God Blessed The Broken Road

 On a long, dusty road in the middle of Africa, I learned a powerful and valuable lesson.

God Blessed The Broken Road #2

Explanation for Revision: 

        I appreciated the feedback I got in the comments of my post and suggestions from our instruction. One thing he mentioned to me was trying to make it more intimate instead of observing from afar. Have a bit more interaction within the experience. So I included a funny little story with the kids in the street and how it highlighted their happiness with having such little. I added that, and some other small little changes in the text that tired to make it more personal, and left all the rich details in there to play off each other.

          

             

Step by step for over eight months I had walked this street. Sweat always protruding from my body into my nice white button-up shirt, begging for the dust and dirt that I kicked up to cling to it. Heat, sweat, exhaustion, and the dust are things I try to forget as I trudge once again down this forsaken spat of road. Bustling about up and down the road, the kids go about playing, oblivious to their surroundings. African Spirituals can be heard coming from people’s yards, showing their utmost devotion to their Creator. Women with baskets on their heads would yell out like a frenzied baboon, as they were passing through in, trying to make a couple of sales for the day. Older kids would go about doing their chores, going out and finding water, and then carrying by the gallons the water back to their homes. Adults take advantage of the islands of shade that are spotted up and down the road, chugging alcohol like it was nothing.

As we pass by, all of their eyes are upon us; kids and some adults’ eyes lit with curiosity while others look on in bewilderment. “Chinesh” one of them yells, and soon after follows the chorus of kids like a wild pack of dogs yelling the words Chinesh and Amigo. It always amuses me that we are mistaken for so many nationalities, predominantly the Chinese. Their childlike innocence was always in full display on this long, dusty road. They have never had much in their lives, exhibited by their appearance and mannerisms. The ragged clothes, or lack there of give little to no protection to the merciless beating of the sun’s rays on their skin. Like a bag of bones, they would run, jump, climb, and make toys out of garbage and admire them as if they had just gotten a new Xbox. Excitement always rises when we pass by, wearing beaming smiles with their cracked lips. They would always want fist bumps with the white aliens that would come into their world everyday, and be so excited like a celebrity had touched their hands. Giving them attention was like putting them on a stage, and they wanted to show you how cool they were like they were going for first place at a talent show. Totally oblivious to the comforts of life, they go about like happy go-lucky kids in a candy store. Just happy to be alive and happy to have what little that they could call their own.

This sense of contentment and happiness rubbed and wore down on me with each step over the past eight months. How could these people be content and comfortable with such a way of living? The question ate at me each day as I turned onto that path. Observing the families and kids go about their daily lives as we walked each day on that road only amplified that question. Their tiny brick homes, that they probably laid brick for brick by themselves, was only an outward manifestation of what I thought was the state of their lives.  I felt such pity for them for not being able to experience the comforts and privileges that I have lived with my whole entire life. Wasted potential is all I could think of as I stared at each person that went about their business on that road.

Finally, one more trip down this road opened up my eyes that I already thought were open. We were walking down the street and were talking with some kids and they wanted us to film them as they did some tricks off this tire.  What they would do is get a running start and then jump off this old tire like it was a trampoline and do tricks off it. Well these 4 kids quickly turned into 30 kids doing tricks for us, and it was so funny. One kid did a front flip and biffed it bad and landed flat on his back with a huge thud like a kid belly flopping into a pool. They had so much fun, the joy and happiness emanated off them like any other kid on this planet. It would be hard for them to trade that old tire for the next new Ipad or Frozen doll. On our way back down the road I saw a family cooking and laughing together as they sat on plastic lawn chairs in their yard wasn’t anything out of the ordinary that I had already seen on that road. But within that family, I could see my family doing the exact same thing but under a few slight different circumstances. Their meal was nothing more than rice and beans, nothing in comparison to my family’s dinners, but they were having a special family bonding moment, like many times my family has experienced. The feelings of tenderness and love were easily exhibited between each other, forging the bonds of true affection.  The companionship and unity transcended the dismal circumstances surrounding them, and they were truly happy. Their living conditions were not the shackles that held them captive but actually liberated them.

