What I've learned

I don't really know what I will leave, here in Africa, aside from pieces of my heart. I don't know what I've accomplished, or if anyone is changed because I was here. Not sure if there will be children coming out different, or people wanting more of Christ - but I know that the people here have taught me things I never could have learned myself - and that I have loved being around them, learning from them, being loved by them - loving beside them.

She has showered with me in the dark, with cockroaches, at night, in freezing cold water, with only a flashlight - giggling the entire time - bungee jumped clinging to my terrified body, helped me when I was bleeding after biting my tongue during our terrified jump, went white water rafting with me, and screamed and high fived and yelled and carried on beside me after making it down a 5 meter waterfall, and through some of the best white water in the world, has listened when I cried, cried while I listened, and shared her heart with me in our room, in the middle of the night, while holding children, walking down the street, over coffee -over breakfast - during safari. She has taught me how to love better, laugh better - to be kinder, and to be more open to the needs of others. I wish I didn't have to be without her.

He has taught me that love at unexpected times - a kiss on the cheek while trying to get your bike up a big hill, a hug from behind, a squeeze on your tiny little heinie - a rub of your head, an "I love you" during breakfast, softens a person, and gives you passport into their life. It gives you an ability to comfort, to communicate, to reach out to and to be succesful in ministry. And, he has taught me that giving a person unexpected love, creates unexpected love inside of you. And I would bring him home if I could. He has my heart. She has taught me patience in communication. That sometimes tears and fits and carrying on don't mean that someone's naughty. Sometimes they mean "I don't know this word in English!" or "You aren't understanding that I need to pee and you won't take my pants off!" She's shown me the need to seek out understanding, and to listen, watch and pay attention to the needs of others - and to discern which kind of tears are what. And then, she began to teach me that being understood creates joy - and I saw her smile and heard her laugh often, and took part in her beginning to speak my language - as I sought to understand hers.
This woman told me yesterday that, "you came and became my daughter and now you're leaving!" and I feel something like that -her adopted daughter or some such thing. She's let me cry, laugh, be myself - ask for wisdom, show disappointment, be confused - and today she sat over lunch and told me everything I wanted to know about the Lord's working in her life. She's been a treasure to me, and I have learned from her.

He has taught me that the way to deal with someone who likes to bite and be naughty, and pull other children's pants down, and make you furious and need to excuse yourself to the bathroom just so you can scream a little, isn't always to punish or let yourself get angry. Instead, maybe it's to laugh, or to not take it so seriously - to understand where someone has come from, and to see through the biting and notice a little boy with a mother who has left him - a little boy really lonely and wanting your attention, and not knowing how to get it - but so very thankful when he finally does something that works.

She has taught me about gentleness, and being patient with the processses of other people. I rush through and barrel over. She picks up and loves on - waits for the slower child - sits to make sure that the one who is whining doesn't have a reason. She looks to the needs of others - and makes me realize that I've been blind.

There are some people that are easy to love - bosem friends, Anne of Green Gables calls them - the ones you love right at first - and you couldn't help it if you wanted to. These two have shown me what friendship looks like when it comes quick and easy - have shared my passions and my sorrows, my memories, and my dreams for the future - they've laughed at stories, and given stories in return - they've lived out passions with me, and we have enjoyed our similarities and differences. They've understood frustrations and emotions. They are looking for the same kinds of things that I am, and they've sought to interwine their lives with mine. Lord willing, we would like to spend 3 months somewhere together in the near future. He has knit our hearts. She taught me that it hurts to love. And that often when you love someone that's hard to love - you're the only one doing it. She loved our autistic boy here at Amani with all of her heart. She's fought for him, is fighting for him. She chooses to see him differently than anyone else. And as she's stood her ground - stood firm in her desires for him to be seen as having potential, and being a beautiful kid - we've come to see him that way. Instead of his screams, we talk about his beautiful eyebrows, his face, and his progress: thanks to her, we look for it. But she was the one who had the courage to see it first.
She taught me that those who are different than us can teach us MUCH. Her adventerous spirit, her love for people, for animals - for peace, for orphans, caught me off guard, and caused me to pause and begin to look forward to hearing her laughter, her smiles, and wait for her next move - she's unpredictable, and I still haven't figured her out. For that, I adore her.
He taught me that loving someone goes a very long way. Often, what someone needs isn't to be told to stop crying, or get a grip, to eat their lunch or stop whining. Often, someone is hurting so much that they can't function, and what they really need, is for another person to stop and love them for a while, to fill their heart so they can get up, smile and move forward. Auntie Diana gave him that love, and I watched him blossom. Even after she left, he was different.

