On Monday, November 19, we were up and having a lazy morning when I received a text that read, “Please come to Immigration immediately to pick your passport.” After a quick discussion with Lara and a call to Christopher to confirm he could not be at my house in the next ten minutes, I came to terms with the fact that Zechariah and I would have to do this trip boda-boda style. We threw our clothes on and attempted to tell my first born and baby good-bye. {They didn’t take it well….}

Our guard was not at the gate so we hiked up the hill and started to attempt to flag a boda driver. A couple passed up by but then a man, in all black with a dark helmet (rare) pulled to the side. I walked up to him and told him we need to get to Immigration right away but that my baby was with me and we did not want to go fast. He questioned me about which office I needed to visit and whether it is on “Jinja Road.” I told him it is. The man then welcomed us on his bike and told me he would take us *for free* to another boda driver who would drive us to Immigration.
We hopped on. The man was perfect. Drove slowly; avoided holes the size of his bike; was gentle. After a few minutes, I started to beg him to take us the whole way. I didn’t want to risk a crazy driver (I mean, we were driving a good 12 kilometers without helmets….). I told him I would pay him…. A lot. He told me it wasn’t about the money. (what?!?!?) I continued to beg as he pulled up to a line of bodas about a mile from our house. He stopped about 40 feet away, got off his bike, and turned to surmise the drivers. As he looked them up and down, he finally pointed at one who joined us at the bike.
The young man looked nice enough but also like one of those young “kids” who darts in and out of traffic in an effort to beat everyone to the next stop. Our first driver quizzed him about where immigration is (he knew) and then proceeded to drill him about driving carefully with my baby. It was right around this time that the driver turned to me and smiled, displaying a gap between his two teeth that you could drive a truck through. I quickly shoved some money in his hand and thanked Jesus for sending an angel that reminded me of Grandpa George to get us to our appointment safely. He gave me his card in return: Moses, of course…..
Our second driver was equally good, pulling to the side anytime traffic got a little crazy. I was impressed. We made it to the passport office quickly and alive, although I was thinking that while I had survived the ride, Christopher (our regular driver) would surely kill me for taking a boda. We paid our second driver way too much and ran to enter the premises. Just then, I read a text from Lara: not ready until 3, went to Isaac’s (lawyer). Confused, we jumped on {another} boda, lectured him on safety, and headed to our attorney’s office. This guy took safety much less seriously and after only a minute on the back of his bike, he crossed a major intersection against traffic, weaving in and out of cars and bodas heading 90 degrees opposite us. Oy.
We took a few more bodas that day and I’m convinced Zechariah was a in heaven. The end of the story is that we still don’t have our passport and there is no real end in sight. But God is on His throne, knowing the beginning and the end of this saga…. Lord willing, soon. Until then, we are going to try to stay off these vehicles and safely in Christopher’s care.
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