Preface: This blog will be a little different than most of my other blogs, so here is a short explanation of the blog. First thing’s first, I’m a realist, which means that my view of the world is different than some people. I am writing about a day in my life here in Malawi, so the way I view situations will affect how I portray them. It will not be about a specific day, but rather an amalgamation of all of my ministry days. The story will also be written in a third person story format. Each paragraph end represents a leap in time as well as a transition in the story. Last but not least, I must explain what Mafia is. In this case, it is not a group of shady murders, it is just a game. In said game, one person is the Mafia and their goal is to kill all the other players. If you are not the Mafia, you try to guess who the Mafia is. There is one person who narrates and makes up funny deaths for the people who are killed by the Mafia. Now, ladies and gentlemen, the story begins. Hold on to your butts.
Ring. Ring. Ring. The alarm clock in Jackson’s head is going off. He doesn’t have to set it, and he can’t hit snooze. With heavy eyes, he looks around his room. The sun has risen before him. He looks at his phone. It is only six o’clock. “Ugh,” Jackson sighs as he buries his head back into his pillow. He knew this would happen because it happens every morning. “What do I need to do this morning?” Jackson thinks as he tries to get comfortable again. “Well, I need to shower for sure. Then, I need to grab breakfast. That’s easy. I can stay in my sleeping bag for another hour.” With that, Jackson starts day dreaming and praying about whatever pops into his head for the next hour. This morning’s dreams include Chick-fil-A and friends back home. What seems like an eternity later, Jackson checks to see if it’s been an hour. “Only forty minutes?! Ehh, that’s close enough. I’ll get up,” Jackson decides.
Crawling out of his sleeping bag and under his bug net, Jackson slips on the pair of shorts nearest him and puts on his glasses. “What shirt should I rock today?” Jackson ponders for a moment. He picks up his shirt with the symbol of Hope on it, gives it a sniff, and then decides to try again. This time, he picks up Compassion, gives it a sniff and says, “Hmm, could be worse.” Quietly, so as not to wake his roommates Elijah and Alex, he finishes getting dressed and grabs his towel. Before leaving the room, he looks around to make sure he is not forgetting anything. Shampoo. “Dadgum It,” Jackson sighs, exasperated at the fact that he forgot his shampoo on the other side of the room. Again.
Finally, Jackson gets in the shower. He locks the door partly because he doesn’t want anyone coming in on him, but mostly because it doesn’t even close unless he locks it. He looks up at the broken shower head. “Hmph.” Reaching up, Jackson removes the shower head. Now it is just a hose, ready to dump uncontrollable rushes of water on him. “Maybe it will be warm today,” Jackson says hopefully. It’s not. However, he is used to cold showers and so he’s not too disappointed. He thinks about singing in the shower, but decides against it because anyone who is awake would most certainly hear him. He enjoys his few minutes of alone time, then turns off the water once he is fairly clean. Like a ninja, Jackson slyly replaces the shower head. For no particular reason, he doesn’t want anyone to know he removed the broken shower head.
After spending too much time brushing his hair, which he loves having long, he starts on his meager breakfast. “I’ll just eat an apple with some peanut butter. I won’t cook eggs this morning. Too much work,” he thinks. After finishing his apple, his stomach quickly decides that eggs actually sound great. Walking out on the front porch, he sees that someone has already started a fire. “Thank goodness,” Jackson sighs in relief, “Lo must have made coffee.” He does not drink coffee, but this just means he doesn’t have to start the fire himself. Walking back into the house, he grabs a skillet, oil, a couple eggs, a wooden spoon, and a bowl. Hastily, he puts the skillet over the smoldering fire. “Hmm, it needs more charcoal.” A few minutes after adding some charcoal, he hovers his hand over the skillet to check and see if it is hot or not. Feeling the heat resonating off the metal, Jackson grabs the oil. “Remember not to pour too much oil this time, Moushon,” he thinks as he proceeds to pour too much oil on the skillet. “Gosh dang it.”
The eggs do not take long to cook, and even less time to eat. “What time is it?” Jackson wonders to himself for the third or fourth time this morning. It is almost eight o’clock. “Ooh, I have enough time to listen to a chapter of my audiobook.” Putting in his headphones, he picks up where he left off in “This Present Darkness.” By this time, everyone is up and eating breakfast. When eight thirty rolls around, Jackson takes out his headphones and sits at the only table in the house where his team eats and has devotions every morning. Sara is leading today. She reads a few verses, and everyone discusses them. Most of the team just got up, so they are still a little lethargic. Even the extroverts are quiet. To close, Sara prays over the day, and then the group breaks up to finish whatever needs to be done before classes start.
