I like rice and beans. No, really. Not just “can tolerate it because at least I know what I’m eating”, but really love rice and beans. I’ve eaten rice for 5 months straight now, but I’m not sick of it. And our hosts always try to cook meat for us because we’re their guests, but I’m always hoping they’ll be a huge pot of beans instead.
I’ll miss rice and beans when we leave Africa.
And East Africans have a brilliant accent when they speak English with us. I wish there was a way to type it for you, but it would never come across. They have such a literal way with words when they speak.
One of my favorites was our friend Samuel. He was trying to communicate to me that he doesn’t really speak English well. So of course he said, “Every time I speak Swahili. ”
I’ll miss those conversations when we leave Africa.
There is an abundance of mangos in Africa. Delicious, cheap, wonderful mangos that are sold on every corner. And they’ll peel and slice them for you so you don’t even have to work for them! Except maybe to get it out of your teeth once you eat them. I eat 2 or 3 a day.
I’ll miss mangos when we leave Africa.
The sky is so much bigger here. Our contacts have welcomed us as their daughters. We have more mamas in Africa than we can count. We dance in church. We sit close to each other. We love people rather than accomplish tasks.
I’ll miss Africa when we leave.
Just to be clear, there are plenty of things I won’t miss. I won’t miss mosquito nets. I won’t miss being grabbed and yelled at and stared at just because I’m white. I won’t miss Ugali (another staple food here.)
But I will miss Africa. I don’t know if I’ll be back. But Africa has this way of getting under your skin so that you can’t ever quite shake it. And you have this way of forgetting all the things you won’t miss, forgetting the hard parts and simply remembering the majesty. The people. The Joy. Because that’s the best way I know to describe it. Even in the middle of poverty, of suffering, of death, there is dignity. And it is majestic.
So if I look back on Africa with rose colored glasses…just let me look. Just let me remember the things I want to. I’m not living in denial. It’s just that I’d rather remember the faces of the children than the stares of the men. I’d rather remember the sun on my face than the dust on my feet. The Hope than the disappointment. Because Africa is deep in my blood. It’s shaped me in ways I can never undo. And i don’t want to.
