My first book is finally out!!! It’s taken about five years to write, revise, cleanup, format, edit, and publish, but Giraffe Tracks is available as of today! I’ll have it on its own webpage soon, but the webpage isn’t ready yet, so for now I’m linking to straight the store from my blog.

So far, it’s available in:

Softbound book

Hardbound book

PDF download

Kindle book

or you can Read a Sample

I was hoping to release the audio book at the same time as the book release, but couldn’t have it ready in time.

If there is a format that you would want to buy it in that is not listed above, let me know. I’d like people to be able to buy it in whatever format they want, even if it’s .doc, .jpg or even .mov (that would be interesting). If you’re willing to buy it in a certain format, I’ll make it in that format and sell it at the same price as any digital text format.

I’m publishing it through Willowrise Press, which is my family’s independent publishing company.

Anyway, please buy it!

Here’s the blurb from the back of the book, so you can get an idea what it’s about:

By the late 1990′s, South Africa was in the midst of heavy political and social turmoil. With the ending of Apartheid in 1994, which was a legalized system of racial segregation which heavily curtailed the rights of the black population, the country was left in a dangerously challenging situation. The white population, who had enjoyed relative wealth, government protection, and exclusive employment opportunities, were now forced to share those resources with the massive majority population of native black Africans.

Native Africans, who had been socially, economically, and physically oppressed for centuries, were now allowed to leave their reservation-like townships and come into the cities and suburbs. Having been held back for so long, black Africans continued to experience severe poverty. As new opportunities were thrown at them, poverty-driven crime rose to a frightening level, leaving sour feelings in the hearts of the country’s general population. It became a time of anger, reunion, bitter feelings, fear, and hope.

Giraffe Tracks is the true story of an LDS missionary serving in the Johannesburg, South Africa Mission only a few years after the ending of Apartheid. Using compelling stories, humor, and spiritual insight, the story demonstrates that even in a land overflowing with crime, poverty, and racial hatred, peace and joy can be found through the gospel of Jesus Christ. As the powers of evil shake the foundations of human society, the truth and light carried in the testimonies of the Lord’s missionaries can change hearts, heal minds, and turn fear and hatred into faith and love.

I have conquered the Jughead American Dream Burger – a one KG (2.2 point) hamburger with a side order of fries, and I ate it in thirty-five minutes. That weight didn’t include the weight of the bun or extra fillings of the burger, either. 2.2 pounds of pure lean beef. When they brought it out, I thought it took the term “my eyes are bigger than my stomach” to a new level. In this case, the burger itself was bigger than a good part of my abdomen, and the whole thing looked like a cake.

Pano’s Diner was a little restaurant owned by one of the local stake presidents, so we got free shakes whenever we came – which worked out nicely for washing down the Jughead American Dream Burger.

I’m almost ashamed to say I ate the thing. Two other missionaries had conquered it already, and I wanted to show them up. You might say I did, since it only took me a half hour, while it took them two or three hours to finish their burgers. But I’ve always recognized the fact that the faster you eat, the more you can eat. But more than that, anyone who could finish their burger in one sitting got a free shirt, and got to sign the wall of the restaurant. Who could pass up such an opportunity?

I still have the shirt, and it’s fun to explain to people how I got it.

What I generally fail to mention is the difficulty I had in keeping the stuff down. Numerous times I felt it almost coming up, and for many hours afterward, even most of the day, I was deathly thirsty. A couple of times I tried to drink, but even a sip nearly brought the load out. Also, it was probably the most money I spent on a meal in my whole mission.

In reflecting back on this, I thought about how much we gorge ourselves with the things of this life. We cram our stomachs with things that are not bad of themselves , but which crowd out time and energy for the essential things. We see the rewards that the world has to offer, and they look enticing to us. We work hard to obtain them, and get the reward – the chance to sign a wall and take home a free shirt that recognizes our accomplishment – or perhaps something more alluring, such as prominence, position, power, money, or popularity.

