We chose today to visit all our neighbors. It's our annual tradition here at Shiloh.  Doris carried the bag of individually wrapped homemade banana bread.  Princes Angle, age three, carried the bag of gospel tracts.  And Mama Alice carried herself.  

We started this tradition around ten years ago as a way of getting into the homes of our neighbors with the gospel.  And it works.  People who would never darken the door of any church welcome us when we show up.  They know we are the white neighbors that live in the "flower house", so named because of colorful bougainvillea that spill over our wall.  Some neighbors are stable.  They've been living in the neighborhood longer than we have.  Some are transient.  They rent the small studio apartments and little duplexes that are sprinkled everywhere in-between the large houses.  The old timers tell the new-bees who we are.  

We coached Princes Angle on the fine art of being polite prior to leaving Shiloh.  She practiced saying "Good morning!  Happy New Year!" and shaking our hands.  She took her job very seriously.  We found a gaggle of teenage girls (whom we have watched grow up over the years) sitting outside the first house, laughing, talking, giggling, and being very teenage-ish. Prince Angle broke away from us, strode up to the first teen, put out her hand and said "Good morning!  Happy New Year!" as big as you please.  After shaking the first hand, she quickly moved around the group, repeating her lines.  Everyone loved her!  She opened doors and hearts to our message of hope for the New Year.  Hope, peace, love, joy that is only found in a personal relationship with our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Happy New Year from Shiloh to you and yours.  May your new year be filled with an ever deepening relationship with the Altogether Lovely One.

The call came in shortly before 4 p.m. today.

"Good afternoon," I said in French.

"Good afternoon Mama Alice, she replied in French.  "How are you?"

While I recognized her voice, I could not put a name or a face on it.  But OK, she knows my name, so we must be friends.   "I am fine, thank you," I said in the polite Cameroon way.  "And how are you?"

"I am fine.  How is Papa Jim?"

The plot thickens.  She knows both of us.  But who is she?  The voice is very familiar.  We certainly must know her. But I am at a loss as to who she is.  "He's fine, thank you," I reply.  Polite conversation is liberally sprinkled with "thank yous".  

"Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year to you, too."   Who could you possibly be, I wondered.

And then the dreaded question came: 

"Do you know who this is?"

"Yes.  I know your voice very well.  But I'm forgetting your name,"  I replied, hoping against hope that this would appease her. 

"When you hear my voice  you know who I am.  So tell me, what do you think my name is?"

Now I'm trapped.  Everyone wants to be your best friend.  Everyone wants you to always remember them, down to the last detail.  Everyone is deeply offended if you cannot at least conjure up their name.   

"Oh but my friend, I do know your voice.  It's just your name that has escaped my mind.  If I could remember it, I would have already told you.  My mind is a blank."  Thankfully this pacifies her.

"Yes!  You do know me!"  She's very excited now.  "I'm your mother you know!"

Sorry, this isn't helping at all.  Not even a tiny bit.  Who among all the many, many Cameroonians that we know do I refer to as my mother????  Ladies of a certain age are called Mama this or Mama that, but to be MY MOTHER?  I don't think so.  

"Yes, you are my mother."

And then finally it comes out.  "I'm Monique!"

"How are you, Monique?  It's good to hear your voice."  Monique?  Monique who???  The only Monique I know is young enough to be my daughter.  And besides, this is not that Monique's voice.

"Oh, I'm not doing very well.  It's my legs.  They are giving me pains.  You know I'm getting old.  It is getting hard to move about."

"Yes, I understand the problems of the aged.  I'm getting old now, too."  

Her "Good-bye" was dripping with smiles.  She was so happy to have gotten to talk with Mama Alice and wish her Happy New Year.  And she was especially delighted that Mama Alice remembered her.

But Mama Alice hasn't a clue who she really is.  Welcome to Cameroon.  This is a fairly regular occurrence out here on the Dark Side of the Moon.

 

Monday, 25 December 2017, 10:30 a.m.

Papa Jim invited us to come to the table for a Christmas morning brunch that he had prepared for us.  Lots of yummy food.   Everything was special and festive.  But we were only three at the table.  Papa Jim.  Mama Alice.  Theirry, the 17 year old young man who lives at Shiloh while attending university here in Yaounde.

While marveling over the delicious surprises Papa Jim had fixed, we asked Theirry what his family would be doing today.  And the answer we got was unexpected.  He said it was just an ordinary day at his house.  They never celebrated Christmas.  His church does not do anything special for Christmas.  So we asked about New Years.  Do they do anything special then?  Well, sometimes his mom takes the kids out and buys them something special.  But not every year.

Wow!  We didn't know that our annual Christmas party, held on 23 December this year,  was the first time in his life that Theirry had celebrated Christmas.  We didn't know that the gift we gave him was the first Christmas gift he had ever received in his whole life.  We didn't know that when he played the piano and sang during our Christmas program, that was the first time he had ever witnessed such a program, let alone take part in it.   

Come to think of it, we should have known.  You see, back in 1991 when we arrived in Cameroon for the first time, we met a country that didn't know anything about Christmas.  It was not part of their culture.  They had zero Christmas  traditions.   Then not so many years after we arrived out here, the Chinese signed an agreement with the Cameroonian government.  Ever since that time, more and more "made in China" goodies are being imported into the country.  Eventually China got around to introducing Christmas to Cameroonians.  And year by year the big cities like Yaounde become increasingly commercialized during the Holidays.  With the advent of Christmas, many churches have started taking notice.  Maybe they will have a special program.  Maybe the children will put on some kind of a program.  Maybe the pastor will read the account of the birth of Christ on the Sunday closest to Christmas.  This year one church held a special Christmas baptismal service.  And another church put on a Christmas concert.

 

"Have you ever cracked a safe?" she asked.  

"Not yet," he replied.

"Well here's your chance!"

Typical husband and wife conversation, right?

An email went out to the mission community. Did anyone know of a good locksmith?  Preferably one who speaks English?  And Mama Alice quickly responded.  Her favorite locksmith speaks English and would be most happy to help out.  What exactly needed breaking into?  Was it a door?  A cabinet?  What?

She allowed as how it was something unusual.  

How unusual?  

With a red face she whispered [is it possible to whisper in an email???] that it was her office safe.  A large sum of money and her passport were inside the safe.  She needed help getting it out. 

When Papa Jim arrived, he met a damsel in distress sitting in her office next to her wall safe, hoping against hope that her troubles would soon be over.  He had spent a considerable amount of time searching the web for hints on cracking safes.  Did you know you can learn such things on line?!  But her safe turned out to be key operated.  Piece of cake.  He can open nearly any kind of key operated lock known to man.  And he has.  Many times.  For many people.  In many places around the world.  It's a shame Papa Jim is a missionary.  He would have made a terrific thief!

Turns out this particular safe is key operated.  Takes a special kind of key.  Cannot be picked by your standard lock picking tools.  Which he has of course.  You can't call yourself a locksmith and not have the official tools, after-all.   But he was not intimidated by the problem presenting itself.  He has actually fabricated a special tool for picking special locks before.  Several times.  In several places around the world.  This is not a challenge for him.  

