More than a journey... Travel, fun, experience--life

Seated near the front of the bus, with my backpack tightly between my legs to assure myself of its security, my eyes fixed on a woman climbing the exorbitantly steep bus steps. As she sidestepped down the isle, I watched her posterior slowly come within inches of my face as she edged through the tight space. I had narrowly escaped a hazardous situation. Heat, dehydration, anxiety and impatience were mounting--who knows how I would have responded to such a distasteful collision.

I collected my thoughts. “Two hour delay”, exclaimed the lady next to me. The seats filled, the luggage holds became overloaded and people filled the aisle, standing. The bus was full and so began the long bus journey from Zimbabwe to Malawi.

I glanced behind me, surely these people were not going to stand for the whole journey. But they did. For many people they were returning home and that’s all that mattered—their enduring ordeal wasn’t unfair, it was simply life.

We came to the border control between Malawi and Mozambique; this would prove to be a revelation in border control.

We lumbered out of the bus and went inside to get our passports stamped. It was dusk and the sun was setting as we came out of the building. The border control lights were not on. One thing I learnt in Africa is that electricity is a luxury.

I rushed back to the bus. There was a great commotion. People were yelling, hands were flying; the bus driver was dismissively ignoring everyone. We were locked out of the bus, our luggage was on the ground and I had no idea what was going on.

The lady who had been sitting next to me explained that the guards had left and we couldn’t go through unless they checked our luggage. I asked where they had gone. "To the beer garden. The lights have gone so they decided to drink" she replied. I could not believe it.

Suddenly the pastor we were going to meet in Malawi appeared out of nowhere, like an angel. "Don’t worry! I know where they are, I will find them and bring them back. You will get out of here tonight". Thanks to him we did.

The dust swept over the side of the bus and into the window, somehow I felt relieved for the ‘fresh’ air--welcome to Malawi. I descended from the bus and felt the dry dusty heat, the sun beating on my back: this is Africa.

I watched the bus driver step out of the bus; he put his hands on his hips, shook his head, sighed and got back into the bus. The new passengers followed him in, and so another journey would begin.