This is a story I've been working on for quite some time. I haven't finished it, so I'm not sure how many parts there will be, but here's the first part.
This Is My Story, This Is My Song, Part 1
by Dee
Zoey sat on the stoop, her chin in her hands. Her sun-bleached blonde hair hung in waves around her face. She stifled a sigh. What was the point? Why had her parents moved their family across the globe to this tiny, dusty town in East Africa?
Life really couldn’t get any worse for Zoey. She had been about to start middle school when her parents had announced they were moving to Kenya to be missionaries. Zoey’s best friend hadn’t understood and had found a new best friend as soon as Zoey left. Zoey didn’t have any new friends here in Kajiado. Her family lived in a very remote area, and they didn’t have internet and sometimes not even electricity.
“Zoey!” her mother’s voice startled Zoey out of her thoughts.
“Yes, ma’am,” Zoey called back.
“I need you to wash the breakfast dishes. But you’ll have to get water from the well first.”
Zoey heaved a sigh and pulled herself up from the step she was sitting on. She walked into the small house, grabbed two buckets and headed back outside. Padding quickly down the dirt path in her bare feet, she reached the well in less than two minutes. The sun blazed down on her head as she pulled the well bucket up.
She heaved the bucket out of the hole, dumped it in one of her buckets from the house and tossed it back down. The loud splash startled a rather skinny zebra that was eating as many of the few meager leaves it could find. Zoey pulled the well bucket up, dumped it in her other bucket, and threw the well bucket back down into the well.
As she gripped the two sloshing buckets and headed back down the path, she glanced around at the surrounding countryside. The grass that had once been a luscious green had become dry and crunchy. Once green and flowering shrubs and low growing trees had now become bare and brown. The land was as parched for water as if it were a desert.
Why does it have to be this way? Why can’t God send rain? We all know that people and livestock are dying from this drought. The thoughts rolled around in Zoey’s head, spinning and twirling like a leaf blown in the wind.
Her doubts and questions continued throughout the day, up until after-dinner devotions. As Zoey’s father read Romans 8 to Zoey, her mother, and her little brother Simon, one verse in particular stood out to her.
“We know that God works all things together for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.” If everything works together for the good of those who love Him, then why are we having this drought? Why is there so much suffering? Zoey looked around at the faces of her family. They glowed and flickered with the light of the candles. In each face, she read contentment, thankfulness. Why? There’s so much going wrong. Why are they happy?
***
Zoey was awakened in the morning by the drumming and chanted singing of the Maasai people as they gathered to hear her father tell them of the gospel. Once again, Zoey was struck by the gratefulness of the people around her. The happiness shown in the singing of the Maasai was not reflected in Zoey’s heart. Why should they be happy? Their animals- their wealth- are dying. Why aren’t they angry? Why aren’t they grieving?
Zoey couldn’t even begin to answer her own questions. She dragged herself out of bed, got dressed, and padded through the large room which served as kitchen, dining and living room. She slipped outside and plopped herself down next to the house. As she listened to her father, the irony of his translated sermon struck her. He was preaching about the goodness of God.
Almost at once, Zoey’s questions began bouncing around in her head again. Why is he preaching about the goodness of God? God doesn’t seem very good right now. Why is He allowing the drought?
Zoey watched the people as they gazed, enraptured, at her father as he spoke. They had huge smiles on their faces. Zoey noticed once again the separation of men, women, and children. Even the younger men were separated from the older men sitting in the choice spot in the yard, under the largest shade tree. The younger women were also separated from the older women. Zoey had noticed this months ago, but it always struck her as slightly strange whenever she saw it happen.
As Zoey helped her mother serve loads of ugali, potatoes, cabbage, and mchuzi to the mass of people, she watched their faces as they were served food and clean water.
The children were served first, their grubby faces and dirt covered hands reaching eagerly for the food they were served. They chattered excitedly to each other about the free and abundant food they were receiving.
After the children came the men, wrapped up in shukas and carrying their rungus and staffs darkened with age and use. They also took the food, grateful for a free meal.
Finally, the women were allowed to eat. They lined up, standing so close to each other that each woman touched the one in front of herself. Their beaded jewelry jangled and bounced as they received food.
Kiswahili Vocabulary
ugali- ugali is ground white maize meal boiled in water until it makes a cake
mchuzi- mchuzi is stew, usually made from goat
shukas- shukas are thin cotton blankets woven in a plaid pattern; they can be many different colors, but the most common are blue and red or black and red
rungu- a rungu is a stout stick with knob at one end; it is used as a throwing weapon
You can find Part 2 here.
