Posted in
africa by Mike Todd on 11/23/2009
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.
Click here to continue reading...
I stare at an image of a girl in Haiti. I strain to interpret her eyes.
Heather and I had ventured out into Monrovia with Patrick that
afternoon for one of our last jaunts together before I left. We decided
to go into the city from the port on foot instead of attempting to
catch a taxi or taking a rover. It was beautiful out and we needed a
walk so why not. Besides, as long as we walked with Patrick no one
would bother us.
Every day in Swaziland was a reminder of what true faith is. I would
meet thirsty, hungry, lonely people who worshiped God, praised God, and
gave him all the glory. Always. They sang. They danced. They smiled,
even in the midst of extreme pain. One thing was certain: God is good,
and they were faithful.
When my mission team came into Africa, a lot of us were peeing our
pants with excitement. I, however, wasn't one of those people.