Africa Is-

As I prepare to go home, I am bracing myself for the countless times I will be asked "How was Africa?" by people who expect a short 1 or 2 minute response summarizing the past 4 months of my life. Africa is somehow indescribable, but the following list is my attempt to put words to the incredible things I have seen, felt and done throughout this season of my life.

Africa is sitting in a classroom for hours with 19 year old Benedict as he shares how God has worked in his life, walking 11 year old Rechael to school, holding partially naked toddler Shelly while she sings and babbles in Runyankole, hearing her say "I love you!" as you walk away.

Africa is precious orphans like Moses, who were found tied in a plastic bag and left to die in the swamp, but are living happy and healthy in homes now.

Africa is having to climb out of your mosquito net, find your headlamp, and put on your rain jacket to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Africa is meeting parents of children with birth defects and knowing that their only hope is an American surgeon coming to perform free operations. Africa is anger and conviction for all the times I have sat at home enjoying my comfortable lifestyle while these kids are dying.

Africa is going to visit a friend's house and leaving with 3 dozen eggs, 2 avocados, 4 tomatoes and a piece of sugar cane.

Africa is watching kids walk to school barefoot, in ripped clothes or without sweaters on cold mornings.

Africa is having to worry about stepping on the live chicken underneath the pew in front of you, and leaving church the proud recipient of your very own 10 foot piece of sugar cane.

Africa is following someone down a path through the jungle having no idea where you are going or what lies ahead. Africa is hiking through the mountains and having to stop just to soak in the indescribable view.

Africa is hearing people begin their prayers by thanking God for the gift of another day, because they know it isn't guaranteed.

Africa is asking if anyone wants to go to the squatty with you, or if you can borrow a skirt, promising you won't pee on it.

Africa is seeing women digging in the field, babies tied to their backs, for just a little bit of food to eat, wondering if their husbands are going to spend whatever money they do have on alcohol.

Africa is 12 hour bus rides where bathroom breaks happen on the side of the road and snacks are sticks of meat shoved at you through the window. Africa is 15 people in an 8 passenger van, or riding in the bed of a pickup truck with a bunch of high school boys on the way home from a football tournament.

Africa is going to the funeral of a newborn baby and seeing not a single tear shed, because death is so common here.

Africa is being able to count on stopping whatever you're doing, wherever you are to be served tea between the hours of 10 and 11 am.

Africa is breathtaking views of the mountains, the way the sun rises and sets over them, the red dirt that stained my clothes, my shoes and my heart.

Africa is holding children that smell like they haven't bathed in weeks, wearing the same clothes you saw them in 4 days earlier. Africa is tickling them, letting them color on your arm, looking in their beautiful faces and smiles that still shine bright in the midst of the brokenness around them. Africa is telling those kids you love them and praying that even if they don't know what you are saying, they will still be able to feel the unconditional love of their Father.

Africa is having your team worship interrupted by the rat that terrorizes your house, or finding the chicken that you're about to eat for dinner running loose inside.

Africa is praying with authority you have never experienced before that the chains of alcoholism, physical illness, and spiritual darkness would be broken in the name of Jesus. Africa is watching God break those chains and seeing women like Sylvia turn from their addictions to following Christ.

Africa is having to ask if that horrible sound is a crying baby, goat, or baby goat. Africa is walking through a banana plantation to pay a visit to the school pigs, or buying a goat as a goodbye present to your favorite Senior 6 boys.

Africa is walking into church to find at least one woman breast feeding.

Africa is porridge dates with the boys, sharing your "crystals" (sugar) and being asked if you have your "tool" (fork) for dinner.

Africa is never being alone, even when you're asleep, but knowing that you are going to miss your weird little mzungu family like crazy. Africa is a beautiful picture of the body of Christ serving one another in going to the market, cooking dinner, doing dishes, sharing chocolate, giving back rubs, crying and laughing and fighting and worshipping together.

Africa is expecting 30 minutes to really mean 2 hours. Africa is being late because it rained, or finding that the power is out because the wind is blowing.

Africa is at least one cell phone ringing and being answered in the middle of morning devotions or other seemingly important meetings/conversations.

Africa is showering twice in 2 weeks because you ran out of water, again. Africa is washing dishes with a headlamp because the power is out and using water from the pond at the boys' high school where you work.

Africa is listening to students tell you they fear their step-moms are going to bewitch them to keep them from succeeding, or hearing boys worry about where their school fees are going to come from.

