I had a lot of expectations coming to Africa. I came to feed “the hungry.” I came to care
for “the sick.” Really, I just wanted to love “the broken people.”
That sounded simple to me.
I have a lot of love to give, and I know that there are a lot of sick,
hungry, broken people here. It’s easy to
look at a social justice issue as just an issue. My heart went out to the
people of Africa so I gave up four months to deal with the “issue” at
hand.
But I have began to ask myself who are “the hungry”? And who
isn’t sick?
This isn’t an issue to me any more. Here’s what I’ve realized: when you look into
the faces of “the hungry” and “the broken,” you don’t see them as that. I see
them as individuals, as friends, as children of my Heavenly Father. We’ve been able to
build relationships, to bring food to mamas who can’t feed their children, to
pay to have a roof patched that will cave in when rainy season hits.
When I look at “the people” here, I don’t see a poor, broken
woman, I see my friend Beatrice, who lost her oldest son last month and is now
doing whatever it takes to keep her 2 younger ones alive without a husband or a
job.
I don’t see a naughty little girl who never speaks, I see
Ruth, a sweet 3-year-old desperate for love after losing so much.
This isn’t about charity. It’s about relationships. I swam in the disgusting, poop-filled Nairobi
River three times now. If my friends
Juliet, Maureen and Kevine can dive in and enjoy it, then I am determined to as
well. It doesn’t even cross my mind how
repulsive the river is because I am relishing in my friendships.
There’s no better feeling than passing the school right as
it lets out for lunch and having my friends run to me, screaming my name,
hugging me and pulling on my hair. I
love not having enough fingers for every one of my friends to hold one. Even when I am really tired and finally in
for some rest, part of me loves hearing my friends call for me over the wall
because I know that it’s real. I know
that they’re not just my friends but I am theirs.
