The hunt had now been in session for more than 6 hours. Charlie fired a shot at the bull Cape buffalo and wounded him. So Charlie, Laban, Toma, the chief and his men followed his trail of blood until they came upon the herd: face to face!
The herd in front of them standing in the forest was a total surprise. They were expecting to see the wounded bull, but instead they stared into the faces of the whole herd of bulls and female Cape. What were they going to do? If they change, most certainly they would have to look for a tree and, very quickly if they could, would need to climb that tree. To everyone's surprise, without a lot of noise, the herd turned tail and ran back out into the plans. What a relieving stock! Thank the Lord that several were not killed, or wounded, or trampled. That was God protecting them all. Also, other buffalo were not killed or wounded, or trampled. That was God protecting them all. Also, other buffalo were not killed or wounded.
Charlie was a different hunter now: anxious, uneasy, on edge. He was also determined to find the buffalo.
The hunt for the bull began again. The young brothers were good at following the blood path. Now, even more, listening for the great surprise of the bull rising, closely searching the bushes with they eyes. Toma was at his best.
The trail was leading in a semicircle. The fluttering of a bird taking off from a branch or the scattering of a running forest rat swung everybody's head in the direction of their flying or running. Laban knew any moment could mean life or death. Could this be a moment before entering eternity: The blood spots were getting further and further apart. The quiet but determined steps continued.
Finally, Toma told Dad that the buffalo was heading out of the forest and into the plains. Following the blood trail had been going on for at least 2 hours. As the cape broke out of the woods and into the taller grass, Laban thought everyone should stop and take a rest. Everyone was hungry and tired. Being out of the forest and into the grasslands, the chief was very adamant about calling off the hunt. Somebody would get hurt and very possibly killed. "Imene. Beto vutuka. That's enough. Let's go back." he told Toma. "Let's return the way we came into the forest because we didn't meet up with him, so let us go back the same way we came to be safe."
But laban would not leave that buffalo because of the danger and threat he imposed on the nearby villagers. Looking at the chief, Laban once again offered him a ittle money to continue the hunt. He could not leave the wounded buffalo. The chief agreed, and he and a couple of his warriors went off, following the path of the buffalo through the tall grass, looking for more blood.
Time for a little break and to mentally size up the situation. Laban raised his belt-worn canteen to his mouth to drink some water. To his right was a tree that he could lean his savage 300 rifle against. It was a good gun that brought down antelope for meat, as there were no grocery stores nearby in the bush where they lived. He certainly would not use this gun on an elephant. A lot of hunters want to have a larger caliber, even for buffalo, but Laban was satisfied with the savage 300. He knew from his experience on the farm in New York where to lay the shot. While everyone else rested for a little bit, Charlie went down into a little lower depression of grassland by himself.
Charlie was a good distance to the left of Dad. Toma said that Charlie needed to stay with him and Laban. Dad asked him to come over with them and follow the trail with them as they followed the chief and his men. But Charlie was Charlie and wanted to do this on his own. Charlie's previous fear now became a blazaing of boldness which was foolishness. The chief was not too far ahead of the rest of the men off to the right. But Charlie was off to the left.
Separated now from the rest of the group, an explosion in the grass took place in front of him, as the wounded cape stood and charged Charlie. Charlie had no time to aim his gun.
He could only hold it in front of him with his left hand on the barrel and his right hand near the trigger.
As the buffalo charged, he bellowed in anger and rammed into Charlie's gun and Charlie, knocking Charlie into that little grassland depression. A God thing took place. Charlie lay near a bush tree, and when the cape came into gore him the first time, the buffalo hit the tree more than it hit Charlie. The buffalo then backed up like a male goat to charge him again. That's when he put his horn through Charlie's upper inner leg, puncturing the leg and coming out the other side.
The horn was actually protruding through his leg.
Once more, the buffalo backed up to get ready to do a lethal gore.
This all happened in a matter of seconds.
Laban sees what is happening.
Charlie no longer has his rifle; it's been knocked out of his hands.
Laban knew he had to act fast. No time to use the rifle now. Not only that, the rifle could very well put a shot into Charlie.
God gives him the presence of mind to reach for the pistol in his pocket, and he runs to where the attack of death is taking place.
With his pistol pulled, he races up to the buffalo who is now standing on his hind legs with an aim on Charlie's midsection.
While up in the air, the 45 goes off. The cape falls over. DEAD.
Charlie said, "I wondered when the shot would take place. It did. I saw the lights go out of the cape's eyes as he toppled over.
Another shot fired to make sure. The hunt was over. No one died. Death was not for today.
Charlie lay on the ground with a wounded leg. Dad stopped the bleeding with a piece of cloth, and they carried Charlie ll the way back to the car.
Once home, Dad sewed up Charlie's leg along with a missionary nurse.
Many tears were shed by Charlie's wife and daughter when they heard Dad's truck come rolling into the yard and realized Charlie had been injured. His two sisters, Martha and Mary, were crying with tears of thanks that their brother was still alive. And, as everybody looked into the back of the truck, they saw that the huge buffalo would provide lots of good steaks.
The pressure cooker was put to good use to can much of the meat, as refrigeration was not readily available in those days.
Charlie was visibly shaken. Women were crying. Everyone was praising God that no funeral or several funerals would need to be planned.
At the end of Charlie's term, he and his family returned to America and never came back to Africa, but his sisters stayed on and did a great work at the mission station of Kamiala. Laban and Marcella continued to be involved in their lives, giving them money to build a church there.
My mother, Marcella, made it a ruling in our home: Never another buffalo hunt again!!! Laban agreed. He never hunted the big 5 again.
The chief and his men personally heard the Gospel of Jesus christ, and that to Laban was The Great Hunt!
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
Jim's Buffalo Story - Part 3
Charlie, a fellow hunter with Dr. Smith and Toma, plus the local chief and his men were within 400 feet of the herd of buffalo, in particular, the big bull. Charlie had been warned not to shoot yet, but his fervor and adrenalin rush for bringing down the bull outweighed counsel from everyone else in the party. Charlie, his body shaking, took a shot anyway.
The shaking of his hands and his body and the distance of the shot impaired his accuracy, certainly changed the trajectory and aim of the bullet. Laban knew they needed to be within a hundred yards. The shot must count. This is the Cape buffalo, not Elsie the Cow! One shot, and only one shot, and you had to make that one shot count that must kill--not wound!
