The Real Elder Price, Part 5: The Face Of The Other

Editor's Note: This is the first in a series of essays that examines the real world of Mormon missionaries and the real Elder Price. Read the author's Introduction .

According to The Book of Mormon Musical , the Ugandan attitude toward God is "Hasa Diga Eebowai"—a fully gesticulated, profane curse against Heaven for the hardships of African life: starvation, AIDS, droughts, etc.

South Park humor style. But hardship in Africa is no joking matter. Missionaries there meet the realities of governmental corruption, poverty, disease, domestic abuse, alcoholism, and more. No missionary serves his full time without coming face to face with tragedy.

The Ugandans in The Book of Mormon Musical are as Americans might imagine them. The invented Ugandan curse is something Americans might predict—however inaccurately. Where there is so much death and devastation, we might presume that families would not bond tightly to their children; that in places where early death is common, parents would grieve only superficially, recover quickly, and then have more babies. "Hasa Diga Eebowai" makes that sort of supposition ("Try living here a couple days—watch all your friends and family die!"), and depicts the Ugandans shrugging over their harsh realities, and simply throwing their hands up. Though I find most of the songs in the musical fun and often accurate, "Hasa Diga Eebowai" is not one I will listen to again. I believe it perpetuates dangerous assumptions.

Why dangerous? Assuming that we can assess another's selfhood and predict reactions can shrink our compassion and reduce the other to a mere extension of our own experience, something we can contain within our finite expectations. These flattened supposals can get a laugh in a Broadway satire, but in real life, the telescopic imagination is called for. We are asked to gaze as far, as deep, and as magnanimously as possible. The only justified assumption is that we never know another's heart.

Elder Price with a child Of course, the Mormons in the play are also flattened to suit the structures of satire, but we recognize a few of their characteristics. The mission president, for example, appears as the proverbial, patronizing white guy, oblivious to how condescending his words are. He compliments the missionaries on the work they are doing with the "noble Africans"—echoing the reference to Native Americans as "noble savages" during the 19th century, before they were corralled and exiled to the Trail of Tears. He pronounces the elders "one with Africa," and they eagerly believe them. Still utterly naïve, they sing "I Am Africa," using images from Disney's Lion King , and proclamations like "We are the Lost Boys of the Sudan" and "We are the tears of Nelson Mandela."

The real Elder Price and the Mormon boys called to Uganda or the DR-Kinshasa missions did indeed weep with the Africans, and tethered their hearts to them in ways that will affect them for the rest of their lives. There was no self-congratulation involved.

Elder Henry Lisowski wrote evocatively about the death of a 5-year-old boy from malaria:

In the corner of the room was his body. Lying shirtless and lifeless on the couch, he seemed so calm compared to the chaos that reined around him. Placed on his stomach was a warm iron, prostrate, like a plea to God himself. "Don't take him from me, not yet. Let me have just a little more time with him." The iron was to slow decomposition, something that normally hits rapidly in Africa. In this way the family could at least finish their mourning before burying him.

In the center of the room were the women, the source of the tumult. Wailing, screaming, and crying, they pounded their hands mercilessly against the concrete ground, sometimes calming down enough to look back up at the child, which would drive them into an even greater frenzy. In the corner sat the boy's uncle, our age, curled into a ball and gasping for air as tears rolled down his face. And silently sitting on the front steps was the grandfather, weeping into his hands.

And so we stood with the others, guarding the family during their time of need. There were about 40 of us crammed into that alleyway, heads hung, listening to their cries.

Elder Lisowski playing Elder Jared Wigginton wrote about the poverty of Samuel, a refugee:

Samuel's father, an African, was a General for the Arab-controlled government of Sudan. Having African roots in a village just east of Darfur made his father's life difficult, as his own people viewed him as a traitor. In July of 1993, his father's gas station was burned and destroyed, and his father was kidnapped and murdered. With no source of stable income and a fear for their lives as tension was growing, he and his family fled to the Central African Republic.

After four years in Kinshasa, he met the missionaries for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and decided to be baptized. Six months later, he received a phone call telling him his mother had died in Pointe-Noire, Congo. He decided to find her burial site and try to establish a new life.

On his third day here, having eaten nothing, he saw the steeple of our church. He attended the Sunday service. I was able to talk with him for a while and I took him to talk with the Branch President to see how we could help him.

My heart twinged a bit when he and President were talking in Lingala, and I watched him empty his pockets of a bar of soap in a plastic bag and a toothbrush with every bristle bent back and a deep yellow. He was showing the President everything he had to his name.

The yearning for some connection with the divine is one of our most common human experiences, and perhaps especially acute amidst poverty. A recent Mormon convert, Marceline Beri, told Elder Wigginton about her desire for peace during years of illness and abuse. He recorded her words:

Baptism of Marceline Beri I knew God existed. Maybe because I was desperate, I started praying. Each time I prayed, I found myself sobbing—I don't know why. I felt a big relief. I was so dirty. Spiritually, I was weak. I could not listen to the voice of God, or hope that I could progress and get myself out of my suffering.

As Beri's words show, this longing for a connection to God can be overwhelming. Africans do not shrug, curse God, and die in the face of enormous adversities. They, as do all humans, ache for meaning. And the Anglo missionaries, though their stay is brief, though they do not "become Africa" (their passports prevent that, providing a guarantee that they can leave whenever they choose), do take something of Africa back to their homes. The memories of the people abide with them.

These memories do include some rather scary people carrying AK-47s.

One of the funniest moments in The Book of Mormon Musical happens when Elder Price tries to push faith beyond his fear. He has just seen a warlord murder someone. In a parody of Maria singing "A captain with seven children—what's so scary about that?" in The Sound of Musi c, Elder Price sings, "A war lord who shoots people in the face—what's so scary about that?"