Somehow this older missionary lady (even older than us), working for another mission agency, managed to misplace the one and only key for her mission's office safe.  Having recently sold a truck for her mission, a large sum of money is locked inside the safe.  And now she has to remove said large (really large) sum of money, but cannot get inside the safe without the key.  

It's sure a good thing that Papa Jim can break into most anything.  The damsel in distress is wearing a smile now.   And thus ends another one of those typical days that we regularly have here at Shiloh.

Rain!  Wonderful, pounding, torrential rain.  Coming down in unending sheets.  (No raining cats and dogs here.)  Loudly beating on roof tops.  Blotting out all other sounds.  Only rumbling thunder penetrates the noise of a tropical rain storm.  Thunder rolling and crashing. First nearer and nearer, and then farther and farther away.  Streaks of lighting piercing the darkness of our bedroom.  But it was the thunder that pulled me from dreamland.  And what a delightful way to have sleep interrupted.  This, the first rainstorm of the long dry season, is a most welcomed relief.  It will be an infrequent occurrence.  And rains every appearance will be applauded. 

Breakfast in the dining room with two German doctors.  The table was set with our Christmas dishes.  Very festive.  It was a relaxing, enjoyable meal.  Catching up on all that is going on in the hospital up north where they volunteer. Listened to fascinating stories of their work among the poor.

Had a late morning meeting with Francis.  Read list of non-perishable food items  as he packed market bags one by one with those items. Bags were placed in back of the Christmas tree.  Frozen chicken will be added at the last minute.  Each family will go home from our annual Christmas party with enough food to put on a Christmas dinner at their place for their friends and family.  Finalized  shopping list for last minute purchases for the meal.  Perishable things  that could not be bought ahead of time.  

Francis and Doris carried side-board out to front hallway.  Guests will file past and serve themselves.  Brought library table down to dining room and experimented with various seating arrangements.  How to fit 25 people around three tables, taking into consideration the needs of families with small children?  Fourteen adults.  Five teens.  Five little children six and under.  One baby.   Eventually figured it out.  Think it's going to work.  Tables are in a "U" shape, giving that feeling of all being together.

Doris ironed  all our best tablecloths.  It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, everywhere you look.  Our party will be held on Saturday, 23 December, at 1 p.m.  Preparations have been going on for several weeks.  Now we are executing those plans.  All work is done in and around the edges of our guests.  Shiloh does not come to a grinding halt when we have large parties.

Papa Jim and Mama Alice spent time with a pastor who is spending this week at Shiloh.  He had lots of questions and concerns regarding how to minister to singles in his church community.  We shared from many years of experience.  We reminded him that at the end of the day, their unique needs and issues are spiritual.  Is our God big enough to meet my every need?  And what if God does not give me everything that I know I need?  Can I still trust Him.  Will I still trust Him?  Will I resolved every day and in every way to follow Him, no matter what life dishes out?   The basic issues are the same, no matter what category a person fits into:  singles, marrieds without children, families, widows and widowers. 

Rounded the day off with a weekly Bible study with our relief night guard. I always marvel at his intellect.  Had he been born in the Land of Plenty, he would have gone far.  Having been born into extreme poverty, and never having gotten any "brakes", he struggles for his daily existence.  But it's not all bad.  In the midst of his difficulties he has found the Lord.  And it is my joy to watch him grow in grace week by week.  Our Bible survey brought us to the book of I Samuel.  As always his questions are deep and probing.  I am totally inadequate for the task at hand.  But I put my confidence in the Great I Am and move forward in His strength.  Ever humbled that He would choose to use me in this man's life.

And thus ends another "typical day" at Shiloh.

Shiloh is full to the max.  

Every room.  

Every bed.  

Taken.  

Couldn't fit another guest in sideways.

Even if we wanted to.  

That's when it happened.  

Quarter to nine.  

At night.

Phone rang.

Calling to make a reservation.

Needed a room.

For tonight.

Wanted to stay until Friday.

Could he come right over?

Tried to let him down gently.

We're full up.

Won't have an available room 'till after Christmas.

Felt kind of like the inn keeper.

Talking to Joseph.

No room.

No room at the inn.

But we have room in our hearts.

For Jesus.

 

 

We were carrying on an email conversation with friends and fellow missionaries from our Mexico days.  Talking about the holidays and remembering back to the early years.  Our conversation went something like this:

We gathered up our parents grand-kids and packed them off to Mexico without a backward glance.  It didn't cross our minds that we were robbing two (not one but two) sets of grandparents of their precious grand-kids.  After all, we had God's call on our lives.  Surely that was all that mattered.

Many long years would pass before we began to realize what we had done to them.  And it was way to late to make amends.  This time around it was US taking off for far away Darkest Africa and leaving our children behind.  And suddenly we got to experience what it felt like to be deprived of their presence during all the holidays.  We looked at each other and said "OH MY GOODNESS!  THIS IS WHAT WE DID TO OUR PARENTS!"  

What's the saying?  Too soon old; too late smart.  Sure applied to us.

Being away from our family is the only sacrifice we ever make that's worth talking about.  The Holiday Season is always a fresh reminder of that.  But God has blessed us beyond measure with lots of family here in Cameroon.  And that helps.  We host an annual Christmas party for our Cameroonian family.  We will be 26 at the table this year, ranging in age from us in our early 70s down to an 8 month old "granddaughter". 

Someday, someday soon, we will have all our family together for all eternity.  It won't be long now.  Soon we will be together, never to part again.  We won't have to apply for visas, or make sure our shot record is up-to-date. We won't have to spend obscene amounts of money on transportation.  And best of all, we won't have to pack a thing!   Or recover from jet lag once we arrive in Glory.  Even so come quickly Lord Jesus.

They've spent the last three and a half years dreaming of starting a family of their own.  But it hasn't happened.  Then God did something that they could never have dreamed up, left to their own devices. 

It happened in a remote village to an incredibly poor family.  Extreme poverty precluded prenatal care.  And the same level of poverty caused the birth to take place at home with no medical assistance whatsoever.  The mother delivered a little boy and his twin sister, and then died of complications related to the delivery.  Neither the newly widowed father nor anyone in the extended family could take care of motherless twins.  The father heard about an orphanage across the river in Nigeria that accepted newborns.  He was in the process of taking the babies there when the canoe he was riding in capsized.  Sadly, the father drowned.  Somehow the twins survived and somehow they were brought back to the village.  The newborn baby boy got sick and died very quickly.  An older sister named the surviving girl Miracle because she truly is a miracle.  But the family was even less equipped to raise this child than before.  So the Grandmother, cousins, and uncles got involved.  They searched everywhere in their part of Cameroon for an orphanage that would take a newborn.  Nobody wanted to even think of making a second attempt to get the baby into Nigeria.  

News of this families plight traveled quite some distance to another village where our friends live.  They immediately volunteered to take little Miracle and raise her for the glory of God.  This family, so torn apart with grief and loss, gratefully placed their precious little bundle into the loving arms of our missionary friends.   And she was given a second name.  Miracle Grace.  She spent last night at Shiloh with her brand new parents.   She's adorable.  We briefly considered stealing her, but then remembered that raising children is for the young.  We're only young at heart!

