Divine Appointment with a Fulani Refugee
How surprised I would have been, a few months back, if someone had told me that one of the highlights of my time in Chicago would be making a Fulani friend! Aisetta is a special woman, and the way God brought us together was one of many signs of His loving care in her life.
Brad & I had been invited to a back-to-school barbeque sponsored by a local church, at a low-income housing complex. We were hoping to meet Muslim immigrants there. There were very few Muslims, but we got into conversation with a couple from Uganda, who were Catholic. As we talked, we mentioned our time living in West Africa among the Fulani, and they told us that they knew a Fulani woman. In fact, they said, we can give her a call right now! So they did, and after she had answered the phone they passed it to me and I stumbled around trying to remember bits of language from more than seven years ago. We switched to English, had a brief conversation, and I told her I would come see her soon.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when my husband and I went to visit Aisetta for the first time. But when we met and exchanged traditional greetings in the Fulani language, it felt like the ice was broken and we were already friends. It had been a long time since she had spoken her native language with anyone!
Aisetta is 27 and has been in the US for about two years. When I asked her why she had come here alone, she told her story. In her home country, Guinea, her parents had married her off at age 13, to an older man who already had several wives. She was treated like a slave in his home. She was miserable and finally decided to run away.
She was able to connect with a few other women in similar situations, and they joined a group with a guide (trafficker) to travel north across the Sahara Desert. It was a long and difficult journey, during which Aisetta was subjected to further abuse and suffered in many ways. Finally they reached Morocco, where she was able to make contact with the UNHCR. She was given housing, medical care, and counseling, and was able to apply for refugee status. Eventually she was sent to West Chicago to begin a new life.
Aisetta told us that, because of her experiences, she had turned her back on Islam. She had started going to a local church, but we sensed that she didn’t fully understand the Gospel. I used the “Jesus Film” app on my phone to pull up the story of Abraham’s near-sacrifice of his son in her native dialect of the Fulani language, and she was delighted to see it. We talked about the importance of Jesus’ death as our final sacrifice, and she seemed to understand. We spent some time praying together. Brad also pulled up the New Testament in her language on the YouVersion app; she had never seen God’s Word in her native language! She was fascinated, and read several chapters from the beginning of Matthew.
It’s hard to imagine the challenges and trauma that Aisetta has experienced, and how alone she must feel without any family or friends from her own culture. We are grateful for the coincidences that brought us together to hear her story and support her in prayer and friendship.
Posted in Uncategorized by Lisa
This is the Place to Start
Where do I start? How can I help? What should I do?
I found these questions bubbling up in my mind and heart a few months back. Our training session had ended, and as I looked ahead I saw blank space on my calendar. And as I walked and shopped in my neighborhood, my attention was drawn to the many Somali families living here, some of them recent arrivals. I know from experience what it’s like to be a stranger in a foreign land. So many challenges and needs; what part can I play in meeting them? I decided to keep my eyes open.
One afternoon I passed a local elementary school just at dismissal time and noticed parents picking up their children. Almost all the women and girls were wearing head scarves and some of the men were in traditional African robes. I was curious; it seemed to be a charter school. Later I asked a teacher friend of mine, and she told me that 95% of the kids there were refugees and recent immigrants. She put me in contact with a friend who taught there.
Feeling drawn to those little girls in their uniform headscarves, I called the teacher and asked if they needed volunteers. She told me that yes, they could always use help in the classroom. When I went to visit, she talked about how her refugee kids often come from big families where they don’t get much individual attention, and where their parents can’t give them a lot of help with their homework. She asked me to come in once a week to help with reading groups. A good place to start!
So on Wednesdays I show up at her fourth grade classroom, where the kids always seem glad to see me. 
I sit with one or two of the reading groups and listen and help with the difficult words. I’ve already seen improvement; they are bright kids, and eager to learn. Some of them remember what life was like in Africa, in the refugee camp, while others have forgotten and know California as their only home. These children are old enough to be aware of the challenges their parents face as immigrants, challenges in employment and housing as well as the hurdles of cultural differences and prejudice. No matter what difficulties they face, I am glad that inside the walls of their classroom they experience kindness, understanding, and safety. And that I can play a small part in opening the world of books to them, and the joy of sharing stories.
(The book we’re reading is called “Sitti’s Secrets” and is a wonderful story about a Palestinian grandmother.)
