On the Road or Off the Road -- Again?

Having left the highway (of sorts), we bounced along a dirt road in our Land Cruisers, knowing it would be a long trip back to K'Village from Bamako, the capital city of Mali, West Africa. Because of the rains, the road was deeply rutted, often with deep puddles of mud that threatened to engulf the wheels of our vehicles, thus trapping us in a muck of red clay. I was in the vehicle that led the entourage carrying ten women and their luggage (yikes) and provisions for five days of living in the bush. Assured that the drivers knew the way, we chatted and laughed and relaxed (to the extent anyone can relax in an over crowded vehicle with questionable air-conditioning, the hot African sun beating thru the windows, and roads that made Mr. Toad's Wild Ride look tame).

"Hey, Terrie, doesn't it seem like we should be to the turn-off for K'Village by now?" I asked. Terrie shrugged her shoulders. I raised my eyebrows, and together we began to wonder where we were. But the drivers assured us they knew the way. Occasionally we passed thru small villages. Children playing along the road waved. Women looked up from their cooking pots, and old men lounging in the shade to escape the hot sun watched our two heavily-laden vehicles loaded with obviously non-African women ramble by.

Nearly an hour later, the drivers stopped to ask a man cycling along the hot road. Speaking in Bambara, the men chatted as the cyclist pointed straight ahead, shaking his head in the affirmative, indicating (we thought) that we were on the road to K'Village. The drivers returned to the vehicles and we headed down the road once again. Terrie and I looked at each other and said, "Whatever!"

After another lengthy jaunt "just down the road," we came to an abrupt end in a small village that was clearly not K'Village. The drivers had no choice but to stop and ask where in all of Mali we were. Souhad, our Malian translator, joined in the conversation and the group clamored away in Bambara. It was obvious that Souhad, who had become our "mother hen," was upset and disgusted as she chided the drivers, with what turned out to be good reason. It was NOT good news. We had long passed the turn-off to K'Village.

Bouncing over the same road we had already bounced along, we once again went thru villages we had just driven thru and waved at the same children we had waved at before. Women looked up from their cooking once again, and we watched the same old men continue to lounge in the shade . . . only this time, they pointed and laughed as we went by them again.

When we arrived at K'Village many hours later than anticipated, I hardly recognized our compound, now surrounded by tall green growth, a stark contrast to the barrenness of July.

For the half of our team who had visited K'Village before, it was a joyful reunion with these gracious villagers. For Sara and me, it was even sweeter since it had been only two months since being in K'Village.

Travel with me on my journey back to K'Village. Let me introduce you to my friends from Grace Point Church. Come visit the village with me.