Tad's Life

Sunday is Election Day here in Senegal. The people will be voting for a new president. In the US, a time like this would be filled with lots of talk and advertisements and heated conversations at work and ceaseless news coverage on radio and TV. Senegal has all of that, plus the added complication of crowds of partisans fighting with each other with batons and rocks! No one had died as of yesterday, but some were hospitalized with serious injuries.

You can look for such news on line, I'm sure.

In the midst of that, we've had a regular sort of week. Well, then again...

Yesterday afternoon was "Parent-Teacher Conferences" at DA. That meant that Jane and the other secondary staff were in the library at tables available for discussing with parents their child's academic situation. That can occasionally be stressful for the teachers and parents, of course, but usually is encouraging time.

I came late in the day to play the parental role and talk to Jonathan's teachers. He is such a good kid that we mostly spent time talking about what a good kid he is. The teenage / puberty transformation into a brooding rebel may come some day, but for now we're just enjoying this boy.

So, Jonathan had a half-day of school and just hung at school playing with his buddies. He hoped to stay for a soccer match at 4:30, but we disappointed him immensely by refusing. Yesterday was the last day of legal campaigning, so that made it the most likely afternoon and evening for violence to erupt somewhere. We didn’t want to be out on the road and find ourselves in the middle of a riot. We did that once when the girls were little. We’re not interested in repeating the experience.

Especially after Wednesday’s incident. I took Jonathan and the Demars kids to youth group that night. We left for school at 6:30. In Ouakam we drove past crowds of people dressed in the colors of Idrissa Seck and his party. They were waiting for him to come later that evening for a rally. A half-mile down the road, in Mermoz, on the “Ancien Piste” there were a whole group of taxis parked near a very popular religious leader’s center. They all had President Wade signs on top. Around 9 o’clock we were coming up to that same area and found ourselves being directed to detour through a neighborhood. As we passed the Regal restaurant we could see signs of a riot and lingering crowds near the marabout’s place. It turns out we missed a major confrontation on the road we take every day by only an hour. [See Government Supporters Attack 15 Journalists ]

On Monday of this "regular" week, there was no school. No, not the elections. Softball. WAIST (West Africa Invitational Softball Tournament) finals were that day. Jonathan doesn’t play on a team, but we did go to watch a bit. There was some great softball. In the end the student team of high school boys from Dakar Academy won the championship, defeating both the staff/parent team and the tough Senegal A team.

So, that and the opening of our new "Discipleship Experience" training program (see the Phare blog) and a radical new idea for redoing Apartment B and all in all it was a normal kind of week!

I'm no photographer. I've never taken a class. I've never read a book. I don't know an f-stop from an ASA setting. And neither does Jane.

But when the Lord fills the sky with colors like these, it's hard to get it wrong.

Monday evening, after a kind of cool, overcast day, the light inside the house turned that strange pink that tells us to hurry outside and look west! Jane grabbed the camera and called Jonathan and I. We stepped out the door and our breath left us. It really was awesome, in the real sense of that word.

The range of colors shocked my eye. There was a clean clear blue up beyond the clouds and the rosy, soft pink on their undersides. And they just went on and on, filling the sky. "Rank upon rank" was the phrase that filled my mind. The immensity of all that color crowding the sky stopped my heart.

As with most young American males his age, Jonathan loves to play on his PS/2 and the computer. We do have power outages occasionally, so I know that he and his buddies are capable of doing other things. Moreover, our son comes from a family of readers. He didn't start quite as early in life as his sisters, but he certainly is in full swing at this stage.

I was reminded of this when I went into the bathroom this morning. There on top of all the other books and magazines and family newsletters and all the rest was Jack London's White Fang. Just a few nights ago, Jonathan had complained that he didn't have a good book. He had read everything that there was, he claimed. So he and I went looking. My first attempt was a failure. I found an Isaac Asimov robot book on the shelf, Caves of Steel. It's one of my favorites and was the first sci-fi book that Jane ever read. (At age 21, I think she said. I corrupted her!) I even read the first chapter out loud to him at bed time one night. But, no. It was a little too "adult" for him with confusing words and concepts and vagueness that you have to be patient with. Ah, well. I'll get him hooked with classic sci-fi eventually!

