A lot of things have tried to keep me away from Africa…
For weeks before we got here I felt like I was surrounded by rumors of how scary and difficult and dangerous this place is… to be honest they made me really anxious and scared.
Then there were the plane troubles… did I ever mention I’m really afraid of flying? Sure I’ve been flying by myself since I was five and I’ve been on half a dozen 10+ hour flights but it still freaks me out. So I start pumping myself up for the flight and then as soon as we start pulling away from the gate- the power goes off. Shoot. Well it flickers back on after a minute and the captain assures us we are going to be fine… so we back up some more, and the right engine fails. Eventually we get all the problems worked out and get up in the air only to sit through one of the bumpiest rides ever.
When we landed in Kenya I was overcome with excitement and joy and I was just floored by how beautiful and awesome this place is. The people are incredibly friendly, the children are the cutest we’ve seen yet, the landscape is gorgeous and the atmosphere is just incredible.
But then the sicknesses hit… my teammate has a very serious type of malaria, as does another person on our squad- but they are both being treated and are going to be just fine. We also just found out another girl on the squad now has typhoid. I’ve been having some aches and pains and problems sleeping but nothing big.
There is so much working against us here, so many things screaming at me- Get out of Africa! You don’t want to be here! It isn’t worth it! You want to go home! You miss people! Think of how comfortable you would be- your own bed instead of the floor, your own car instead of a public bus, your own food instead of this stuff… but I am not going to listen. Our first weekend here showed me that this is where I am supposed to be. I instantly bonded with a group of kids our first day here and I want to spend every second of this month with them. More than that, the church service here touched me in an unexpected way. We all know that I don’t dance, I can’t dance and I don’t like to dance, but in church this Sunday I danced for hours and worshipped God with such joy it was unbelievable. I wish I could describe the passion these people worship with but it is just something you have to experience for yourself- and I hope you all do.
Let’s end this blog on a miracle, shall we? I have a list of goals for the year and one of them was met this Sunday. As the worship was winding down our reverend went up to the front and was singing and speaking in tongues… in Hebrew… He said:
“Father… Good morning… Thank You… Come, come, come, come, come. Give, give, give, give, give. “Father…. Good Morning… Father! Thank You… God who comes, comes, comes, comes, comes. Who gives, gives, gives, gives, gives.”
I freaked. It was awesome. At lunch I asked him if he spoke Hebrew, he laughed his deep Mufasa laugh and said no. He was floored when I told him what he has been praying. At dinner he told his wife in front of me (Mama Ruth as she likes to be called) and her eyes welled with tears as she hugged me and repeated over and over again, “Thank you baby girl, thank you.”
I love these people. I love Kenya. I am so glad I am here and I chose not to listen to the deceiving voices screaming at me to stay far, far away from Africa.
