meanwhile in italy

it is 9 54 italian time and i have been sick in bed practically all day. my family and i arrived in florence, italy yesterday and are leaving for venice tomorrow. after that it will be on to spain for a few days where i will get to speak spanish until my little heart is content and then back to england. after a few days of england i will be BACK IN AFRICA! by the time i arrive in botswana only 3 weeks will have passed since i left zambia, but i miss africans so much i almost cant stand it. going back to the states for good is going to be ridiculous in december. the interesting thing about italian time is that it is exactly the same as zambian time. so, when it is 9 59 here, it is 9 59 there. often i look at the clock and think of exctly what i would be doing at that time on that day if i were still in zambia. it is kind of weird knowing pretty much exactly what summer staff is doing almost every minute of the day. i miss it and im jealous of them. last night something unexpected happened. since we have been in italy, i have noticed that at every large tourist attraction there have been a couple dozen african men trying to sell things to tourists. these items ranging from knock off rolex watches, to fake louis vuittons to cheap scarves. of course knowing me, i began starting conversations with a few of these men. i found out they are pretty much all from senegal, gambia and other west coast countries and of course they were the typical africans, kind as can be. at first i tried to ignore the fact that this is the cycle of african poverty continuing even here in more prosperous italy, until last night. my family walked up to this beautiful lookout point in florence to watch the sunset. among us were hundreds of tourists enjoying the sunset and again a large collection of african men selling crappy items. my family sat down on a bench and there was room for everyone to sit except for me, due to the fact that one of these african vendors had paintings for sale all over the ground and one was right in the way of where my feet would go if i were to sit down as well. so, i stood. the vendor noticed my family sitting and me standing after a few minutes. he bent down picked up the painting and patted his hand on the bench. i automatically assumed he was trying to sell me the painting and so i shook my head and said no. after a minute or so, i realized what he had actually done and so i sat down in the open space he had made for me. i started thinking about this. why were there hundreds of african men selling the most unappealing items night after night. i rarely saw anyone even stop to give them interest in their products, let alone buy something. i realized that their material poverty has reached beyond the borders of the african continent. maybe vending items in the middle of an italian street to wealthy tourists is good for them, but that is the best they can do? i know that is not what i aspire to do with my life. if that were me, i would be humiliated. i began talking with my mom about how these men are probably seperated from their families, trying to make more money than they would in their own country and sending the money home to their families back in africa. i cant imagine what that would be like. not to mention, it instills further into their minds that they are worthless because all day they get ignored by trourists that are tired of having people try to sell them things. the root of this problem is education. a simple education that i took so for granted and still do, provides me with aspirations. as i was talking to my mom and looking at this man who still kindly moved the painting for me to sit down, i started crying. in public...crying. the last thing i expected to be faced with in italy was african poverty and i wasnt ready for it. my littlest sister, chloe was listening to my mom and i discuss this issue and then she also started crying. it sounds a bit ridiculous but seeing my little sister and mom upset over what upsets me was good for me. this is real and its so easy to ignore it all and go about our simple lives. i know that i am one person and not God. i could never even attempt to fix every problem this continent has. but, i do know that for some reason God has given me a heart for these people. i will let their struggles affect me and mourn over their pain. be careful though, because when you let it affect you, you just might find yourself crying on a bench in the middle of italy. but my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus. phillipians 4 19

PS there are still a lot of kids who need sponsors!! check the blog entitled Be a father to the Fatherless.