to my loved ones far away in a place called Chad

This past Wednesday I celebrated my one month anniversary in Chad.
There wasn’t much fanfare. The day passed as many others have, with me
departing for work at the local Chadian private school where I am
teaching English, trying to teach classes full of 50 students between
the ages of 12-16, getting frustrated with the inefficient bureaucracy
left over from French colonial control, dealing with the fact that I’m
a white woman walking down streets filled with black men, taking a 2
hour nap, etc. A day like so many others, focused on adapting, on
resting, on living.
Life here is tiring, filled with effort, and sometimes extremely
depressing; the heat, the lack of consistent water or electricity, and
the trash in the streets make merely living so difficult. Life here
is lonely; living in a culture so contrasting to my own, surrounded by
a language that is not my native tongue, and being separated from the
young adult community that has been my life these past few years have
challenged me.
But there has been much more to my time here than simply learning to
survive. On the one month anniversary of my time here in N’djamena, I
read a letter from my fall roommate asking me about life lessons and
how the African world view has challenged me. I wanted to respond with
the Western ideals I have begun to realize dominate my life, the
reward theology that has frustrated me, and the biblical/cultural
habit of head coverings that has begun to grate on me. But instead I
forced myself to delve into life and lessons here.
I realized that I am learning to be adaptive, to be accepting of
change, and to live with world-views that are so different from my
own. I am re-learning how to live in family, how to feed the dog and
fill the filter, how the illusion of personal space/property doesn’t
always make sense when you have water and your neighbor is thirsty. I
am learning how worship comes no matter what you believe or what your
circumstance: God is still God. I am accepting that poverty is a part
of life. I am learning to laugh at the fact that I am not the only one
who doesn’t shower everyday (or who needs reminders that showering
every once in a while might be helpful (thanks Jamila)). I am
recognizing that you can learn to adapt to live without toilet seats,
instant internet, constant electricity or running water. I am being
refreshed in the certainty that God provides.
Like the bread I baked yesterday with leftover oatmeal, I am learning
that life doesn’t always come out the way you had planned. Whither it
was the lack of measuring spoons, the two settings of hot or hotter on
the gas stove, or the Chadian flour that I sifted to get rid of creepy
crawlers, even after an extra twenty minutes my precious loaves never
turned the tell-tale golden brown color I expect from my bread. And
yet, even with all the complications and their dull white complexion,
they still taste like manna.
Such is life here. While I’m not exactly sure what I expected, I know
it was not this tired, hot, and lonely existence I have stepped into.
And yet, there is as much goodness here, and the bread is eaten with
just as much love, as it was where I climbed the grassy hill beneath a
star filled sky to ground the local wheat myself.