The decrepit taxi shudders to a stop in front of me. I examine the compact car warily as five passengers and one driver stare at me.

They seem to think I’m going to get in with them. I’m late and I feel a bit desperate for the ride. Every other taxi has passed me by. It’s a typical Saharan commute.

I see that two men are squeezed into the front passenger seat. Three ample women fill up the back.

Local logic says there is still space for one more female passenger to join the others in the back seat. The three ladies shift about to make room for me.

It’s a feeble attempt. I’m about to tell them all, “It’s ok, I’ll get another taxi.”

The women shout commands at each other, telling one, “Shift your hip here, move this shoulder forward and put your arm there!”

The door pops open. One of the ladies calls to me, “There’s room for you here!”

And so I crawl in head first, and eventually I find myself somehow wedged in. I’m sitting sideways in a fetal position. I don’t think there’s a single part of me actually touching the backseat. The women hold me suspended. One holds my purse; another cradles my knees. The third beats my back as she excitedly describes how she saw a man get caught pickpocketing in the market the day before.

Days earlier I had despaired that no locals in my host community were making space for me in their lives.

Fellow teammates, a married couple who had lived in the country for over a decade, said, “That’s true. They’re not. But they didn’t invite you here.”

I humbly faced the truth that no local person had asked me to come live in their conservative Muslim community. They didn’t necessarily want me there, nor did they care much that we felt God had called us there.

Tears burn my eyes as I recall that conversation while pressed into the sardine can of that taxi. I’m enveloped and embraced by these three Muslim women.

“There’s a place for you here,” I feel God speak to my heart.

Original article: https://www.frontiersusa.org/blog/article/theres-a-place-for-you-here

Main photo by Jurgen