This is Part 3 of The Real Elder Price series. Read Part 1 and Part 2.
Disclaimer: Obviously, The Book of Mormon Musical is intended to entertain, not to serve as a primer on Mormonism. This series of essays is offered simply as a view of what missionary life is actually like for Mormon missionaries in Africa, not as a direct response to the musical—though there are a few responses.
The song “You and Me, but Mostly Me” from The Book of Mormon Musical, could have been written for a Mormon film or road show. Every returned missionary could tell a story about hard companionships. The “mostly me” attitude is often the issue. What’s remarkable is how young men or women from different areas, and sometimes from different countries, learn not only to get along but to become brothers or sisters.
The learning curve is often grueling, and requires maturity beyond what we would expect of twenty-year-olds. The differences between the musical’s Elder Price (a bright-eyed, most-likely-to-succeed type) and Elder Cunningham (a fantasy/sci fi nerd) are quite common, as exemplified by one missionary’s description of his companionship in the DR-Kinshasa mission:
My companion: Sports sports sports sports sports!
Me: Okay.
Me: Star Trek, Star Wars, Doctor Who, various Babylon!
My companion: Yeah, whatever.
In The Book of Mormon Musical, all of the missionaries are white. In most African missions, however, Anglo missionaries work with Africans, and many will have at least one African companion. Some cultural conflicts are inevitable.
Elder Henry Lisowski, from Canada, found himself in a difficult companionship with an African missionary from a country where aggressiveness was the norm, and argument seemed braided into tradition. As the companionship continued, their quarrels went deeper and lasted longer. Elder Lisowski’s initial instinct to repair the friendship devolved quickly into a determination to “show him he’s wrong!” Finally, the two were yelling at each other while tracting. These are Elder Lisowski’s words:
My companion started saying how all us white missionaries were failures, did things wrong, didn't baptize, and how the African missionaries were real missionaries. He just kept attacking and attacking, and I just kept defending until I was so angry that I wanted to attack back. And this thought started in my head: ‘African missionaries are bad because… etc., etc.’
As I considered what I was about to say, my mind froze. I realized, with instant clarity, that something had gone HORRIBLY WRONG. I was starting to think like a racist. It terrified me. I went silent. We got to the next rendezvous, and I told my companion to teach it because I COULDNT. My mind couldn’t focus. I was absorbed in thinking of everything that I did which led to this, and what I could do to FIX it. The rest of the day was a struggle. . . and constant prayer filled it. Halfway through our last lesson, all that poor, weak effort I had put forth for patience and love paid off. My prayers were answered, and everything just clicked. And all my frustration was gone, and I loved him again. We talked a little after, and resolved it, and things are okay now.
Such self-awareness and humility are rare in one so young—and were rare in Henry Lisowski’s pre-mission life. The mandate to serve in the name of Christ leads us to hard epiphanies.
Another African/Anglo companionship, between Elder Daniel Kesler (Utah) and Elder Aime Mbuyi (Congo), shows how service and honest conversation can fill the gap of a cultural divide.
Elder Mbuyi reported on how he and Elder Kesler learned to bridge their differences:
There were surely challenges. First, Elder Kesler and I tried to understand the differences in our culture .We talked openly about these differences and about how we cannot let them distract us or bring conflicts.
We learned to serve each other. For example, one day, my companion made my bed when I was working out. I started doing it too for him, and then we were doing it for each other. We were always looking for something to do to serve each other.
In the center of all this is the will to live the gospel. When we truly live the gospel we continually strive to become like Jesus Christ. My companion had this desire and I had it. And we became friends.
They all became a “band of brothers,” these missionaries. Elder Seth Lee once referred to them with that very descriptor. I told him I’d send him a candy bar if he could identify which Shakespearean play it was from. He gave me the correct response (Henry V), and immediately confessed that Elder Price had given him the answer. I sent them both snickers bars—which arrived three weeks later. Shakespeare’s words do describe these missionaries, coming from all over the world and managing to bind themselves together: “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers!” (Act IV.iii)
Elder Chiloba Chirwa’s entry into the band was heralded by Elder Wigginton: “We received a new Elder from Zambia! He just arrived today seems very sweet and funny. He also is a hugger! Awesome! “
Over the course of their missions, those two, Chirwa and Wigginton, would be paired twice, and would have their friendship cemented in some of the hardest hours either would endure.
