Unusual Journeys 2: The Bus

At the outset let me be clear: this was an unusual journey for me, but it’s perfectly usual for many people here!

The bus from the Gambian border

The closest I could get by boat to my ultimate destination (the Gambia) was Dakar, the capital of neighbouring Senegal (see previous post). I could have hopped on a plane and landed at Banjul airport 25 minutes later. But that was too predictable. Besides, when my Gambian friend M, who works with SIL in Dakar these days, offered to do the journey with me by public land transport, how could I refuse?

He frequently makes the journey back to his home country, so I knew he’d be a reliable guide. I would not have wanted to do it without him! Plus, he’s a friend and good company.

The Gambia consists of the main part of the River Gambia, plus its north and south banks, as it cuts into Senegal (read up on the history elsewhere!). The whole region (Senegal / Gambia / Guinea Bissau / Guinea) consists of lots of different tribes, many of whom have migrated around the area for various reasons over the centuries, and are now quite mixed up geographically. 

One of the main ethnic groups in the Gambia is now the Wolof, who were originally artisans from Senegal (inc. Dakar), so much so that Wolof is now the common language in the primary urban area of the Gambia (where I live). That is just to give some context to what is still the case today - that people move around the area quite a bit. So my journey was going to be unusual for me, but not uncommon for people here. 

Step 1: Taxi from SIL to the “bus stop”

M had said we’d meet at SIL at 8pm, to get to the bus at about 9. (The benefits of doing the journey overnight were that the roads would be a lot emptier and it would be considerably cooler - just about the right side of 30˚.) He decided to re-introduce me to “African time”, arriving with a taxi at 8.50. I needn’t have worried that we’d miss the bus…

We drove across Dakar (a city with 4 times the population of the Gambia) using a motorway, which was one of several things about Dakar which - compared to what I knew of the Gambia - were new and different in an otherwise familiar part of the world. My newness of being back in Africa meant I was initially concerned about the absence of a seatbelt, but my worries were quickly put into perspective by crowded minibuses overtaking us on the motorway with people sitting on the roofs.

We arrived at what looked to me like any other street corner, where we waited by a little food shack and had a “meat pie”. Apparently we were at the meeting point for our international journey.

Step 2: Wait for the bus

It was now 9.15 and, I still being a bit anxious that we might have missed our bus (going on the 9pm estimate), M said there was no need to worry. It would be there “Soon!”

At about 10.45 the bus turned up. I had a precious couple of hours chatting with M and finding out lots more about him, his life, and his ministry. I hadn’t appreciated than when he left accounting to work for GAMFES in the Gambia (part of IFES - international Christian student work), he was embracing a salary cut to 1/5th of what he’d had before. Since then it’s not been easy. He had a very useful year in London, doing the Cornhill Training Course, and is now working with a team on the first translation of Luke’s Gospel into his own Karon language. We rejoiced together at his privilege of being involved. After many months unable to pay for his family to move to Senegal with him, wonderfully they are now back together in Dakar. He testifies to God’s provision and care every step of the way.

As the bus arrived, no one seemed in a hurry to get on. It was going to take some time to pile everyone’s bags on to the roof. (By now I’d already offered up, and would yet say many more, prayers for protection of that bag!) And besides, some of the ticketed seats’ purchasers hadn’t yet arrived and the bus wasn’t going to leave without them. M and I laughed about the contrast to England (which he knew from London), where train doors might close a minute before its precisely scheduled departure time!

We finally stepped up to get on. In a moment of confused and ridiculous English politeness, I declined the offer to go to the loo. (Why?!) Thankfully, I quickly saw my folly, repented and - as they say here - “eased myself”.

Step 3: The bus to the border

This would be the bulk of the journey: south to the border with the Gambia. We left at 11.50pm and arrived at 5.30am. I would have been very interested to see it all in daylight, crossing a large and rural part of the Gambia’s large neighbour, but I can’t imagine doing the journey in temperatures even a smidge higher!

