A glimpse into my unexpected return to the states
It’s weird, ya know? I was at that point of accepting that the door to come back home in the wake of an unfamiliar contagion was no longer an option. I had tried to get out already. Twice. And the second attempt was a HARD no: they literally shut the country’s borders. I wasn’t happy about it. But, I’m not stupid: I know God’s sovereignty is intentional and careful, so I knew this wasn’t for nothing and leaned into that truth as much as I could. Within a week of life in Peru’s lockdown, I got word that the U.S. government was coordinating flights from Peru due to an overwhelming number of Americans stuck in Peru. But the closest flight was from Lima, which was nowhere close to me, and at this point I had resolved to stay.
Another week passed. I was on the email list for the U.S. Embassy alerts. I noticed they were going to be sending a bus to Cajamarca that was coming Saturday to transport Americans from there to Lima in order to make the flights to the states. No, I thought, I’m already here. I’m staying. I received an email the next day from one of my missions pastors with a link to an article in which the secretary of state was urging all americans to come home, as there may not be a future opportunity to do so. “Not trying to confuse you, but I just wanted to pass along the information,” he wrote. Thanks, I’m still staying. The next day, Friday, I noticed on Facebook an American I knew who had gotten stuck in Cajamarca while visiting as a guest teacher at the Bible institute there posted he would be going home thanks to the bus coming to Cajamarca. That’s nice. I went about my day. Later that afternoon I received a Facebook message from an American I knew who lived in Cajamarca. “Hey, I heard you may be interested in trying to get back home. If you’re still wanting to get home, send me this information, and I can put you in contact with the embassy.” I was kind of annoyed. Mostly because I had already told everyone I was staying—and because I didn’t want anyone trying to talk me into going back home after I had already decided I was staying. “Hey thanks, but I have decided that I am staying.” Soon after, I received another Facebook message, this time from the American who had been teaching at the Bible Institute. “Hey I heard you are wanting to make the bus tomorrow! We need to be at the plaza before 4 p.m. Oh, and you’ll need to register with the embassy, so send them an email!” What? Okay who told him that? Now I was just frustrated. It wasn’t long after this that there was a knock at my door. “Pasa.” It was Juan. “Hey, did you know there is going to be a bus coming to Cajamarca to take people to Lima for the flight to the states?” Ughhhh. I think I buried my head in my arms. “Well, I just wanted to make sure you knew since you had originally tried to go home. Just pray about it. But also, you probably need to decide soon because the bus leaves tomorrow afternoon, and if you’re wanting to go we need to figure out asap if it’s even possible to get you to Cajamarca. But just pray about it.”
So I prayed about it. But kind of like when I initially tried to decide whether to come home or not, there didn’t seem to be one option way better than the other. A couple hours later, I went to talk with Juan and Sandra. “So what are you thinking?” they asked. “Guys, I still don’t know. I think if I go, I would be good. But I think if I stay I would be good, too.” “What’s your gut telling you?” Sandra asked. “Honestly, there’s something in me that still thinks it would be wise to go home given the circumstances. But I just don’t know.” “Well as her pastor, do you have any advice? What would you do?” Sandra asked Juan. “I think if you’re not sure, but there’s anything in you that is leading you to choose to go back, then I would suggest at least try walking through that door. It’s 6 p.m; the bus leaves from Cajamarca tomorrow at 3 p.m. So, at this point honestly it may even be too late. But I think if God is leading you that way, the process is going to go smooth, and the door will be open the whole way home for you. But if not, then the door won’t open and you’ll stay here.” That sounded like a good plan.
So, from there I set out on what was a pretty complicated process. I re-responded to the people who had already Facebook messaged me about the bus, about contacting the embassy. By 8 p.m. I emailed the embassy and submitted an application to request a spot on the bus. A couple hours later, and I still hadn’t heard anything. The guy who initially Facebook messaged me had a contact at the embassy. Eventually I was in contact with his rep and by 10 p.m. I was able to secure a spot on the bus but also had to find a way to get to Cajamarca.
This is where it got really complicated. Juan was willing to take me, but the issue was the roads were closed due to the lockdown, so he would need special permission for this. The representative from the embassy was able to grant him permission and supply me with an authorization form. But then, another possible conflict was foreseen: los ronderos. In essence, the ronderos is a back-woods, unofficial law-enforcement group that does just that: they enforce the laws to keep the peace. But, they are known to enforce so with violence if need be, and they don’t quite have the in on all the know like the official Peruvian police do; moreover, they wouldn’t necessarily recognize this authorized document from the U.S. embassy as valid permission to allow us through to Cajamarca. Or, if they did, it was possible they wouldn’t let Juan return. Juan and Sandra called the local comandante to verify. He agreed. The ronderos were not a group to mess with. The thought of a police escort was suggested. The comandante said he would get back to us first thing in the morning, since it was midnight now. So, for a third time in about three weeks, I packed a suitcase of basics yet didn’t know if I would actually be leaving the next day—or not.
