Reflections on the Journey

I make this, probably the final entry to this journal, from a perspective of a few days separation and a few good nights sleep. There have also been a few restless nights filled with images of Africa and sleep interrupted by thoughts of hungry children and orphanages with empty larders. In some ways, time and distance ease the impact of the enormity of the situation in Swaziland, but in other ways the feeling of helplessness is amplified.
Now is the time of reflection and discernment. In some ways this the hardest time of all. What am I to do with this story? How am I to respond to the human suffering of which I have been made aware? How do I grow and nurture friendships with those people who have befriended and honored me who live halfway across the world? How do I tell their story and to what end? At this point I truly don’t know.
But to simply walk away and close the book on this chapter is no better than to rubberneck at a car wreck; to slow down momentarily, take in the devastation of the scene, and drive away, giving thanks for the safety and security of those you love.
At church today Mickey, our pastor read a poem, “Still I Rise”, by Maya Angelou, the famous African American poet in which she described the human spirit of those oppressed rising out of the dust. My mind immediately went to the dusty playgrounds and grassless homesteads of our recent journey. And then to Vuyo, and Sandile, and Make Elizabeth and Babe Mkhonta, and all those whose spirit we saw rising from the dust of poverty, HIV/AIDS and drought. In their stories lies hope.
When I left Swaziland two years ago, I honestly felt that Vuyo may indeed be a young man who would fall through the cracks. It seemed that the deck was so stacked against him, even though we all recognized an intelligence and sensitivity in him that, given the opportunity to flourish, would take him far. I was overjoyed to hear his story since we last parted. He is now living in a small apartment in the basement of Kukhnay O’kusha and works at the church full time. He continues his leadership with the youth of the church and his work in AIDS education. And a few days after returning I received an e-mail from Vuyo which read in part: “I just want to tell you that your trip to Swaziland (Kukhany'okusha) was really a blessing to us. For me it was time to know you better, I'm very happy Babe for every thing you do for me especially the love that you have for me. I promise to keep in touch until we meet again.”
So while I am processing this entire experience, there is my point of reference; a few precious lines written from the heart of one who continues to rise out of the dust.

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Maya Angelou

Babe Mkhonta, one of the finest men I know.

The Children of Shewula

Faces of the Children

Chris tries on a loin cloth, wedding guests & Make Elizabeth's homestead

Farewells and Recovered Luggage

As I type this, we are again over the Atlantic, this time headed home and crammed in coach. So far our voyage has been uneventful, but I will be careful not to take travel Karma’s reprieve for granted, for we still have to clear customs and make a connection in Detroit with only a bit more than an hour between flights. We are all travel weary, but changed by the experience. I think we have been on the road for about 24 hours, and if all goes well we have about 8 more before arriving in Cincinnati. Lisa and Brett are meeting me at the airport and I so look forward to being home and with my family again.
Our journey home started Monday morning. We checked out of the hotel and loaded our luggage in the vans, which in itself was a feat of engineering and lots of trial and error. Coming in we had a pick-up for the luggage, but now we had to figure out how to get our entire team, our guests and our massive amount of “stuff” into two 9 passenger vans, but alas we did, and headed for the South African border and on to Johannesburg. The drive should be about 5 hours, but factoring in Swazi time, we allowed more like 6 or 7. At the border gate there is a small market, so we all spent all the Emelongeni we had left. A strange thing about the currency, South African currency is Rand and Swazi currency is Emelongeni and in Swaziland you can use either, but once back in South Africa only Rand is accepted.
We arrived at the airport in Johannesburg and turned in our rental vans. On one misjudged approach to the hotel parking lot, Babe Mkhonta had cut a turn a little close to the curb and put a pretty good crease on the side of one of the vans, but in the words of our team member Jay, nothing parties like a rental .We had purchased the insurance, so hopefully all will be okay.
Our send off delegation was those people we had come to know as our hosts, companions and protectors. Vuyo and Sandile, the younger and I might add visionary members of Kykhany O Kusha, Babe Mhklonga and the Pastor, Babe Mkhonta and also his wife.
Babe Mkhonta is perhaps one of the finest men I have ever known and I am constantly awed by the quiet and understated way in which he cares people. He is genuine of spirit and kind and humble. I count myself lucky to have come to know him.
The Bishop, who was not able to be with us in Swaziland due to responsibilities in South Africa, joined us at the airport for our send off, as did 3 of his children. The Bishop had greeted us upon our arrival and blessed us and our mission in Swaziland, and was now coming to thank us and offer blessings for our journey home. So, after checking our luggage we all had a final meal together. There was much laughter and storytelling, but we all dreaded that moment when must go our separate ways. One can’t help but wonder if we will ever meet again. A trip such as this is difficult on so many levels, but Babe Mkhonta assured us that God has purpose in this relationship and will provide means for it to continue. I hope he is right.
The good-byes were as difficult as you might imagine and after sharing hugs, handshakes, and sometimes tears, we went our separate ways. So there, in a busy concourse in a major airport two groups diverged, different in so many ways, going back to such different lives, but connected in so many more ways, and both changed by having crossed paths with the other.
“Do not be dismayed by good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends.” (Richard Bach)
After we had parted we had some time before our plane left, so Janice and I made a last ditch effort to locate my lost luggage. Janice has many admirable qualities, and persistence is one of her best. I will spare you the long and tedious details, but finally a trip to KLM headquarters at the Johannesburg airport yielded my suitcase. There it was in a storage room in an office, and had been there for several days. It was a very bittersweet recovery, for most of what was in there mean little to me; flip flops, multivitamins, ibuprophen, candy, games, school supplies and such. But it would have meant the world to the children of Shewula.
So as our trip nears its end and I look forward to being home and with my family and friends, I also have a sense of loss. The bonds that have been made with these incredible people have carved out a niche in my heart. Most of us have never known poverty. We do not know what it is like to see an entire generation perish to a pandemic and honestly, who of us has ever experienced true hunger. Yet those of us who have shared in this journey have been witness to ordinary people doing extraordinary things. We have experienced joy in the face of tragedy, hope where all appears desperate, and faith and an endearing and enduring spirit of those called to respond to human suffering in their midst.