It was January 3rd. A day I’d spent tediously planning in years past. Tuxedo cake, snowboarding, and dinner at his favorite restaurant.
But not this year. Free from anything remotely close to a relationship, I stand at the border of South Africa and Zimbabwe.
Our 19 hour bus ride from Pretoria took an interesting turn when the bus stopped. Jarred awake by the rumbling engine, “get your passports,” rings over the intercom.
Slow and discombobulated, we sleepily walk through the aisle and down the steep steps of the double decker charter bus.
In months past, border crossings meant a quick roll up to the drive thru window, while the middle aged government workers non-chalantly flirted with “the Americans.”
Not this time…
We soon realize there are hundreds of Africans waiting to cross into Zimbabwe. We rush to get in line. Everyone stares with wide eyes that say, what are you doing here? The same wide eyes our friends in White River gave us when they heard we were going to Zim. Survey says you’re an alien.
We quickly realize this line will take hours and we left our valuables back on the bus. Five of us rush back to get our stuff, one stopping to greet a border patrolman. He warns us to be careful out here.
The air is thick. I can’t tell if it’s just the humidity or the tense body language of the crowd. I am the only one smiling here. Excited for a memorable experience.
It quickly reminds us of the refugee camp in Greece. I see looks of PTSD sweep over my team members faces.
Long, crowded lines with patient people slowly becoming anxious due to political unrest tangibly interfering with their lives. Imagine needing to get back to your job and your family on the other side. Not knowing when they should make the long drive to the middle of no where to pick you up.
So, all in all, we have it good. Word on the street is its been taking some people 2+ days to cross. “BEWARE OF BABOONS” is posted on the fence. I find myself wishing there were a second sign informing us what to do shall we encounter the omnivorous primate.
In classic World Race fashion, our girls sit on the concrete and start a card game. One by one, my teammates quickly fall asleep on the dirty parking lot ground as if we’re waiting in line overnight for a concert. It’s been a long day.
We woke up at 7am to be packed and ready to walk to the train station at 9:30am. It’s now midnight. We all jump up half asleep to move forward in line. We lie down again.
We try to find a comfortable position to lie on the ground hugging our daypacks then fall asleep in a crowd full of people. Wake up abruptly to run forward in line, because people are itching to cut in line. This continues every 15-30 minutes.
“It’s like we’re back in Greece, look at the stars,” a friend says. After 5.5 hours of waiting, we got our passports stamped and made it through the South Africa border (10:20pm-4am). Everyone is cranky and coming off disgruntled. Next up is the Zimbabwe border. The sun is rising now, it’s 6am.
We had team changes earlier this week. This is our first time doing anything as a team together and I’m realizing, we’re quite different people. Most of my team seems to be reacting to this border crossing as a, “we need to get out of this now,” situation. Some are yelling at locals cutting us in line, others are visibly irritated and over this situation. The energy is dark and drab like your grandfathers basement. I start to question what this month will look like, but decide I’ll save thsee observations for our weekly feedback sesh.
I have a different outlook on this situation. In my eyes, yes move along quickly, be aware of your surroundings so we can move when the line does, but some can sleep while others watch. To me, its an adventure, not a burden and I’m more on the side of, “let’s be culturally respectful and not defensive towards locals, because they have it worse than us.” They’re from this country and have to wait, we’re the visitors.
(Fast Forward: we had a great feedback sesh as a team on this topic a week later, sitting on the beds in our room. It came down to differing beliefs. I don’t believe anyone can take advantage of you- other than rare severe cases, therefore I can’t be a victim of a poor circumstance. I believe we’re too privileged to complain, especially in public settings. They believe people can swindle you or see you as naive Americas and therefore take advantage of you. It was one of my fav feedback sessions, because we listened to each other’s differences until we understood each other on a deeper level without ever trying to convince one another that they were wrong.)
It took 2 extra hours of sitting to get our passports back from customs, because of political reasons, supposedly. We got through immigration and ALAS through the Zimbabwe border crossing.
We just got on the bus, it’s another 8 hours to Harare. Then another 1.5 to Glendale. Putting us at our ministry site at about 4pm. We end up arriving around 6pm.
Two days, 30 solid hours of travel, and no sleep.
This is just an overview of a travel day, not even a ministry day or an adventure day. There’s nothing you can do to prepare for days like this, but to have a positive attitude.
Patience is a big sacrifice I didn’t think much about before coming on the Race. I’m realizing time is valuable. It’s priceless. It’s a more valuable currency than money.
I look back at this, now on month 7 in the Philippines. God has given me two words for this month: thankful and sacrifice. Days like these remind me that even my big sacrifices are small comparatively. We are so blessed to be here.
