Frogs, Mud, and Barges

Hallo,

I step outside. The buzzing hits my ears. A million insects like microscopic cockroaches fall as if they were small kamikaze pilots trying to demolish the big toads hopping gingerly away from my feet. Unfortunately, they mostly hit my back and neck. I walk out into a foggy, full-moonlit night. The drums pound in the background. A chant wafts on the air softly numbing the senses like the unceasing pounding of the ocean on the shore.

My chest burns as my lungs suck in the hot, searing air. It is Saturday and everyone has left church on march to the river for a baptism. The young guys have taken up my challenge. I began to walk fast and they soon felt I couldn't keep it up. They said, aren't you taking the car. I said of course not. I haven't exercised in weeks. I change from my Arab robes into some long shorts and a plain white t-shirt with sandals.

We pass the mud puddle in front of the hospital's main gate. The ducks waddle off quacking and swaying as if drunk. We round the corner at a fast pace. I am surrounded by young guys ranging in age from 6 years to late teens. We pass through the remnants of a millet field which, like a ghost town, has just a few reminders of the past prosperity left standing. Past the night watchmen's hut and through a few more mud puddles we hit the main "road."

Red clay stretching off into the African plain surrounded by yellow tipped rice in paddies as far as the eye can see. A few boys fish with homemade sticks and twine in the standing water that houses the rice. The red road is pocked with massive mudholes and deep grooves from the large transporters. We are still keeping up a brisk pace and already I'm wishing I'd brought water as the sun bakes my head making even sweating to keep cool seem almost like spitting in the wind.

A small Peugot truck is stuck between a rice paddy and the road where it tried to skirt a mud puddle. The mud is over the tires and into the chassis. I call the boys over, take off my sandals and step into the muck as I begin to discuss a plan of action with the turbaned driver. The back of the truck is piled with four barrels of diesel and a ton of miscellaneous sacks and plastic containers. I call all the boys over as they pass.

We attach a rope to the back and some pull while others lift and push on the side facing the rice paddy. I look over and see a well dressed man hit some slick clay and fall on his back off the bike like a Three Stooges movie. He's ok but getting the truck out has been put on hold as everyone stops to have a belly rolling laugh as his expense. Soon, we are to follow as the rope breaks and our boys end up also on their butts.

We change strategies and unload all the bags, plastic containers, and one barrel. Then with coordinated heaves and ho's and many manly grunts, and with much soiling of clothes, the truck backs out of the hole and back on the "road." With many "Que Dieu vous guide" following us we take off again with mud between our toes.

I suddenly feel very energized and I take off running at a determined pace. The boys gladly fall in line bragging of how they'll run me off the road and how they could run all the way to Kelo if they had to. Unfortunately, I don't last long but end up having to slow to a fast walk which fortunately opens up the time to many questions. Most of them are to be baptized today and they pound me with questions about Sorcery and Ogres and stuff that is a part of their everyday lives and how that relates now to believing and serving one God. They are smart and with such stimulating and intelligent conversation we arrive quickly at the river where I dive in, barely missing the fishing net.

I baptize for the first time and couldn't imagine a better place or way: a muddy river, after pulling a truck out of the mud, in shorts and a plain t-shirt with guys I've just been running and having deep spiritual conversations with...it's my first time and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

The drums pound, the long metal cylinder is pounded and clanged, the rattles are in full roll, and the chanting brings each person into and out of the water where we wait waist deep. Laughs and swaying and dancing abounds. People drink water straight from the river from one plastic water bottle that one person has thought to bring. Pierre fetches the water, wading out with his shirt off showing off his ample gut rolling over his trousers.

It's probably one of the best days I've ever had...

James