 

Twenty-two New Testaments.  Thirty Gospels of John.  Two hundred sixty eight tracts.  All in French.  All distributed by one or another of us at Shiloh in one months time.  We're submitting our first monthly report to the organization that provides these items for free.  Regular reporting is the only hitch.

One beautician that has a link to Shiloh has been giving out gospel tracts to each of her customers.  Our favorite taxi driver sets a couple of different tracts on his dash board and lets his customers pick them up and ask questions.  One member of our team passed them out to many relatives at his father's funeral.  

But the best story this month comes from one of another our team members.  She asked for a day off work in order to visit a cousin who is dying of AIDS.  She wanted to share the gospel with her one last time.  When she arrived in her cousin's town, she discovered that the cousin had disappeared.  Disappeared?!  How could that be??  

 The man who fathered the cousin's four children abandoned her somewhere along the way.  And at some point the cousin was diagnosed with AIDS.  Eventually she decided she didn't want to live anymore so stopped taking the medication.  Over time her health has deteriorated.  When she slipped into a coma, the family carried her to a local hospital where she was put on IV medication.  Nobody was in the room with her when she came out of the coma.  And nobody noticed when she slipped out of the hospital and disappeared.  

While our girl was not able to share the gospel with her cousin (who is still lost) something rather amazing happened.  The cousin's mother is understandably very shook up with the disappearance of her daughter.  So much so that for the first time ever she is realizing that she needs to know more about God.  Is He real?  Does He really exist?  Can He help in a crisis like this?  What a joy it was for our team member to be able to point this older woman to the Most High God.  She left her with a Gospel of John and a couple of different tracts.   Maybe, just maybe, the disappearance of the cousin will result in the salvation of the mother.

It's official.  We are now the grandparents of four teenagers.  Kind of scary to think about, isn't it?  Why it was just day before yesterday when we were the PARENTS of three teenagers.  And it will only be day after tomorrow when the grands start emptying out their respective nests.  Time marches on.  The years fly by with every increasing rates of speed, the older we become.

The refrain that keeps going through our heads is "Only one life, 'twill soon be past.  Only what's done for Christ will last."   It helps us stay focused on what's really important for today.  After all, we have no promise of tomorrow.

Well it's official.  The long dry season is here.  It's been the better part of two weeks, maybe even three, since the last rain of the short rainy season.  The long dry season begins near the end of November and runs into February or even March. This is truly the worst time of the year out here on the Dark Side of the Moon.  If we didn't doctor it up with Christmas decorations, I'm not sure how we would ever survive.  It's suddenly hotter.  Hot and sticky.  Showers cool the body off for what?  Thirty minutes??  Then one wonders why we even bothered.  And "everybody" is suffering from change of season colds.  Harmattan dust is beginning to show up, uninvited and unwanted.  We're needing to sweep, mop, and dust much more often.  And we know that this is just the beginning.  As we move ever deeper into Harmattan, the famous accompanying haze will blot the sun from our sky.  And dusting will eventually become an exercise in futility.  But that's in our not-to-distant future.  During the second half of the long dry season.  We've dubbed it "Dirty Season".   Maybe you live where you shovel snow.  We live where we shovel dirt!

 

Papa Jim and Mama Alice are way too busy for a couple of OLD guys.  Trying to learn how to age gracefully.  It's not easy.  Especially for the Mama Alice part of the Team.  

I've been a card carrying, Type-A Personality, hyper-organized person all my life long.  Except now I have all the energy of a slug.  I keep trying to pretend that I can still leap from tall buildings, but alas, my cape keeps getting caught and I end up splatting on the ground.  It's not a pretty sight.  

One of these times I'm going to talk myself into being decorative instead of productive.  It's a hard lesson to learn.  As they say "Growing old is not for sissies".

Good friends and fellow missionaries we worked together with in Mexico are going through a season of death right now.  Here is part of a letter we wrote them:

Back to back death with your two brothers takes us back in our memories to when my precious Daddy was ushered into the presence of his Lord and Savior.  I had gone back home for a month just to visit him.  We agreed that as long as he had most of his marbles and would know that I was there, I should visit him every six months.  In God's wonderful plan, I arrived the night before we had to hospitalize him for what turned out to be his final illness.  It was not known before that time that he had liver cancer which had metastasized to his left lung sack.  The specialist told me in the hospital that my 92 year old Daddy would not last beyond the month I had with him.  And indeed, he was buried with full military honors (WW II U.S. Navy) the very day I was to have flown back to Cameroon.  When Jim learned that Daddy was terminal, he caught the first available flight out of Cameroon, hoping to be able to say "good-bye".  But he couldn't make it home fast enough.  While I had never done this either before or since, I phoned each of our sons and told them I really needed them to be at Grandpa's funeral.  They graciously dropped everything and came, leaving wives and children behind.  One of my many cousins gave us a house to live in.  It was the first time we had been just "us" in the better part of 20 years.  What a great blessing it was to be together and to share memories of Grandpa with each other.  Jim was the first to arrive in town.  We picked him up at the airport and were driven to the house my cousin was letting us use.  We hadn't seen each other in a month so had a lot of catching up to do that night.  Skyping and emails are certainly not the same as face to face contact.  Having slept in the next morning, we were eating a late breakfast when the phone call came.  Jim's 95 year old mother had died the night before, right around the time his final plane was touching down at Portland International Airport.  We asked the family to please give us time to bury my Daddy.  And I declared a moratorium on death.  Enough was enough!  (Of course I recognized that I have zero control over death, but made my declaration anyway to any and all who would listen to me.)  We had Daddy's lovely memorial service at his church that Monday.  Since I am one of 46 grandchildren on Daddy's side of the house, the place was packed with cousins and many, many friends.  Tuesday was the military burial with many of the same people in attendance.  Wednesday morning we caught the first flight out of Portland to San Francisco.  Jim's little sister picked us up and took us to her place where the family was gathering.  They were in the midst of a lovely project.  They were dividing up all of Mom's photographs.  What a great way to reminisce together.  On Thursday we put the finishing touches on all the plans for Mom's burial.  On Friday we drove out to a younger brother's place for the grave side service.  It was a quiet, family event.  We were so glad to be there.  Then on Saturday we gathered at Mom's church in Hayward for her memorial service.  David was the only one of our sons who could take more time off work for the second grandparent funeral in a row.  He had flown from Portland to Tucson, picked up his wife and children, and drove to Hayward to be with family.  His sacrifice meant everything to us.  The following day we flew back to Portland, spent the night, and were at the airport early the following morning to send Jim back to Cameroon.  When he arrived back home at Shiloh the following night, he had been gone less than two weeks.  It felt to him like his time in the U.S. was just a dream he had had.  Meanwhile I flew out of Portland a couple of hours after Jim, going on to Tucson where I spent a month.  I had numerous legal things to attend to regarding Daddy's final affairs.  Being surrounded by children and grandchildren made it a whole lot easier.  Everything I needed to do could by done by phone calls and faxes.  I arrived in Tucson in time to learn that [a mutual friend and missionary colleague] had just been ushered into the presence of our Lord.  I cannot tell you how deeply grateful  I was to be in Catalina and not in Cameroon at that moment.  And I quickly lifted my moratorium on death.  It was OK.  God is still in control.  His ways are always and forever the best.  He gives and He takes away.  Blessed be His Holy Name.

