On our first, full day in Tanzania, we were rewarded with a 10-hour bus ride! Teams “Just Love” and “Agape” are serving together this month in the coastal city of Arusha, which is actually incredibly close to the Kenyan border and fairly near by to this little blip on the map known at Mt. Kilimanjaro. No big deal. J
In both honoring AIM (Adventures in Missions) requests and looking out for our personal safety, while in African countries World Race teams typically avoid traveling or being outside our nightly housing past dark. That said, a 10-hour venture requires a fairly early morning. So after throwing down Mango or Passion Fruit Juice and a couple pieces of buttered bread, 14 women (and one commandeered male hotel employee) saddled up our gradually-getting-lighter packs and made the 300-meter trek to the bus station.
Andrea, Agape’s team leader, went ahead, leading the pack and working with our guide to make sure we got on the correct bus, while I stayed toward the back trying to ensure that no one got left behind. This was unlike any bus station I have ever experienced and I doubt I could do justice in describing it, except to say that Grand Central has nothing on Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania! Literally, people were everywhere, yelling at us, asking me if I was Alicia Keyes, touching our packs, shoving one another out of (or into our way), etc. All I could concentrate on was making sure everyone got to our bus, got loaded and got out of there! Then out of nowhere, the pack split in half when multiple buses started moving at once and a crowd of people shoved in EVERY direction dashing to get out of the way of said buses. Six of us were separated and slightly alarmed! An African man who’d been watching us looked at me, pointed at a tiny opening between two buses and said, “Go there.” It was good enough for me. Emerging on the other side, it still took a few moments of mild panic before suddenly our “guide” popped up beside me and said, “Come this way.” WHEW! A few seconds later, we were standing beside our bus, some “standing guard” as others completed the process of taking off big packs and loading them under the bus, then swapping roles. Still people swarmed everywhere, some men trying to help load our bags, women selling various wares, everyone yelling… talk about a concrete (or gravel) jungle! Andrea and I hung back from getting onboard to make certain everyone’s bags got loaded – we now know that there is a secret compartment on “big” buses at the very back, beside the spare tire. My bag fit nicely there. J It seemed we were all good until a bus attendant expressed anger that our bags were too heavy, that their added weight required us to pay more than just the cost of our tickets for passage. During that conversation, while still standing behind the bus, Andrea and I watched in horror as the bus carrying our teams began moving forward! “No, no, no!” We both screamed and a lot of Africans laughed. False alarm, but my eyes are probably still shrinking back to normal size! Crisis averted and bag drama dismissed, we boarded the bus and I looked at my ticket.
F3. Yay. Bring on 10-hours of sleep, music, movies, writing… whatever. I’ll be sitting. It’ll probably be crammed, but I’ll be with one of my Squad-mates and we’ll chat, make the most of it and soon we’ll be at our Ministry Host’s place! That’s when I heard Shelli asking, “Does anyone have seat F3?”
“That’s me!”
Shelli laughed a bit, and assured me of a surprise when I got there. She wasn’t kidding.
None of us knew his name or where he’d come from, but one thing was certain; he must know all about Rosa Parks refusing to give up her seat on the bus, and he’d obviously been taking notes. Our little friend had no intention of moving. He’d already taken a liking to Shelli (she’s pretty cuddly, I’ll admit) and he was snuggled into her, ready to ride.
And so he did. For the first three hours of the trip, he shared seats F3 and F4 with us, playing with our electronics, smiling for photos, gazing out the window and eventually falling asleep across our laps. Ah… the times you know you’re not in America anymore. J
Whatever stress had come from our morning was absolutely wiped away by the presence of this beautiful little boy whom God allowed us to love on. Who knows what his story is, how he is growing up, who takes care of him or where he even is at this moment… Who knows, but God?
“Father God, bless that precious baby, and let him feel your loving arms wrapped tightly around him! Provide for him and care for him, and if it’s your will, let him always remember the bus ride with those two white ladies who loved him like You do.”
Be Blessed,
Ashlee
