Dangerous Love

by Ray Norman

  A day or two later I met with a handful of our senior staff, mostly Mauritanians, and reiterated the challenge of determining the pros and cons of maintaining the program for the present. My heart’s pull to stay the course was certainly winning the day, and I shared as much. I also knew that everyone in that room felt the same. But I wanted to be sure this was what we should do. And I felt it prudent that we should consult all who could speak into this matter.

  I put the idea on the table that perhaps I should speak with one of the imams and asked my senior staff if they would support the idea and help with the arrangements. Within a few minutes I knew I had their unanimous support, but suggested I give them a day or two to make some quiet inquiries and get back to me. Two days later I received a call from one of the staff members who said he had just received news that one of Nouakchott’s prominent clerics, a man who had some knowledge of World Vision’s work, had agreed to see me. Moreover, the imam had clearly indicated that he would meet me at my office! I was both surprised and delighted that he had so readily agreed to grant me an audience, but I was shocked that he would come to World Vision’s office complex. I quickly challenged this notion as we talked on the phone, but was told that this was the cleric’s clear request. A visit to my office would, of course, be a great honor, but I knew that it was a highly unusual gesture for a man of his stature in this society, and I did not want him taking any risks on my behalf or World Vision’s.

  Amrita found the number for the imam’s office. I called and explained to his staff that I was delighted he had agreed to see me, but would they please communicate to him that I would be more than happy to meet him at his office or even at the mosque—any place of his preference. The man on the line politely but firmly replied, “Monsieur Norman, the imam has given very clear instructions that he would like to meet you at your office, and he will be there tomorrow at 10:00 A.M. I think we should best leave it at that.” With the clarity of that reply, I could only agree.

  Around 10:00 A.M. the next morning, there was a small commotion outside, and Amrita informed me that the imam was arriving. I glanced out the door from my second-floor office and saw two young men gently assisting the elderly man up the stairs. He was a slight, light-skinned man, dressed in a long, white robe and a matching turban wrapped around his head and neck. His long, white beard matched his clothing, and indeed gave him the aura of a wizened sage. But his sharp, clear eyes had maintained their youthful look, and it was obvious that they missed little. As the men moved through Amrita’s reception office and into mine, Amrita whispered her assurances that she would be at work praying for us (as I always knew she did for meetings such as these) during this special encounter.

  When the imam and his two assistants entered my office, we shook hands politely and exchanged brief formalities before we all took our seats. I had asked Ahmed, one of my senior Mauritanian program managers, to join us, since he had met the imam a few times in the past. I wanted to keep the meeting as small as possible, but I felt it important to have at least one of my Mauritanian colleagues with me so that he could report the meeting outcomes directly back to his own colleagues—although I had no idea what to expect of this meeting, much less the results. In many ways I felt I was groping in the dark, but I was certain that this was the right thing to do at this time. Once seated, I again welcomed him and thanked him for coming to my office. He responded softly but with impeccable French, expressed his condolences about the horrific incident, his repulsion for the thoughtless acts of the assailant, and then inquired about my recovery and Hannah’s.

  He was clearly a reflective person and not given to many words. And, unknown to me at the moment, this man in a short time would be elected president of the Ulama—the leading body of Islamic clerics and scholars in the country. Under normal conditions, expected formalities in Mauritanian culture in such a meeting would call for rather lengthy greetings and exchanges about one’s health and work. It would be considered improper, even rude, to jump into the issues at hand after a brief hello, as Americans are prone to do (and often even without the hello). So after his brief words there was an uncomfortable moment of silence, as I was unsure how to proceed with the delicate matter that was foremost in my mind.

  After a moment of hesitation I cleared my throat and plowed in. “Sir, we are both aware of the uncomfortable circumstances of past months that brought me to the place of requesting an audience with you. But for the sake of our time and the importance of the matters, and with your permission, would you allow us to dispense with expected formalities and go directly to the issues at hand?” To my relief he did not seem offended by this and simply nodded his head slightly in affirmation, without uttering a word. I continued, “As you know, World Vision is a Christian organization that has worked in your country for some seventeen years now. And we have considered it a privilege to be able to serve the people of your country during this time. But Mauritania is also an Islamic republic, and I can understand how there are those who find it difficult to accept the presence of a Christian organization working among so many vulnerable, Muslim communities.

  “I’m sure you are also aware of the challenges World Vision and other foreign organizations faced during the Gulf War. And we both know the impact the events of 9/11 and the recent shooting have had on the political climate and security concerns for westerners and especially for a Christian organization such as ours.

  “But, sir, here is my quandary. We have made commitments to the communities we work with, as they have with us, and we take these commitments seriously. And I am extremely hesitant to abandon our service to poor communities where so many count on us to walk with them on their journey to a future more secure and hopeful. My staff, both expatriate and Mauritanian, feel it is important we continue the program without interruption, if at all possible. But there are those who feel it is unwise, even within my own organization, and especially those I am accountable to spiritually, including my pastors and others I look to for spiritual guidance.