How our hearts ache for this man.  We want more than anything for him to grow in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord.  To become all that God designed him to be.  We love him with all our hearts.  We have poured our lives into his life for a very long time.  Even back before he came to know Jesus as his Lord and Savior.  And there really is a "before" and an "after" in his life.  But we want more for him.  We want him to abandon every trapping of his old life and go all out for God.  We want the old ways to fade into the dim, distant past.  We want him to become a new creature in Christ in every corner of his life.

And that is precisely why we put him under discipline all during the month of November.  He's our relief guard.  Works one night a week so our regular guard can have a night off.   And each week when he comes to work, he and I do a study together.  I picked out the first topic, and then it was his turn.  We're doing an in depth Bible survey course.  It's deep, it's rich, it's full, it's amazing.  And he is eating it up.  Little by little by little he's growing.  He's changing.  He's becoming.  This dear, dear man who had "no fetching up" of any kind. Has no idea who his Dad is. Nobody really loved him.  He mostly raised himself.  His life is riddled with learning gaps and issues of every kind.  And because we love him, because we want only the best for him, we could no longer tolerate a certain bad behavior.  We had been all over this issue numerous times in the past.  The time had come in enact consequences if we truly love him.  

Tonight he came back to work after not being allowed to work for an entire month.  I had a long talk with him before we re-started our Bible survey.  Asked him if he knew why he had been put under discipline.  Held my breath as he answered.  He could have said "because you are mean" but he didn't.  By God's grace alone he articulated what he had done wrong.  Took full responsibility for his actions.  And took a giant plunge into humility.  Relief flooded my soul.  Cameroonians by nature are riddled with pride.  Humility comes from God and God alone.  It is not a cultural value or virtue.  

So when Papa Jim came into our bedroom for the night, I asked him if the Tooth Fairy comes to Shiloh?  "Who lost a tooth?" he quarried, followed immediately by "YOU lost a tooth???"  At which point I opened my hand and displayed a 43 year old gold crown which had just jumped out of my mouth!

This is gold crown number three of four which has "given up the ghost" as it were.  How well we remember back all those years ago when I needed four gold crowns.  We were a young missionary family getting ready to go to Mexico for the very first time.  We didn't have two dimes to rub together.   But the God Whom we serve is rich beyond comparison.  Nothing is impossible for Him.  There was a dentist in a near-by town who took care of missionaries teeth for free.  And yes, that included root canals and gold crowns.  Four of them!  All that gold in my mouth has been a continual reminder all down through these years that our Faithful Father is more than able to provide for our every need, and so much more. 

We are back on line again. There is no way we can catch you up on all that has been going on here at Shiloh.  We try to cram as much as possible into each and every day!  

But let's return to T-H-E wedding.  That was Saturday.  The stories flowing out of that one occasion would fill an entire chapter in our book.  You know, the book we're never going to get around to writing cuz we're waaaay too busy living it to have time to write it all down.

As you may already know, there are three aspects to every Cameroonian wedding.  It starts with paying the bride price, which is the traditional wedding.  Once the bride price is  paid, in the eyes of the tribe, the new couple is married and can begin living together.  Though everybody understands that many have already been living together, and may even have produced children.  The church in Cameroon teaches that one is not "really" married yet in the eyes of God, so a godly couple will not start living together at this point.  Next comes the civil ceremony.  It can take place the following day, the following weekend, a month later, or years later when the couple gets around to it.  But for Christian couples (or even quasi Christian couples) the church blessing is the final phase of getting married.  A godly couple will make every effort to have the civil ceremony just as close to the church blessing as possible.  Once they have been "blessed" in the church, they are officially married and can begin married life without fear of committing fornication.

Last Saturday's couple decided to combine the civil ceremony with the church blessing.  All was to take place at their church.  Guests were instructed to arrive on time as it is considered an affront to the government to arrive after the mayor arrives.  So 1 p.m. was the appointed hour, and 1 p.m. is when we arrived.  We met certain members of the groom's family and a couple of people from his church already there, but mostly we were way early.  (No surprise there.)  And then began the long wait.  Finally, at 2:30 p.m. the church leadership decided it would be OK to begin certain parts of the church blessing.  So the musical instruments started up and soon we were being led in congregational singing.  With many pauses in order to re-group and decide what to do now, we limped our way forward.  The small church choir sang several numbers.  There was a lengthy prayer.  It was decided we could take an offering before the mayor arrived.  Finally the powers that be felt that the bride and groom had been kept waiting out in their fancy rental car long enough.  They were each escorted in in typical Cameroonian fashion.  A semi-professional guest soloist was invited to perform.  Eventually the pastor decided to preach the wedding sermon.  It was long, rambling, and difficult to follow.  When he was mercifully coming to an end, the mayor and his assistant arrived.  It took them some time to set up, but finally, at 5:30 p.m. the 1 p.m. civil ceremony began!!!  Only in Cameroon. 

We gathered together today to celebrate the life and work of a missionary colleague and friend.  She and her partner have invested the last 35 years of their lives translating God's Word into one of the many languages of Cameroon.  That completed New Testament was dedicated last month.  And today the mission community came together to honor her, celebrate her life, and say our good-byes.  Our hearts were filled with memories.  The various times Jim and I spent in their village.  The many meals we have eaten together.  The game nights.  Singing together.  Laughter.  Fun.  It was a bitter sweet time.  Good-byes are always hard.  Will we meet again this side of Glory?  God alone knows.  

Once we are finally Home, we will never say "good-bye" again.  No more farewell events.  No lingering hugs.  No bitter sweet times.  The focus on that great day will not be on a life well lived, but on the Life Giver Himself.  Even so, come quickly Lord Jesus.

Yesterday was Ndzana Day at Shiloh.  In the morning "our" Ndzana came to visit Pastor Ndzana who is staying at Shiloh for a month.  We took a picture of the two Ndzanas.  And "our" Ndzana delighted us with the news that he is going to be spending two weeks in Eyene in January, doing evangelization with Ndzana II.  Then in the late afternoon Ndzana II (also known as Damien) and his wife came for a visit with Pastor Ndzana and with us.  The Pastor challenged all of us to be more diligent in prayer for Eyene.  We discussed future plans for penetrating the Manguisa with the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ.  We took a picture of these two Ndzanas, and Sylvie, the wife.  It was decided that we should join the Ndzana Family, so we became Jim Ndzana and Alice Ndzana.  Now we're officially "in". 

