I was nervous about
traveling outside the U.S. for the first time and trying to speak French—a
language I was learning at school. This is why my mom thought I should come
along—to practice my French and experience a new culture.
“Your aunt says
Djibouti is the hottest country year around, Danielle,” my mom told me as we
pulled our carry-ons toward the one and only baggage claim inside the terminal.
I could believe that! If it’s this hot now, summer must be
sizzling! I thought to myself.
Once my dentist mom
collected her bag filled with equipment for a dental clinic, we headed outside
to find my Aunt Molly. She was easy to spot in the parking lot. My aunt is
tall, fair-skinned, and a red scarf was draped around her shoulders. She stood
by the open trunk of a white SUV, grinning. She looked comfortable even though
I didn’t feel comfortable at all—nothing looked, sounded or smelled the same as
home. But I guess she should be at ease since she’s lived here for as long as
I’ve been alive—ten years.
“Bonjour!” Aunt Molly chirped. “I’m so happy to see you!’ She embraced both of us in a big hug and then loaded our belongings inside the vehicle.
“Anyone thirsty?” Aunt Molly passed my mom and I each a waterbottle as we cruised through the capital city.
I stared out the window,
eager to discover what it was like to live here. We passed a man in shorts
peddling a bicycle. He was pulling a small blue cart. On the side of the cart
was a painting of an ice cream cone and what I guessed was a Djiboutian flag.
I guzzled my water and
wiped my brow with the back of my hand. Ice cream was sounding really good
about now.
As the car left the
capital city and veered toward our village destination, the brown landscape
stretched before us like an empty checker board. I caught a glimpse of mountains.
“How far is it to the village?” I asked.
“A bit less than two
hours,” Aunt Molly said. “I’m so excited your mom is a part of the dental
clinic for the villagers! And I’m glad you can help out with it! The Somali
people who live in this village don’t have access to dental care. This will be
a great service my non-government organization (NGO) can provide to meet a need
in the community.”
“So Somalis in this
village can’t see a dentist?” I asked, puzzled. “What do they do when a tooth
hurts?”
Aunt Molly exhaled
loudly. “Well, most just have to deal with the pain—”
“For the rest of their lives?” I squealed.
“Or until they can
scrounge up enough money to travel to the capital and pay a dentist,” my aunt
explained. “But that’s money needed for food, water, rent, or a doctor visit.”
I leaned back in my
seat. What would it be like to never visit a dentist—even if you really needed
one?
PREPARING FOR THE
CLINIC
The next morning my aunt
drove my mom and I to a building with peeling white paint. This was where the
dental clinic would be held. Three of my aunt’s co-workers met us there along
with three more dentists who wanted to provide free dental care and came from
the same church back in the U.S.
“Why did you bring me
along?” I whispered to Mom. I was feeling pretty nervous, especially as I was
the only kid—and not a dentist!
“Because you are
learning to speak French which is the trade language here,” Mom whispered back.
“And it’s a good way to show the love of God to others in a practical way.” My
mom gently placed her hands on my shoulders and kneeled down to look into my green
eyes. “Danielle, you’ll do a good job.”
I nodded weakly and
swallowed the lump in my throat. Lord,
please let me actually be helpful.
My aunt motioned for me
to join her while the others headed inside to determine how to best set-up and
organize the clinic. My mom gave my hand a quick squeeze before joining the
group.
“We’ll set-up a table
here for you to check people into the clinic,” my aunt explained.
“What if I don’t
understand?” I asked, feeling slightly panicky.
“My friend’s daughter,
Deka, will be here to help you,” my aunt said. “Deka has been taking English
classes from our NGO and is eager to practice! You’ll meet her this afternoon.”
Then my aunt explained how I would check people into the dental clinic. Even
though I was nervous about speaking French, I was excited to be a part of the
clinic team.
MEETING DEKA
I was perched on top of
a thin floor mattress, tugging on my long skirt when Deka returned to the room.
Her smile brightened the space. A green scarf etched with white flowers framed
her round face. In her hands, she carried a red plastic thermos and tea cups.
Her bare feet quietly padded across the floor. I was grateful to finally meet
someone my age.
Deka placed a clear tea
cup in front of my mom, aunt, and I. Then she poured the creamy, sweet tea into
the cups. My aunt had joked it was dessert because the tea was made with
sweetened condensed milk and sugar. I could smell the fragrant spices. Aunt
Molly said locals added cardamom, cloves, and cinnamon to the tea.
As I took a sip, the milky,
sweetness of the tea helped me relax. I doubt I could drink more than one glass,
but dessert in a cup was tasty!