While these rewards are not always inherently bad, our pursuit of them may cost us more than we are willing to admit. They may cost time, means, or energy, when those things could have been used to build the Lord’s kingdom and our families. If eating a certain thing makes it impossible to drink water, it is better not to eat it. Our families need water, our callings need water, our testimonies need water, but if our lives are too full of unnecessary secular “hamburger,” we may not have room for them.

Also, carrying that hamburger the rest of the day was difficult, which brings to mind the Savior’s promise that if we take His burden upon us, we will find it much lighter than the burden we place on ourselves. It’s hard to keep sin down and hidden. It usually comes up, and when it does, we are humiliated and ashamed. But Christ can remove sin from our hearts. His burden costs us so much less than the price we pay for our own burdens and sins.

Sometimes we delude ourselves into thinking the way is too hard or too straight, but if we look closely, we find that it is our attempts to stay on our own paths while following Christ that makes it so difficult.

Besides, we can see the immediate rewards of our hamburger paths, while the rewards of the Spirit can seem very slow in coming, if we see them at all. Yet the spiritual rewards for taking Christ’s burden on us are of far greater, even infinite value.

Excerpt:

With the encouragement and permission of President Henry B. Eyring, I would like to relate to you an experience, very special to me, which I had with him several years ago when he was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve. Each Apostle holds the keys of the kingdom and exercises them at the direction and assignment of the President of the Church. Elder Eyring was assigning missionaries to their fields of labor, and as part of my training, I was invited to observe.

I joined Elder Eyring early one morning in a room where several large computer screens had been prepared for the session. There was also a staff member from the Missionary Department who had been assigned to assist us that day.

First, we knelt together in prayer. I remember Elder Eyring using very sincere words, asking the Lord to bless him to know “perfectly” where the missionaries should be assigned. The word “perfectly” said much about the faith that Elder Eyring exhibited that day.

As the process began, a picture of the missionary to be assigned would come up on one of the computer screens. As each picture appeared, to me it was as if the missionary were in the room with us. Elder Eyring would then greet the missionary with his kind and endearing voice: “Good morning, Elder Reier or Sister Yang. How are you today?”

He told me that in his own mind he liked to think of where the missionaries would conclude their mission. This would aid him to know where they were to be assigned. Elder Eyring would then study the comments from the bishops and stake presidents, medical notes, and other issues relating to each missionary.

He then referred to another screen which displayed areas and missions across the world. Finally, as he was prompted by the Spirit, he would assign the missionary to his or her field of labor.

From others of the Twelve, I have learned that this general method is typical each week as Apostles of the Lord assign scores of missionaries to serve throughout the world.

Having served as a missionary in my own country in the Eastern States Mission a number of years ago, I was deeply moved by this experience. Also, having served as a mission president, I was grateful for a further witness in my heart that the missionaries I had received in New York City were sent to me by revelation.

After assigning a few missionaries, Elder Eyring turned to me as he pondered one particular missionary and said, “So, Brother Rasband, where do you think this missionary should go?” I was startled! I quietly suggested to Elder Eyring that I did not know and that I did not know I could know! He looked at me directly and simply said, “Brother Rasband, pay closer attention and you too can know!” With that, I pulled my chair a little closer to Elder Eyring and the computer screen, and I did pay much closer attention!

A couple of other times as the process moved along, Elder Eyring would turn to me and say, “Well, Brother Rasband, where do you feel this missionary should go?” I would name a particular mission, and Elder Eyring would look at me thoughtfully and say, “No, that’s not it!” He would then continue to assign the missionaries where he had felt prompted.

As we were nearing the completion of that assignment meeting, a picture of a certain missionary appeared on the screen. I had the strongest prompting, the strongest of the morning, that the missionary we had before us was to be assigned to Japan. I did not know that Elder Eyring was going to ask me on this one, but amazingly he did. I rather tentatively and humbly said to him, “Japan?” Elder Eyring responded immediately, “Yes, let’s go there.” And up on the computer screen the missions of Japan appeared. I instantly knew that the missionary was to go to the Japan Sapporo Mission.

