Is this bus going to Cartagena?

You know you are a missionary when … the entire busload of locals are roaring with laughter at the comedian on the video and I sit stone-faced wondering what could possible be so funny.

The day began way too early for this sleeping beauty.  With a taxi due to arrive at 6:20am, I was up, dressed, bed stripped, and taking the last box from our ‘home’ of  the past three weeks over to the place where we will live upon our return when I see the taxi inside the Seminary campus compound.  ‘Ah, hello and how did you get in here?’ The nice driver said he pushed the button and someone opened the security gate.  So much for the security part of the gate. 

Suitcase after suitcase filed out of the house and into the taxi until the driver finally asked how many were needing a ride.  ‘Two sir. Bus station please.’

Is this not the cutest taxi in the universe?

As the days grew close for the trip from Pretoria to Durban, for our 2-week sneak peek at the Shongweni Village and the AIDS orphanage; the only vision I had playing in my head was the scene in the 1984 Romancing The Stone. Remember Danny DeVito’s character shouting, ‘she got on the wrong bus, she got on the wrong bus.’

While the movie still causes me to roar with laughter, arriving at the terminal didn’t. 

Every bus line, countless bus lines all use the same terminal and at the crack of dawn on this Saturday, clearly it was a very popular spot.  Ginger, my ministry partner was asked to buy the tickets from Intercape.  She bought from InterCity.  Okay, it’s a few letters off and I can’t complain. Earlier in the week I didn’t want to walk the     10 blocks up and back to purchase the pesky tickets.

Needless to say we were at the mercy of ‘luggage handlers’ or rather average Joes, who for a few Rand would haul the baggage. This of course is because we haven't yet mastered the African skill of carrying our suitcases, or anything else for that matter, on our heads.

Finally and way pass the scheduled departure time of 7:30am (an entire blog could be written about ‘African Time.’ ) The engine fired up.  Happily, I had the two seats to myself and cuddled up to the window for a beautiful eight hour ‘XPRESS’ ride to Durban. Within an hour the dream turned to a nightmare.  We merely made it Jo’burg when we pulled into another terminal – OK, more passengers can board but no one is sitting next to me, after all I need my carry on in that seat should I require some food.  

The driver shimmed up the thin aisle and asked if I was going to the ‘South Coast’.  “No, I’m going to Durban” – the smile on his face told me that I’m an idiot and clueless as to my destination.  He told me that I had to leave this bus and get on that bus, pointing into thin air but a rather long line.  I asked about my luggage, did I mention that although only two suitcases, they are the world’s heaviest? I’m sure the look on his face was saying, ‘Yeah, lady, don’t forget to get your bags from under the carriage.’  

No doubt I looked like Grumpy standing in that line, too embarrassed and knowing it would do no good to ask when the bus was scheduled to arrive. I waited.  I waited in a really long line. 

Pointless to say, the bus was packed and I did not get a window nor a empty seat next to me.  What I did get was an 8-hour back massage.  That’s what I kept telling myself and reminding myself that I love those massage chairs at the pedicure place. Why should the two year old, sitting on her mother’s lap, kicking my seat the whole time be a nuisance?

Actually, that small child was the only one who moved the entire trip.  Except for me.  I was up and down more than a dozen times, digging in my overhead held carry-on for food and fun. I decided to lobby that bus tickets need to come with a disclaimer that those suffering with ADD should be forewarned of what lays ahead of them.

There was no air. No air conditioning, no air at all.  Well, there must have been some air because I could smell it.  Onion smell, body odor smell (I guess everyone’s luggage was heavy) and worst of all, yes, you guessed it… the toilet.

Let me tell you about the toilet.  Cleverly, it was placed in the middle of the bus, and as best I can tell, when the handle is turned to lock the light comes on.  Well, there was no handle to securely shut the door and NO light.  I’ll end with the obvious, the long we were on the bus, the stronger the stench become.

Miserable, I decided to focus on my I Pod Christian music and the view.

The scenery changed from what a capital of a country looks like: busy, crowded, building filled to, after a steep ascent, beautiful vistas.

I certainly had my doubts that this old bus could make the climb the hills/mountains.  Glug, grind, sputter,  grind, sputter, glug, glug. g l u g.

I know a thing or two about clutches & gears.  After declining the suggestions from Cindy and Coral to learn to drive their cars, I took the leap of faith in my own rental.  My logic was if I crashed at least it would be my own responsibility. I’m still not positive if my love for driving in South Africa is the thrill of a manual / driving on the left or that I’m just so darn proud of myself for mastering a skill that requires all four limbs.

I’m blogging on my MacBook as we drive, and yes it is a wee-bit over the top; most of my fellow travelers are quietly watching the movies, few have earplugs/ music.  The first hour I had my I Pad out to play games and quickly realized it was time to put it away lest I earn the reputations’ that most American missionaries have…

Much more beautiful than a picture from moving bus can capture

The view is as far as the eye can see. We have been through a few towns and some shantytowns.  The rolling hills are green with some ‘wild life’ cows, horses and something far away and really small so I’m gonna think they were impala’s. 

Hitchhikers are standing on the side of the highway, but rather than stick out their thumb, they are holding up their index finger.

Finally and thankfully we arrived in beautiful Durban, was greeted by Harold for our thirty-five minute taxi ride to Hillcrest. I will enjoy every minute in Hillcrest and Shongweni Village and I will not think about the return trip to Pretoria.  The thought of another bus ride like this one leaves me only alternative.  My only reasonable solution is to buy a car and drive back to Pretoria.  I know gears & clutches.