The penultimate day

This is an e-mail I sent...

I am sitting in the apartment in Banjul, Arabic flowing through the speakers below me. I've seen more Muslims bowing and doing their daily prayers, and it is so heartbreaking to know that they are praying to a dead god, someone who thought he was possessed by demons. Lori took my picture with a shopowner today and he said, "I shouldn't take a woman now because of Ramadan", weird.

The drive from Mansa Jang yesterday took about 9 hours. It is supposed to take 5, but the ferry was too full, so we had to wait. As we sat there, little kids touched our hands through the windows, asking for bututs and dalasis and for pens for school. They just stood there staring at us for over an hour, trying to sell us green oranges and ground nuts. Each day leaving Koina, kids would run after us, reaching in the van, which is gratifying and heartbreaking at the same time, because it makes me wonder if they will ever escape this life.

Lori witnessed to a man named Mamadou on the ferry. Please pray for him. They argued over Islam and Christianity. The traditions of the people are so strong; they will be disowned by their families if they give up Islam. I wish they knew that they were also giving up eternal life. He explained that Mohammed was "pure" and that by cleaning his hands he was pure, and by praying a lot he was exonerated from sin. It hurt to hear that, to hear his denial of the grace of God freeing us from sin. Lori said she'd agree to read the Qu'Ran if Mamadou would agree to read the Bible. She said she was totally comfortable with it, because she knew that he'd be reading the truth.

Although this trip has been a great experience, I am excited to get home. As I was taking a shower (dumping water over my head with a bucket) this morning, I noticed something. The window was split into two parts; one pane was an aged, yellow glass, the other side was just a screen. I realized that coming here has been like getting glasses. I didn't see things clearly before. I saw them through that distorted yellow glass. I was sequestered from the environment. The way the people lived here did not seem real even though on some level I knew it was happening. Now I see things through the other part; my vision is clear, I can hear the voices of the people, smell the smells, feel the breeze. I am part of how this world operates and my eyes are able to see how a majority of the world lives. Poor. Impoverished. Fighting for survival. And no matter how hard I try, I can't block out those voices. I can't make my skin or nose not feel or smell. I can't ignore it.