Dessert for Breakfast.

Last night I baked. I had friends over. We laughed and smiled. We ate ice cream with forks and watched Youtube videos.

I felt joy. 

I have missed friendship.

I thought of something I read the other day, “Find someone that can make you laugh and don’t give up on them”.

I hope they don’t give up on me.

Long after they left I sat alone…

I thought. I hurt. I questioned. I tried to understand anything. Plucking at my guitar I sang for what felt like hours.

Music heals me. Kind of like chocolate and friends…kind of like being loved.

                                                                                                                     

This morning I drank tea with my best friend. I shared my heart with her. It was beautiful.

I felt hope. Hope in the freedom of finally being able to confess hopelessness. 

I have missed friendship.

I thought, "Find someone you can be transparent with and don't give up on them".

I hope she doesn’t give up on me.

Hours after we left I found myself suddenly bent over in front of my mirror. Forcing myself to stand up, forcing myself to breathe.

“You are beautiful. You are strong.” I found myself repeating the words to myself over again and again under the vague hope that repetition eventually leads to truth.

It doesn’t.

                                                                                                                      

So I did the only thing I could. I pulled out the left over memories from the night before. Pumpkin spice fall crunch cake, made with friendship and giggles.  And I cut out a piece…

Because…well sometimes you just need to eat dessert for breakfast. 
 

I found Jesus during Ramadan.

As I sit here on my back porch writing, the hum of my computer is drowned out by the symphony of birds singing mixed with the occasional interruption of a rooster cry.  I find myself giggling as I watch our chickens pluck at the ground and strut back and forth, and my heart is filled with memories of the past few weeks. I haven’t written in far too long, and though there are many adventures I could record right now, I would like to choose something simple, beautiful, and unexpected.

I found Jesus during Ramadan.

Sitting on the floor of our friend Ally’s small house, one circle of the girls, one circle of the boys. Eating beans, fish, chapatti, rice patties, roots, sweet potatoes, and peppered porage with our fingers. No utensils, no plates. Just food, family, Allah, Jesus, and love.

Amazing.

Two white, Christian, American girls, welcomed into the arms of a Muslim family, the beaming face of Ally’s mother as she watches us enjoy her cooking and as she encourages us to eat more and more, the giggling of Ally’s brothers and sisters as they watch Happy stuff her face, the calming peace after the meal as we all sit with full stomachs loving across culture and religion.

This is beautiful. This is love. This is what Jesus is all about. 

I wish America could see this. I wish they would show this on the news.

I serve a God that transcends religion. I serve a God that is love. Love is not limited to Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, or Hinduism.

Love is Love, and I just want to be in the middle of it.

Thank you Jesus for Ramadan.

Tears in the Darkness.

Last night Happy and I were alone in our home for the night. As I lay in my bed I was startled by sudden desperate cries drifting through the darkness. I quickly ran into Happy’s room and scooped the little tear stained girl up into my arms, rocking her and assuring her that she was safe and that it was only a dream (looks like I’m not the only one with nightmares here). Her little face buried into my chest as I carried her to my bed and let her crawl under the covers with me. I put on part of a Disney movie in hopes that it would replace any dark scary thoughts with light and giggles. I then put on some calming piano music in hopes that she would fall asleep…

Here I lay on my back with this precious child in my arms, her head nestled into my chest and one of her little hands wrapped tightly around my finger. I could feel the soft steady rise and fall of her breathing as her other hand searched for mine under the covers. Once she found it she held on tightly stroking my thumb with her tiny little fingers... 

This was the moment.

The moment when the tears came.

Silent. Steady. They slid down my face into the darkness.

My thoughts were simple, my emotion helpless as I realized this shouldn’t be me. I shouldn’t be the one holding this little girl in the middle of the night. Her hands shouldn’t be wrapped around mine, they should be wrapped around her mothers.

But Happy doesn’t have a mother…or a father…she has lost all of her family.

Happy is an orphan.

I have always known this, knew this months before coming here, knew it the day I arrived. And yet…

Sometimes we know something but it doesn’t truly become realized, it doesn’t truly become a reality until…a moment. A precious and powerful moment.

This was my moment. 

I knew Happy was an orphan...

I placed her back into her crib for the night and crawled back into my bed alone.  Here I longed for someone to scoop me up, wipe away my tears, hold my head to their chest and tell me that this was all just a bad dream…

But I knew it wasn't.   

So I let the tears come.

Today I...

Today I...

-Did Yoga on my porch
-Prayed
-Drank Tea
-Woke up Happy
-Made Happy tea
-Gave Happy a sticker for peeing in her little toilet
-Changed Happy 
-Made breakfast with Happy
-Did dishes
-Swept the house
-Did laundry outside while Happy played in the dirt
-Changed Happy 
-Danced with Happy
-Danced with Onesmo, Amy, and Happy
-Laughed with Mama Onesmo about all the dancing
-Made Lunch for Happy
-Gave Onesmo and Amy cookies and milk
-Did more dishes
-Changed another diaper
-Put Happy down for a nap
-Put in a Disney movie for Onesmo
-Read Velvet Elvis
-Played guitar
-Sat on my porch
-Sang
-Visited with Juma
-Played more guitar
-Woke up Happy
-Went on a walk with Happy and Onesmo
-Picked oranges
-Had a sword fight with Onesmo
-Beat Onesmo at a sword fight
-Made Happy and Onesmo dinner
-Played soccer with an orange in the house while cooking Happy and Onesmo dinner
-Did more dishes
-Welcomed the rest of my African family into my home
-Cut up water melon and made popcorn for my family
-Sat in front of the fire with my family eating watermelon and popcorn
-Showed Gabriel our dance videos from earlier that day
-Laughed with my family
-Said goodnight to my family
-Did more dishes
-Sat down
-Was encouraged by my friends at home
-Got goodnight kisses from a giggly Happy through my mosquito net
-Was thankful
-Was loved

Today has been...hard.