When the thought of missionaries or a missionary come across your mind, the Holy spirit may be calling you to pray for that missionary, who may be in a very dangerous situation--whether from an unseen cobra, mamba, or even a buffalo, not to mention the spiritual battles he or she might be up against. Or it may be a terrible automobile accident, a closed head injury, a serious brush with death.
PRAYER IS A MAJOR WALL OF DEFENSE.
If you think of a missionary, even a quick prayer needs to be sent to the Heavenly Father. It could help save the missionary's life, whether in Europe, South America, or South Africa.
Back to the story. The crack of the 30-06 rang across the Panzi plains! The shock of the bullet hitting the neck of the cape caused the bull to rear backwards like a billy goat on steroids, nearly a ton lifting itself into the still, hot tropical air of the African afternoon. Laban knew a new hunt had now commenced. It would be much more dangerous because of that one shot which did not kill. The bull began to search for the source of his wound; he started moving round. The shot had taken him in the neck, and it was not lethal, but his anger was! He became wild, began to snort in revenge. The rest of the herd knew from his bellowing that it was time for them to run. They bolted for the nearby forest. Gone.
The chief was so upset and afraid fro he knew the anger of the beast--how when angry enough they could even run right into the village, attack, and destroy huts! He wanted to call the hunt off. He said, "imene, beto landa yandi ve. Yandi me luala; yandi kele makasi." We're done. Let's not follow him anymore. He is injured; he is angry.
The chief's command is followed. His word is as good as done. His men obey, and they were ready to return to the car and then to home. However, Laban knew they could not do that, for out here in the plains, the young men would be hunting rats. Young women would be looking for fruit; new gardens would be put in, and women and young children would be taking the path to the local water source. The bull would be an imposing threat to anyone in the area. So Laban said, "No, we must get him."
Then, the wounded bull, not finding his enemy, also bolted toward the forest. Laban offered the chief a small sum of money to keep going. By our standards, it wasn't much at all, but to the chief it was buying power. Toma also strongly demanded that the chief continue the hunt. He also knew that children and women could be killed. The chief agreed to proceed.
Now there was a different kind of great excitement. Dad accepted the fact that Charlie shot too soon, realizing that the man was afraid, and not a hunter. Quickly, checking their guns again to make sure the chambers were full and the safety was on, they began to walk in a hurried fashion to where the buffalo had been shot an the herd had been grazing. Dad put his right hand to his side to be sure that his .45 pistol was in its holster and handy. The Belgian Government allowed him to have a pistol, which was the exception for missionaries, but because he was a doctor, they gave him permission to carry one. Seldom was it used, but it was good for a back up.
Off they went. Toma and the chief arrived first, locating the site where the cape had been shot. They viewed the blood fallen from the wound. It was not till later they saw that it had been shot in the neck. The chief and his hunters pursued the tracks and the trail of blood. The hunt began to get underway at about 8 that morning; it was now approximately 2 in the afternoon. The blotches of blood were not in a constant pattern, so the chief and the hunters had to split up a little bit an look in earnest for the trail.
Every time they found trickles, a hand would go up and Dad, Charlie, and Toma would follow about 20 feet behind. Toma insisted on walking in front of Dad, not only for the sake of their friendship and comradeship,, but he knew that if anything happened to Dad, his people would suffer a great loss. No doctor, no hospital at Kajiji that he had helped Laban build, and so much more. He felt responsible. He would take the charge of that bull if need be.
The hot sun continued to beat upon them, but their lives were now more in danger than ever. They walked, realizing that the big buffalo could be lying down in the grass, just waiting for them. They one who wounds so frequently is the one who is attacked. Animals often sense their attacker.
Senses are frighteningly alive. Any noise, any wind blowing the waist high grass could mean it rising to charge.
As they continued to follow, they saw that the buffalo was leading them into the forest. Remember that this is not jungle, but forest. There are trees, but not a lot of vines, bramble, or thickets. However, there are smaller bushes, that the buffalo could be hiding behind or under. Of octagonal shape, the buffalo had now entered on the far right lower side.
Tracking him with guns ready and the .45 back up pistol, thoughts of the family, the ministry, and their futures came to the mind, but immediately these thoughts were sent away because at any moment, they could encounter the waiting cape. Whispered prayers, and conscious trust in the Lord were braided with the thrill of the moment plus the needed steak for those waiting back home, some of whom had traveled hundreds of miles for this conference. "Let us get this buffalo, Lord. You know the need; may no one be maimed or killed, please."
The stillness was roaring in their ears, the shuffling of the leaves was deafening, and the bending and breaking of the small branches now and then were all realities with which they had to deal. Ears were tuned, realizing it will be a very loud attack by the cape.
The long end of the octagon began to turn to the left, and all of a sudden there in front of them staring them in the face, with stomping hooves, stood the rest of the herd that ran into the forest.
To be continued. Tomorrow the story ends.
The shaking of his hands and his body and the distance of the shot impaired his accuracy, certainly changed the trajectory and aim of the bullet. Laban knew they needed to be within a hundred yards. The shot must count. This is the Cape buffalo, not Elsie the Cow! One shot, and only one shot, and you had to make that one shot count that must kill--not wound!
When the thought of missionaries or a missionary come across your mind, the Holy spirit may be calling you to pray for that missionary, who may be in a very dangerous situation--whether from an unseen cobra, mamba, or even a buffalo, not to mention the spiritual battles he or she might be up against. Or it may be a terrible automobile accident, a closed head injury, a serious brush with death.
PRAYER IS A MAJOR WALL OF DEFENSE.
If you think of a missionary, even a quick prayer needs to be sent to the Heavenly Father. It could help save the missionary's life, whether in Europe, South America, or South Africa.
Back to the story. The crack of the 30-06 rang across the Panzi plains! The shock of the bullet hitting the neck of the cape caused the bull to rear backwards like a billy goat on steroids, nearly a ton lifting itself into the still, hot tropical air of the African afternoon. Laban knew a new hunt had now commenced. It would be much more dangerous because of that one shot which did not kill. The bull began to search for the source of his wound; he started moving round. The shot had taken him in the neck, and it was not lethal, but his anger was! He became wild, began to snort in revenge. The rest of the herd knew from his bellowing that it was time for them to run. They bolted for the nearby forest. Gone.
The chief was so upset and afraid fro he knew the anger of the beast--how when angry enough they could even run right into the village, attack, and destroy huts! He wanted to call the hunt off. He said, "imene, beto landa yandi ve. Yandi me luala; yandi kele makasi." We're done. Let's not follow him anymore. He is injured; he is angry.