Posted in Uncategorized and tagged immigrant kids by Lisa
Their First Christmas
My final holiday story (for now) is about celebrating Christmas with Syrian refugees. Can you imagine never having celebrated Christmas? For many of those who attended the party that night, it was their very first taste of the holiday, among Christians in the USA. We felt so very privileged to be part of it!
This was a big event that took a LOT of planning and hard work… our hats are off to the organizers, who are local friends of ours. Twenty-five Syrian refugee families were invited, and each family was seated at a table along with volunteers like us from area churches. The centerpiece of each table was a small Christmas tree, and there were craft supplies on the table so that we could help the kids decorate their little tree to take home. Of course, the food was the main thing, and there were traditional Syrian dishes along with meat and salads… and of course desserts! Following the meal we all watched a film clip about the birth of Jesus, and sang Christmas carols. Some Syrian musicians were on hand to provide additional entertainment, and the evening closed with everyone up on their feet, holding hands and doing a traditional line dance!
The family we shared a table with had six children, ranging in age from teenagers to a one-year-old. After less than a year’s residence in the US, the parents’ English was still at a beginning level, but the older kids were already well on their way to becoming fluent. The father had been an engineer in Syria; here, he is grateful for a job at a car wash. We took lots of photos together and promised to keep in touch.
For this family and many others, it was the first time they had heard the Gospel Christmas story. While we have many treasured family traditions from holidays past, it’s always a special experience to share the holiday with people who have never before celebrated it, people to whom its profound beauty and meaning are unknown. The refugees we ate and danced with that evening have gone through suffering and trauma of many kinds, most of which they can’t even communicate. We pray that the joy and love we shared that night will be a source of healing to them, and that before this year is over they will have discovered its Source.
Posted in Uncategorized and tagged holidays by Lisa
A Taste of Turkey
I was really anxious about that turkey! It was Thanksgiving Day, and the kitchen was busy. Having lived most of my adult life overseas, my experience is limited when it comes to putting on a Thanksgiving feast. In most places we lived, turkeys were either unavailable or extremely expensive, and we often had no fellow Americans to celebrate with. This was the first year we were cooking the entire dinner ourselves on US soil! We had planned a simplified version of the feast, but it still seemed like a challenge to get everything timed just right.
Since our extended family gathering was scheduled for Sunday, we had Thanksgiving Thursday free. So we decided to invite our new Iraqi friends to join us for the afternoon. We had gotten to know Hadi when she worked in our training program as an Arabic language tutor. She and her husband had both worked for a TV station in Iraq, but had had to flee during the war, and eventually arrived in the US as refugees. We were unsure at first if they would enjoy our traditional American feast, but when we dropped by their apartment to extend the invitation, Hadi clapped her hands and, with a big grin, said that she had been hoping for a chance to taste turkey! Their two children, who are learning English quickly in school, were excited as well.
Anxious as I was about the turkey and everything else, it was comforting to remember that since this was their first experience of American Thanksgiving, Hadi and her family wouldn’t know whether everything turned out perfectly or not; they had nothing to compare it to! 
Our apartment filled with delicious smells coming from the oven, and we were just taking the bird out when our guests arrived, bearing a large tin of sweets as a gift. Before bringing out the food, we each used a paper “feather” to write out something we were thankful for, and crafted our little turkey’s tail!
We feasted, and I was happy to see everyone taking second helpings of turkey and stuffing! We talked about different holiday traditions we enjoyed, and shared some family memories. After dinner we adjourned to the living room for games. 
Many of our favorite games don’t require a lot of English to play… and win! We finished off with my husband’s home-made pumpkin pie with whipped cream.
During our years living abroad, we were on the receiving end of more invitations than I could possibly count, to holiday celebrations of many types. More often than not, the meat of choice was mutton, of course! Now that we are back in the land of enormous frozen turkeys, I’m glad that I can do the inviting and share our traditions with newcomers. We shared the story of Squanto and the Pilgrims with Hadi, a reminder that hospitality is woven throughout American history.
Posted in Uncategorized and tagged holidays by Lisa
Friends, Fashion, and Food!
Every culture has its holidays, and now that our American holiday season is over, I’m reminiscing about the West African holiday I shared with my Senegalese friends. I’ve written before on this blog about Muslim holidays, but this was the first time I celebrated one in California!
