I guess our leadership figures that it’s hard enough living in the African bush for more than two weeks, because when we left Petauke, we moved from rural Africa to central Florida. I say we earned it!
Ibis Gardens is a resort about an hour from Lusaka. In the three days that we’ve been here, I’ve walked on grass for the first time since I’ve been in Africa. I’ve had carpet in my bedroom, which I have all to myself, and a big bed. (Okay, so it’s a ¾ size, but that’s still bigger than I’m used to!) I’ve had nice, hot showers in the mornings, sat by the pool in the afternoons, and had 3 full meals (and then some) every day—with no nshima on my plate! Life has been good.
I was leaving my room (complete with the luxury of a flush toilet) to walk to the breakfast I didn’t have to make this morning, and it dawned on me: it doesn’t matter how long I stay in Africa, whether it’s 2 years or twenty. I don’t have to stay. And when it comes time for me to leave, I get to go back to America and the easy life that is so taken for granted.
For the most part, the people I’m working with, whether they live in Petauke, Lusaka, Nairobi, Kampala, or Arua, don’t get to leave. Their bush camp doesn’t just last for 2 weeks. They don’t just spend 3 days in their mud hut and then move on. This life, for them, doesn’t end.
I can truly say that I respect Africans more than I ever expected to, because the primitive life I’ve experienced in the past few weeks isn’t just an experience for them. It’s day-in and day-out, non-stop life.
In the past few weeks, I’ve found that I am much stronger than I realized. But the Africans are even stronger. I can always go home… and someday, I will. But for them, they already are home.
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