coming back.

PHOTO:  SAMEDI, JOLIE, AND A FEW OF THE KIDS.
I'm lying im my hut. I've lit insence in here--lit a candle too.
 
 Because Samedi (father of my family here) has been working at the 
 hospital for so long, and given so much of himself to that place, Dr. 
 James got some people to build a new set of huts for Samedi's large 
 family. And it's so like them, but Samedi and Jolie gave ME the nicest 
 of their new: my new hut has a cement floor, a high ceiling and 
 everything echos.
 
 I just told my family goodnight after a first full evening back with 
 them! Now, I feel like sharing.
 
 Today, driving the back road which would spit us out in Bere, I let my 
 hair out, because it hadn't been washed in four days and the wind felt 
 like water--something to run through it, clean it, and even if it did 
 nothing for my hair, it washed a bunch of thoughts to shore--ones I'd 
 forgotten were in part of this dusty sea. I've been almost solely 
 excited about this trip, preoccupied with how great it would be to be 
 back, that I gave little thought to most of the hard realities. And I 
 think today, it was because I was tired, I was hot, and thinking, but 
 there was room for the hard realities to sneak in and remind me of their 
 character. And without giving you a whole print-out of the thoughts, go 
 ahead and couple "inadequacy" with "heartbreak" with "homesickness" with 
 "uncertain anticipation" and you about get it. With the window down, 
 the wind pushed against my eyes--and it was strange how I could feel 
 tears surfacing my eyes, burred huts wizzing by, but it was almost like 
 the wind evaporated them at the same rate they formed (could have been 
 my imagination).
 
 Alex sat up front and her blonde hair electrified in the hot humid air. 
 It was wild and fit in well, because James was driving wildly. I can't 
 say I was confident of my life's safety on the drive. We took back roads 
 to Bere, slamming through dried up mud holes, bottoming out at full 
 speeds, whipping through the tall grasses with an absolute trust that 
 nothing would cross our paths from out of the grass--I anticipated 
 animals and young children--not far fetched, but we made it here and the 
 animals and children are all still alive.
 
 We dropped Phil off at his hut--dropped him off not knowing any French 
 and his family African family not knowing any English. As we backed 
 out, I felt like the night held quite the experience for him--one that I 
 totally remember where you sit in silence and make sounds and motions! I 
 was pumped for him. Just then, we backed into a deep mud hole. While we 
 waited for people to get a big grass mat and to gather more hands to 
 push the van out, the kids from my family started coming out of the dark!
 
 Mounden (16) and Tony (14) showed up first--I love these brothers! I had 
 to grab Mounden's shoulders because they are so broad now--he's so much 
 healthier and stronger! And Tony straight up spoke to me in English, 
 he's learned so much from the Parker family whom he now lives with--they 
 are trying to adopt him. The two said Esther (16), my closest sister, 
 was just down the lane! I jogged down and met her and it was SO good to 
 see her. We grabbed hands and pulled into a hug. She's so pretty, so 
 graceful like her mom and she's been dating Cory, the Parker's 15-year 
 old son. Apparently Cory comes and hangs out in the evenings at 
 Samedi's house. :)
 
 Once the van was unstuck, I got dropped off here near my house--grabbing 
 one bag for tonight. I walked down that same lane and into my 
 courtyard, where everyone was sitting there by lamplight and the reality 
 was GOLD for that moment! There was so much hand-holding and hugging! 
 Their dialect rolled around and through us like music. After hugging 
 those closest in proximity, I started asking about each family member 
 who I hadn't get seen,
 
 "Is Pabris here?"
 "Yes! Here he is!"
 
 and he found his little way out of the crowd of people, and clasped my legs.
 
 "What about Koumatei?! Koumatei? Elle ou?! (She is where?!)"
 
 "Je suis ici! (I am here!)" she hollered!
 
 They thought it was such a fun game--everyone laughing and shooting up 
 for a greeting. But it was a really a scary game for me actually. It 
 was especially scary when I'd search for the weaker children--like Gabby 
 who had always been sick with malaria--always only skin, bones, and 
 distended belly. But Gabby is SO much healthier now! He's so sweetly 
 living his little life here in Bere--happier, and crying less.
 
 Finally, wondering where my African mother Jolie was, I said,
 "Where is Jolioooooo!?"
 Everyone hollered over the back wall, "Jolioooooo! Gba! (Come!)"
 
 After more hollering she came from here friends house. When she popped 
 out from around the corner, she did that pretty jog that she does, ran 
 over, hugged me huge, and began picking me up fully off the ground--over 
 and over! All the while hollering, "Emileeeeeoooo!! Aye! Aye!" I have 
 missed her the most, but I have missed ALL of them so much. This family 
 is 28 people now! In a year and a half, they have gone from 19 to 
 28. Everyone has moved up in the brackets--a new young generation is 
 alive and crying. There's Gabby and then Goma (meaning big), Galas and 
 then little Temda (meaning our sister) who are all under 2 years old. 
 So everyone is holding babies all the time--and they're always peeing on 
 people.
 
 We package up things we can't have and set them on a shelf for times of 
 absence, don't we? But it's like when you open it up again, all that 
 love, if it was real, is reawakened and I feel rich tonight--really, 
 really rich.
 
 Mounden (16) drew up water for a night bucket bath, like he'd done so 
 many times before--beating me to the well. Tonight they had heated the 
 water over a fire for me--a hot shower in freaking hot Africa. hah Jolie 
 ran in before I stripped and brought another little bucket of water 
 which she used to wash all of the urine away before I bathed.
 
 
 Being in that low-mud-walled "shower" again, naked and exposed, looking 
 up at the stars--it was almost as if I'd stepped back in time and that 
 I'd never stopped showering like that. I felt so much of what I felt before.
 
 I made goals with Phil and Alex--goals for our time here. Amongst things 
 like doing yoga at sunset, learning to pound rice and clap in between 
 pounds, making health slogans with the locals in forms of chants, and 
 learning the local dialect better--one of my biggest goals, is to daily 
 voice where I've seen God. Where did I sense Him today? I feel like it 
 was easy to feel like He was absent last time--to go through certain 
 experiences that left me heart broken and with alot of that 
 "chest-stress" (do you understand what I mean by that?), and then I'd 
 come away so preoccupied with my perceived absence Him, that I'd miss 
 the vivid and crisp flashes of his undeniable presence. So,
 
 for today: I got a huge sense of Him in the reunions. That re-lighting 
 and opening of love again! Displaced love that is re-placed--re-newed! 
 It's been beautiful. And I'm encouraged. I am not sure exactly what 
 capacity I will work while I'm here. I've visited the hospital already 
 and felt the same anxiety of the hurting in that place--the smells and 
 sounds and lack of sounds. I'm just not sure where my place is. BUT, 
 I'm encouraged. Before I left, Tara wrote me an email and it said, 
 "Emily, God has something for you there--so figure out what it is, and 
 then throw yourself into that." Good advice. Really good advice to 
 meditate on daily. Why am I here? What does today hold?
 
 I've got no mosquito net set up yet--which means tonight I'll want to 
 pull my sheet over my head, while simultaneously, because of the heat, 
 wanting to have no bit of cloth on my skin at all--this place is a bunch 
 of contradictions, really. And in some ways, its why we'll learn so 
 much: to reconcile the extremes--its hard, and possibly impossible.
 
 I AM LOVING BEING BACK HERE! My family sends greetings to all of you in 
 America. They say, "Lapia Buja!" Love and miss you guys, Emily