My little Superman

I have been here in Africa for a little over a month now.

I see the same beautiful faces everyday.

I wake up early to the continuous cries and giggles.

When I wake up in the morning and walk into the kitchen I put in my ipod into the speakers and see all these kids eat their breakfast while dancing to the usual… “Baby” by Justin Bieber.

This morning wasn’t quite this fun and exciting.

This morning there was one less face in the mix of all the kids.

Early this morning I was woken up by something.

 Didn’t know what was going on.

I couldn’t go back to sleep and had a bad feeling in my stomach.

I finally got out of bed finding my friends in the living room with tears in their eyes.

They told me that our sweet boy, Jojo, had died this morning.

We don’t know what happened.

It’s like he got the breath taken away from him.

When I knew Africa was a sure thing I knew I would learn a lot, grow a lot, and experience more than I ever had.

But this is nothing anyone signs up for.

A child who I had played with just before dinner last night is now gone.

It’s so surreal.

Jojo was no regular kid that’s for sure.

He was the BEST kid anyone could ever ask for though.

He never talked back, he never asked for anything except he would scoot toward you and just want to snuggle in your arms.

He didn’t sleep at the times he was supposed to, but he never bothered anyone.

He was a “strong” boy the mammas keep saying.

A very strong boy he was indeed.

He had a superman onesie to show it too.

He made people laugh at how flexible he was.

He made people smile at his cute noises he made with his mouth.

He made peoples hearts break when he would cuddle up in their arms.

He was Jojo.

He was like a Superman who brought joy to all who was around him.

As hard as today was God always brings beauty out of the hurt and brokenness.

It took a long while to see where the beauty was in all of the mess.

All the grieving from the mammas that loved Jojo so much.

All the kids asking where Jojo was.

All the tears.

All the questions.

It wasn’t easy to see beauty at all.

Then I finally saw it.

I saw the beauty.

Kids kept asking where Jojo was and we got to tell them that he was in heaven with Jesus.

One conversation I had with one of our older boys, Walter, went something like this:

“Auntie, Jojo is where?”

“Jojo is in heaven”

“With who?”

“He is with Jesus”

“Yes, Jojo is doing what?”

“He is dancing and singing”

“To what?”

“What do you think”

“Waka Waka”

“You know it!”

There was something about this conversation that made me smile.

Made me see beauty.

Made me feel comforted.

Then there was beauty in the unity it brought to all of us.

We were all hurting.

Sharing the same pain.

We looked at videos and pictures on my computer with the mammas and laughed and smiled as it reminded us of our precious joyful superman.

We hugged.

We sang.

We laughed.

We most importantly loved.

Which then came along with the kids having extremely good manners and amazing cuddling sessions with them.

The last comfort of beauty that I slowly began to see was how he lived and saw the world.

He didn’t say much.

But man did he love and live life the best he could by making people so happy and loving them.

I learned from this kid.

I learned a lot.

Man, do I miss him.

He is one heck of a kid, but now I am happy to say he is singing and dancing with Jesus.

What a great kid to have in heaven.

Jojo.

We all miss you.

And each of your brothes and sisters pray not only to Jesus when daily prayers are said, but to you as well.

Your Ekisa family loves you and cannot wait until the day we get to see your sweet face again.

Love,

Auntie Grace.

This song.... love it.