rich mullins makes me cry.

my latest adventure:
hassan is dying, and all he wants is to wash in the ocean before he dies. jenni and i decided that it has to be this week or never, seeing as jenni is getting married in 10 days and hassan really is dying (we tried to take him on monday but he was in the hospital). what is he dying from? a multitude of problems: tuberculosis, african parasites, diabetes, and the parasite medicine that made his internal organs start to liquify. he looks like an african that you would see in the pictures of national geographic: emaciated, with hollow cheeks and clouded eyes. the tip of his right index finger is missing, and i have always been too scared to ask why.
me and jenni showed up at 7 this morning to pick up hassan. majuma, his wife, and mohammed, his friend, decided that they are both coming along. luckily for us, mohammed can speak a decent amount of english. we went to camp wi-ne-ma for the day, to kill two birds with one stone: jenni is going to be teaching a session at a jr. high church camp, and i will be taking hassan to go for a swim.
we got in the car. hassan curled up in the front seat, and jenni drove. i was squished in the middle seat between two somali's, and i found that i strangely enjoyed the smell of their sweat. it smells like i imagine africa would, with a hint of ginger. it was very hot in the car, and it was a two hour drive. we listened to somali praise music, which is made with very cheap electronic devices. it was our covert way of trying to convert these dear people.
i spent the entire way down praying, praying that hassan would come to know christ before he dies. i am awash in a love for these amazing people. i wanted to hug bith majuma and mohammed, but i was too snug to even think about moving my arms.
we got to the beach, with barely a minute to spare . . . jenni is supposed to start teaching in 2 minutes. majuma, hassan, and mohammed all used the restroom, and we sat around eating corn on the cob and waiting for hassan to regain his strength.
i kept on telling them that it was going to be cold ("gawowp" in the maay maay language) but they didn't believe me. the only ocean they had been to before was in kenya. they thought it would be exactly the same.
majuma had brought along about 10 different plastic containers (milk cartons, detergent bottles, ect.), and we lugged those to the beach with us. we all stopped and stared once we had a full view. we all agreed that it was very beautiful.
once we got to where the water started, we all dipped our feet in. majuma and mohammed squealed with how cold it was. they handed me some cartons and we started filling them up with ocean water. i turned around to see hassan, standing at the water's edge, stripped down to his boxer shorts.
he looked so sad and so frail, leaning on his cane for support, staring grimly into the ocean preparing to cleanse himself for death. i held my breath. he couldn't possibly go in the ocean. it would kill him for sure.
he stood there for a couple of minutes before he turned and said something to majuma and mohammed. and then he turned around and started putting his clothes on. majuma and mohammed started laughing hysterically.
"what's so funny?" i demanded. "what did he say?"
mohammed looked at me, still laughing. "he say, 'it too cold out here.'"
and that was that.
we hung around at the camp for a oouple more hours, and i had fun showing mohammed and majuma around (hassan had to sit in the car because he was too cold). we were all getting hungry, so i went to the dining hall to see if we could eat there before all the campers came and overwhelmed the refugees. sure, said the kitchen staff. for lunch today we are having ham and hot dogs. hmmm . . . i said, well, my friends are muslim and can't eat either of those things.
one woman, who looked to be in her late 70's, took me by the shoulder and steered me into the kitchen. "dearie," she said, "we'll find something for them to eat." and then to the rest of the kitchen staff: "we have moslems here!"
we were treated like kings. i was so proud of the over-worked jr. high kitchen staff. they were angels in aprons.
finally, jenni was done teaching. we got in the car to go home, pleased with our day. majuma, mohammed, and i all three fell asleep in the back seat. when i woke up, we were listening to rich mullins. he was singing about god being the deliverer of his people, from ancient israel to present day africa. now, i can't get that song out of my head. who better needs deliverance than refugees?
sometimes i think that i feel like a refugee in my own country. but through all my stateless wanderings, i do know one thing: my deliverer is coming, my deliverer is standing by.