Soon after we moved here and began exploring the neighborhood, I spotted a hair-braiding salon with a distinctive name that I recognized as Senegalese. I decided to stop in and say hello, and the women working there were surprised when I greeted them in their native language! The proprietor’s name was Mbaya, and as she wasn’t busy with someone’s hair at the moment, we chatted for a while. I learned that she had lived in the US for around 20 years and had several children, although her husband had recently had to return to Senegal. Since then I’ve stopped by the salon for several short visits.
As the big Muslim holiday drew near, Mbaya invited me to join them for their feast. This holiday, called “Tabaski” in Senegal, is known as Eid al-Adha in Arabic, the Feast of Sacrifice. The story of Abraham and his son is retold, when God provided a ram as a substitute for the life of the beloved and obedient boy. I was excited about joining in the celebration, wondering how the traditions I had seen in West Africa would translate into this urban California context.
My husband, daughter, and I dug our African clothes out of storage and pressed them. We bought a large bag of mangoes at a nearby grocery to bring along as a gift. Mbaya had given me a time to arrive, but I had a feeling that the hour was somewhat arbitrary, and I was right. When we arrived at her apartment at around 4:30 pm, we found her up to her elbows in food preparation, along with a dozen other women jostling one another happily in her small kitchen. She took a break to lead us down the hall to the community room, which she had reserved for the Tabaski party. There, we found a dozen or so other Senegalese immigrants relaxing with drinks, and Mbaya introduced us around. There was traditional music playing, and little girls dancing in one corner. 
The Senegalese were all dressed in traditional holiday clothing, and they were surprised to see us dressed up as well! We chatted with our new friends, most of whom had been in the US long enough to speak good English. They lived and worked in various parts of the city, but an informal network kept them all connected. After an hour or so, Mbaya reappeared, having changed into her holiday outfit. All the women who had been cooking gradually made their way into the party, having finished their work and donned the latest West African style! We hadn’t seen bright colors and fashion like that since leaving Africa, and it was a feast for the eyes! 
More people arrived, and eventually the feast for the stomach came out as well—roast lamb with onions, rice, potatoes, and salad, and we ate our fill. By this time it was late, and while the dancing was yet to come, we took our leave. We felt as though we had been temporarily transported back to Africa, and it seemed surprising to leave the building and find ourselves back on an American city street. I hope to visit Mbaya again, and perhaps get to know some of the other women as well. The soft spot that my heart still holds for Africa is warmed in their presence.
Posted in Uncategorized and tagged holiday by Lisa
It’s not just a Dress– It’s an Adventure!
It’s been a long time since I’ve written on this blog; my days have been full with work that I love, and I’ve had less time to sit and reflect. I’ve made many new friends and heard some memorable stories. Before too much more life slips by, I want to introduce my newest African friends.
As some of you know, our oldest daughter got engaged back in March and decided to organize her own wedding together with her fiancé. As plans began to develop, I asked her for input on what I should wear. She told me that she would like me and my husband to wear African outfits. So we unpacked our African clothes from storage, but found that they all look a bit old and shabby. And none of the outfits we had were the right colors for the wedding. So I assumed I’d just have to shop for an American-style dress.
But then I wondered if I might be able to buy a new African-style dress somewhere in our area, so I did an internet search for African clothing. I shouldn’t have been surprised to find that the top two shops were right in our neighborhood! So the following week I visited both and met the proprietors. I settled on “Georgie’s.” 
Georgie is an immigrant from Nigeria, who has lived in our area with her husband and children for a number of years. She was delighted to hear that I had lived in Africa and excited about helping me choose fabric for a “mother of the bride” dress.
After some texting of photos back-and-forth with Anna, I chose a cotton print imported from Nigeria. Georgie showed me albums full of photos of elaborate Nigerian wedding parties, but I told her that this wedding would be casual… the venue was a barn! 
The seamstress was a woman from Cameroon named Gwen, and she helped me decide on a design and took my measurements. We had enough fabric for her to make a matching shirt for my husband—typical at an African wedding.
Gwen actually works early shifts as a cleaning lady at a hospital, and then sews in the afternoons and evenings to help make ends meet. It took about two weeks before my dress was ready. When I met her at the shop to try it on, we found that the shoulders needed some alterations, so it was another three days before it was finished. Since an African outfit is never complete without a head-wrap, she made me a headband to wear with my dress!
The wedding went beautifully and was full of fun and blessing. I was happy with my new dress, and our daughter loved seeing our outfits and hearing about Georgie and Gwen. I like being able to support immigrants as they start and run small businesses here in our neighborhood. And to hear their stories and see how they are stitched together with mine!
