I am not a fan of uncertainty.

Sometimes I really wish God would give me cue cards, or an audible voice, or at least a little buzzer that would go off if I miss something.

Today I spent about half an hour repairing one of our abondoned bicycles. You may view this as a community service project or you may view at as procrastinating on my review work- it was both. We had two bikes here that were the same brand and had identical frames. One was in good shape but the gear shifter on the handlebar for the back speeds was busted. The other bike has lots and lots of problems but the shifter for the rear speeds was fine. So, as might be predicted, I swiped the gear shifter that worked and put it on the better bike.

I was just finishing up this project and had not yet taken the bike for a test ride to make sure that the speeds actually changed correctly, when a boy, perhaps 11 years old, came up and started talking to me. In portuguese. At least, I think it was portuguese. It could have been something else. All I caught was a word that sounded more or less like "chicklette," and he made the pedal rotating motions with his hands. He also said "s'il vous plait monsieur." He kept repeating it over and over and wouldn't go away. At one point another boy came up and the two of them discussed something briefly, pointing at me. Then the other boy left and the original boy advanced closer. I think he was asking for me to either sell him or give him the bike. I spoke to him in French but he didn't seem to understand. Then I told him "C'est pas mon velo" (It's not my bike), at which point he chose to say "je ne parle pas de français" (I don't speak French). I told him I only spoke French and English, which didn't prevent him from standing there and repeating his phrase every time I would make eye contact with him.

I thought about giving him the bike. Truth is, I have no clue who is going to use it. We already have two other bikes that work just fine. Was it God's timing that I decided to fix it just in time for him to have it? But on the other hand, he seemed to be waging psychological warfare and I didn't want to reward him for it. I had no clue who he was, where he came from, or what he planned to do with a bicycle that was probably too large for him. So I prayed for direction as I fiddled with the bikes in the garage, trying to pretend that he wasn't standing there watching me.

Then, somewhat to my consternation somebody else showed up- the father of our directrice, who has advanced alzheimers. He said hello to us, we said hello, he wandered off, and to my dissapointment the boy didn't leave. Then one of the new students drove up to unload some luggage. I tried talking to him in French, which he didn't understand, then switched to English. The boy watched all of this as if it was perfectly normal for him to be standing there. I directed the man to the front door and headed back into the garage. The boy tried to speak to the poor guy, who of course didn't understand him either and probably thought he was speaking French. Meanwhile I put the bikes in the garage as quickly as possible and then left, letting the door lock behind me. Later I talked with the man who had been there and he said that the boy had indeed tried to talk to him, but he had made money and food motions to him rather than the bicycle motion.

So, I am not sure what to think of it all. I had two bikes outside of our garage and he could probably see that there were another five bikes inside, so perhaps he thought it was a bike shop. But the fact that he later asked the other man for food and money makes me think he is probably the son of one of the guys who makes a living begging money outside the local grocery stores and on the metro. In either case, should I have given him the bike?

Home again, Home again

When in my line of work, "home" means a place where you have spent more time than you have spent in the current location. Now I am back in Paris, which is more home than where I was in the south of France. It is also where I had a lot of good junk stored away, and after living out of a suitcase for 8 weeks I was happy to see it all again. I am now entirely moved in, except that I haven't found my stash of sticky goop (fun tac) so my walls are bare.

The summer camp was really good for me. I did a ton of different things- cleaning, mopping, weed-whacking, sanding, counseling, teaching, cooking, doing dishes, hiking, biking, repairing, mowing, running the sound system, feeding/brushing/moving/riding horses, running errands, starting fires, disarming fire alarms, unplugging toilets, assembling beds, folding laundry, serving meals, replacing garbages, monitoring a rope course, hauling logs, taking photos... I also spoke a ton of French. If I tried to write emails in English after a long day French would slip in.

The seminar last week was really good. If you want more details you can email me. I learned a lot and I think I have a much better understanding of the faith structures in Africa.

This week I am relaxing and studying, and also spending a bit of time welcoming new students and helping them to not feel completely lost. I remember how I felt when I first got here a year ago : ) I am also really happy to once again have a good bike, and if it doesn't rain this afternoon I think I might go visit the forest again.

Update

I was really tired all week long. Friday I spent the day trying to repair the fence around our coralle. When I started, two massive rotted fence posts were leaning and threatening to take down 20 feet of fence with them. When I finished, two massive rotted fence posts were leaning and threatening to take down 20 feet of fence and 40 shiny new screws that weren't actually holding anything together, along with three shiney new boards that looked good but didn't do much.


But I have now recovered and have recommenced my habit of singing random songs and dancing to my own music. It makes work more lively. This week I am back in the kitchen, and I am happy to be there! For the first time in a month, I don't even have a tipi to manage each night.


One interesting part of last week was Bernard Werber's Encyclopedia of Relative and Absolute Knowledge. One of my boys was quite enthrawled by it and loaned it to me for the week. I didn't read much, mainly because I was too busy and partly because it was in French, but I read enough.

It is an interesting mix of facts, imagination, and B.S., all presented in a very intellectual manner. I tried to explain to this young man the difference between what could be true and what is true because the book spent most of it's time in the first category but treated it like the second. I also tried to explain the importance of suppositions, and also how we can twist words to make something clearly illogical sound logical. But then, the fact that the author wasted two pages and lots of numbers to prove that 1+1=3 should have already made that point for me. No matter which formulas he mutilated, if I have an apple and you give me another, the doctor will be knocking on day 3. That was a fun conversation in French, at any rate.

On Saturday my friend Annalisa and I got it into our crazy heads to bike through 12 kilometers of hills and mountains to attend church Sunday morning. Fortunately Annalisa insisted that we try the route Saturday night to see if it was doable. We biked uphill for a long time but had to turn around when we reached Mars because it was getting dark. Yes, we biked to Mars. The next morning we opted for a church much closer that didn't require much uphill work and didn't mean traversing any major planets. It was a fine church, accept that neither of us understood the sermon very well. He must have had an accent or something.


This is the last week of camp, and it is already half over. I think I might actually be sad that the craziness is coming to and end :) Next week is a work week- there is a new dorm that needs to be finished, and 20 or 30 people will be here to work on it. I am not sure yet whether I will be on the work crew or in the kitchen. Willy wants me in the kitchen with him. Perhaps it is because I am such a fantastic chef or perhaps it is because his French is better than mine and I make him feel good. I think it is because he has a great appreciation for the artistic value of my dancing.


Ah, they look so peaceful! You would never guess what goes on inside :)




Looky where we ended up!