Africa is "how are you I'm fine", "a mzungu!", "Nice time", "you get it right?", "sorry sorry", "you are most welcome," eyebrow raises and head nods.

Africa is bed bug bites, scars from tripping and falling down, and weird tan lines.

Africa is being served mountains of matooke and posho that you couldn't eat even if you wanted to (and trust me, you don't). Africa is sucking it up and eating that food because it means hanging out with the boys in the dining hall.

Africa is "Making Melodies" and "Father Abraham" and "This Little Light of Mine", hand motions and all. Africa is being able to count on having to present at least one song at any event you attend, losing track of the number of visitors' books you've signed and times you've been introduced.

Africa is the freedom to leap frog and dance the Macarena in the middle of praise and worship, and listening to the boys sing in their native language, knowing that we serve the same God.

Africa is gagging on fermented porridge at a teacher's house but knowing it's worth it to be able to sit and listen to her share stories from her life.

Africa is children wearing your sunglasses upside down and grabbing at your white skin and gripping your hands so tight as you walk them to school.

Africa is hearing a teacher say that no group has made such an impact on the school and no other group ever will.

Africa is when "running errands" involves having to walk a mile into town up a massive hill, trying 3 Internet cafes (one without power, the other without a network) just to send an email, buying pineapples as a gift, and visiting a friend's house for tea.

Africa is sitting in our living room surrounded by a dozen of the friends we made here- from the manager of the town grocery store to the bishop of the church we worked for and everyone in between. Africa is serving them "mzungu" food and singing "How Great is Our God" together, united in Christ as a crazy, random family despite our many differences.

Africa is cleaning your own puke out of the sink because your malaria legs couldn't make it outside in time, or losing count of the number of times you had diarrhea (frequently referred to as "D-train") in an hour.

Africa is stargazing in the front yard, laying next to your teammates in awe of the creation that God spoke into existence and that we get to live among. It's getting up early to journal on the porch in the still, quiet moments of the morning as the sun comes up, or walking home from ministry exhausted as the sun sets and the day winds down.

Africa is knowing that one of two things have the ability to completely stop all normal activity for the day: rain and football.

Africa is going to the market to get food for dinner, but stopping along the way to play with tons of the cutest kids you'll ever meet, hearing them shout "Byeee!" and "See yooo!" as you leave.

Africa is listening to Nickson, who wasn't a Christian at the beginning of the semester, stand up in Bible study to share his testimony and preach Psalm 139. Africa is hearing boys like Noah and Benedict say that they never cared about fellowship before we came, and now they wouldn't miss it for the world.

Africa is finding that saying goodbye to 200 high school students is one of the hardest things you have ever had to do. Africa is promising to do everything in my power to come back to this place because I can't bear the thought of never seeing those boys again.

Africa is home. It wasn't just a trip, it was my life. I didn't just visit this place. I put roots down, and those roots grew further and faster than I ever imagined they would. Africa is beautiful and broken and frustrating and rewarding. It is welcoming and threatening and hopeful and discouraging. It took everything I had, and at the same time gave more than I ever could. I've been angrier, more upset, more exhausted than I ever have in my life, but in that I've found joy, peace, and freedom like never before.

In all of the emotions that I have experienced here, especially as I brace myself for the culture shock of going home, I am abundantly thankful that God knew what He was doing when He called me to sleepy little Rukungiri, and He knows what He is doing in calling me home. I am thankful that He had better plans when He placed me in ministry at a boys' high school, the last place on earth I ever pictured myself working.

I am thankful for friends that break my heart to say goodbye to, and for a place that is unbearably hard to leave. I am thankful that I am leaving with countless stories about how the Lord worked here, having learned innumerable lessons that I will get to put into practice as Fort Myers, Florida becomes my next mission field. I am thankful that I am not the same person that boarded that plane in Atlanta 4 months ago, and that God isn't finished with me yet.

I am thankful that in everything I did here, from playing volleyball at school to praying for babies in the clinic, fighting drunk, bewitched men in the village or preaching in a prison, through all of the sickness and discouragement and exhaustion, I was never alone. Every step that I walked through Rukungiri, God was right there next to me.

And on Sunday, when I say goodbye to this country and begin the process of returning to my "normal" life, I will be resting in the fact that my God is the same yesterday, today and forever, in Uganda and in America, and He never leaves my side.