A Stop in Moshupa, Botswana with the Mother’s Union OfficersSince, a week earlier, Cecilia was the last person we collected on our journey into Tsabong for the annual conference of the Mothers’ Union, she is the first person to get home. Home is Moshupa, a large village with a population of about 20,000. The afternoon sun is waning as we exit the van to help wrestle Cecilia’s belongings from the overfull trailer. Her rooster, freed from the leg ties that bound him on the trip through the Kalahari Desert, makes a mad dash to the opposite side of her yard and disappears around the side of the house. We say our good-byes, rearrange our seating pattern in the van, and head due north. By 7:30pm it’s dark, we’re nearing the outskirts of the capital city, Gaborone, and negotiating a stretch of busy road known for accidents. There are two more home stops to make before we get to Holy Cross Anglican Cathedral. My phone rings. It is a friend wanting to know where we are; people and supper are waiting for me. My head starts to ache. I hand the phone to a traveling companion who’s motioning at me and leave it to the two women to work it out. The new plan means stopping in the parking lot of a Choppies grocery store not far from where we are and transferring my bags to a car driven by a member of the Anglican Women’s Fellowship, the other primary women’s ministry group in the Diocese of Botswana. Hand off complete, I return to the white van to say “good night” and “thank you” in Setswana, something I’ve been practicing. As I start to close the sliding door I hear a voice from the back of the van. It belongs to one of the MU members who has always relied on a translator. She leans forward so her face is illuminated by the overhead light and she says, “I love you, Lisa.”