I woke up about 6 or 7 a.m. I also called the U.S. embassy’s contact in Cajamarca that morning to see if she could help further authorize or verify that we would be able to make it safely to Cajamarca, and for Juan to make it back safely to Cajabamba. She said she would find out what she could do. The comandante called. They would be able to provide an escort, and this way Juan wouldn’t have to worry at all about being stopped or unable to return after dropping me off. However, the Cajabamba police would only be able to escort me to the edge of the Cajabamba district line, because once they crossed over into another district, their jurisdiction was not valid, and therefore the ronderos would not recognized them an authoritative figure. This meant I would need a Cajamarca police escort to meet me at the edge of the Cajamarca district line. There was a bridge that separated the district lines. “Maybe she could be dropped off at one side of the bride and walk across to meet the other escort.” What a plan. But really, it was the best option so far. So, I called the embassy rep in Cajamarca, proposed the plan, and requested her to find me a police escort from Cajamarca. She was on it. Through the midst of this process, I ended up being put in contact with yet another government rep to aid me in the logistics. By mid-morning, I received a call from this rep who confirmed my Cajamarca police escort. Great! We called the comandante, and he planned to pick me up in 30 minutes. I think it would have been around 10:30 a.m. when he would be picking me up. About 10 minutes before this planned time, the third government rep called me back. “We’ve had an issue with the police escort on our end. The man who originally confirmed that he could pick you up, it turns out he doesn’t have a car.” Interesting. Okay. “But, we’re working on either finding him a car or finding another escort.” We call the comandante, update him, and then we wait. And wait. Another hour goes by. Now, at 11:30 a.m., I begin realizing the time sensitivity. It’ll take at least three hours to travel to Cajamarca. I called embassy rep in Cajamarca to let her know that I am still waiting on escorts to be confirmed just so I can make it to Cajamarca. “What if I don’t make it by 3 p.m.? Will I miss the bus? Or would the bus wait if I’m an hour late?” I’m sorry, but the bus would not wait. If you are late, you will miss the bus.” Noted. I email the original contact at the embassy to notify him of the situation and to ask if there’s anything else that could be done. Well, long story-short, by 12 p.m. the final escort is confirmed. We call the comandante to update him. He’ll pick me up in 15 minutes.
So, I say quickly my goodbyes, Juan drives me up to the top of the street, I buy a bag of snacks and waters at the bodega just in time for the police truck to arrive and pick me up. They transport me from the city of Cajabamba to the edge of the district where the bridge is. Unexpectedly, they even kindly drive me across the bridge to meet my second escort. I transition my bags and myself from the first police escort to the next. And off we go. I should mention that along the way there are like these checkpoints where there are police monitoring and verifying thru traffic, which we may have only passed one non-police automobile at this point. I should also mention that these checkpoints are fit with roadblocks and lined with members from the ronderos. They do look scary. And they’ve all got these makeshift weapons, like Indiana Jones-looking rope whips, or things like that. Nevertheless, we make it through each checkpoint, through the roadblocks, through the police and ronderos. About 45 minutes in though, we slow down and meet up with another police truck. They notify me that I will now be finishing out my trip with this police escort. Okay. That was unexpected, but it doesn’t appear shady. So, once more I transition my bags, my snacks, and myself to this third police escort. And thankfully, with time to spare, I make it to Cajamarca.
There, the charter bus is already parked in the plaza. We wait about an hour before getting on, about close to another hour to leave. We had to present I.D.’s have our temperatures checked, etc. I think there’s about 40 people on this charter bus, complete with a bathroom. So at about 5 or 6 p.m., we embark on a 13-hour bus ride to Lima through the evening, night, and early morning. I happened to know a few of the other Americans who were traveling and thus sat near them. I had some snacks, listened to music, and fell asleep maybe around 1 or so in the morning. I remember at one point waking up because I heard the driver’s GPS and fairly consequentially I heard the driver slowing down and asking someone outside his window if this was the way to Lima. In the morning, one of my friends on the bus asked me if I was awake during the night last night when we got lost. So, that must have been that moment. I also remember at one point during the night I had my head resting on the armrail in front of me (I was in the very first row) and then all of a sudden we hit what I assume was a speedbump at full speed and my body literally felt like it was about to flip over the armrail and onto the stairway in front of it.
Nevertheless we made it to Lima by about 9 a.m. I think. [I did not do good about recording all the details when they happened. We pull up to the embassy in which they instruct us to get off with our luggage at the first tent and proceed to explain that they will instruct us from there. It kind of has the feel of a 5k registration. You go to the first tent to sign in, then go to another to sign something else and receive your packet, and then to another to receive your complimentary bag of snacks. We then get back on the same bus and are told we will be there for a few hours but will next be going to the Peru Air Force base from where we will be departing.
Fast forward a couple hours, and yes, we are at the Peruvian Air Force base and are filing into the base’s hangar where we sit in foldout chairs with our luggage and wait another hour. By around 3 or 4, we make it on the plane. That was a good feeling. That was a feeling of, “Okay, I’ve made it. And I’m going to make it.”
The flight was from Lima to Washington D.C. We landed around midnight or so. My parents had kindly scheduled a flight for me from D.C. to Chattanooga with a connection in Charlotte. I made it through customs and had collected my luggage by around 2 p.m, I talked to my sister who for a while (because, Japan time), and then tried to sleep for about an hour until the airline checkins opened for the morning. I got checked in, I got on my first plane and onto Charlotte quite easily. The same thing happened from Charlotte to Chattanooga, and by noon on Monday morning my parents had picked me up from the airport and taken me to their home where I then self-quarantined in their basement for about two weeks.
In all, it took about 48 hours to reach my destination from my original departure. Looking back, I was mentally prepared to not make it all the way—or at least trying to mentally prepare myself for such an outcome. There was no guarantee that all travel would go as planned. There were a number of unconventional transportation checkpoints along the way. Police escorts. 15-hour bus trips. Multiple days of travel before reaching my final destination. Lots of desperate people trying to leave the country. I packed a large tote bag of snacks and water, and I tried to pack a small suitcase of clothes and non-essentials, in case that one I would have to ditch. Looking back on it now, it could have been CRAZY. And there is that temptation to dramatize the entire experience into something more sensational than it really is. To some people, even at its bare facts and sequence of events, it still does sound wild. But, the truth is, it all went about as smooth as it could go. The Lord simply transported me from one safe location to another.
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