Friday, September 13, 2019

My Other Life

It's not polished, but here is a post I found from April of 2018, almost a year and a half ago.

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I need to share with you this other life I had.

Once I lived in Africa.  Though it might be a point of laughter for some, I find myself reminiscing about my experiences in Niger.  And I realized how many times a thought comes to mind when I don't say it out loud.  It's hard.  I can't relate to the people here or they can't relate to me.  And I want to be able to explain myself, but there isn't time or it's not welcome.  Usually it's just silly things - like in conversation with someone when you say, "Oh, that reminds me of the time when...."  Except usually these memories took place in Africa.  For some reason people feel like I'm rubbing it in or using it as an excuse.  But really, I lived there.  I lived there for three years.  And it was hard.  And I loved it.  And it makes me in part, who I am today.

If I could share some things with you, I would tell you about my African church.

I would tell you that I woke up with a cockroach staring at me on my pillow one night and I've killed at least 5 within a couple minutes.  I also killed a scorpion in my bathroom.  I chased lizards out of my classroom.  I ran in the desert heat in the middle of the day.  I spoke French and Zarma to the workers on campus.  They had so much joy.

Do you realize what I'm missing?  The community.  The friends.  The sisters and brothers.  My life will never be the same because of these people.

I would tell you that I have friends all over the world now.  Part of my heart is in Switzerland, Australia, Brazil, Germany, and Korea.  The best part of community is people.  The hardest part of community is people.

I got to teach at the same school as my parents.

I got to ride my bike to and from school, ringing the bell on the handlebars when I was at the gate.  I road my bike down rice road at sunset.

I saw elephants and giraffes and heard lions roaring at night.

Time makes it easier to forget these things and that's not a bad thing.  But part of me doesn't want to forget.  I want to remember.  The people, the sounds, the places.  I grew a lot during my time abroad and I wish you could understand that part of me.