My Family.

I live with a host family, as the student missionaries (SM) do. But, this is not like the home stays I have had in the past. I have my own separate building – a very small one – on the compound. My family provides me with breakfast and dinner, but I don’t eat with the family. Rather, we (as there are two of us living on the compound) are served separately. This makes me sad, as it is often with sharing meals that true friendships and cultural discoveries are made. So, I have been making attempts in the last few days to change this. But, as the last meal of the day for the family is at 4pm, and I don’t get home from the hospital until 7pm, this really only works on the days that I don’t go to the hospital. The other issue is that the SM who lives on the compound doesn’t like the food here. So, long before I got here, asked the family to prepare her salad every night. I have my own thoughts about this, but must admit to liking the salad. Regardless, the family is lovely.

Tuka : The mom in the family. She is quite young- maybe 22. She was raised in N’Djamena and met her husband when he was studying there. They married and moved back his village. I think that she feels a bit out of place here. She tells me that she has never worked in the fields and that she misses watching soccer games (something that only men – and women like me - do here) but she does like that Bere doesn’t have the crime and busy-ness of the city. I do notice that she loves market day, with its influx of all different kinds of people and raucous, fair-like attitude. She also is a devoted mother. Every night when I come home she regales me a stories of the silly or terrible things her children got up to during the day…





Dulja Valerie: The Dad of the family. Also very young. He is a man with a great deal of ambition, but also very caring and very protective. He is a teacher of history and geography at the local Adventist school, as well as vice principal. He calls me and the SM who live on his compound his “big children.” He always has a smile for me, and works very hard to ensure that he is being the best teacher he can be. He likes to talk politics, but never at home – only when we are walking somewhere and there is no one else around. He says it is too dangerous otherwise.








Raissa: The 3 year old. She is practically my best friend. She comes to find me every evening and wants to sit as close to me as possible (not always awesome in the heat). She likes to do things like cross all her fingers then show me what she has done, holding her hands close to my face until I express astonishment and pride. So, you know, a pretty typical 3 years old.





Diana: The 11 month old. She is a pretty cheerful little one whose main identifiable quality (other than being a baby/toddler) is that she loves to dance. Any sound even resembling music gets her dancing. She is on the verge of walking, and tends to hang off her mom with one arm while trying to dance away. It is really very cute.








Minga: The younger sister of Dulja (probably around 15 years old). She is sassy (not always in a good way) and like many teenagers seems to think the world owes her something. We went to market one day and she asked for me to buy her this and that expensive cloth or trinket. I said no, but did offer to buy us some cokes and peanuts to share. She took me up on the offer but pouted the whole way home telling me I was mean. Other times she is funny. She does great imitations and has a wicked sense of humor.









Felicite: She is probably about 12 years old (I asked her about her age once, there was a long pause, and thinking that she hadn’t understood, I rephrased the question. “Wait,” she said. She counted on her fingers and screwed up her face looking like she was thinking through a very difficult math problem. Then she said: “13… No, 16.” After a bit she settled on 14, but I don’t believe it). She refuses to let me get my own water from the well as she says that I “do it wrong.” Every time she sees me she greets me with the firmest handshake I have ever felt. She is very spunky but also afraid of the dark. One night when we both happened to be the only ones at home she helped me draw water from the well. Then, while I showered, she sort of milled around outside the bathroom area (just a walled in area of the compound with a cement floor). Once I was finally dressed, I heard her outside my door, plaintively whispering my name. I asked what was up and she immediately came in, sat down and asked if she could stay there until her mom got home. “It is too dark right now.” She said. I’m rather fond of Felicite.