On January 25, 2009, I received a strange email from Elder Chirwa, whose writing was usually flowing and well-phrased. This email was disjointed and full of misspellings.
dear sister young
thnk you for your help. I am feeling terribly ill. I think i may have chicken pox. I hate bein ill its such a shady experience especially on a mission.
I cant wait to gt to the temple again. I may not remeber all the deatails but the warm feeling of being there is still with me.
We have had a busy week. we are wiorking on a teaching plan to focus on famillies and build a foundation for the district.
Thatnks again i am having a hard time concenrating on the screen, i mus t go .
Take care
As it turned out, Elder Chirwa not only had chicken pox but malaria.
Elder Wigginton reported a few days later:
Elder Chirwa is on quarantine for his chicken pox and malaria, and we spent four lovely days and nights at the medical clinic. Our arrival there was interesting. Last Saturday morning, resting trying to recover from my sickness, Elder Chirwa stumbled to his bed. I asked how he was feeling. He said bad, so I asked him to take his temperature again. It was 40 C, or 104F. I called the doctor and we got him checked in.
His fever rose to 104.
5 before we got there, and I supported him up the six flights of stairs. He was immediately hospitalized and stuck with an IV to bring down the fever.
We spent ninety six hours together with him suffering a lot. I felt for him when they came in to inject him with a syrup looking substance in his leg...the needle being over two inches long. He squeezed my hand and curled in pain as they sent this medicine through his quad. It was a ten by ten room and I had a little cot to sleep on.
His recovery took several days, and the chicken pox left him with some scars. I sent him ointment for the scars and a book on suffering by Neal Maxwell: And If Thou Endure It Well—a book he would come to value deeply as his mission continued.
Soon after, my family and I spent two months in England, participating in BYU’s Semester Abroad program. Elder Chirwa’s mother and sister lived near London. He had given me their phone numbers, referring to his mother as “Loveness.” I thought was term of endearment—like “Beloved.” I didn’t realize it was her name until I met her.
I embraced Loveness and Fiona (Elder Chirwa’s sister) just before dinner on May 30, 2010. Loveness introduced herself as “Chiloba’s mother,” and asked me if her smile was like his. It was.
That evening, the students had prepared a musical fireside, which we all attended. Several sang solos, and others talked about their favorite hymns. One told a poignant story. She had had a mini stroke, which had partially paralyzed her. Her family was out of town, so she was alone in this terrifying condition, thinking she might die and finding herself unable to speak or move. She was rushed to a hospital, and kept singing the words to “Abide with me, ‘tis Eventide” in her mind. Though she couldn’t form the words with her mouth, she kept singing them in her head.
Abide with me, ’tis eventide!
The day is past and gone;
The shadows of the evening fall;
The night is coming on!
Within my heart a welcome Guest,
Within my home abide.
O Savior, stay this night with me;
Behold, ’tis eventide!
O Savior, stay this night with me;
Behold, ’tis eventide!
The doctors and nurses were scanning her brain throughout the first hours after her stroke and could actually see the scans change when she was singing these words in her mind. They believed that her singing preserved her memory, which normally would have been affected. She testified that music lingers with us. It helps us remember.
After the fireside, Loveness told me her favorite hymn was “Come, Come Ye Saints.” That was the hymn which lingered in her mind. She was not as active in the Church as she had once been, but that particular hymn beckoned her, and she recalled all the verses.
In 1995, she had been living in London and had met the missionaries. She wanted to be baptized but was afraid of how her friends and family would react. Finally, she just did it—without telling anyone. When her sister visited later, she also met with the missionaries and was baptized, as was Loveness’s husband, Jacob Chirwa. “So you see,” Loveness said, “I am the root. I began it all. Chiloba would not be where he is if I had not made that decision.”
