Davis, aka The Ambassador greeted us with his white smile and a dashing white suit on Sunday morning. He was ready for church. Marié and I ran some last errands, I all the while thinking how the heck is this guy going to keep his white suite white. Why would he even bother with one? It won't stay white, I could guarantee him that. Everything is dusty in Busia, Uganda. Even the tar road has a thick layer of dust making it unrecognizable – and we were far away from the tar road anyway.
We were to go on The Ambassador's motorbike. Feeling all missional we spared no time on embarking on this trip. We were to go and minister in a small village. The trip started out good, the three of us neatly fitted onto one bike, Marie and I both wearing skirts and The Ambassador with his white suit steering the way.
The dust is not worth mentioning on this first part of our trip. It was smooth sailing all the way, white suit and all. We were admiring the landscape, making small talk and weaving through trees. All of this was pleasant and we were on our way to being right on time (what a rare thing in Africa). That is until the wind under our sails abruptly seized, the motorbike suddenly protested and decidedly moved no further.
Of coarse something like this would happen. TIA*. The Ambassador left Marié and I in the dust while he went on and sought for help. We walked on and finally came to meet our White Suited Friend.
The bike was being fixed, the inner tube of the back wheel was the problem. We were confident we would be off in no time. It didn't take long until a large crowd of children gathered around us. Marié in all her kindness started learning their names. I was thinking what to say in the message I was supposed to share in church.
Finally the tube was back in. We got on the bike. And… Tia. The bike would not start – no matter how much pushing and pulling took place, it was to no avail. I thought we must have missed the whole service by now. As Davis was trying and trying along with the amateur mechanic I was looking at his white suit. By now you could see that we must have hit some sort of turbulence somewhere. His suit was still white, but had traces of rural Africa on it along with the grease on his hands. But those he never let the suit touch.
They had finally given up when Davis flagged down another bike. We had a church service to attend. Now we were four on one motorbike. The driver, Marié and I in skirts and the Ambassador in white covering the back. This was not the most comfortable ride – but then again, what is comfort in Africa?
At long last we reached the church. Through all that had happened it felt like one major accomplishment. This was the easy part of the day. They welcomed us and sang. Marie did the introduction, I brought the message. Then we prayed for all the sick and those who wanted prayer, received corn and a huge jackfruit and greeted each other in song, handshakes and hugs. The Ambassador translated and his suit still looked surprisingly white after all that he had been through. It was great. Really, praise God (as the Ugandans would say).
When the service ended we left with a church member on his bike, numbering four once again. This was the plan. We would go and get the motorbike, tow it to the back of the one we were on and drive back. It would work because – tia. And it did work, but only after the second time they tried because the first rope snapped.
Once on the main dirt road we looked out for a mechanic. It is in this endeavor that the bike which Marié and I were on got caught in some thick sand. Because of the load of pulling the other bike too it gave way under us and fell right from under us right in between our skirt-covered-legs.
The initial shock was quickly over and the only one with a minor injury was Marié, who burnt her calve with the exhaust.
Thinking this day had reached its maximum adventure potential we walked to the mechanic and had a not-so-typical 'share a Coke moment' underneath the shabby shade.
You wait a lot in Africa. It's patience we put into practice here (once again). And finally! The broken motorbike was resuscitated… That meant home.
So off we went with the two bikes. Marié with the Ambassador in his now dusty suit and me with the member of the church. Now it would be smooth sailing once again. I was sure of it.
But as soon as we hit the road – tia. It started to rain. There we were, driving in the rain, hair loose but not entirely feeling that well.
The Ambassador knows no end. We hen take a turn to go and say hi to his mother. While doing this he somehow manages to run out of gas. Eventually we get to his mother's house – she's not there. So we leave. This time it's pouring and I'm trying to make sense of all that had happened.
Because, you see, the Ambassador's white suit made me think. Made me think of life and how we tend to avoid doing things we know would be great, but we just don't because we think they're not worth it and take too much effort.
But the Ambassador had put on the white suit knowing it would get dirty and he'd have to wash it again. He put it on even though the possibilities of a bike breaking, being late for a service or not even showing up at all were there.
And it's the same with life. We have to go out on a whim more. To do something just because we have 'that white suit'. What does it matter if it doesn't make complete sense and takes effort. As long as you're engaged to life and fully living what does it really matter if things get messy? In fact, things will get messy – but that didn't stop the Ambassador from putting on his white suit and neither should it stop you.
Needless to say we arrived home much later than expected, in the pouring rain to a concerned team. But it was worth it because we let life happen to us and we allowed God to be God in our lives and trusted in His timing.
*this is Africa
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