of elephants and mice

We're in a neighborhood full of missionaries and linguists who work for a Bible-translation organization called SIL. We go to church with them on Sunday nights, use their internet after we set up an account with them, and have lots of friends in the SIL community we see regularly. It's been a huge improvement in our social life; before we moved to this side of town in January, we'd lock the door at 6pm and spend the next 14 hours alone at home, cooking and reading and maybe playing Boggle.

In church a couple of weeks ago, someone asked for volunteers to take notes at the upcoming SIL branch conference, the annual gathering of SIL people from all over Cameroon right here in Yaounde. So I signed up for a 90-minute stint, since I can type, and it seems only decent to contribute something back. It happened to be the transfer of the General Directorship of SIL Cameroon from the man who's had it since 1999 or so to the new man. There were many thank yous and tributes, and then the outgoing director got up to the podium. He talked about his career and self-doubts, expressed some concerns, and told a story:

Elephant and Mouse were best friends. One day Elephant said, “Mouse, let’s have a party!” Animals gathered from far and near.

They ate. They drank. They sang. And they danced. And nobody celebrated more and danced harder than Elephant.

After the party was over, Elephant exclaimed, “Mouse, did you ever go to a better party What a blast!”

But Mouse did not answer.

“Mouse, where are you?” Elephant called. He looked around for his friend, and then shrank back in horror.

There at Elephant’s feet lay Mouse. His little body was ground into the dirt. He had been smashed by the big feet of his exuberant friend, Elephant.

This made me sad. But given the significance of parables in the Bible, the choice of this story for a speech in a mission organization struck me on several levels. So I thought I'd pass it on. As someone with big feet, I've been thinking a lot about it since, about how uncomfortable this story made me at the time, and how out of place I feel here in a missionary community, in Africa, and often just in the world.

I wonder -- can the elephant decide not to be an elephant?

We come home is less than six months. Going to Africa is the sort of thing that looks great on paper, an adventure, a chance in a lifetime. And it is. But part of the reason it is goes way beyond the scenery, and comes from the difficult questions you have to ask yourself if you're a person from a rich country living far from home among poor people you can't easily communicate with. If you're an elephant.