Friday, August 1, 2008

AFRICA

How could I have let my passion for Africa lie dormant for so long? It's been five years today since I returned from Zimbabwe from 2 months of adventure. I have always had a special place in my heart for Africa and this has not been forgotten but the specific people I spent so much time bonding with in 2003 somehow escaped my memory or perhaps I unknowingly pushed them away, knowing that the thoughts of them would hurt too much. The dam finally broke last night and I was amazed at how much I had forgotten.

I went to see a movie with my friend, Joe, last night, called The Long Way Down. It's about Ewan MacGregor and his best friend, Charley Boorman, who both drive their motorcycles from Scotland to Cape Town, Africa (15, 000 miles in two months). Observing them traipse through Africa's countries and hearing the heart-wrenching stories of the people they meet (often the victims of genocide) made me long to be there myself. I wanted to hug those kids and talk with them for hours. I was aching to return to Africa, and I was yearning to revisit my photos when I went home that night.

As soon as I rushed through the door to my apartment, I grabbed my Zimbabwe album from the shelf and laid down on the couch. I couldn't believe it had been a year, possibly more, since I had even opened it. I found that the photos of my Westgate girls (the girls I lived with at the newly opened home for orphans) were familiar once again. I could recall each personality vividly. Other photos I pored over seemed new to me, as if some person in another life had taken them.

It was bittersweet to see the pictures of people I'd met that summer. Seeing the girls wasn't so hard because I get updates about them often, from Glen Miller (leader of Hands of Hope, the organization I traveled with), who still visits them once a year. But, as I turned the pages in my album to my favorite place in Zimbabwe, my heart leapt in my throat. Photos taken during my two weeks spent at "Just Children Foundation", with its hundreds of ragged, smiling children, greeted my eyes. This place that provided shelter for hundreds of children, in order to keep them off of the streets, had been a haven for me. I looked forward to each morning as if it was Christmas. I spent hours there, sitting with those kids, talking, drawing, playing, singing, teaching. We developed friendships that ached our hearts to sever. And yet, how could I have forgotten about these kids after five years?

I feel guilty that they haven't been in my prayers everyday, that I'll never know what happened to them, that I didn't do enough for them in the little time we had together. All I did was sit and talk to them and then I left after a few weeks to go back home to this rich garden of opportunity and wealth we call America. Reading the letters some of those children had written to me made the ache hurt even more. They said that they would miss me so much and love me always and that I was their only true friend. I miss them so much, I can't stand it!


God, why do I have this desire to go if I can't? Is it You or me who is preventing this passage? I want to be there like I need to breathe and yet I feel trapped and caged here in my present circumstances. Don't get me wrong- I feel that everyday is incredibly valuable here in San Jose. I feel that I have purpose in everything that I've been given and I'm grateful. I love my job, I love the friends I've made, I love my Bible Study girls and I feel blessed to be ministering to them each week. It's not that I don't love it here, it's that my heart is torn between 2 loves and one is continents away and it feels unattainable.

I vow this day to remember you Prince, Tinotenda, Stephen, Trymore. I will pray for you constantly and will make your stories known. I think it's finally time to write my book...

"Now that I have seen, I am responsible. Faith without deeds is dead. Now that I have held you, in my own arms, I cannot let go til you are... I will tell the world, I will tell them where I've been. I will keep my word..."- lyrics from Albertine, by Brooke Fraser