Story time. Because that’s always fun.
We had been in Mahapleu, Côte d’Ivoire for less than 48 hours. I had spent a little bit of time with my sweet ministry hosts, rested and we were on our way to meet people in the community before going to an evening church service.
We made it almost all the way to the pavilion we were going to stop at, and as I was walking on the dirt road, I misstepped across a ditch in the road. My foot slid down the gravel in the ditch and as I fell, my leg caught the the gravel through my skirt. I hopped right back up, and kept walking down the road as if nothing happened. Everyone asked if I was okay, and in the moment I thought I was. At that point, there was more of a shock of falling than anything else.
I walked across the street towards Mama Dorcas, our host for the month (more about her and our other friends here in Côte d’Ivoire towards the end of the month), and she stopped me when I got to her. She pulled up my skirt to show my shin, and to my surprise, the entire front of my leg was covered in blood. A crowd started to gather as my Squad Leader, Katy, helped take care of the part of my knee that was bleeding. The rest of my team kept moving as we decided what to do: should we stay, should we go back, should we walk, should we take a moto?
Katy and I, along with one of the locals (who had stayed back with us) walked up to the pavilion where the rest of the team had stopped. When we got there, everyone checked on me again. I sat down and Katy talked to our hosts. After a minute, she came back over and told me that they had called a moto to come get the two of us to take us back to the house. I was convinced that I could walk back, but our hosts weren’t going to let that happen. We waited a little bit and the moto arrived. That was an adventure in itself because it was my first time on a moto, I was bleeding, and I had no desire to miss my first day of ministry.
When we arrived back at the house, Katy and I sat outside to start cleaning the dirt out of my leg. All of the people that were at the house when we arrived were curious as to what we were doing, and were so concerned about me and my leg. The women all wanted to help in any way they can. I even had one of them holding my hand for the majority of the time.
After cleaning me up, Katy returned to ministry that night, and I stayed at the house. I sat on the couch in the living room of the house for the evening to keep my leg elevated, and Luicy stayed with me the entire evening to make sure I was okay. Any time I walked into the team’s bedroom to grab something or to put something away, and I was gone for more than a minute or two, one of the women from the house came looking for me to make sure I was okay. Other people came to check on me every so often to make sure I was okay as well.
It has now been a few weeks since I fell, and I cannot walk anywhere without one of the locals holding my hand or my arm to make sure I’m okay. When I get ready to walk up or down a hill, Elvis, Habakkuk, or one of the others will grab my hand or my arm to make sure I’m okay.
But why do I tell you all of this?
They aren’t holding on because they think I am not capable of walking. The culture of this sweet country revolves around hospitality. Making sure we are okay is what they do. They love on us in ways I have never experienced. Caring for people comings naturally to them.
Coming into the World Race, asking for help wasn’t something I was good at (check out “Buried in My Weakness” to hear more about this). Throughout the last couple of weeks with my leg, I have been learning that it’s okay to ask for help. And it’s okay for me to accept the help that is being offered, even when I don’t think I need it. Coming into a culture of hospitality, asking for help, and being checked on all the time isn’t something I’m used to, but I appreciate the caring nature of our sweet friends and the way that they want to love me.