The chief's command is followed. His word is as good as done. His men obey, and they were ready to return to the car and then to home. However, Laban knew they could not do that, for out here in the plains, the young men would be hunting rats. Young women would be looking for fruit; new gardens would be put in, and women and young children would be taking the path to the local water source. The bull would be an imposing threat to anyone in the area. So Laban said, "No, we must get him."
Then, the wounded bull, not finding his enemy, also bolted toward the forest. Laban offered the chief a small sum of money to keep going. By our standards, it wasn't much at all, but to the chief it was buying power. Toma also strongly demanded that the chief continue the hunt. He also knew that children and women could be killed. The chief agreed to proceed.
Now there was a different kind of great excitement. Dad accepted the fact that Charlie shot too soon, realizing that the man was afraid, and not a hunter. Quickly, checking their guns again to make sure the chambers were full and the safety was on, they began to walk in a hurried fashion to where the buffalo had been shot an the herd had been grazing. Dad put his right hand to his side to be sure that his .45 pistol was in its holster and handy. The Belgian Government allowed him to have a pistol, which was the exception for missionaries, but because he was a doctor, they gave him permission to carry one. Seldom was it used, but it was good for a back up.
Off they went. Toma and the chief arrived first, locating the site where the cape had been shot. They viewed the blood fallen from the wound. It was not till later they saw that it had been shot in the neck. The chief and his hunters pursued the tracks and the trail of blood. The hunt began to get underway at about 8 that morning; it was now approximately 2 in the afternoon. The blotches of blood were not in a constant pattern, so the chief and the hunters had to split up a little bit an look in earnest for the trail.
Every time they found trickles, a hand would go up and Dad, Charlie, and Toma would follow about 20 feet behind. Toma insisted on walking in front of Dad, not only for the sake of their friendship and comradeship,, but he knew that if anything happened to Dad, his people would suffer a great loss. No doctor, no hospital at Kajiji that he had helped Laban build, and so much more. He felt responsible. He would take the charge of that bull if need be.
The hot sun continued to beat upon them, but their lives were now more in danger than ever. They walked, realizing that the big buffalo could be lying down in the grass, just waiting for them. They one who wounds so frequently is the one who is attacked. Animals often sense their attacker.
Senses are frighteningly alive. Any noise, any wind blowing the waist high grass could mean it rising to charge.
As they continued to follow, they saw that the buffalo was leading them into the forest. Remember that this is not jungle, but forest. There are trees, but not a lot of vines, bramble, or thickets. However, there are smaller bushes, that the buffalo could be hiding behind or under. Of octagonal shape, the buffalo had now entered on the far right lower side.
Tracking him with guns ready and the .45 back up pistol, thoughts of the family, the ministry, and their futures came to the mind, but immediately these thoughts were sent away because at any moment, they could encounter the waiting cape. Whispered prayers, and conscious trust in the Lord were braided with the thrill of the moment plus the needed steak for those waiting back home, some of whom had traveled hundreds of miles for this conference. "Let us get this buffalo, Lord. You know the need; may no one be maimed or killed, please."
The stillness was roaring in their ears, the shuffling of the leaves was deafening, and the bending and breaking of the small branches now and then were all realities with which they had to deal. Ears were tuned, realizing it will be a very loud attack by the cape.
The long end of the octagon began to turn to the left, and all of a sudden there in front of them staring them in the face, with stomping hooves, stood the rest of the herd that ran into the forest.
To be continued. Tomorrow the story ends.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Upcoming trip to Congo
Thoughts fill my mind these days of returning to Congo and the time we have remaining here in the States.
Thoughts, like when to go, how long to stay, how to juggle everything on the plate here, prepare for there, and pack in between, what to take, how much of it, what items are top priority. Just because we set up dates and route out a plan doesn't mean at all that it will actually happen that way. The Lord has the say so. He is the boss, and that's very fine with me.
Then there is the send off dinner on March 29, which points to the trip and is, in fact, a means to actually getting us off US soil and propelling us all the way to Congo. What will the crowd be like? How many will come? What effective ways can we notify people of our invitation to attend a very special evening in our eyes for free? How many phone calls will we need to make? As they peruse their options, will Laban take any residence in their hearts, in their schedules?
Torn feelings are also a reality. Leaving little 3 month-old Aliyah nags at me. Not seeing, touching, hugging, playing with, or discussing the wide age range issues and interests of all of our grands makes me sad. It is never easy for me to walk away from them, and I want them to know that. I want them to know they are of utmost importance in my life, in the life of their Nana Smith. Lord, please help me to convey this to them. You convey this to them.
Thoughts of evangelism at Masamanimba excite my soul. Another great opportunity to preach and teach the Word of God to souls hungering and thirsting spiritually make me want to jump on a plane today. Thoughts of going on the journey to this city are daunting. It is more than 200 AFRICAN miles away, which means a clipping speed of about 12 miles per hour. Getting stuck in sand or on rainy roads depending on the day tire my mind because I have been there before. Just getting there is very challenging. Preparation of food, packing of instruments, picking up the team at Iwungu, selecting students and staff out of a crew who are practically frothing at the mouth to be in on a crusade like this is not fun, and remembering each day as we close in on departure for that town to pray earnestly that God will go before us is absolutely necessary. We must include Him big time, else we bring down on ourselves a forfeiting of his protection, wisdom, and grace.
Two realities strike me now. They are realities I hopefully always come back to. They are my refuge and solace:
1. Unexplainable gratitude that we can even do what we do, see what we will see, and experience the blessing of God in a way that we don't necessarily see in America because the people in Congo are DESPERATE FOR GOD, and HE MEETS THEM WHERE THEY ARE. We in America are just as desperate for God, but we DON"T KNOW IT!!! So I get to be in on something absolutely amazing and breath taking spiritually and oftentimes physically.
2. Consistently passing by the throne of God all these thoughts and more that flash in my brain and spirit is the answer. They will not go unnoticed! For this the Lord returns peace. He garrisons my emotions and sensations of being overwhelmed like a sentinel, and I am reminded of a few verses that promise just that.
Isaiah 8:13, 14
"The Lord of hosts--regard Him as holy and honor His holy name by regarding Him as your only hope of safety, and let Him be your fear and let Him be your dread lest you offend Him by your fear of man and distrust of Him. And He shall be a sanctuary, a sacred and indestructible asylum to those who reverently fear and trust in Him. . . " Amp.
