It’s not the endless armies of cockroaches or soldier ants storming our doors (and windows). Not the parasites extruding from the mango fly I killed near an enormous display of laundry drying inside -- for two days -- to avoid mango flies (washed this laundry again, because #firsttermmissionary). Not the incapacity to access the internet most of the time on most days. Not the months, and months, and months of deluge. Not the constant chorus of “white man!” and giggles whenever I take my kids out of the house. Not the complete lack of private space and quiet time in a culture whose hospitality I admire but do not fully understand. Each of these challenges to my privileged existence ran through my mind as I considered my friend’s question: what is the hardest part about living in Africa so far? Furthermore, it's not the extensive cooking process (starting with scrubbing and bleaching everything and ending with the inability to replace/repair broken kitchen items), nor complete
Two physicians and their little explorers sharing the love of Christ through medicine.