The Green Man's Curse.

When I was a young man (19-21) I was sent to steamy West Africa on a mission for my then church--The Mormons. I had been raised and groomed from an early age to travel to the far ends of the Earth to fervently and passionately spread the "truth" that The Mormons were the only church ordained by God on High himself. It is said that each missionary is sent to a locale determined upon what The Prophet has been instructed from Elohim (God) during his prayers.

Being the good Mormon boy that I was at the time I dutifully waited for "the letter" at a Mormon run college in nowhere Idaho. I have always been a very spiritual person and I was serious about my commitment to the "Armies of Helamen," which were allegedly an ancient army of young men warrior Mormons in the Americas as written in the Book of Mormon. Today the term is also used to refer the the Mormon churches' army of some 50,000+ missionaries spreading the faith.

Being somewhat psychic I had a feeling that I would be sent of Africa. I set off studying everything I could find on Africa, and before long the continent began calling to me. So it was to my delight that I was "called" to serve in a new mission in Cote D'Ivoire, (Ivory Coast) West Africa. This is a French speaking, developing country on the west coast of Africa just neighboring Ghana. The predominate religion practiced in the tropical country is animism followed by Islam and bringing up the tail-end is Christianity. It is a minority religion, which as an American I had never experienced. Then take into account the history of Christianity in the region and you'll realize how deeply Christians wounded Africans during the colonial slave trade era. Let's just say in conclusion that I wasn't the most popular guy off the boat!! Yet I was too intoxicated with the rhythm, beauty, style, flavor and smell of Mother Africa to be too worried about much--especially at 19 years old!!

In between savoring strange, new foods I set out to "save the Ivorians" from the "evils of witchcraft." I was an eager, model missionary who was quietly being groomed for leadership. Despite my willingness to fully marinate myself in this otherworldly culture I was a vulnerable young boy who, really, was in over his head. Yet nothing seemed amiss as I was too consumed with memorized verses from the Book of Mormon and visions of a tropical paradise assaulted my brain. Then one sweltering day I remember shopping for our daily meals amongst the bright chaos of one of the open air markets in our village.

At one point while looking for the fish lady, I passed this strange stall filled with bones, jars full of nasty, dark liquids, animal skins, trinkets and other "junk." As I passed I noticed an old, short, gray bearded guy wearing rags of what looked like burlap bags held together with twine, trinkets, amulets and shards of metal and glass. Time slowed distinctly as I made eye contact with him and he seemed to be furious by my presence. I could feel his crocodile like narrowed eyes intruding into my eye sockets, and never did he take his eyes off of mine. Then faintly I heard him mutter something in my direction, and it clearly wasn't French. I had to assume it was a tribal language. His body language was confrontational at this point as he flashed his hands in my direction as if he were flinging something at me. After breaking visual contact I felt time continue on it's merry way and I came to my senses to realize that I had probably just been "cursed." My suspicions were confirmed when I was told later by a local that he was an animist priest. I must admit that for all my youthful invincibility I felt fear creep and for the first time I knew that I was pilgrim in a strange land (to be continued....)