Most men that are married believe, at least deep down, that their wives are better people than they are. Guys like to scratch and spit; woman tend to be deeper and more refined. Anyway, I have always known that with my bride: she is smart, kind, and beautiful and the list can go on forever. And I am grateful for it.

But there are those rare occasions where the differences shout, and this week was one of them. We had our first week of language classes. Nan graduated with a degree in linguistics in three years. I struggle with my mother tongue. The class began, and it was obvious how gifted she was, and how amazingly unproficient I was. Our professor, Richard, is a tremendous teacher, and I am enjoying the class, but I realized that one hour into the class I began remembering an old chant from seventh grade math `Go time go. Go time go. Go go go go . Go time go.’ But just like in seventh grade, it didn’t help.

One day we had an assignment; go out and introduce yourself to someone, ask where he/she is from, what he or she does, and how their day has been. I, being the wise person I am, said `Can I do it in English?’ After I was rebuked, I went outside and met a man named Peter. I am sure that was his name because it was on his badge. After that point, the details get fuzzy. He might work in the fields, or he might have an open sore. After I introduced myself to him, he asked me to say what I said to the two other workers, who broke out in gales of laughter. After much more interesting conversation, he put his hand on my shoulder and said `I will pray much for your Swahili teacher.’

We go to the market on Tuesday to bargain. If you discover that we have sold our house in Texas, this may be a possible explanation. Nan, on the other hand, is beginning to have real conversations with folks. Beauty and the Beast indeed,

But we saw a different side of Beauty and the Beast on Thursday. We all went to deliver maize in the valley for the famine relief effort. We had a large flatbed truck, and we delivered food to seven different churches. While we were driving across terrible roads or no roads, we saw zebras, gazelles, and other kinds of magnificent wildlife.

That is one part of Africa, but there is the Beast also. It is called the drought. We went to an orphanage, where kids are not always eating enough, and to churches where the floor is dirt and the walls don’t reach the ceiling. Nan and I worked feeding the homeless in Dallas, but this is like no poverty you’ve seen before.

A month ago, I would look at rain and think `Now I won’t get to see the game.’ In three weeks, it has become `If it doesn’t rain soon, lots of people are going to die.’

But what must it be like to look up at the sky and think `If it doesn’t rain, I’m going to die’?

Or worst: ` If it doesn’t rain, my children are going to die.’

I can’t imagine. I can’t even get my mind around a question like that.

I don’t want to end on a down note, but I need to be honest. I wish I had answers. I just have questions.

YOP

Steve Peifer