Niger

Words seem to hide from me when I try to convey my experiences in Africa, when I try to translate my thoughts into words. Images and people, questions and feelings, smells and sights all dance in my head and in my heart, but the minute I sit down to write it out, they all freeze. It's frustrating, but I also know that I have a responsibility to communicate what I have seen and experienced. There is power in storytelling. There is power in bringing pieces of Africa back with me to the states.

I think my time in Niger was the most powerful for me. I really was shocked by the difference in the environment. I had never been to a land so dry, so hot, and so seemingly sparse. It was an uncomfortable environment for me. I like to think of myself as a strong woman, but this place certainly weakened me. In more ways than one.

Reagan and I drove out of Niamey toward Agadez. Tahoua was our destination, though we didn't actually spend much time in the town. It was so strange to drive for hours and see essentially nothing more than scattered villages of dried-out mud or thatched-roof huts, people walking with wood on their heads, donkeys carrying loads of straw, and cattle that occassionally ran out in front of our car. But there was one place on the side of the road that occupied hundreds of women and their children as they stood in line for medical care and food distribution. We spent some time talking with a couple of women, staring at their malnourished children, knowing that 1/3 of these children will not live to be five years old. It was a hard place to be, and I felt so helpless. I didn't realize how much that experience affected me until I arrived back in Niamey.


I was going through some of our digital pictures and I stopped at this picture of me leaning toward a woman and her 2 month old baby girl that was severely sick. I stared at that picture, and so many different feelings flooded me: reminders of the feeling of helplessness as I touched this dying baby, of hurt and anger about the reality of the situation, and of confusion about why our loving and merciful God allows such injustices to continue.

Tears began to stream down my face as I struggled to make sense of it all. I have seen people in desperation before. I have wrestled with the reality of poverty and injustice before. I have learned that there are some things that we can do to alleviate such conditions and I have learned that I am not able or called to fix all the problems in the world. But apparently, my heart has not been able to digest all of it, even though my head knows it. I cried harder than I had in a long time. I don't know why the tears wouldn't stop. But I kept wondering what exactly God wants us to do about this situation. It breaks my heart and seriously angers me that there are thousands of people in this country alone that lack access to food, to healthcare, to any sense of security or dignity. I saw these women standing for hours in line to have someone weigh their baby and give them some kind of attention. I put myself in their shoes, thinking that I would want so badly for someone to hear my cry, to see the struggle for my child's survival as a priority. But in their shoes, I was just one of hundreds of thousands of people who were feeling that same neglect and that same need for assistance. Everyone's need was just as great, and yet the help was so limited. What a helpless feeling that is.

I thought about the millions of people on this beautiful planet who struggle to survive each day. There is so much that is wrong with the world. And there is equally so much that we can to do address these problems. I know I'm an idealist. I'm proud to be an idealist. We've got to believe that God has given us gifts and passions and hearts like His so that we can do something to bring relief to the world. But as the tears flooded, I felt as though I lost a bit of my idealism. Each tear that came out was a piece of me that believed so strongly that the world could be fixed and that God would make it happen. But as the brokenness hit me so dramatically, hope began to feel a bit buried.

There's just so much that is wrong, and it breaks my heart. It simply breaks me. I want to stand at the top of a mountain and shout, saying, "Listen world! Just, please, listen! This has got to stop" I want to tell the world about people who are loved just as dearly by our God as we are, people who are, for whatever reason, being denied the chance to live and to grow to be the people God intended them to be. I want to tell the world that it's outrageous that a billion people in the world are living on less than a dollar a day, that they don't have access to clean water, that WE are responsible to do something. I want to tell the world about all these communities that I know and love and wish so much that they would desire to know them too. Reagan talked about the importance of knowing someone. If our friend or neighbor were starving to death, we would do something about it. We would do a lot to make sure that he or she wasn't starving anymore. But we don't do it for the people we don't know.

It's strange, but over the week, I've continued to shed tears as I think about these things. It just makes my need for a Savior so much deeper, so much more desperate. I can't make sense of the world. I can't understand why it is so tragically broken, and yet is so beautiful, so rich and so alive. I live within this tension of being in love with the world, with Creation, with joy while continually being broken by the suffering, the reality of the Fall, the injustice. It stirs me more than I can explain. I keep thinking that after each trip to Africa, nothing will shock me anymore. But while there are still so many people who are under the grip of extreme poverty and living under inhumane conditions, my heart will continue to break - and such hurt will continue to fuel my passion to address all of this.

I don't know why God continues to give me the desires of my heart, to send me to Africa and let me dwell in a place I love so dearly. But I am so thankful that He does. I do not deserve the blessings that He has showered me with. I just pray that I be a good steward of the opportunities he has given me - that I may be an effective and compassionate advocate for Africa - that as I speak and work and advocate for my family in Africa, that people would see Jesus in me, that my own flesh and shortcomings would not be a distraction in this work - that God be glorified in all of it. I cry for the world, and yet I rejoice that God loves every single one of us and is truly in control - even when the world feels fully out of control - and I simply rest in that.

Jena