Senior pictures - November 2008

Costume Party Nov 3

ps. I like this guy.

Baby

three words for today

coming. alive. again.

who is she? you might ask

i wonder if she asks the same questions that we do

who am i? what will I become? am I beautiful?

i wonder if truth is easier to swallow or are the muslim lies on the loudspeakers louder than God's voice? 

there is a bible in the village. there is a well for water. they call themselves blessed.

i wonder if they are happier because it is simple and there is no competition

there is just life and dust of the land and rainy season

there is God, they know there is God

who is He?

the one thing I see is not poverty.

sure, clay huts, barefeet, thatch roof, clay walls

i see contentment and joy over small things

and this thing in their eyes when they pray

[the last picture]

Karajatu

the best English speaking child in the village

Hello, how are you?  My name is Karajatu. 

that was the extent of our connection

except

the Jesus in her eyes

I came to Africa to save her but she just looked me directly in the eyes

and they said

I've been saved

I am sure

and I will sing with you for all eternity

in a heavenly neighborhood

the first time I  met her she clung to my lap in silence and then fell asleep for

two hours

under the spiritual tree that must have been there longer than the village of Djema

the other children sang and danced, but she slept

perhaps because of the heat of the day

or the white American

or love that she rarely felt that my arms gave her

(God using my arms in this way)

she might be married in a few years from now, living in a small clay hut

birthing children at the small age of fourteen

which they call normal in Djema

most girls we saw are like her

carrying one small child on their back

the child's head bobbing

when they pick them up they aren't careful or soft

they just yank at the arm

the babies in Mali are not unaccustomed to sleeping on a mat

on the dirt

in the heat of the day

and do you know what?

they grow up just like we do 

with stories and faces and wounds