The ship's purser from Africa Mercy is overnighting at Shiloh.  As part of his many administrative duties, he is in the capitol city of Yaounde taking care of paper work.   Operated by Mercy Ships, Africa Mercy is the world's largest civilian hospital ship.  She arrived in the port city of Daoula in late August and will spend ten months here.  In addition to offering free specialized surgeries and health care to the people of Cameroon, she will provide specialized training for a large number of local doctors, nurses, and other medical staff.

The ship's purser, who is from Sierra Leone, has invited us to come and tour his ship.  We would love to do that.  Maybe we can find the time to do so sometime between now and the end of May 2018.  We hope so.

The Christmas Season has officially began here at Shiloh.  The Christmas trees are decorated.  Both of them.  The Nativity Sets are on display.  All four of them.  The Village Scene is once again delighting children, with real lights shining forth from little windows, and snow everywhere.  A large vase full of poinsettias adds color to a corner of our hutch.  The stair banister is adorned with red bows.  Our largest (floor) giraffe is wearing his Christmas bow. And the Christmas dishes are once again in use.  With a five foot tree in the library and a seven and a half foot tree in the dining room, it takes four days to decorate Shiloh.  Anticipation runs high as we all know our annual Shiloh Family Christmas Party is just around the corner.  Central to everything is the One Whose birthday we will be celebrating.  He is the One Whom we love, honor, serve, and adore every day of the year, not just at Christmas time.

He came to us with 20 days to go before his wedding day.  Wanted us to meet his fiancée.  And then he asked if we could give them pre-marital counseling. They decided they could come twice a week for three hours each time.  And so, doubting their sincerity, questioning their motives, we agreed to meet with them.  Our reason?  Maybe someday, in the not too distant future, when the realities of married life have slammed into their folly, they might come back to us.  And maybe, just maybe, on that day, and in those circumstances, they might have ears to hear, and we might be able to help them.

We've known him for the better part of ten years, and we've watched with sadness his downward spiral into total foolishness.  His exaggerated opinion of himself, his suffocating pride, and his determination to rise to greatness without any effort on his part, have all combined to  bring him to where he is today.

Three months ago she agreed to marry this man who is nine years her senior.  Virtual strangers though they are, they are confident that wedded bliss is just days away.  The missing ingredient in all of this?  It's that essential four letter word, without which no marriage can survive...L-O-V-E.  How our hearts ache for them.

Life out here on the Dark Side of the Moon has been out beyond busy.  Thanksgiving slipped by almost unnoticed.  Shiloh has been full to the brim with many and varied guests.  We spent an entire week feeding three meals a day to seven people.  We've been involved in a variety of counseling situations.  One couple, whose wedding day will be here in six short days, have been coming twice a week for pre-marital counseling.  Another lady came with her non-Christian husband of ten years.  We poured ourselves into their lives during the six days they were with us.  The husband is open, seeking, interested, moving ever closer to giving his heart and life to our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.  In addition to lingering conversations with us and other guests around the dining room table, we engaged in three counseling sessions per day.  Sometimes Papa Jim met privately with the husband while Mama Alice invested in the wife's life.  Sometimes the four of us talked together around the library table.  Daily we watched Christian DVDs that address various marriage issues.  In addition we ministered to a missionary who had had a close brush with the Boka Haram Terrorist group.  We listened with rapt attention to his stories of much good that our Amazing God is doing in the midst of great evil.

Today is no exception to the above.  We currently have a student, a pastor, two missionaries, and a short-term missionary staying at Shiloh.  Tomorrow we have a seminary professor coming in from Europe to spend two weeks with us, while teaching at a nearby seminary. 

No matter how busy, no matter how crazy life gets, day by day, and in every way, God's grace is all sufficient for our every need.

With a grandson in the hospital in America right now, we are thinking contrasts in medical care.  

The saying among missionaries is that if you have to be hospitalized while in Cameroon, get yourself quickly back to the U.S.  If you are too sick to get the the States, then go to Europe post haste.  If you are too sick to get to Europe, and you might die if you don't get to a hospital ASAP, dying is not a bad option!  (And if you have ever been hospitalized here in Cameroon, that saying takes on new meaning.)

If you want to have a sheet on your hospital bed, you will need to take that with you.  You may or may not be provided with something that is loosely referred to as a "pillow".  Want to drink any water while in the hospital?  Better bring that with you, too.  Think you might be well enough to want to eat something?  Your only option is to bring food with you.  And by all means, DO NOT GO TO THE HOSPITAL WITHOUT A FAMILY MEMBER.  Someone will need to stay by your side in the hospital at all times to take care of various and sundry needs.  And to protect you from anything bad happening to you.  Like an IV being put in your arm without bleeding all the air bubbles out first.  A large enough air bubble in an IV tube can hasten your demise.  There are a whole host of other things you will want to be protected from.  In addition, your family member will be the one going to the hospital pharmacy to buy whatever medication or medical supplies that the doctor requires.  In other words, if you need that IV we were talking about, your person has to buy it and bring it to the nurse.  Sometimes it is possible to purchase medical supplies or medication direct from the nurses.  In this case, they are selling you items that have been donated by Western pharmaceuticals for use in poor countries.  The intention was that poor people would not have to pay for said donated items.  The practice is quite different. 

All in all, our grandson is so very, very blessed to have been born in the Land of Plenty to parents who love him dearly, and are able to provide him with the finest of medical care.  Had he been the son of a subsistence farmer in Eyene, for example, he would already be in Heaven.

He had us in stitches at the dinner table last night!  Been at Shiloh for nearly a week now.  We love this man to pieces.  He's a very strong believer, a fearless witness for our Lord, kind, interested in people, helpful, just a tremendous person.  And what a wonderful story teller.  He's been in many parts of the world.  Been everywhere.  Seen everything.  Done everything.  And knows how to capture and hold the attention of his audience. 

This is a true story.  Happened some years ago up in the Far North of Cameroon where he lives.  In their area the villagers hate monkeys.  Bands of monkeys come through the area and really wreak havoc with the crops.  So the solution is to have dogs.  Every farmer has his dog.  Fierce hunting dogs.  They tie a bell around the neck of their dogs so they don't loose track of them when they are out in the bush hunting for wild game.  Monkeys learn early in life that the sound of a bell (clang, clang, clang) means one thing.  A dog is chasing them.  They  fear dogs more than almost anything else.  

One farmer was so frustrated with the monkeys ruining his crops that he decided to do something about it.  Fashioned a trap out of wire.  Set the trap near his field of corn.  Sure enough, he captured a monkey!  This clever farmer tied a bell around the neck of his prisoner, and then released him back to the wild.  Off ran the monkey, happy to be free again.  Clang, clang, clang rang his bell.  He soon caught up with his particular band of monkeys.  You know, his brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, parents, the whole gang.  Problem was, when the band of monkeys heard the clang, clang, clang of his bell, they took off running for all they were worth.  They never stopped to investigate.  Why bother?  Monkeys know that sound means a dog is chasing them, and nothing else.  

