About a month ago, I landed back in Texas from a brief journey abroad. I got the incredibly amazing opportunity to spend two weeks in the cradle of the world, the continent of Africa. I traveled to the most unappealing country in the world and had one of the most amazing experiences of my life. I have spent the past month trying to process what happened into the proper words. Please read my thoughts of this trip with the understanding that I am not an English major.
In August, I had just left my second year on Senior Staff at Camp Allen. Exhausted from children, dancing, worship music, and anything involving the outdoors, I was antsy to get back to my quaint apartment in San Marcos and have some well deserved "alone time". I had a whole week of refreshing and replenishing time to organize my thoughts and reconnect with friends I had left for the summer. It was also a time where I could reenergize my prayer life and get excited again about the Word. As school began, I felt some unrest about taking classes. I had a heart for music and was encouraged to become a major but the classes I enrolled in were not really going to help me. After much deliberation, I withdrew from Texas State for the fall. During this deliberation, I could hear God saying that He had plans for me that required me to be available to leave at anytime. Not knowing what this meant, I began going to some friends for some good coffee talks. The biggest advice I got out of these talks was something that has helped me grow so tremendously since then. If we claim that God is our ultimate provider then why don't we ask Him to provide for everything? He wants to and most certainly can. From asking for safety to guiding our money problems to decisions we make in school and work all the way to just asking for the next step to take in our life's journey. I started praying for everything that I did all day and it didn't take long for me to realize that all of those prayers would guide me to where I needed to go. I was referred a job to help pay for my living expenses and was constantly being fed meals by friends all around.
God led me to a phone call with a friend of mine in Denver about potentially moving there to attend a 4-month Discipleship Training School at Youth With A Mission (YWAM). The tone in her words made the opportunity sound like one I couldn't pass up until she mentioned when the next one was and how much it would cost. It seemed impossible to raise such a large amount of money in two weeks while trying to sub-lease my apartment mid-semester. Nevertheless, I knew that God can do miracles, so I met up with my friend Josh Lowry to talk about it. Over coffee, I told him about my tug towards going on a mission and how I wanted it to be fruitful for everyone involved. He excitingly told me about a new opportunity that came up from his church about a scouting team he needed to put together and were to be sent to South Sudan in November. So now, with multiple items on my plate, I spent a few days in constant prayer about the options before me. At the end of it all, one sound was resonating in my head: You are going to South Sudan.
After two months filled with preparation and finding the funds to go (thank you endlessly to all who donated) we arrive in late November to our destination, Nagishot, South Sudan.
After the day and a half travel time and the three days spent in Nairobi, Kenya (which involved praying with grocery store clerks and homeless people, riding a dirt bike through the rain in downtown Nairobi, and the nerve-racking Maasai market), we are making our descent into Nagishot in a six passenger crop duster. The Didinga people are anxiously awaiting our arrival on the grass strip they made about an hours hike from the village. After the beautiful and adventurous hike through the forest and up the mountain we arrive at the compound that Jonathan, Lauren, and Adelaide, our gracious hosts, live inside.
Over the next few days, I got to meet the other long term missionaries living in the compound and get to hear their story about what led them here. I was so incredibly eager to go around and get to speak to all of the Didinga people. I met a few that knew a good bit of English, and they ended up becoming my good friends during my stay. Their Didinga names have slipped my mind, but their biblical name (which they introduce themselves with) are Alfred, Peter, Hector, and Josh. These men were so gracious to not only show me around but would also translate for me when I would encounter people that didn't know English. Sunday morning, we went to church just outside the compound with a lot of the other villagers. It turns out that Peter and Hector are assistant pastors. They gave an amazing sermon that day, and I realized they heavily enjoyed the Old Testament because of the relatable issues of war (South Sudan declared independence from Sudan in the summer of 2011). At sunset, we headed to the soccer field to challenge the villagers to a match. We did this a couple times here, and not only did it allow us to have some fun but I got to goof around with the kids. After the initial awkwardness of my American humor, they took a liking to me. I'll never forget their faces.
One night, we thought it would be fun to have a dance. Our first thought was to combine traditional dances from both America and Nagishot, but then I found out that they do a line dance that involves the women running swiftly at the man and accelerating the pelvic region at the male-paired area, also known as a "crotch bump". Needless to say, I stepped out of the dance floor for that one. The Senior Staffer came out of me during the dance and I began to do moves that would be shunned in the most casual of dance halls in America. Including the stylish b-boy moves like the ankle dance, the twist, and the Camp Allen exclusive "Wiggin-Wiggle". The kids went NUTS! During the day I saw these same kids look at me in confusion and fear and at night they were huddled around me dancing and singing along to "Rock Lobster" by the B-52s. Truly, my heart had melted and sunk into the fertile soil of Nagishot.
On a dirt related note, I also spent some time learning the interlocking brick-making process. I discovered that Jonathan requires a team of Didinga men to build these bricks in shifts everyday. A huge problem in the village is a lack of work ethic. To convince the village certain jobs would improve the quality of life is a tough chore. We made the 6-mile journey to the halfway point of the road that goes from Nagishot to Chukadum to survey the road and document all of the wash-out points and heavily destroyed areas. This is a huge project that needs to be done during the dry season by the Didinga men. This road is the only way Nagishot will get a drilling truck into the village to get water wells for the people.
Along the way, a boy named Simon stopped us. He asked if we have seen the cell phone he was transporting between villages, as he had lost it. He said if the owner found out he would beat Simon. We laid hands on him and began to pray for his safety and for the phone. When we finished the prayer, he sighs and shakes his head. His friend walks up to him and in a fit of movements Simon flails his body through the air, shouts out something in Didinga, and slams to the ground in tears. My first thought was hormones, as Simon was about thirteen or fourteen. He then grabbed his friend and held him close in a hug. Then he got up and walked away. I turn to Jonathan who knows the language and asked him what just happened. He said immediately after the prayer, Simon's friend walked up with the phone. Simon then shouted "Jesus!" in Didinga and that those tears were tears of awestruck happiness. Simon had witnessed a miracle on his behalf in the name of Jesus.
Something to humble me everyday was taking a bucket bath, which involved heating water and standing in a small bucket with a cup (if I remember to bring one) and a headlamp (also, a key element I would sometimes forget) and pour this water over my head and cleanse the dirt off of me. Those were the times in the day where I could really grasp the fact of what it means to sacrifice comfort for the sake of the gospel.
On the last day, my Didinga friend Kamise told us that his sister's newborn has died and there is a grieving near their tukul huts. In the morning, we made the journey to see his family. Didinga women view pregnancy different than Americans. They do not acknowledge the pregnancy until the child is born due to the massive number of infant fatalities. They are also usually not allowed to cry, save this occasion. The whole family had a gloom over them - a dark cloud hovering during this dry season. The men sat together and the women sat together, grieving in their own ways. After about an hour of being there, we realize it is time to leave. We ask the two groups to come together so we can pray for the child as well as the suffering family. As Josh Lowry prays, Kamise translates every word. My arms begin to lift above my head and with every ounce of me I ask God for provision. Provision for this family, this village, this world. My heart grows warm and that wonderful tingle in my nerves of the presence of God happens. The father of the child turns to Josh and says, "When you pray to God, my heart warms up". A rather unusually optimistic reaction to a rather pessimistic of situations.
Honestly, I could tell stories for days. I was only there two weeks, but the journey completely changed my heart and redirected me into the light that shines on the broken nations. Words can't express the way I feel, but I will act in a way that shows my gratitude for growing up in a spiritually dense place by reaching out to those who can only dream of the things we get to experience. I will not rest until Christ is in every nation and on every tongue.
