It’s 2 pm and here I am sitting on the floor of an African bus station in the middle of Johannesburg, South Africa. A broken escalator rises above my head as I sit behind it surrounded by the packs of my 50 something squad mates.
I’m tired. I’ve been traveling for…goodness, I really don’t know anymore. I just know that I haven’t slept well in a few nights. If I’m totally honest, I’d sooooo rather already be in Cape Town already. The plane we took from Istanbul to Johannesburg actually continued on to Cape Town. Instead of having been able to take this 1 hour trip, here I am sitting on the floor of this bus station awaiting my 18 hour bus ride from Johannesburg to Cape Town. I am tired of playing the hurry up to sit here and wait game (this game is normal for the race).
I know, my attitude at this point is…not the best.
A little while later and my attitude is beginning to change. I start not feeling my exhaustion quite as bad any longer. I sit at the edge of our packs watching just in case someone gets the notion to take something from this mountain.
Meg sits down next to me.
Justin comes over and opens his guitar case.
We begin requesting songs and start a mini worship circle.
Meredith gets wind and joins with her guitar as well.
We have something going now.
My smile comes back.
This is my FAVORITE thing to do with my squad.
I see Steven coming back from the small grocery store and immediately demandingly yell for him to come play the jimbay.
More people begin to join.
We start singing louder, completely engaged with worshiping Jesus.
I look around and notice someone standing close to us. I can’t see him from shoulders up because he is standing against the escalator. Others have noticed him too. He has something odd in his hand. It just looks like something a drug addict would use. But then I notice something else about him. That thing is really weird and he’s standing there quite creepily, but he is actually playing this thing along with our music.
Is he….worshiping too? I think to myself.
A few more songs and soon he has moved out of hiding and turned toward us. I can now see him face to face. I am smiling ear to ear as I watch him. He IS worshiping with us. He “plays” the lanyard that hangs off his neck with keys and other miscellaneous items with a comb. He smiles and you can tell he is full of joy in the moment.
I observe a crowd forming around us. Some of them move to the beat of our very lively, upbeat worship songs. A few pull our their phones and begin to record our jam session.
I feel joy beginning to bubble over within me. I may not already be in Cape Town. I may still have at least 20 more hours to go before I will sleep in a normal position. I have been cranky. But at this moment, I can’t help but feel that joy as I look around from my squadmates who are joyfully singing praise along with me to the crowd formed around us and the man playing his lanyard with the comb. Why don’t we do this sort of thing every time we enter a country? I can feel Jesus in this place!
But then I notice some people scoffing at this man. They stare at him, whisper to each other, and move away. I look back at him and observe him more closely. His pants are barely held up by a broken belt. His left boot has a hole in the toe and neither one of the boots are laced up. He looks dirty. I’m sure he smells rather grimy. And the weird cross shaped thing he holds in his hands doesn’t help is case any. It’s about a 3 foot long wooden cross made from 2x4s and has random glass tea and alcohol bottles attached to it and a cream colored flimsy tube running through those. It honestly makes me think he is on drugs just from the way it appears.
But even as I see all of this, I don’t SEE it. I’m looking past the physical filth of his body and all I can concentrate on is the beauty of his worship.
As this all runs through my mind, I feel tears begin to form in the corners of my eyes. I am so…happy right now. But it’s more than happy. I just can’t express in words how this is touching my heart.
Our worship comes to an end. Our musical people need to rest their burning fingers. I immediately get up and practically trip over Justin’s guitar case as I ungracefully try to reach this guy who has been worshiping along with us. I am almost shocked by my actions. I don’t do this usually. I don’t talk to people without being acknowledged by them first. I almost always let them speak before speaking myself. But something intrigues me about him. I practically blurt out my name and ask for his in return.
He doesn’t look up but quietly whispers, “Ricardo, my name is Ricardo.”