The bus was an actual bus. The other way of doing the journey is in a “sept-place” (= seven places) - a Peugeot estate with 7 seats squeezed in. Boy am I glad we didn’t do that. M stressed that we were taking the more comfortable option in this bus with about 60 seats. When we boarded the bus I thought, “There’s no way it’s got that many seats”. It didn’t at first. Until most people had sat down, and then chairs folded up to fill the corridor down the middle. I chose not to think too much about what would happen if we needed to evacuate for any reason!

Maybe someone back home was praying that God would help me survive the heat. In any case, thankfully, just as we were leaving, M bought a small hand-woven fan from one of the ladies selling them and bananas on the bus. Oh was I glad for that! (I still am during powerless nights.) It had been extremely hot and humid during the day, and must have still been high 20˚s and very humid. After a highly embarrassing amount of wriggling to try and get comfortable in a rather small seat, I managed to find a passable position for my legs. But I said goodbye to the idea of sleep. Instead, I fanned myself, listened to some favourite music (e.g. Sovereign Grace Music / Ryan Adams), and curiously snatched what sights I could of our very dark surroundings.

This whole area is very flat, so you can often see a very long way. Plus, we were quite close to the coast for a while, so you could see right out to sea. You’d think that at night that doesn’t mean much. But on the horizon (thankfully no closer), on several sides, there were dramatic thunderstorms, with thick clouds hugging the horizon and flashes of lightning reflecting all over them. It made for exciting watching.

Step 4: At the border

M had told me that we’d need to go through passport control and then change onto another bus to take us into the Gambia.

We got to the border at about 5.30 and M guided me through the various police offices and immigration checks. It was still totally dark, and I almost jumped out of my skin in front of one official when a giant dragonfly flew into my face.

We stood by the side of the road watching the sun rise, as we prepared to cross the border to my new home. Once more I “raised my Ebenezer” and thanked God for his help thus far and his presence ever with me.

Step 5: Bus to Barra

We were now boarding a Gambian government bus, which would take us 10km to the small town of Barra, on the north bank of the River Gambia opposite the capital, Banjul. Wheels rolled at 7am, and we were in the Gambia! It was my 5th time, and felt good to be back. The sun had only just come up, but life had begun and it all looked very familiar: the small villages lining the road with white painted mosques and basic compounds of accommodation. People walking with huge bundles of wood or piles of fruit on their heads. Children playing with sticks. Goats and chickens wandering around. 

Step 6: Ferry to Banjul

Crossing the River Gambia

Immediately after stepping off the bus we were at the ferry terminal and it looked like we’d catch the first ferry, which had been M’s plan. All in all, an efficient journey! It had been a hot and sweaty night so I was glad of the chance to freshen up under a tap by the side of the road, and we picked up a cool drink and some breakfast (I’d packed 2 cereal bars for the journey) before boarding the ferry.

I’d taken this ferry before, and it can be alarmingly overcrowded. Perhaps the first ferry is a bit quieter, but it was fine and felt great to be crossing over to familiar territory on the South Bank. The river - the heart of the country - greeted us with beautiful calm.

Step 7: Taxi from Banjul to the house!

M had arranged for Pastor S to meet us at Banjul. After stepping through the ferry terminal’s gate at about 9am, there he was! He’d hired a taxi which was somehow hovering in the middle of a busy road, waiting for us. We just about managed to avoid slipping into huge pot-holes full of recent rainwater as we lugged my big heavy bag into the car, and headed on our way.

We’d made it! Such a common journey for so many. But quite an adventure for cushioned old English me. It was such a relief, after 14 days at sea and 13 hours on the road, to be driving along roads that I know well, past familiar places, in the area of the country where I’d been preparing to go for months / in some ways, years.

The house was actually locked when we arrived and the lady with the keys was “on her way”, so S kept us company at the compound of SOW (where I’m working), just across the road, and supplied us with delicious cold water as we waited. The morning’s classes had actually begun so I was straightaway introduced to some of the students I’ll be working with - drenched in sweat and probably not making my finest impression!

And so it began…

Unusual Journeys 1: The Boat

I’ve said a few things about my boat journey to Africa already but so many people were so intrigued by it (being a slightly unusual way to travel), that I thought I’d write up a more detailed report for those who are interested. (I have made the aforementioned video too, but am struggling to find an internet connection that will cope with me uploading it...)

