i wonder as i wander...

(thoughts from London, April 8)

As I rise from the depth of the underground tube I can feel the burst of cold air against my skin.  It is a stunning sensation that shocks my senses - the first of many. The air is cold, but the sky is clear. It is a beautiful crisp spring day in the hustling bustling city of London. The kind of day where cheeks glow red above scarfed necks and the warmth of breath can still faintly be seen in the air. The crisp air feels clean and fresh, my skin tight and dry.

The western world welcomes me in only the most appropriate way. At the top of the escalator, straight ahead, I am greeted by a Starbucks.

yes, I bought that sweater at "the junks" in Freetown for $2.50 (and it's lambswool) just for London ;)

As I sip my grande americano with half inch of steamed soy (certainly not words understood by Krio or English speakers from where I have just come) I watch as a busy world of order buzzes around me. Cars, buses, taxi cabs speed by on green, stop on red, and stay in their assigned lane with only the occasional beep of a horn. I feel as though I understand less in this world of order than in the beautiful, messy, chaos of Freetown. I just stand in wonder, not quite sure what to think, what to feel.

There are white people everywhere. The latest styles and fashions displayed on walking mannequins, straightened hair framing made-up faces. Everyone with somewhere to go, somewhere to be, bags in hand labeled with names and brands - some I recognize but had forgotten, some I don't.

No one stares at me. No one calls out to me. No one takes notice of me at all. For the last seven months I've been the center of attention...now I'm nobody.

I wander for a bit. I sit in a park where a crowd has gathered around street performers. I walk though an outdoor art market and buy some crisp fresh pears at a farmers market stall. I eat a measly little bowl of minestrone soup and foccacia bread that probably cost the equivalent of eight to ten heaping plates of rice and sauce. Yet it warms me from the inside out. I see a stunning performance of Billy Elliot, front row for half price. It is a beautiful day and I spend it doing all the things I love.

But how? How do I love this day and love yesterday when they don't even resemble the same planet? How do I not feel like I'm being selfish and overly indulgent? And what do I do if I am? It was only yesterday I held little Euphemia in my arms, kissed little Letty on the head, hugged Samretta and Henrietta with tears in my eyes, waved good-bye to my wonderful housemates on the platform as the water taxi took me speeding away. Only yesterday? Today is a different life, a different world. And tomorrow will be a different place, a different day, yet again.

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?

through my eyes

As I prepare to find closure in the midst of a dream I don't want to wake from, I often find myself just closing my eyes and reliving the moments, the memories, the sights and the sounds of these past months.

Join me on my journey through my eyes. Nicole Chin just did an incredible job posting some of the images I will take with me forever from this beautiful country and beautiful people on my website www.thecallingvoice.com (you can also read a few of the stories I have writen.) Enjoy!

His daughters

 

"My daughter,

You may not know me, but I know everything about you.  I know when you sit down and when you rise up, I am familiar with all your ways.  Even the very hairs on your head are numbered.  For you were made in my image.

In me you live and move and have your being.  For you are my offspring.  I knew you even before you were conceived.  I chose you when I planned creation.  You were not a mistake, for all your days are written in my book…

My thoughts toward you are countless as the sand on the seashore.  And I rejoice over you with singing.  I will never stop doing good for you.  For you are my treasured possession.

I desire to establish you with all my heart and all my soul.  And I want to show you great and marvelous things.  If you seek me with all your heart, you will find me.  Delight in me and I will give you the desires of your heart.  For it is I who gave you those desires." 

As I sit on the floor reading these words to the girls who surround me I can’t help but pause for a moment, close my eyes, and let the words speak to my soul too.  Words of truth that we rarely hear amidst the voices that tell us different. 

"I am your greatest encourager, and also the Father who comforts you in all your troubles.  When you are brokenhearted, I am close to you.  As a shepherd carries a lamb, I have carried you close to my heart.  One day I will wipe away every tear from your eyes.  And I’ll take away all the pain you have suffered on this earth..."

I look up and into the eyes of each of the girls.  Five of them surround me - Samretta, Salimatu, Mariama, Adama and Debie.  They all turn away when my eye catches theirs.  But they don’t giggle as they often do when you ask them something about themselves.  They hear it, I can see it in their faces.

Heleen and I have invited the older girls in the neighborhood to come each Saturday for an afternoon of discovering the beauty in which we were each created as special and unique women and then using painting or drawing to reflect it.  These young women are all between 13 and 17 and have already lost any childhood innocence they once had. 

Women in this society are good for two things.  To cook and have babies.  While the culture and society is progressing towards women’s rights and equality the message is still so clear, so bleak.  It can be seen in the number of young, husbandless girls pregnant with their second or third baby.  It can be seen in the emotionless face, straining to carry a large load on her head up our steep hill, a baby on her back, calling out the food she’s trying to sell for mere pennies. It can be seen in the way these girls turn away and giggle nervously when asked anything about themselves.  Life as a women is hard in this country.  To live up to the roles you are forced to keep. Your value based on how well you can fulfill these roles in one of the most difficult economic environments in the world.

But today these girls heard a different message.  One of the beauty in which they hold.  We had them stand in front of a mirror and then paint self-portraits.  It is incredible.  They love it. 

We plan to do little art projects each week and put them together into a book the girls can keep.  A treasure they can hold on to, to help remember the sparkle they are in their Father’s eye.

Please help me pray for these young women.  That they would truly know their worth – not defined by this world but by their Father in heaven.  That they would gain new revelation of how they deserve to be treated and hold tight to this not allowing anyone to compromise them.  And that they would gain a deeper understanding of how beautiful and loved they are and learn to love and value themselves.