Elder Eyring did not ask me the exact name of the mission, but he did assign that missionary to the Japan Sapporo Mission.

Privately in my heart I was deeply touched and sincerely grateful to the Lord for allowing me to experience the prompting to know where that missionary should go.

At the end of the meeting Elder Eyring bore his witness to me of the love of the Savior, which He has for each missionary assigned to go out into the world and preach the restored gospel. He said that it is by the great love of the Savior that His servants know where these wonderful young men and women, senior missionaries, and senior couple missionaries are to serve. I had a further witness that morning that every missionary called in this Church, and assigned or reassigned to a particular mission, is called by revelation from the Lord God Almighty through one of these, His servants.

Photo by Brad Ruggles on flickr

Our house in Botswana was surrounded by houses with families of small children who would often come visit and play in our yard. One day a bunch of these kids were in the yard (probably nine or ten – we seemed to attract kids whenever we were home), and they were getting a little bit rambunctious. I was beginning to worry that someone might either get hurt or break something, so I ran and grabbed a pen and paper, then came outside and said, “Hey! Do you guys want to learn a new song?”

Of course they all responded enthusiastically.

“Ok, but you’re going to have to help me learn the words so we can sing it in Setswana, too!” Then I got out my paper and pen and asked, “How do you say ‘Head’ in Setswana?”

“Tlhogo!” they all shouted.

“And how do you say, ‘shoulders’?”

“Magetla!”

“Knees?”

“Lengole!”

“What about ‘toes’?”

“Menwana!”

In English, none of the words to the song, “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” are more than two syllables. In Setswana, none of them were less than two syllables. In fact, Setswana doubled the total number of syllables in the whole song. Man, I thought to myself, how on earth am I going to make these fit the rhythm?

Then we went through the remaining words – eyes, ears, mouth, and nose. I decided before trying it in Setswana, I’d teach them the English version of “Head, shoulders, Knees and Toes.” They got a big kick out of the song.

Then the real show began.

“Now let’s sing it in Setswana!” I said.

Getting out my piece of paper, we began to sing:

“Tlhogo, magetla, lengole, menwana, lengole, menwana, lengole menwana! Tlogo, magetla, lengole, menwana, Matla, Tsebe, Molomo, Nko!”

Before we could get through the song for the first time, we were rolling all over the porch with laughter. They thought it was the funniest thing in the world to hear a Magua singing in Setswana, and I thought it was the funniest thing to sing such a simple song with so many syllables. After singing it a number of times over, I had it memorized, and sang it many times thereafter to the kids, and they laughed hysterically every time.

I later discovered that the words they gave me were all singular form – shoulder, knee, toe. But making them plural would add more syllables, so I kept it as it was.

]]> http://calledtoserveinafrica.wordpress.com/2010/05/28/head-shoulders-knees-and-toes/feed/ 0 Chas http://calledtoserveinafrica.wordpress.com/2010/05/22/keeping-up-with-the-joness/ http://calledtoserveinafrica.wordpress.com/2010/05/22/keeping-up-with-the-joness/#comments Sun, 23 May 2010 02:18:56 +0000 Chas http://calledtoserveinafrica.wordpress.com/?p=129 ]]>

Then she sings it.

This is a fun song. I even learned to sing it while I was there, and I still remember it, but I promise my clicks aren’t nearly as impressive as hers.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DtnyNeHAGx0

I tried to embed it, but its disabled for this song. Oh, well. Still go to the link. It’s worth seeing!

In another version of this song, there’s a little space between verses where she says, “helele, helele,” (hay-lay-lay). I didn’t draw the connection until later, but when a girl gets married, it’s traditional for the mother of the bride to shout out “lelelelelelelele!” Picture a native American warcry, falsetto high pitched, and that’s about what it sounds like. The shout “Haya!” in between the verses and chorus are a similar tradition, but it’s shouted by everyone.