My 14-day voyage was hosted by the Italian freight company, Grimaldi. I’d heard of them through some missionary friends from my church in England who also travelled this way to South America. I actually took the same route they took (remembering to get off half-way) - my boat’s stops were:

Hamburg, Germany
Tilbury, England (where I embarked)
Antwerp, Belgium
Dakar, Senegal (where I disembarked)
Vitoria, Brazil

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Santos, Brazil

Montevideo, Uruguay (where all the other passengers were heading) 

The Gambian capital, Banjul, has a port, but there didn’t seem to be any cargo ships going there which would take passengers. So after a lot of Googling I couldn’t find any alternatives and booked with Grimaldi to nearby Dakar. (The prospect of Italian food sealed the deal.) There don’t seem to be many cargo ships that take passengers these days. But my one was a “Ro-Ro” - “Roll on, roll off”. That means they have a big ramp for vehicles and most of their cargo filling up the 12 decks was vehicles (Range Rovers, JCBs, all sorts). It also means that, if you want, you can drive your own vehicle on and then drive it off at the other end, like an inter-continental ferry. That’s what my 7 fellow passengers were all doing - off travelling in South America with camper vans (3 couples) or a motorbike (1 individual). (One couple’s interesting website, featuring their amazingly equipped truck, is here.)

You have to be prepared for quite a bit of flexibility travelling this way. All along, since booking 6 months in advance, I only ever had an “estimated date of departure”. This moved from 23rd Sept, to 25th Sept, to 26th Sept, to 29th Sept, then finally to 2nd October. Such are the unpredictabilities of the shipping industry’s timetables. I was told that it was my responsibility to log in to a webpage to check this date - I wouldn’t be informed otherwise!

Boarding time

Finally the day came: I headed to Tilbury Port on the Thames in Essex, just next to an old fort which “protected London's seaward approach from the C16th through to WW2”. After weaving through the modern port’s maze of huge yards full of containers and vehicles, a small Grimaldi office (shed) appeared. I was then told I could just walk up the ramp on to the ship and be signed on! Time to say a final goodbye to Mum and Dad…

The quite senior 3rd Mate (an Italian officer) showed me to my comfortable cabin and I happened to bump into a friendly English fellow passenger, which was reassuring - having no idea at that stage how many (if any) fellow passengers I’d have.

Settling in

Our meals were in the same dining room as the 10 or so (Italian) officers. The non-officer crew (mostly Philipino, about 15 of them) had a separate dining room, wafts from which had a distinctly more Asian smell. Our food was good, if served in a slightly odd way! Breakfast was straightforward enough, then lunch (11am!) and dinner (6pm) always began with pasta (very nice) then we’d be asked “Beef?” and given a slice of beef on a plate. Then, “Fish?” and we’d be given a piece of fish on a plate. With iceberg lettuce. Every time. I guess it keeps quite well. Then a piece of fruit on a plate. It seems that the idea of putting meat or fish in with pasta would be a bit radical…! Couldn’t complain though, especially with bottled water and wine included.

I had opted for an “outside” cabin - i.e. with a window - which was a pleasant enough space to bunker down when it was a bit blustery on deck. About 10 days in I finally figured out how to open the window (with the help of a rubber mallet). I had an en-suite bathroom, a fridge, and a few days in they even installed TVs with built-in DVD players! Thankfully some other passengers had a stash of DVDs.

Amusing curiosities

We couldn’t help but feel certain things had a whiff of Fawlty Towers about them… In fact, put Ben Elton and co. on a boat like this and I’m sure they’d be inspired for a sit-com. After a busy first few days for the crew, as we navigated in and out of the English Channel and loaded up at various ports, they seemed to get to work on all kinds of areas on the boat. It resembled the Golden Gate Bridge - constantly work was needed on something. So for most of the voyage the boat seemed to be going through Operation Refurbishment, with some mealtimes dominated by hilariously unaware(?) / unfussed(?) banging on the dining room walls. Every now and again the kitchen door would fly open with goodness-knows-what heated Italian being exchanged on the other side. “How is everything?” / “Yes, fine thank you - excellent!”

