Thursday, May 11, 2006 at 2:02am
Fresh-off-the-boat missionary in Africa
Column: Our Place in the Universe
After spending a couple of years in Kenya, I was asked to change mission countries. I had a "feeling" that I belonged in West Africa — and that was where I ended up — in the small country of The Gambia.
The good thing was that it was an English-speaking country. The bad thing was that I arrived with no money and the airline lost my suitcase. Right before I left for The Gambia, my German sister, who was a missionary in Kenya with me, went to the United States to have a back operation. I gave her all of my money, leaving enough for a one-way trip to The Gambia. After all, I wasn't planning on coming back.
The good thing was that the airline gave me $100 for losing my luggage. The bad thing was that I had a seven-day visa and no place to stay. Now maybe it's caught up with you that I had a one-way ticket. Will any country let you in with a one-way ticket? The good thing was that in order to fly to The Gambia, you must stop in Dakar, Senegal. In Senegal, they noted that my ticket ended in Banjul, The Gambia. So they let me in to Senegal.
The good thing was that I was young and faithful and believed in miracles. So I decided to cross into The Gambia by road, hoping that my round-trip taxi ride and seven-day visa would be enough. I didn't deviously plan it that way. It just seemed to be what I should do. The bad thing was that it was only a seven-day visa and I still had no place to stay and knew no one.
The eight-hour trip across the border was everything an African adventure should be — from sharing a van made for seven people with 11, with chickens on the roof, and plastic bags filled with incredible smells under our feet, to rest stops on the side of the road with not even a bush in sight to hide behind.
In the distance were gigantic baobab trees, hundreds of years old, and an occasional camel train. Despite the discomfort of the ride, I couldn't have been more excited to begin this new life. It ended with a ferry ride to the island of Banjul, the capital city, just as the sun was setting. The good thing was that I was still so excited to be in The Gambia that my plight — the sun was setting, limited resources, no contacts — was lost on me. The bad thing was that as soon as we docked, my situation would become obvious. Before my overwhelming naïveté caught up with me, a young man sat down next to me and said hello.
The good thing was that he seemed to know exactly who I was. The bad thing was that he seemed to think that I was one of Joshua's best friends. I didn't have a clue who Joshua was, and I couldn't get a word in edgewise to tell him this. He was so excited that Joshua's friend would finally arrive, and was I going to visit Joshua's parents? Well, no, I hadn't planned on it. ... Oh, but you must! They will be so excited to meet you.
The good thing was that Joshua just happened to belong to the same church that I did. How in the world this happened was one of God's mischievous miracles of coincidence. It seems that Joshua had written to his family and friends about a church that he had met in New York. He told them that a missionary would be coming to his country someday. However, Joshua and I had never met, let alone discussed my going to his hometown. The bad thing was that this young man still insisted on bringing me to meet Joshua's parents. Or perhaps it was a good thing. After all, I did need a place to stay for the night.
Joshua's parents were the kindest people one could ever hope to meet. They welcomed me into their home like a daughter. As in Kenya, these humble people embraced a total stranger with an open heart such as one rarely sees these days. They didn't really care whether I knew their son or not, as long as we had been in the same country, in the same city together, at the same time. They knew that if we had met, we would have been the best of friends. They knew that I would have welcomed their son into my home, as they were welcoming me.
The good thing was that they showed me how to do that. Over the next few weeks their help was indispensable for my survival. Next week I'll share with you my first seven days in The Gambia.
— — —
Anne E. Ulvestad is a free-lance writer residing in Maryland. She has her master's in earth literacy, and is available for public lectures and group presentations on Spirituality and the Environment. Anne can be reached at {email anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com}anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com{/email}. © 2006 by Anne E. Ulvestad
— — —
UPI Religion & Spirituality Forum is a big tent for all expressions
of faith and spirituality, neither excluding nor favoring any.
All opinions expressed belong to the writer alone, and are
not necessarily shared by UPI Religion & Spirituality Forum.
The good thing was that it was an English-speaking country. The bad thing was that I arrived with no money and the airline lost my suitcase. Right before I left for The Gambia, my German sister, who was a missionary in Kenya with me, went to the United States to have a back operation. I gave her all of my money, leaving enough for a one-way trip to The Gambia. After all, I wasn't planning on coming back.
The good thing was that the airline gave me $100 for losing my luggage. The bad thing was that I had a seven-day visa and no place to stay. Now maybe it's caught up with you that I had a one-way ticket. Will any country let you in with a one-way ticket? The good thing was that in order to fly to The Gambia, you must stop in Dakar, Senegal. In Senegal, they noted that my ticket ended in Banjul, The Gambia. So they let me in to Senegal.
The good thing was that I was young and faithful and believed in miracles. So I decided to cross into The Gambia by road, hoping that my round-trip taxi ride and seven-day visa would be enough. I didn't deviously plan it that way. It just seemed to be what I should do. The bad thing was that it was only a seven-day visa and I still had no place to stay and knew no one.
The eight-hour trip across the border was everything an African adventure should be — from sharing a van made for seven people with 11, with chickens on the roof, and plastic bags filled with incredible smells under our feet, to rest stops on the side of the road with not even a bush in sight to hide behind.
In the distance were gigantic baobab trees, hundreds of years old, and an occasional camel train. Despite the discomfort of the ride, I couldn't have been more excited to begin this new life. It ended with a ferry ride to the island of Banjul, the capital city, just as the sun was setting. The good thing was that I was still so excited to be in The Gambia that my plight — the sun was setting, limited resources, no contacts — was lost on me. The bad thing was that as soon as we docked, my situation would become obvious. Before my overwhelming naïveté caught up with me, a young man sat down next to me and said hello.
The good thing was that he seemed to know exactly who I was. The bad thing was that he seemed to think that I was one of Joshua's best friends. I didn't have a clue who Joshua was, and I couldn't get a word in edgewise to tell him this. He was so excited that Joshua's friend would finally arrive, and was I going to visit Joshua's parents? Well, no, I hadn't planned on it. ... Oh, but you must! They will be so excited to meet you.
The good thing was that Joshua just happened to belong to the same church that I did. How in the world this happened was one of God's mischievous miracles of coincidence. It seems that Joshua had written to his family and friends about a church that he had met in New York. He told them that a missionary would be coming to his country someday. However, Joshua and I had never met, let alone discussed my going to his hometown. The bad thing was that this young man still insisted on bringing me to meet Joshua's parents. Or perhaps it was a good thing. After all, I did need a place to stay for the night.
Joshua's parents were the kindest people one could ever hope to meet. They welcomed me into their home like a daughter. As in Kenya, these humble people embraced a total stranger with an open heart such as one rarely sees these days. They didn't really care whether I knew their son or not, as long as we had been in the same country, in the same city together, at the same time. They knew that if we had met, we would have been the best of friends. They knew that I would have welcomed their son into my home, as they were welcoming me.
The good thing was that they showed me how to do that. Over the next few weeks their help was indispensable for my survival. Next week I'll share with you my first seven days in The Gambia.
— — —
Anne E. Ulvestad is a free-lance writer residing in Maryland. She has her master's in earth literacy, and is available for public lectures and group presentations on Spirituality and the Environment. Anne can be reached at {email anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com}anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com{/email}. © 2006 by Anne E. Ulvestad
UPI Religion & Spirituality Forum is a big tent for all expressions
of faith and spirituality, neither excluding nor favoring any.
All opinions expressed belong to the writer alone, and are
not necessarily shared by UPI Religion & Spirituality Forum.