There is a Welsh word, cynefin, that we do not have a word for in English. In the dictionary, it translates to habitat, but in the Welsh would describe it as a place that feels right; somewhere that makes you feel like you belong.
Swaziland is my cynefin. I stepped off the khombi onto Swazi soil for the first time in 355 days [not that I kept track] and subconsciously breathed a sigh of relief–that same sigh of relief when you go back to your parents’ house for Christmas and your favorite cookies are cooling on the stove, or when you hug someone you haven’t seen in a long time and you genuinely missed. Before the dust of the khombi had a chance to settle, we were dancing and singing with the kids at the Mpolenjeni Care Pointe. Hugs and kisses and tickles abound made up for the long, dusty drive from Johannesburg to Swaziland and our little detour up the wrong mountain. The first tears were shed; the experience was positive for everyone. I got to pull out my guitar and play and sing with some sweet babies in our short time at the Care Pointe. A lovely dinner, short debrief and unpacking finish off our night as we struggle to stay awake until 9 PM–missionary midnight–before taking sleep medication and (hopefully) drifting off to sleep.
Every night at debrief, we do highs and lows for the day, which I will share with you daily.
Low: the anticipation and waiting for the love and excitement we would be greeted with at the Care Pointe.
High: I’m home.