The first full day we were in Moundou we were invited to lunch at Kou Bethany with Christine, Dadje's widow. Here, we had a chance to relax under the shade of the mango trees Dadje had planted and get to know his lovely wife, Christine.

Before we gathered for the meal, Christine asked for us to share a few moments at Dadje's grave. We quietly followed her to the site. Without regard to culture, while Christine stood staring at the grave, my instinct pulled me beside her and I put my arm on her shoulder. No matter the cultural norm, she turned and laid her head on my shoulder and wept. From that moment on, when ever we met, we always shook hands first (as is the cultural norm), but we always hugged each other too. Henri Nouwen once said, " Simply being with someone is difficult because it asks of us that we share in the others vulnerability, enter with him or her into the experience of weakness and powerlessness, become part of the uncertainty and give up control and self determination. And still, whenever this happens, new strength and new hope is born. Those who offer comfort and consolations by being and staying in moments of mental anguish or sp*ritual darkness often grow as close to us as those with whom we have biological ties." I feel like Christine is my sister in more ways than one.