I stepped off of the plane in Nairobi, Kenya and was immediately hit with a rush of cool, morning air. My entire body seemed to respond, completely relaxing and letting go of the past hours spent traveling from Thailand. We quickly boarded another plane, and eventually arrived in Lusaka, Zambia, the capitol of the country we were to call home for the next three months.
We loaded up two rickety buses with our overstuffed packs and exhausted bodies. Then we proceeded to sit in the sweltering bus, ready to get on with our travel, and waited…
Eventually Matthew, the driver, hopped in the bus and we were on our way. Pretty quickly, we found out that Matthew was a Christian (not too surprising since this is a Christian country). Then we discovered that he sings and leads worship at his church. Not only that, but he writes his own worship songs. We all eagerly asked him to sing us one of his songs. He agreed, but he told us it would be in Bimba, one of the more common of the seventy-two languages.
He opened his mouth and out came the most beautiful sound I’ve ever encountered. He sang with a deep, rich, sweet voice that made me want to cry on the spot. My entire being longed to stand before my Creator and worship Him, just at the sound of this man’s voice. It was incredible. It’s one of those things that you only dream about, yet there we were.
We finally arrived at the bus station, where we would take an eight hour bus ride to Livingstone. It was complete madness; absolute chaos. Men immediately swarmed our bus, pushing their hands and heads into the windows. They would yell out questions, asking if we were married or wanted to buy something. My favorite was when they started petting our soft American hair.
We made it out of the bus alive and were told to wait for our next bus. So we waited… and waited… and basically just kept waiting. Three hours behind schedule, we boarded the bus (typical Africa time).
I went to sit down and one of my squad mates grabbed my arm, pointing to the seat. There lie a tooth. My friend, who was sitting in the seat right beside it, casually brushed it to the floor, told me it was fine, and I nonchalantly sat down. End of discussion.
The bus ride was also a dream. There were huge windows wide open to the countryside of Africa passing by. The land was green and full of color, spreading wide in all directions, with beautiful flowing rivers and trees on end. The sun started to set, lighting up the massive sky, turning everything golden. Not just one part of the sky reacted, the entire sky reacted. There was literally a 180 view of brilliant colors and beauty. It was absolutely stunning. I’ve never seen anything like it before.
The whole ride, they softly played African worship music. My heart wanted to explode. I sat and prayed for my time here; for a heart for this country and the people; for a passion that won’t die, overflowing joy, unending love, and His eyes and heart.
The whole time, I felt like someone needed to wake me up, but this was life. It was one of my “moments.” The whole Race, I have been trying to live in the present. I have tried to acknowledge The Lord in everything I do. I don’t wait until moments pass and are gone to realize how beautiful and amazing they are. I sit and take in the goodness as it happens, and that mindset has been the biggest blessing for the past seven months.
So, as I sat and took hold of my moment, I became excited for my final leg of the Race. Weird. “Final leg.” Those two words alone are terrifying. They’re enough to send my stomach into knots, my heart into overdrive, and my mind into panic. But that’s two months away. So for now, my focus is here. My heart will lie in Zambia.
This is a super delayed blog, considering we arrived in Zambia four weeks ago. But putting the highs and lows of my journey into words has become more and more of a challenge as time goes on. So here’s a little taste of the goodness; a little taste of what the locals call the real Africa.
