This week has flown by. Sadly my time here in Africa is drawing to a close. Even though I’m excited about what’s coming next I’ll miss it here. We have been busy gearing up for a two day training event for the teachers from the care centers.
One of the hardest things about this year has been the loss of freedom. I’ve lost my car, we have lived in dangerous places where we can’t leave at night and always have to walk with a guy. One of the best things about Swaziland is that some of that freedom has been restored. Here it’s safe to walk without a male escort.
Our home is beautiful and secluded; we live on a cattle ranch, down a long, dirt road that leads up to the base of the Lymbobo (sp?) Mountains, which divide South Africa and Swaziland.
Most days we return from ministry around 5:00 pm. Every night I walk around camp, asking everyone if they will walk with me. (Even though I have some freedom, I still can’t walk alone here.) With out fail some one, usually Emilie, takes pity on me and agrees to come. At that point I dive into my awkward, broken tent, switch my warn out flip flops for tennies and my ministry skirt for a pair of pants.
(My tent, check out the Zebras in the background)
I’m always excited to get going. It’s beautiful, the sunset, the mountain range huge and close, the acacia trees. After some of the places we have lived this year I’ve learned to appreciate beauty. Without fail about 5 minutes into the walk the neighborhood kids run up yelling, “Morigun, Morigun,” incredibly excited. I still find it funny that they are so excited just to walk with us, they are genuinely fascinated by everything we do.
Then they start in with the “What is this game.” They point at an object, ask, “What is this?” I respond very clearly and slowly, “This is a bucket.” They all try to say the word bucket, and then break into a chorus of giggles.
Most nights I crack my self up. I feel like power walking is a form of exercise better reserved for middle age moms (no offense), and I sometimes even swing my arms like the best mall walkers. The kids all copy me. If I swing my arms they do to. It makes me laugh so hard to watch a group of 3-12 year old African children power walking.
The best part of the walks is when they sing. They go through every song that they know in English. Even though I am sick of children’s songs by that point in the day, my heart is warmed that they want to communicate badly enough to sing “head, shoulders, knees and toes.” My favorite is when the sing to me in Swsati. It’s beautiful; I think that the children here have an innate ability to harmonize.
After two miles towards towering mountains, and two miles back towards the Sunset, I reach the gate to the property we are living on. At that point they begin to wave and say “bye, bye.” Every night I say “Good bye my friends.” The last few nights they have picked up on that and responded with, “Good bye friend.”
I return back to camp refreshed. My legs a little tingly, my face flushed by the cool evening air, my body relaxed, and my priorities a more in line. After living in places where going anywhere was taking my life in my hands, I hope that I never overlook the simple joy of being able to walk with friends.
