Our journey from Senegal back to Gambia was superb after succeeding in the orientation. We were on top of the world, but we dared not say a word about our upcoming change of address.
We were all aware of the fluid and tender situation we were in. My wife, Theresa, called it “time bomb.” She asked me to be more careful — the devil was at work. Our prayer times increased. We prayed the Rosary every night, instead of on Fridays as we used to do, on top of our other prayers. The one week until we’d be leaving the shores of The Gambia once and for all seemed everlasting.
Some days it was hard to sleep. We had already told the resettlement team that we knew nobody in America, so we were in God’s hands to place us somewhere. In fact, my oldest daughter Alice and her three-year-old son had left before us, in August. Her mouth could not relax; she may have told her friends about our plans had she stayed, but these challenges were part of the game.
I was hunted by the secret service, though they had no reason to apprehend me. I was gentle and focused. One week.
Augustine’s last chapter: Final Problem Lands Me in Dakar Or scroll down to catch up from earlier in the remarkable tale