Then I remember one more reality. The absolute need for your prayers. Will you also join me in prayer for this undertaking? Jim and I so covet your prayers. They are power! They avail much! They are felt in Congo! They are a life line! They are priceless!
Thank you is just not enough, but it is all I can offer.
Thoughts, like when to go, how long to stay, how to juggle everything on the plate here, prepare for there, and pack in between, what to take, how much of it, what items are top priority. Just because we set up dates and route out a plan doesn't mean at all that it will actually happen that way. The Lord has the say so. He is the boss, and that's very fine with me.
Then there is the send off dinner on March 29, which points to the trip and is, in fact, a means to actually getting us off US soil and propelling us all the way to Congo. What will the crowd be like? How many will come? What effective ways can we notify people of our invitation to attend a very special evening in our eyes for free? How many phone calls will we need to make? As they peruse their options, will Laban take any residence in their hearts, in their schedules?
Torn feelings are also a reality. Leaving little 3 month-old Aliyah nags at me. Not seeing, touching, hugging, playing with, or discussing the wide age range issues and interests of all of our grands makes me sad. It is never easy for me to walk away from them, and I want them to know that. I want them to know they are of utmost importance in my life, in the life of their Nana Smith. Lord, please help me to convey this to them. You convey this to them.
Thoughts of evangelism at Masamanimba excite my soul. Another great opportunity to preach and teach the Word of God to souls hungering and thirsting spiritually make me want to jump on a plane today. Thoughts of going on the journey to this city are daunting. It is more than 200 AFRICAN miles away, which means a clipping speed of about 12 miles per hour. Getting stuck in sand or on rainy roads depending on the day tire my mind because I have been there before. Just getting there is very challenging. Preparation of food, packing of instruments, picking up the team at Iwungu, selecting students and staff out of a crew who are practically frothing at the mouth to be in on a crusade like this is not fun, and remembering each day as we close in on departure for that town to pray earnestly that God will go before us is absolutely necessary. We must include Him big time, else we bring down on ourselves a forfeiting of his protection, wisdom, and grace.
Two realities strike me now. They are realities I hopefully always come back to. They are my refuge and solace:
1. Unexplainable gratitude that we can even do what we do, see what we will see, and experience the blessing of God in a way that we don't necessarily see in America because the people in Congo are DESPERATE FOR GOD, and HE MEETS THEM WHERE THEY ARE. We in America are just as desperate for God, but we DON"T KNOW IT!!! So I get to be in on something absolutely amazing and breath taking spiritually and oftentimes physically.
2. Consistently passing by the throne of God all these thoughts and more that flash in my brain and spirit is the answer. They will not go unnoticed! For this the Lord returns peace. He garrisons my emotions and sensations of being overwhelmed like a sentinel, and I am reminded of a few verses that promise just that.
Isaiah 8:13, 14
"The Lord of hosts--regard Him as holy and honor His holy name by regarding Him as your only hope of safety, and let Him be your fear and let Him be your dread lest you offend Him by your fear of man and distrust of Him. And He shall be a sanctuary, a sacred and indestructible asylum to those who reverently fear and trust in Him. . . " Amp.
Then I remember one more reality. The absolute need for your prayers. Will you also join me in prayer for this undertaking? Jim and I so covet your prayers. They are power! They avail much! They are felt in Congo! They are a life line! They are priceless!
Thank you is just not enough, but it is all I can offer.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Part 2 of the Buffalo Story in the Belgian Congo, 1940
In case you missed Part 1, it is on the blog dated December 20, 2011
We ended with the chief, his hunters, Laban, Toma, and Charlie spotting the buffalo in the distance. With hearts pounding from excitement and downright fear, plus anticipation of the next move, Toma grabbed a light fist full of dry grass and threw it into the air to make sure that they were down wind. Being down wind was important because one of the five top killers in Africa is the cape buffalo, and you want your scent to go away from the buffalo instead of toward him. So, after checking the direction of the wind, they were satisfied that their position was down wind from the buffalo herd.
Immediately, upon spotting the herd, Dad, Toma, the chief, and his hunters were looking for the largest bull. They were all in the thrill of the cape buffalo moment. They spotted the largest male. All agreed that the one standing tall and strong was the leader of the herd among a total of about 20 to 25 buffalo.
Most in the group began to secrete a smelly sweat which would mount as the hours passed. It was the odor of life and death excitement excreting from their bodies as part of the rush they were experiencing.
The herd was grazing, except for the head bull, who frequently would lower and raise his head in between grazes, to survey his turf for other buffalo, men, or hunters, lions, and/or other predators.
I am sure that Laban's past experiences on the farm with bulls gave him an edge that Charlie did not have. This advantage is critical in the story. Charlie had no experience with bulls anywhere--America or Africa. Laban, Toma, and the chief knew that they must find the right approach and make sure they were down wind due to the fact that the buffalo could chase them for 2 miles or more than 2 miles at a speed of maybe 25 or 30 miles an hour, especially in his own defense as well as the defense of his herd and his harem. Hunters have been known to have been tracked down as far as 2 miles unbeknown to the hunter, gored, and trampled to death. The buffalo is a terrible foe, not to be underestimated in his speed, his ability to smell, his determination to clear his territory of any invaders, and his relentless revenge to any and all who intrude or menace him and his herd.
Dad and Toma looked for the mid point of down wind. They wanted to be in the middle. The young hunters were by this time totally excited because the "mundele" or white doctor was here with his guns, which meant they were going to eat well today with food enough for their families. The best part to the chief and his men were the innards, the head, the feet and any other beef parts they could get. Remember, there were also some hungry missionaries waiting. I am sure that Marcella, Laban's wife, knew some of the danger Laban could face. She was probably imagining every step Laban took and undoubtedly frequently prayed regarding this hunt, probably up to 2 hours' distance from her by this time. This is not hunting antelope. This is hunting cape buffalo.
One of the young hunters spotted a "mata", which is a fruit of the plains, reached down and grabbed it. An older hunter said, "Ah! this is not the time for that! Keep your eyes ahead." The herd was still grazing mostly and staying in one place.
Dad and Charlie were sizing up their guns, checking to see if the safety latch was on. Laban would be sure. Quietly, but quickly, they marched through the grass, crouching when needed, and drew a little closer They noted the easy wind blowing across the waist-high golden grass of the plains, waving in and out of the area. The first spotting took place at about half a mile. The chief knew how to approach, so they followed his lead as well as Toma's lead. Dad had learned that for the most part the tracking part of the hunt would be left to Toma. Tracking meant gluing their eyes on them and walking closer and closer, all the while fastening their eyes to the bull to make sure he was not agitated for any other reason.
