Eyes of Color: Missing Africa

I've traveled. I've said it before, and I'm sure by my mentioning it in nearly every blog entry, you have come to the conclusion that I absolutely love it. And miss it. Normally its Europe I'm yearning for, but at present its Africa. I've been looking through my pictures of my last 2010 trip there. I miss it. I miss the kids, I miss the people, I miss having fun with other visitors of the IRIS center where I stayed both times I went. I miss the church services, the babies, the missionaries who live and work on the center. In short, I really miss Africa. I need to find a rich husband to fund all my traveling wants.( That was a joke). But don't think I haven't thought about it !(that was a joke too, I am not a money-hungry-discontented-man-hunting-girl. Trust me, I'm not)

I miss pretty much everything about my time spent in Africa. The last time I went to Africa I traveled straight from Ukraine. I had been gone for a month before I came home to the good old US of A. Besides missing my family, I wasn't homesick at all. I gloried in every moment spent on foreign ground, even to the time where myself and another short-termer had to rescue one of the other short termer from a woman hungry runt of a man who upon seeing Rene's blond hair declared himself in love with her and proposed on the spot. He was surprisingly strong for a little man, but Christine and I managed to fight him off and leave the market unscathed. We laughed after the fact and told Rene` next time we went anywhere with her we would make her wear a paper-bag over her head to avoid any other mishaps with men who want a free ride to the US with a pretty blonde.

I miss street ministry, and preaching to and feeding street kids, getting soaked to the bone in a raging storm, having to yell at the top of our voices to be heard of the thunder. Feeling the hairs on arms stick up from the lightening that struck the building we were standing next to. Honestly, that was one of my favorite moments of the entire trip.

I even miss trying to evade the grasps of many little girl hands attempting to braid my hair. I had been through that harrowing experience on my previous trip to Mozambique, and wasn't about to go through it again if I could help it. You haven't experienced head pain till you have 5 girls braiding your hair all at once, each tugging your head in different directions at the same time. It hurts.

I miss eating the rice with the children, using our fingers as spoons, in the large building that serves as both church and dining hall. There is a lot to miss, and I miss all of it. I hope to one day return to Africa. I hope to being able to one day travel there often, as often as I do Ukraine. For now I content myself with pictures, memories, prayers and dreams, and the thankfulness I feel that I have been able to see Africa, not once but twice. Its a lot to be thankful for.