Last day

Tonight, after rafting, I stood in front of the mirror for a long time re-twisting my extensions into my hair. I was told it would come out with swimming, and he was right. I stared and twisted and flipped hair this way and that while waiting for my shower to heat up. I listened to my roommates laughing and talking and I smelled the white Nile on my body – the smell of elephants bathing, and African children bathing naked, old men fishing, crocodiles swimming where you’re not allowed to get out of the raft, reeds, bird poop, wild rapids, sun and rain showers with lightning sheets and fish that the Ugandan men catch in a net by pounding into the water with their dark bodies rising and falling with the weight of huge instruments meant to scare the fish.
Standing and twisting I thought about Mathias, and Marvin. I thought about the little village boy who asks if he can give me his brother, and the little boy that I saw on the edge of the Nile wearing an old ripped up sweatshirt while I was wet and shivering. He smiled this brilliant smile, touched my arm and said “You collld!” and I nodded, and pinched his arm affectionately – “you are warm.” He grinned and nodded and said “Yes, I am wam!” Then the little girls who stared while I told them their dresses were pretty – and let their brothers translate – old, ripped fabric with dark African patterns that must have been perfect at one point – but now in blends in with their skin and their knotted hair, their faces and their swollen bellies.

And, oh! Am I tired of swollen bellies.

As I knotted and twisted I thought “I could stay. I could stay for the summer and pray for a car in the fall. Or I could take a year off. I really could just stay.” And I let myself linger on that for a while, tying my hair up so it wouldn’t get wet in the shower. And then, warm water hitting my cold face and my cold arms, and my body that smelled of dead fish and elephant baths, I thought “my travel toothpaste is almost gone.” And then “my malaria pills…” and then “my money.” And “they have no room in the guest house, it’s booked for the summer. I have to go.”

I thought of Diana walking through the great big glass doors in her airport in Canada, and how she talks of that being the best part of coming home. And she’s right – looking and seeing the faces you love for the first time, those faces you need – and being in Diana’s home airport sends shivers down her spine, like SMF sends shivers down mine. But I fly into JFK, so it feels a little foreign still. I thought about sitting drinking coffee with my mother, and hugging my dad, and hearing my brothers make Chuck Norris jokes, and smelling my house – instead of African BO, and I thought of climbing up on a couch next to my boyfriend and feeling him hug my shoulder – and I realized that I miss home, and I want the first glimpses of it.

But Africa’s ruined me – and I’m not wanting to go home to stay. And if someone handed me the opportunity – I’d stay here. I’d stay and I’d learn from these women, and I’d live with my friends, and I’d love on these children, and I would push myself to learn what it is to be away from home for longer.

But that’s not what He’s asking now, is it? He asks that I get in Abdulla’s taxi in the morning, and I drive two hours to the airport, and I check into security, and I fly into Heathrow terminal 4 – and then JFK – sleep in the car – stumble to my bedroom.
That’s what He’s asking.

Last night, after our white water experience on the Nile – going down a 5 meter waterfall backwards, flipping on purpose, learning when to get down and when to hold on, and hearing that we were at the “mecca” of white water rafting, and every trip after this would disappoint us, because the Nile is deep and you can ride class 5 rapids without rocks – Marlee and I met a man from Passion. He was wearing a volunteer shirt, and I said, “hey, we volunteered at Passion too!” He stood up and we started talking. He told us what he’s doing here, and how he’s been up North where the LRA has been: the destruction he’s seen. He gave us ideas of where to go and how to minister – and I knew both our heads were swimming with ideas and regrets, and wishing we could stay. Then, he said something that put all my emotions under the hand of Christ, and told them “Stop. Submit.” He said, “but, hey, don’t fall under the heaviness of the weight of the tyranny of urgency.”

My jaw must have dropped. I stared at him and he continued - “you’re young. And when I was 19 or 20 I thought I had to get everything done that moment, and start doing everything exactly right for Christ, and go do missions exactly how He would call for the rest of my life – and then someone told me that I was young, and I could rest in Him. And to relax. See, Christ calls you for rest – because His burden is easy – He doesn’t call you to give you the kind of ministry or responsibility that makes you worry and fret and think about getting everything done today. Do you see?”

I thanked him, and told him the truth – that I had needed what he said because I was falling under that weight.

I’m already crying and it’s only 9 in the morning. Pray for my heart. I don’t know what’s He’s calling to – but it’s wrecking my insides, and making me willing for when He says “come” and when He says “stay.”

