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 65more 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.
Blantyre, Malawi. November.
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!
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