She was so proud of her son, who was inviting others to believe the message of “Come, Come Ye Saints”—that in the eternal perspective, regardless of what trials interrupt our journeys or scar our feet, “all is well.” When I shared emails from Chiloba’s companions expressing their love for him, Loveness said, “That is good. That is very good.”
One of the students asked who my guests were. I answered, “I am very lucky. I have a bunch of sons serving missions in Cameroon. One of my sons is also this woman’s son.”
We could not have known that the entire Chirwa family was on the threshold of a tragedy, nor how it would impact all of us, and call on our compassion from across the continents.
Elder Chirwa’s father was about to die.
This is Part 3 of The Real Elder Price series. Read Part 1 and Part 2.
Disclaimer: Obviously, The Book of Mormon Musical is intended to entertain, not to serve as a primer on Mormonism. This series of essays is offered simply as a view of what missionary life is actually like for Mormon missionaries in Africa, not as a direct response to the musical—though there are a few responses.
The song “You and Me, but Mostly Me” from The Book of Mormon Musical, could have been written for a Mormon film or road show. Every returned missionary could tell a story about hard companionships. The “mostly me” attitude is often the issue. What’s remarkable is how young men or women from different areas, and sometimes from different countries, learn not only to get along but to become brothers or sisters.
The learning curve is often grueling, and requires maturity beyond what we would expect of twenty-year-olds. The differences between the musical’s Elder Price (a bright-eyed, most-likely-to-succeed type) and Elder Cunningham (a fantasy/sci fi nerd) are quite common, as exemplified by one missionary’s description of his companionship in the DR-Kinshasa mission:
My companion: Sports sports sports sports sports!
Me: Okay.
Me: Star Trek, Star Wars, Doctor Who, various Babylon!
My companion: Yeah, whatever.
In The Book of Mormon Musical, all of the missionaries are white. In most African missions, however, Anglo missionaries work with Africans, and many will have at least one African companion. Some cultural conflicts are inevitable.
Elder Henry Lisowski, from Canada, found himself in a difficult companionship with an African missionary from a country where aggressiveness was the norm, and argument seemed braided into tradition. As the companionship continued, their quarrels went deeper and lasted longer. Elder Lisowski’s initial instinct to repair the friendship devolved quickly into a determination to “show him he’s wrong!” Finally, the two were yelling at each other while tracting. These are Elder Lisowski’s words:
My companion started saying how all us white missionaries were failures, did things wrong, didn't baptize, and how the African missionaries were real missionaries. He just kept attacking and attacking, and I just kept defending until I was so angry that I wanted to attack back. And this thought started in my head: ‘African missionaries are bad because… etc., etc.’
As I considered what I was about to say, my mind froze. I realized, with instant clarity, that something had gone HORRIBLY WRONG. I was starting to think like a racist. It terrified me. I went silent. We got to the next rendezvous, and I told my companion to teach it because I COULDNT. My mind couldn’t focus. I was absorbed in thinking of everything that I did which led to this, and what I could do to FIX it. The rest of the day was a struggle. . . and constant prayer filled it. Halfway through our last lesson, all that poor, weak effort I had put forth for patience and love paid off. My prayers were answered, and everything just clicked. And all my frustration was gone, and I loved him again. We talked a little after, and resolved it, and things are okay now.
Such self-awareness and humility are rare in one so young—and were rare in Henry Lisowski’s pre-mission life. The mandate to serve in the name of Christ leads us to hard epiphanies.
Another African/Anglo companionship, between Elder Daniel Kesler (Utah) and Elder Aime Mbuyi (Congo), shows how service and honest conversation can fill the gap of a cultural divide.
Elder Mbuyi reported on how he and Elder Kesler learned to bridge their differences:
There were surely challenges. First, Elder Kesler and I tried to understand the differences in our culture .We talked openly about these differences and about how we cannot let them distract us or bring conflicts.
We learned to serve each other. For example, one day, my companion made my bed when I was working out. I started doing it too for him, and then we were doing it for each other. We were always looking for something to do to serve each other.