Of course, after enjoying a chapter of an old favorite, you can imagine what I read this week! It's a great little mystery / puzzle kind of book. The science part is horribly dated 50 years later, but because the book is an old friend, I just smile and ignore that part.

So, since Jonathan didn't really appreciate Elijah and Daneel and the C / Fe culture stuff, the next day he and I went looking for another book. We found Jack London and also Last of the Mohicans on our shelves way in the back under the loft. He settled on the dog story.

He's been working on that this week, but then last night we got mail. There was a package from Grandpa Hampton. My father has been supplying my son for the last few months with another genre of literature, a kind of book that has captured his imagination. He devours them: Spiderman comic books. Someone is reissuing the very first ones from the early sixties. They are great. (OK. I've been devouring them, too. But I do wait my turn.) Under that Jack London classic is one of the previously sent issues. I couldn't find the new ones. Jonathan took them to school with him this morning. I hope he doesn't try to read them during English. Mrs. Kanavel might not quite see them as a valid alternative to her lesson!

Actually, over supper last night, before Vivat came with the new mail, we were enjoying another type of literature. Jonathan had been to the school library and brought home a book that advertised itself as a perfect way to torture ones sister. Or parents. They were right.

"Why did the baseball player take his bat to the library? ... His teacher told him to hit the books."

We had fun with many more like that, groaning our way through our tacos.

Jane, of course, is our star reader. Lately she's been working her way back through a number of old favorites. I went to photograph one of those, but she appears to have taken them back to the library at school to get more! I know I've seen a number of Dick Francis mysteries lying about. She's introduced Gretchen to them. He's the British author who was a jockey as a young man and writes a lot of stories involving steeple jumping and horse racing.

On Saturday Jonathan (front row, second from left) got to participate in an all-day soccer tournament. The high school guys and dads who coach the younger kids' soccer teams were invited to bring their teams to play some Senegalese clubs and a Brazilian group. They somehow managed to arrange to use the French military base field. Grass!

Jonathan had pity on us and spent Friday night with a buddy whose parents run one of the dorms at Dakar Academy. The thing started bright and early and he knows what a pain it is to get up early on a Saturday to get over to school. We promised to come part way through the day.

"Part way" turned out to be more like midway through the day. We missed two games that morning and got there as they were on lunch break. Jonathan was all full of a story of getting his back hurt. A kid had tugged at the back of his shirt at a vulnerable moment after a pass, it seemed, and dropped him onto his tail bone. I didn't take it too seriously, but then my adult friends talked about it, too. The referee apparently got defensive when challenged about not calling a penalty on that one.

Ah well. Sports. I'm just glad that Jonathan got to play some challenging matches and even scored a goal. I'm even glad he got roughed up. His life is so wonderfully safe, if he weren't playing sports, I'm not sure he'd ever find out that pain doesn't have to stop you.

Jonathan had somehow not gotten an order in with his coach for lunch, so I walked back off the base, through security again, and found a small FastFood. They were in in a flurry preparing many dozens of hamburgers and sandwiches. For the teams, it turned out. I think that one little kitchen prepared lunch for all four teams. During a lull in preparations, I procured a couple burgers and a charwama.

As it turned out, there were no more games. The organization of the day kind of broke down. Lunch dragged on and finally a couple teams left. The rugby guys who were scheduled for 4 wanted the field earlier. But, hey! A day in the sun playing soccer and hanging with your friends. What 11-year-old boy could ask for more?

Oh, and this is me with a pair of sunglasses that a team left with us recently. As you may know, I never where sunglasses. I just don't like the way they make me feel isolated from the world. But it was such a very bright day, I just had the urge. And it felt nice. Don't know why, but there you go.

Thank you for praying. Mom is doing great. She says that she should be out of the hospital today.