  “Some tell me it is unwise to put others at risk, even if I personally am willing to take that risk, while others tell me that I have rendered my service, and it is time to return home to heal and restore. So I am torn. I am at a crossroads, and I do not know which way to turn. This is why I wanted to speak with you. Please, sir, would you share with me your wisdom and counsel on this matter?”

  Ahmed, who had been sitting there quietly watching this encounter, was now staring at me, mouth agape. He well understood the security challenges and the difficult decisions we faced, but he was clearly surprised to hear me share my own inner, spiritual struggles as a Christian with a Muslim cleric. In the following silence Ahmed, somewhat belatedly, gathered himself and turned to the imam to hear his response. It was at this moment that the longest, and the most discomforting, silence ensued.

  The imam stared at the ground for what seemed like endless seconds. Then he reached his finger under his turban and slowly scratched his head reflectively and let out a long, slow sigh. The unspoken message I thought I was hearing by his silent actions was something to the effect of, “Monsieur Norman, the answer to your question is so self-evident, need I even bother with a response?” But I could not have been more mistaken.

  After another long moment of reflection, the imam finally turned his gaze to me and quietly said, “Monsieur Norman, there are three things I think you need to know. First, your staff who work among our communities are well trained and effective, and their professionalism is commendable. Second, when World Vision comes into our poor communities, you bring a wholesome sense of order to these destitute places, where there is so much uncertainty and often so much upheaval. Both of these aspects of World Vision’s work are truly commendable.” Then he shook his bony index finger at me for emphasis and continued. “But there is a third matter, Monsieur Norman, which I think you may not fully understand.” By this point my heart was racing, as I was again sure the hatchet was going to fall, certain he would say, “Nevertheless, a
Christian organization working among devout Muslims is simply not compatible.” But his next words shocked me.

  He said softly, “You see, Monsieur Norman, we Muslims give alms and help the poor because the Quran instructs us to do so.” I supposed the imam was referring to zakat, one of the five pillars of duty in Islam, in which believers are required to give a certain percentage of their income to the poor and needy (the other pillars being the affirmation that there is but one God and Mohammed his prophet, ritual prayer five times daily, fasting in the month of Ramadan, and the once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage to Mecca for those who are able). He continued, “This is an obligation. But with World Vision, you work with the poor because you love the poor. This is different. This is what sets you apart. If for no other reason, I encourage you to stay in this country and teach our people how to love their poor.”

  I was astounded by his unexpected words. I glanced quickly at Ahmed, whose eyes were glued to the imam with a look of astonishment that barely surpassed my own. In that moment much of the confusion and torment of my heart seemed to evaporate, and God’s purpose and will began to shine through with refreshing clarity. As I stared quietly at the imam, a stream of thirst-quenching assurance flooded the depths of my soul. His words were not only needed confirmation about the importance of continuing our programs, but in a time of great personal doubt about our effectiveness in this restricted country, they were also a confirmation that our work was having its hoped-for impact.

  In that moment I saw that God had all along been answering our cry to him that we would be effective vessels of his love in this harsh land. I also saw that, in spite of the huge gulfs that might separate us, there was much more room for common ground, for mutual understanding and assistance, and incredible, untapped opportunities for Christians to work together with Muslim friends for the cause of the poor that Christ places on our hearts.

  The fresh period of awkward silence that followed was entirely of my own making. I was so stunned that I stumbled for the right words. I eventually gathered my wits and somewhat haltingly told the imam that I could hardly find the words to respond to his gracious comments. I told him how humbling and comforting his words were for me, as well as for all of my staff, both Christian and Muslim. The meeting soon came to an end, and I again offered him my heartfelt thanks for the opportunity to meet and for his timely, honest, and insightful counsel.

  The imam worked his way gingerly down the uneven stairs of my office with the help of his two still-silent assistants, and I watched him with wonder. The instant he was gone, I turned to Ahmed, who was standing beside me, for affirmation of all that I had just heard. Since Ahmed is a Muslim colleague, the thought crossed my mind that he might disdain the imam’s words and perhaps try to downplay them.

  “Ahmed, please tell me, did I just hear what I thought I heard?”

  But I need not have feared. I was still stunned and still shaking my head in wonder, but now that we were alone in the office, Ahmed’s outward excitement surpassed my own.

  “Monsieur Norman, I knew the imam thought highly of some of our work, but I never would have imagined he would say the things he did today. Is this not what World Vision is all about in Mauritania? Not only helping struggling communities to find direction and hope, but promoting tolerance and understanding between Muslims and Christians—values that are core beliefs of World Vision? This is what we have been working for!”