More pictures of my kids to come later today…

Slipping out

Life during my last two days of work at Amani has been normal - expected. Not much different - and yet so different than what I would normally do - I have to remind myself I'm looking at Lake Victoria - I'm in Africa - this is different. This is exciting. But life isn't really like that - like Anne of Green Gables says - it's pearls on a string, not fireworks. But there's been a lot going on in my mind - fireworks, tears, wishing to go - wishing to stay. Today I had extra patience for everything except Jayson crawling way too close to the 3 inch big spider. I tried to take everything in - my kids faces - the feeling of their hands while making green ink prints on white paper. Siouxanne climbed into my top bunk last night, where I was crying about Spendy and Africa and feeling small and not very used, and wrapped her arms around me, and told me I reminded her of herself on her first visit to Africa. This amazing woman, sitting in my messy bed with me, just let my cry and sniffle and talk about how I want to do what feels good instead of what God calls me to - and how I am learning to submit to going on His terms, and doing what He asks - regardless of whether I feel good or valuable, or like I did something worthwhile. Then I blubbered about feeling like I've been in Africa brushing teeth and playing with blocks for 3 weeks and I don't think I've helped at all. My friend - my Proverbs 31 kind of friend - my brave friend who left her grandchildren and children at home to be here - my friend who makes me laugh and lives her life for Christ openly and with zeal - my friend who I wish I could live with and learn from for much longer - wrapped her arms around me and told me that just doing what is asked of me - submitting to leadership - my heart for service - has been a breath of fresh air, and I will never know how much it has done, or accomplished. Then I cried harder - the God of the universe takes the girl who struggles with submission to Africa and uses her submission to bless the people there.

Only in His economy would that happen. Only in His economy would that be a trip worth glowing about.

And I am.

New Perspectives

I read an article in National Geographic or some such thing when I was about 12. A husband wrote of the bridge in New Zealand, and his trip towards being brave enough to bungee it with his beloved wife. 3-2-1-Bungee - lean out - fall out- open your eyes - shut them - scream - stop screaming - hang dangling like two bats together over the earth. He wrote of gaining a new perspective, opening his eyes there dangling bat-like, of the world, of life - a physical to match the mental and heart perspective that had been changing in him during his travels.

Being near the only bungee spot here in Africa, and having my perspective, as a person, entirely changed while being here, I decided it was time to change my perspective of Africa - physically - like in an upside-down kind of way.

So we went yesterday - and Marlee and I hung - bat like - out over the Nile. I forgot to think of new perspectives and New Zealand while holding onto the yellow bar, bringing my feet to the edge of the platform and asking the jump master weakly, "why in the world am i doing this?" to which he replied - "cause you're crazy. and you'll love it." I almost cried when they let go of the jump cords and I felt a tug on my feet, was told to let go and grab onto Marlee - tilt out - and scream. Well, they didn't tell me to scream. But they didn't need to. I opened my eyes on our second bounce up and saw the Nile - from somewhere on the 145 feet I had jumped - far beneath me - stretched out and flowing backwards from my upside down position - glistening in the sun - saw my friends on the deck - the cows - screamed again and shut my eyes - I opened and shut - laughed histerically - screamed - laughed againi - Marlee laughed almost the entire time and I could feel her gasping for air against my body as I laughed and screamed and yelled at her that I'd kill her if she let go.

I saw Africa from the perspective of few - and I walked on air the rest of the day - feeling adventurous, brave and satisfied - as I ate an entire pint of ice cream myself. Less brave as the children begged me for money outside the grocery store, and their rags fell off their shoulders as they squealed at the coins I gave them and threw their arms out - and then came back five minutes later - empty again. Africa truly has changed my entire perspective - and I'm waiting, in a little bit of a limbo - for the world to stop spinning, things to make sense again, the raft to pull me in, someone to hold out something solid for me to grab onto, saying: "you did it - now how do you feel?"

Safari

On a more important note than my safari – pray for the people in Sudan that were on the plane that over estimated its landing on the runway – and killed 30, with at least 20 missing. 200 were on the flight.
And if I were not so close – I don’t know that I would have thought beyond covering my mouth and gasping when I heard.
But it’s still on my mind – an hour later.
It happened this morning.
You can look up the story online.

