Bre: “We need to cross back into Malawi because Mozambique did not let us in.”
Felix: “You can’t. Border is closed. There is no one here. You need to go to Mozambique.”
Bre: “I would love to go to Mozambique, trust me. But we can’t. They are not letting us in. We need to cross back into Malawi or camp here tonight.”
Felix: “You can’t stay here. It is very dangerous. You will attract criminals. You must leave or we must chase you out.”
Bre: “Ok, then we need to get back into Malawi.”
Felix: “You can’t get into Malawi. You have exit stamp for Malawi. You must enter into another country before you can enter back into Malawi.”
Bre: “We can’t enter into another country. That’s the problem.”
Felix: “You left Malawi. We turned over responsibility to Mozambique. That is their problem now.”
Bre: “Felix, let me get this straight. We can’t get into Mozambique. We can’t cross back into Malawi. And we can’t stay here tonight. So what do you suggest we do?”
Felix: “……….Hmm.”
Being raised up as Squad Leader has been a very stretching experience for me. I’ve found myself in situations and with responsibilities that I’ve never had before. For example, how do you get 41 people into a country that doesn’t want you to come in? The process of acquiring visas into Mozambique was a daunting task, and without our Logistical power-house, Kimberly and Cody, it never would have happened. Based on past experience with unwelcome visitors coming in to Mozie as well as the political unrest and fighting going on in the country, they just really don’t want people coming in right now. But Jesus has big plans in Mozambique and has called us to serve here. In order to get in, you have to be personally invited by someone living in country. These letters of invitation have strict requirements but we had finally acquired them, and on August 1st, Cody and Kim got our visas in Blantyre, we met up at the Mulanje border, stamped out of Malawi, trekked the 100 meters of No Man’s Land to the Mozambique side, waited 3 hours at the border… only to not be let in. The officials stared frustratingly at the 40 tired but hopeful missionaries slumped on packs outside and the stack of paperwork for each and told us that we needed new invitation letters in a new format and with new requirements, and that the Director of Immigration and the Board of Religious Affairs would need to have a meeting on Monday to decide to approve our entry or not. A kind missionary who was passing through stayed for 2 hours to help interpret for us and lend a hand. “They just don’t want to process all this. You’ve done everything you’re supposed to do. They just don’t want to let you in,” he kept saying. We had no choice but to lug our belongings back to the Malawi side to cross over and stay until the government decided what to do with us, which is when the above conversation with the Border Security official, Felix, played out.
I finally convinced Felix to make a call to the Director of the office to get them to come back to cancel our exit stamps and let us back into the country. Those around me may have called it “flirting” but I choose to call it “charming.” Either way, it worked and a couple hours and a lot of hair-pulling later, the border officials cancelled our exit stamps, and we called a bus to pick us up. Meanwhile, Felix showed me his biceps, or as I told him, “the only weapons he needs” (Y’all. I know. But it was late and I was going to do whatever I needed to make this process go as smoothly as possible and ensure that we weren’t chased out of No-Man’s Land by angry border patrol who were already putting in overtime for us). After another couple hours of shivering in the cold, star-gazing, napping and being trapped in a lengthy conversation with 5 security guards, our bus finally arrived to take us to stay with an AIM contact a couple hours away who kindly agreed to take us in during this limbo period. Felix told me goodbye and promised to name his next child after me and I collapsed into the bus seat, exhausted.
We traveled back to Blantyre and were greeted at 1 AM by Jarvis at Life Church Malawi who let us into the small schoolhouse we would be staying at for the next few days. I peed in the garden outside because the line for the one squatty potty was too long, we crammed ourselves shoulder to shoulder on sleeping pads inside and passed out.
The next few days in limbo at Blantyre were surprisingly some of my favorite on the Race. The whole squad was packed in a tiny space which always makes for a good time, we got to have a church service with about 75 people in the community, I got to spend some extra time with my Squad Leader team, I found laughing cow cheese and black pepper rice crackers at the grocery store (Hollaaaaa) and I got to go to a national African Championship qualifying game of Malawi vs. Benin. And more than that, I got to see the country I had been living in for a month win in overtime and qualify for the first time in over a decade. MALAWIIIIII!
After receiving word that 3 teams had been cleared to pass, my team for the month and 2 others headed out at 7 AM on August 5th while the remaining 3 teams waited for their details to be sorted out in hopefully the next couple of days. We were so excited to leave but what we presumed to be a 9 or 10 hour trip to our final destination turned out to be a 35 hour excursion. Here’s what happened.
