From under a mango tree in SS

(writing gives me outlet and helps me process, SO here is my life and thoughts about it on a chilled out monday night)

After a long day of meetings with governement officials, NGO reps and assessing the situation of various human rights violations (pretty much) I'm exhausted. My hut is hot and forces me into a comatose state. Yes forces ;) One problem though. Two, four, no six beaty little eyes that just sit and stare at me. Occasionally i'll hear "sandula, sandula" from the mouths just under them and they'll jabber something at me in Arabic. Through my complete exhaustion I mustter a smile and try to decode their message.
Before long they heat become to much and I head outside for more air. The women are preparing dinner and without escape I prepare myself to eat. See normally I love eating. I really do but in our culture we eat for fun, for recreation, as delight, for social enjoyment, but here the pleasure flees at times as, strange bowl of green stuff countered by strange bowl of orange stuff (or is the orange stuff the same as the green just with more oil?) just doesn't hit the spot. (Though it does hit my hips ;) We all sit around the bowls and clumps of Ugali, someone says a quick prayer in Arabic that I nod to in faked comprehension and we dig in. Their hands, my hands, orange goop mixes with green. My only comfort is that I can de-worm in a month. lol. I finish early and debate a quick lie down in my house before my ride come to pick me. (He said he'd be gone an hour...it's not been three)
My house. OH boy. It's actually quite nice i'm just adjusting to the no privacy. As in less than.. One concrete room with some metal sheeting on the roof. Three shear panels divide where we sleep from the living room/lounge/entrance way etc. Yes "we". Four of us, a mama and her two babies, six and eight, sleep in two beds. As the Mzungu I'm lucky and I sleep alone. As a communal house however, anyone at anytime feels they can come in and chat. If we don't speak the same language, no matter, they're fine with just watching me.
My bags are stacked on a hamper of some sort and on my bed, so I sleep around them at night. It's cozy and I don't mind to much but I can't find anything and part of me would at least like to unpack my toothbrush.
I start to plan for tomorrow. More assessment and more meetings. Nothing can be implemented until we fully know what's out there. What's being done, what needs to be done, how we can partner. Assessing to me can be exhausting if I'm not careful. It's just like looking and evaluating how crappy the quality of life really is. The meeting aren't so bad. The NGO's actually seem happy about my vision an open to the "wide eyed blond" that "sees the glass half full" Honestly part of me looks around at everything and it's like "Meaningless, meaningless, everything is meaningless." Not in a negative way, just thinking "This too shall pass".

Honestly the first couple of days here were really hard. Culture shock FINALLY set in and looking around at the situation I had to ask myself "Am I really this hard core?" haha. Like really though. Life in the village, no int'ls, missin my friends, 'back to the stone age' some Sudanese say. So has love and hope for a war zone driven me here, or have I lost it?
After sulking and stewing in my whirlwind emotions, all in all just confused, I feel Jesus' response. "So what are you gonna do?" Uh. lol. Really? I know exactly what He means tho cause we've been here before. =) This is the part where I chose where I'm gonna sit. Cause technically I'm "seated with Christ in heavenly places" I live with a superior reality. Like a H.S. football cheer " You see death, I see life, (death-life, death-life) You see lack, I see abundance (lack-abundance...)" (Haha, sometimes I type like I think and it doesn't translate, sorry)
So with much struggle I chose another reality. I see the joy of my now life in the village and the beauty of surrender, Jesus comes and I'm now doing great!
As soon as I deviate my eyes away from His I get overwhelmed though. (Hundreds of babies sleeping in ditches can do that to you) But that's what brings me to the meaningless. All that matters is his face. I love Africa, yes it's where I want to be but, I miss my black stilettos (to say the least) and I realize once again, no matter what "world" I live in (first-third)All...that matters...is His face. It just doesn't matter if you develop "huge life saving programs" that "solve world hunger", or if you clean toilets. "This too shall pass". I dunno, when constantly confronted with sickness and poverty and problems, with no escape I'm brought back to my first love and I can't say it enough. Him in all his beauty is ALL that matters.
(Yes I'm full of cheese but He is pretty much amazing and there's just no way I could do this w/out him lol.)