Feb. 3, 2008 – Canchungo, Guinea-Bissau

Traveling to another world – or at least half way around the world – is measured in more than miles traveled, visa stamps, and cramped plane trips. It's also measured in bizarre experiences, new friendships, startling and breathtaking sites, moments of peace, clarity, and understanding, being held hostage by airport officials, and, of course, lots and lots of bug bites. For me, I've had it all. In the first three days.

Tom Crompton and I arrived safely in Bissau, Guinea-Bissau, what seems like two or three weeks ago. The four-hour flight from Lisbon, Portugal, was unlike any other I've been on. Most of the passengers were Africans, and they didn't waste their time quietly sitting in their seats. No, I should of known that a culture grounded in community would treat a plane flight less like a plane flight and more like a an evening on the front porch. Many people stood in the narrow isles for up to an hour at a time as I'm sure very frustrated stewardesses squeezed their way through. There was plenty of chatter all around me. The Frenchman sitting next to me didn't speak English, but between my broken Spanish and his slight understanding of Spanish, and a map of the world found in a flight magazine, we were able to have a decent conversation about world travels.

At the airport in Bissau (Guinea-Bissau's capital), we had the choice of going through one of three lines: Residents, Strangers, or Visitors. Almost everyone stood in the Strangers line, but we wondered if we were supposed to go through the much shorter Visitors line. So Tom and I went up the booth (of sorts) and a man came up to us and took our passports, looking official. He told us to grab our luggage and he'll handle our visa stamps. I didn't feel good about letting this guy wander off with our passports in his pocket, so I told Tom I would keep an eye on him while he grabbed the bags. About 10 minutes later I asked him for our passports back. He refused, and said he'd give them to us after the Strangers crowd got through. When that happened, he motioned me into a room off to the side, where I caught the end of what I was sure was a bribery transaction with some obviously reluctant and unhappy travelers. The travelers were paying cash. In return they got their passports back. I knew what was coming.

Tom was still looking for our bags, and he had no idea I was in this room. As soon a the man stamped and signed our passports, I snatched them off the table and put them in my back pocket. He and his cohort weren't happy about that. They said I had to pay 50 Euros as a "fee." Conveniently, I also had the option of paying U.S. $80 instead. I told them I didn't have any money and needed to talk to Tom. They got frustrated and told me to leave my passports with them and come back with the money. I said no. When I tried to walk out, the airport official blocked my exit. Eventually they closed and locked the door to the small room. This was not a good thing, I thought. I considered just paying the bribe. But for some reason, I wasn't too worried, and prayer for wisdom helped. We argued for probably 20 minutes. I told them all I had was 5 Euros, and I'd be willing to hand that over. It wasn't enough for them. One of the guys kept pointing to the other guy and said, "This is a cop, like in America. He is a police officer. You have to pay a fee." Finally, Tom found a guard who escorted him to the office. After another five minutes of arguing, the airport officials let us go, suddenly deciding that the visa form Tom had gave us an exception to the 50 Euro fee. It saved them face. And it got us on our way.

We were picked up by a middle-aged man named Tom Tourville, who has lived in the missionary house in Canchungo for the last two months helping out the FLAME ministry. Also there to pick us up were Joel, the 23-year-old son of Pastor Chenda, who works closely with FLAME, and Joel's girlfriend and her younger brother. The six of us crammed into the car and drove 1 ½ hours to Canchungo. As my first sites of Africa passed by through the view of the car window, the sudden feeling of awe and amazement that I remember so well from when I visited Iraq came rushing back. Seeing a little-known corner of the world is a startling experience, and it's hard to describe. You feel more alive and aware then at any other time. In a way, everything around you is so foreign, yet it is very real.

Canchungo. A population of only 10,000 – yet a hub for surrounding villages. It's town square is a large, dusty traffic circle. There are no paved roads here. But there are lots of bumps and holes. The people are everywhere. No one stays in their homes all day. They mingle and linger as soon as the weather cools in the evening. Before dawn, they are out in the sea-fed river that borders Canchungo fishing in their canoes. This town is everything America is not. It's impoverished. It's centered around community. It's dusty and undeveloped. It's a startling contrast of modern and ancient. It's thatch huts and cell phones.

I have been living in the plush, solar-powered, three-bedroom missionary house for FLAME. If you can get past the biting ants, small cockroaches, big spiders, cold showers, unrelenting heat, limited water and power supply, cement floor, dogs that bark all night long, and lack of a microwave, it's not too bad. The pros: You're in the middle of a remote African town. Amazing right there. The night sky is beautiful, the people are as warm as the sunny afternoons, the river-front view is captivating, and the food – fresh fish, salads, potato and meat soup – is great. The boxed American supplies in the storage room don't compare.

There is so much more to write about. But it is almost midnight and at 7 tomorrow morning we will travel to Bissau where hopefully I will be able to post this blog using the ultra-slow Internet connections at a Cyber Cafe. (If you are reading this, I was successful).

Please keep Tom and I in your prayers.