November 9, 2021

Tuesday, November 9, we headed for Busua 32 miles, 90 minutes away. Church Travel arranged hotels at some stops but let us know that we were going to regions where hotels were few and standards very questionable.  To help us, they connected us with a local church member, George Ephraim, who knows the region and manages Busua Beach Resort where we were to spend the night. George became our best friend for the next week as we navigated some interesting accommodations. He guided us and helped us. Bless this friendly, kind brother. 

Busua is what my mother would call, a spot on the road, village in the middle of thick coastal jungle. Generally, GPS works well enough to get us on the right street. Today, though, we were on uncharted paths! We searched up and down roads looking for the Busua Beach Resort, but we couldn’t even find the ocean. Finally, we called George and tried to describe where we were. (Tough to find a landmark in the jungle!) He listened, asked questions, then exclaimed, “Where are you??” We laughed and laughed that even a local considered us lost. 

The Resort must have been quiet fancy in its day. Covid and diminished travel had clearly taken a toll. Despite the wear, it was clean and food at the restaurant was quite good. Swaying coconut trees lined the brick walkways. There were random posted signs hanging on the trees that read, “Beware of Potential Falling Coconut.” 

Just steps from our chalet there was a sandy beach that extended down to where the local fishermen beached their boats. We walked around the boats visiting with the owners and crews. The wooden boats were pulled into the water by the crew and returned to shore literally by manpower. Twenty men were needed to launch the larger boats at 3:00 in the afternoon and then return them around 12:00 midnight. We watched the crews carefully mend their torn nets by hand with hopes of bringing home a large nightly catch. Watching their fishing methods made me think of New Testament stories.