Don't get me wrong, there are things I have grown accustomed to. I have learned I love ground nuts and chapati with beans and avocado, but I can't stand cassava and matoke isn't so hot either. I know that Uganda is cooler and boasts green and lush mountains, and that Kenya could melt your day away with heat. I know the farm is my happy place and Kampala can choke my patience into non-existence. I know children will move out of the way just as assuredly as I know the careening cars will not hit them. Above all, I know that Peter is my brother and his home is my home as well.
Good or bad, known or mystery, I dream of Africa... I think. Let me explain my thoughts.
Last year I met this man that I thought was incredible. He was tall, handsome, sweet, and a little mysteriously playful. The very nature of how we met was a romance in waiting. It involved a plane, a wedding celebration, the military, a field of horses, music, and one hell of a good bye kiss. It was because of that meeting that it was so hard for me to admit that it was over when it ended. It was a fairytale, a something you can't let go because the way we met was magical. Even though I wanted it to be one thing, it was another.
That is what I meant when I said I think I dream of Africa. It's something I see in my mind because of what little experience or exposure I have, but then finding out it may not be exactly what I thought or pictured. I used to dream of open plains and deserts with animals so thick you had to push through them (let's be honest, that part is true). Or of jungles entangling me with every step as I push through their dense blanket of vines. And, of course, I am trekking to find a hidden civilization or escape a ravenous panther in these visions.
Right? Tell me you haven't lived The Lion King in your head when you think of Africa, and I'll tell you that you're full of it. Again, some of these things are true. Like the gorgeous jagged peaks of Rwanda that are breathtaking in their stark contrast to the open and desolate plains of the Rift Valley in Kenya. It's okay to dream of these things, because they exist to make dreams come true.
But there was nothing that could prepare me for the approach of a woman, slight in build and bright eyed with hope in Rwanda. She reached out with one arm - the only one she had - and asked for money. She was a genocide victim. There was nothing that could prepare me for the Genocide Memorial in Kigali that details the deaths of nearly 1 million people in 1994 because of the association of their tribe or the measurement of their nose. Most certainly nothing could prepare me to face the ignorance of the world during that time, which allowed such devastation.
My heart exploded with fear for the 92 children and their future at the Agape Hope Center Orphanage. Oliver and Maggie are doing all they can and providing all the love in the world, but love provides only some of what a child needs. I had to walk away when I heard the story of two young boys that had been living in a bush for nearly 8 months, living on trash before they were found. I was equally as heartbroken when I discovered one girl had arrived at the orphanage because, while living in the streets, she had been raped by 3 men.
The Africa I dream of evolves the more I go to that great continent. I now dream of an Africa with clean streets, quality education, and opportunities for all in employment and health. I dream of peace and basic human rights fulfilled by the local leaders who are capable of making change. The best part is that I KNOW it can happen because I see it, even in the small slivers I capture each trip I make there. I am eternally grateful to be a part of that change with my microscopic contributions!
I also dream of handsome Sam from the Maasai tribe that promised he'd marry me and spend summers in Alaska, but that's a story for another day. Africa has become my home, and a place I will never give up on. I'll dream until I no longer sleep because all of it will have come true. I dream of Africa... always.
