Saturday, January 17, 2009

January 10th, 2009

We have arrived in Choma. It was another long day of traveling, yet again. We left Wednesday, flew through the night to Amsterdam, flew most of the next day to Johannesburg, and spent the night in a hotel. Today’s flight took us from Jo’burg to Livingstone. The distance of this leg of our travels pales in comparison to the others, but it was no less draining. The unplanned stop over in Victoria Falls did not help, nor did the fact that single runway airstrip was situated on the Zimbabwen side of the falls, Mugabe’s backyard. If you are not one to follow much on the international politics and news scene, let me just tell you why this unfortold lay-over is a big deal. Mugabe has been accused of such atrocities as slaughtering his own people, withholding the distribution of funds throughout the country, staging his own coup to seize such power in the first place, and reducing the value of the local currency’s exchange rate with the dollar to something very to close to 5,000,000,007.2 : $1. If you still don’t understand the plight of Zambia’s southern neighbor, well, I don’t know. Go read a book or something. Anywho, it’s nothing to be worried about. After all we are much more likely to die from one of the many epidemics sweeping the continent than being killed by some dictatorially raging buffoon. Well, at least Malaria and Cholera are more threatening to us than President Mugabe, but not so much HIV/AIDS. At least I hope we all have better discretion than running around this country contracting STDs from random strangers. After all, we have had World Changers and that prepares us for ANYTHING… ever, right?

So, we arrived at last at the Livingstone airport, disembarked, and immediately were overcome by the heaviness of the heart. Sure we expected Africa to be hot, but the sweltering sun soon assured us we were in a place altogether separate in every way from our home. We met Jeff Johnson after proceeding through customs. Jeff is the big deal, head honcho, founding missionary of the place we are staying. We then loaded up the bus with all of our luggage, all sixteen of us from IWU, Jeff, his friend Maureen, and some other random dude and headed towards Choma. After approximately ten minutes and thirty three and one half seconds, the road became more of a guideline or suggested path of travel than anything else. Pavement still existed, but it must not be very well liked by the drivers, as I found myself being thrown up and down and sideways as the bus traveled along the shoulders of the road. I guess it was necessary though since the road itself had so many gigantic potholes that it looked more like a mortar-shell practice range than anything else. I mean, this thing they called a highway made the Marion streets seem like the Yellow Brick Road or something.

The road was bumpy, we were tired, and I was ready to ask if we could get out and walk the rest of the way, or maybe buy a bike off some kid and get all Lance Armstrong-like and Tour de Zambia my way to Choma. Then I remembered a few things. First, there weren’t really any road signs. B) We stopped a couple minutes after the thought crept into my mind. And Four, Lance Armstrong retired. I actually heard he’s coming out of retirement to race in le Tour again. I hope he doesn’t pull a Brett Favre. But all of that is neither here nor there. We stopped for a brief period in Zimba, halfway to our destination and three quarters of the way to “I’ve Had Enough of This Stupid Bus”. The home at which we reposed for a short while belonged to a missionary who had graduated from Indiana Wesleyan many years ago, and the rest was much appreciated. It was after meeting her and laying on her couch that I had an epiphany. It was the last big of proof that my mind required before conceding that IWU is in fact seeking to take over the entire world. The faculty at school are not actually developing students in “World Changers”. Rather, we students are being molded into a weaponless missionary gustappo, a righteous variation of Hitler’s Youth, sent out by the Fuhrer himself, Henry Smith, to bring all of God’s creation into the IWU bubble. And here I am, naïve in the extreme, thinking the Wesleyans only held an Atilla the Hun-esque thirst for anything and everything below 38th street. Man, was I wrong! Am I still rambling? I apologize, but not really. I’m having way too much fun to stop now.

After about twenty minutes rest in Zimba, Zambia, we loaded back onto the bus, closed the sardine can, and made our way onto a read road not made of the finest swiss cheese Africa could offer. The smoothness of the road was much appreciated, as was the rain that began shortly and continued until we had arrived in Choma. God then saw fit to turn off His sprinkler-system-on-steroids-gone-rogue immediately after the guys finished unloading the baggage in the torrential downpour, with the fairer members of the team waiting so patiently under the porch to carry it all inside. We then got cleaned up and had a dinner of chicken and rice, sheema, green beans, and bottled orange Fanta to wash it all down. I decided it was more delicious and much more nutritious than anything you suckers still having to eat Baldwin have. Okay, that was mean. I love Baldwin. But this sheema stuff is unreal. If I had to compare the goodness of it to a regular Baldwin meal, I would put it up against the amazing grilled cheese and tomato soup with sweet potato fries, which is one of my favorites back at school. After several rounds of tasting and judging eat item from both meals, the cafeteria food versus the native food, I would give it a tie. Honestly, I like them both a lot. However, the tie breaker goes to Zambia and Mrs. Bota, our cook, for the bottled orange Fanta and the fact that she threw it all together in a very, very short time. It was a great run Baldwin, but I must challenge Robby and the rest and of the Baldwin Dining Hall staff to step up their game. These people make some good grub.

Las but not least before I go to bed, I just want you to know there are some dogs fighting just a couple blocks away. I can hear them because the window is open for hope of an airflow, and the insects. The insects are tight. These bugs are ginormous, and any color you could imagine, even clear! I mean seriously, God had his A-game going on in the creativity category when was working on these puppies. Three dogs it sounds like. Two smaller ones and one larger one, by the sound of their barks and snarls. They’re rather distracting, really. Kind of annoying even. Michael Vick, if you’re reading this, you could probably start a pretty lucrative operation over here once you get out of that cell with your best friend, cellmate, and probably unintentional lover named “Bubba”. It’s now way past when I should be in bed in order to get up for church on time, so with no further ado and with no more gilding the lily, goodnight and good luck…? That doesn’t make any sense.

2 comments:

  1. really loved the gestapo and Atilla the Hun part gave me a good laugh...just got off the slopes at Vail. Great to read from you wish we could have a conversation.

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  2. You just made me hungry for some Baldwin grilled cheese and tomato soup boy!

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