  Ahmed’s incredulity and delight surprised me. Here was a young Muslim man—a well-trained and qualified professional in his own right, but also a dedicated employee of World Vision—articulating his delight about the evident impact and role of an organization that was unapologetically Christian in an Islamic republic! At that moment I knew I would not need to tell, much less convince, our Muslim employees about the meeting with the imam. Ahmed would be sure his colleagues heard the story.

  I spent the rest the day on the phone and drafting e-mails to all of our World Vision colleagues—our regional office, support offices, and international headquarters, as well as our international president, Dean Hirsch. I thanked them for their counsel and prayers during this time of difficult decisions, and I told them we were going to continue the work before us. World Vision’s program in Mauritania would stay its course. The Holy Spirit had spoken to me with clarity through the words of an imam.

  10

  PRISON VISIT

  Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless

  those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.

  (LUKE 6:27–28)

  IT WAS A RATHER HOT MONDAY AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY WHEN Amrita knocked on my door, stepped in, and asked if she could have a word with me. Usually Amrita’s entrance to my office signaled something routine—a signature, a request for an appointment, or a gentle reminder to answer an item in my never-ending backlog of correspondence. But her rare requests for “a word with me” always signaled either a personal matter or something important that needed my attention.

  I tried to read her face as she sat down in front of my desk. Although a foreigner married to a Mauritanian, Amrita had a remarkable network of connections, and her ear was usually acutely tuned to all that was happening. Amrita explained that she had heard a bit of information about the assailant over the weekend that she thought I should know. She had heard it from a well-placed Mauritanian businessman in Nouakchott, a man I also knew personally. She suggested that she invite him to the office so that I could hear from him personally, which I readily agreed to do, knowing that Amrita’s advice on such matters was usually worth following. The next day this man came by my office, and we caught up briefly about his work and other goings-on in the business world around Nouakchott, then plunged into the issue at hand. He said that there were some things I should probably know about Ali, the assailant, who was still incarcerated at the national prison.

  Since the reenactment at the scene of the crime two months earlier, I had already had the opportunity to learn more about Ali. The police knew him, as he had had some previous run-ins with the law—smuggling contraband, drug trafficking, and the like. He was known as a lawless type and an occasional troublemaker who spent much of his shadowy life in and out of the country. He had managed to make his way back into town the night of the assault and hide for a few days before making his way south toward the border of Senegal. About a week later he was caught trying to leave Mauritania while crossing the Senegal River, which marks the border.

  I had also learned that he was well educated and apparently had a military background but had been discharged for unacceptable conduct. He was also from a clan of noble heritage, the extended family of a traditional emir in the north of the country. His mother died when Ali was very young, and apparently his father had been a diplomat who had spent some time in Europe.

  My business friend wanted me to know that, although our generous, public pardon for Ali would certainly help him, if and when his case came to sentencing, there was another matter we should be aware of. He had heard, through his own network of associates, that there were those who felt strongly that Ali’s actions had brought intolerable shame to his clan and it was likely that, before his case came to trial, he would conveniently disappear. At first I was not sure I understood what I was hearing, so I pressed him for more explicit detail, and he reluctantly gave me an example. “For instance, you may one day hear that while being transferred from one prison to another, Ali perished in an unfortunate accident. And if you hear of something like this, you should not be surprised.” I was shocked even at the thought. Now I understood why Amrita had felt so strongly that I needed to be made aware of this.

  Later that evening I mentioned this news to Hélène, without the graphic detail, since Hannah was also at the table. But Hannah missed nothing and understood the situation much more clearly than I thought she would. Both she and Hélène were alarmed and appeared more disturbed than I was. There was a long and lively conversation at our table.

  Hélène’s first rema
rk after absorbing the facts was, “We cannot let this happen!” And Hannah quickly echoed her sentiments with an ardor equal to her mother’s. I sat across the table from the two of them, somewhat taken aback and after some hesitation defensively replied, “Well, what do you think I can do about it? It seems to be largely out of our hands!”

  “But we must do something!” they both shot back.

  Aboubacar, who had been quietly washing dishes in the adjacent kitchen, was aware that a heated discussion was going on. We communicated with him in French because he spoke virtually no English, but he had been around us long enough to understand some. He was also keenly aware that most of the intense discussions these days were related to the shooting and the host of issues that came in its wake. Aboubacar was always reluctant to interfere with our personal matters, but I knew he cared for us and worried about our welfare deeply. We had also found him to be a wonderful source of wisdom on matters concerning Mauritania. As a Guinean, he too was a foreigner, but he had lived here many years and knew the culture and customs much better than we did.

  After a few moments we noticed that things were quiet in the kitchen, and we realized that he had figured out, at least in part, what we were discussing. As she often did when we faced difficult or complex matters related to local culture, Hélène decided we needed to consult Aboubacar and called to him. When he stepped into the dining room, dish towel still in hand, she filled him in on the details of what we were facing, lest he had missed something, and asked for his thoughts. In his quiet manner he said he understood that this was distressing for us, but that he did not find it surprising. “This is the way things are here.”