In English, none of the words to the song, “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” are more than two syllables.  In Setswana, none of them were less than two syllables.  In fact, Setswana doubled the total number of syllables in the whole song.  Man, I thought to myself, how on earth am I going to make these fit the rhythm?
Then we went through the remaining words – eyes, ears, mouth, and nose.  I decided before trying it in Setswana, I’d teach them the English version of “Head, shoulders, Knees and Toes.”  They got a big kick out of the song.
Then the real show began.
“Now let’s sing it in Setswana!” I said.
Getting out my piece of paper, we began to sing:

“Tlhogo, magetla, lengole, menwana, lengole, menwana, lengole menwana!  Tlogo, magetla, lengole, menwana, Matla, Tsebe, Molomo, Nko!”

Before we could get through the song for the first time, we were rolling all over the porch with laughter.  They thought it was the funniest thing in the world to hear a Magua singing in Setswana, and I thought it was the funniest thing to sing such a simple song with so many syllables.  After singing it a number of times over, I had it memorized, and sang it many times thereafter to the kids, and they laughed hysterically every time.
I later discovered that the words they gave me were all singular form – shoulder, knee, toe.  But making them plural would add more syllables, so I kept it as it was.

Image owned by The Suss-Man (Mike) on Flickr

One of the common challenges in South Africa is trying to teach people who really struggle with the English language. Most people speak it, but it is a second or third language, and for those who haven’t yet fully learned it, missionary discussions can be a struggle. They can also be a little humorous.

Wilson and his family were one of those families who barely knew English at all. Lessons took quite a while, since we’d have to explain most concepts 2 or 3 times in order for them to understand.

On one particular visit, we were reading 3 Nephi chapter 11, where Jesus Christ comes to visit the Nephites. After reading verses 1-8, and then explaining who’s voice they had heard from heaven, and that God was introducing His Son, Elder Adolphe asked them, of verse 8, “Who was this man?”

After a few moments pause, Wilson’s wife responded, “Moses!” Then Wilson, thinking he knew far more than his wife, said, “No, it’s Joseph.”

By now we were having a hard time keeping a straight face, and one of the kids shouted out, “Abraham!”

We finally pointed them to verse 10.

Later we got to verse 21, where we read, “And the Lord said unto him [Nephi]: I give unto you power that ye shall baptize this people when I am again ascended into heaven.” After reading it, we asked the family, “In this verse, the Lord gives something very important to Nephi. What did Jesus give Nephi?”

There was another long pause with mumbles of “important… important…”, and then quietly but confidently, Wilson said, “Apples and oranges.”

I almost burst into laughter. Then I realized that he may have been talking about something totally different, so I asked him again, “What did Christ give to Nephi?”

Then, after the family mumbled a few things back and forth to each other in Sotho, Wilson turned back to us with another try. “Apples and bananas?” His answer was given with such seriousness that I couldn’t keep from laughing. I turned my head downward to avoid letting them see me, but that didn’t help, because Elder Adolphe was already shaking with laughter. Wilson and the rest of the family laughed too, since we were laughing, but it was clear that they had no idea why we were laughing.

Elder Adolphe had to explain all the rest of the verses, because I was using every ounce of capacity I possessed to maintain my composure – and I wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

I think my favorite part of Zulu is the clicks. In Zulu, they not only have clicks in their language, but that there are three different kinds of clicks, represented by three different letters of the alphabet – C, Q, and X. Those were the click letters. As people spoke, they could clearly tell which click was being used. It was fascinating.

The most common click is the Q, which is (I think) the sound you hear most in their music – basically it’s the sound of your tongue popping. The X click is the sound you make when you click the back of your tongue to call a horse or dog. The C click is the “tisk, tisk” sound you make with the front of your tongue when you’re telling a child they’re in trouble. That’s the best way I know of to describe the different clicks.

The kissy sound they make in the second video – well, that’s just a kiss! Gotta love that song!

By the way, listen carefully to the third one. See if you recognize it. Let’s just say it’s the original song of the Americanized version you’ve probably heard before. 10 Sharpzinto points for the first to identify what Americanized song I’m talking about!