I had talked to Laura several times on Saturday, but couldn't talk to Mom because they don't allow cell phones in with all the monitoring equipment. Then yesterday she called us here herself! That was very nice. She sounded chipper and happy and kept trying to reassure me. But honestly, from the very first message that I got through Gretchen, all the news was good and after the fact. By the time I heard, Mom had already been through the heart catheterization and was recovering nicely. Laura and Dad and Mom herself went through the scary time of deciding that the symptoms were real and going to the ER and waiting through the procedures and tests. I'm sure that that was tense.

From our side of the Atlantic, we were reassured that Mom was in excellent hands, humanly speaking, at Geisinger Medical Center. More importantly, we knew that our Father has her in His hands and that He loves her and knows her.

My mom is in the hospital, recovering from a small heart attack. I've talked with my sister Laura and with my dad and everyone is very calm. (Thank you, Lord, for Internet telephones!) They told me Mom is just tired of laying in the hospital bed already. I guess she had to stay in one position all day yesterday. We'd appreciate your prayers for her.

I've searched my computer for a recent digital and can't find one! (Sorry, Mom.) This shot shows Mom and my older sister Connie at her son Shawn's wedding three years back.

"We have to tell your grandfather. He'll laugh until he's blue in the face, " I told Jonathan last Friday.

Thursday afternoon and Friday Dakar Academy had its annual "Olympics Day." The kids competed in track and field events of various kinds, running and jumping and throwing and generally having a great time. Even the less than athletically-gifted ones usually enjoy it because the atmosphere is pretty relaxed and supportive. You even get points for your team just for participating.

But, of course, the competitive ones can't help themselves. And Jonathan is one of those kids.

He did reasonably well all day. In the 10-11 ear-old 100 meter final, at right, he pushed past his good buddy Fyne half way through, but got beat at the very end by his other buddy Scott. He jumped and threw and did all that stuff all day long, showing himself an all-around athlete.

But not winning is kind of tough.

The final event of the day is a relay race. Each of the 5 teams (red, green, blue, yellow and white) designated two boys and two girls from each age group. Jony ran for the red team's 10-11 year olds as the final runner. But by the time the baton got to him, he was almost 50 meters behind. Argh!!!!! But so was Faisal, the runner-up of the 50 m, who was running anchor for another team. So the two of them took off full-speed, racing as if they were battling for a gold medal! And Jonathan pressed past him just at the end, pushing himself to the limit. It was dramatic and amazing and I wish I had a video.

Then he collapsed in pain on the track.

We all rushed over and our resident EMT did a few diagnostics. He said that Jonathan had hyper-extended his knee a bit. Ice. Ibuprofen. A little rest. That was the prescription. Not to worry. In fact, within 30 minutes he was on it again without problem. I think fatigue and the stress of the race added to the whole thing.

Then the strangest thing happened. This Korean fellow walked up and took Jonathan's hand. He started to massage the last joint on his pinky finger. Then he massaged the thumb. Hard. Really hard. Then he started working on the pinky again. I didn't know what to say. Jonathan didn't know what to say. Our boy is super polite and I didn't want to be rude either. "Besides," I thought, "Maybe it's working." Jony wasn't pulling away and he seemed to be telling the man that the the acupressure was helping his knee. I was about to be amazed.

The fellow gave us instructions about how to do it ourselves at home and finally left.

When I asked Jonathan if it had helped, he said, "No, but I didn't know what to say to get him to stop!" If he asked, "Does that hurt?" and Jony said, "Yes!" he just did it more and harder! It was a real dilemma!

As we left a few minutes later, Jonathan limping only slightly, he said, "Dad, it really hurts."

"Your knee?"

"No! My hand!"

I confess. I laughed and laughed. I told him about what my dad would say when we would whine as kids. He would offer to pinch us or punch us in the arm or what was it now... (Oh, shoot, I forget, Dad!) Anyway, he would offer to induce pain somewhere else on our body to make us forget the little thing we were whining about.

My dad was teasing to help us get perspective, of course. But apparently it works!