Chapter 2

Yes, it has been two years since our last post. This blog was conceived to chronicle Aaron's adoption as we wandered along the path that found us. In retrospect, that path seemed to be our sole relationship with Africa. As Americans, it opened our eyes and challenged our philosophy and theology. During these years, our lives have taken unexpected and grace-covered turns, and along the way Africa has always been on our hearts. She has given us a wonderful son and has stretched us in magnificent ways. We did not know that all of this was merely chapter one.

Chapter two began last winter when we struggled with the possibility of visiting the Ludlati Care Point which is supported by our local community, Known to Me. For three years, we have supported the care point which now feeds, mentors, and disciples over 150 children, and we have prayed for and thought about our special friends, Nontokozo and Melusi. I was willing but had little faith that we could find the cash to participate in a visit. Nevertheless, having been called, we committed. Even in my doubt, all was provided. A few weeks ago, Aidan and I traveled abroad with ten other members to build relationships with and bless those whom we support.

As we traveled, I reflected on the name of our blog, I Need Africa, and Africa Needs Me. The truth is I’m uneasy about so many complexities that words fail to adequately express and about the myriad connotations readers may presume from my inability to write well. So, I arrived in Swaziland with an apprehension that I was perpetuating the white savior persona and that I might happen to leave treasuring my adventure while not fully respecting those I had met and what I had seen. Thankfully, the former is false, and hopefully that latter will never be.

We went to have relationship, and this is pretty much all we did. We bonded with the women who volunteer to feed the children despite their own brutal hardships; we played with kids who rarely, if ever, have meaningful interaction with men; we held with children who so desperately yearn for affection their families and culture sadly cannot afford; and we opened our hearts to the reality that their gifts to us were overwhelming.

I am convinced that I cannot truly convey what I feel I should. Yet, ironically, one word may come close. Beautiful. This is a beautiful with passion, brightness, depth, tragedy, despair, and hope. It’s the smile on a young girl’s face as she sings with all joy and soul; the patience of boys and girls who so faithfully tend to the youngest among them; the tenacity of a girl who survives alone and amid the harshest of circumstances, the bond of children whose parents have left them, the breaking of a woman as she watches her son die, the embrace of a toddler who puts off hunger to cuddle a little longer, the constant one-sided conversation a little boy maintains simply because he has my patient ear, and so many images that keep floating through my thoughts.
Beyond this, I’m not sure what to say other than I am changed. The words in my friends’ reflections convey it all so well.

Don             Josh            Carrie        Alexandra

So, I have done a lot of thinking about the title of this blog. Nevertheless, we keep it. We understand that foreign aid can cripple its own intentions which is why the "Africa needs me" sometimes feels uncomfortable. It’s not aid, however, to which we refer. Rather, Africa needs me as a compassionate friend who is willing to suffer and grow with her. "I need Africa" is a confession that softens my heart and stretches out my hand.

And chapter two continues…I’m not sure yet how or where.