a little one comes shooting out the courtyard to my right, sporting only his little, black shorts and makes a beeline for me, grabbing my big, light hand in his small, dark one as soon as he reached me.
"you going to see your mom?" our neighbor asks
i agree in the affirmative, and lift the camera on my shoulder out of reach from little hands. "photo taa, tubabu musso, photo ta" : take our picture, take our picture.
i skirt the lake of mud and trash in the middle of the road that is quickly eating up the small pathway around it. and i hear confirmation that mom is there even before i see her.
the kids are playing with the small ball that she brought for galilou and he is contentedly sitting on her lap watching the goings on around him.
with more white people more kids always come, it's only a matter of time. so now with the two of us, mom and i, sitting in the small open courtyard sitting under the tree; the kids come. and shy smiles and toothy grins begin as the camera comes out.
and as i have eight pairs of hands on me clambering to see their picture in the camera screen, i'm amazed at how strongly the Lord has knit my heart with the burkinabé people.
i don't always like what they say or do, or how they treat me. i get frustrated and annoyed. but just like i would if i was anywhere else in the world, no matter what language i was speaking or who i was living life with.
but through all of it He has given me a love and heart for each of these faces and so many more.
and as i have eight pairs of hands on me clambering to see their picture in the camera screen, i'm amazed at how strongly the Lord has knit my heart with the burkinabé people.
i don't always like what they say or do, or how they treat me. i get frustrated and annoyed. but just like i would if i was anywhere else in the world, no matter what language i was speaking or who i was living life with.
but through all of it He has given me a love and heart for each of these faces and so many more.
