TAKING A CASUAL STROLL ON DEATH HIGHWAY
Hi Everyone! I apologize for my sporadic posting but our schedules are a little whacky around here. I could probably go to say that scheduling is almost pointless when consistency is really up in the air in Malaybalay. I am thoroughly enjoying myself- even though we seem to be stricken with some unfortunate slaps of illness and exhaustion. All in all, God is great and life is good.
As I sit in reverence and awe of His awesomeness I remember a pretty sweet experience I had the other day. A friend of mine from another team and I went for a nice taxi ride
into town to grab some personal time and just breath a little of the hustle and
bustle of this rural city into our lives. As the alleged day progressed I came to realize that I had
conveniently forgotten to bring my glasses, which I desperately need to see
during the evening. We had a few problems catching a cab to get back out of town… and by the hour of 6 p.m. things can get pretty darn dark around here. Once my friend and I finally got into a moving vehicle headed the right direction, I was pretty much blind as a bat.
I had only ridden back to
our orphanage once before but I was pretty confident on the specifications of
our directions home. I figured that if I just squinted hard enough I would find the right road and get us home safely. My friend was putting all of her trust in me, the night-blind missionary and I was cool with that. I signaled the driver at the stopping point I had some faint memory of and we hopped out onto the side of the road. The orphanage is wonderfully located on the outskirts of town where there is little to no light but I started walking towards what I remembered to be the right path down to our dormitory.
My friend and I didn’t really feel like where we were was the right road so we started to hike up the highway in hopes that we would come across the correct path. We had only been in this town for a few days and we had our fair warning about this sketchy road we were treading on. Our biggest tip-off, however, was that the local nickname for this asphalt nightmare was indeed “Death Highway”. As we treaded through the tall grass we were also casually trying to forget our warning about the local population of cobras and their affinity for the aforementioned shrubbery.
The situation was looking grim as our only light source passed us at a whopping 70 miles per hour and our heartbeats were passing 100 beats per minute. What do we do? Look for part 2!
