I’ve heard horror stories of racers riding through Africa on
hot and stinky buses with goats and very large, sweaty African women, for
thirty plus hours. I’ve heard horror stories about racers having to spend the
night in train stations keeping one eye open to watch their stuff and one eye
closed to try to get some rest. But nothing, let me promise you nothing, tops this journey that my squad
endured last week.
We set off on Saturday afternoon from Bucharest, Romania,
and began our 3-continent-in-one-day hopping journey. First, we flew to Istanbul
and had a two-hour layover, followed by a flight to Dubai, and finally landing
in Johannesburg, South Africa.
Originally, we were supposed to land in South Africa on
Sunday and immediately head out on the bus to Blantyre, Malawi. Although I was
super excited about adding a 30 hour bus ride to our already 2 days of travel
(sarcasm?), I was kind of relieved that it was postponed until the next
morning.
We all piled in this large van called a ‘Maxi Taxi’ and I
dosed off with my pack on my lap as we bumped along the African roads. We pulled into our safe haven for the night,
which happened to be a backpacker’s lodge and a 5-star hotel for any racer. Not
only were there beds, there was a lounge/living area with couches and a TV.
That’s right, a real live living room. I know it sounds crazy, but since we
live this life of constant moving and changing, having a living room to kick up
our feet and veg out in front of a TV is a dream come true.
After 2 days of rest, reconvening as a squad, and some
amazing worship, we set off for Malawi!
Our travel bus pulled up, and at first glance, it didn’t
look all that terrible. There was no air conditioning, but we had just enough
seats, and plenty of windows to roll down for airflow. It seemed like one of
those trips that would be hard, but wouldn’t be too terrible.
WRONG.
We left at 6 p.m. on a Tuesday evening. Chip bags crackling,
people laughing, movies playing on laptops, and everyone’s mind was set on a
15, maybe even 30-hour tour of Africa.
At around 3 a.m., we arrived at the Zimbabwe border. Rubbing
my eyes sleepily, I looked for my passport in a daze and started praying.
Crossing any border with 65 people is never fun; especially in Africa. After
our logistics team argued with the border patrol, we were informed that each
one of us had to get a Zimbabwe visa for the five hours we were going to be in Zimbabwe, and charge us $30 a
pop. That’s the African government for you.
So there we were, standing in line in a dusty, cement-gray
building for about 8 hours, watching the sun creep over the African hills as we
each had our own Zimbabwe visas made. Great way to start the day.
About 7 hours later and 65 Zimbabwean visas in hand, the
journey continued in the hot and stinky bus through the African hills. We
rolled up to the Mozambique border just as it closed. There was one option
after this; sleep in the bus until sunrise at 6 a.m. when the border offices
opened. So there I was, crammed in the now smelly bus trying to sleep
throughout the snores, complaints, and rustling of 64 other bodies. It was
probably the hottest and most restless night of sleep I have ever had. I never
want to repeat that experience!
We were all up a little before 5 a.m. for the sunrise (not
as romantic as you would think) and headed over the border into Mozambique. It
was a breezy and peaceful crossing. Nope, I can’t even kid about that, it was
no such thing. Let me spare you the details, and just inform you that we were
waiting for them to make 65 more Mozambique
visas for our grand stay of 9 hours. Just enough time for us to, again, arrive
at the Malawi border right as it closed. Another night sleeping at the border
on a hot bus. Cheers.
Bright and early at 5:30 a.m., we awoke, and finally crossed
over into Malawi, the Promise Land. We did it! Sixty-seven hours of travel and
some of the worst sleeps of my life, we made it into Malawi.
Several times throughout this travel week, I had some pretty honest questions for the Lord. At about 3 a.m. on the first night we had to sleep in that steaming bus, I honestly asked myself, “Is it worth it? Is God’s Kingdom worth sleeping on a coffin of a bus with almost no water and no way to get out?” It was at that moment when the Lord softly spoke to me. He said, “Dear child, when you see the fruits of your labor in Heaven, every lonely, sweaty, scared, and smelly moment of your race won’t amount to anything. My lost children are worth it, my beloved.”
Talk about a gut punch! And he did it so sweetly. That is our Lord; comforter and teacher, even in our times of doubt. I am so glad that he has patience for an impatient little girl like me!
I hope you have
enjoyed this short chronicle of our travel week, and know that I am now settled
in a cozy African home eating freshly picked bananas. Worth it!
