Dangerous Love

by Ray Norman

  AMRITA, MY ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT, STUCK HER HEAD THROUGH the doorway to say I had an urgent call from my wife. It was Tuesday, September 11, 2001. “I’ve just gotten off the phone with the American school,” Hélène said, “and the American embassy has alerted them that it appears the Pentagon has been bombed.”

  I was in my office with Brian McCully, a seasoned World Vision staffer from New Zealand who had held a number of senior posts in the organization before going into semiretirement. We had met in Los Angeles some months before, and he had kindly offered to work with me in a mentoring relationship, something I welcomed in my rather lonely outpost. He had been in Nouakchott for several days, shadowing me as I worked and spending a couple of hours each day debriefing, counseling, advising. With nearly twenty-five years separating us, there were times we engaged in somewhat differing views—especially with respect to aspects of leadership needed for the complex challenges we faced as an institution rapidly moving into the second millennium. But he carried a wealth of knowledge and lessons learned from years of watching World Vision grow from its infancy, and I readily absorbed all he had to share about relationship-building, prioritization, team leadership and care, and (what I was wrestling with most at that time) balancing family and work while serving in areas of heart-wrenching human need, where new crises and challenges roll in before the previous ones are resolved.

  I went to my computer, and in a few seconds the first images of smoke billowing from the towers of the World Trade Center appeared on the screen. Brian and I stared in stunned silence, slowly absorbing the impact of this event as it reverberated from New York City and Washington, DC, across the world, and even to this remote desert outpost. As I took it all in, I was shocked but not surprised at the events. Brian seemed clearly more surprised than I was. Perhaps he was less acquainted with the simmering frustration in much of the Muslim world with, among other things, what many perceived as growing interventionism from wealthy Western nations and the feeling of impotence to do anything about the global export of Western values and culture that they found both reprehensible and threatening. I quickly phoned several of our local senior expatriate staff to tell them about the events, including Myles Harrison, our security officer and the director of our large urban program in Nouakchott. After asking Amrita to track closely with the American embassy for any further announcements or warnings, I then took a few minutes to call Stan and Beth Doerr, an American couple who worked out of our regional office in Kiffa, some seven hundred kilometers inland.

  The events in the United States were still ongoing at that point, and I knew I needed to monitor the news closely as things unfolded. During her phone call Hélène had reminded me that a recent sandstorm had taken out our television dish and that she had no access to CNN—one of the few accessible news networks in this area. Brian had an appointment with another staff member, so I headed home, stopping by a small television repair shop to see if I could get the owner to come to my house with me and repair our dish system within the hour for double his fee. My motivational negotiation worked. After a few minutes on our flat rooftop, he had the dish working. The images of the Pentagon and twin towers were soon on our home screen. By this time the second tower was down, and the connections between the events and Al-Qaeda were beginning to trickle in.

  After fifteen minutes of listening to the news, Hélène turned to me and said, “Do you realize what this means, Ray? You are the director of the largest, openly Christian, humanitarian organization in the country. What’s more, you are an American and this is an Islamic republic.” I sat there silently absorbing the weight of Hélène’s words. A few moments later she continued, “And do you understand the spiritual forces that must be at work in all of this? Surely we will not get through this unscathed.”

  I simply mumbled, “Oh, we don’t need to worry about this now and jump to conclusions. We will simply watch and see how things play out. I am sure it will all be all right in the end.” Hélène had lived with me long enough to know that it would be pointless to try to reason with me further.

  Over the next few days, tight security measures were put in place in Nouakchott as news of the extent of the 9/11 causalities filtered in and the connection with Al-Qaeda became clear. The government put armed guards at our offices; military tanks were placed in front of the small American school Hannah attended and in front of the adjacent American embassy. Twenty-four-hour guardians were also stationed at our home. Embassy personnel and our own World Vision International security unit advised us to limit our movements to home, the office, and school—and to completely avoid public venues.

  On the morning of September 12, as I walked into the office reception area on the first floor, I was surprised to see it nearly full and to find Amrita obviously flustered with all the phone calls she had already received in the first few minutes of the workday. Beginning that morning, and continuing for the next three days, we were overwhelmed with visitors and phone calls from Mauritanians from all walks of life—government personnel, civic leaders, business clients, neighbors, and friends—all coming to offer their condolences and expressions of sorrow, some of them in tears, for what had happened in the United States on 9/11 by the hands of fellow Muslims. I was amazed and deeply touched by the warmth and sincerity of so many of our Mauritanian friends and colleagues, many of whom seemed to be as disturbed and traumatized as any American was. Time and again I heard the words, “Please don’t associate these acts with all of us [Muslims]. What you have seen and witnessed does not represent the feelings and views of most Muslim people!”

  In the ensuing days we learned that one of the senior Al-Qaeda operatives working with Bin Laden had some past connection with Mauritania, although he no longer lived there. A short time later he appeared as number four on the list of top Al-Qaeda terrorists listed by President George W. Bush’s administration. This did not help matters as far as local political and ideological tensions were concerned. There were pockets of sympathy in Mauritania for the perpetuators of 9/11, but they were clearly a minority. Each day the local papers expressed a wide range of view-points on these matters. When word got out a few days later that the United States was considering an invasion of Afghanistan, this only added to the already heightened tensions we were sensing. All Americans in the country were encouraged to exercise continued caution, and a communiqué was sent out to all American Peace Corp volunteers stationed in various parts of the country to report back to Nouakchott for a security briefing.

