gasp and shudder
I have a few moments that undo me.
One happened on a see saw. It was tiny, plastic and yellow, and I was much too big, but I don’t let that stop me when it comes to playing with toys. A girl, pink shirt, puffy hair sat across from me. I touched her hair, then took off my hat, offered my curls. She accepted…and I don’t what happened, really, but in the next moment she had skinned her knuckle. She looked for me for sympathy and soothing, and I tried to help, with comforting tones, and a pretend kiss. But I couldn’t really kiss her hurt. She has HIV. The blood on her finger glared at me…I couldn’t kiss that littler girl’s booboo.
To make up for it, I accidentally broke the door on a little kid’s playhouse. I feel so guilty.
In my last post, I think I underscored the power of South Mercado. The day after, no one talked. We walked in silence. Most people had fitful sleep. When it came time to talk about it that night during debrief, a unwelcome silence blanketed the room. It lasted several minutes until someone spoke. Normally people are almost greedy to share. But South Mercado had done something to them.
I cannot give a sense of the place, but later I will try my hardest to deliver every detail the best I can. Now, I have obvious time constraints.
There is something intangible in the evil of South Mercado. Honestly, and I don’t think that I am using an unnecessary superlative, it is one of the scariest places I have ever been in my life. When my thoughts drift there, which they often do, I want to shudder and weep. It is so chilling…
We have returned to AHOPE three times now. I am overwhelmed. The children are radiant, and their smiles are bewildering almost in how beautiful they are, but half-hour or so, I realize where I am. Surrounded by thirty children who all have HIV. I hope that they don’t notice the sudden sadness.
But here is another thought I have about this whole dark world, about those children, about South Mercado, about the beggars who cross the street with shoes on their hands because their feet our gaunt-legged, about the kid how begs and tells me his mother and father have HIV–how he may be lying for money, but either ways it’s deep tragedy…My God is bigger than this. He triumphs. These things don’t even begin to compare. It is my humanity that is so fickle, and when I look at that, well this all becomes a infinite mountain worthy of despair. But if I listen to the songs I sing mechanically, “His grace is enough.” Thankfully these problems are beyond my reach of solving. I do such a poor job with the ones I assume are within my reach.
Food here is still wonderful, although my mouth is beginning to water for a real cheeseburger. The one’s here are so strange, with coleslaw and mayonaisse, and they aren’t the same. Unfortunately, the strange smells have continued. Often I am blamed for smells that don not belong to me.
Today, I said a farewell to two groups of street people that I had been working with. I realized that even though I have had my difficulties in working at my particular site, I have learned a lot from merely being in their presence. There is something surreal and tragic in the finality of the goodbye. I suppose there is always heaven.
I visited the bush on Friday, and saw several wild animals: an Oryx, a Lesser Kudu, a Salt’s Dik-Dik, a caged lion named Dolo, and monkeys. We actually stalked the monkeys and Josiah snapped some shots of them up close, at one point within ten feet of wild monkeys. I had a rock just in case, because I have heard stories, and didn’t want to have one to add to the mix.
Sadly, I heard quite a few comparisons to the Lion King, which is what I think many of us expected. No elephant graveyards.
Also, my Lucky Charms hat fell into some majorly murky water. I still haven’t washed it. It may be too late. So ends an era?
Last week, at a school, we acted out Jonah. Phillip was the whale, and he ate me with his jacket. Also, we did David and Goliath. I slew Phillip with my one smooth stone. I did not cut off his head.
Please pray that the Dark Knight is showing here in Addis. A bunch of us want to go see it. You know, enjoy the indigenous culture, all that jazz. For real, pray that God will help us to leave graciously, to make the best of the time we have left, and to let God use us. Surely He has more left. We still have nine days. Also pray for the BCF. We have promised a six song set. We only have 2 songs as of now. A lot of pressure.
Also, if you are here, you may have received a facebook message with a few grammar errors in it. Please ignore. I make mistakes. As I am sure there are mistakes in this post. Those ones are a reflection of my true writing abilities.
Lastly, I want to say that the despair here is as thick as the pollution pouring black billows from the back of a bus, but there is also hope, so much hope. That is what I want to bring home, although I’m afraid it won’t fit in my suitcase or my heart.
