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