monthly focus ~ ci koyra cine

My internship to Mali, West Africa, was in some senses a trip to determine whether or not I would like to go into missions full time.  In reality, it was a trip to see what mission work is like and would be like for me.  I always knew that I would be coming back and what I saw reaffirmed that I have to come back.
 
The first time I saw the power of God’s word in Songhai was with a woman named Fata. (See picture of mother and daughters on home page) I was working to learn Songhai, and I often went to see Fata to practice and learn more. The first time I went to Fata’s house I was very nervous.  I didn’t want to go at all.  The prospect of going out and learning a language with no support from anyone that I knew was, frankly, terrifying.  But I knew that Sarah was watching me leave, so I had to go into Fata’s courtyard.  I walked in clutching my notebook and said “Ay fo ni.”  Which means “I greet you.”  Fata and another woman who were there smiled suspiciously and asked me to sit down.  I sat and said my few phrases in Songhai.  They said other things to me, but I couldn’t understand them, so I laughed, embarrassed, and sat awkwardly.  Finally, I stood up and said the farewell that I knew.  They looked as relieved as I felt when I left. 

I went to other houses that day, but it was Fata to whom I returned.  There was something comforting and non-threatening about her.  Perhaps it was that she is crippled.  She was always at home because she could go nowhere else.  I think she enjoyed having me come to visit her.  We often sat in awkward silence when my Songhai came to an end, but it never lasted long before she would command “Ci Koyra Cine!”  Which means “Speak Songhai!”  I would fumble through my notebook and say words, or try to put together sentences.  She pointed out everything in her cooking area and told me their names.  She taught me many of the phrases for cooking. 
One day, early in the morning, Fata’s family came to the Beckleys’ house begging urgently for Ken to take Fata to the hospital.  She was very sick, moaning and thrashing in pain.  I went to visit her in the hospital. I wanted to show her that I really cared.  The only thing I could think of was what my Mom did for my Grandmother when she was in the hospital, read the Bible to her.  I didn’t know how well this would go over in an illiterate culture, but I decided to try anyway. 

After Fata was well enough to return home, I went over to her courtyard and asked if I could read to her.  I held up the Gospel of Mark and said in broken Songhai that I wanted to read it to her.  She looked slightly disinterested, but she agreed, so I began.  The words felt strange coming off my tongue, but I pushed on through the first section of chapter one.  At the section break I looked up to see her reaction.  Her husband and brothers were in the courtyard also, and they all looked very surprised.  “It’s in Songhai.”  She said to me.  They had no idea that I was going to read to them in Songhai!  I think they just had no conception that anything could be written and then read in Songhai.  They had been disinterested because they fully expected French to come out of my mouth.  They asked me to keep reading – for seven chapters.  I have a feeling that they were interested at first just because I was a white woman reading Songhai, but as I read, I prayed that their interest would be held by Jesus and the things He had done.  Of course I didn’t understand the words I was reading, but it gave me time to think and pray.  I know I had an accent, and horrible inflection, but I prayed that they would understand anyway.  Though I didn’t know exactly what I was reading, I could tell what the stories were by certain words and names, and I loved listening to their reactions.  When I read about Jesus healing the cripple they were amazed.  They laughed at the beheading of John the Baptist, and they murmured assent at the lists of sins Jesus elucidated.  From time to time my mouth got dry and my pronunciation jumbled, but I kept praying that God would be with us in that little courtyard.  I prayed that they would listen not only because of the novelty of a white woman reading in Songhai, but that they would begin to see the true power of the true God and of Jesus Christ.  I thought of the verse in Isaiah that says God’s Word never returns void.  I prayed that God’s Word in Songhai would have such a deep impact that these people would not be able to escape or deny the true God.  After seven chapters they began to look tired, and my throat was getting sore.  We had read for two hours at least.  I told them I was going home and left with my mind spinning.  I did not get a chance to go back and finish the book of Mark, but I pray that they will hear it from the Beckleys, and that when they hear about Jesus’ death, they will know that they are hearing the truth.

Another time I was amazed by the power of Bible Translation came up very unexpectedly.  We met a Songhai man while touring an audiovisual studio in Bamako (where there are not many Songhai speakers). Ken and he hit it off right away, and Ken showed him the proof of the literacy primer that he had with him.  The man was very educated, able to speak, read, and write fluently in French.  However, the Songhai literacy primer stumped him.  He had never seen anything in his own language before and he could not even read the title.  Ken read it to him and a light went on in his face.  Each lesson in the primer contains a short story about Jesus, so Ken turned to one of the stories and showed it to the man.  As he read his face lit with pure joy.  He told us that the story of Jesus just made so much more sense in his own language.  He said that he could read it in French, but “ce n’est pas le bon sense” it doesn’t make good sense.  He said it just touched his heart so much more when he could read it in his own language.  I remember him gripping his fist over his heart to show how much more the word of God gripped his heart when he could read it in his own language.  It is one thing to hear from Bible Translators that the Bible means more in one’s own language, but when someone who has never been taught to say that says it completely out of the honesty of his own heart, it is so much more exciting.  I could hardly keep from laughing with joy to see his enthusiasm.  It is his exuberance that Bible translators work for.  It is this joy that pulls me back to the field--so that all people can see the joy of having God’s word in a form that grips their heart! That is why I want to become a Bible translator.  That is why I must come back.  I have to follow God’s calling, so that so many more people can read the word of God in their own language and be filled with the same exaltation.

Carla Vande Zande,
Summer intern in Mali