Wait. All throughout Psalms David implores us to wait. Adam and Eve, Noah, Abraham, Moses, the Children of Israel, Jesus, the Apostles, the Remnant, all of these and more had and have to wait. Why is it so hard to wait?
A trip of only 216 miles, takes 15 hours. Lots more waiting during the trip through Gambia, where one has two (one for each country) passport control stops on entry and exit as well as a long wait for the ferry to take us across the Gambia river. I will not waste time here expounding on the inefficient system. We are thankful for the bridge that is being built over the river as a toll road. Hopefully things will be better.
Wait. Its been two and a half months since arriving in Senegal and I still have not gotten to my sweet girl. Its been three and half long years. Wait. Every step has been “wait.” Now we are in the South of Senegal—The Casamance. The hot air bears the sweet, delicate, fermenting twist of aromas from the Cashew flowers and fruit. Scents sure can bring back a wave of memories!
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| A mini bus similar to the one we road on from Sediou to Kolda |
Two hot days in Sediou, no electricity, no running water, faithful believers, kind neighbors. On to Kolda. We wait again for the transport to fill up. This time it is a “mini-bus” that can take 15-17 passengers, oh make that 30. More on that later. The driver casts a concerned yet lazy look towards his tires. The trip is 80 km. Should be less than an hour. We finally get going about an hour before sunset. Twenty minutes into the trip we pull to a stop. The bolts are too loose on the tires to go fast. Some bolts are missing. The driver hops a ride back to town. We all wait, by the road. After about as many jumping games and small area tag as we can handle, I convince Bashir to break out the frisbee. Several of the other guys joined in and it seemed to help pass the time. Driver came back, did some work on the tires. Sun has set now, as we take off again in the twilight. Still can’t drive fast. As darkness comes on, its obvious the headlights do not work. Wow. I start seriously praying. Every village we pass, we stop and more people crowd on. When it is over full inside, young men hang on the back or climb on top to sit with the baggage. The lateness, the heat, the inconsiderateness of the driver to keep his vehicle safe, pushes me to my limits. Now I pray not only for safety but for grace. We arrive near 10 pm. A good four hours after leaving.
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| Bashir and his friend Ezekiel |
Kolda is a relief. A bathroom with running water and a toilet. A fan. A roof where the guys slept at night in the cooler night air. So good to be reunited with our friends who welcomed us to Niaguis seven years ago. Sadly the Pastor husband is in Dakar seeking medical treatment. Their son is a year older than Bashir and the boys were more than happy to see each other again and play together. We spend three days.
Once again we are waiting. Waiting for the seven seater to fill up so we can be on our way again, this time to Niaguis. This trip is uneventful. The road which used to be a hazardous maze of small to vehicle size potholes, is newly rebuilt and paved. A stop over allows us to visit more friends. Then on to Niaguis. Oh it feels good to arrive there! In a way if felt as though we had just come back from a vacation. In another way it seemed strange and surreal, almost like a dream of unmet realities. Somehow there had had been miscommunication again and the key for the house we had lived in had not made it to our friend to clean the house before we got there. More waiting to track down the key. Then the ladies next door saw who had arrived. Oh! the cries and waves of women who came to welcome me. I say me as Boaz and Bashir had headed off somewhere. I’m not sure how it works but it wasn’t just the neighbor women, but the women from houses behind the property, down the road a bit and several houses down…all the women I had the most contact with before. So good to see each of them. My heart longed to stay. This is home.
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| Our former home in Niaguis |
Now, I am directly across the Casamance river from my girl. I’m a short drive from Ziguinchor (the capital of this region—county) where Fatou is staying (she is the lady keeping Lika). She is about to give birth and is staying with her mother to be closer to the hospital. We plan to go visit her, thinking Lika was with her. Oh, but wait again. Lika is back in the village for school. We can see her Friday.
When was the last time I waited for more than 20 minutes for just about anything in the USA? If I call, companies are committed to getting me serviced within minutes. If I go to the store on a normal day (as apposed to Black Friday) I don’t even have to wait in line anymore as there are numerous self-checkouts. Every scenario my mind turns to, I realize how little we actually wait in my home country. Even at the doctor’s office one rarely waits more than 20 minutes. Here, it is common to go for one’s doctor’s visit, arriving at 7:30 am and not getting in until after 1 pm. That is waiting!
After 3+ years though, my heart is tired. My mind is tired. I’ve cried all the tears I can cry. I have processed emotions too deep for words. Now, just kilometers and a day of waiting away, I find I have no significant feelings. My heart is numb. Or is it numb? Maybe it is peace? The journey of my heart with God has been deep and shallow. Its been high and low. Its been good and bad. Yet, I know what God has promised. I’m seeing it unfolding before me. But the answer has come with a price. A laying down of all that is comfortable and known. The answer comes with a call. To return to a country where I spent the hardest four years of my life. A call to minister without pay. My heart is tired of the battle of sorrow. My heart is at peace, knowing God has heard and God is working out His will in our lives. My heart waits.