Now, a quarter of a mile away from the buffalo, one has to be sure that way back when, when you first got out of the truck you took care of any urgency to use the bathroom, which in Congo would have been the tall grass! Too late now to tend to those details!
The buffalo were becoing larger and larger the closer they came to them. Even the chief was a little hesitant to keep going. Charlie was really getting anxious, even overanxious to get on with the hunt. The impending danger of this hunt was consuming him. And I am sure that Dad's mind was pressing in on him with the mounting thrill of confronting these beasts.
At a quarter of a mile, Charlie began to express that the time was getting right to take the first shot. Looking down on the herd, there were several little rises or knolls in the plains. Dad, Charlie, the chief, and his hunters were also in the plains, not secluded from the view of the buffalo, but crouching.
An eighth of a mile from the buffalo was a forest, not a jungle. The Panzi and the Kajiji area had many such forests. The forest was a mile in circumference. It was a good place to hide. This forest was an eighth of a mile from the buffalo, not the men--a forest to which they could run.
Charlie was ready to fire. But Dad said, "No, not yet." Everybody was dripping with excitement. Thoughts like, "What if we miss?" kept running through the mind, especially Charlie's. Dad knew that the danger in all of this heightened if a buffalo were wounded and not killed. Laban knew that a buffalo hunt had to be one shot. The first shot needs to bring that buffalo down, off its feet and, in fact DEAD. You don't hunt buffalo with even the thought of more than one shot. You must be close enough so that the first shot brings him down and kills him. But Charlie's fears were taking over. When they got up to within 600 feet, Charlie felt that this was close enough. Laban refused as well as Toma warned Charlie that 600 feet away was too far. Dad knew that you do not attempt to kill a bull from 600 feet away.
It is at points like this that hunters must be careful when they have someone with them who is unexperienced and does not realize how close you must be before firing that shot. Guns go off, and damage is done. Excitement can overrule the inexperienced hunter, resulting in even death.
When they got to 400 feet away, Charlie lost control of his reasoning abilities. He felt he was close enough. Even though Dad and Toma insisted on getting within 200 feet of the buffalo, Charlie refused to listen. This was enough for Charlie. He took his 30-6 gun and kneeling on the ground on one knee, he aimed at the big bull, and fired!
Oops! Dinner time. Be back soon!
We ended with the chief, his hunters, Laban, Toma, and Charlie spotting the buffalo in the distance. With hearts pounding from excitement and downright fear, plus anticipation of the next move, Toma grabbed a light fist full of dry grass and threw it into the air to make sure that they were down wind. Being down wind was important because one of the five top killers in Africa is the cape buffalo, and you want your scent to go away from the buffalo instead of toward him. So, after checking the direction of the wind, they were satisfied that their position was down wind from the buffalo herd.
Immediately, upon spotting the herd, Dad, Toma, the chief, and his hunters were looking for the largest bull. They were all in the thrill of the cape buffalo moment. They spotted the largest male. All agreed that the one standing tall and strong was the leader of the herd among a total of about 20 to 25 buffalo.
Most in the group began to secrete a smelly sweat which would mount as the hours passed. It was the odor of life and death excitement excreting from their bodies as part of the rush they were experiencing.
The herd was grazing, except for the head bull, who frequently would lower and raise his head in between grazes, to survey his turf for other buffalo, men, or hunters, lions, and/or other predators.
I am sure that Laban's past experiences on the farm with bulls gave him an edge that Charlie did not have. This advantage is critical in the story. Charlie had no experience with bulls anywhere--America or Africa. Laban, Toma, and the chief knew that they must find the right approach and make sure they were down wind due to the fact that the buffalo could chase them for 2 miles or more than 2 miles at a speed of maybe 25 or 30 miles an hour, especially in his own defense as well as the defense of his herd and his harem. Hunters have been known to have been tracked down as far as 2 miles unbeknown to the hunter, gored, and trampled to death. The buffalo is a terrible foe, not to be underestimated in his speed, his ability to smell, his determination to clear his territory of any invaders, and his relentless revenge to any and all who intrude or menace him and his herd.
Dad and Toma looked for the mid point of down wind. They wanted to be in the middle. The young hunters were by this time totally excited because the "mundele" or white doctor was here with his guns, which meant they were going to eat well today with food enough for their families. The best part to the chief and his men were the innards, the head, the feet and any other beef parts they could get. Remember, there were also some hungry missionaries waiting. I am sure that Marcella, Laban's wife, knew some of the danger Laban could face. She was probably imagining every step Laban took and undoubtedly frequently prayed regarding this hunt, probably up to 2 hours' distance from her by this time. This is not hunting antelope. This is hunting cape buffalo.
One of the young hunters spotted a "mata", which is a fruit of the plains, reached down and grabbed it. An older hunter said, "Ah! this is not the time for that! Keep your eyes ahead." The herd was still grazing mostly and staying in one place.
Dad and Charlie were sizing up their guns, checking to see if the safety latch was on. Laban would be sure. Quietly, but quickly, they marched through the grass, crouching when needed, and drew a little closer They noted the easy wind blowing across the waist-high golden grass of the plains, waving in and out of the area. The first spotting took place at about half a mile. The chief knew how to approach, so they followed his lead as well as Toma's lead. Dad had learned that for the most part the tracking part of the hunt would be left to Toma. Tracking meant gluing their eyes on them and walking closer and closer, all the while fastening their eyes to the bull to make sure he was not agitated for any other reason.
Now, a quarter of a mile away from the buffalo, one has to be sure that way back when, when you first got out of the truck you took care of any urgency to use the bathroom, which in Congo would have been the tall grass! Too late now to tend to those details!
The buffalo were becoing larger and larger the closer they came to them. Even the chief was a little hesitant to keep going. Charlie was really getting anxious, even overanxious to get on with the hunt. The impending danger of this hunt was consuming him. And I am sure that Dad's mind was pressing in on him with the mounting thrill of confronting these beasts.
At a quarter of a mile, Charlie began to express that the time was getting right to take the first shot. Looking down on the herd, there were several little rises or knolls in the plains. Dad, Charlie, the chief, and his hunters were also in the plains, not secluded from the view of the buffalo, but crouching.
An eighth of a mile from the buffalo was a forest, not a jungle. The Panzi and the Kajiji area had many such forests. The forest was a mile in circumference. It was a good place to hide. This forest was an eighth of a mile from the buffalo, not the men--a forest to which they could run.
