The journey back to Lubango

Well, at last I'm back in Lubango! Look for the Grand Namibian Epic (nearly finished) which will come out soon and tell you all about our time renewing visas and such in northern Namibia.

Our stay in Namibia was a few days later than originally intended. Tinka (the Land Rover) had been making some strange noises and so it had always been the intention to take her for a service while in Namibia. A phone call a few hours after leaving her revealed that she needed something more akin to a rebuild than a service, and so our stay in Namibia would be prolonged for a few days.

We reached Lubango at around 4:30am on Friday morning, after we left our guesthouse in Namibia shortly after 7 the previous morning.

After a relatively uneventful journey through the border compounds (which took a few hours) we were on our way on the roads of Angola.

At around 2:15pm, we reached the the town of Xangongo, where our first problems arose. Just as we were approaching the police checkpoint, the engine failed, and a bit of inspection and removal of the air filter revealed clouds and clouds of dust and debris. It was shaken for a good five minutes after which 'twas still yielding billowing plumes of the stuff. But at least when we replaced the filter the exhaust smoke was not nearly so black - now a slightly concerning shade of white instead.

Shortly after passing through the checkpoint and crossing the bridges over the Cunene river, Becky suggested that we swap drivers (she had been driving for some seven-plus hours at this point). And so my takeover of the wheel coincided with the commencement of some severely potholed roads. I declared it my life ambition to get into third gear.

Friends, you can achieve your ambitions. I managed to get into 3rd for at least four seconds before having to change down again for another large hole in the road. To be fair, there was a nice stretch later where the road was fairly smooth and I was able to select 5th as we travelled downhill: that shift was met with cheers and applause from my companions.

Taking the road from Santa Clara up to Lubango is a real African experience. The scenery is just breathtaking, and every time we took a pitstop (a necessary side-effect of our battle against dehydration), I was able to take a longer moment to thank God for calling me to such a beautiful place these few months. On one of these stops, just as the sun was beginning to set over the trees, and realisation of the length of the journey ahead of us was starting to set in, we were blessed with more joy as I noticed a familiar-looking white Toyota coming the other way. None other than a bunch of the hospital staff (some of whom I teach English) heading briefly to Namibia. They pulled over to see us and it was wonderful to talk to them, if a little daunting to recognise how much further we still had to go, and in the dark.

Some time, and many MANY potholes passed. For a couple of hours I was rarely out of first gear, and weaving all over the road, as is the custom here, to try to find the safest route. (The safest route is often on the tracks by the side of the road, or with one set of wheels on the road and another set off.) After about nine and a half hours of driving on my part, the road began to have a few fewer holes, so we were able to travel a little faster, although Tinka seemed to be having more problems accelerating.

As I took my foot of the accelerator to prepare for another pothole, the car slowed down as expected, but the engine did not. More than a little concerned, I stopped the car and put it in neutral, but the motor continued to scream at frighteningly high revs, and so quickly I removed the key from the ignition to shut the thing off entirely. To my surprise, this made no difference to the engine's behaviour. By this time, smoke was emanating from under the bonnet and so we all dived out of the car and moved to some considerable distance. The exhaust was pumping out huge quantities of grey smoke and I could hear the rev count getting slowly higher.

Realising that there was nothing we could safely do on the car to remedy the problem, we all four prayed. Sure enough, the engine quickly cut out. Whether it would have been working round to doing that anyway, or it was a case of divine intervention, we know that God was in control. Again we prayed, giving thanks to God for his immense faithfulness to us throughout the trip and praying that he would give us wisdom in what to do next.

It seemed far from wise to start the car up again, and yet we knew that we were at least half an hour's drive from reception for mobile phones, and that our CB radio's range would be of no use. So, having pushed the car off the road and into the scrub beside and below, we settled down inside the car for the night, with our hazard lights flashing in order that we would be visible should anyone come looking for us. Tom, ever the outdoor type, opted to sleep in a sleeping bag on the roof of the Land Rover.

Drifting in and out of sleep, it was difficult to tell how much time was passing, and there was no light by which to see my watch. Some time later, lights could be seen in the distance and then the sound of an engine approaching. The next I knew was the swish of air brakes and the gentle thud of doors being closed. The truckers came to the window, and asked if we were just sleeping. Becky explained that the car had broken down, and asked if they would be able to send a message on our behalf from somewhere in better cellphone range. They countered that it would surely be much more sensible to send a messenger, as they were going to Lubango. And so it was decided that Marcela and I should hop into the small Toyota lorry.

Lorry cabs like this one are only really designed for three people, but we all know the importance of safety-in-numbers (and all that jazz). So Marcela sat between the driver and his companion, whilst I found myself squashed into the small space behind the seats.

Praise God that he sent such sensible folks to help us out. Our new travelling companions did not drink or smoke, and drove most sensibly. I was thankful for the opportunity to get back into a Portuguese frame of mind and chat to these guys about their lives and jobs. It seems that they drive up and down to Namibia every week, collecting various goods which are presumably then sold in markets here. We were intrigued as to why they kept a large fragment of a mirror in their cab. They explained (and demonstrated) that most drivers are reluctant to dip their headlights when passing, and so they like to reflect the full beam back into the drivers' faces "so that they know what it feels like"! A genius idea, and one I must try myself.

Please do pray for these guys. We were so thankful that they came and helped us out. Both are members of churches, one of an evangelical denomination and the other a Catholic. But in our weary states the conversation did not become too deep, I'm afraid to say.

And so, by and by, we came to Lubango and found ourselves in the middle of a bairro (poor suburban area) somewhere in the city. The guys explained that they'd drop us off at a colleague's after they had unloaded the trucks, and so we waited. And waited. One couldn't help but notice that the yard was eerily quiet. All but one of the men had gone inside; this one was sitting in the driver's seat with his head on the steering wheel. We (by which I mean Marcela) plucked up the courage to speak ... "Will you be unloading now?" "No, only in the morning."

We thank God for the wonder of mobile phones. With a little more help from our friend, we were able to direct Peggy by text message to come and collect us. It's not everyone who would get up at 4:00 in the morning to do such a thing. One and a half hours' sleep and a happy reunion with Becky and Tom later (they were towed by our friend Brent, a pilot with MAF), here I am. It's nice to be back where God would have us serve with our colleagues.

There is so much to thank and praise God for. Please join us in rejoicing in his faithfulness ... as well as in the gift of sleep!