They did not have the hindrances that are designed to constantly entertain a person everyday and tune out everyone around them. Their lives reflected the desert travels of Nephi’s family, where all they were left with was the bare minimum. In these circumstances their love for each other grew and they praised their Creator for everything they had. Whatever happens and whatever circumstances people experience, happiness is always right there for the taking. Always available, and always sought after, we are constantly in the pursuit of happiness. I now miss that forsaken spat of road, for truly God blessed that broken road.

God Blessed The Broken Road

            Step by step for over eight months I had walked this street. Sweat always protruding from my body into my nice white button-up shirt, begging for the dust and dirt that I kicked up to cling to it. Heat, sweat, exhaustion, and the dust are things I try to forget as I trudge once again down this forsaken spat of road. Bustling about up and down the road, the kids go about playing, oblivious to their surroundings. African Spirituals can be heard coming from people’s yards, showing their utmost devotion to their Creator. Women with baskets on their heads would yell out like a frenzied baboon, as they were passing through in, trying to make a couple of sales for the day. Older kids would go about doing their chores, going out and finding water, and then carrying by the gallons the water back to their homes. Adults take advantage of the islands of shade that are spotted up and down the road, chugging alcohol like it was nothing.

As we pass by, all of their eyes are upon us; kids and some adults’ eyes lit with curiosity while others look on in bewilderment. “Chinesh” one of them yells, and soon after follows the chorus of kids like a wild pack of dogs yelling the words Chinesh and Amigo. It always amuses me that we are mistaken for so many nationalities, predominantly the Chinese. Their childlike innocence was always in full display on this long, dusty road. They have never had much in their lives, exhibited by their appearance and mannerisms. The ragged clothes, or lack there of give little to no protection to the merciless beating of the sun’s rays on their skin. Like a bag of bones, they would run, jump, climb, and make toys out of garbage and admire them as if they had just gotten a new Xbox. Excitement always rises when we pass by, wearing beaming smiles with their cracked lips. They would always want fist bumps with the white aliens that would come into their world everyday, and be so excited like a celebrity had touched their hands. Giving them attention was like putting them on a stage, and they wanted to show you how cool they were like a talent show. Totally oblivious to the comforts of life, they go about like happy go-lucky kids in a candy store. Just happy to be alive and happy to have what little that they could call their own.

This sense of contentment and happiness rubbed and wore down on me with each step over the past eight months. How could these people be content and comfortable with such a way of living? The question ate at me each day as I turned onto that path. Observing the families and kids go about their daily lives as we walked each day on that road only amplified that question. Their tiny brick homes, that they probably laid brick for brick by themselves, was only an outward manifestation of what I thought was the state of their lives.  I felt such pity for them for not being able to experience the comforts and privileges that I have lived with my whole entire life. Wasted potential is all I could think of as I stared at each person that went about their business on that road.

Finally, one more trip down this road opened up my eyes that I already thought were open. Watching a family cooking and laughing together as they sat on plastic lawn chairs in their yard wasn’t anything out of the ordinary that I had already seen on that road. But within that family, I could see my family doing the exact same thing but under a few slight different circumstances. Their meal was nothing more than rice and beans, nothing in comparison to my family’s dinners, but they were having a special family bonding moment, like many times my family has experienced. The feelings of tenderness and love were easily exhibited between each other, forging the bonds of true affection.  The companionship and unity transcended the dismal circumstances surrounding them, and they were truly happy. Their living conditions were not the shackles that held them captive but actually liberated them.

They did not have the hindrances that are designed to constantly entertain a person everyday and tune out everyone around them. Their lives reflected the desert travels of Nephi’s family, where all they were left with was the bare minimum. In these circumstances their love for each other grew and they praised their Creator for everything they had. Whatever happens and whatever circumstances people experience, happiness is always right there for the taking. Always available, and always sought after, but most of the time sought for in the wrong mediums. I now miss that forsaken spat of road, for truly God blessed that broken road.

Little Rays of Sunshine

            Delson is your typical African child, overly friendly and curious to know the unknown. As a missionary, I loved being with, playing with, and messing with the little African or more specifically Angolan children.  These kids roam the streets day in and day out, using their imaginations to carry them day-to-day. Some wearing practically nothing to other kids wearing old Bananas in Pajamas t-shirts, they always carried a smile with them. But all of them would call us Chinese, without fail. Some kids would love us as we walked in their neighborhoods, while others would get really nervous and run away, some crying, thinking we were the walkers from the “Walking Dead”. 

