I was e-mailing a friend from Kakuma refugee camp back and forth today. It made me miss Africa and all my friends from Kakuma. As I wandered down here to go to bed this evening, I found a few books that my mom bought when I was in Kenya. They are awesome books - they have a lot of pictures and information about Kenya. I started to page through them. I realized again how much I miss it.

I simply don't understand it. For the majority of my time there, I felt like I was dying and couldn't handle living over there. Right now, thinking about the people and all the things that became familiar to me, my heart aches. (It's not too much unlike the ache I feel at the thought of possibly being alone for the rest of my life - random side note to help put this in perspective.) I'm glad my heart aches for Kenya. It's something I longed for while I lived there, but always seemed to be semi-elusive (my time in Kakuma was getting there). I long to see those people again. I long to walk down the crowded streets of Lodwar. I long to barter for fruit and smile and talk with the children who are staring at me. I long for the sights (and even smells) of Africa.

I only wish that world wasn't so far from my world. It's nearly impossible to live in that world and this world simultaneously. Relationships here have to grow stale out of necessity - phone communication is too expensive for any regular use, and internet really is rather limited (although, I suppose it does depend on where you live). It's so much different than simply living on a different side of America from a good friend. Being across an ocean changes things. The thought of going back for a vacation or a summer to do volunteer work sounds wonderful - I long for the opportunity. The thought of going back for another six months, a year, or longer terrifies me... But at the same time - the thought, the possibility... It's there. It's in the back of my mind and it's no longer stomped down into the ground where it's dead and buried.

I don't even know what to do with these thoughts. They're completely random thoughts. I don't know if I'm being called to Africa. I'm just writing them out.

I know the famine has killed a lot of people where we worked. Apparently, Todd is telling people that some of the children we worked with in Lodwar have died from it. My mind goes to Fibi. It kills me inside. I love that girl. Writing those words... moves me to tears about this situation for the first time since I've been home. I've been too numb to cry. Too afraid to think about it - too tired. Now the tears come. What if she's dead? What if she's starving? I wish I was able to bring her home with me. I miss her so much. I suppose I could ask Benson about her - but I'm so afraid. I'm not sure I want to know if something has happened to her, but at the same time, every time I look at a picture of her (which is frequently), I wonder if she's still alive.

Which brings me to a question that's come to mind frequently the past couple days. Why does God allow such injustice? Why have I been blessed so much? Why can I get away with spending an entire summer not working and traveling with my family and still be well-fed and have a little extra cash on the side while children like Fibi are starving and orphaned and their toys are random pieces of trash? What do I do with that realization? At one point I thought not shopping at Wal Mart was the answer - trying to make sure I was consuming products that paid their workers fair wages. But how does that help Fibi exactly? How does that help the person who loses their job when the sweat shop closes down? Do sweat shops really ever get better - or do they just close down and then leave people without any source of income (no matter how small)? Don't get me wrong - I desire to see good businesses that are paying people fair wages, but how do we really make that happen? How do we really help the people who need it most? As far I know, there aren't even any big factories in northern Kenya. They're simply living in a desert - no way to raise crops. They're starving. They're helpless. How can I make a difference?