The crew were friendly and helpful if you ever needed anything, though they would never volunteer any information! Not even safety information - until day 8, when a disconcerting alarm sounded, along with the announcement (thick Italian accent), “This is a drill. This is a drill. All crew and passengers report to the Meeting Room.” Thankfully we hadn’t sunk in the first 8 days, and were finally given a safety briefing.

We were shown that we had amazing evacuation suits in our cabins, dry suits which would prolong your survival in the ocean by a considerable time. We were told all about the lifeboats (there were plenty - i.e. 2) and the rations inside. I paid considerably more attention than when on a plane, out of sheer interest!

Challenging the Master and Chief Engineer - they were amazing!

Surely the most bizarre moment was the cocktail party. One day, at breakfast, we were told that we’d be having aperitifs with the Captain in the Lounge… At 10. That morning! Sure enough, huge platters of canapés appeared along with (almost undrinkable) cocktails! (For passengers only - the crew are to stay dry all voyage [pun avoided…].) We were introduced to the Captain (or Master as he was known), the Chief Engineer and the 1st Mate. It was fascinating to actually chat to them - at mealtimes they seemed not so keen on conversation, and they were diligently at work the rest of the time. The Master had been sailing this route for 25 years. Extraordinary to think you could know (a slither of) the vast oceans so well. The Chief Engineer’s family moved from Italy to Brazil so he was going to get off and join them for a few months when they made it there. Poignant to think of them apart for so much time. It must be a peculiar life being away at sea for months on end.

What did I do?!

I’d drawn up a draft timetable to identify what I wanted to spend time doing - books to read, time to spend in prayer and Bible-reading, a bit of exercise. Sleep was often not great, with the boat moving around a bit. But there was plenty of time for a nap or two during the day. And it was wonderful to have hours and hours of uninterrupted time to pray and read and think. So hard to find in normal life.

I had precious time meditating on God’s word, particularly Genesis, Exodus, Mark and Romans. In terms of books, I was glad to familiarise myself with some course material I’ll be teaching in the Gambia, made good progress on a more academic book, Salvation to the Ends of the Earth: A Biblical Theology of Mission (Köstenberger & O’Brien), was encouraged greatly by Jim Packer’s Weakness is the Way, and devoured the wonderful stories of God’s grace and power in Warriors of Ethiopia (Dick McLellan). I’d recommend them all!

It was fun to spot a bit of wildlife. Sadly no whales and only a few dolphins, but they were the first I’d seen. There was the odd big seabird out fishing alongside us, and flying fish seemed to enjoy shooting off from the waves around the boat.

The gym had a treadmill (added fun when on a moving boat), weights and table tennis. And since there were 3 other friendly Brits in the same boat(…), we ended up spending a fair bit of time together (DVDs / table tennis), which was an unexpected bonus. They had lots of travelling stories under their belts, and were interested in what I was off to do in the Gambia. It was comfortingly familiar to get some good English banter flying around; I quickly acquired the nicknames “The Surfing Preacher” and “The Banjul Spinner” (table tennis). After eating 3 meals a day with them for 14 days, it was sad to wave goodbye at Dakar!

The ship

Grande Nigeria was her name. I must say I’m glad that (I think) my parents didn’t happen to see the photos that Google reveals of her having had a rather serious crash a few years ago… Slightly alarmingly there was a collision between two vessels in the Antwerp channel whilst we were in Antwerp. Our Master was baffled by it, saying there seemed to be no good explanation.

We were about 200 metres long and weighed about 57,000 tonnes which, judging by what else I saw at sea and in ports, is kind of a middly-size. We cruised along most of the time at about 15 knots. The Bay of Biscay made for a slightly sleepless night but otherwise we were thankful for pretty still conditions - the size is certainly an advantage: at times it felt fairly calm, then you’d look down and see much smaller boats being flung around by the waves!

The Chief Engineer gladly showed us round the Engine Rooms. Wow. It was hot, sweaty, noisy and enormous. I’m just sorry that - not being more technically-minded - I can’t repeat what I imagine were pretty mind-boggling stats about it all. But it was impressive! Quite something to think they’ve got to keep that all running and maintained on the move.

The Master intentionally sailed close enough to the Canary Islands
for the crew and passengers to get phone signal for a bit!

