 a.m. with a marching band blasting away down in Correrah.  By 9 a.m. our neighbors already had visitors arriving to help with the preparations.  By noon the ram had been sacrificed, and the women were finishing up their cooking.  Some light singing and dancing ensued, a warm up round in preparation for the bigger dance festival later on.  At 2 p.m., the Mosque called for an assembly and delivered a series of speeches and prayers which we could hear over the megaphones.  That done, the real party began.  Drums and whistles could be heard all over, people dancing in the courtyards, everyone eating and having a good time. 

     During the course of the morning our neighbors had invited us several times to come over and join them, so finally after school (CCA doesn’t observe Muslim holidays, sorry) I walked over to check things out.  Immediately I was greeted by our neighbors as well as our landlord who happened to be here for this special occasion.  It seems that the neighbor ladies have a sister who holds some kind of high position in the government.  The landlord quickly ushered me over to introduce me to her.  It wasn’t hard to figure out which one she was.  Right there in the center of the courtyard, in the best spot under the shade of the tree, on a nice luxurious couch, surrounded by an entourage of ministers and body guards, sat a rather large woman, dressed in very elegant, African costume, eating roasted goat liver.  It’s amazing how important status is here.  All day long this woman was escorted here and there by her entourage, always being given the best seat in the house, treated like royalty everywhere she went, in spite of the fact that she is a member of the family.  Still, she was very kind and friendly, and even offered me some of her liver.  Of course I had to say “yes;” I couldn’t resist.

      It also seems like it was this woman’s political party that sponsored the celebrations for our neighborhood.  Right behind our compound, a large p.a. system was set up with really loud music and really bad sound.  Seeing as we couldn’t escape the noise, our family decided to walk over and join in.  As we arrived, the emcee had just finished introducing all the important people and then proceeded to introduce a local singer/artist.  The artist was backed by a large chorus of women all wearing white dresses bearing the picture of the current president.  As the music began, I realized the song was propaganda for the President’s political party.  Though I couldn’t understand the words, it was easy enough to recognize the names of Alpha Conde spoken over and over again.  It was so catchy, I’ve been singing it ever since. 

     Following this performance the minister produced a wad of bills and literally showered the musicians with money.  One of the members of her entourage then stood up and gave a long speech, thanking the community for their support and reminding them to vote for them in the next elections.  The campaigning having ended, they gave the microphone to the “griots.”  These women are about the same caliber as the beggar women from the independence celebrations.  This time, however, instead of shouting at you through their megaphones they were backed by a whole p.a. system.  For 15 minutes these women sang loud, tragic songs, in high-pitched, raspy voices.  The ones who weren’t on the microphone marched around in a circle, performing elaborate, somber-looking dances, each one taking an extended turn in front of the minister.  Apparently she was unmoved by their performances as no money came forth this time.  Our landlord, however, feeling particularly generous, or perhaps as an attempt to shut the women up, jumped up and handed out bills of money to all the participants.  This is when Jen and I decided to leave.  We had already had a couple women ask us for money, and we were sure more would come our way after the performances.  It’s rather difficult to hide when you’re the only white person in a crowd of Africans. 

     At the conclusion of all of this, I walked away feeling rather confused, but as the party continued on, it was clear this occasion was a grand time for our whole neighborhood, a time of joy and laughter, a time of family and friends, a time of food and fellowship, a time of dancing and music.  It was fun to see everyone’s merriment, the fancy clothes (and hair pieces) brought out just for the occasion, big pots of food boiling over hot coals, the big drums and even bigger smiles.  It’s clear God has given us all a great capacity and need for joyous occasions. 

     So while it has felt a lot like Christmas around here, I have been reminded again of the amazing gift we have in Jesus, and the amazing privilege of sharing this gift with others.  Perhaps one day my neighbors will have cause for even greater celebration when they discover that God has provided a lasting and eternal sacrifice in the form of His Son, Jesus.  I pray that day comes soon.