Charlie was ready to fire. But Dad said, "No, not yet." Everybody was dripping with excitement. Thoughts like, "What if we miss?" kept running through the mind, especially Charlie's. Dad knew that the danger in all of this heightened if a buffalo were wounded and not killed. Laban knew that a buffalo hunt had to be one shot. The first shot needs to bring that buffalo down, off its feet and, in fact DEAD. You don't hunt buffalo with even the thought of more than one shot. You must be close enough so that the first shot brings him down and kills him. But Charlie's fears were taking over. When they got up to within 600 feet, Charlie felt that this was close enough. Laban refused as well as Toma warned Charlie that 600 feet away was too far. Dad knew that you do not attempt to kill a bull from 600 feet away.
It is at points like this that hunters must be careful when they have someone with them who is unexperienced and does not realize how close you must be before firing that shot. Guns go off, and damage is done. Excitement can overrule the inexperienced hunter, resulting in even death.
When they got to 400 feet away, Charlie lost control of his reasoning abilities. He felt he was close enough. Even though Dad and Toma insisted on getting within 200 feet of the buffalo, Charlie refused to listen. This was enough for Charlie. He took his 30-6 gun and kneeling on the ground on one knee, he aimed at the big bull, and fired!
Oops! Dinner time. Be back soon!
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Ikwakanga
People often ask me what a typical day in Congo is like. Usually, they are referring to what kind of "typical day" I am having. Today I would like to tell you what a typical life in Congo is like for a woman living in the bush who has not had the advantage of learning to read, nor has she had the opportunity to attend our Women's Literacy Center.Her name is Ikwakanga, a woman about the age of 30, married for a decade with no children and now single because her husband walked out on her.
Her illiteracy is a big strike against her, but it's even worse than that. Ikwakanga is not only illiterate, she cannot even write or read her name! Not only that, she cannot distinguish an O from an E or an A from a Z. The worlds of discovery and escape through literature are unheard of to her. And, though she is a Christian, she has never read one word of the Bible. The Book we can turn to whenever for whatever reason--whether it be our despair and gloom to gain comfort, or assurance, seek the mind of Christ, as spelled out in Philippians, read God's Word so we can pray it over our children, regain our hope and perspective, or praise Him as the ancients did--is totally out of her reach. HOW CAN SHE EVEN BEGIN TO KNOW GOD???
A failed marriage in Congo due to infertility many times pushes a woman into prostitution. No one knows in Ikwakanga's situation who is the one with infertility issues until after the divorce if and when her husband remarries. She is assumed to be "to blame" and can be severely criticized for her physical state. If she doesn't choose to be a prostitute, how does she earn a living outside of selling the produce of her garden? How does she alone cut, burn, and dig up all the stumps to clear the plot of ground she has purchased in which to grow her crops? Who will protect her? Who will value her in anyway? Who will take care of her in her old age with no children or husband around?
The spiritual and emotional plight of Ikwakanga is even more severe. She resides in a daily cloud of shame, despair, darkness, and hopelessness. Ignorance is not bliss in her case. Ignorance makes alliances with superstition, and superstition and Congolese tradition scream to her that it is a sin that is behind her inability to conceive if in fact it can be proven that she cannot conceive. Ikwakanga has no recourse but to believe what she is told.
This woman eeks out an existence of living in a village of scorn, tending her gardens day by day the best she can, hauling her water from as far away as perhaps a mile. And all the while Ikwakanga is settling for so much less than God ever intended for her. Church on Sunday is the only place she finds spiritual nourishment. As she hears the pastor name off texts, she looks down at her empty lap, having no idea where to even look in Scripture if she did own a Bible. Life in many ways is a chore. It's a prison. It stinks.
UNTIL
One day Ikwakanga hears some great news! The women's Lit Center of Laban Ministries has chosen her village, the village of Mbila, as the location of their next reading school. Ikwakanga is offered the chance to attend reading and writing classes 3 days a week, beginning with the alphabet and counting.
In addition she can learn how to cook specialty items like donut holes and bread to sell. Hygiene, Christian Family Living, crocheting, knitting, sewing, and needlepoint are available. She will be given the opportunity to study 9 books of the Bible, including Philippians, Colossians, Galatians, Ephesians, Romans, Proverbs, I Corinthians, and I and II Timothy.
Now she can identify with the sufferings of Christ through Paul. She can experience the glory of deliverance. SHE CAN BEGIN TO KNOW GOD!
This is what the Women's Literacy Center is all about--Transformation, not only through the process of learning to read and write, but every woman who has entered the center has heard the Gospel repeatedly, and everyone of them now claims to know the Lord as her savior.
God has always elevated women. Psalm 3 says, "But You, O Lord, are a shield for me, my glory, and the lifter of my head."
This is what is happening to Ikwakanga and the 74 other women at Mbila. They entered shame filled creatures, and now their minds and bodies are being illuminated by the light of God's Word. It doesn't get any better than that!
Her illiteracy is a big strike against her, but it's even worse than that. Ikwakanga is not only illiterate, she cannot even write or read her name! Not only that, she cannot distinguish an O from an E or an A from a Z. The worlds of discovery and escape through literature are unheard of to her. And, though she is a Christian, she has never read one word of the Bible. The Book we can turn to whenever for whatever reason--whether it be our despair and gloom to gain comfort, or assurance, seek the mind of Christ, as spelled out in Philippians, read God's Word so we can pray it over our children, regain our hope and perspective, or praise Him as the ancients did--is totally out of her reach. HOW CAN SHE EVEN BEGIN TO KNOW GOD???
A failed marriage in Congo due to infertility many times pushes a woman into prostitution. No one knows in Ikwakanga's situation who is the one with infertility issues until after the divorce if and when her husband remarries. She is assumed to be "to blame" and can be severely criticized for her physical state. If she doesn't choose to be a prostitute, how does she earn a living outside of selling the produce of her garden? How does she alone cut, burn, and dig up all the stumps to clear the plot of ground she has purchased in which to grow her crops? Who will protect her? Who will value her in anyway? Who will take care of her in her old age with no children or husband around?
The spiritual and emotional plight of Ikwakanga is even more severe. She resides in a daily cloud of shame, despair, darkness, and hopelessness. Ignorance is not bliss in her case. Ignorance makes alliances with superstition, and superstition and Congolese tradition scream to her that it is a sin that is behind her inability to conceive if in fact it can be proven that she cannot conceive. Ikwakanga has no recourse but to believe what she is told.
