After a weird night of roommates yelling in SiSwati in their sleep, I woke up at six o'clock Friday morning, rolled out of bed (a sleeping bag on the floor), and prepared for the day that lay ahead. Three other girls joined me for ministry as we headed out for our mile and a half walk into town. After multiple marriage proposals from men and buying fruit from the "fruit ladies" on the street, we headed to the Hope House. At the Hope House I sit with gogo Sipiwe for a couple hours as we talk, crochet (or at least I try), and we spend time ministering to each other. She always points out her favorite Bible verse that day and has me read it in English, and we spend a lot of time in prayer.

After the Hope House I am escorted by two Nigerian teenage boys to the hospital, that continuously propose to me as they tell me Ashanti and DMX are their cousins. Once I reach the hospital (another mile and a half from the Hope House), I kindly reject these two boys, and continue into the children's ward. The next two hours were spent with a six year-old boy, Nhoshlosho, who was dropped off and abandoned there in September. Nhoshlosho does not speak any English, so I spend my time coloring with him and singing. I really cannot get enough of this boy.

After the hospital, I walked to the cultural market, where I sit with a lot of women at their tables as they make their living selling jewellery, baskets, etc. We spend our time deepening our friendships and sharing with each other. These ladies also come over regularly on Sunday afternoons and I lead Bible study with them. They are absolutely hysterical and can be so encouraging to me.

Once I left the cultural market, it was about five o'clock and time for me to get back home. I proceeded to walk to the bus rink (just imagine thousands of minivans from the ‘80s running into each other, and thousands of men running around yelling like auctioneers…it's really interesting) and get on the Madonsa kombi (the van that takes me home) and sit for a half hour in dead heat. After I am told that I am fat multiple times (apparently that's a compliment here, but I haven't exactly learned how to accept it yet), a fairly large lady (imagine Big Momma's House) comes and squishes next to me, wraps her sweaty arm around my neck and hugs me all the way home while she constantly talks in SiSwati to me.

At six o'clock I finally arrived home. Exhausted from walking everywhere, and the heat being so intense, I lied on the tile floor in my bedroom and went to sleep.

This is a day in the life of being an American missionary in Swaziland. I cannot say it is a typical day as I don't believe really any of our days are "typical". We never really know what to expect as we approach each day.  However, I hope this enlightens you to what some of my ministry (and trips to and from ministry) look like. J