Crazy Adventures in the Life of a Redhead

  How despicable is violence! It turns what is charming and peaceful into something deformed and repugnant. Even the threat of violence creates a tense environment not easily ignored. In the past 10 years the Ivory Coast has undergone ongoing war and rebellion and a multitude of various attacks on the armed forces, refugees and the general population. Easy to comprehend is the manner in which people remain suspicious of one another and the way in which commerce, agriculture and tourism have suffered dramatically in the wake. Once a thriving West African country, endowed with natural and cultural riches beneficial to the locals and international consumers—bananas, cocoa and coffee and main and substantial exports from Ivory Coast—and bedecked with a cultural heritage fascinating for the curious tourist. Tourism is practically dead; very few people other than those working for the myriad of non-governmental organizations dare venture into this ravishing country. A

Farming is a continual process that concerns life and death in a rhythmic and unpredictable cycle, dependant on forces only God understands. I so appreciated learning about the work I could do to ensure the health of my plants and the soil while putting my faith in the work that God mysteriously accomplishes as small seeds grow into large plants or trees that give life to the earth and to its rulers. I pulled weeds, planted trees, watered sprouts, harvested okra and finished translating the book I had started last time I spent with Beer-Sheba. Everything I undertook or was asked to look after, I completed with zest and joy. Being a creator of life in a world so bent on destruction and on inflicting immense pain on others, I found peace in immersing my strength in the restoration of the land and my heart in the pursuit of my Savior Jesus Christ. As a parting whisper of hope, I saw my garden plants sprouting and felt grateful for the ability to have cared for a small slice of this

I took after them running—literally, I hiked up my tunic and jolted after the animals: the cows were out of the gate and stampeding towards their end, well, towards the marketplace. I never imagined that bringing cows to a village market would be a part of my repertoire of adventures here in Senegal, but I can jot this experience onto the list of sublime, frustrating, fascinating, lovely and extraordinaire elements that I have seen and lived through in the past year. After eating some freshly baked bread—delicious bread— from our earthy outdoor oven, I went to see the herder that we hired and the interns as they attempted to tie and round up seven fattened cattle.                                       Here in Senegal, no matter where you go, with the exception of the cities, you will see cattle wandering around, looking for a patch of green grass to masticate. Only during the rainy season does the green covering of grass bring long-awaited relief to their skinn