Village Time!

This past week our supervisor allowed us to return to our village, Yosemite.  She wanted Sarah to be able to say goodbye before she leaves for America.  We left early in the morning, made the drive, and then stayed for two nights.  On the way there I was soooo excited.  Sarah and I have not returned to our village since we left.  The person I most excited about seeing was our mother, H-Mama.  She was the lady who took care of us in the village.  She fed us and tried her best to turn us into “Nomad” women.  She was really just like our mother.  She fixed our skirts when they were wrong, taught us how to make African cuisine, how to eat with our hands, and she even wiped our faces a few times.  So, there is deep connection between the four of us.

When we arrived in the village we parked the truck and starting walking to the entrance of our compound.  (A village is made up of many compounds.  Compounds are groups of huts that face an open courtyard.  In our compound lives family and extended family.)  I saw H-Mama through the entrance and excitement welled up inside of me.  However, to my surprise the excitement didn’t come out with words but with tears.   After we hugged I was finally to get out I missed you.

Then the next two days were awesome.  We visited all of our friends and gave them gifts from the capitol.  We just spent quality time with them.  Quality time that had been missed so much.  AND WE ATE TOGETHER!  We were in the village for a total of 43 hours and we ate 14 meals and 2 snacks.  There was so much food.  I was so excited to be there and I stuffed my face.

Both nights I lay in my tent.  Praising God for the opportunity for Sarah to say goodbye to here friends.  And also asking God for the “Nomad” people.  Praying that He would bring them to Himself.  Praying that they would realize the truth.  And also surrendering the knowledge that I may never see that myself.

The last morning in the village we gathered on H-Mama’s porch with our friends.  We were talking and laughing and H-Mama asks our supervisor to pray.  H-Mama is about as devout as they come in the Islamic world, but she asked for prayer in Jesus’ name.  Our supervisor asked me to tell H-Mama that she would pray in English because that is her strongest language and the Father understands it all.  They all agreed.  On that porch in a “Nomad” village controlled by Islam we prayed for their salvation in Jesus’ name.

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