Control

Last month, I visited my friend Kristin to share American Thanksgiving with her family. While many of the Peace Corps volunteers traveled to Kombo to spend the holiday together and eat fantastic food, Kristin decided to spend it in her village. She stays with my host family each week to visit her second school, so I thought it would be good to return the visits and get to know her family too.

I biked the 20 km to Kristin's village on Wednesday evening, and as she had been talking Thanksgiving up with her family for weeks, everyone was excited. Thanksgiving day, the kids went to school, the mother and father to work, and Kristin and I prepared for our Thanksgiving "program."

We went to the market and bought five cans worth of peanuts, a bag of sugar, and a packet of dried milk. In the afternoon we made our peanut cake - heat the kettle in the fire, add the sugar, milk, and peanuts, along with a bit water. Cook, stirring constantly until the peanuts are roasted and caramelized. It should turn almost white in color. Let it cool and eat-delicious.

When everyone returned home, it was time for the main event. Kristin and I reenacted the first Thanksgiving with a pilgrim(me) landing in America after a long journey and a Native American(Kristin) greeting the pilgrim and inviting her to eat. They eat peanuts and corn, thank God, and that's the story of Thanksgiving as told by Yamundow and Ndey Salli. A simple version, but done completely in Wolof so we're pretty proud of it, and her family, they loved it! A video can be found here. After the skit they made their own paper hats, being either a pilgrim or a Native American. We ate the peanut cake, and took an abundance of pictures. Everyone was joyful and so excited that we were spending our "happy celebration day" with them. Then, when it was time for supper, her family surprised us with beans and bread, food that they would eat on their holidays which we shared with her host father, Momodou.

Some very excited Thanksgiving participants

It was a great time spent together, but we didn't realize what would happen the next night. On Friday, Kristin's host sister had a drama competition in another town. Though they considered staying overnight, she returned late that evening instead. Kristin, Momodou, and I were chatting under the bantaba, and she told us about her drama competition. After a bit, she went inside and we talked with Momodou until 11:30 pm or so. Kristin and I said good night and went inside. Momodou, stayed outside almost asleep in his chair. A couple hours later, we suddenly hear Kristin's host mother yelling. Rushing outside, we find Momodou unconscious.
Running, screaming, shouting, panic.
We try to take control. Kristin looks for a pulse, I look for a phone number to call
-no pulse, no 9-1-1.
Kristin looks to see if CPR is possible. My hands shake as I look through my contacts for any one to help. A foam has filled his air-ways. No chance for CPR. Trying to take control, we find ourselves utterly helpless amidst the chaos around. Momodou passes away.

We spend the next two days with her family. The elders and his wife bury his body during the next day. Those throughout the village pay their respects. They bring gifts and money. Families bring the rice, oil, and vegetables needed and together a dozen or so women make the meals to feed all the family and visitors for the the next few days. Returning from the burial, the imam speaks to all present. Kristin and I spend the days with her host sisters, all high school aged. We chat, we cry, but mostly we just sit together. Momodou was well-known for his generosity. As their village has one of the few high schools in the country, many students have stayed in his compound as part of the family so as to be able to go to school. He has welcomed several Peace Corps or VSO volunteers into his home. Talking with him, you knew very quickly that this was a man who was kind, virtuous, and good. His friends and family gathered, near and far, to celebrate his life, as it's done in many cultures.

I stayed a few days to be as supportive and helpful as I could before going back to my village. Biking home, I reflected on my unexpected turns of my Thanksgiving weekend. There were a couple things that stood out to me. The first was the overwhelming helplessness that I felt as he lay dying. I'm the American. I'm educated. I can read. I understand basic science. I'm here to help. I'm here to make a difference. I wanted to take control, trying to call a doctor. I saw the frantic chaos, the running, the screaming in the night, the man who lay dying before me, and I wanted to save him. I was frustrated that I wasn't a health volunteer because then maybe, just maybe...

But the fact of the matter is, had Momodou collapsed as he did in the United States, the end would not be any different. It happened so suddenly and quickly that even in our developed world with 9-1-1, ambulances, and professionally trained medical doctors, we're not in control.

Instead of being unnerved in this revelation, I was relieved. I'm not in control. I can't fix everything. I don't know all the answers. I'm not a god, but that's ok. It's ok because we have a God who is in control. Our God reigns.

Looking more closely on the preceding days, I saw God's providence, even in the details. Momodou's daughter could have easily stayed the night at her drama competition and not returned in time. Kristin could easily have been in Kombo for Thanksgiving. I could easily have gone to Kombo myself. Being present that night meant that his daughter would not have to face the news alone but could instead have the support of the whole family to walk through it together. As a welcomed member of the family, it was important for Kristin to be there. My presence meant that Kristin would not have to encounter death in a foreign culture alone. It was not an accident that we had spent Thanksgiving enjoying one another's company, taking pictures, and discussing gratitude.

For what better reason should we be grateful? We don't have to be in control. God knows the very hairs on our heads. God gives; He takes away. Our lives are nothing but gift, and they can end at any minute. Christmas is upon us, and as much as I want to be home with my family, I've been put here for a reason. I don't see the plan, but God controls even the details. Praise God. I am grateful for the prayers, letters, and support that I receive from home. Say a prayer for Momodou's family as they grieve and seek what is next. May we all come to know the gift of one another, and live each day in peace, trusting in God's providence.

Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’. For the Gentiles seek all these things; and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things shall be yours as well- Matthew 6:31-33