About this time, a man from a distant village took off walking towards the farmer's village.  He needed to see a man from that village about something.  When he was deep in the forest, suddenly a band of monkeys rushed past him.  And running for all he was worth right behind them was a monkey with a bell around his neck, of all things!  (Clang, clang, clang.)  The band of monkeys raced high up into the trees to get away from the "dog".  Problem was, no matter how many trees they ran up into, and how many trees they ran down from, or how far or how fast they ran on the ground, the "dog" was clang, clang, clanging along behind them.  The man watched in utter amazement as this little drama played out in front of his eyes.  Finally the band of monkeys and their clanging companion disappeared over the horizon and the man continued on his journey.  Later on, when he reached the village, he told the villagers what he had witnessed.  How could a bell get around the neck of a monkey???  The farmer came forwarded and admitted that he was the one who had done it.  And to this day, the monkeys have never come back to his farm to steal his crops!

It's 3:30 a.m.  Been lying awake for half an hour now.  Sleep is an elusive notion.  Not contending with my frequent friend, insomnia, tonight.  Have the added benefit of living in Cameroon.  You see, while noise pollution laws are on the books (surely put there under the influence of some Western nation or another) they are rarely, if ever enforced.  And so we have the opportunity of enjoying all special events right along with the neighbors.  These include paying the bride price, the rare birthday party, weddings, funerals, death celebrations, and other events.  One must have music.  Lots of music.  Very loud music.  No, you're not thinking LOUD enough!  Music that rumbles through the night.  Penetrates closed shutters and equally tightly closed windows.  Music that is several notches too loud inside our bedroom.  Music that shakes the fillings out of our teeth.  Music that begins around 8 p.m. and will continue unabated until 5 or 6 a.m.  Music that makes us pray that our guests here at Shiloh, a spiritual retreat center, are finding a way to sleep in-spite of it all.

The really good news is that special events do not occur every Friday night.  Not even every month.  They come along without warning at infrequent intervals, for which we are grateful.  And yes, we have actually learned how to snatch a handful of hours of sleep in-spite of the noise.  It's just now, during the wee hours of the morning, when we must find creative ways to get back to sleep.  Listening to a sermon is a good idea.  That way, even if our bodies are not renewed with adequate sleep, at least our souls are refreshed. 

I've been away for a handful of days.  It's a secret.  Can't tell you where I've been.  Like Master Chief Tim always says "I could tell you [and usually there's a 'Dad' tucked in here] but then I would have to shoot you."  

Got back to Shiloh yesterday afternoon.  Shortly thereafter Jim received a phone call from a fellow missionary.  Felt compelled to explain to me after that call that he was giving his air compressor to said missionary.  GIVING HIS AIR COMPRESSOR AWAY???!!!!  My favorite hubby would sooner give his wife away than any of his precious tools!

"OK, who are you, and what have you done with my husband?" was my first thought.  Followed immediately on the heels of that was an audible question, "Are you planning on dying tonight?" 

Now that's a weird thing to say!   Or maybe not so weird if you know the context.  It has happened not once, but twice over these last 48 years of marital bliss that friends of ours have gotten their affairs in order, and then died.  

In once case (back when we were newly weds) the man was a notorious (albeit well loved) slob at work.  His desk always looked like a bomb had just exploded.  Then one Friday, quite out of the blue, he industriously spent the day clearing work off his desk, straightening things up, completing long over-due tasks, and in general shocking all his co-workers.  Then he went home, had a relaxing evening with his wife of many years, went to bed, and slipped quietly into Glory.  

Fast forward a good number of years to the second case.  This was a dear retired couple.  They spent that Friday returning things they had borrowed from various and sundry people (including my sewing machine) and in general, tied up a lot of loose ends.  After work they drove into town to do their weekly grocery shopping.  On their way back home, they were hit head on and ushered into the presence of our Lord.

Because Jim's wife has a twisted sense of humor, we have joked many times in recent years that if he were to ever get his workshop in order (he's a slob of the highest order) then I would know he was planning on dying.  And indeed, he's not ALLOWED to die and leave me with all this mess to deal with!

So now I'm worried.  He's given a tool away.  What next?  Well, as long as he doesn't give ME away, I guess we're OK.

She arrived in country four short months ago.  Recently widowed, in her mid-seventies, she wanted to make an impact for our Lord somewhere in this old world with her remaining time.  Signed on for a  two year commitment.  Lovely, cultured, educated, comfortably fixed, gracious, sparkling, never met a stranger.  Didn't know a word of French.  First time in Darkest Africa.  Jumped in feet first.  One by one won the hearts of everyone she saw.  Cameroonians fell in love with her openness, vivaciousness, love of life, and love of people.

But it didn't work out.  Circumstances intervened.  Two years reduced to four months.  She leaves tomorrow.  Back to America.  Back to her home town.  Back to the life she left with such promise and anticipation.  All too common a story.  Cameroon is hard on missionaries.  Eats them up and spits them out for lunch.  We've seen many come and go down through these last 26 years.

She's different though.  Without language, without length of service, managed to catch on to cultural things remarkably well.  Decided all on her own to throw her own going away party.  Wanted to celebrate relationships.  Invited 80 people.  Those closest to her.  All were complete strangers four short months ago.  Kind of makes you wonder how many close friends she might have had at the end of two years, had she been allowed to stay.  Not sure she realizes even now the deep impact she has made in such a brief time.  Nor how utterly culturally appropriate it is to eat a last meal with friends before you travel.  What an honor to have gotten to know her and to be numbered among the eighty.  We wish her God speed as we dab tears from our eyes.

Did you hear what he just said??  He recounted an incident that took place maybe 22 or 24 years ago!

This morning we had occasion to be with a group of people we rarely see.  After the meeting, various friends from years back flocked around us to greet us and reminisce.  This one talked about when I visited them in their home when their third daughter was a baby.  He proudly reported that the baby I held is 20 years old now!  (Not possible!)  We were told by one man that he still repairs lawnmowers.  He  reminded Jim of all the lawnmower repair lessons he had given him so long ago.  Another talked about the time Jim spent two days with him teaching him how to repair his wife's old stove.  The local repair man said it could no longer be repaired, but Jim showed him how to take it all apart and make it work again.  

Just as we were saying good-by to this group of friends whom we may not see again for some time, one man turned to me and said "Madame, I will never forget Mr. Tucker.  He is the only missionary who helped me out when my father died.  None of the others did anything to help.  But Jim brought me a case of soft drinks.  That was such a big help for the burial dinner.  I will never forget Jim Tucker as long as I live!"  

How amazing!  Sometimes it's the little things that we do and quickly forget that make a deep and lasting impression on another. 

 

Last week, someone in America linked us up with an organization whose mission is to provide New Testaments and tracts in French (and other languages) for FREE.  Only those who live out here in Darkest Africa, and who have been struggling to find French tracts can appreciate our amazed reaction to this news.  We have found it next to impossible to find French tracts for sale, let alone for free.  

Yesterday we had an appointment with the National Coordinator for Cameroon.  Francis, Doris, and Mama Alice drove across town to reach his office.  When we arrived, we discovered that his secretary is someone we know.  She has been to Shiloh for a spiritual retreat on a number of occasions!  When she ushered us into the National Coordinator's office, to our complete surprise, we were face to face with a man who comes to Shiloh once a year for a spiritual retreat!  Amazing!

