Antonina Martin, pictured on left, traveled to Chisamba, Zambia, in August of 2018.
Ever since I was little, I had the dream of going to Africa, opening an orphanage and setting it up with locals to run. I would then go back and forth to America to raise funds and open more! I knew this was a crazy dream. Once I was done with college, someone proposed I do foster care since that wasn’t as farfetched, so I did. I applied, not expecting to be accepted due to my crazy life growing up, but I was. I started with respite foster care (when a family temporarily provides short-term care for a child to give his/her foster family a break) and then got my first two full time foster kids. They had two other siblings, so I eventually also took in their middle brother. I adopted all three on 11/21/2015. The fourth child was expected to age out at 18 years old and transition out of the foster care system, so I decided to pursue her and see if she could also live with us. I adopted her 2 years later on 11/21/2017. All four children have high special needs. I had never left them overnight before.
When I was asked to join a trip to Africa for 2 weeks, I had so many mixed emotions. As I was praying and fighting with myself on what to do, one night, my oldest came up with this “grand idea” that I should go to Africa and leave them home since the flight would be too long for them! That basically solidified my decision and let me know loud and clear that it was going to be okay, so I committed — after which things then came at me. My oldest son fractured his arm a week before I was to leave, the woman who was to take my oldest daughter got word just two days before I was to leave that her dad may be passing soon and she may need to fly out to California, and then there was the usual car issues. I’m a firm believer that if it’s meant to be, it’ll be, and it was.
Being in Africa was an amazing experience and it totally broke me, built me up, gave me perspective, and gave me a new fire and passion for God! I saw Africans having so much love for each other and for all people. I was completely rejuvenated, not only by them, but also the group I went with. At first, going into their village, everyone stared at me a lot. I originally thought it was because of my being on the heavier side, but the true reason was my tattoos because in Africa tattoos are seen as witchcraft. People who are heavier are seen as being “well off” since food is scarce and so are vehicles, so they walk or bike everywhere. “Fat people” are so scarce there that one young girl asked me if it hurt and if she could touch me, squeezing my arms and being so amazed that she told her friends. Being “fit”, or underweight in Africa, isn’t by choice. It’s by lack of things we take for granted in America.
The day that will forever be with me, is the day we went to their market down the road to get someone a skirt due to their luggage being lost. We stayed in the bus as they went to get what they needed. Alongside the bus was a boy who was nonverbal. He made me instantly think of my babies at home. He was biting his hand and tried to get on the bus. He had soiled his pants and flies swarming around him. I instantly broke down. I’m not one to cry, but I did.
The next day, when we went back, that boy was there and was clean. It turned out that his parents worked in the marketplace and they loved him very much. They probably just hadn’t seen him yet to clean him up. I was also told that he does come to the Care Point where the Care Workers welcome him and feed him. This made my heart so happy. There were other kids there who also had special needs and were taken in just the same. All of the people there accepted us with open arms and were so open about their stories and showing us around, very different from the way we are here in America.
All cooking was done outside. One day, I attempted to help them cook their nshima (which looks like our mashed potatoes), a staple food to all meals there, and my skirt caught on fire! Not once, but twice! I was then advised to perhaps take a break or try something else. Another day we went on home visits and a small girl there showed me her doll that she cherished so much, that was made out of an old wig and plastic bottle she found. The boys were also very creative, making balls out of twine and plastic bags, and trucks and motorcycles out of metal. It really put life into perspective for me and they were all so happy, too. Their worship there was awesome, when they sing, they put their whole heart and soul into it. No one stands still while singing; they all sway and are completely engulfed in it.
It was such a life-changing experience going to Africa. It made me realize that it’s okay to let up on my kids a bit, let others into our circle, and allow others to help us. It helped me understand that I wasn’t alone and don’t need to do this solo.
Since coming home, I have taken in one of my kids’ classmates whose parents happened to be from Africa. Having the experience firsthand of being in Africa has made me better understand why my new addition does certain things or has certain challenges. It has allowed me to be a better advocate for him. We are still learning about our cultural differences. This last year was his first time celebrating Christmas, New Year and Easter, and it will be his birthday soon. As an American, it’s hard to think of a child not having a birthday party or not getting birthday presents. His world has definitely changed living with us.
Writing this is making so many memories flood in and I would encourage anyone who has the opportunity to go to Africa to take it. You would not regret it and you would gain so much! I am so thankful I had this opportunity and met the people I did. Africa will forever be in my heart and a part of me!