I opened my eyes in my tent and felt the cold air hit my nostrils. I wrapped myself tight in my big brown blanket as thick as a wooly mammoth hide. (Who knew winter in Africa would actually be cold? I’m thankful for the little girl who forgot her purple L.L. Bean jacket on the bus in Zimbabwe, it has really come in handy for me.) I eventually got out of my tent and slipped on my rugged Asia Sport shoes that are hanging on by a thread.
It’s still early morning and I jogged to the gate of the property near the children’s home and began to run on the desolate dirt road. I ran alongside villages scattered along the mighty Zambezi River which acts as a boarder line between Zambia and Zimbabwe. The Zambezi also feeds the worlds widest waterfall and one of the modern seven wonders of the world, Victoria Falls.
I pass by mud huts with straw roofs and see that I’m not the only one awake. Old African grandmothers looking weathered and full of stories huddle next to their fires cooking breakfast and warming their bodies. I jump at the sound of chickens in the thick brush pecking away and waking everyone, fulfilling their duty as natures alarm clock. Pigs scurry across the path and cattle trample around the brush with bells attached to their necks. The unfortunate looking dogs scurry around for left over food and the whole time I’m trying to be aware of the Cobra that my friends had spotted striking a frog the week before.
The small paths in the bush are busy in the morning and when I run past locals I say, “Musweletwani” (How is your morning) and they smile, calmly clap their hands together and respond, “Honde” (Good). Little kids are suited up in their uniforms for school and if they are brave enough, they run with me for a short distance while their friends laugh and observe. I look over at the river and hope to spot a hippo, they are common in the area and I can hear them from my tent at night. I run past the quiet soccer field full of sand and footprints from its constant use in the evenings before the sun sets.
The trees really spark my interest. They jut out over the horizon and hover over the top of the paths. They have giant thorns and spikes that stick out like mid-evil weapons. They are packed with funny looking birds that would make my ornithology professor pinch his skin to check if he was dreaming. They act as playgrounds for the kids who climb up to the tip tops with their homemade slingshots ready to strike unwelcome visitors.
It was on this morning run that I began to ponder what to write about this month.
One story that came to mind was about a boy that I came across when visiting a village closer to town. My squad mates and I were walking through a windy tight nit neighborhood when a little guy came out of nowhere, yelled my name and then grabbed my hand. He remembered me from when I played soccer with some older kids near his house a week ago.
He told me his name was Tamwon and he was six years old. He held my hand tight and began guiding me through his territory. He spoke great English and each time he was done talking or asking a question he would slow down and look up at me like a golden retreater patiently waiting for me to throw a tennis ball.
After walking with Tamwon for a short bit I realized that he reminded me a lot of my brother when he was younger. There was no such thing as a stranger for my brother or for Tamwon, a new face was simply a new friend. Eventually I asked Tamwon, “Where are you taking me?” He looked up at me with an expression that made it seem as if I should have already known the answer, “To meet my mother.” Then he took a second, grinned and said, “She’s beautiful.”
Tamwon marched me right up to his little house and around the corner to the back door. In the backyard his nine year old brother was busy hand washing his clothes and we swapped a soapy handshake. Tamwon’s mother, Gene, came outside and greeted me. She laughed and didn’t seem too embarrassed by her little boy brining a white stranger to her house to meet her. The little man just stood there and watched us talk grinning from ear to ear.
I wonder if that’s how God feels when we meet new people and share love and affection without having to earn it or receive it from someone else first. We simply love each other because He has first loved us. It made since in that moment when a little kid grabbed my hand and patiently guided me to the first person he could think of that has loved him unconditionally his whole life, his beautiful mother.
Just like little Tamwon, God asks us to patiently love our neighbors and guide them to the one that has loved us from the very beginning.
