As I zipped up my jumbo suitcase on that early Monday morning in July, I started thinking about how long I’ve wanted to go to Africa and how lucky I really am to be going a second time. Since I was ten years old, I have wanted to go to Africa.
I got on the first plane ride, from Little Rock to Atlanta, not thinking about the trip.
Before we left, my dad got a job offer as a youth pastor at a church in Bentonville. The Ministry field is so complicated that when you get an offer doesn’t mean you have the job, so when both my dad and I got on that plane, we were only thinking about the fact that when we landed back in the States in two weeks we would see where we were going to spend my senior year of high school.
After the last plane ride of 16 hours, we landed in Johannesberg, South Africa. It was nighttime, around 7, so 2 p.m. in the States. The seasons are opposite, so it was around 40 degrees outside. Swaziland, which is about the size of Arkansas, is a country surrounded by South Africa and Mozambique. It’s the only country in Africa still run by a king, so the people, Swazi’s, are treated horribly. Most of the population only lives until 32 years of age because the rate of HIV/AID is at its all time high. As a result, the amount of orphans is overwhelming. They are lucky to have grandparents; if they have no one, the oldest person takes care of the household. I didn’t say sibling because most of the time all of the family is living under one roof, including cousins, nieces, nephews, etc.
Most of the country’s population is “Christian,” but they still worship other gods not knowing how wrong. Every day throughout the week, we worked on building churches and/or orphanages. This year, we built three churches in three different places. We travel all over Swaziland; we have never stayed in the capital to do stuff because the country is so small; it only takes about five hours to travel border to border.
We went to some of the most rural communities, and while I was there, I noticed how some of the babies were coughing and had stuffy noses. I realized they didn’t have little things like Benadryl, Tylenol, or even tissues. I realized my calling was to be in medical missions. I got a vision of building small clinics in each community. I also want these clinics to help young mothers and even do circumcisions. The medical care in Swaziland is horrible.
At the last place we went to, Gege, we built our third church. This particular church had a pre-school and the preacher’s wife was the teacher. Every day the helpers at the preschool cook two big pots of this corn stuff they eat. It’s a lot like cornbread, but it’s not thick like bread. A lot of Africans eat this stuff because it’s a starch and it feels them up. It’s cheap and you don’t have to each a lot to feel full. 425 kids from all around this community at Gege come to eat at lunch. Usually, this is the only meal those kids get.
During my first trip to Swaziland, I met this little boy named Sicalo. He was one of the kids at one of the churches and I fell madly in love with him. He sat on my lap all night long. Going this past summer, I wanted so badly to see him again. On one of the last nights, we visited that church. I was worried he wouldn’t be there, but he was and he remembered me! It was the best day ever. He again sat on my lap all night long and it was very rough saying goodbye.
I’m so glad I got to go again and I can’t wait to live there one day. One of the missionaries mentioned that, by 2040, there would be no Swazi’s living in Swaziland. With God on my side, I hope to change that.
