Is this your mama or some movie star?

One fine afternoon Sister Neves said to me,
"Elder Neves, its time we explored the other
side of the island". To save a little bit of grief
and misery I said surely I will my sweetheart.

We went there once at night without any
idea of where we were going only following
tail lights but this time it was on our own.

We headed into Congo Cross by way of
King Harmon and pretty soon by golly we
were crossing the Aberdeen bridge where
the rebels had tossed over whomever they
didn't like.

The big Atlantic looks you right in the eye and
you can almost see the United States of America
from the bridge.












We traveled on around and for heck sakes found

ourselves at the old famous Lumley beach.
Sister Neves had to take her shoes off and give
her a tumble.





At first I thought it might be a little mermaid

coming in the distance.

As she came closer the mirage appeared more
and more like the woman I married back when
I married her.












The sea breeze does fine things to the little

sweetheart and she loves to walk the beach.













She has been asking to go back but unfortunately

we've been unable to find the time. I'll need to
go get it done in the next few days and let her get
some sand between her toes again.





The pictures don't show the beggars, the garbage,
or the burned out road behind the beach nor the
UN helicopters flying over occasionally.

Elder Gifford, my own personal hero, and Elder Dogbatse invited
Sister Neves and I to visit a fine gentleman they were teaching in
Kissie Town. He is little tailor and a fine man with whom we
became acquainted, Alimomy Bangura.

Elder Gifford has since gone home but is quiet and somewhat
solemn but was as hardworking and effective as any elder I've
met here or in Mexico forty years ago.

Elder Dogbatse from Ghana complements him very well and
is an excellent elder and a musician in his own right.

We participated with Alimomy a couple of times in his shop

since he lives very far away and it is easier to visit there than in
his home, particularly since his wife is a Muslim.

The Elders and Bangura invited us to come to the baptism in
Wellington but when we arrived a fine Saturday morning the
water was not available and we spent an hour waiting to make
a decision on where to go to get it done.










While I was waiting there it seemed a fine idea to clown around

with the camera and make the time pass more quickly. Bangura
and I had a fine time he loosened right up.

A little clutch of boys who are not members but just like to come
to church came by and made it even more fun while we spent a
little more time deciding what to do.

We finally decided to load up and go to Grafton and baptize in
the river there. The folks who live in a little home by the river
side were not members but for some reason Elder Gifford
figured they wouldn't mind sharing their river and home with
us.

So Sally and Bally and their two little babies were treated to a

fine bunch of Mormon folks and potential Mormon folks
as we took over their lives for an hour or two.







Sally even showed me how to wrap a little baby for the
carrying and then she started a fire for us and generally
carried on while we carried on.












                                                                                                                                                                We had a fine service and the baptisms were excellent even
though the President generally believes that these are best

done in the baptismal fonts in front of their potential
congregations. I believe he is correct in that reasoning
but it is interesting on a one time during a mission basis.

Alimomy has proven a fine member although he has a bad
case of malaria and we've been trying to do our best to help
him out. He lives high up on the mountain in Looking
Town and has little access to medical care and medicine.



                                                                      

                                                                        We've been there as often as we can to give what support

we can and to offer our prayers and comfort. Our personal
Utes often accompany us on these trips.














Usually we take a long hard trip home through Kissie Road

which in good times takes eighteen minutes and in bad times
it has taken up to three hours. Mom is usually ready to
strangulate me by the time we arrive home.

Mother and I are doing a good job for two fat white folks
of trying to fit in to the culture and to the work here
among our good black brethren and sisters.



                                                                                                                                                                                                      








I don't think I'd want to be anywhere else right now but

here. Often I'll look down at my hands and am surprised
to see that they are white and not black.












It might be nice for a few minutes to see
the little ones at home but we'll just
have to make do with what we have

here for now.

Going out with di Utes

We'd planned the day and time and were only
hour or two late. The youths were waiting patiently
as only African Utes can wait patiently, looking
down from the upstairs balcony of the old building,
standing on one leg, the boys not the building.

We gathered in the chapel and started planning how
we were going to tackle all the sinners. Mainly I had to send Joseph to get the cold drinks. Sister Neves was asking Idrissa if he'd ever played Banjo Tui. He hadn't but she explained her strategy.  







Joseph or "Joe", as we affectionately, and if I
might modestly say so, quite creatively call the little feller, asked, "what?" I thought seriously about slapping the little sweetheart right there in the chapel but thought better of the idea.






                                                                                   We sang a little hymn, said a humble
prayer to begin our day and then
I suggested that we put on our hat and
pull our trousers up around our chest
bones with the exception of Sister Neves
and get on the road. We did.

Once again Samuel or "Sam", as we affectionately,
and if I might say so, creatively call him once more
took charge of Sister Neves and made sure she
didn't fall or get lost or swept off her feet. Once I
heard her say, "I almost got swept of my feet", so I
know it was a concern of hers. She also said, "Oh youuu" once.

