Africa Will Always be a Part of Me

When I graduated high school a friend painted a beautiful scene of the Rwandan hills for me and he included the phrase Africa will always be a part of me. I didn’t understand it at the time, but now, almost four years later, I recognize that Rwanda, and even the continent of Africa, is in me.

I’ve been spending my Christmas break in Rwanda and it’s just so comfortable. I can’t think of a single thing that I dislike about this place. Even after almost six years I’m still in a constant awe of the rolling hills and the swerving motos and items stacked high on the shaved heads. Every bite of matoke and every trip to the market is like it’s my first. My heart beats to the pulse of the Rwandan drum.

When I stepped off the plane a couple weeks ago and breathed in the cool earthy night air, I did a little leap of joy right there on the runway. And an armed guard smiled at me. And I felt welcomed.

I’m so impressed by this developing country and the speed at which the buildings are rising and roads are paving. It is hard to believe how many new things have sprouted all over the city in just half a decade. However, despite all the new, there is still plenty of old. I love that we still live on one of the most awful, beautiful dirt roads in the city. I love that bicycle taxis are still in business. I love that I can raise my eyebrows at a boy in a yellow vest causing him to dash across the street and hand me a card full of airtime for my phone. I love that I can walk down the road and buy charcoal-roasted maize from a group of ladies for a mere 100 francs (12 cents).

I love that I know this culture and so much is still the same, and I love that this culture is evolving. I love that I can go to the market and have vendors – friends – call me by name and ask about my family. I love the inconveniences of power outages and lack of water and friends stopping by at inopportune times and our dirt road –  I can’t seem to get over our road. Is there any thing more beautiful?  Will Heaven’s streets of gold be neck-wrenching and made of dirt? I hope so.  

But now I find myself living in America, and I love that too. I love my university and my course of study and I don’t want to be anywhere else. I’m thankful for where I am at the young age of 22 and all that I have learned and am learning. And I know that Africa will always be a part of me even when I am far away from it, and I wonder how long it will be before I can call it home again.

I long to live in an underdeveloped village and drive an old tin-can car that has experience on the dirt roads and become friends with the kids who run around in their tattered clothes playing with bicycle tires and making up games with sticks and rocks. I long to live in a tiny clay house and have the power be out for hours and the water out for days. I long to speak in another language and dance in another culture.

And these longings and desires are good. And they are deep in me. But for now I will be faithful to complete my education and wait on the Lord. I want that; I’m okay with that. He knows my desires for dust-covered bare-feet and plates of rice and beans and my desires to create and write and live a colorful life.

The years tend to roll together like the hills and we all just keep growing and learning and becoming. In just a couple days we will all find ourselves in a brand new, untouched year with a fresh start. The years don’t have to roll together and blend to a monotonous shade of dull; each one can be new and exciting as we wait in patient expectation for Him. As we strive to learn something new, or learn something old on a deeper level. And live in obedience with what and who He has placed before us. One day at a time, giving thanks for everything. Happy New Year, friends. May the start of 2017 be richly filled with loud drums and dancing people and with His goodness and abundant blessings.