Here I am once more, finding myself in the midst of an almost incomprehensibly vast culture change. Africa is now a memory. The red dirt roads, the children running after us yelling “Muzungu! Muzungu!”, the oddity of being the only white person in sight from horizon to horizon, the intensity and frequency of preaching, the animated church services and prayer meetings and spirit-led dancing. All of those things are now eidetic images stored in the synapses and mysterious substances of my brain, as well as in a number of photos and videos. It was a relief to reach Africa after spending 5 months homogenizing my cultural sensitivities in Asia, to experience something so absolutely foreign to me, yet so native to humanity. It was something I’ve desired to see ever since I was an adventure-crazed boy checking out nature books in the elementary school library and gluing myself to the hardwood floor in front of the 13” color television when specials on lions and crocodiles and hyenas played on Discovery Channel. Though not quite fulfilled, my craving for foreign adventure was somewhat allayed after a 24-hour safari in Tanzania at the conclusion of our African ministry. I felt on top of the world to be riding in a well-equipped tan Land Rover Defender, the diesel engine idling up the winding dirt roads as we gazed into the wild spotting giraffes, elephants, impala, hippos, crocodiles, and lions.
“Stay present” is something we like to say on the Race. It’s become a bit of a cliché overused adage, but its meaning is still deep. I was abruptly tossed into the mixture of Eastern European culture after just a few short hours in an airplane. The squad had a layover in Istanbul for a short time in which we were allowed to exit the airport and explore the city (something Racers nag and dream about every time we board a plane). I, however, chose to say in the airport to avoid incurring the additional $20 cost of a visa and the possibility of being overwhelmed by walking in this large city for only 2 hours before scrambling to make the rail ride back to the airport. There was remarkably little seating available inside the airport, but I eventually found myself sipping on an overpriced mediocre beverage from our beloved Starbucks in shock at the fact that they did not offer wi-fi. Soon enough, I regrouped with other Racers and wandered into an eating establishment to have a snack made of eggs and capture a wi-fi signal for 2 Euros. A couple of hours later I was boarding another plane to land in Kiev, Ukraine.
Kiev seems like a cool town. We left the airport in a caravan of new VW van/buses, unable to communicate anything with our driver because they don’t really have a need to speak English in Ukraine. After many wrong turns and explored alleys in the dark, we arrived at the YWAM center. Our host was most accommodating, and I found myself fast asleep in a lower bunk bed (Perhaps the most comfortable mattress and air temperature of the past 9 months!) I rested the following the day and used a bit of their superfast internet to update people back home. Then my team loaded into a van that brought us to the bus station. Thanks for the ride, Vitale! After about a half hour or so of standing by the bus and browsing for snacks, we loaded onto the bus in hopes that someone onboard would speak English. Nope.
Our destination was Tiraspol, Transnistria (which is actually Moldova, but you can Google it if you want more details). The bus dropped us off at a seemingly random place on the roadside, and the driver assured us he was positive this is where we should be. As we unloaded our bags, there were two guys looking at us with big emphatic smiles asking, “American?!” We answered yes and they indicated we should follow them. Raj, our team leader, said okay after a quick phone call, and we followed them down the sidewalk just a few meters before turning onto a grassy path leading to something that resembles an abandoned concrete warehouse undergoing either construction or demolition. As it turns out, after joking that this couldn’t possibly be our lodging and ministry, it’s exactly where we find ourselves this month.
The girls were told to enter through an obscure metal door on the left side of the long building, and Raj and I were led into an open door to the right. Other men were in the concrete room, which has 8 twin sized beds spaced neatly across the room against the back wall. Styrofoam boards line the walls 3 feet high while more Styrofoam tiles form a ceiling to retain heat, held up by a calculated network of twine tied from hooks planted in the concrete walls. Several rugs cover the floor, none matching of course. Coats and hats hang on hooks on the right side wall of the room. It was strange to be greeted by men who only speak Russian. But to my surprise, here sits Robert, a young man we met at Training Camp in Georgia a year ago. He’s on another squad, and he’s here with 2 teams of women (not many men sign up for the World Race). Everything about this month is a surprise! We changed contacts 4 times and find ourselves in a Russian speaking “country” away from the rest of our squad, who are all in Ukraine.
After resting the whole day, we struggle to get some details about this month. It looks like this is a rehabilitation center operated by a local church. The men here have gone through the program and now work and live on-site. They recently demolished a building and are clearing the debris and setting the foundation for a new church building. The rehab center itself is still under construction. Our job this month is to assist in any way we’re told, whether it be shoveling sand, finding and stacking bricks, mixing concrete etc. Additionally, my team teaches English classes every evening from 8:30-10:30pm. It’s a 30-minute walk to the learning center/church, so we’re feeling pretty exhausted after several days of manual labor starting at 8 and going to bed after 11.
The latest update is this: the third week of June will be spent organizing and leading an English Camp for kids aged 7-14. This may occupy our 4th week here as well because so many kids signed up in only a few days. It took less than a week to get 100 kids to sign up for the camp, which was just an idea tossed out there to keep us busy without forming calluses on our hands and sunburns on our necks. It’s both an English camp and a church camp. I will be a counselor for 12-14 year old boys, teaching them about Jesus through games, skits, lessons, and by exemplifying Christ-like behavior.
So please pray for us as we manage this camp for a predicted two weeks. We are all very excited about the content and the campers! And thank you for taking time yet again to read one of my lengthy blog posts. I look forward to sharing stories and media with you when I return to Texas in August.
