I have a dream. To live somewhere for at least half an year, put my clothes in the wardrobe, storage my suitcases to the basement, buy something unnecessary that would take up too much space in my luggage. And that’s no problem, because we do not go anywhere.
But it’s just a dream. In fact, I am writing this letter from the ninth place we have stayed in the last three months. And we have still two months ahead of us in homes of some cool people before we go back to Mozambique.
A few days after we arrived in Poland, I had an operation to remove the gallbladder. It’s been two months since then. I’m fine. And the nicest thing, I’m starting to eat normally!
For some time now, I have felt that I have a longer and calmer breath, with a proper perspective on what has happened to us. On our Sunderland and not planned return. And I see even more clearly what God assured me during our month-long journey from Pemba to Gdansk: Ania, I am carrying you in my arms.
He was telling me this when I was falling asleep with a belly ache in Maputo, praying the stone wouldn’t get stuck and cause inflammation while I was in Mozambique. Then, when they once again at the office assured us that Joseph’s ID (which was necessary to get a passport to be able to fly to Poland) will be ready tomorrow. And so on for two weeks. Then, when the director of this office called the factory to have the ID printed and then, when he handed it over to us on Friday afternoon. And then, when the immigration office accepted the passport application on Monday, it printed the document and we were able to collect the passport in the afternoon of the same day. And the next one we were in South Africa.
There, as well, God carried us in his arms. When Tony’s visa was issued at the Polish embassy in one day, when it normally takes about two weeks. And then, when I entered a large hospital for the first time, and a woman from nowhere showed me the way to the doctor I was looking for. Later it turned out that it was not the doctor I needed, but it would not be even possible to get to him because of holidays, and the “wrong” one just called him and I got a permit to fly to Poland and a prescription for strong painkillers in case a stone would get stuck during the nine-hour flight.
The same day we bought tickets, the next morning we did covid tests, ready to collect the results the day after on our way to the airport. All in pain that has been with me constantly for over a month.
My result – positive. The plane was due to take off in five hours. Everything stopped. Because it’s not only the fact that I can have a surgery in South Africa. It is also a fact that I will not be admitted to the hospital if I have a positive test result. In Poland, the hospital was already informed when I would come. They were to operate regardless of the test result, but in a different place. I couldn’t believe it had happened. I wanted to repeat the test, but the laboratories were closed – in South Africa, the Friday before Easter is off work. My only chance was the airport and the faith that they would do a PCR test for me in an hour (those in the medical industry know how irrational it sounds!). I stood in a long line three hours before departure. The luggage was waiting in the car. When it was my turn, I heard that they would try to help and they pointed to a piece of paper which said that due to the large number of tests, waiting for the result could be extended to 48 hours. I had two and a half left until departure and one and a half until check-in closes. The same at the point where they took the smear, they don’t guarantee anything. In the car, where they did the test and gave the result, they told me to wait. Half an hour before check-in closes, Tony with Jo and the friend who had brought us to the airport went to get our luggage. During this time, I kept saying: What if it’s positive? After all, the one from yesterday is positive. What am I going to do? And then I heard again: Ania, you will go. I am carrying you in my arms. After Tony returned with the luggage, I was called to get the result. I don’t know what those around thought of me when I started to scream: Negative! It is negative! We fly! Today I think I should have looked around and checked. But we were already running to check-in.
And so God moved us from Mozambique to Poland in our long and impossible situation. We couldn’t have done this at all if not people he sent to help us. Who offer us place to stay, who drove us, who indicated the best places, who accelerated the processes, prayed for us and supported us financially.
God amazes me with his goodness.