Wonkifong.

The seven of us headed out of the Conakry port at six in the morning and after some negotiation, piled into a minivan taxi and gave the driver the name of where we were meeting Estel. A long standing missionary in Guinea, Estel runs Babies without Milk, an organization that provides formula milk for baby orphans in and around Conakry. She sells jewelry and snacks in the ship shop onboard to help afford the formula, and that's how we came in contact with her. We got to her apartment and met her and the baby boy laying down in the living room. She explained how this little boy was lactose intolerant, and couldn't handle the formula milk. She had arranged for another mother to feed him, so we dropped him off to this woman on the way to Wonkifong. Estel is a wonderful woman. Full of the spirit, fluent in Sousou, and willing to take seven girls to spend the night in a remote village... I think enough is said.

We stayed in Wonkifong, a village an hour and a half from Conakry. The family that hosted us were dear friends of Estel's and treated us us like royalty. When we first entered their house (which was surprisingly large), Estel whispered to us, "I wonder where they borrowed this furniture from." We brought what we could: a sack of rice, powdered milk and bread, but it was nothing compared to their generosity. We were greeted with huge smiles and immediately seated and offered rice and sauce. Throughout that afternoon, we were constantly being seated, offered water, fresh coconuts, smashed avacado with bread, and plenty of rice and sauce. After every mini meal, a girl in the family would wash the ten or so spoons the family had and the bowls we had used. They gave up their two beds for us, and I assumed everyone else slept on the floor. They drew all the water from the well, and even bought bagged Coyah water because they knew we wouldn't drink the well water. And that didn't bother them at all. We spent our time learning Sousou greetings and having people laugh at our attempt, getting our hair braided, learning out to dye batiques, laughing, watching a a chicken be butchered for dinner, playing with kids with endless amounts of energy, and basquing in the simplistic, beautiful lifestyle.

These kids. We seemed to have a parade of kids wherever we went, and none of us were sure which belonged to the family we were staying with. But all of them reached straight into my heart. As the day went on, I realized how language wasn't as huge of a barrier as I had thought. The kids were bright, and through motions and sounds, we communicated and had a whole lot of fun. They were so full of joy and love and absolutely loved having us there. I felt more attached to them because I got to spend more than a few hours with them, unlike other times I get to know the kids here in Guinea. This one little boy in particular absolutely stole my heart. This boy, whose name I don't remember (sad, I know), somehow managed to recall my difficult to remember/un-Sousou name the next morning when I walked out of the house. We all took a walk through the village, and he held my hand the whole way and kept talking to me in Sousou. He taught me to count to ten in Sousou, and then I taught him in English and French. Despite the massive language barrier, we still managed to communicate, laugh, and create a friendship.

That next morning when the time came to hug goodbye, a wave of sadness overtook me. As I looked out the back window of the car and saw all the children sprinting after the car until the last one gave up, I said to myself, "I will never see these people again. Never." Probably an extremely negative way to look at the situation, but for some reason I couldn't think of not seeing them again.

However, looking back on the trip, I realized how extremely blessed I am to be here. To be in Guinea. To be with such loving and absolutely genuine people. Their love seems to never end-- if that means devoting 100% of their weekend to hosting guests, so be it. I thought about what priorities I have in my life and how much more there is to life besides going to college, getting a degree, and becoming successful in the world. Estel and her husband lived in Wonkifong for twenty years, raised their three children there, and became Sousou. They wore Sousou clothes, ate Sousou food, and became fluent in the Sousou language. What an incredible sacrifice, it seems. But as Estel says, it's not a sacrifice. She absolutely loves that the people in Wonkifong claim her, her husband, and kids as fellow Sousou family and wouldn't trade that for anything. I've been thinking about that statement over the past week, and I now think I understand what she means. When you listen and follow God's plan, no matter how impossible it seems, He will give you the strength and everything you need to follow his will. He won't give you something you can't handle. He promises it. How incredible, relieving, and satisfying is that? So, join me, slow down, and listen. Listen intently for God's voice. And who knows, you might be amazed with what He tells you.

This is the lactose intolerant boy that Estel is taking care of.

The adorable goofball in the blue on the right is the boy I was talking about.

That morning was my friend Stefanie's birthday, so we had balloons. :) 

These friends of the family came by that evening. I asked the one on the right how
she ties her head wrap,  so she just put it right on me.

As I went to the car to get some water, a young lady asked me if I wanted my hair braided!
I had secretly been hoping I would all evening, so I hopped on it. 

That morning all the boys took a swim in the river.

Watching dinner being made and talking in the backyard.

Learning a hand game from some girls. The only words I could make out in the song were Fanta and Coca.

This is Estel, showing us the toilet.

Playing ball with the kids.

The family's kitchen in their backyard.

The kids getting water from the well at dusk.