Struggling to pick up around fifteen Bibles, Jackson greets the teachers in the teacher’s lounge, where some books and other school supplies are stored. He feels nervous. After having successfully picked up all the Bibles, he slowly meanders across the grass courtyard of Mercy High school. He wants to take as much time as possible to get to his class. Finally, he reaches the building that Sara and he teach English in. He timidly walks in. The students aren’t there. He’s not late. “Oh well, I tried,” he jokes with himself. At the front of the classroom, Sara is sitting in her chair, looking over the book they are teaching from. He sets the Bibles down next to his chair. “Did you grab some chalk?” Sara asks. “I didn’t see any today,” Jackson replies, somewhat vexed. “Oh well, we can just have one of the kids go get some,” Sara responds. Nodding his head in agreement, Jackson takes his seat, and the two young teachers wait for their students to arrive.
“Does anyone remember where the verse of the week is found?” Jackson asks the thirteen students sitting in front of him. He is speaking slowly and pronouncing every syllable of every word so that the young African students can understand him. After a pause, a couple hands go up. “Yes, Kelvin, do you have it?” Excitedly, Kelvin nods his head. “It is John seven, verses thirty-seven and thirty-eight,” the young man says. “That is right!” Jackson replies happily. For the next thirty minutes, Jackson and Sara have the kids read and write the verse of the week. They hope that this will help them with their English, as well as share Jesus with them. Interrupting her sentence, Sara hears a bell ring outside. “It’s break time!” Sara says as the children begin grabbing their things to leave. “Whew,” Jackson thinks as the kids leave, “saved by the bell. I was running out of things to say.” The teachers sink into their plastic chairs. They have twenty minutes of respite before they must continue teaching.
“How much time do we have?” Sara asks Jackson as she finishes writing a sentence on the chalk board. “About twenty minutes,” he replies, looking at his phone. That gives the students just enough time to finish the assignment Sara had just written on the board. Once again sinking into their chairs, Jackson and Sara wait as their students furiously scribble answers down on their slips of paper. With nothing else to do, the two introverted teachers start talking. They talk about a myriad of things, including the weather, home, their past teaching experience, and what they are going to teach tomorrow. Twenty minutes pass, and Jackson collects the assignments. “Ok everyone,” he says joyously to his students, “class is over.” Sara and Jackson walk the kids to their next class, and then start walking toward their house for lunch.
Lunch is a free for all. Unable to cook anything due to time constraints, Jackson grabs some rice cakes out of the pantry. Not exactly a balanced meal, but a meal none the less, Jackson munches on some peanut butter and apple covered rice cakes. Some of the others are searching for the can opener so they can eat mayonnaise covered tuna. Jackson does not like tuna, or mayonnaise for that matter, so he does not join in their search. After finishing his meal, he slinks away to dig something out of his bag. It’s something he was saving for a rainy day. Ironically, today is one of the few days it has not rained at all, but he is still hungry, so he grabs it anyway. It is a bag of Doritos. Fortunately, Malawi is one of the few countries that has cheese flavored chips, Jackson’s favorite. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
“How much farther is the primary school?” Jackson wonders aloud as he and the girls of his team walk through the village. The other guys were back at Mercy High, installing computers. “I think it’s close,” Sara responds. “It’s not that long of a walk,” Taylor chimes in. Taylor is right. The walk to the elementary school is only about fifteen minutes, but in the sweltering heat, it feels like an eternity. “Oh my gosh! Look at those baby goats!” Hannah Grace squeals. “No, we cannot have a goat,” Jackson says sternly. “I’d take care of it myself!” Hannah Grace pleads. “No.” Jackson feels like a father telling his kids they can’t get a puppy. Hannah Grace runs over and starts petting the goats, impeding their progress. “Well, at least I can stand in the shade of the tree,” Jackson thinks as he reluctantly stops so the girls can pet the tiny goats.
“How are you today?” Jackson asks one of the children at the elementary school. The child just stares up at the slender tower in front of her. “You don’t know what I’m saying, do you?” There is no response. Jackson often forgets that these children are much younger than his other students, and have not yet learned English. After the child runs off, he grabs a chair, and sits down outside one of the classes. A few minutes pass, then a gaggle of children come running at him. His job is simple. He is in charge of making sure that all of the kids’ hands are clean before they eat. Inside the nearby classroom, the girls are preparing lunch for the children. Jackson grabs the green cup out of the large basin filled with water and begins his task. As each child comes up, he pours a cup of water over their hands, and the children aggressively scrub the dirt off their hands. After each child, he dips the cup back in the water. Dip, pour, scrub, repeat.