   Salimatu, Marie, Samaretta, Adama

bitter goodbyes, sweet hellos

I have some exciting news to share--news that makes me anxious with anticipation of new dreams and adventures while at the same time brings me steps closer to the dreaded day of my departure from Sweet Salone. 

I have been given the opportunity to go to Cambodia to work with the WHI anti-trafficking program.  World Hope runs an aftercare home for girls rescued from sex trafficking and prostitution.  I have been asked to do work very similar to what I have been doing here, writing stories of survivors, the work of WHI and to assist with other communications needs.  This is an incredible opportunity and encouragement for me in the work I've been doing.

I have always wanted to see this part of the world and since my passion and work in anti-trafficking, I have  desired to go to Cambodia and directly support the work being done to fight this atrocious bondage so many are forced to live in.

So, I jumped at the opportunity - with only one reservation.  We have decided my time will be most fruitful if I have adequate time to get aquanted and adjusted.  I've been asked to go at the begining of April so I will have at least two months before I need to be back in DC for my dear Betsy and Isaiah's wedding at the beginning of June.  This leaves me only one month more in SL.

I am truly experiencing the definition of mixed feelings.  Part of my heart is ecstatic at the thought of all I will see and do and live and learn in Cambodia - while instantaneously my heart sinks at the thought of having only five short, short weeks left in this country I have grown to love.


I also know this will be a drastic transition.  I will certainly not have time to adequately process all of SL before jumping into Cambodia.  The cultural transition as well as the work will be more than I could ever anticipate.



So I ask for your prayers.  Prayers for peace and not anxiety.  Prayers for time to slow down and not speed up in frenzy.  Prayers for divine understanding and transition.

Tanki, tanki, tanki!  I am so thankful for all the love and support I feel everyday.  I truly feel your prayers and rely on them. 


Here's a little overview of prayer request:
-Prayer for peaceful closure for my time left in SL, that I would be able to accomplish all my work and spend adequate time with those I have created relationships with
-Prayer for a smooth transition and the ability to process one experience while jumping into the next
-Prayer for additional funding for Cambodia

a rhythm of life

Pound, pound, pound, pound, pound…the rhythm continues throughout the day. At times I notice it, but often I don’t. Pound, pound, pound, pound, pound. Even when I hear it, do I really know what it means?  The sweat and effort that goes into every pound. The backbreaking pain of every pound. The never-ending rhythm, hour after hour, day after day--the never-ending pile of stone she is pounding into tiny fragments of gravel. Even when I hear it, do I really know what it means? No. It is but another sound of life. Another desperate attempt to make a little money. At least enough to feed mouths. Pound, pound, pound, pound, pound.

the sounds of sadness

As the coffin dropped into the ground, a slow deep wail filled the silent air as if a swirling wind had brought it up from the grave.  A moan that could be felt stirring deep down in my soul.  The sound of mourning.  I look out across the graveyard built on the slope of Freetown’s hillside in Wilberforce, named for the man who fought to bring Africa back her people, freed, as the mass of people, all dressed in their finest white, surrounding the hole that was now being filled in with earth begin to disperse, making their way down between the grave sites.  The reality of life and death in this country is as fluid as the people walking among the headstones.  In a country where the life expectancy is only 41 years (risen from the lowest in the world in the last three short years) the leading causes of death are from easily preventable and treatable conditions, Anthony Jr. didn’t even make it to the cut off point.  At 38 years he left this world with the gift of two beautiful young boys (2 years and 5 months) and a beautiful young wife (only 21 years) who now must battle the hardships of living in one of the poorest countries in the world, alone. 

Anthony Jr. was one of our night guards.  He would stay awake all night to ensure I got to sleep without worry, without fear.  He was quiet and soft-spoken, with a youthful face and timid smile.  He would bundle up each night as if snow was in the forecast and I would greet him each morning in my athletic gear and tank top to go out for a run, he in his zipped jacket, stocking cap, gardening gloves and socks pulled up over the bottom of his trousers.  This is the image I will hold in my heart of Jr. and a smile will always spread across my lips.
 

Janet and I trekked across a deep crevasse littered with makeshift homes of corrugated iron dodging the children running and playing football or fetching water.  We slipped and slid down one side and up the other to greet Jr.’s wife and mother only a few days after he passed.  Osha, osha.  The krio word for I am sorry.  What else is there to say?  We sit for a while, in silence.  I smile at little Anthony, Jr’s namesake, and make a face that makes him laugh.  Janet discusses the best way we can support them and then we make the trek back - leaving a woman with sorrow and fear engraved deep into her eyes as she anticipates a life she does not know how to live.  With a baby at her breast and a child on her hip, her deeply furrowed brow makes her look years beyond her age.  Her mother-in-law offering what little comfort she can amidst her own grieving until she must go back to her village to attend to her other children. 

At only 38, Jr. complained of intense stomach pain one day while at our compound and Janet took him to the hospital.  Emergency surgery for a ruptured intestine was determined his need. 

Yet while emergency surgery translates to hope in our language – the connotation reflects a fearful unknown in this one.  Emergency surgery itself could easily kill him.  Recovery in an inadequately cleaned facility could kill him as well. The risk of surgery practically equals the risk without.

No one is sure why he died.  No autopsy will be done, no information from the doctor disclosed.  But that is the way most pass here.  No one knows for certain the cause. 

But while death is far too frequent, it doesn’t make the mourning easier to bear, it doesn’t change the hardship for those left behind. 

The service was beautiful.  His image preserved in pure, loving memories.  His creator praised in pure, loving choruses.  The words said, the hymns sung, carried him to the site on the hillside—enshroud in a white cloud of those who loved him—to where he will lay, looking out over his city, his family, forever.