Abidjan

Beauty in the Raw:

Beauty that logically shouldn’t exist, let alone flourish —

in dirt,

in pain,

in discomfort,

in uncertainty.

The merciless scorch of the sun could not be denied by the flush of my cheeks and the moisture that clung to almost every surface of my being. Dirt rivers stained my face, mirroring my uncomfortable surroundings. The contrast of damp and dry on my clothing did not even pretend to be subtle; rather, sweat boasted its presence on my shirt by the starkness of dark navy overwhelming the original, sky blue fabric.

Screeching breaks announced that our frantic attempts to halt each taxi that passed had finally succeeded. I wedged myself into the messy conglomeration of metal and peeling orange paint.

The torn faux leather was just as sticky as I, and heat sighed hard on me from my black plastic encasement.

I churned the stubborn window handle, we lurched forward, and fiery wind was the most delightful thing I swear I have ever experienced.

I remember that feeling like I am living it now, for it was living like I have never known. The opposite of glamourous – I was high off of the breeze that harshly invaded my nostrils, stung my eyes, and lashed my hair against my face; drunk off of bright rainbow buildings that haphazardly jarred an earthy canvas of brown; and utterly enthralled by images of that day – beautiful, raw people ignited the incomparable joy of hard work for the Highest Purpose.

Everything was too loud, but that was the thrill of it. The boom of Bob Marley was too intense, but my heart matched it. The jerk of the wheel flying through the taxi-driver’s hands was too abrupt, but my body danced with it. The pressure of his foot on the gas was too heavy, but it only amplified my appreciation for life as it flashed before my eyes, threatening to cease. And in that moment, the blatant realization of the fragility of life was mysteriously met by contentment rather than fear.

This passion manifests in each broken person I interact with – a passion for beauty in the raw. As rawness intensifies, beauty makes itself increasingly known. The flamboyance of this paradox is inescapable, for it defines me –

I, who was dirty.

I, who was marked by pain so constant I was not even aware of its existence.

I, who was destined to eternal discomfort.

I, who knew no certainty.

I, illogically made beautiful by the One who purifies, heals, and assures.