21 Dec 23

I sat sideways on the bench in the shade of the little restaurant at the bus stop, one foot illuminated by the beam of warm morning sunlight, enjoying the reprieve of the shade after the chill of the motorcycle ride which had finally given way to baking in the heat of the ever-rising sun. The restaurant owner bustled back and forth, handing out plates of tea and gateaux (fried bread), stopping to cough and blow his nose on a thin dirty rag, then wiping his hands and hurrying back to the kitchen. An older man with rounded back bent at the waist slowly ambled into the shade and regarded me on the bench. "Hello! How are you?" "I’m fine, how are you?" Most of these conversations in English end at about this point in the conversation. But he continued. "Where are you from?" He enunciated clearly. I replied, "Les États-Unis. America." "American! That is good! And you work here! That is very good! I wish you life and prosperity!"

So much English. So much gratitude. And he doesn’t know anything about me, except that I’m an American and I choose to work in Chad.

This is one of the many reasons Chad is so special—the hospitality, the gratitude even in difficulty, so welcoming.