Of Every-Day Miracles and Togo

Too often I ignore daily miracles: rising suns, falling stars, waning moons, and all of those things which happen very often yet don’t have to happen at all. To paraphrase a man (G.K. Chesterton) whom I paraphrase too much: all the things that make celestial patterns happen, all of our “Laws of Physics” and anything else that science notes, are merely records of what usually happens.

There is nothing that says gravity on earth must continue to operate at 9.8 meters per second squared. Nothing prevents it from vanishing altogether. “Laws,” after all, are only as good as the One who enforces them, and it's His purpose they serve.

That same subtle miraculousness is true of travel, another one of Chesterton’s example. At times mass transit works so well that one is surprised when something does not arrive or leave on time. Such routine gives the impression of dead, monotonous systems, cogs whirring impersonally. Thus one forgets the tremendous amount of life behind such valuable systems that sustain the routine, resulting in ingratitude.

Here the frequent traveler to the developing world should have an advantage in resisting ingratitude, because anything that goes right in the third world is unquestionably the result of a miracle. Thus I praise God from the abundant Providence that has taken me from Ethiopia, to Ghana, and finally to Togo. Here we hope to drill a test well, and if it is successful, to thoroughly teach a group of Church of Christ missionary families how to drill and establish a long-term water program for the Kabiye (Literally, "Rock Pilers") people of northern Togo.

David Reeves and Mark Kennell of the Kabiye team met me in Accra, Ghana’s capital because the flight was cheaper than anything directly to Lome, Togo’s capital. And we had heard that some very essential drilling mud could be found in Accra, whereas it was not in Lome, or anywhere else in Togo.

For two days we meticulously called every business in the Accra directory and searched every hub of commerce on the social rung: from the high-scale, Western-style malls and supermarkets that might stave off even Wal-Mart, to the classic markets littered with a few blocks of hardware stores next to a few blocks of cloth vendors next to a few blocks of produce stands. The city rivals Nairobi in its development, serving as a commercial hub for much of West Africa.

Near the end of our Accra trip, we had found a few key items but not the most needed item, the drilling mud. We were became semi-desperate, hoping that maybe one of dozens of people perpetually wandering the streets with either water, milk or fruit on their head, or electric hair clippers and pens from Nigeria in their hands would bring several bags of bentonite (which we usually use for drilling mud) right to the window of our vehicle, ready to bargain the price for half an hour so that we could buy the blasted stuff for a few dollars cheaper.

Then the day before we had to leave, someone who was staying at our guest house gave us an address to a pump supplies store, and the ladies at the pump supplies store gave us a bore-hole well-driller’s number, and the bore-hole well-driller gave us a ladies’ number, and the lady met us the next morning at 6 a.m. in front of a grocery store and handed us two containers of expensive white powder (dehydrated drilling mud) in a black plastic bag. And then we were ready to leave.

We crossed the boarder into Togo with little issue and spent the remainder of our nine-hour drive traversing forestal mountains and roaring past quiet villages. Every so often, the ruins of an ornate Catholic church would tower over a Togolese village, and the occasional roadside graveyard would pop out of the forest as we drove, both remnant features of Togo’s past as a French colony besides the country’s official French language.

We arrived that evening and settled into my apartment at the Reeves' household. For the rest of the week, David and I scoured Kara in search of the necessary materials. And I've already spent a couple of evenings beneath a shower of sparks, using a hand grinder to cut out bit pieces for our local welder.

Not all has been toil, however. Slowly I become acquainted with the other Kabiye team members through Thursday morning basketball games and men's prayer time; through mountain hikes with team members and their visiting, U.S. church supporters; and through Sunday evening worship, after Sunday morning worship with local village churches. And we've celebrated the birthday of now-nine-year-old Hannah Reeves, sibling to three younger brothers: Elijah, Gabriel and Caleb, the last an infant.

Tomorrow we continue our search for the final drilling rig materials, venturing to the capital city five hours away. If all goes well we should be able to drill by the middle of next week. Yet I recall that our schedule is in God's hands, that "all goes well" is a miracle to inspire utmost awe.