We made the two hour trip to the border, stamped out of Malawi (again), drove the several miles worth of No Man’s Land to the Mozie side where Mateo, Daniel and I prayed, prayed, prayed as we walked up to the desk with the stack of 22 passports, letters of invitation, and entry forms for the 3 teams. The border official raised his eyebrows, spoke in Portuguese to a co-worker for a bit, and then began methodically stamping our passports. In the words of Daniel, the sound of that stamp pounding those pages was the best we’ve ever heard. What we anticipated to be the most stressful part of our journey turned out to be the easiest. Daniel and Matthew lead the group out to walk across the border to await our transportation on the other side. I took up the rear and as I was approaching the gate, a squadmate doubled back and said, “There’s a problem. That guy up there in the uniform asked to talk to one of our leaders.” Matthew and Daniel were already just outside the gate. I’m the only leader left. Crap. I walk up to a very large Mozambican man named Ronaldo wearing a beret and a rifle strapped to his chest and told him I was a leader of the group. “Sit down,” he said. Crap. Crap. Crap. In the three steps it took me to get to my chair, I had fully prepared myself for a Jack Bauer-style interrogation by this border official. Luckily, though, he just needed to relay a message from our contact to us about a change of plans in transportation. THus began the unpredictabilities and roadblocks of the next 30 hours. We packed onto mini buses to head to Gorongosa, where 2 teams would serve for the month. We were crammed, and I mean CRAMMED, into those buses with all of our belongings, lending to sore backsides, stiff legs, and some classic squad bonding time. The first squatty potty we stopped to use on the side of the road was swarming with maggots which slowed the process a bit. We got stopped about every hour by officials checking passports. I got to catch up with teammates I was shoved shoulder to shoulder with, sharing stories and contemplating the greatness and faithfulness of the Lord. One of our vans kept overheating, leading to frequent stops and an inability to drive more than 40 kilometers per hour for most of the trip. Our van also apparently doubled as a cockroach habitat; they would often crawl across your feet, but being so pinned in physically, you’d eventually give up trying to shake them off. Meanwhile, I got to watch a beautiful, hazy african sunset through the windows. We stopped at random sugar cane fields for bathroom breaks and to add coolant to the engine. The overheating bus was stifling and the floor surrounding the engine block was so hot it threatened to melt my shoes. We finally got to a city about 60 kilometers from our contact waiting for us in Gorongosa only to be stopped by a closed road. A drunk man named Neto told us there were too many animals out in the national park we would have to drive through. The validity of this reason is still unconfirmed but either way, we were stuck until a ministry contact could convince police to let us through or just wait it out until the road opened. Those 4 hours were an experience for sure. There were screaming goats tied to the top of semi-trucks, young boys wandering the street in search of plastic bottles, on one side a roadside bar that blared poorly made Kung-fu movies all night, on the other side one that played a knockoff cover of Ellie Goulding’s “Lights” on repeat, and squadmates sleeping on the stairs of a cafe, desperate for the chance to stretch their legs. My squadmate Heather and I were the only ones who stayed up all night, sitting on the stairs in front of our sleeping squadmates. I didn’t sleep a wink because our contact called often with updates and I also couldn’t stomach the thought of myself or my family sleeping here so exposed and in the open. At about 4 AM, we were cleared to leave and we met up with one of our contacts and hero, Jaco, who had been up all night trying to get us here. We followed him about an hour and a half to a rough road the buses couldn’t drive on, then Jaco took turns shuttling us in the back of his truck for a beautiful 45 minute drive one way into the bush where he and his wife Maria live. When we got to Jaco’s we had a western style flushing toilet and hot gazelle stew waiting for us. It was blissful. I draped myself over a log and fell asleep while the rest of the group was shuttled in. After a few hours at Jaco’s, my team said goodbye to the two staying with Jaco and we crammed in the back of his truck on top of our packs and rode 4 hours to Beira. The sun was beating down and I grew about a thousand new freckles but the drive was scenic and beautiful. We pulled into Kadesh Boys Home on August 6th where the 24 beautiful boys greeted us with smiles and helping hands to unload the truck. My heart was full the first moment we pulled through the gate, and it’s been full since. But more on that later. 🙂
I’ve heard it said that half the adventure is getting there. After traveling the world the way I have been for 7 and a half months now, I can attest to that. Traveling like this can be stressful when joints are stiff and stomachs are growling but it’s all about perspective, really. You can let all that stuff get to you or you can choose joy, choose enthusiasm, and shift your focus heaven-ward. You can choose to remain focused on the poor excuse of a seat you’ve been sitting on for 8 hours or the stench of BO and burnt brakes OR… you can look up. You can remember the hour you were given to sit and listen without distractions to your new teammates testimony that you’ve never fully heard or the chance to minister to Neto on the side of the road at midnight, or the endless quotes and unforgettable memories that come from a life such as this. Learning to choose joy will serve me well in my future marriage, with my future job, and with the next ministry the Lord calls me to. The opportunities I’ve been given to serve and the lessons I’m learning through the journey are making me into a stronger and more loving person, and the process of getting there has been so worth the bumpy (and sometimes buggy) ride.
Thanks for all your prayers through this time, friends. So blessed to be here, and the 3 teams that are remaining in Malawi are blessed to be able to serve there an extra month!
Love from Mozambique,
Breanna
