March 30, 2010
Last fall seemed so long ago, that day when I was sitting in this exact spot in the living room, when she made her announcement that she was going back to Kenya. She had found an organization on line where she could work with an orphanage for six months. I didn’t think that the day would actually arrive when she would get on that plane and fly into the adventure of a lifetime.
And now she is gone. The time will go quickly, I know that. She will come home changed, aged, like fine wine perhaps. She’ll come home with wonderful ideas for her future life. Maybe even a game plan for her future. Or if she just comes home with lots of pictures, a tan and good health, that would be fine with me too.
In the meantime, all we can do is pray for her, keep her in our thoughts and wait, somewhat impatiently, to hear some of her stories. And since I have been there already myself, I can go back to Africa in my mind, hear the Maasai singing their songs through the night to keep us safe from lions, smell the distinctly sour odors of poverty in Mathari Slums, feel the rough warm fingers of school children who have never touched a Muzungu (white person) before.
Sigh. I need to go back there again, don’t I?