The cabins were all on the 12th deck and you could wander round outside there with decent views off the port and starboard sides. But the best views were from the bridge - within and around the control centre, full of gadgets and gizmos and radars, plus an old-school commitment to paper maps and charts, with our route being plotted by pencil and compasses. The crew were more than happy for us to wander in and nose around.

The English Channel felt like a shipping motorway, with lots of other vessels around. But once we got out beyond there, especially beyond Spain and Portugal, there were amazingly few other boats around. It was quite a strange experience to stare out to simply sea on all sides, sometimes with not a soul in sight. Then the stars, shooting stars, and planets at night were stunning.

A gradual end

When we left Tilbury our ETA at Dakar was 10 days later. We ended up spending 3 days in port at Antwerp (longer than they’d planned, because of how long it took to load, etc), so the ETA shifted 2 days on. Then as we approached Dakar we were told we wouldn’t be able to enter port until a day later than our ETA, so it shifted on another day. Then just as we were rounding the peninsular of Dakar itself we found out we’d have to drop anchor out there for a night, since our berth in the port was occupied! So in the end we came into port 14 days after leaving Tilbury.

There was then a surreal last day on board in port, tantalisingly close to land. We crawled into port (probably wise not to rush manoeuvring these kind of vehicles) at about 9am in pouring rain. It then took several hours for immigration officials to come on board and check everyone’s passports, etc. Finally, at about 3pm I was free to disembark onto dry land!

Added complication was - the rain had made the roads to where I was meant to be staying in Dakar impassable… Expensive mobile data thankfully meant I could keep in touch with the friend of a friend of a friend who was meant to be picking me up. In any case, I had to go to an immigration officer at a police station on land to get my passport seen again, so I knew I had some time to play with. Dakar isn’t exactly the kind of place you want to be with nowhere to stay though… Options were: find a nearby hotel and hope for vacancy, or find the next flight to the Gambia (though I’d been planning to travel by road with a Gambian friend). Turned out there was no flight that day anyway. Then, thankfully, my contact was able to make it through the floodwater to pick me up from the police station, where I’d been welcome at first, but after a few hours was beginning to sense they didn’t want me sitting around indefinitely.

So I was very glad to be picked up! And to make it to the headquarters of SIL, where I had a room for a night before my onward journey to the Gambia itself… (see next blog post)

Large and infinite distances

My hopes for this voyage were for:

• Time to think, pray, meditate, read - tick. 
• Time to process the emotions of saying goodbye, in advance of arriving and starting a new life - tick. 
• Time to appreciate the distance travelled - tick. 

On that last point - there’s something so deceptively immediate about flying. I’ve found it helpful to appreciate the reality that my friends and family back home are not truly just a few hours away (though thankfully they are, in the case of an emergency!). No, the world is bigger than that. Somehow, going more slowly impresses that truth more acutely. And my 14 days’ distance is only half what the other passengers are experiencing as they go on to South America. Not to mention the Far East or Australasia.

The voyage caused me to muse on true distance. It’s humbling to think of people in generations gone by who took the good news of Jesus to those very distant corners of the world - and they are distant! Many think that Christianity is a Western religion, but it’s from the Middle East and most Christians today are East Asian, African or South American. As that shows, people took the momentous news about Jesus all over the world, even up to those funny lumps of land we call the British Isles. “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news.” (Isaiah 52:7) May we remember them with deep gratitude, who walked or rode or sailed many many miles to take the good news to our lands.

Reading some of those classic missionary biographies (C.T. Studd / Hudson Taylor / John Paton), the sacrifice they made makes a mockery of what we call sacrifice today. It’s almost unimaginable to think of boarding a boat that would take months to reach its destination (if it made it). Post would then take that long, to hear any news from home. And it would take that long to go back home, if you did. Life today (and crossing cultures today) just doesn’t compare.

Reading the history of the Gambia, it was sobering to read the shockingly short life-expectancy of missionaries to West Africa in centuries gone by. Not for nothing was it known as “the white man’s grave”. Many were shipwrecked. Many died of malaria. None expected to last more than a couple of years. And yet, in obedience to Jesus’ command, they kept going. Would I have done?!