Deka’s Somali mother, Canab,
joined us in the room. Her presence radiated happiness. Her large, vivid purple
head scarf and loose dress matched her upbeat personality. She handed a small
cone-shaped package and scissors to my aunt.
“Merci,” Aunt Molly
murmured as she clipped the tip of the cone. Deka clamored to sit next to her. The
girl’s brown eyes glittered as she extended her hand to Aunt Molly.
I tiled my head to the
side. What was going on?
As if sensing my
confusion, Aunt Molly faced me. “This is henna. Women use this to draw designs
on their hands and arms. Once it dries, you wash it off and the design stays on
your body until it fades away.”
“Henna makes us more
beautiful,” Deka explained. “We like to do henna whenever we can. And women
wear henna for a wedding or engagement party.”
“Today I’m going to
share the story of Ruth from the Bible using henna.” Then Aunt Molly began to
draw beautiful flowers and designs on Deka’s hand and arm as she told the Bible
story about a woman named Naomi. Her husband and two sons died, but her
daughter-in-law, Ruth, helped provide a new home and food for her. Ruth
remarried Naomi’s relative so Naomi had a grandson, too. God turned Naomi’s
sadness into joy because of Ruth’s trust in God.
Each henna element represented
a part of the narrative: flowers for Naomi and Ruth, spirals for gathering
food, a flower leaf for when Ruth remarries.
I slowly nodded. Aunt
Molly had told us about it. But I didn’t get it until now.
After Deka’s henna was
dried and washed, she grabbed the remaining henna from my aunt.
“Can I practice the
henna story on you?” Deka asked. She flashed a friendly smile.
I locked eyes with my
aunt. She nodded her head in encouragement.
“Okay,” I said. I
wasn’t sure about this whole henna thing, but it did look beautiful.
As Deka squeezed red
henna paste from the tube onto my arm, I jumped. I was surprised by the cool,
wet feeling of henna.
Deka chuckled. “You’ll
get used to it!” I giggled. And just as Deka promised, I got used to the
sensation and was captivated by the Bible story and art happening on my hand
and arm.
That night as I admired my henna, I was reminded of Ruth’s willingness to keep trusting the Lord to provide. Maybe I could trust God to help me tomorrow at the clinic.
CLINIC DAY IS HERE
My stomach felt like a
bumper cars ride. I was sitting at the clinic check-in table waiting for Deka. Where
was she? The clinic would start soon and I didn’t want to do this alone!
Ten minutes later, Deka
showed up bearing a plastic bag. “I brought some food my mom made!” She
unwrapped a sambosa—a fried savory pastry—from a piece of newspaper and handed
it to me.
The last thing I wanted
to do right now was eat, but I didn’t want to be rude either. And I was still
worried about talking with actual people in French.
Deka gave me a
sympathetic look. “Your henna looks good!”
I smiled weakly. The
orange-red designs did look beautiful.
Deka pointed to the
spiral designs that represented Ruth gathering grain from the fields. “I like
how God provided food for Ruth and Naomi.” Deka paused as she reflected on
yesterday’s story. “But Ruth had to trust God to provide first.”
Suddenly it hit me like
a ball colliding with a baseball bat: I wasn’t trusting God to help me. Lord, please forgive me for thinking this
was all up to me. Please help me to check people in for the clinic using the
language skills I have. Amen.
Calmness washed over
me. I wasn’t sure how the day would go, but God would be with me just like He
was with Ruth. Onions and spiced potatoes oozed out as I took a bite of the
sambosa. It tasted so good! “Merci, Deka!”
Deka beamed. “De rien!
You’re welcome!”
About fifteen minutes
later, people started to come for the dental clinic. While I didn’t understand
everything, I had enough basic phrases down to greet people and let them know
when it was their turn to enter the clinic.
Later that night when
the clinic was over, we heard a loud knock on my aunt’s door. After a few
moments of muffled conversation, Aunt Molly’s voice excitedly called out, “Come
here!”
Standing outside my
aunt’s house in her dirt compound yard was a group of elderly men and women.
My mom and I looked at
my aunt, unsure of what was going on.
“They came to thank you
for coming and being a part of the dental clinic today,” Aunt Molly said. “Some
of them have experienced tooth pain for decades. And today they are pain free.”
My eyes brimmed with
tears. My mom squeezed my hand. Wow. Today wasn’t about my ability to speak
French, but trusting God to use my small part to help others. And just like in
the story of Ruth, God’s plans were bigger than I could have imagined.