In the Dendi language, Kandi, the name of the village we will call home for the next decade or so, has two possible meanings: “come here” and “fall here.” Though we certainly have come here, the second meaning seems most appropriate since our trip to Kandi felt like we were falling out of the sky with no control over where we might land.

First of all, neither we nor our driver knew which road would get us to Kandi. Most of the 150-mile drive from Natitingou was on small dirt roads. When we finally got to town, everyone was driving crazily, rushing to get home. These three circumstances combined to make our trip stressful and dangerous.

This was an altogether different scene from what we’d experienced since we launched on November 1, 2006. We flew from O’Hare International Airport in Chicago to Abidjan, Ivory Coast, our home country. For us, launching just meant returning home after being away for eight months. We knew Abidjan well enough. Elmire studied there for three years, and I worked there for nearly two years. We also felt at home in Daloa and Divo where we visited our parents. While waiting to move to our project location in Kandi among the Dendi, we attended the AFM African projects retreat in Ghana and a meeting in Lomé, Togo, at our union headquarters.

All these trips were easy for us because we were familiar with the countries and places. But the trip to Kandi was a different experience. It was nothing like our travels in the States where we didn’t know the country, but at least we had good maps, signs, and mile markers. The dirt road to Kandi had had no signs or mile markers. Our driver didn’t know the area either, so as he drove along slowly, other cars were constantly passing us and enveloping us in clouds of dust, which meant we had to drive even slower because of poor visibility. With all these inconveniences and our numerous stops to ask for directions, it took us about six hours to drive 150 miles. About halfway into the trip, Eliora began coughing because of the dust. We drove into Kandi drained, dusty, and demoralized.

Two hours later, we had been all around town twice and still hadn’t found a house to rent. People told us that rental houses had been very hard to find for the past two years. They advised us to take whatever we could find and then watch for something better to become available, so that is what we did. Three days later, we moved out of the hotel into our “house of the lesser evil.” It had been vacant for six months. It needed repainting and many repairs, which we agreed with the landlord would be done while we lived there. That first night, our neighbor burned some garbage, which filled our rooms with smoke. Dust filtered in, too, because the house is on a main road with lots of traffic. To top things off, a dog barked all night long.

Many years ago during tribal wars, thousands of invading warriors met their fate at Kandi. It was believed that the place had some mystic power that favored the local people and brought death to outsiders. That first night, we, too, felt that Kandi might be the death of us.

Our first week in Kandi began with Christmas and ended with the Muslim feast of sacrifice, known as Eid al-Adha. It is the second of two great Muslim festivals. It marks the culmination of the hajj (pilgrimage) rites at Mina, Saudi Arabia, but is celebrated by Muslims throughout the world. During the festival, families that can afford to buy a ritually acceptable animal (sheep, goat, camel, or cow) will sacrifice it and then divide the flesh equally among themselves, the poor, and friends and neighbors. This commemorates Abraham’s sacrifice of the ram God provided instead of Ishmael (Isaac in the Judeo-Christian tradition).

Because Kandi is 97 percent Muslim, Christmas passed largely without notice. However, evidence of Eid al-Adha was everywhere. Sheep, goats, and cows were slaughtered all over our neighborhood. Later in the day, neighbors who knew we’d arrived brought us fresh meat.
Starting our first week in Kandi with Christmas and ending it with the Muslim festival of sacrifice, we were reminded that the Prince of Peace and Mighty God was with us. “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace” (Isa. 9:4). He is the “Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world” (John 1:29).

After months of preparation, it is amazing to be here among the Dendi people. Life is different, even for us West Africans, but we will adjust. We are thrilled to be sent as frontier workers among this Muslim people. We are aware of the enemy’s many avenues to attack us, but we have nothing to fear. We know that God has been here before us through His spirit. By faith, we can say like Paul, “For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Rom. 9:38, 39).

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