Right now I am sitting on my mosquito netted bed writing this blog while hyenas howl off in the distance and the beating of an African drum drifts through my house.

Today has been...hard.

So far this week we have already had to go into Arusha twice, take Happy to the doctors, and visit markets close by. And well...I was hit with a harsh realization. A lot of the Africans do not want me here. I am white. I am from America. And well...Some people here will never forgive me for that.

At one of the smaller markets closer to our house, Ksusha and I tried to buy some eggs (there was an entire crate of them sitting in front of our face) and the lady simply waved us away and said they weren't for sale. They weren't for sale...because we were white. Walking with Happy in town stirs mixed emotions as well.  While an American may sigh at the sight of two white girls carrying around a black orphan baby, an African may give us a dirty look letting us know that they don't "need" or "want" our help. It is amazing how easily the words "why don't you go back from where you came from, you don't belong here" can be communicated in just about any culture without the use of words at all (how often do we communicate, "You are welcome, you are loved, come and stay a while" without a language?). It has been made clear to me that the people still carry a lot of hurt and painful memories here.

Should this upset me? How should I feel about this? Is this the part where I pack up my bags say, "Ok fine, I will leave. Thanks for the hospitality, I'll go love on someone else.", or is this when i just love harder, love more, love deeper, and try to show these people that love transcends negative comments, hurtful looks, skin color, and painful memories? That love stays no matter what?

...

I don't know.

Today has been...hard.

A Deliciously Repulsive Breakfast.

It's amazing how a delicious morning breakfast of tea, whole milk, biscuits, and fresh mango can become repulsive in 0.2 seconds. The 0.2 seconds that it takes you to realize (once you've finished eating almost an entire mango) that you just ate worms. Little white squirming and very alive worms. I swear I can feel them crawling around my stomach. For some reason Ksusha finds this whole situation much more humorous than I do. Oh well, when in Africa.

A Trip In The Night.

It's official. Melarome and I are NOT friends (my malaria medication). I write this with heavy eye lids and fluttering anxiety inside my chest.

Last night I laid in bed for hours alternating between praying, thinking, and reading. Eventually I must have drifted off into some type of sleep (not sure if you can call it that since sleep is supposed to be a restful state) because I would toss and turn coming to from some sort of twisted dream.  This happens all night long, a dream like state filled with anxiety and sadness that leads to confusion when I suddenly realize I am awake staring into the darkness of my mosquito net wondering if I ever was asleep at all. I found myself longing to see the glow of morning light and to taste the comfort I know it will bring for the 3rd night in a row now.  In the middle of one of these seemingly endless cycles, Tangawezi (our dog) began barking. I became convinced that someone was trying to break into our house. "Ksusha" I whispered to the bunk below me, "Tangawezi is barking, I think someone is outside". Surprisingly she coherently responded assuring me that this was normal, that he was probably just barking at the moon, and that even if there was someone outside, that all the doors were locked and we were safe. While her argument made complete logical sense, I was adamantly convinced that she was wrong and had no idea what she was talking about.

My mind raced trying to keep up with my imagination (which was now in a full out sprint). I was absolutely convinced that as I lay frozen in my little top bunk, that someone had walked through our front door (obviously Ksusha must have thought she locked it but forgotten), and was currently stealing everything I owned. My computer was what filled me with the most anxiety (how was I going to keep in touch with everyone back home?). I was certain the thief already had it in his grasp as he searched through all my belongings in the other room. I could almost hear him rummaging through my medicine box (thanks to my "be prepared for anything" Harold of a father). "Great" I thought, "He's probably stealing my malaria medicine to sell because it's so flippin expensive!" (maybe that would be for the best come to think of it...) "I'm sure he's found my wallet by now and is taking all my money and my debit card..Great. Wait, where is my wallet anyway? Oh yes, in my back packing backpack...OH NO!!!" Now pure panic truly strikes, "That's where my chocolate is!!!" The thought of this midnight criminal eating my precious chocolate bars sends me into desperate hopelessness and a feeling of unavoidable defeat.

Somewhere in the midst of this ridiculous thought process my mind must have switched to it's dream like "sleep" state, because I am now alternating between trying to convince my brother not to murder someone, illegally making espresso (why making espresso is suddenly illegal and making normal crappy coffee is legal is beyond me, but then again why in the world is Zac trying to shoot someone?), and avoiding rapid gunfire by diving behind giant army made tortuous (teenage mutant ninja turtles on steroids perhaps? ...didn't see any nun chucks though...bummer. Come on Melarome!).

Although i write this now in a much more coherent state of mind (making espresso is obviously not illegal), I was just about 98% certain I was HIV positive this morning. In the fog of this realization (accompanied by a rapid heart beat I couldn't seem to calm down), I was clearly left with no other option but to open a 60% Ghirardelli dark chocolate bar (which surprisingly was untouched by last night's perpetrator...huh) and eat it while staring blankly off into the distance thinking of how I would now never be able to have children of my own, and that I could now never get married...

For those of you confused reading this, let me answer a few questions in case any clarification is needed:

-Did someone break into my house last night? No. 
 -Am I HIV positive? No.
-Is our government currently creating real life teenage mutant ninja turtles? Possibly.
-Am I seriously considering stopping my Malaria medication ASAP before I have a mental breakdown or do something completely ridiculous in the middle of the night? Yes.