...And I'm missing them.

And I guess I'm missing them. Sometimes the missing is small an unnoticeable, and sometimes the missing is so big that my heart begins to tremble and shake in a violent type of storm that threatens to shed tears because the ache of missing is so terrible. Right now I miss them terribly.

I don't know what it is. I miss the feel of their Ebony skin against my Ivory. I miss their big smiles during times of games and laughter. I miss the small hand that would slip into mine in a tight grasp. I miss the words spoken that I couldn't understand. I miss the dirt constantly covering my feet, and the water never being warm. I miss my family there and singing with the girls in the kitchen. I miss seeing Jesus in every person, in every widow, in every child. I miss who I was there. I miss the fact that I am changing and growing and a big part of me is missing because it is there. And the only thing I do is give it to Him and trust and know that He is taking care of them, just as He is taking care of me. it's just hard. So tonight I reminisce.


Journal Entries:

11/1/2012

I inhale, breathing deep the smells that surround me. Dirt and fields, and the smell of too many bodies pushed together flood my senses. To my right, the only other white person in the crowd of 25 scrunched together in the DalaDala. To my left and elderly man; smaller than my nephew, and he smells of baby powder. An on my lap sits a school-aged girl,  I do not know. I breathe in again wanting to remember this forever and let the sense fill my nose. This is Africa. This is Tanzania.

11/2/2012

We pass by a sign "a billion reasons to believe in Africa." a billion things I think, seeing a young boy digging through garbage and holding up a bottle someone has carelessly tossed away. One man's trash is a child's treasure. The dirt sticks to my sandaled feet, giving the appearance that my skin is darker than it actually is. I wipe it away, but realize my feet will never be clean. This is Africa. This is Tanzania.

11/3/2012

I watch as she rolls the dough around in the metal bowl with her strong hands. A simple task I would do at home with a machine, takes almost an hour by hand. We simplify everything with machines. I help roll the dough into balls. It sticks to my fingers and Mama and Mary laugh at how slow I am. The whole process takes 3 house. 3 hours just to cook one things. The coals are hot at my feet and the oil pops and burns my skin. It's just another day for them but an experience for me. Making Chipati. This is Africa. This is Tanzania.

11/6/2012

I walk the edge of the road looking for the DalaDala stop. 5 men come up to me, one is tall and friendly looking, the others short, one wears a colored stocking cap. They are shouting town names at me and other words in Swahili. "Tunaenda Kisesa" I say. One man grips my arm tight and pulls me toward a bus. "Kisesa" he says with a sly smirk on his face. The tall man from before grabs my hand and steps between me and the fox-faced man. "NO, not Kisesa" in broken English this man has helped me. Has kept me safe. Even though we're strangers. This is Africa. This is Tanzania. 


I get this strange feeling when I'm about to leave a place. It's like I know I'll not only miss the people I love but I'll miss the person I am now because I'll never be this way again.



Remembering,


 His and yours,

   Cami