It may seem that Parker and Stone have gone beyond the pale with this kind of "man up" initiation for the missionary. In fact, culture shock can be violent, and I know of missionaries who witnessed murders on their first day in the field. And there are certainly warlords, revolutionaries, and refugees throughout Africa. Some even become Mormon converts. At least one revolutionary in the Congo became a missionary: Aime Mbuyi.

Elder Aime Mbuyi I have been communicating with Elder Mbuyi for a year now. He is still serving his mission and is currently the Assistant to the President. English is his second language (French being his first), so I have adjusted some grammar and word choice, but will let him tell his story in his own words:

Before I joined the Church, I was in a revolutionary group. We had a camp which was like a boarding school. One of the purposes of this camp was to teach us to abandon the religious system brought by white men, and to return to the religion of our ancestors. At the camp, we lit a bonfire, sang songs, and we prayed to our ancestors. Someone called out to the ancestors and other dead ones and asked them to mingle with us. All of this was initiated by an African Catholic priest who was the leader of the camp. He also changed the way of celebrating Mass. It was no longer a Catholic Mass but a combination of Catholicism and African ancestor worship. We also watched documentaries about Patrice Emery Lumumba, the youth of Soweto and others. This ex-priest was building hate in us.

I had many destructive plans which I developed at the revolutionary camp, but I did not put them into action. The gospel changed my heart before I executed my plans.

My grandparents joined the Church in July 2005 before I came back to live in Kinshasa after spending seven years in Tshikapa, where the revolutionary camp was located. My grandpa told me about the Church just once. He said that it was a good church. It gave the youth opportunities for a good education and helped them become good citizens of the country. He said many things about the Church, but I did not show that I was interested. My mother tried to encourage me to visit the church. The next Sunday, I did. I did not inform anybody at home. I knew where the church was.

I entered. I passed the chapel and found myself in the bishop's office. I told him that I was new in the church and that I did not know where to go. He showed me a class. Afterwards, I encountered the elders and we made an appointment. I do not remember what was taught that day at church, but I remember my impressions. I was impressed by the attitude of the young men my own age who blessed the sacrament. They were like angels.

Most of my friends thought that the Church was not Christian. At first, I did not tell them I had joined it. I was ashamed. My mother encouraged to stop going to the camp meetings. She said, "Aimé, now that you have received the gospel of Jesus-Christ, I think you must stop your meetings and your organization. You have become a disciple of Christ." Her words touched my heart, and I decided to stop. I found an excuse to escape my friends. This decision helped me be focused in the gospel and ponder in my heart the message I had accepted.

Sister Pamela Headlee with Elder Mbuyi’s Mother The knowledge of the plan of salvation gave my life a new orientation. But it was when I received the testimony from the Spirit that Joseph Smith was a true prophet of God and consequently that this work was true that I understood that I was actually struggling against God by my revolutionary group. I had a strong conviction that anyone who aims to bring division into the world instead of peace is not from God.

Many thoughts were coming into my mind. It was not easy to give up the struggle. I thought about the purposes of the revolutionary group, but even more about what I was fighting for. Thoughts were continuing to come into my mind telling me that God was the master of everything, that He knew everything, and that He could permit everything to happen for good purposes.

I felt a strong desire to share what I knew with people. I remember when I testified of Joseph Smith to my classmates. I still remember those feelings I had. After a few weeks in the Church, I was already nicknamed "the Mormon" or " man of justice"("homme de la justice") at school.

In the same period, I learned the children's song starting with these words: "We have been born as Nephi of old." This song fostered my desire to serve the Lord and has been until now a constant source of comfort and courage to serve Him with all my heart and power.

Members and missionaries singing in Pointe Noire, Republic of Congo In 2007 I was called to be the ward mission leader and started working with the full-time missionaries. This period prepared me and confirmed my decision to serve a full-time mission. I received my mission call from the Prophet on November 30th and started my mission in December 29th, 2009. I went to the Mission Training Center in Ghana.

Long before I went into the Ghana temple as a missionary, I knew that it was the House of God. Two years earlier, my cousin had come to me and told me that he had had a discussion with some people who had just been in the USA. He said that these people had told him bad things about the Church and its temples. He told me many things against the Church and especially the temple. I was troubled. My spirit and mind were troubled. I was afraid. I remembered what the missionaries told me: "You can ask God to know if what we have taught is true." I then prayed in my heart, meditated and prayed to know the truth. After a short while as I was in meditation, a feeling of peace, assurance and joy replaced the feelings of fear, doubt, confusion, and trouble in my heart. I was happy. I knew that I was headed in the right direction, and that the temples of the church are the very Houses of God. Later I testified of these things to my cousin, who finally decided to also join the Church.

When I entered in the Ghana Temple for the first time, I submitted many names of my ancestors, and ordinances have now been done for them.

I love the gospel.

Elder Mbuyi continues to serve as a different kind of revolutionary—a soldier for peace in the army of the Lord.

Through tragedy and joy, love and loss, the missionaries approach those around them (including their companions) with growing tenderness and respect. Such is the case for both the Anglo and the African missionaries. Elder Mbuyi, who will remain in the Congo when his mission ends, speaks warmly of those who walked with him as fellow citizens in the household of faith, who have now returned to their comfortable homes in North America: I love [my former companions] very much. I miss them. I am sad that I may not see them again before many years or forever.

There are no acquiescent shrugs in the final missionary days, and the song most likely to be sung will certainly not curse God or pretend that there isn't an ocean between Africa and North America. It will simply plead, "God be with you till we meet again."

The Real Elder Price, Part 5: The Face of the Other