When I thought about South Africa, and really Africa in general, I had an image of hot desert, and golden plains of dry grass- much like the stereotypical images portrayed in “The Gods Must Be Crazy”. To be honest I even imagined myself a bit like the heroine: a privileged American, sick of the hustle and bustle of everyday life in a big city, who decides to trade it all for a “simpler lifestyle” to be a missionary to those in need. I imagined myself going into the barren land to preach to the bush people, still only covered in loin cloths and speaking in a click language (called Tolsa, I think?). How naive of me. Of course what I am actually experiencing here in South Africa is nothing close to that description. First of all, the scenery is gorgeous. South Africa is full of beauty next to beauty . The places I have stayed are incredibly green and lush, with calming rivers and streams, and when you are driving down the road you can see rolling hills and mountains on one side of the car and look to the other to see beautiful turquoise oceans capped with white foam upon orange rocks. The birds chirp and sing happily and even the summer rain seems to sing as it falls, playing on the leaves, grass, and roof as it hits. The air is fresh and at night the stars shine bright as you stare in wonder of the constellations like the Southern Cross.
But the beauty is not contained to just the landscape. One of the most beautiful, if not the most beautiful parts of Africa, are the brilliantly white smiles that are wonderfully contrasted by the brown and black faces. This wonderful smile, a reflection of the inward beauty of the heart of the people, greets you immediately with hospitality and welcome. It is always followed by an inquisition to make sure you were and are being received well, and usually an offer of some type of invitation. In all of my experiences the people have been incredibly friendly, and open and excited to share about their lives and hear more about mine. In all the countries on the Race so far, I have never received as many hugs and sincere words of thanks for my words and presence.
Friemersheim is the name of the small country town that we lived in, and its name is entirely appropriate. It is a German name that means “House of Friends”, and with all the welcome and smiles and accommodation we received, I know I can truly say that the city as a whole is my friend. I would be so happy to return one day and greet all the people who I was lucky enough to encounter and invest in. We had our own house, that I was able to dedicate to the Race by painting a mural on the inside- and it acted as a little bit of an initiation as we were the first team to stay and do ministry there.
A wonderful, incredibly candid and sometimes hilariously unfiltered, South African man named Lyndon lived with us, cooking huge and tasty meals (like LAMB yay!) and drove us back and forth to our ministry sites every day. He is so invested in blessing World Racers that he moved his entire family from Cape Town to Jeffrey’s bay, and then devoted the entire month to be away from his family to live with us and get us situated in Friemersheim. His wife poured blessings of prayer and spiritual wisdom and encouragement over us, and even treated us to a free day in the Floating Salt Pool in the spa that she works in. They loved us, and loved us well- more like family than friends.
The friends and family circle extended beyond our hosts to the churches, our community of Christ. There are three churches all next to each other in a row on the same street, and being almost right next to them, I could always hear the loud, harmonious, singing coming from all of them on Sunday mornings. In South Africa, I find that people are not afraid to worship and they often worship loudly with all their heart and lungs. Their enthusiasm and vigor to praise the Lord was inspiring. We were constantly being tugged at by the surrounding churches and had the great problem of having too many to attend. Every night of the week we were invited to a Youth Group, service, or activity of some sort, and could never find time for them all, but eventually ended up with four familiar churches that we could somewhat patron: “the brown church”, “the big white church on the corner”, and two other churches in nearby Grutbrak that were titled “Pastor Leon’s church- the church on the hill” and “the youth group church”. Each one holds a special place in my heart for different reasons. Between the churches, the preschools, the elementary schools, the high schools, sports and exercise ministry, and working at the prison, we were well in demand, and had the opportunity to be loved by and to love on so many facets of the community.
I will miss my lovely Friemershiem: the cows that wander the street parking themselves in people’s lawns as they please, the clothes flapping in the breeze on the clotheslines, and the yappy intimidating dogs that would pretend to threaten us. I will miss the quiet times being able to sit on the bleachers or the back porch to watch the sunsets over the mountain. I will miss getting lost on the hilly roads in pursuit of a good run (and getting way more exercise than we intended after we have to climb back up them), and I will even miss the brown water that makes the rivers (and our bathtub) look like they are filled with Coke because of a plant that dyes it. I will miss the crazy gramma that gave us broccoli and bell peppers , the friendly neighborhood YWAM leaders ( Jacques and Guston) that took us on a nature hike, the way we could take walks around the neighborhood until 3am and feel completely safe, and how the pastor can leave his car unlocked with valuables inside and not worry about theft. I will miss the kids that would literally come running after our car and sit outside of our house to play and say hi, the neighbors that would wave at us from their porches as we passed by, how we could just walk into people’s homes being welcomed and they could come into ours to color, sing, or drink tea. I will miss the guys that walk down the street with their boom box playing as they saunter to their own theme songs, and the aunties that would smile and laugh with us in Afrikaans even though we had no idea what they were saying. Yes. I will miss my house of friends. And I cannot wait to see them again one day in heaven. Thank you Freimersheim, thank you South Africa, and thank you God, for pleasantly surprising me with a month that in no way fulfilled any of my expectations.