I spent most of my safari thinking of Robert Redford – which is my Mother’s fault for crying with me time and time again during Out of Africa. And when I had to go to the bathroom in a squatty potty – a little rectangular hole in the ground – surrounded by geckos and flies and this lovely African stench I was becoming quite accustomed to – I thought of Meryl Streep and Karen and “I had a farm in Africa” and felt a little out of sorts that I wasn’t watching the chimps dance to a grammaphone and eating something cooked for me around a campfire.
But who could be jealous of Karen when your chimp guide only has – count them – four teeth, and tells you your bookmark with a picture of a chimp is a special gift for supporting – in such a big way – the chimps? And when your game drive guide is named Innocent – and laughs like a crazy drunk man when telling stories of lions chasing girls on previous safaris?
And who could be jealous of Karen when you mention, in a sort – of descreet embarrassed sort of way to your driver – that you really must pee at some time in the near future, and he swerves, immediately, to the left side of the road – and tries to follow you to the right side to find a suitable bush? Thank you – but this Mzungu is an excellent bush finder all on her lonesome, sir.
I slept most of our 8 hour drive, and felt like a woman on a dangerous mission getting wet and muddy in the rain forest chasing chimps, and stopping suddenly so my near toothless guide could listen for where the chimps were – and then take off again with us trudging behind avoiding anything that looks like an anaconda or a green or black mamba – and fending off lines of big black ants. I took pictures of big trees – bigger than the trees in the red forest sometimes – for my dad who tells me that I need to find out about African trees for him. My favorite was the one whose inner skin is a bold red when the outside peels off.
I saw huge mushrooms that were scattered across the forest floor – and big white ones that have red in the middle that remind me of the tarts that Hannah Hempstead feeds me when I am really really lucky and I stop by when a batch has been made recently.
That night we crossed the Nile on a big ferry – and I felt something inside of me leap with all of the history and strength and richness of the Nile river, and what was beneath me. Across the river we watched chimps play in the trash – and hoped for one to pick up a Heineken so we could take a picture.
The next morning we went on our game drive – and rode on the top of our safari van snapping pictures of chimps and Giraffes, elephants and water buffalo and birds and huge African trees and – oh! The animals we saw! Half way through our day, we saw an elephant and lion fight, during which our guard cocked his big gun and yelled at us to get in the van, after which he laughed deliriously for about a half an hour – and we worried about his sanity even more than we had before. But he ran away to a spot where we could see the Congo – and took pictures jumping in front of it – Diana’s idea.
I got lots of elephant and lion pictures for You-You – a special request – and will send them soon!

Later that day, after fried fish and French fries, we walked – at the request of our new-found English friend, Paul, who was such a trooper going on a safari with six girls and listening to us be completely inappropriate about our stomach problems and our feelings about what the food was going to make us do – and then kindly pretending to believe my story that we had been “flower picking” early that morning when about five of us all needed to pee at once – we went to the really nice lodge about a half mile down the road and got passion juice and chocolate meringue cake and sat and talked at a huge table on the veranda overlooking the Nile river for about two hours while waiting for our river cruise to start.
At four we took a 3 hour cruise of the Nile and – nevermind whether the accommodations or the food or the drive or the toilets were hard – I felt like queen of the Nile watching the elephants take baths and the hippos yawning and the foam look like big chunks of ice floating by me. I wondered how Nefertiti must have felt, sitting high in her golden chair and watching her slaves row her long beautiful boat down the Nile for a leisurely cruise – and I might have even pretended I was her for a few moments – if you want me to be completely honest. I put my feet up on the side of the boat – and sat back in my sun glasses and dirty shorts and pretended I was an Egyptian queen – and why not? We shared the same river – for those three hours – the goddesses of the past and myself – here are crocodiles just as close – and flocks of white birds taking off – the sun setting golden on the water – the vines taking over the trees – and then Murchison falls – so powerful and wild we had to run into a couple rocks to stop – something our guide acted completely normal about.
This river feels like so much more than water – it feels like life and death, like the rising and fall of hopes of millions of people – crops for the year – the beginning and end of successful kingdoms – loss of hopes during droughts – the start of civilizations – and I felt so lucky sitting on it and absolutely basking. To think that what starts here in Uganda ends up in Egypt…

I love meeting new people in far away places. The next morning we visited the top of the falls before driving home. Paul, our geography student friend from England whose here to work on an open arms project, and I had been talking about how expensive it might be for me to go white water rafting and bungee jumping all at once. He had gone for free because he lived at the Adrift campsite for a while and knew the guys – he told me he thought he could give me a much more invigorating experience – even than he got – for just as cheap. Being the poor college student that I am, and only having so much money for fun – I agreed, and asked Marlee to take a picture "For my mom and my Grandma."

Later that day, we also met a very talkative guy from Scotland - who somehow got a ride home to Jinja with us? I quizzed him all about the Lochness monster, because he's from around that area. He told me it's all a scam - and he knows the national geographic guys who make new stories up every year. It's only because two of the earth's plates there shift and create an area of the lake deeper even than the Atlantic Ocean at times - all sorts of bubbles and etc. come up from this vast hole - and there you have your monster. I was disappointed.