Most importantly, their faithfulness and sacrifice did not spring from a heroic self-determination, which will seem intimidating and unattainable to us in our very different age. Rather, their faithfulness and sacrifice were the fruit of the seed of the life of Christ in them. He travelled the INFINITE distance - leaving the glory and splendour of heaven, the eternal and intimate joy of divine love, to walk on to the surface of dusty, hot, smelly, painful Earth. God is the Great Missionary: the Father sent the Son to save us, and the Son obeyed and went. And so with His power at work in us, may God strengthen you and me to be faithful to Him, obediently going to make him known, whether it means crossing oceans and cultures or crossing roads.

Never Alone

My neighbourhood.

All my previous trips to the Gambia have been during the dry season (good time to come); right now we’re towards the end of the rainy season. People are thankful for good rains this year (for the crops), but they (not just me!) have also been struggling with the extended heat and humidity. When I arrived it really was a dramatic physical shock. Temperatures were high 30s˚ (forecast says “feels like” mid-40s˚) and humidity was in the 90%s. Anyone who’s been on a summer holiday or played sport with me knows that it doesn’t take a lot to make me sweat…

Well, I'm writing at night as the water and power are both off (power = fan; water = shower) so, instead of just soaking my bed sheet with sweat whilst lying awake, I thought I’d do something productive and write a few words!

———

One of my main concerns about arriving was loneliness. On my previous 4 trips to the Gambia I’ve been a member, leader or visitor of a team. This time it’s just me. But I’m so thankful to God that I’m no stranger to a number of people here.

• Pastor S is the one I’m here to serve, and I’ve had enormous respect and admiration for him since we first met 10 years ago. He has been tremendously generous and helpful in all kinds of ways already.

• Brother P is a dear friend and great fun - he and I will be teaching some material together at SOW (Servants of the Word) and it’s been great to reconnect with him (and deliver to him his beloved Haribo).

• B is a young Christian who’s become good friends with recent UK teams out here. I loved meeting him 18 months ago and it was a treat when he popped round the other night (during an evening power cut, which can be a lonely time). We shared and laughed together and had a precious time reading the Bible (Hebrews 10:11-25).

• I await Mama’s return from Sierra Leone, where she’s been for a few weeks. She’s desperate to look after me here and I’m desperate to see her! She’s the legendary Mama of the annual Gap teams here and is a source of big hugs, delicious food, many laughs and much wisdom. 

So I’m really thankful for all these people and more. And I trust that current and new relationships and friendships will grow and deepen in time.

But when I am lonely, how thankful I am that I am never alone. Before he physically left Earth, Jesus promised:

“The Father will give you another advocate to be with you for ever - the Spirit of truth… he lives with you and will be in you…

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you… Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” (John 14:16-27)

Lonely? Sometimes. Alone? Never. God is with me for ever by His Spirit. Oh what peace that gives!

Furthermore, I have the following keeping me company in my compound:

• Rupert the Rooster: meaning I won’t be needing an alarm clock 
• Helen the Hen and her friends: helpfully eating my scraps 
• Larry the Lizard and his friends: whom I love to watch running all over the walls 
• Colin the Cockroach and his (many) friends: would really rather they didn’t get in the fridge though...
• Anthony the Ant and his (very many) friends: we’ve come to a peaceful co-existence 
• Mollie the Mosquito and her (many) friends: I’m trying to keep my distance 
• Jimmie the Cricket and his (noisy) friends: giving that tropical background noise
• The mysterious creature in the roof with remarkably heavy footing...!

© Freeimages.com

Ebenezer who?!

One of my favourite hymns has the line: “Here I raise my Ebenezer…” I dare say I’m not the only one who’s sung it and struggled to get thoughts of A Christmas Carol (for me, the Muppets version of course) out of my head, whilst thinking, “Who knows what that means? Oh, the song’s over.”

Ebenezer is a Hebrew word which means, “Stone of Help”. Here’s where it’s from:

Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen. He named it Ebenezer, saying, “Thus far has the Lord helped us”.

(1 Samuel 7:12)

Samuel chose the appropriate word to name his monument, which celebrated his experience of the Lord God’s help up to that point. It was a tumultuous time in the history of God’s people. But Samuel was enjoying the goodness and faithfulness of God and so “raised his Ebenezer”.