I'll do a little series of photos to show our walk
through the streets of Kissie Town.

Are you sure the street is that rough, Mom? Wait, where are you going?

Would you please just stay with the
group from now on? Something is lost
when you go off on your own like
that?

After we spent the afternoon visiting Mom
thought she'd like some Mexican food so we
stopped by the Amigo's cafe to some good
old African hamburgers and chicken and a
little something to drink.

For her hamburger Mom found a piece of chicken, she thinks, spagetti, beans, and a little ketchup inside a big old bun, yum.

I wisely chose a piece of spicy chicken and politely
ate around the bone with a fork while my Utes
looked on in amazement. I thought they were
amazed at how polite I was and well mannered but they were simply amazed at how stupid I was for picking around the good bone.

Sam, as I affectionately call Samuel Kanu, asked
reasonably if I'd be messing around any more with
 the bone.

I assured him that I were purty well done with it and handed the thing over to him with a grin.

My good little old twenty two year old friend
Samuel, proceeded to eat all of that big double jointed chicken thigh bone clear down to the nubbins until all that was left was nothing but
a little grease when it had earlier resided.

What a day!

I'm thinking to myself, "what a perfect end
to a perfect day. I can go to bed happy tonight."

My Utes all gathered around me, Sister Neves
and I, the only white people in the
center of the whole east side of Freetown, and
I just watched Sam eat an entire quarter of a
chicken, bones and all.

As we went home to the other side of the city, the old West side I took a little snap of this scene looking  across the Atlantic ocean and a thousand miles inland where you just finished a little lunch at Wendy's a few minutes ago.

I'm sorry you couldn't be here in this little bit of perfection. We'd love to be able to show you around sometime but I'd have to show you the door after three or four days.

We've got too much to do.

Elder and Sister Neves

Here we go..

We finally decided its time to figure out how to blog so were going to do that now.

Notice the steely eyed determination in Eldon's eyes, the anger, the fire, the snarl, the indigestion; its going to happen.

Our first attempts are bound to be tiny and ugly until we get it all figured out.

It looks like a piece of cake so here we go. Move over Hil!

Doing what she does best

Sister Neves and her soul sisters during a visit with the Thomas family in July with Elder Chikwendu and Elder Lancaster in Grafton during a downpour. Sister Elizabeth, recently baptized also visited with us.

Two months 15 days 13.5 hours in

Now two months and fifteen days into Africa we've passed the new man stage and moved on to making friends, foes, mis-steps, and mischief on our own account. We've held our first young single adult party that turned into an entire branch party, walked the mountains with my Utes, taught a first lesson to our own little personal investigator Christiana, and watched over her in church today. We are getting a kick out of being two old fat apato here in Freetown  

Primary Program - Kissie Branch 19/6/10

Sierra Leone

Two days and a wake up!

Friday night with no more than two days and a wake up before we're in the compound on the hill. I'm still walking around barefooted and have a dozen things to do before I'm ready. There's Bill O'Rielly to watch for his latest view of Obama and then Rush to catch on his archives later on tonight and last but not least I've got your basic Office to pull up. I don't know how I'll ever get it done. The only consolation is that I should have plenty of time to catch up on my sleep when I arrive at the center on Monday.

I do have a horse ride with the boys scheduled for tomorrow; one last time before we leave. Its supposed to be raining but we'll see how it shakes out. I figured I'd take out my dog and horse tomorrow and then shoot 'em so no one will mess with either while I'm gone.

I thought I'd do a nostalgic visit to the office today to see how it looked without me there and my little office manager friend who helped me run things for the last six years looked up, sneered at me, and said, "stop spending so much money". It's pretty sad. Yesterday I was the big boss that no one messed with and now I'm the little man getting messed on. I guess I have to be better to Diana so someone will love me.

We received our missionary call to Sierra Leone Freetown on one condition: that Eldon pass a stress test five months after his stent operation last November.

We were nervous.

What if all that Eldon could do--eat right and exercise so he could sustain a raised heartbeat for some minutes--wasn't enough and it turned out that he still couldn't pass the stress test. Perhaps the stress test would reveal more artery damage.  How would we face our friends, family, and ward with failure?

On April 20th, with prayers and trepidation we showed up at the Central Utah Clinic. It had been
five months from the stent operation in November.  We figured if  E didn't pass this time then we'd have a few weeks longer for second chances.

Eldon got electronically hooked up as if he were a condemned man ready to get zapped in the electric chair.  He started walking on the treadmill with the doctor continually checking the readout.  After about every four minutes the treadmill increased in speed and incline.  His target heartrate was 132.  After about 15 minutes --hallelujah -- he reached the coveted 132 and even sailed past it.

The doctor and I couldn't find any abnormalities (I was looking at the readout too) and he said Eldon did very well.  We passed!!  Hallelujah, we are going to Sierra Leone --unless, of course, sometime before May 24th  we're attacked by terrorists or swept away by a flooding Utah Lake or buried by that earthquake which isn't just an 'if" but a 'when.'