Friday afternoon. We make our way to Ziguinchor. We go to the house, we see the girls (as the family has four of their own). We see Lika. She smiles. I smile. We all smile. The usual greetings of everyone continues and we sit down. The girls are watching a video. Lika has lost interest. She sits safely among the girls, but her eyes are on us, on Bashir, on Litsa and her face is smiling her beautiful radiant smile. I know she knows us. I know she is happy to see us. I long to hold her, but I wait. When it is time for us to go, she wants to go with us and she does. She is hungry for love, for hugs, to be with me. She laughs and smiles and holds on tight. She is unsure of her place with me as there is little Litsa also needing my arms. She is not rude, or desperate, but willful and an opportunist.
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| Lika with her father |
The walk through the village of Niaguis is painful for her. Everyone knows her and exclaims over her and talks about her. The visit to her paternal Father’s home is also uncomfortable for her. The beautiful smile is gone. She is respectful but only tolerant. The longer I stay in Niaguis, the more I am able to process the time we had there, the house, my desire to stay, the fact we can not, and that it is better for Lika that we do not stay. By the time we leave Niaguis, my heart is at peace to see it as forever something in the past, a place I have many friends, a place to visit, a place to encourage, but a place I will not return to as I knew it before. One can never truly go back.
On we went to Kobalan. The village Lika has been living in. I start to stress and panic. I fear rejection from Lika when she is back in “her place.” I fear battling for who has the last word with her. These fears are not for the family caring for her, but for the extended family and neighbors. I pray and pray. Grace again is received. Her attachment to us held. It was as though the extended family and neighbors were little known to her. I felt bad for them in a way as she seemed cold and rude, not talking or responding to them. She knows who her family is. After two days there she did start crying each night. We took her, held her, rocked her, prayed with her, sang to her, and stayed with her until she slept.
Finally it was time to head back to Dakar. Lika watched as her things were gathered and as I packed them in our bags. She was ever vigilant. Not totally understanding when we’d go, she wanted to be ready every time we walked out the door.
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| Lika |
Once again we found ourselves waiting for the seven seater to fill up. Once again we wait by the road as the driver tries to replace a pin that keeps the clutch working. Once again we find ourselves at the boarder with Gambia. Its noon by now. We’ve been up since 5 am. The kids are being courageous. We planned to be to Koalak by mid afternoon to visit and stay with another friend. But our record six hours crossing Gambia is soon to be replaced…nine long hot hours waiting. Waiting by a dusty road, trash all around, minimal shade, heat, egg and potato sandwiches our only choice of substantial food, dollar after dollar being spent on water and countless toilet runs to the filthy toilet. Around 6 pm Litsa succumbs to a hot sweaty sleep. More time passes. Two ferries do not work. Another worked off and on all afternoon. Yet another works sometimes and sometimes has to sit out while water is pumped from it (mind you it has had this leak as long as we have known this route). We are a spectacle of entertainment as we have three bouncing kids, one clearly with a story to tell of why she is with us. She often had melt downs as it was hot, and she was tired, probably hungry, thirsty, hot, and did I say tired and hot? Finally, it was our turn to be ferried across and we were on our way again around 9 pm. Arriving after 10:30 pm at our friend’s home.
Two weeks of heat, place to place visiting, late nights, inconsistent meals, tiresome or even frustrating travel conditions, waiting, and waiting had taken their toll. I just want to be done with this trip. My mind races to see if I can realistically vow to never make that trip again until the toll bridge is finished. I sigh as I realize I cannot make that vow. The next day brings a new form of transport. The Senegal Dem Dekk. It is a new bus system. Punctual. Air conditioned. Spacious. Unheard of here. Wow. My body relaxes. Litsa falls into a three hour nap in the coolness of air conditioning. I feel the my woes falling aside as the kilometers slip by. We arrive back in Dakar, safe, and a little rested.
“Thank You God for a safe trip. Thank You for a lesson in waiting. Thank you for brining Lika home. Thank You, that You will continue this work You started so she can always stay with us.” Here I wait again. The list is long. Papers for Lika. Our own vehiclecle and housing, and furniture so I can really unpack. For Nini (she helped us in the house when we lived in Niaguis). For our new normal of three kids. Wait on the Lord; Be of good courage, And He shall strengthen your heart; Wait, I say, on the Lord! Psalm 27:14
~~LaRae
~~LaRae
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