  About this time officials from the American embassy called an afternoon briefing for all American citizens in Nouakchott. The ambassador, recently assigned to Mauritania and a man whom I admired greatly, was traveling abroad at the time, so his deputies were in charge of the meeting. I was a little surprised that the tone of the meeting downplayed the state of affairs, with just a general admonition to avoid areas where students might be protesting and an attitude that conveyed that things would probably settle down in a few days. I was particularly concerned with how out of touch some of the American officials seemed to be with events going on around town. I had the advantage of a staff deeply engaged on a daily basis with the communities we served, including some 150 dedicated Mauritanians who helped us keep our ears to the ground. They painted a more cautious picture. During the briefing I remember asking embassy personnel what they thought about the presence of the Taliban mosque in a certain quarter of town—a fairly small operation recently started by a handful of Taliban who had a following of about seventy people. This was a situation my staff had kept me apprised of for some time, as we had a number of projects in the same area of town. To my surprise the embassy staff admitted they had no knowledge of such a group. While many of us at World Vision (both expatriate and Mauritanian) knew things were more unsettled than appearances let on, we felt that our long experience in the communities–and the trust we had built with them–allowed us to reasonably negotiate the troubled terrain we were facing. I was not sure some of my fellow Americans were
as well prepared. So, I proffered that, while I, too, believed there was no reason for alarm, the atmosphere around town was probably more unsettled (and potentially combustible) than they might think; at least that was the view of my staff. They thanked me for my input, and the meeting soon came to a close, with many of us wondering why we had all been assembled if there were no significant threats.

  In my years of relating to embassy officials, I had certainly met those who were seasoned diplomats, men and women who took seriously their mandate to effectively and appropriately represent their country in a foreign land, diplomats who were not only practiced and skilled at relating across cultural divides but who also deeply valued the importance of such skill sets. But there were times I was dismayed by the attitudes and behavior of some embassy staff who seemed to lack a depth of understanding and appreciation of the cultural milieu. Too often I observed comportment that was aloof and oozed a sense of entitlement relative to the people and the local conditions where they were posted, and I sensed many failed to understand that respect from local citizens was something we all needed to earn, not expect. These were individuals who represented my country and its people in foreign lands. But with all the investment our government puts into its foreign service, I often wondered why they were not more effectively prepared for their strategic roles in an ever-shrinking world where cultural competence is in increasing demand.

  In addition to some of our senior staff at World Vision, there was a scattering of other expatriate Protestant Christians (primarily from other African nations, Latin America, the United States, and Europe) working under various auspices (usually small humanitarian outfits) who assembled on Fridays at facilities provided by the local Catholic church. This was the only non-Muslim religious infrastructure in Nouakchott. It had been present since pre-independence days and was the only legally sanctioned church entity in the country, exclusively serving the small expatriate community. Mauritanians were strictly forbidden to participate in any activities held there.

  I had a great admiration for the French priests who ran the church, as they had dealt with periods of challenge and even persecution. A number of years earlier, one of them had lost an arm when he was attacked on the church grounds by an unstable, machete-wielding Muslim radical. Remarkably, this priest continued his service in Mauritania for a number of years afterward. Over the years these French priests had graciously allowed the expatriate Protestant community to use their facilities for a weekly service held on Fridays, the first day of the country’s official weekend and the Muslim weekly day of prayer. They also shared their facilities for other small meetings during the week, such as the women’s monthly prayer meeting that Hélène often attended.

  Once a month or so a number of us from this larger gathering would gather in someone’s home simply to encourage one another and to pray for Mauritania and its people. During the Gulf War a few years earlier, many of these people and their organizations (including World Vision) had shut down operations for a season due to security concerns since the Mauritanian administration at that time was in support of Saddam Hussein’s offensive in Kuwait. This informal group called a special meeting to confer and pray about how we, as Christians working in the country, should react and respond to this new set of circumstances. A number of these people had young families and were torn between their own safety and their sense of calling to work alongside the people of Mauritania. We met for two consecutive nights, some of us fasting during the preceding days, conferring and then praying long into the night to seek guidance and direction. I had a tendency in such meetings not to say much but to listen, observe, and try to get a sense of how God was working among my colleagues.