In the center of all this is the will to live the gospel. When we truly live the gospel we continually strive to become like Jesus Christ. My companion had this desire and I had it. And we became friends.
They all became a “band of brothers,” these missionaries. Elder Seth Lee once referred to them with that very descriptor. I told him I’d send him a candy bar if he could identify which Shakespearean play it was from. He gave me the correct response (Henry V), and immediately confessed that Elder Price had given him the answer. I sent them both snickers bars—which arrived three weeks later. Shakespeare’s words do describe these missionaries, coming from all over the world and managing to bind themselves together: “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers!” (Act IV.iii)
Elder Chiloba Chirwa’s entry into the band was heralded by Elder Wigginton: “We received a new Elder from Zambia! He just arrived today seems very sweet and funny. He also is a hugger! Awesome! “
Over the course of their missions, those two, Chirwa and Wigginton, would be paired twice, and would have their friendship cemented in some of the hardest hours either would endure.
On January 25, 2009, I received a strange email from Elder Chirwa, whose writing was usually flowing and well-phrased. This email was disjointed and full of misspellings.
dear sister young
thnk you for your help. I am feeling terribly ill. I think i may have chicken pox. I hate bein ill its such a shady experience especially on a mission.
I cant wait to gt to the temple again. I may not remeber all the deatails but the warm feeling of being there is still with me.
We have had a busy week. we are wiorking on a teaching plan to focus on famillies and build a foundation for the district.
Thatnks again i am having a hard time concenrating on the screen, i mus t go .
Take care
As it turned out, Elder Chirwa not only had chicken pox but malaria.
Elder Wigginton reported a few days later:
Elder Chirwa is on quarantine for his chicken pox and malaria, and we spent four lovely days and nights at the medical clinic. Our arrival there was interesting. Last Saturday morning, resting trying to recover from my sickness, Elder Chirwa stumbled to his bed. I asked how he was feeling. He said bad, so I asked him to take his temperature again. It was 40 C, or 104F. I called the doctor and we got him checked in.
His fever rose to 104.
5 before we got there, and I supported him up the six flights of stairs. He was immediately hospitalized and stuck with an IV to bring down the fever.
We spent ninety six hours together with him suffering a lot. I felt for him when they came in to inject him with a syrup looking substance in his leg...the needle being over two inches long. He squeezed my hand and curled in pain as they sent this medicine through his quad. It was a ten by ten room and I had a little cot to sleep on.
His recovery took several days, and the chicken pox left him with some scars. I sent him ointment for the scars and a book on suffering by Neal Maxwell: And If Thou Endure It Well—a book he would come to value deeply as his mission continued.
Soon after, my family and I spent two months in England, participating in BYU’s Semester Abroad program. Elder Chirwa’s mother and sister lived near London. He had given me their phone numbers, referring to his mother as “Loveness.” I thought was term of endearment—like “Beloved.” I didn’t realize it was her name until I met her.
I embraced Loveness and Fiona (Elder Chirwa’s sister) just before dinner on May 30, 2010. Loveness introduced herself as “Chiloba’s mother,” and asked me if her smile was like his. It was.
That evening, the students had prepared a musical fireside, which we all attended. Several sang solos, and others talked about their favorite hymns. One told a poignant story. She had had a mini stroke, which had partially paralyzed her. Her family was out of town, so she was alone in this terrifying condition, thinking she might die and finding herself unable to speak or move. She was rushed to a hospital, and kept singing the words to “Abide with me, ‘tis Eventide” in her mind. Though she couldn’t form the words with her mouth, she kept singing them in her head.
Abide with me, ’tis eventide!
The day is past and gone;
The shadows of the evening fall;
The night is coming on!
Within my heart a welcome Guest,
Within my home abide.
O Savior, stay this night with me;
Behold, ’tis eventide!
O Savior, stay this night with me;
Behold, ’tis eventide!
The doctors and nurses were scanning her brain throughout the first hours after her stroke and could actually see the scans change when she was singing these words in her mind. They believed that her singing preserved her memory, which normally would have been affected. She testified that music lingers with us. It helps us remember.
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