While the National Coordinator knows us well, and benefits from the ministry of Shiloh, he knew nothing of all the other aspects of our ministry.  And while we have known him for years, we knew nothing of what he is involved in.  Because of the long standing relationship, he did not hesitate to "load us up with" tracts and New Testaments in French.  He even told us that he would be happy to deliver more to Shiloh whenever our supply is running low.  

Our years of struggle are over.  What an amazing God we serve!!

Lots and lots of medical doctors stay at Shiloh.  They come out to Cameroon to do short term medical work with various and sundry hospitals, or to do medical mission work  directly with missionaries.  We have the privilege of providing housing for some of these doctors, nurses, and other medical personnel.  They often spend their first night in country at Shiloh, and may even come back and spend their last night here.  These are lovely people with hearts as big as all out doors.  We love to listen to their stories.  Of all the hundreds and hundreds of stories we have heard, this one tops them all.  We simply have to share it with you!

She  was coming to work in a hospital in Ngaoundere.  Her fellow German doctor friend, whom she was coming to work with, has been staying at Shiloh for years and is a good friend of ours, too.  He made reservations for her, but a few hours before she was due to arrive, emailed to say she had missed her plane and was trying to re-book another flight.  What kind of doctor misses their flight, we wondered??  But life at Shiloh is fast paced so we quickly forgot about her and moved on.  And then yesterday she arrived at Shiloh to spend her last night in country with us.  And out spilled her story.

It all started the day she was to fly from Germany to Cameroon.  As she was leaving her house to go to the airport, the good doctor discovered that her passport was missing.  Missing?  How could this be?  She's highly organized, has traveled extensively, and never misplaces her passport.  A frantic search ultimately turned up the missing passport, but by then she had missed her flight.  Since it was her fault that she was not on the plane, she got to "eat" that ticket.  Her travel agent began searching for the next available flight to Cameroon.  Her agent found an available seat on a flight leaving Germany two days later, but it was prohibitively expensive.  The doctor decided to take this ticket since she was urgently needed at the hospital in Ngaoundere.  Her travel agent said "God must want you on that flight for some reason."  Which turned out to be quite an understatement.

With five hours of flight time left to go, an announcement came over the P.A. system.  "Is there a doctor on the plane?"  Our new friend immediately identified herself as a doctor and the adventure began.  It turns out there was a young Cameroonian lady on the plane who was suddenly experiencing sever stomach pain.  Upon initial examination, the doctor realized she would need a private place to do more in-depth examining.  The flight attendants were wonderfully cooperative, and quickly set up a make shift screened off area in the first class compartment.  The doctor soon discovered that the slender young lady had a slightly bulging stomach, so asked if there was any possibility that she might be pregnant.  The lady said yes, she was 26 weeks pregnant, but had just been to see her doctor and had been cleared to take this trip.  This was not her first pregnancy, and delivery was a long ways off, so the doctor felt she had plenty of time to return to Cameroon to visit her family and get back to Europe before the anticipated delivery.  Thought she felt she "couldn't be in labor" the doctor determined that the stomach pain, that was now coming every ten minutes, was indeed labor.  Being an anesthesiologist and an emergency room doctor, this was outside her area of expertise.  While it was a true "emergency" she felt she needed some help.  The flight attendant put out another announcement over the P.A. system.  "Is there a midwife on the plane?"  Soon an American obstetrician showed up.  He did a pelvic and discovered this young lady was 7 cm. dilated.  A premature baby was indeed being born.  The American OB/GYN, with visions of "law suit" dancing in his head, was reluctant to take charge, so our German friend remained the doctor in charge.  She quickly ordered the pilot to land the plane so they could get this lady to a hospital where her soon-to-be-born child could receive all the help it was going to need.  Landing the plane involved turning the plane around and heading back to Spain.  Many passengers began shouting.  They were very angry to have their plans upset.  Our new friend was horrified at people's selfish reaction to this emergency.  The plane landed safely in Spain, the paramedics were waiting, the lady was taken off the plane, and thirty minutes later the pilot got word that she had delivered a healthy baby boy who would live.  The German doctor was so relieved to learn that she HAD made the right decision.  

Meanwhile, the pilot and crew gave her a seat in first class as their way of saying "thank you."  Shortly after she settled into her new seat, a flight attendant came and got her.  There was another medical emergency.  An older Cameroonian lady was spitting up bright red blood.   This emergency fell squarely into our friend's area of medical expertise.  She determined that the lady had one of two problems.  If it was the one, it wasn't too serious.  She could safely continue on to Cameroon and see a doctor there the following day.  However, if it was the other, she would be "dead and cold" as the doctor put it, before the plane arrived in Cameroon.  So our new friend told the pilot to order another ambulance, and the lady was quickly taken off to the hospital.  This time the pilot and crew invited the German doctor to come into the cockpit and take a seat.  She got to stay there for takeoff.  She reports that it was an exciting and memorable experience!

When the taxi came to Shiloh to take our new friend to the airport to begin her journey back home to Germany, we wished her an uneventful flight home, the kind we always hope to have.  We've had every kind of eventful flight imaginable, but nothing that rivals her story!

 

Thought you might enjoy dropping into the middle of a conversation.  There was a lot of chatter on line today on the "Yaounde List" about a supposed technician from the electric company who was making the rounds of missionary houses, trying to get money out of people for one alleged problem or another.  In each case he ended up asking for a bottle of whiskey since he didn't get any money!  So here is our contribution to the chatter:

This afternoon, probably shortly after Dan Seely's visitor, presumably the same man came to Shiloh.  He wore the hard hat and vest, and said he was with Eneo.  He asked us to unlock the meter box because he had to inspect the meter.  Unfortunately for him, Jim Tucker is the one who brought the key outside and unlocked the box.  He looked at the meter, then asked to see our last bill.  When we produced it, he told Jim that we are listed as a "level 1 user" but that our three phase service is set at 30 amps, and that level 1 was only for 10 amps.  He opened a notebook and showed Jim that if our bill was 60.000 F at level 1, for example, at the level we were supposed to be at, it would be above 200.000 F for the month.  Jim explained to him that the Eneo technicians set our level at 30 amps, but if he wanted to reduce it to 10 amps, we would figure out how to live with that.  After some back and forth discussion, in which he discovered that Jim was himself an electrical technician, he "called" his "boss" and "explained" to him that this man knew what he was talking about.  Three times he told the "boss" that he "could not say that because this American was also a technician."  The third time he stated that this American electrical technician actually knew more than he and the "boss" both did.  So in the end the "boss" said to leave things at 30 amps, but to get a bottle of whiskey from us.  Sadly the Eneo technician left without the whiskey.  He did leave his phone number though, because he personally wanted to have a relationship with this American technician.  He said he had to have our phone number for the form he was filling out, so we gave it to him.  Does anyone know an authentic Eneo employee who could verify if this is a scam?  

Shortly after posting this to the Yaounde List, a fellow missionary posted the name, phone number, and email address of a real Eneo employee.  We will contact him in the morning to report this scam.  Did I mention that life out here on the Dark Side of the Moon is never dull?

