There literally was when we entered our kitchen in Swaziland, mouse droppings, but I thought of the phrase figuratively as I reflected on the last month in Mozambique.
This is my earnest attempt to be raw about the difficult stuff that comes with traveling around the world, living out of a pack, and sacrificing all the physical comforts of home and the states. Most of the time, I avoid talking about the tough stuff and try to focus on the moving moments, but the tough stuff are the real lessons, right?
Last month, I was physically miserable. It was the most primitive living situation that I have encountered thus far on The Race. We were living in a cement house, sleeping pads on the floor, one bathroom for 20 people, water and electricity turning off for long spans of time, and nowhere to go from the heat! However, it wasn’t the simplicity of our living conditions that made me miserable. It was the constant ill health that plagued me, the lack of healthcare, and the overwhelming need to escape.
Within the first week of arriving in Machava, I got sick. It was the kind of sick that leaves you running to the bathroom every few hours, not sure what end it will come out of. You know, fever, no appetite, weakness, you lie there in the heat with nothing to do. My body was so completely covered in mosquito bites that I was determined to believe I had malaria, despite my regular malaria medication and everyone praying for me. Man, those mosquitoes sure do like me!
The next day, I found myself lying flat on a bench outside of the local clinic, having just thrown up in their bathroom, waiting to find out the results of my blood test. Funny, I was actually praying for malaria because the thought of having something contagious that would infect my whole team was something I couldn’t bear. I just couldn’t live with that guilt. Upon reflection, I see the weight of such a wish.
Turned out, I had a bacterial infection that was cleared up with a couple antibiotics and a few days of lying on my mat. Praise God, no malaria!
Well, the mosquitoes raged on, and later I discovered that I am allergic to the sap that oozes from the mango trees. Skin allergies don’t really surprise me though and, despite everyone’s exclamations at the intense appearance of my arms and legs, it was taken care of by the skin cream I brought with me from my dermatologist.
At this point, I was pretty over Mozambique, but I had actually found a peace with it. I learned to appreciate water when we had it, had come to terms with the raging heat in December, and had even accepted the long walk to the market for a wannabe Diet Coke as a treat. It seemed that I was learning to live a little more simply, too bad this peace was so short-lived.
A few days after Christmas, my eye began to bother me, and taking out my contact that night felt like pulling off my cornea. The next day, New Years Eve, I decided to stay in while the rest of my team went out to enjoy a party with fireworks and air conditioning and good food. This wasn’t so bad. Two of my teammates stayed with me, and we enjoyed a quiet night together, taking advantage of the quicker internet speeds with all the other team members gone.
On New Years Day, I fought back my discomfort and agitation by listening to Shakira’s Waka Waka on loop and reminding myself of the “You’ll Never Be Here Again” Game.
You’re a good soldier, choosing your battles. Pick yourself up, and dust yourself off, and back in the saddle. You’re on the frontline, everyone’s watching. You know it’s serious, we’re getting closer, this isn’t over. The pressure is on, you feel it, but you got IT all, believe it. When you fall, get up. Oh Oh! And if you fall, get up. Ey ey! Sa-me-na Me-na, eh ey. Waka waka, eh ey! ‘Cause this is Africa!!
Listen to Your God, this is our motto. Your time to SHINE, don’t wait in line. People are raising their expectations. Go on and feed ‘em. This is your moment, no hesitation. Today’s your day, I feel it. You pave the way, believe it! If you get down, get up. Oh oh! When you get down, get up. Ey ey! It’s time for Africa.
Unfortunately, because of the holiday, pharmacies were closed for 3 days. By day 4 of the eye infection, when medicine arrived, my spirit was so low I can barely describe the feeling. Lying on my mat, sweating, unable to do anything but listen to audio books, I felt trapped inside my own head, and my thoughts just seemed to get louder and louder with every passing hour.
When I couldn’t stand the isolation any longer, I went and stood in Shannon’s room and began to weep. Shannon was also sick, missing her fiancé back home, and wholly understood my trapped feelings. She began to read scripture over me and pour out encouraging, empathetic words. Then, we turned to God together and poured out our hearts to Him.
Though the rest of the day was quite dark, I understood that perseverance can only be learned through hardship, when there's poo on every shelf, if you will.
There’s a phrase I often use, “At the end of the day, it’s just you and God.” It reminds me to live each day, acting in a way pleasing to Him because when it’s all said and done, He’s the only one left. People and things come in and out of your life, but God is always there. He is comforter, He is justifier, He is protector, He is lover. This phrase was haunting me.
God was really challenging me to mean it. At the end of the day, was it really just me and Him? When all comforts were stripped from me—my health, my family, my luxuries—was He really enough? I had followed Him into this desert, telling Him that the only thing I needed to make it through the day was Him. It was my moment of truth, it was time to actually mean it. God had taken away my eyesight so that, for once in my life, I could actually see HIM, and just Him.
It was no longer Him and the blessings He has given me, Him and the people He has given me, Him and all the things He encompasses. Just Him. I was lying prostrate before My Love, seeing Him for the first time, cut and real. And He was enough.
I wouldn’t trade last month for anything. One of my teammates said, “Perseverance is written all over you,” but it’s more than that. I can feel it, unexplainably, spanned out through my whole body, my whole character.
According to the doctor in South Africa, I had an ulcer in my eye. Once I finally received medicine to treat it, it lasted total 11 days. Eleven days to finally see the Lord. You can do anything for 11 days, right? Or even 11 months?
