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I am a Broken African

After seven weeks of training our journey started and we left South Africa to discover east Africa.

 
We landed in Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania, slept there for one night and then travelled by bus to Nairobi, Kenya, the next day.
 
Talk about Africa at its best: the airport in Dar Es Salaam is not a closed building, but just a roof on pillars and it reminds me of a big garage where I would store farming machines in. The shops look like market stalls and every taxi driver in town tried his luck on the wide eyed "muzungus".
 
Our night in Tanzania was anything but glamorous. We stayed in a very interesting "hotel" and for the first time in my life I witnessed a small toilet/shower/basin all in one room. The room had no windows and the toilet could not flush.
 
The bus to Nairobi, Kenya, could only be described as a nightmare roller coaster from hell.
 
The storage compartments with our luggage in would fling open every once in a while, whilst we were driving. The driver was under the impression that he may bypass all road regulations, as long as he presses the hooter.
 
In the midst of all the chaos we were all completely calm, because we knew God was actually behind the steering wheel of that crazy bus.
 
We arrived in Nairobi and witnessed the craziest traffic in the world and a taxi with neon disco lights dropped us of at our hostess' home in Ngong, just outside Nairobi.
 
What an adventure!
 
We arrived safely, stayed in an eight room mansion with the best hostesses and ate traditional food. We went to a mega Kenyan church and danced in style.
 
The Kenyans are very open and friendly people and they treated us with respect and dignity. 
 
I was confronted with how little I know about this continent I call home and for a moment I was not sure whether I have the right to call myself an African...
 
My heart towards Africa changed these past weeks. God showed me His heart for Africa and His burning desire to finally call this continent His own. He loves Africa. He cries out to Africa daily. Pursuing her daily, begging, crying, standing on His knees. His heart is broken over this broken continent and I realized in a new way that He is the only one who can fix her.
 
But then I asked God what is my part to play? I am also an african. I love the richness of this land. Its diversity. Its people. Is it these qualities that makes Africa unique, or is it perhaps her desperation? 
 
Our part to play is simple: we need to start praying for her. But not just light hearted words. We need to pray out of the Spirit. Out of a place of love for her. Out of a place of humility and a deeper desire to be unified in all our diversity. This desire must be greater than the desire we have to uphold our own opinions, pride and even hurt.
 
And lastly we need to pray out of a mouth which speak words of life and no longer death.
 
Yes, it is Africa's brokenness which makes her beautiful, but aren't we also?

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