Posted in Uncategorized by Lisa
A Story of Courage and of God’s Provision
Veiled ladies in our local park enjoy a tea break
It’s been one month now since we moved into our new home, and we are mostly settled. We’ve begun to meet neighbors and find our way around the community. It’s definitely an immigrant part of town; I stand in the check-out line at the 99-cent store with Spanish-speakers, Asians, and Muslim refugees.
At a friends’ home we met “Grace” and her husband “John,” recently arrived from Nigeria. When I heard that they had arrived in the US via the Mexican border just south of us, I knew there must be a story. They are applying for asylum, and when they expressed a need for help with the complicated legal process, Brad offered to lend a hand. They came over one morning last week so we could help them type up and print their paperwork.
I met Grace at a friend’s holiday party
Talk about stories! Wow—I’ve had some long and exhausting journeys over the years, but nothing like what Grace and John went through. The backstory is a romantic one; John, who was from a Muslim family, fell in love with Grace, from a Christian family. At her request, he started going to church with her, and the Spirit went to work on his heart and drew him to faith. That’s when the trouble started, and from that time his family’s door was closed to him. John and Grace had a church wedding, and when his family found out about it, a group of male relatives came to their home and attacked them.
So much for romance… John and Grace spent their honeymoon running for their lives. They made their way to Senegal, and got passage in the hold of a cargo ship. After three months at sea, they were put ashore in Venezuela. It took them four more months to travel overland, north through Central America to Mexico. They made their way by bus, by boat, and by foot through miles of jungle, without knowing any Spanish! John told us that at one point, in Costa Rica, they had run out of money and didn’t know what to do. A local person, who was a Christian, sensed God telling him to help them and he gave them a thousand dollars!
Eventually they arrived at the US border and turned themselves in to the authorities, asking for political asylum. John was held in a detention camp for four months, but was then released with a GPS device around his ankle. If their request for asylum is granted, they hope to find jobs, settle down, and start a “normal” married life.
Despite their ordeal and the uncertainties of the future, Grace and John told us that they have much to be thankful for. They have seen God’s hand of protection and provision in their lives in some dramatic ways. We also have many reasons for gratitude as this year draws to a close, such as a new home and exciting new work. And we are thankful for the chance to make new friends, whose courageous stories inspire us.
Posted in Uncategorized by Lisa
New Chapters to Long Stories
I’ve used this blog over the past two years to record stories as I’ve experienced them. This time, I’m writing about stories that I don’t know, stories that have yet to be told.
Last Wednesday, I volunteered to help at a “welcome picnic” for recently-arrived refugees. It was held at a park by the beach on a typically sunny, breezy California day. Nearly 100 new immigrants, mostly Syrians, had been brought by teams of drivers from their temporary housing locations in the low-income areas of the city. My husband and I joined several dozen volunteers from faith-based organizations to provide a fun and relaxing day out to these newcomers. While my husband manned the chicken grill, I worked on patting out halal ground beef for dozens of hamburgers. 
It was a big job, and I was relieved when Ruhanna and her son Nawar asked if they could help me make hamburger patties. They both speak good English, so while we worked I was able to hear some of their story. They have been in the US for several years already, and Ruhanna works at a thrift store; she was an elementary teacher in Damascus, and hopes to take courses and eventually get her teaching credential in California. Nawar is going into his junior year of college, majoring in political science. His father stayed behind in Syria but has now arrived, and they are happy to be together as a family. 
Most of the new arrivals speak limited English, and those of us who don’t speak Arabic will have to wait to hear their stories. While the boys played in the water, I watched a group of teenaged girls on the beach; eventually, three of them went in and swam, fully clothed! I wondered about their stories, about the long journeys that stretch behind them. On this sunny beach, under a blue, bomb-free sky, it’s hard to imagine the pain, loss, and anxiety many are carrying in their hearts.
Some of the volunteers had set up a kids’ table with a large banner, paints and markers. 
An Arabic phrase of welcome decorated the center, and the children had each traced a handprint around the outside. Each colorful handprint represents a story, one that began in a place far away but now continues here by our beach. Each story, each child, is unique, complex, and loved by God. I want to learn those stories; perhaps in the years to come, I will. May their next chapters be written in lines of hope.
