joy unspeakable

in a christmas program i attended this past sunday evening, these words, sandwiched in a longer sentence, struck me.

joy unspeakable

perhaps because the words seemed reversed that they particularily stood out. i think more because in the past two years i have experienced joy in my life in ways i have never experienced before.

some people close to me have reflected that i am a different person when i speak of, or when i am in, africa. my conversation becomes more animated, my eyes change, excitement starts building from somewhere deep in my chest cavity. i literally do not control it.

this is joy. it is much more than being happy. it is total and utter contentment, no matter the circumstances. it is understanding that i have been so incredibly blessed to having discovered my calling in life. i am learning to allow that joy seep into my canadian life as well. i felt it when danny, a man who sells a street paper in my neighbourhood, gave me a bear hug yesterday.

joy unspeakable

joyful moments caught in megapixels

i met Hannah, a 12 year old girl in the IDP camp. a week earlier a colleague and i had taken her to emergency to have her broken arm set. my colleague helped the mother navigate the system while i helped the xray tech set multiple fractures.

we were delighted to meet again.

in maasai land while on a safari.

just joyful. just because.

joy x 6

visiting the home of little kenyan alida (the baby)

the adoptive aunt is a kind, caring, and generous woman

who has her hands full with 3 daughters and 2 adopted nieces.

swing and jump.

skipping rope.

pretty simple game.

nothing more than a piece of rope and the ability to swing and jump.

i had been walking through a camp for internally displaced people (idp) in kenya in february 2008. 20,000 kenyans living in a space called the showgrounds, no larger than a couple of football fields; or something the size of the stampede grounds in calgary. actually, probably smaller.

i had sat in the dirt and talked to mama's cooking over their three stone fires, chatted with a 98 year old man whose maize and farm was burned by his neighbour of 50 years, i was nearly stampeded by a few hundred people who heard that dried fish was being distributed.

i retreated to the bleachers that are usually for patrons who are showing off their cows for market. i needed space from the growing crowd of children who were clinging to me. i needed to digest the fact that this overflowing campground was one of hundreds that had rapidly become a "safe" place after a stunted genocide.

i sat there hating the hatred that sent these people here.

i sat there wondering what on earth one does with 300,000 displaced people.

i sat there feeling defeated and deflated.

i sat there feeling sorry for myself.

and then i saw her. this little girl skipping rope. amidst supper cooking, laundry drying, men drinking, tents sagging. this little girl skipping rope. so simple. so natural. so normal.

i saw hope.

not in the politicians negotiating power. not in the ambassadors urging peace. not in the ngo's giving food. not even in my little arrogant self with little to give.

the tilt of her head and the light on the rope and the swing of her skirt.

hope.

swing and jump.

hope.

swing and jump.

hope.

swing and jump.