This woman eeks out an existence of living in a village of scorn, tending her gardens day by day the best she can, hauling her water from as far away as perhaps a mile. And all the while Ikwakanga is settling for so much less than God ever intended for her. Church on Sunday is the only place she finds spiritual nourishment. As she hears the pastor name off texts, she looks down at her empty lap, having no idea where to even look in Scripture if she did own a Bible. Life in many ways is a chore. It's a prison. It stinks.
UNTIL
One day Ikwakanga hears some great news! The women's Lit Center of Laban Ministries has chosen her village, the village of Mbila, as the location of their next reading school. Ikwakanga is offered the chance to attend reading and writing classes 3 days a week, beginning with the alphabet and counting.
In addition she can learn how to cook specialty items like donut holes and bread to sell. Hygiene, Christian Family Living, crocheting, knitting, sewing, and needlepoint are available. She will be given the opportunity to study 9 books of the Bible, including Philippians, Colossians, Galatians, Ephesians, Romans, Proverbs, I Corinthians, and I and II Timothy.
Now she can identify with the sufferings of Christ through Paul. She can experience the glory of deliverance. SHE CAN BEGIN TO KNOW GOD!
This is what the Women's Literacy Center is all about--Transformation, not only through the process of learning to read and write, but every woman who has entered the center has heard the Gospel repeatedly, and everyone of them now claims to know the Lord as her savior.
God has always elevated women. Psalm 3 says, "But You, O Lord, are a shield for me, my glory, and the lifter of my head."
This is what is happening to Ikwakanga and the 74 other women at Mbila. They entered shame filled creatures, and now their minds and bodies are being illuminated by the light of God's Word. It doesn't get any better than that!
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
The Buffalo Story, Part 1
The year was 1940 (before I, Jim was born). A missionary conference was called at Panzi, which is about 200 land miles SW from Nkara, where we presently work in Congo. Populated by the Bayaka people, they are a tribe known by their own as barbaric, noted for their killing. For instance, if there were on the war path and a member of the travelers was pregnant, another woman would assist in delivering the baby, and then the mother herself would grab her baby and smash its head against a big tree in the forest. She then joined her husband to fight the war against any tribe that got in the way. Such behavior was exhibited so as to frighten and threaten opponents, leaving little room for competition, a strategy for Bayaka reign. Bodies of the dead were sometimes eaten, and the goal was to be so mean that their foes would flee with whatever they could carry to the islands in the Congo River until the Bayaka people moved on to another location. This practice dates back to the days of Columbus.
Fast forward to 1940. Little had changed among the tribe. Now more reclusive, they lived in bands or groups here and there in Panzi an surrounding areas. In the late 1870's the Belgians forced them to come out of the forest and dwell in the plains of Congo so that communication began to open with them.
But for years, they were considered a backward people group. They did respond to the Gospel slowly in the early 1900's. At Panzi, Mr. & Mrs. Graves were the missionaries here, who for years didn't even have a car. Mr. Graves was a robust 6'4", 300 lb. Dad gave them money so they could erect a church building. My son, Todd, and I were in that church at Panzi in 1982, a large facility with at least 500 attending the services. The Bayakas were receptive. The mission of Panzi was growing.
Back to 1940. About 20 different missionaries had gathered for a conference that year. And, oh, how good some beef would taste, they all thought. Neither the tribe nor the Graves owned any cattle. Goat and wild meat were all that were available, including antelope. However, cape buffalo could be found in Panzi, and word got out that the missionaries would love to enjoy eating a big piece of buffalo steak, not only for its flavor but its capacity to feed up to 20 people.
Toma Kasabashi, who worked with Dr. Smith for many years as a builder, was also a hunter. He was of another tribe called the Bachok (bah choke) These tribes knew each other but kept their distance and did not intermarry. Their language was also very different.
I am sure that Toma got the word out that there was a need for some tasty beef. He and Dad probably discussed the possibility of hunting a buffalo and what a treat to the palate that would be! To me, personally, buffalo is one of the tastiest meats I have ever eaten. So after hearing Dr. Smith was looking for a buffalo, a chief from a village about 20 miles away came walking into the mission station and began to talk about a herd of buffalo on his land.
After Toma talked to the chief, he then went to Dad and informed him of the news of buffalo meat, and the discussion between the three of them took place early one morning. Laban, being a farm boy from New York, knew how to bring the bulls down, exactly where to hit, and how close to get before shooting. He also knew that the cape buffalo, a very mean beast considered one of the top 5 most dangerous animals in the world, can chase you if he gets wind of you; he can follow your scent for up to 2 miles and aggressively pursue you.
Dr. Smith's oldest son, Herb, was also in the truck. He was then 9 years old, and Dad told him he was to stay with the truck. Too dangerous to go. They checked their guns, and off they walked into the plains, the chief leading the way with his hunters, followed by Laban, Charlie, and Toma, to the herd.
They walked a good distance from the truck. Some of the chief's hunters rose up over a knoll, and there they were: "Bo ina, bo ina." they said. "There they are; there they are," to which the chief agreed. Everyone understood and, with pounding hearts, they gazed in the distance to view the beasts. This could either be dinner or death.
. . . to be continued.
Fast forward to 1940. Little had changed among the tribe. Now more reclusive, they lived in bands or groups here and there in Panzi an surrounding areas. In the late 1870's the Belgians forced them to come out of the forest and dwell in the plains of Congo so that communication began to open with them.
But for years, they were considered a backward people group. They did respond to the Gospel slowly in the early 1900's. At Panzi, Mr. & Mrs. Graves were the missionaries here, who for years didn't even have a car. Mr. Graves was a robust 6'4", 300 lb. Dad gave them money so they could erect a church building. My son, Todd, and I were in that church at Panzi in 1982, a large facility with at least 500 attending the services. The Bayakas were receptive. The mission of Panzi was growing.
Back to 1940. About 20 different missionaries had gathered for a conference that year. And, oh, how good some beef would taste, they all thought. Neither the tribe nor the Graves owned any cattle. Goat and wild meat were all that were available, including antelope. However, cape buffalo could be found in Panzi, and word got out that the missionaries would love to enjoy eating a big piece of buffalo steak, not only for its flavor but its capacity to feed up to 20 people.
Toma Kasabashi, who worked with Dr. Smith for many years as a builder, was also a hunter. He was of another tribe called the Bachok (bah choke) These tribes knew each other but kept their distance and did not intermarry. Their language was also very different.
