So after the "this has never happened" boat ride, we landed at a dock. And by dock, I mean a concrete slab that was three feet out of the water. Grazing cows, a starving puppy and Boda-Boda drivers were there to greet us. Now, boda-bodas are right between a motorcycle and a moped. Every travel page you read says "don't ride the boda-bodas." We were a little nervous about the whole thing. We loaded quickly and off we went. If was a fun, exciting ride in stark contrast to the land around us, desperate, sickly and devastatingly poor. A blur of people working with menial tools, pigs and mud huts. Children appear out of nowhere to yell, "Mazungu!" We gave school supplies to children and handed out hygiene supplies. We walked through the jungle that looked like a movie set, because no one really lives like this. We squatted in huts the size of a closet to pray with disabled elders in the village. Babies were brought out to see us. We were served, once again, the best they had. Then, like ghosts, were gone again. Riding off on the boda-bodas. The will be talking about the Mazunga who loved on them. We will not soon forget them either. Now, I know that for some this will stretch your faith muscle, but here goes. We prayed for a 2-3 year-old who had whopping cough. He was sitting on a log, not wanting to move. Later when we passed by, he was up by the path playing with the Happy Meal toy we gave him. Some will say coincidence, we say we saw a miracle.
P.S. On the ride back, I rode with Julie. We laughed so hard that we even had our driver smiling.