I loved African sunsets, because they always had that celebrated red-orange – almost gold color, and the closer the sun got to the horizon, the bolder the glow became.  Soon the color of the atmosphere resembled the bronze redness of the soil, and it was as if dust was rising into the sky, giving the sun its deep impressive hue.  As light faded into evening each day, people would put away their chores, and twilight initiated the social time for the community.

People of all ages could be seen moving about, and the town became alive with activity.  This was prime teaching time, as well as the best time to contact people on the streets.  I had Elder Horrocks teach me some basic Setswana words, and we would walk or ride our bikes up and down the streets saying, “Dumela, ra!” or “Dumela ma!”  We even used some of the street language for the young men we’d pass.  “Eta, majita!” which might be comparable in our language to something like, “Sup, dude?”
I tried to learn as much of the basic conversational language as possible, and it was fun to have a short chat with people in their own language, though neither of us knew much more than a few phrases.

Since there was no time for deep language study, I made sure to keep a notebook with the words I learned.  I made sure especially to learn phrases that would surprise people to hear me say.  Since it was so uncommon for a white person to speak an African language, their reaction often included shock and laughter.
Here are some samples of conversations that were fairly typical on the streets:

We are walking down the street and encounter a couple of older ladies.

Us: “Dumelang bo me!” (Hello, ma’am -in plural form)

Ladies: “Ijo!  O bua Setswana?” (Wow!  You speak Setswana?)

Us: “E! Re bua Setswana Tata!” (Yes! We speak Setswana a lot!)

Ladies: “O ruta keng Setswana?” (Who taught you Setswana?)

Us: “Botlhe batho” (All people)

Ladies: “What are you doing here?”

Us: “Re barumua ba Modimo” (We’re messengers from God)

And then in English we would explain the message.

Another:

We are walking down the street, and some young people walk by.

Us: “Dumelang!”

Them: “Dumelang!”

Us: “Lakai?” (How are you?)

Them: “Reteng!  Lakai?” (We’re fine, how are you?)

Us: “Reteng!” (We’re fine)

They laugh.

Us: “O tsegang?” (What are you laughing at?”)

More laughter.

Them: “Ga o itsi Setswana?” (You know Setswana?)

Us: “E!” (Yes!)

Them “How!” (As an exclamation of surprise, not a question)

Us: “Sala Sinhle!” (stay well)

Them: “Sala gahle!” (go well)

Another example:

Riding our bikes, we pass a group of little kids.

Them: “Magua, magua!” (White people, white people!)

Us: “O se compitsa magua!  Re Motswana!” (Don’t call us magua!  We’re natives of Botswana!)
Street contacting in Botswana usually proved to be a fairly effective way to find more people to teach, and a good part of our teaching took place in the evening.  It got dark early in Botswana at this time of year, since they had no daylight savings time, and many homes were without electricity.  When this was the case, we would teach either by candle-light or paraffin lamp.
There’s a unique feeling that comes of sharing the gospel by fire-light.  Perhaps it is because throughout history this was how the gospel was taught.  Electric lighting is a new invention.  In Christ’s time, and even in Joseph Smith’s time, the gospel would have been taught by fire or lamp.

I remember being filled with a sense of wonder while teaching in those circumstances.  Here I was, in one of the most remote areas of the world, speaking to complete strangers, teaching the most important message in the whole world by the light of a single candle; without electricity, without the conveniences we have in America, and in some cases to people without formal education.  Yet these beautiful people were receiving the most important lesson in the history of the world – the message of Jesus Christ.
Stricken by such poverty that they couldn’t even afford to send their children to school, yet those who accepted the gospel had more than the richest and most schooled people in the world who don’t accept it.  These people were a testimony to the fact that if you have the gospel and live by it, you have all you need.

It doesn’t take long for any missionary to learn that the members of the church are the key to missionary work. I remember reading a pamphlet that the church put out called “Only an Elder,” which mentioned that members are not tools that missionaries use to do missionary work, but that missionaries are tools for the members to teach the gospel to their friends, neighbors, and family. I discovered that to be true.