“Goooooaaaalllll!!!!” All the children shout in unison. Jackson smiles and gives them an over the top bow. He had just made a penalty kick past a child who was half his size. Not really an accomplishment, but the kids make him feel like he just moved a mountain with his bare hands. The game continues. Although he is older and stronger than the children, Jackson tires quickly because of his recent weight loss and sickness. He is relieved when one of the teachers calls the kids to gather one last time before dismissal. Sitting butt-cheek to butt-cheek, the kids fall silent as the head teacher prays over them. The prayer ends, and the children bolt from their seats toward the exit.
“Don’t stop to pet the…” Jackson’s voice trails off as he realizes that any attempt to stop Hannah Grace from petting the goats is futile. Exhausted, the troop of young missionaries are walking back to their house. On the way back through the village, Jackson talks to one of the teachers who is escorting the group back to their house. “My favorite verse is 1 Peter 2:17,” Jackson says in response to a question. “It says, ‘Honor everyone. Love the brotherhood. Fear God.’” Jackson leaves off the very last part of the verse, “Honor the emperor,” because, while he agrees with it, it messes up the flow of the verse in his opinion. The guide and Jackson talk all the way to the front door of the house. “I will see you tomorrow!” Jackson says, thanking the guide. “Yea, Ok,” the man responds. Jackson goes into the house, and despondently sits at the table. He doesn’t want to wait for dinner.
“Ouch! Crap, dang it!” Jackson exclaims as hot embers dance across his exposed flesh. “You Ok?” Stella shouts from inside the house. “Yea,” Jackson replies, a little miffed at the fire, “it’s just a little feisty tonight.” Dinner had been great. Fried rice is one of Jackson’s favorite meals, and because Alex had splurged on some soy sauce, the dish was full of flavor. As always however, Jackson was still hungry afterwards. Luckily, so was the rest of the team. It was time for someone to make popcorn. So, there he was, stoking the charcoal fire, attempting to get it blazing without burning himself too much. “Just don’t catch you hair on fire, Moushon,” Jackson reprimands himself. Once the fire is nice and scorching, he grabs a pot and starts heating up the oil inside. The oil sizzles as Jackson makes it rain kernels. “Crap, where’s the lid?” Jackson says, frantically searching for it. After a few panicked seconds, he finds what he’s looking for. Quickly, he puts the lid over the hot oil and kernels. It’s not long before he hears the sweet song of popping corn. Pop. Sizzle. Pop. Sizzle. Pop.
“That popcorn was great,” Stella says thankfully. “I am the popcorn master!” Jackson says a little over zealously. Stella looks back at him with a concerned look on her face. “On that note,” Sara interjects, “let’s start team time.” Tonight’s tumultuous team time task is Mafia. Alex is the narrator. Jackson is only a townsperson, so he doesn’t have much to do besides sit there and not fall victim to the Mafia. “Wakey wakey townspeople!” Alex says in a eery melodic voice. “There seems to have been a tragedy last night,” Alex continues in that same eerily melodic voice, ”someone has died. Poor Jackson was walking through the cornfield when suddenly, he was hit by a garbage truck.” Everyone, including Jackson, bursts out laughing at his fictitious death. Now Jackson can’t do anything. For the rest of the game, he just sits there, laughing at everyone’s speculation on who the Mafia is. This lasts for the next hour, each game more raucous than the last.
“I’m so tired,” Jackson laments as he lays his sleeping bag and pillow on the cold concrete floor. He is talking to himself because everyone else is still up, talking the night away. He knows that his mental alarm clock will wake him up at six o’clock sharp, so he goes to bed early. He clumsily slips under his bug net and slithers into his sleeping bag. He lays there, unable to sleep. “I’ll fall asleep eventually,” he thinks as he stares up at his haphazard bug net setup. A few minutes pass and Jackson is restless. He says a little prayer, which ends up lasting fifteen minutes as he prays for his family and friends back home. Still unable to sleep, he decides to listen to music. Groping for his phone in the dark, Jackson accidentally knocks his glasses off of their resting place. He sighs heavily. Placing his glasses back where they belong, he finally finds his phone. He puts in his headphones and hits the shuffle button on his “Favorites Redux” playlist. Before he slips into unconsciousness and his day officially ends, his heart fills with memories and happiness. “I ponder of something great. My lungs will fill and then deflate. They fill with fire, exhale desire….” A smile crosses Jackson’s face.
