Mma? Hmmmm?

You've probably noticed the funny little word in front of my name... "Mma." This was given to me by my youngest daughter, Mandy, who not only awakened my burden for the suffering in Africa, but also introduced me to my new favorite recreational reading material...The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency; A series of books written by Alexander McCall Smith, with the main character, (Mma. Precious Ramotswe, the "traditionally built" South African woman) commonly referred to as the "Miss Marple Of Botswana." A great escape, yet keeps me feeling connected to Africa!

It's evident page after page that Mr. Smith was born and raised in South Africa, a place that offered up many stories, a place that once you've been, you're always deeply connected to. The "Mma" is part of the traditional greeting in Setswana used for all females. Just FYI, the equivalent for men is Rra...(roll your tongue hard on that one!)

No one told me that when you first put your feet on African ground, you'd be hit by a feeling of overwhelming understanding, a feeling of returning home and quickly realizing that you belong. Frankly, I hadn't thought much about that. In April of 2008 we made our first trip to the continent we'd soon be calling home.

Instead, I had important, urgent issues on my mind like, what would the bathrooms be like? Would there be toilet paper (tip:when traveling there, take a roll!) What were my chances, really, of contracting malaria? Would I really get all tangled up in the mosquito net at night? How does something with holes in it actually protect one from mosquitoes anyway? Would we really be served bugs, and would I be able to discreetly pass those to my husband to consume so as not to appear rude and ungrateful? Would I ever be able to get a hot shower...or any shower at all? How would I brush my teeth with unsafe water? Really, no air-conditioning?

Like most Americans (I'm not taking this rap alone) I'm used to a certain standard of living. In my "poorest" days, I don't ever remember being concerned about drinking a glass of safe drinking water (heck, growing up, I never even knew there was such a thing as "unsafe" drinking water); I could take a shower just about anytime I wanted...in fact my first 12 or 13 years of life, I mostly recall having to be threatened to even get into the bathtub. I never lost sleep over the possibility of being bitten by something that would give me a disease that would kill me...nor did I ever worry about this with my own children. As I've grown up (well, older) and become even more "adjusted" to this privileged life style, my body has been conditioned to not be able to respond to any temperature outside of 71.5 degrees.

And so it was...with these bizarre worries, my roll of travel toilet paper, anti-biotics, mosquito repellent with a deet level double the recommended percentage to safely spray on ones skin, battery operated fans with enough batteries to probably run Kampala (the capitol of Uganda) and my little "Uganda church dress," I boarded 3 planes, traveled for 20+ hours, and landed...well, home.

And as we continue to sift through our home, the years of collecting and saving everything (yes, I have all of my children's baby teeth!) packing, selling, giving away, pawning off...discarding...I'll use this space to keep my sanity and share the what's, the when's...the why's. Hope you'll join me on the journey!

P.S. Sadly, I truly do covet toilet paper, it seems.