In all of my areas, there were good strong members of the church who seemed constantly determined to help and bless the missionaries – whether by providing people for us to teach, or by feeding us a good meal. Some even seemed so determined to bless the missionaries that they would pray daily for us by name. Often it seemed that the members of the church were the closest thing to family on the mission. One such person was Sister Marj. Sister Marj was from England, and had moved many years earlier, and due to some unfortunate events, was unable to return. She was in her sixties, but she related well to the missionaries, and was quite generous. I don’t remember ever leaving her home without being given food.

Sister Marj worked in the Temple two days a week, and always put our names on the temple prayer roll. We loved to hear the wonderful experiences she would have there. When the ward would have a temple day, or we’d have time before a mission conference, we’d go and do a session, baptisms, or sealings at the temple. It seemed that she was always there, and delighted in introducing us to the other temple workers.

One time Sister Marj asked us to come to her home, and when we arrived, she asked Elder Heward to consecrate her apartment. Her own husband had long-since passed away, so the missionaries were the primary source of priesthood in her home. Neither of us knew exactly how to consecrate a home, but Elder Heward did his best. He addressed Heavenly Father, stated his priesthood authority, pronounced a blessing, and then ended in the name of Jesus Christ. I remember learning later that this was the correct procedure, and I was grateful that Elder Heward had been in tune with the Spirit to know what to say.

Once the ward had a talent show with a great big pot-luck dinner. I think I estimated a count of forty different foods available. I stood in line, waiting to get to the food. It was a bit crowded, and some of the food was hard to reach. Sister Marj hadn’t even had a chance to see my difficulty in getting to it before beginning to scoop up food for me, and beginning to pile food on, saying, “Oh, you must try this one,” or “This is a fabulous one that Sister Deon made and you must try it!”

Since there were so many foods, and she was taking some from each pot, I wondered what she would do when my plate was filled up.

When she got the last possible scoop on my plate, she grabbed another plate and said, “You can take some of this home in a doggy bag if you need to!” Then she began piling the rest of the foods onto that plate. She helped me carry my mountains of food to the chairs that she had reserved for me and Elder Heward.

Though I filled my stomach to it’s capacity, we did take quite a bit of food home.

We considered Sister Marj to be the missionary mom for Germiston. She cared for us as a mother would, and did all in her power to help us in whatever way she could. She even supplied us with a number of referrals, which included one of the only people of those I helped teach that eventually got baptized in Germiston.

Often funerals were even listed in the newspaper, inviting anyone and everyone to come and get free food and beer.

One of the interesting things about this was the manner in which this free drink was given.  The beer was made by the barrel, and everyone would sit in a big group – some on chairs, some on the ground, and others on buckets or logs – and a bucket full of beer would be passed around.  Each person would take the bucket and drink from it, and then pass it on.

One time we were invited to a birthday party for one of our investigators.  We decided to come in support of the investigator and stay just long enough to wish her a happy birthday and then leave, but there was quite a large group.  While waiting for a chance to speak to her, we sat down.  Within a few minutes, we began to notice a man with long puffy dreadlocks walking around.  Well, at first he was walking around, but soon he was running around, and eventually he was dancing around and shouting.  He was obviously quite drunk.  We had already passed up the beer bucket a few times, so it had made it’s rounds.  We wanted to leave right away, but we’d not yet had a chance to speak to our birthday investigator.

About the time we thought it might be good to just leave anyway, our dancing dreadlock friend came and took a seat right next to me.  He had been  laughing and shouting, but calmed a little after sitting.  He turned to me and began asking about where I was from and such.  I could smell the strong and now familiar stench of home-brewed African beer.  I tried to give closed answer responses, so we’d have a fair chance to get up and leave, but he rambled on.

Just following some laughter and joking on his part, I asked him where he worked, and he told me, and then said, “but they don’t pay me enough.”  His tone of voice wasn’t at all upset, but when I said, “that’s too bad,” he suddenly began to cry and said again, “they don’t pay me enough!” followed by some heavy sobs.

Shortly after this we made an opportunity to speak to our investigator, wish her a happy birthday, and be on our way.