afreeka

i sit in a giant house on a game lodge - the shikwaru game lodge to be exact. my husband and most of our team are still huddled around a campfire outside, making an african version of s'mores (with biscuits, cadbury chocolate, and pink marshmellows).

but before you envision us all roughing it in the bush, let me tell you the ways that this africa is different from the one that i remember: i sit in a gorgeous, modern house with a heater on, because the air is cold and crisp outside. i also have a bed. with actual sheets. in a room to itself. with an ELECTRIC BLANKET. toilets have seats. and you can flush them. water from the faucet is drinkable. there are actually paved roads. people know english. black children don't run screaming "white ghost" when they see me. there is no traditional, tribal clothing. there are no mud houses with thatched roofs. i don't have to bathe with a bucket of cold water and a cup. western influence is heavy (on our first night we stopped at a wimpy burger and were seated beneath a huge tv screen stuck on VH1 music videos).

these things threw me off for a couple of days. i almost missed the roughing it, and the lack of supplies and sanitation. i sort of liked being pushed to my physical limits. not to mention that i have been in the most desolate places in the world, but at least those places were untouched by the media and the modern influences of our looming western society (yesterday, a 4th grade boy listed nicki minaj as he named off of famous people that he loved, and something in me just decided that was wrong).

but this is still undeniably africa. i may have to look a little harder to see it, but africa isn't really about the conditions or the clothing. it is about the resilience, the joy, the hope and the heart of the people here. here is the africa i know and love... heartbreaking as it may seem at times: i sit down with high school girls who have watched friend after family member after friend die in the last year, and still they are able to see God's hand. i talk to young children about their future and they want to be social workers, lawyers, doctors, accountants... and they want to stay in south africa to help others. women who can't speak my language laugh with wide, missing-toothed smiles as they hug me and call me sister. grandmothers feed their grand babies, because mom and dad have died of AIDS. children share food with each other. we sit in wide circles and play "duck, duck, monkey" in a haze of kicked up red dust. donkeys and goats take their sweet time crossing the road. fanta is available for mass consumption. church is hours long, with endless, joyous clapping and singing. kids are still kids.

....

today, we spent time at a feeding center. our cars pulled up to a huddle of little orphans and their caretakers as they sat in plastic chairs under the shade of a few sparse trees. the children had started shouting "white people! white people!" in their language as soon as they saw the cars turn down the road. they ran to the cars with outstretched arms, begging to be picked up and held. i sat on a dusty step with little girls as they stroked my strange blond hair and tried to braid it with deft, swift little hands. they touched my skin, they marvelled at my veins and fingertips. they were full of wonder and curiosity.  and though i've had similar experiences before, i'd never trade those moments for anything. they are the beauty of africa. small bridges are built, and the moments become impressions on our spirits. those impressions can change the course of our lives.

something always happens to me in africa. my heart is heavy, but full.

and i never ever want to leave.