N Squad making ourselves comfortable in the Kiev airport
In the weeks leading up to my 3 months of Africa I had some anxiousness. Nervousness. Excitement. Africa was uncharted territory. I’d been to Latin countries before. I’d been to European countries before. But Africa was unknown. I wrestled with my need to be in control. That’s pretty much a daily battle on the World Race, by the way.
I wasn’t dreading Africa, whatsoever. I just didn’t know what it would hold. So, when I don’t know what to do I pray. During our short down-time in Kiev our squad held a 24-hour prayer. My shift was 11pm to midnight. I wrote in my journal that night:
“Prepare my heart. Prepare their hearts.”
We left Kiev Friday night at 9pm on our first flight headed to Istanbul. I located my row and noticed I was that window seat passenger who boards after the other two passengers have already made themselves comfy. The disgruntled man on the aisle wedged himself out of his seat and I noticed the girl in the middle didn’t know how to unfasten her belt. She fumbled with the buckle and told me in broken English that this was her first flight. After I sat, I learned her name was Julia. She was about my age, with beautiful brown hair and eyes that squinted when she giggled. She was worried she’d break the air conditioning nob and it made her night when I told her the drinks were free. For some reason I felt like I needed to fight my sleepy eyelids and talk to this sweet girl. I quickly found out that she was from the small beach town of Odessa and was on her way to Turkey because she was hired for a waitressing job on a cruise ship. Immediately I felt the ping of a red flag. During our time in Eastern Europe we found out that many girls enslaved in the sex-trade industry are Ukrainian. The number one tactic to gather these women is to go to their villages and promise them jobs: nannies, hotel receptionists, waitresses, etc. Julia told me that she found this company online and was looking forward to being able to travel and practice her English. I have no proof that she was walking into danger, but regardless I wanted to talk and listen to her. All I could do was pray.
“I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t know what to say to her.”
She began to tell me that her family and boyfriend were worried about her safety. We talked about safety and then she asked me if I felt safe during my travels “because of your God,” she said. I was able to tell her about my God and about His love. After we landed I felt God telling me to pray for her.
“Well, I’ve been praying for her in my head this whole time. I’ll just keep doing that.”
Like I needed more prompting. Eventually I asked her and she held out her hands for me and bowed her head. She thanked me. Confession? I don’t do this type of stuff. I don’t pray for people on airplanes out loud. Well, I haven’t until now. A few of my squadmates and I pointed her in the right direction for her next flight and my new friend hugged me goodbye.
After a 8 hour flight from Istanbul to Johannesburg, the three ladies from my team met Nomsa, a mother of an 8-month old baby girl. She needed formula for her daughter and Molly, Jesse and Julie took her to a store in the airport. She spoke to them with kindness, like every other South African had that day in the airport. She told them how much they’d love Cape Town after they told her about our mission. Finally, they asked to to pray over her and she very graciously accepted. She was our first warm welcome to South Africa.
That afternoon we spent about 3 or 4 hours in the Johannesburg Park bus station. Not nearly as clean as the airport but 36 World Racers don’t really need clean so we made a nice home for ourselves under the broken escalators on the floor. It didn’t take long for a couple of guitars to be pulled out, then a djembe, and then to round out our make-shift band, a homeless man clinked the keys and other random things hung around his neck to the beat of the music. With each song sung more people gathered around us. I’m not an emotional person, but tears filled my eyes as I watched the woman in the orange security vest sing “Hallelujah!” along with our voices. I laughed out loud when I watched another man, Elias, twist his hips and dance like no one was watching. A beautiful young woman approached Julie and asked her if she could take some pictures of us.
“Keep doing what you’re doing. It’s nice to see someone bring life to a place like this,” she said.
All around our group people were praising along with us or they were just intrigued enough to ask. I saw Julie smile as she talked to a group of young men. I saw Buff hold a man’s shoulder as he prayed over him. I saw Emily and Justin pray over Ricardo, the homeless percussionist. A security guard told us that Ricardo stayed very secluded in a corner of the station and never let anyone near him. Well, that may be true, but he came to us and we got to hug him. I saw life in a dusty bus station.
I wanted to share these three stories about our continent-hopping travel. Travel days as a World Racer are long and tiring. I prayed for weeks about starting my time in Africa, but for some reason I think I had it set in my mind that I was supposed to tackle these next three months on my own. God showed me in two days of travel that I wasn’t going to Africa on my own. I haven’t been here in South Africa for 48 hours yet but my heart is full.
Two flights. Two continents. Hours of waiting in airports, subways and bus stations. Another 18 hours on a bus. Now I’m in Cape Town, South Africa, sitting in our hostel’s loft with a bunch of fellow backpackers watching Batman projected on a sheet hung from the ceiling. I don’t know what our month holds, but God’s here in South Africa, too. And luckily He knows.