I am sure that Toma got the word out that there was a need for some tasty beef. He and Dad probably discussed the possibility of hunting a buffalo and what a treat to the palate that would be! To me, personally, buffalo is one of the tastiest meats I have ever eaten. So after hearing Dr. Smith was looking for a buffalo, a chief from a village about 20 miles away came walking into the mission station and began to talk about a herd of buffalo on his land.
After Toma talked to the chief, he then went to Dad and informed him of the news of buffalo meat, and the discussion between the three of them took place early one morning. Laban, being a farm boy from New York, knew how to bring the bulls down, exactly where to hit, and how close to get before shooting. He also knew that the cape buffalo, a very mean beast considered one of the top 5 most dangerous animals in the world, can chase you if he gets wind of you; he can follow your scent for up to 2 miles and aggressively pursue you.
Dr. Smith's oldest son, Herb, was also in the truck. He was then 9 years old, and Dad told him he was to stay with the truck. Too dangerous to go. They checked their guns, and off they walked into the plains, the chief leading the way with his hunters, followed by Laban, Charlie, and Toma, to the herd.
They walked a good distance from the truck. Some of the chief's hunters rose up over a knoll, and there they were: "Bo ina, bo ina." they said. "There they are; there they are," to which the chief agreed. Everyone understood and, with pounding hearts, they gazed in the distance to view the beasts. This could either be dinner or death.
. . . to be continued.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Christmas at Nkara, Congo
Picture yourself as an average Congolese national waking up at our mission station of Nkara to Christmas morning. This is what you would look around to:
Your bedroom consist of one small wooden bed frame covered with a grass-filled "mattress" gathered by you on a dry, sunny day. No dresser or chest of drawers enhances your bedroom, just a small trunk with yours and your siblings' clothes locked inside; no comforters or soft sheets to cover up with, just maybe clothes or old rags. If you have visited the little boutique recently, run by Kinanga, you may have been able to purchase a small lacy curtain to cover your screen-torn window.
The living room consists of a couple of unupholstered wooden chairs surrounding a small coffee table, and off to the side of the room is a somewhat larger table and 2 more chairs used for guests who drop by to visit and chat. The coffee table may boast a doily crocheted by the woman of the house after attending the Women's Literacy school, where she has learned to sew, write her name, and read the Bible for the very first time. Some of the walls may be lined with outdated Penney's catalogue pages with which children have been rewarded for memorizing Scripture in Sunday School. No Christmas tree will light up the room, and no decorations will give a festive mood.
There is no inside plumbing, no closets, no picture windows. The home will either be made of cement block, approximately 600 square feet, with a tin roof, or it will be a mud/stick dwelling with a thatched grass roof, about 400 square feet. As many as 4 children will sleep in one bed. The average-sized family has 8 to 10 children because so many die in childbirth or from malaria, typhoid, measles, pneumonia, or who knows what. So your home may have 3 bedrooms with 4 or 5 kids in two of the bedrooms and a third "master bedroom" for the parents.
Your feet will not feel the comfort of rugs. There will be no pretty dishes, no wallpaper, no paint on the walls, few towels, and no kitchen cupboards. An outside kitchen, which is really more like a smokehouse, sits close by. That way, if the kitchen catches on fire, at least the whole house doesn't burn down. Meals are cooked over an open fire, no ovens, unless you have had one made out of mud brick. In either case, the aroma of Christmas cookies will not entice your senses.
Stark is the atmosphere, drab the surroundings, but you can make a big difference in the lives of these-hard-working men and women of Laban and their precious families. Please take a minute to think about sending a staff member what we call a Dream Package, which includes a great meal in their eyes of beef, rice, greens, beans, bread, their staple of luku, and a coke. A piece of cloth for Mom and a shirt or pair of shoes for Dad, plus an item of clothing and most likely a small toy for each child. All this for the price of $300.
Your kindness will brighten up the dullness and flood their lives with holiday cheer and the love of Christ.
"He who has pity on the poor lends to the Lord, and that which he has given He will repay to him." Prov 19:17
Merry Christmas from Congo to you!!!
Your bedroom consist of one small wooden bed frame covered with a grass-filled "mattress" gathered by you on a dry, sunny day. No dresser or chest of drawers enhances your bedroom, just a small trunk with yours and your siblings' clothes locked inside; no comforters or soft sheets to cover up with, just maybe clothes or old rags. If you have visited the little boutique recently, run by Kinanga, you may have been able to purchase a small lacy curtain to cover your screen-torn window.
The living room consists of a couple of unupholstered wooden chairs surrounding a small coffee table, and off to the side of the room is a somewhat larger table and 2 more chairs used for guests who drop by to visit and chat. The coffee table may boast a doily crocheted by the woman of the house after attending the Women's Literacy school, where she has learned to sew, write her name, and read the Bible for the very first time. Some of the walls may be lined with outdated Penney's catalogue pages with which children have been rewarded for memorizing Scripture in Sunday School. No Christmas tree will light up the room, and no decorations will give a festive mood.
There is no inside plumbing, no closets, no picture windows. The home will either be made of cement block, approximately 600 square feet, with a tin roof, or it will be a mud/stick dwelling with a thatched grass roof, about 400 square feet. As many as 4 children will sleep in one bed. The average-sized family has 8 to 10 children because so many die in childbirth or from malaria, typhoid, measles, pneumonia, or who knows what. So your home may have 3 bedrooms with 4 or 5 kids in two of the bedrooms and a third "master bedroom" for the parents.
Your feet will not feel the comfort of rugs. There will be no pretty dishes, no wallpaper, no paint on the walls, few towels, and no kitchen cupboards. An outside kitchen, which is really more like a smokehouse, sits close by. That way, if the kitchen catches on fire, at least the whole house doesn't burn down. Meals are cooked over an open fire, no ovens, unless you have had one made out of mud brick. In either case, the aroma of Christmas cookies will not entice your senses.
Stark is the atmosphere, drab the surroundings, but you can make a big difference in the lives of these-hard-working men and women of Laban and their precious families. Please take a minute to think about sending a staff member what we call a Dream Package, which includes a great meal in their eyes of beef, rice, greens, beans, bread, their staple of luku, and a coke. A piece of cloth for Mom and a shirt or pair of shoes for Dad, plus an item of clothing and most likely a small toy for each child. All this for the price of $300.
Your kindness will brighten up the dullness and flood their lives with holiday cheer and the love of Christ.
"He who has pity on the poor lends to the Lord, and that which he has given He will repay to him." Prov 19:17
Merry Christmas from Congo to you!!!
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