45 Minutes in Hell!

 

As we drove up to the bridge to drop off our vehicle, everything looked like any other border I have come accross this year. In fact it looked more cleaned up than many in southern Africa. It was no problem to get our passports stamped and move on accross the “friendship bridge” to the other side. Now crossing the bridge I was asking God to show me this place for what it is. I was asking for the TRUTH. No hiding what was going to lie ahead. If that’s not a scary prayer, the I don’t know what a scary prayer is! Right away a heaviness fell upon us. We could feel it, sense, taste it. The nearer we got to the other side of the bridge, the more silent the place became.

 

 

This was it, this was the climax of my trip from the past 2 months of ministry. I was stepping on the soil that my heart was weeping for. And this is what it felt from the moment I left my passport with the guard till the moment I picked it back up from him: Our mission into B/urma was one simple little thing that is a step into changing that nation. We went in simply to pray! Our destination was a small little baptist church a kilometer past the border guard.

 

From the moment we entered the country 2 men came to greet us. Big smiles, offering to help any way they could. They had bike taxis ready to take us anywhere we wished top go at the snap of their fingers. We were well taken care of. The streets lining the road were full of souvenirs, food, and other items for trade or sale. It looked pretty touristy to me. the only thing missing was the tourists; we were the only white people around!

 

 

And so I prayed. I prayed for my eyes to open to the world around me. I prayed for whatever the Lord laid on my heart. It was a good time. We prayed and we listened, and we agreed as a small body of believers. One man in the back even picked up a bible and was browsing through it! And that was it. After about a half hour at the church we headed back for the border. We were going back to the “safe zone”. Our mission was complete. I had stepped foot into B/urma; yay for me, another stamp on the passport. Anopther flag to sow on my backpack!

 

After getting my passport back from the border guard and crossing the bridge I see out the corner opf my eye a boat frantically crossing the river behind some trees. No-one made any noise about it. I seemed like a normal thing for people to cross the river without having to use documentation.

 

 

 Those men who had become our friends were government workers. They are paid to look after us, I mean to spy on us. Our passports were held at the border because without a passport you can’t go anywhere. And second to that you aren’t even allowed more than 5 km’s from the border legally. This country is at a military government. It’s a show from the border back. there is a point is stops. Just 5 km’s from us people are being killed, raped, beaten. People are running from everything they have ever known. B/urma has the highest population of displaced nationals in the world. People don’t have homes not because of natural disaters (there are those as well), but because people are forced to run or they’ll be killed by their own government.

 

The people we passed by on that street were most likely there because they’d be killed or their families persecuted for not doing what they were supposed to do. That is how that country works. Join in and survive or die! There is no such thing as “honest” people there except those who are running. Many are serving the very cause they are scared of themselves. What a lie. What a cover! b/urma needs your prayer!

 

 

That’s why I say that I spent 45 minutes in Hell!