              Once they aren’t afraid of you and start talking with you, they just love the attention. And once you pull out a camera, you start a feeding frenzy, where you would be talking to like 5 kids and then once the camera is pulled out, there would be like 20 kids out of nowhere. For example, one time in the street we were talking with some kids and they wanted us to film them as they did some tricks off this tire.  What they would do is get a running start and then jump off this old tire like it was a trampoline and do tricks off it. Well these 4 kids quickly turned into 30 kids doing tricks for us, and it was so funny. One kid did a front flip and biffed it bad and landed flat on his back with a huge thud like a kid belly flopping into a pool. 

       

They are some of the most interesting and funniest kids you will ever meet, and the way they are growing up isn’t affecting that. They have as much fun as any kid in the whole world.

African Sadness

1). As the scorching hot African sun pierced the clear blue sky, the stale smell of the cemetery permeated throughout the surroundings. Way sweaty because we were in suits.  Drank a Coca Cola before walking into the cemetery. Slight breeze, but not much at all to distract from the Sun. The sounds of crying and wailing could be heard from all ends of the cemetery.

2) Walking down the pathway numerous graves are protruding from the ground, differing in size and shape. Symbols of the wealth and class of the past. Giant Mausoleums, nice tombstones, hastily built tombstone, mounds of dirt in the ground. A mass of people all dressed in black surrounding the grave site. Being the only white people in the group. Standing off to the side, almost on top of someone’s grave because we were late getting there. Many flowers there and thrown into burial site. Singing of spirituals and loud crying.

3) The mother screaming and crying the child’s name and the word no over and over and over again. The catholic priest giving his short little sermon about death, how dust we came and now as dust we must return. The African spirituals that they sang. They sang about returning home to our Father, about love, peace and hope. Others who also were crying repeating the words no, no, no over and over again.

4) It was the first time I had ever experienced a funeral like this. Standing and watching as so many people suffering from anguish and sadness twisted my soul. I wanted to comfort them, I wanted to take away the anguish they were feeling. I felt depressed and sad myself, being influenced by the people around me. I could feel that despair that death brings to ones life, having never had to experience that before in my life. And then I remembered my Savior, and why we are here. I began feeling lighter and a burning within me that seemed to push the despair I was just feeling out of my surroundings. I began feeling hope once more, the happiness, and understanding. Joy filled within me that I wished it would overflow and spill over to the other participants of the funeral.

5) My investigator/The Father: Big Teddy Bear of a man, Calm and collected. Held his composure, just looked on as the funeral continued. When we said hi to him he let a few moments of emotion and crying.

The Mother: Big, Solid African Woman, Hysterical, couldn’t keep herself together. Screaming, crying, wailing.

The Mourners: Took the lead from the Mother, crying, wailing, singing. Lots of emotion were showed by multiple people. Their emotion could easily be felt.

My Long Lost Friend

      One of my favorite characters growing up as I explored the frontier of Literary Fiction was Dustfinger from the novel Inkheart. His flashy fire eating skills, his best pal Gwen the Marten, and his wry sense of humor caught my attention and instantly became one of my good friends.

           Never would I ever imagined stepping into his shoes and seeing things from his point of view. Just as he arrived in an unknown and foreign world, a world that was something beyond his imagination so did I two years ago.

            
       I was called to serve a mission in the Angola Luanda Mission, a place on the other side of the globe, and for me a whole other world. I was immersed in a new culture, a new people, a new language, and a new life. I had to quickly adapt to new conditions and circumstances within this new world to survive. Things like no water, no energy, the hot baking sun, dust everywhere, and pestering drunks galore were part of my new life, my new home.  

       And just as quickly as it started, I had to go home, back to my original way of living, back to my other world. How I would look at life and how I would live the rest of my life would forever be changed through this experience, but it was nice to be home. It cost Dustfinger 10 years in another world and for me only 2, but I feel we both became better men as we made our journey back home.