I have Botswana…
under my fingernails and its dust in my hair. Even after a shower or two it remains. Do I have it in my heart?
Honestly, I am not sure. I have Africa in my heart. Everywhere I go–around Jo’burg to Gabarone or wherever in this continent I feel the Lord’s pleasure. I spend my drives praying, thanking, glorifying the God who has brought me back. Brought me to the place of my heart’s desire. The God who keeps me safe on every journey and makes everything work out in the end, even if not always smoothly from start to finish.
Shortly after I arrived to the home I would spend the weekend in I realized that I can’t just keep posting the way I have been. Telling you how different Africa is, how backwoods (I don’t think I ever said this but I think I implied it), how not-like-the-states, how poor some are, how rich…
But after meeting this beautiful beautiful family I realized that I can’t objectify people. Maybe toilet paper or the lack of it, maybe the baboons on the side of the road or the goats on the highway, maybe the cactuses, but not the people.
It has hit me that poverty does not necessarily create a lack of hospitality. Because truthfully I have found myself most at home as a guest in houses that aren’t filled with amenities and with people who choose to be filled with graciousness instead of shame at their conditions no matter how humble.
Hospitality warms the home, fills the belly in ways food can never do, and gives you entertainment that lasts the entire stay. Hospitality gives you the Setswana name of Masego, which means a blessing to the family. ME! An ignorant white female American was considered a blessing to a Tswanan family simply by being their guest for the weekend.
I can’t even completely share how they blessed me. But I will take time over the next few days to even begin to try. To start I will give you a taste with a few photos.