I had the pleasure of grabbing coffee (actually it was chips and salsa at a coffee and crepes shop) with Annie Downs about her work with the Mocha Club. I've been trying to connect with this organization for a couple of years, ever since I heard about them at a Matt Wertz concert, so it was great to meet Annie and hear more about the work that they do. Here's just a slice of the conversation:

 

I woke up today still thinking about the bombings in Uganda. I guess I'm still in shock. I have spent the better part of today online reading everything I can about it and watching all the news reports I can. Somewhere in the middle of it all, I just broke down and cried. 

 

This great swell of melancholy swept over me. One mother of three lost her husband last night; countless others lost spouses, children, parents. The sense of loss was just so immense... so totally life-changing.  I just needed to grieve with them, to feel the weight of the sadness with them, so I just let it all engulf me. 

Have you ever intently looked for another person only to find that you just missed them? They were there only minutes before you arrived...even their perfume or cologne is still lingering in the air, but they are no longer there. They have moved on and so you keep following their trail in hopes that you will catch up with them.

 

Each place you reach has their essence there. You can tell they've been there. They have left their mark; yet, you can't seem to meet them face-to-face. I had that experience this month. The spirit of God was on the move, and everywhere I went I saw his fingerprints, felt his essence. Yet, when I arrived, I never saw him face-to-face.

The late, great Michael Jackson deserves a lot of credit for making Africa's plight relevant to those of us in mighty Western nations. The super-duper-megastar sparked and fanned the initial flame when he launched the "We Are the World" campaign to fight African poverty. 

 

That was way back in 1984. Look where we are now. Over the last quarter century, we've seen enough Africa on the front page, across the T.V. screen, and wired throughout the Internet that we dare think we know the continent. 

The air is thick and musty, and I think I might cry.

 

This holy moment starts as Daniel, Pete, Edward and I walk from our guest house to the outskirts of Kibera, in Nairobi, Kenya. As we pass through the local market my senses are overloaded with the sights, sounds and smells. Colourful fruits and vegetables are everywhere. Clothing of every description and quality. Spices. Muzungos (white people) are not common here, so the three of us get a lot of looks. Mostly smiles, but a few frowns. One enterprising brother does his best to sell me some Marlboros.