This isn't really a story about Africa... but a story about the DiCocco's in Africa.
Please forgive me while I induldge myself.

This is a story about the paper clip game.
We traveled light. Each of the kids brought four changes of clothes, two books, an mp3 player loaded with their favorite songs, some colored pencils and a journal. That is all. Our hopes for them were that they wouldn't bring America to Africa, but soak in what it truly is to be in Africa. We bought a ball made of banana leaves and a board game that uses seed for pieces and we played with stones and lizards and our own two feet. One afternoon, Avery and I were at World Relief offices . I was using the wireless internet connection to post a story here in dicoccoville and she was playing with her new stuffed animal jungle she had bought with all her spending money at a women's sewing center (you've seen pictures). The internet is s....l.....o.....w and that day was no different. It took me over an hour just to upload pictures. Somewhere in all the waiting, I notice that Avery has left her jungle and is now running up and down the steep driveway to the railing up on the top level, where I am sitting. I'm curious... and I watch. She runs up to the railing, looks over the edge, and then scampers around the corner and down onto the drive. She circles around a few times before sprinting back up the hill to look over the railing again and start the entire series over again. After a few passes, I put the laptop aside and catch her in my arms as she is bounding down the hill. "Whatcha' doing love?" She looks at me with excitement that I would join her fabulous game and says "Oh! I'm throwing two paper clips over the edge and then I have to go look for them!"

And she did just that... for an hour.

no toys, no tv, no video games or skateboards.

two paperclips.

and she was happier than she'd ever been.

This is the story about the rock game.

There is this game the children at Emthonjeni taught me.

It is played with stones ... in a pile.

On your turn, you toss one rock into the air, pull a handful of stones away from the pile, and catch your rock as it falls back down. If you are successful, you toss your rock up into the air once again and push all but one from the handful of stones back into the original pile, and catch your rock as it falls back down. If you've accomplished this then you keep the lone stone and go for another one. The kids were very skilled. I was completely not.

I would move the stones out but not catch the tossed one.

I would throw the one into the air and forget to watch it, and the be surprised when I heard it thunk to the ground so quickly.

I would toss my rock up into the air and keep my eyes focused on it's position and completely miss the entire pile of stones on the ground.

The children were laughing with me - and offering encouragement and advice- until one magical moment they all erupted into a chorus of excitement - and I looked down and realized there was one stone in my hand ... and one stone sitting neatly outside the established pile.

It was the only one I'd get.

And those smiles were irreplaceable.

The story about the bottle caps.

We drank pop in Rwanda. We hardly drink pop here in the states, but in Rwanda, we drank pop every day. Sugar pop at that. Coke, Sprite, and Fanta (orange or citron)... those were our choices. Normally, I would say "Nope, your body needs water." But we had been drinking gallons of it all throughout the day. Besides, the pop comes in glass bottles, and you can't beat the fun of that. So every day, with our lunch, we'd order a pop. Secretly, I was glad to have it. Something sweet and familiar to look forward to... cold and fizzy... and the heavy solidness of the glass bottles. Ah, pure joy. Now, here's the part that makes me laugh... the kids absolutely loved the bottle caps. No kidding. It started out they would ask our waiters if they could keep their own bottle caps... the waiter would think it cute and bring 6 or 7 to the table. Until by the end of the week, each child had quite a collection of metal disks. We built towers with them, used them as race cars and checkers and instruments in a band. We carried them around in our pockets so we made music as we walked. We gave them as love gifts to other children (who honestly, weren't that sure what to make of this strange offering).

We brought them home.

We put them in a special Rwandan baskets on our dressers

to always remind us of the fun we had in Africa.

Honestly, they are just bottle caps.

But somehow, they are so much more.