The “Fou”

There is a man who lives mostly on the street to the side of our house.  He is “The Fou”—the crazy man.  It is not so much a pejorative term as it is simply descriptive, at least by neighborhood standards.  He spends a good part of his day digging large holes in the dirt road next to our home.  Some of the holes are deep enough to make my 4-wheel drive truck bottom out.  Once I even had to rock the truck back-and-forth before driving out of one of the deepest holes.  The holes can even be seen on Google Earth.

He doesn’t seem very happy most of the time.  Often, he will spend the better part of the day involved in what can only pass for an angry diatribe or possibly a heated dispute with some invisible adversary.   At times he sounds to be cursing something or someone.  Sometimes, the volume of his shouts and barks even rise above the blaring rap music from the man-high speaker in front of the small boutique across the street.  He scares the young children and is the subject of ridicule for the adolescents.  To most others he is just invisible.  He’s “The Fou”—the crazy one.  Invisible, tortured, and mostly forgotten.

I started waving to him on my bumpy rides to work in the morning.  As my truck jumped and jostled along the well-excavated road I would offer a furtive wave before throwing both hands back onto the steering wheel to keep from nose diving into something slightly smaller than a bomb crater.  Often he would wave back.  Other times he would just stare.  He would hardly do what I expected.  Of course, he was “The Fou.” 

One particularly dusty African morning as I rounded the corner while scanning the road for the most passable route, I spotted a rather large fire. “The Fou” was burning a pile of trash he had collected.  Trash burning is a fairly normal part of life’s routine in Ouaga as it is elsewhere.  The only problem was that the lowest branches of the trees around our home were beginning to brown and burn.  I stopped my truck and watched for a minute as "The Fou" piled small handfuls of trash on the fire.  Few people on the uncrowded street paid him much attention.  After all, he was “The Fou.”  He was mostly invisible, but at that time he was more than just visible to me.

I walked over to “The Fou” and told him that the fire was too big and was starting to burn the trees near our home.  A youngish woman from the home next to ours and where I suspected “The Fou” had some connection came out from behind the large steel gate.  In my painful French I explained that the fire was damaging the trees and that it was too close to our home.  I asked her to throw some water on the fire to extinguish it. 

 At that, “The Fou” began to urinate on the fire.  I appreciated his directness.  As the pile of trash hissed and steamed he then offered me what turned out to be a rather wet hand.  I thanked him for helping to extinguish the fire.   As I busily wiped my hand with a used tissue from my pocket, I noticed that half the neighborhood was standing outside of their gated walls regarding the nasara (white person) who was giving “The Fou” a bit of grief—probably more excitement than they had seen in a long while.  Most turned away possibly disappointed by the rather lukewarm confrontation.  I continued on my way to the Bible translation center where I worked.  “The Fou” returned to his digging.  All was right with the world, more or less.  I was determined to wash my hands as soon as possible.

Tonight I sat at the kitchen table to chat with Janet as she prepared another of her incredible culinary surprise meldings of American and Burkinabé cuisine, we could hear the bellows and screeches of “The Fou.”  He seemed tormented by whatever spirits chose to make him miserable.  Slowly it came to me.  Maybe his “issues” are spiritual.  In this country where evil need not masquerade as something more attuned to western sensibilities, dark spirits move more freely.  Maybe he is a modern day Gadarene in need of the Savior.

With Janet’s blessing I grabbed a bottle of Coke from the fridge and headed outside.  As I rounded the gate in our wall I was joined by our night guadian Desiré who watches out for us two old(er) nasara.  We slowly walked over to “The Fou” who was chattering away as he mined gravel from one of his calf-deep holes.  Désiré exchanged greetings and asked “The Fou” how he was.  “The Fou” responded that he was okay.  I offered “The Fou” a (dry) hand and asked, “Ça va bien?”  He responded, "'Ça va."  I handed him the Coke.  “A petit cadeau pour vous.”  I shook his (dry) hand once more and wished him a “Bon soir.” He responded with a nod and a nascient smile as Désiré and I returned to the gate.

“The Fou” remained unusually quiet for the remainder of the evening.  Janet and I wondered if he did indeed need more serious praying.  Jesus healed some people and cast demons out of others.  In a world where science rules, we may miss the root cause of many maladies.  We may be too engrossed in laboratory conditions to remember how things once were when the Bible was more current than today’s news.

As soon as we can, Janet and I will have our Burkinabé French tutor who is also a pastor to come and pray with us over “The Fou.”   

Please remember him in your prayers as well.  We will also try to learn his real name.