Don’t fall in love with a foreigner

Love has a price tag

Photo by Khamkéo on Unsplash

I fell in love with a foreigner. Not on purpose. It just happened.

If I had known then what I know now would I have tried not to? Would I have been able to?

A shy young man boarded our bus on the way to the village, he would be one of our translators as we visited the rural borehole project. I focused on greeting the villagers and giving ‘high fives’ to the kids playing on their donkey carts. Covered in dust they shrieked with laughter and asked us for water bottles and sweets. Then I headed to the gardens, shooing the cows away in my tracks to see the produce surrounding the borehole. The goats had got in — we desperately needed fencing. I didn’t pay attention to this tall translator man.

But fate or God had our paths cross more than once, and over time we got to know each other and sensed our future would be together.

We got married.

A three-day African street wedding with over 1000 guests. Joyful dancing in the dirt in brightly coloured cloth.

I was so happy.

Months passed, and I missed home. I missed it so badly my insides hurt. We applied for a tourist visa but were denied. My husband beautifully made in Imago Dei was cruelly misjudged as a ‘flight risk’ due to his…