Posted in Uncategorized and tagged refugees by Lisa
The Buried Grain and the Green Blade
It’s been almost six months since I’ve written a post; our transition away from India and back to life in the US (including walking normally) has taken up most of my mental energy and creativity. But my Easter reflections beg to get out of my head and on to the screen, so here they are…
We celebrated Easter in Colorado, where we were visiting our daughter Anna, and we spent the weekend together with my favorite aunt and my cousin and her family. My aunt took us to her church for the Easter morning service, a church with a long tradition of great music. I haven’t had a worship experience like that in many years—singing together with a large choir, pipe organ, and brass ensemble. Our “allelulias” seemed to raise the roof and bring us directly into the company of the heavenly host, worshipping the Lamb who was slain and is alive forevermore. The beauty of that worship filled my heart.
One song we sang that morning was new to me. It’s called “Now the Green Blade Rises” and it brings to life the profound metaphor of the seed that must be buried before it can emerge from the earth in new birth. The first verse goes like this:
Now the green blade rises from the buried grain,
Wheat that in the dark earth many years has lain;
Love lives again, that with the dead has been:
Love is come again, like wheat that springs up green.
If this song is new to you as well, listen to it on YouTube at this link: Now the Green Blade Rises
I had another experience last Sunday, a dark contrast to the joy of the morning’s worship. I heard on the news about the horrifying massacre of families out for an afternoon at the park in Lahore, Pakistan. I wrote on my blog last year (May 5) about how my local friends loved to take picnics to the local parks. In this bombing, the evidence indicates that Christians were specifically targeted on their holiday, but among the more than 70 dead were Muslims and Hindus as well. More than 300 people were injured, among them many children. Witnesses spoke of bloody picnic blankets and children’s shoes scattered around, and parents and children searching frantically for one another. The pain of that scene tore at my heart.
In my blog post on Easter last year (April 8), I wrote of forgiveness, something I continue to reflect on and work hard to practice. This year I wonder whether those victimized families in Lahore will be able to forgive, and to find redemption for their pain. I can think of no better prayer for them than the last verse of this song:
When our hearts are saddened, grieving or in pain,
By Your touch You call us back to life again;
Fields of our hearts that dead and bare have been:
Love is come again, like wheat that springs up green.
May it be so for each of us in this season.
Posted in Uncategorized by Lisa
Turkish Healthcare Adventure
Our return trip to the US took an unexpected detour, and I’m learning to use crutches!
On our way back from India two weeks ago, we stopped in Turkey to attend a conference, on ministry among nomadic people groups (a lifestyle we can relate to!). After we left the conference we had planned to meet up with some co-workers, and we took a bus to Izmir. As we were coming out of the bus station, I accidentally stepped off the side of a ramp and fell about 4 feet, landing hard on my left leg! So our visit with our friends took place mostly in the hospital emergency room!
Turkish ER Doc
The emergency room doctor was a young woman who didn’t speak much English, but managed to communicate care and competence to us. Assuming that the leg was broken, she put a temporary cast on it, and we found a hotel with a handicapped room, where we relaxed for a few days with a view of the Aegean Sea.
Hotel with a view
When it came time to travel, it took a huge effort to talk the airline into moving me up to a business class seat on our long trans-Atlantic flight. But we met friendly wheelchair attendants at every airport. In Istanbul we even got to ride in a special truck from the terminal to the plane—handicapped delivery!
Airport special delivery
After arriving in CA, I made an appointment with an orthopedic doctor, assuming that he would replace my temporary cast with a plaster one. The morning of the appointment, I woke up with a tingling feeling in my leg, in the spot that had been most painful. When the doctor looked at the x-rays, he couldn’t see any break, and when he checked my leg the pain was almost gone. He believes that there isn’t actually a break, only tendon damage, so he replaced the cast with a removable brace. When we arrived back at the house, my nephew was excited to hear this—it turns out he had been praying for me that morning, that the diagnosis would be better than what we expected!
God answers prayer, although we can’t always predict how or when. I’m thankful for that, and for very little pain overall. So in addition to catching up on sleep and unpacking, I’m learning to get around on crutches, adding sore shoulders and wrists to my list of complaints! I’m grateful for Mary and other family members who are eager to help out. It’s a season for me to rely on others, to slow down, and to keep my eyes open for answers to prayer and blessings, however unexpectedly they arrive.
Posted in Uncategorized and tagged hospital, Turkey by Lisa