I sit here at nearly midnight with my feet clean at last, the mosquito net taking up half the bed, an overflowing heart, and a small stash of priceless treasures. The children said again and again, “I will not forget you.” Forget? How could I forget? Dear God, let me always remember. Amen!
Today was our last day of camp at Gisimba Orphanage. Which meant saying goodbye. At breakfast this morning, I shared Psalm 139 with the team. “. . . You hem me in - behind and before; You have laid your hand upon me . . . For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb . . . When I awake, I am still with You . . .” It was a reminder for all of us of Your love - the love You hold for each one of these precious children - Your children, whom You created - the children we have come to adore.
We held the grand finale this evening - and it was indeed quite grand! Sunset found us cozily crammed inside the four pink walls of the cafeteria, awaiting the much-anticipated dance competition. Traditional tribal dancing came first with the pounding drums and lively singing. Karim was one of the five warriors - with his long spear and blond wig flying everywhere - and he pulled me up twice for absolutely failed attempts at dancing. Amy was up with me, and we were both laughing uncontrollably. Then the four groups did their steps to Kirk Franklin’s “Do You Want a Revolution?” (complements of Sarah’s ipod) while the audience hooted and hollered. We had backflips and slides, break dancing and Elvis impersonations, head tossing and some things that looked rather like head banging. It was all very impressive, especially for one who possesses no skill in that arena. I only wish we’d had a video camera!
After our four wildly-applauded groups, the babies came, performing their own special rendition of “My God Is So Big,” with Chelsea directing. They were so proud of themselves - and how their faces beamed when the audience cheered for them!
And then . . . Abraham (our MC for the evening) announced a surprise dance team, one that just happened to be passing by and wondered if they could show off a few moves. The children looked around wonderingly, we all shrugged our shoulders, and then to thunderous applause, our team took center stage. How the kids laughed and cheered! They loved it! We were color-coordinated (black T-shirts) and had a bit of a punk theme going (headbands). We started off the dance with our backs to the audience, then jumped around at dramatic intervals . . . And then there was this place where we made two lines and slid in and out of each other - and the kids cheered there especially loud, I think. I even managed not to hit anyone. I have to say, I’ve never enjoyed dancing more!
Well, after the competitions were over, and the yellow team (Karim’s team) had won for their brilliant smiles, Chelsea got up as our team leader to share a few words. And then it was my turn to share with the kids the song I had written for them. “Ibuka . . . urukundo niruhemuka.” (“Remember . . . Love never fails.”) The room was completely silent . . . They told me later the kids were captivated. I told them You inspired me. Dear God, thank You so much for Your inspiration.
After the song and a few more closing words by various people, we took a break. Karim found me, took me by the arm, and led me down the steps and outside. When he was satisfied that we were in as quiet a place as we could find at that moment, he stopped, turned towards me, and without a word handed me his sucker. This was his prize for being on the yellow team and winning the dance competition, and it’s probably one of the only suckers he’ll see all year. How could I accept this? We both knew it was the only one he had. But when I tried to give it back to him, he pressed it into my hand and said, “For you, Auntie. For you.” Dear God, his simple, sincere act of open-hearted generosity touched my heart. I was moved beyond words.
After a dinner of chicken, spaghetti, and much-appreciated soda - for all the kids too! - we gathered down on the soccer field for a marvelous African bonfire. Watching those lithe bodies leaping and twirling around those high orange flames . . . feeling the deep voice of the drum like it was my very own heartbeat . . . hearing those unashamed African voices lifted up in song . . . The images are etched in my mind. A handful of the children tried to teach me to dance - and giggled merrily at my poor attempts. And then the music faded; we said our final goodbyes - hugged absolutely everyone, all one hundred children, some of them twice! And with that, it was time to go. I went to the cafeteria to fetch my guitar. Karim carried it for me - then found someone else to take it so he could put his arm through mine. Dear God, how do I leave such a child? Such children? On the way to the gate, he pulled something off his finger and handed it to me. It was his ring - a fat opaque thing that he’d been so proud to show me at the beginning of the week. He placed it firmly in my hand and closed my fingers around it. This dear child who has nothing was giving gifts to me?
I don’t know how I made my feet walk out that clanging iron gate. But there I was, at the bottom of the hill, my feet pointed towards the hotel, and my heart full of the faces of the children I was leaving behind. For some reason I didn’t race back into the orphanage. Somehow our team, unusually silent, found our way back to the hotel.
And now here in the stillness of cherished memories and so many things to be thankful for, I pray for the children. I pray - as I told them tonight around the bonfire - that their hearts might reflect Your love the way water reflects the moon. The reflection of love that will burst into glorious sight when at last we reach Home. This is my prayer for them . . . and for me.
