Volume 1
I posted a poll on Facebook asking what you wanted to read more of, and the overwhelming majority voted for humor and what it’s like to be on the race. You asked, and here it is – the first of many blogs to come about the sometimes ridiculous realities of life as a missionary.
Côte d’Ivoire, Africa – Month 1, Day 1
I was on team Haven and we were ready to embrace whatever the start of the race had to throw at us. We left the states with excitement and as many snacks as we could carry (which lasted approximately 2 hours into our 27 hour journey to our first ministry location.)
When we first arrived in Côte d’Ivoire, we were greeted by our ministry hosts in the airport and soon said our temporary goodbyes to the rest of the squad. We left and were on our way to Man, CD. After a 9 hour bus ride down dirt roads we realized we might have gotten ourselves into something a little different than originally expected. Jet lag was relentless as the driver blared the horn at e.v.e.r.y..s.i.n.g.l.e..v.e.h.i.c.l.e we passed keeping us all awake. One of our teammates was already sick and puking occasionally in a plastic ziplock bag. Here was coined the prayer, “Lord, plug up her mouth, plug up her butt, and I don’t know what. Amen.”
We got to our first village where we were greeted by an African church service complete with drums, colorful clothing, and much to our surprise and horror – twerking. I’m talking like night club in a big city twerking…except to French African worship music. Women and children of all ages paced in a circle to the music and drew us in to join along. We had been prepped for proper, modest, missionary behavior and day 1 got thrown into a twerk circle. I actually couldn’t do anything but laugh hysterically because I realized that I had no idea what I agreed to by coming on the race. Twerk circles continued to be a part of every church service and after time I found it easier to engage if I thought about it like tribal Zumba.
To be positive, it really was a workout. These twerk sessions lasted anywhere from 1-4 hours and took place inside unventilated buildings under a scorching, 100°+ sun. Sweat stains weren’t really a problem because we were totally drenched.
You might be thinking to yourself “Did they get dehydrated? Were they drinking water?” Great question! In Côte d’Ivoire, we had access to a well about half a kilometer away from our house. We used 3 gallon buckets to transport water back and forth. Most of the time, the local people carried them for us, always on top of their head – true African style. The water was brown so we used our single Lifestraw to filter and fill our water bottles. This process took over an hour for 7 bottles so we were pretty much on a constant rotation of water duty. Don’t forget that we’ve been twerking this whole time.
Occasionally, we would stop for a break to eat, but not lunch because they don’t eat 3 meals/day there. The first day we were absolutely starving after all this travel and twerking. Our host told us we were going to eat a traditional dish. I thought to myself, “I could eat my own hand I’m so hungry.” Looking back now, I laugh because I think my hand would have been the better option.
We gathered around the table surrounded by at least 20 locals all with flip phones in hand taking pictures or recording us. They brought out our food – fish heads. As I gazed into those dead fish eyes, my soul wept. I asked my host how to eat it and she picked hers up with her hands and took a whole bite out of that fish’s face like a sandwich. After chewing for a few moments she spit the bones back onto her plate. With a glance around the table secretly sharing each other’s pain, almost all of us followed suit. I managed not to physically gag, but my face couldn’t feign enjoyment. Somewhere in the depths of Côte d’Ivoire, and entire village of people has pictures of me eating my first fish head on their phones.
This was DAY 1 of my World Race. There are many other days with many other stories to come, so stay tuned for this blog series titled: The Real WR