2:50 a.m. discovered city water was back on!  Water was still off at 11 p.m.  Has been off continuously for 24 hours.  Have no idea when water was turned on. Filled with gratitude to God for this amazing gift.  Immediately turned on the washing machine. 

Woke Papa Jim who quickly dressed, grabbed a flashlight, and took off.  He's rushing outside to check out yesterday's repairs.  Went 48 hours without water.  Came back on 3 a.m. yesterday.  Slept through the event.  Guard not sleeping.  Discovered the water pipe coming into our property had finally broke.  Papa Jim has been faithfully reporting this to the water company for, oh I don't know, six months at least.  It's on their side of the water meter.  Their responsibility to fix.  Papa Jim fully qualified to do the repairs.  Could get in big trouble for mucking around with their stuff.  By the grace of God alone, water did not come back on full force and was only on for two hours.  Guard reports that it never overflowed the flowerbed where it is located.  Slowly saturated the ground, and then, thankfully, city water was shut off at 5 a.m.  

When Francis came to work yesterday morning, Papa Jim sent him off to the water company to report the problem and (hopefully) come back with one of their technicians.  Early afternoon he was back with technician in tow.  After assessing the problem, Francis accompanied the technician as he "ran all over town" looking for needed replacement parts.  (One does not give money to a stranger and naively say "bring back the change".)  At 5 p.m. repairs finished.  Discovered that while we are not permitted to do the repairs, we are obliged to pay for them.  Total bill came to 23.000 F (approximately $46). 

So that explains why Papa Jim's loving wife woke him at 2:50 a.m.  It is only when water is flowing through pipes that any and all leaks show up.  The urgency is to discover leaks and fix them before the water is shut back off.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I started washing the most urgent items in our mountain of dirty cloths, praising God every inch of the way for the absolute luxury of WATER!!!  While the washing machine was filling with water, I began filling our water barrel.  That was priority number two.  Papa Jim  said I shouldn't tell you all that we go through to get our toilet back in shape, so I won't mention it.  One does not discuss such things in polite company there in the Land of Plenty where you live and work and play.  Moving right along to priority number four, I began filling a large basin with water.  We recently discovered that we have a number of seldom used, though important items, that are moldy.  (We live in a rain forest, right?)  So I am finally able to soak them in vinegar water.  If (the BIG IF) we still have water two hours later, these items will be washed in the washing machine and come out the other side free of mold.  

I am currently washing the second load of laundry, Papa Jim is back in bed having done a temporary fix on the one leak he found, and we are brim full of gratitude to our loving Heavenly Father for His wonderful gift of WATER!  A group is coming to Shiloh today and all our water barrels are full.  Life doesn't get any better than this.

Funerals Manguisa style are quite different from what we know in the western world.  With the advent of morgues within the last 20 years, the deceased is no longer buried immediately.  The body can be held in a morgue for however long is necessary for widely scattered family members to return home.  And a whole tradition, called "the removal of the body" has sprung up since morgues have become common place.  This almost always takes place on a Friday.  Once the body is "removed" (in as fancy a casket as the family can afford...also a "tradition" which has sprung up in front of our eyes) it is taken back to the village for burial.  The casket is carried into the home of the deceased, or if they no longer lived in the village, into the house of their parents,  or the family head (who may be an uncle).  The casket is opened and the body "lies in state" all night long.  While close family members spend the night with the body, others come and go throughout the night.  A lot of drinking takes place.

Late morning, or early afternoon on Saturday, people start arriving.  The family has cleared a large area of jungle growth.  Plastic chairs have been rented and set up in sections.  Some sort of a covering to protect people from the sun is erected over the section for the most important people.  Traditionally, long poles are cut from the jungle, along with piles of palm fronds.  With these simple, readily available materials, a very effective shelter is constructed.  However, if the family has the means and want to show off their wealth, nowadays one can rent plastic tents which serve the same purpose.  A family member is assigned the task of seating people in their appropriate section.  If the deceased was married, the VIP section is for the deceased's father's people.  Directly across the clearing from them is the deceased's mother's people.  And there would be corresponding sections for the in-laws and the out-laws of their spouses families.  And if the deceased were a polygamist, then the sections for the clans increase in number.  If a person was not married, there are only two sections. 

Alcohol is an incredibly important part of all funerals.  It is not uncommon for fights to break out at random moments if someone perceives they should have been given a larger bottle of beer, or more bottles of beer, than someone else in close proximity to them.  Food and alcohol draw many people to funerals who might not otherwise attend.  And thus it is that a small team of family members are assigned the task of guarding and distributing alcohol.  Cases and cases of beer are kept in a locked room inside the house.  To keep everyone happy, the beer must come out early on.  It is distributed according to a fairly complex system of your relationship to the deceased, your position in the family, and how much you have contributed to the heavy expenses involved in the burial. 

Around two in the afternoon the ceremony begins.  Traditional religious practices are strictly performed.  These are largely demonic in origin and insure that the afterlife will advance according to firmly held traditional beliefs.  Then there is generally a lull in the service while the visiting Catholic priest and his entourage arrive and set up shop.  Once this part of the ceremony is finished, the head of the family and his assistant step out into the clearing.  The family head carries a long cane.  Facing the deceased's father's clan (called his "real" relatives), the family head taps the ground three times.  Then he calls out in a loud voice, requesting permission to begin.  All the men yell something like "HEY".  He then stands in front of the deceased's mother's clan and repeats the same thing, getting the same response.  If there are two other family groups, he must do the same with each of them, in descending order.  Once everyone has given their consent, he begins to tell the story of the deceased's final illness.  He stands facing the mother's clan and goes into elaborate detail, explaining all that the family has done to treat the illness.  This is extremely important.  If that clan is not satisfied that all has been done for their relative that could possibly be done, but he died anyway, the mother's clan will not give permission for the burial to take place.  When he finishes his lengthy monologue, he asks their permission.  Permission is granted by all the males yelling something like "HEY".  He then turns to the father's clan, requesting their permission.  It is given the same way.  And if two (or more) other clans are present, he must receive their permission as well.  Once everyone is satisfied, and the ceremony can advance, either the family head, or another family member will give another lengthy monologue.  This  one is similar to our eulogy of our dearly departed.  The life story of the deceased is gone into in great detail.  Following this the casket is closed and a number of male relatives carry the body out back of the house to where the hole has already been dug.  Only those members of each clan who want to (the ones who were close to the deceased) follow the casket and witness the actual burial.  A great deal of wailing goes on as the casket is lowered into the ground and covered up.  

Meanwhile, a large group of female relatives of the deceased have been cooking through the night in order to be ready to serve the several hundred who attend the burial.  The cooking takes place a distance away from the ceremony.  By the time the family head is starting into his monologue, the ladies are weaving in and out among the crowds and serving people according to their rank and position in the family.  Food is given first to the mother's clan, and then all other clans in descending order.  Interestingly enough, the father's clan (though considered the "real" relatives) are fed last.  

Did I mention that  funerals Manguisa style are quite different from what we know in the western world? (That would be an understatement!)