Tonight I really miss Africa. Actually, that's not the most accurate statement. I've been missing Africa for a while now. It's been two years since I went to Kenya, and I'd go back tomorrow if I could. It's amazing how that continent grabs people.
I think it's the children I miss the most. Never, in all my musical experience, have I heard such joyful singing. Some of the children we worked with only ate when they were at school. That meal of oatmealy mush was it for them, but they sang with an exuberance I have never seen in the most well fed North American child. There is something amazing about leading 300 children in "Father Abraham", all of them singing at the top of their lungs and laughing hysterically by the end.
Then there were the Maasai children who waited hours for us to arrive at their village of mud and dung huts. They lined up to receive a 'blessing' from us--if only they knew that their songs have blessed me so much more. I can still see them dancing, still hear them singing. I'm wearing the necklace the Maasai women gave me, but it no longer smells of fire and roasted goat--just my soap.
Ah, Father Abraham, you did indeed have many 'sons.' We're scattered across the globe in cities and villages, in brick homes and mud huts. Lord, bind us together in love.