  I am not one who is given to frequent dreams and visions. But toward the end of the second evening, as most of us were kneeling in various parts of the living room quietly seeking God’s direction, a clear scene began opening up before me (whether in my mind’s eye or in my spirit, I am not sure). The image was a remote place in the Mauritanian desert. Each person in that evening’s gathering was there. But we were each bare, completely naked, standing upright although buried in the sand up to our thighs or waists and scattered together among the dunes. My first impression was that we were all in an extremely vulnerable situation—dangerously exposed to a blazing sun and the raw, harsh elements of the remote desert and without any source of water or nourishment. We were all standing there, half buried in the sand, when we began quietly and gently singing songs of Scripture and hope. Soon our singing intensified, and it was focused on the nation we were in. In a few moments we were all singing petitions to God for his outpouring of mercy and grace on this land. We had forgotten about our extreme vulnerability in the blazing hot sand and were solely focused on our song of intercession. As we continued I began to notice a Mauritanian or two in the distance, mounted on their camels, who turned and began to approach us out of curiosity. Others began approaching on foot, and in a short time there was a large gathering of Mauritanian people around us watching intently as we sang. Soon one of them began singing along with us, then another and another until the entire gathering was singing in unison songs of petition for God’s outpouring on the land. Then I began to hear drops of rain, slowly at first, and as I looked toward the sky, I saw the approaching thunderclouds rolling in. As we all continued to sing with a strong, united voice, rain began to fall with an intensity I had never seen before in this country.

  That is the vision I saw.

  Some thirty minutes later our time of prayer began to come to an end. We each took some time to go around the room and share what we had sensed during the prayer time to see if there was a general consensus on the direction in which God might be leading us as a group. I was still pondering what I had seen, uncomfortable with the notion of sharing it for fear others would think it strange. When my turn came to add my thoughts, I stumbled around for words at first, but then decided to just come out with it. I shared openly, although a bit reticently, all I had seen, cringing inwardly that others (especially those on my staff) would think me over the top or trying to sensationalize our circumstances. I was particularly concerned about the potential reaction of one of my senior staff, whose discomfort with some of my directives and general style of leadership had caused some tension in our relationship—although he was a capable person in his own right. To my surprise the entire room listened attentively and with evident interest. When I finished the room was quiet at first. Then, much to my astonishment, one by one, people in the room thanked me sincerely for sharing my vision. After some continued discussion we each came away from that meeting with the deep conviction that we should maintain our programs and continue the work each of us was doing. We did not leave that meeting feeling any safer or more assured of our security, but we did come away with the belief that we should stay. As we dispersed Stan and Beth Doerr, along with others, warmly assured me that this was exactly what they too had felt about our continued presence in Mauritania. And then, to my astonishment, my colleague with whom I had had some tension came up to me and shared how deeply he was impacted by my words, adding, “When I heard you share what you had both seen and sensed, I said to myself, This is the type of leader I can follow.” I was dumbfounded but grateful for his unexpected words.

  By early October things seemed to begin settling back toward normal in Nouakchott, and we were grateful to begin focusing our energies once again on our work, specifically the well-being of the communities, and especially the children, we were there to serve.

  Then on October 7, 2001, the United States began its assault on Afghanistan, and things once again took a tense turn. Immediately there was a surge of anti-American rhetoric on the local radio, in local papers, and at mosques around the country. Many who had strongly condemned the acts of 9/11 and who had no sympathy for Al-Qaeda or its goals felt uncomfortable with the American entry into Afghanistan. The next day students began organizing anti-American marches in several areas of Nouakchott. Some of our drivers and staff beg
an reporting having stones thrown at World Vision vehicles in specific parts of the town, so we removed the large World Vision logos from our fleet.

  Early on the morning of October 8, I received an urgent call from Stan Doerr in Kiffa. A boisterous and fun-loving North Dakotan who had a teddy bear’s heart, Stan was the director of our Assaba People’s Program (named after the expansive desert region where the various projects were located). His quiet wife, Beth, a gardener par-excellence from Georgia who had a knack for making the desert bloom, oversaw our agricultural work. A note written in Arabic and addressed to the Doerrs had been left overnight on the front gate of our World Vision office in Kiffa. It addressed the Doerrs as monkeys and dogs, declared jihad against them, and warned them that their lives were in danger if they did not leave.

  I conferred with Myles Harrison and our international security office in the United States. In the meantime Stan had a meeting with the provincial governor in Kiffa, who was an ardent advocate for World Vision and its work in his province. He assured Stan that he would find the note’s authors, pull out all stops to ensure Stan and Beth’s safety, and urged them not to let this interrupt World Vision’s work in the region. Within a few hours policemen were stationed at their home and the World Vision office.

  I asked Stan if he and Beth would feel better if they came to Nouakchott until things settled down, but they both spoke of the overwhelming love and support they felt from their Mauritanian neighbors and the local authorities, and I remember Beth saying she did not want to leave where she felt called to be simply out of fear. As long as there was reasoned assurance and confidence on the part of friends and colleagues in the local community that they would be safe, she wanted to stay. I told them I would leave the decision to them, and they eagerly (and courageously) chose to stay put.

  Given the backlash from America’s invasion of Afghanistan, along with the incident with the Doerrs and a few other similar incidents in the country, the Peace Corps made the decision to pull out its one-hundred-plus volunteers stationed across the country. This was a huge disappointment for the Mauritanian government, which wanted to continue its growing relationship with the United States and maintain a wholesome public face to the rest of the world, in spite of the present unrest. During the week following this decision, Stan and Beth unselfishly helped a number of volunteers move safely from their up-country posts to the capital. The Peace Corps volunteers were given the choice of reassignment to another country or early leave.