A few others join me and we begin a conversation with our new friend, Ricardo. He speaks of how he wants to come see us in the UK (we tried several times to tell him we were from the US not the UK). And then comes the deeper side to Ricardo. He explains to us that this odd cross in his hand is his homemade hookah pipe. He knows it’s not good for him, but he says God forgives him. Then I start to see the pain in his eyes. He mentions how people in this bus station believe him to be mad. How they spit at him while hurling cruel names his way. He doesn’t understand. He speaks of his faith in God providing for all his needs even though he can’t find a job. We continued to talk to him and pray with him. As we pose for pictures, his face lights up a little more as he calls us friends.
(Scroll to bottom to view video of our worship session with him)
Then I begin feeling a nudging to turn around. There in my face is this younger looking boy. I smile and say hello. He returns the greeting and asks my name. I have to ask him more than once what his name is, but eventually figure out it’s Kwadele. We hold a shallow conversation for a few minutes. And then he asks me if I have any food for him. My mind begins to turn.
O boy…don’t know what to do I think. Do I give him food? Or do I just tell him I don’t have any?
I think to the food I just purchased for the bus ride an hour prior. Mentally I go through the list of what I bought.
Bread and peanut butter?? No, that’s Meg’s too so I can’t give him that. I already ate my Samoosas. GAH!
I tell him to hold on as I run over to my stuff. I look through the bag and come upon the chips I bought. Sadly, I have a moment where I honestly don’t want to give them to him. But then I feel a voice telling me to do it anyway. I grab the bag and return to Kwadele. Handing them over, I can see opposing emotions in his eyes. He’s grateful for the chips, but still sad. I know why. I can tell the chips won’t fill him up. But at this point, I have no more food to give him. I think of getting money out to buy him something else. But in that instant I can feel God telling me not to.
Someone calls my name asking for help at that moment. I apologize and move away from him completely upset with myself. “Seriously, Jesus???” I think to myself. “Why can’t I buy him something to eat that will actually fill him up more than a stupid bag of chips?”
Not receiving a reply, I finish up helping my squadmate. As I begin to move back toward Kwadele, I hear my name called again. This time it’s Cassie…and she has Kwadele with her! She asks for me to come with them so she isn’t alone. I agree and begin walking with them. As we are walking, Cassie explains that she is going to buy him a hot meal.
I’ll be honest, I was a little frustrated at first. That’s what I wanted to do! Gosh darn it! But I calm down and allow myself to just enjoy this experience. Kwadele decides on what he wants and Cassie pays the cashier.
We ask Kwadele more questions as we wait for his meal. We find out he is almost 23 (WHAT?!- I swear he looks 14) and is living with his uncle now. His mother died a while ago and he has no idea who his father is. You can see the pain clearly in his expressions as he talks. His uncle is an alcoholic. By the way Kwadele talks somberly, I can tell life with his uncle is not good for him.
My heart hurts for Kwadele. I listen as he talks about his day to day. He comes to the bus station to collect money so he can buy a meal. Usually collecting only a few rand a day, it can take him a week to finally collect enough to buy a meal.
‘Today was different,” he says as he smiles up at Cassie and me. Today God told him to come in the afternoon instead of early in the morning like he normally does. He didn’t know why, but he trusted God’s voice. Little did he know that he wouldn’t just receive a few more rand today, but an entire meal to enjoy.
As much as we want to keep talking to him, we notice our squad gathering their bags and heading toward the bus. We quickly take pictures with him. The last thing I hear as we turn to catch up with the squad is Kwadele asking us to never forget him and to remember to pray for him. In my mind I know I couldn’t ever forget.
I know it’s a long blog. I know it may not convey exactly how my first day in South Africa impacted me so dramatically. But know that it did. Know that the thoughts and feelings I expressed here would have to be multiplied by 100 to reach the way I felt as my bus now pulls away from the station. How I’ve been almost in tears or actually in tears almost all day long since 2pm.
Jesus is alive and well in this place. He’s not hiding behind some bush. He’s moving and speaking even though sometimes it’s in seemingly small ways.
Jesus was with me on the floor of that Johannesburg bus station. He was there as we lifted up praise to Him. And He is most certainly standing by both Kwadele and Ricardo- taking care of them each and every day.
And that’s only day 1 of South Africa!
P.S. read this to understand why I wasn’t the one who was supposed to buy Kwadele a hot meal!!