Here’s that song again:

“Here I raise my Ebenezer,

Hither by thy help I’ve come.

And I hope, by thy good pleasure,

Safely to arrive at home.”

Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing, by Robert Robinson, 1757. Here’s a version that I enjoy.

Well, here - in Dakar, Senegal - I raise my Ebenezer! I’m only stepping over the start-line of this initial 3-year term in the Gambia (where I travel on to tonight), but I’m very conscious of God’s good shepherding care as I look back on all the preparations and leaving the UK, and as I’ve travelled on the boat: “hither by thy help I’ve come”.

And that “hope” for the future in the song isn’t wishful thinking. It’s the certain hope that comes from knowing God’s sovereign control and fatherly kindness.  So I look to him and trust him for what’s ahead.

Voyage Stage 1

Greetings from Antwerp!  We're docked here for a couple of days of loading, at the 2nd biggest port in Europe (after Rotterdam).  It was remarkable, sailing past endless cranes and containers and cars and ships on our way down the long channel from the sea, through the port and into a huge lock, which made canal locks in England seem like little bath tubs.  Towering cranes lift and shift lorry-length containers with such ease that they look like matchboxes.

After boarding ship in Tilbury, I found out we were due to leave at about 2 a.m. that night.  So I settled in and headed to bed, not quite sure what disruption would awake me at what point!  Sure enough,  huge engines rumbled into gear at about 2 o'clock, and my nervous sleep and curiosity meant I couldn't resist looking at what was going on as we pulled out of port. And so we trundled down the Thames and out into the North Sea, across towards Belgian waters.

The sailing since has been calm, largely sunny and peaceful - ideal for enjoying the peace and quiet I'd hoped for, praying, and digging into books and Bible study.

I trust the pictures give a feel for what it's looked like so far...  All being well, I'll check in again in Dakar!

Setting sail

Grande Nigeria: spot the dummy!

“Welcome aboard!” - the Captain of Grimaldi’s vessel Grande Nigeria introduced himself to me with a smile and handshake. A fairly short Italian man with a classic moustache, he nevertheless commands the respect of everyone else on board this huge cargo ship. (I just hope his name is Mario.) The boat is 200 metres long (656 feet) and a website said it has a gross tonnage of 57,000 tonnes. I just can’t quite comprehend that. It’s big. Some of my fellow-passengers (who embarked in Hamburg) said it was pretty hair-raising coming into port - precious more than 20 centimetres on both sides!

Having loaded up with lots of British cars and containers here, we’re meant to depart at 2 a.m. towards Antwerp, the final European stop before Dakar in Senegal, where I disembark in about 10 days’ time. So I thought I’d use a final bit of UK 3G signal to share the experience before we sail off!

So far things have been quite pleasant:

• The cabin is comfortable with plenty of space. 
• The first meal was decent and the coffee wasn’t too bad either! Thanks, Italians. 
• Friendly fellow-passengers (Germans and Brits) to eat and chat with.  They're all going the whole hog and taking this ship all the way to South America!
• A basic gym to do a bit of exercise. 
• Pretty spectacular views from the deck. 

The forecast seems fairly calm for the next few days, which will be nice for getting used to life on board. Everyone who knows anything about the seas has made some wry comment about the Bay of Biscay though… We’ll see how that is!

For those who don’t know, why on earth am I travelling like this?! It’s more expensive than flying, and takes about 48 times as long. A few reasons: 

My desk set up with writing paper, books, drawing pad, Bible...

1. Emotional: to have time to process the rollercoaster of leaving and saying goodbye to family, church and friends, before the busyness of arriving somewhere new. 
2. Transitional: to have time to stop and think about arriving in the Gambia, and begin to get my head round various related issues, now that all of packing up and leaving is done! 
3. Spiritual: it’s so rare to get both quality and quantity time to pray, meditate on God’s word, and think about things. With a fairly big change in lifestyle, ministry, responsibilities, culture, all just round the corner, it felt like some time to do those things would be valuable. 

So, here goes… “Buona notte!” (= good night!, I think)