I’ve grown to fall in love with Swaziland. The rhythm of Africa is true, it’s alive, it echoes in my heart, and it’s a feeling I never want to forget.
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I couldn’t help but be absolutely captivated by the echoes of the voices I was hearing. The feeling that went into their singing was awe-inspiring. They close their eyes and open their mouths as wide as they could go.
They’re a high school choir rehearsing for a competition. I’ve spent every day with them at the school, I go to church with some, we play soccer and volleyball on our off days, we talk about our Savior. We shout “sawubona!” (“Hey!” In siSwati) at each other on the street. They teach me siSwati, we joke around, and they introduce me to their friends.
I sit on a tire and listen to them rehearse for hours every Wednesday and Friday for the past three months.
They watch me watch them. I give them all genuine smiles and my full attention. I hold my hand to my heart to let them know how they’re touching it, I throw my head back during their solos to show how much they’re blowing me away. And I stay for much longer even after my ministry day is technically over just to let them know how incredible and how loved they are.
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The people are incredible. They’re joyful. They’re full of love. They are passionate. So genuine and they invest themselves where their hearts lay.
Their accents are intriguing. Hearing them speak is like no other, there’s even rhythm in their conversations. The flow from one person to another. The pace and tone of the words spoken. The joy in their voices and the curiosity in their conversations.
The rhythm is in their pace of everyday life. It’s slow because of their abundance of time and lack of knowledge of what time it is. Time doesn’t hold them back nor does it stress them out. No really…they walk so slowly. Always.
After we leave Nsoko, eSwatini, I pray that I never undermine or doubt how I felt while I was here. I pray I never disregard what I’ve learned here or how I’ve grown. My soul has been touched. I pray to come back.
