Belonging Where I Don’t Belong
“Do they not mind sitting all over and on top of each other?” My friend asked as I stuffed one more child in the back of the car and checked to make sure no toes were in the cracks before closing the door. “Nope!” I replied. “We’re in Africa where we say, ‘There’s always room for one more!’“ I hopped in the driver’s seat and looked at the rear view mirror into a sea of little black smiling faces. They were so excited, probably mainly because they were getting to ride in a car. But I was smiling, too, because of where we were going - down to the nearest water hole about five kilometers away for the village church’s first baptism ceremony since the church was planted a little over three years ago. “Is everybody squeezed in nice and tight?” I yelled into the back seat. “Yeah!” all the kids yelled since they were literally packed in like sardines, a tangle of arms and legs and little kid body odor. For that last reason, we rolled down all the windows and started making our w