Lord, you hear the deep cries of my heart. You know how I desire to live in a township and spend days under the sun running through dusty streets. You have made me for Africa in the strangest ways. Africa runs in my veins and its name is engraved on my side. Each time an eye is cocked at some unruliness of mine I remember it is how you made me, though some ways can be tamed.
I am unafraid to eat food off the floor or any food for that matter. The dirt is my friend and the floor is my bed. Barefoot is my preferred style, and no style is my style. Jiggies and fritters found at the katembas around the corner (even though they are most unhealthy) are a regular favourite. I am loud and unashamed of joy and at my happiest among my people. The gentle bustle of the African life calls to me.
It is a life I have tasted through my years. Now longing settles in my heart for it in a greater capacity. or it more. My room and wealth have become a prison to my dreams. Lord, I know not where you want me now. You know I despair at the idea of more years stuck inside slamming conventional education into my head. However, in accordance with my desire for you, I will follow that path if it is your will.
I am broken and weak. I have so much to learn, yet what I have is laid sacrificially before you. Continue to use me as you choose. For though this life is on my side, you are branded on my heart.