There was a mattress hanging from the ceiling and bags of feed lining the aisle. Smuggled goods, or at least what we assumed to be, were stuffed under our seats and there were far more people on board than places to sit.
Welcome to the African bus system.
Since that maiden voyage, I’ve ridden alongside live chickens and in-between everything but the kitchen sink…and realized that it’s not likely smuggled goods, but legitimate freight in transit.
I was sitting in the very back, between Michelle who snagged the window seat and a grandmother who had more grandbabies than places to put them. With many hours in front and more dust behind, we set off cross-country…very bumpy country.
All the jarring took a turn for the worse when the grandmother to my left began to get sick on her lap.
Michelle hung her head out the window to my right.
I was stuck in the middle…with puke.
To say my negative thoughts got the best of me is an understatement…when in His perfect timing…God interrupted my thoughts…
“What if she was Gladys’ grandmother?”
Gladys is a 6 year old child that I sponsor through Compassion, who lives somewhere in Uganda. (exact location unknown at the time)
Clearly this was not her grandmother…but a pit in my stomach immediately formed nonetheless. I pictured myself walking into Gladys’ village and being introduced to her grandmother…who I’d recognize from the bus. How would she remember me? Did I act arrogant and annoyed? Or had I acted with compassion?
Did I live what I preached?
Immediately humbled…I scrounged up a sick bag for her and kept her stocked with tissue and wet wipes the rest of the trip.
When a name becomes attached to a face…things get personal. When you get close enough to allow the faces of poverty…HIV…and hunger to be felt…to be real…to be known…
it changes everything.
One such face also became a name…introducing Mercy… 🙂
