A Broken Pot

July 13

So far during my time here I have been under the impression that when I go home I will somehow leave everything I have experienced in Africa. In my head the world I have lived in for 20 years at home is entirely separate from this foreign land. It has been great to come and see what is here, learn about the culture, and grow closer to my Jesus but on August 3^rd I will leave and go back to my normal life. Sure I hope to take some things with me like the amazing stories of people I met and the many pictures I took. But subconsciously I had decided that I would leave everything else here. No need to bring the hard things back.

But I now know I do not have a choice. Every part of Africa that has touched me is coming back with me—including the red dirt that has sticking to the bottom of my sandals.

 I made this discovery as we drove through the capital city of Burkina Faso, Ougadougou. Along side of every road are tiny shops with various items for sale. As we drove I noticed for the first time the large amount of clay pots available. Rows and rows of them and shop after shop. Along the way a particular large pot cought my eye. It had been pulled to the side away from the others. This pot was broken. A large crack ran down the middle and a big chunk out of it’s side was missing. All of a sudden I was overwhelmed with the similarity this pot had with Africa. How both of them shared brokenness.

Images of the Kibera slum and malnourished children came to mind and I didn’t fight the tears that came to my eyes. I was hit once again by how very broken everything is from governement systems, hospital systems, educational systems, countries, tribes, villages, families, relationships, spirituality, to people. My heart hurt so much today for Africa.

I am still here and waking up to the poverty and brokeness every morning. So it is all still so real to me. But the pot made me realize that I will not leave any of the memories behind. There will be things in America that will remind me of the of Africa as well. I cannot just separate my time here from my life in America. I honestly don’t want to. I want the changes that have been made in me and my world view and perspective on life to follow me home. I don’t ever want to forget this summer. I don’t ever want to forget Africa. And now I know I never will.