The Freedom I Found in Freetown

(journal excerpt from April 7)

As we bounce and skid across the water, getting splashed by the cool spray of the bay that has been the backdrop of my life these last seven months, I can still see the lingering faces of those who have been in the forefront of my life—the landscape and the people who make up the wonderfully colorful painting of the freedom I found in Freetown. Faces of those I have lived with and learned from, gained wisdom and given support. Faces of those I have loved more deeply than I knew possible in seven short months. And faces of those I will never forget. I bump and bounce to a rhythm I reckon I will never quite dance to again and deep feeling of peace drowns out the techno/reggae music blaring from the speakers on the water taxi taking me across to the Lungi peninsula where the airport will beckon my final departure.

I take a deep breath of the cool salty sea air. The last week has been a blur. A blur of moments I wished would stand still, yet moments of great celebration and closure. Celebrations of Easter, good-byes and farewells blessed me with joy in celebrating this season of life, which has undoubtedly seasoned my life forever.

The beginning of the coming end started when Gwen and I celebrated the Messianic Passover with about forty people from our neighborhood and church. As a symbol of closure for Jesus and His disciples and preparation for what would come, I felt the night offering me a similar experience. As I knelt on the hard ground, my knees aching from the rough surface, I washed the feet of those who have served me, expressing my appreciation in a way I could never express in words. Mohammed, our day guard, whose faithfulness and steadfast smile brightens my day each morning, welcomes me home each afternoon and cares for and protects the place I’ve come to call home. Abraham, Abubakar and Desmond, the night guards, who diligently deny sleep, so I can sleep soundly each night. Marie, who tirelessly keeps our lives in order, clean and prepared, without ever a hint of resentment. Their feet are tough and calloused by the realities of their lives. Deeply marked by the strain of the load they must bear. The soap and water mean little, but I pray the act spoke louder than words ever could.

I shared my meal that night with the family that has become my own. The Wilson pikin have taken me in as aunty, Henrietta has taken me in as sister. We share in the bitter herbs of Israel’s enslavement and the sweet honey of God’s saving power. We drink together from the cup of sorrow and the cup of joy – cups we all taste in life in one time or another, although they look drastically different. We drink together from the cup offered to us by our Lord as the promises of eternal life, eternal togetherness. I felt the relief of knowing that life is bitter and sweet, sorrowful and joyful – yet always full of promises. I still don’t know why these with whom I eat and drink live a life so much more difficult than my own. Why I have dreams and opportunities that will be realized? Why I have comforts and assurances that I can always fall back on?  I am leaving this place for another chapter, another experience, another opportunity - while the hardships, challenges and strains of this life are their reality. Yet although I don’t understand it, I know the promises are the same for us all. We are all equal and precious and cherished in His eyes.

Sometimes I feel guilty or shameful for even saying that. The weight of what I have weighs me down, the unanswered questions of why pull me farther and farther away from the assurance of that promise. The heavy questions that are strung together like heavy beads on a frail chain that I anticipated from the first day I arrived. Beads that are so old, their origin is unknown and their answers never to be found. Beads that are a nuisance because of the weight that they carry. But then I am reminded that from what I have, I am able to give. As the weekend unfolded, the beads were lifted from around my neck. They are still just as heavy, just maybe not my burden to always bear.

Saturday was filled with the sweet sounds of songs and laughter of all my pikin! We had an Easter celebration and farewell to Aunty Crissa party for Pikin Club. Between songs and games and dying Easter eggs each pikin drew a picture for me which I have bound in a book and bound in my heart. Their proud faces as they each presented me with their picture are burned into my heart and memory forever. Sunday brought a celebration of Christ’s resurrection set to the tune of Krio worship I pray will continue to ring in my ears. An evening of fellowship with the international community who have brought me such wisdom, such friendship, ended the perfect weekend of celebration with all I’ve held dear. And just prior to departure, I received the gift of recognition for all I have done and all I have been on a team fighting the evil of modern day slavery in this country. Recognition of the encouragement and inspiration I was able to bring and the capacity I was able to build.

Pikin Club Farewell Party!

 last day at church with all my pikin!

our walk home from church

 my wonderful Scan Drive housemates!

So instead of feeling guilt and shame for what I may have that others lack, I hope and pray I have loved everyone in my path in ways I could only love because of all I have been given. I live and love out of the overflow and abundance of the life and love I have received. While the questions are not answered, learning to love lifts the burden. And it is by learning to love that I have found Freedom in Freetown. A freedom that is now letting me go.

It rained last night. I mean really rained. It rained like it did when I first arrived. With the roar of thunder, the roar of the lion, Sierra Leone, who welcomed me to this country and is now bidding me farewell.

My prayer was that God would bring me to a place of peace in this transition, and that He has. As I skid across the water, getting farther and farther from my beloved Freetown, I still see the lingering faces of those I have loved. The faces of those I hugged and waved good-bye, of my incredible housemates Heleen, Roz, Ashton, Gwen and Janet – who taught me things they thought I should know about life in Africa and gave me wisdom they may not have even known they have. And the tears I wiped away from the cheeks of the Wilson girls, who taught me that love can transcend cultures and understanding runs deeper than the surface of our realities. The sights and sounds, the names and faces of this country are an array of color splashed in simple, beautiful, messy, chaos across a page of my life that I will cherish forever. A page of my life that will color every page hereafter.

 how did I ever say goodbye?