Loriann in Sudan

I preached in on Sunday and told the story of Elijah and the prophets of Baal having a show down to decide who was really God.  I referred to one characters in the story was “Chief Ahab.”  The only problem is that in Ganza, chief is “Kwagal” and pumpkin is “Kwaga.”  You can imagine the rest!  Thankfully, they corrected me before getting to far into it.

I think I’ll always be able to see the image of my Wisconsinite parents walking across the Yabus Unity Bridge! Spotting a white person in Yabus is rare, but the ones who have loved and raised me from birth being seen in Yabus, a place I now feel at home but doesn’t bear remote resemblance to anywhere within a continent’s radius of my home back in Wisconsin. What a surreal collision between two of my “homes.”

While they were here visiting, my mom made it her mission to eradicate all the ants from my house, with surprising success…for a few days . She tapped the supply she brought of ant killer, and commented that I should know what to expect in my next package! My dad returned beaming after he helped snuff out the grass fire by our neighbor’s house. By the end of the week he must have felt rather at home because we could hardly keep track of who he was out visiting and talking with. They both left me encouraged and impressed with their ability to handle not-Wisconsin-like conditions, you wouldn’t have known it was their first time in Africa!

For a girl who’s always turned a knob on the stove to get the food cooking, my first few times to the firewood place have been rather enlightening.

First you gather your friends who also need firewood and trek along paths to places where men have been cutting down trees to clear a field for next year’s garden. You axe at a downed tree and pile it up in a way that will balance well on your head and be a manageable weight. Then you search around the area to find one of two particular branches that are good for tying. You strip away and discard the bark from the branch as well as the inside woody part and are left with the greenish, remarkably strong strip between the inner and outer edge of the branch. Then you tie it up tightly and get your friend to help you lift it onto the donut shaped wrap made from leaves or cloth wound with the same sort of rope offering padding between your head and the stack of wood that you carry back home.

And that is how you “turn the knob on the stove” here in Gondollo. I’m learning a lot.

A few weeks ago was the first time I transported my moving day belongings via a four wheeler through muddy paths and tall grass!  I’ve been spending some of my nights each week out in Gondollo, the Ganza village nearest to Yabus and the missionary compound, about 3.5km south of Yabus.  I have found this move to be invaluable for the way it connects me with the people.  I am getting a taste through experience of what real life in Sudan is like for real Ganza people.  I’d say that what it takes me to learn in months worth of daily visits I’ve learned in days of living with the people.

September 4, 2008 unpacking and repacking in the Chicago airport when we found out how expensive the extra baggage charges were

I recently wrote a brief email to an old friend about what I’ve been up to the last year.  “I’ve been living in a remote area in Sudan learning a tribal language of an unreached people group that hasn’t been learned or studied by an outsider before.”  I stopped dead in my tracks.  What was I thinking?  If I knew then what I was doing…But, I didn’t know then what I know now, and I’m happy for that. 

Lori Hofmeister, not a single credit of linguistic training, no Bible training aside from church, parochial school, and Bible studies, no missions history, no missions in the family.  I feel nervous to write this, like someone might find out the truth of how unqualified I am and send me home! But I write it anyway, why?  Because for whatever reason, God brought me hear a year ago, unqualified, unaccompanied, unprepared to a people who are unknown, unreached, untouched.  Though I don’t know what I was thinking, I trust that God knew what he was thinking as he brought me here out of love for me and love for them. 

One year ago marked the start of the most “set apart” year of my life.  A year full of experiences I can compare with nothing else.  I cared for a starving baby in my home, cried when I realized even seat cushions were part of the cost of this choice.  I’ve been a part of praying for an out of place rib that was simply healed, a boy’s horrendous fever than simply left, a sick baby whose long lasting diarrhea simply stopped.  I’ve learned a language, learned to trust God in the dark.  I’ve learned to sit down and just watch.  I’ve learned to stand in awe of God and be OK with not having any idea WHY things went the way they did.  I’ve learned to have faith not in what will come, hope not in what will change, trust not in the outcome, but to stand in darkness surrounding in every direction and have faith, hope, and trust in CHRIST ALONE who IS my hope, joy, and strength. 

It has been a good year.

We gathered together under a tree on the white sand of Gasmalla’s compound with all the people from the village of Dugabelle.  We shared as we had the two mornings prior, but this time was far more relaxed, and after listening to their stories of the beginning, I enjoyed sharing the story of the beginning from Scripture.  The people were not only receptive and attentive but nodded and participated and urged us to continue talking.  They were responsive and displayed genuine hunger for more. 

When I introduced myself to Gasmalla, he repeated my name a number of times with curiosity.  He seemed to study me with curiosity throughout our time of asking questions.  As we shared he seemed exceptionally responsive and eager for us to continue.

 It was not at all like I expected.  I expected that I’d have some sense of “fear” in the presence of a man who has such a clear story of having been “entered” but some sort of spirit.  However, sitting there on his compound with the people gathering, placing hope in him to heal them, I wasn’t remotely afraid, rather full of compassion.  He was trapped.  He did not feel free to leave.  He carried the weight of expectations and hope for healing that people place on him, a weight he was never intended to carry.   

We packed up, and headed out on our thirty-four kilometer hike home.  We talked, sang, discussed, and prayed our way back to SIM, arriving sometime after dark through the beautiful country of Ganza land, through a little bit of rain, some slippery mud, and welcomed the fabulous meal and long shower when we got home.  We all slept very well.