Forever A Hillbilly: Conclusion - Africa

Forever A Hillbilly: Conclusion - Africa:      Our last week was a busy one. We went to visit a satellite village, which was just finished, and ready to be turned over to the Africa...

Conclusion - Africa

     Our last week was a busy one. We went to visit a satellite village, which was just finished, and ready to be turned over to the Africans to run. The babies were due shortly. There still seemed to be some reservations about whether they could hack it or not, but high hopes. We shook hands until we were tired.

     We helped the children make cards to mail to their sponsors. Sponsors normally contribute about $25 each month to the child's welfare. We later decided to sponsor two children, and we get these cards and letters from them regularly. We picked a boy and a girl who had impressed us with much potential, but had few sponsors.

     Barbara was helping a little boy color a picture in an American coloring book we had brought. It was a picture of a mailbox, and Barbara told him to color the flag red. While he was coloring it, he stopped, looked at Barbara, and asked, "What IS this?" There are no mailboxes in Africa.

      We visited a Masai Market in Nairobi one day. There were many, many Masai there, all decked out in bright clothes, and lots to sell. But there were no tourists. Barbara and I, and one or two more, were about it. While we looked at one seller's wares, others would gather round, trying to get our attention and steal us away. I finally said, "Look, unless you allow us to look at everyone's stuff, we won't buy from anybody." They eased up a little, and we did find some really special things. Barbara bought a necklace from a man for $12. He held it in her hand, held her eye for a moment, and said, "You have no idea what selling this to you means to us." The violence had dried up their income.

     A few really old, old women were allowed to come in and pick up a very large bundle of twigs, to sell for fire building. We let them look at themselves in a mirror, and they went wild laughing. They seemed to look for twigs an awful lot around the garden, and I suspect there was a cucumber, or a squash maybe, somewhere in the middle of that bundle when they left.

      We met each morning, right after breakfast, with the native workers and a few others , for bible study, led by Yeen Lan. Listening to those Africans sing all the old hymns in Swahili was one of the most beautiful sounds I have ever heard. That gave us a good startoff to the day. Yeen Lan, in our opinion, seemed to be pushing the Africans very hard toward Christianity, and since she litterally held their lives in her hand, with these jobs, we wondered how many of them were as sincere about what they said as they sounded.  But what they said, they said very well. Most Africans speak Swahili, the universal African language,  their tribal language, and a British sounding English.

      The last Sunday, Barbara and I didn't go to church. Barbara wanted to get a photo of the Rafiki gate. All the Rafikis have the same, beautifully designed, steel gate. We got a guard to let us out, and we walked out to the edge of the road. It was a very wide road, with several lanes of reckless traffic, all trying to zag here and there to avoid the many potholes. A man with a child on his shoulders, dressed in his Sunday best, a bible in his hand, worked his way across all that traffic to get to us. He said, "I just want to thank you for coming so far to do what you are doing here. God bless you." It was the first time we had been outside that compound without a car and driver.

      Africa has few opportunities for employment. We had met many Africans who had a college degree, very bright young people, working as a maid. Or a waiter. Or looking for a job.

     Whites are expected to hire many Africans, and are looked down upon if they do not. Thus, everyone had a driver. One young man asked us that last week, "Do you know anyone in America who wants a driver?"  He really didn't understand when we told him, we just don't know many Americans who employ a driver.

     A maid, or a cook, may be keeping many Africans alive with the wages they make. There was a good reason that we had a maid, a person who washes and irons our clothes, and a driver. Rafiki employs 50 nationals, and I am sure, if we knew how many ate each day because of that, the number would be staggering.

     Possibly the only thing we ever said to Yeen Lan that could be considered negative, was said at our departure interview. Barbara mentioned to her that she seemed to be pushing too hard in trying to convert the workers. Yeen Lan started  her reply with, "Well, I'm sorry if I frightened you -"

     Barbara just had to interrupt her there, and tell her, "No, you did not frighten me." Nobody frightens Barbara, and she just wanted that clear on the front end.

     Yeen Lan continued, "This is the only chance those people will have at Christianity. I have to make the most of it."

      I want to give to you the contents of Barbara's last e-mail to America before we left, in her words.

     "Let me close by telling you once again how precious these kids are. I have always had a theory that prejudice is taught. They have confirmed that. They could not love us more! They enjoy every tiny thing about us, and don't miss anything. I was sitting by one little girl one day in the dining hall, when Pat walked in. She looked at him across the room and so casually said, "Uncle Pat has  new glasses!" He had changed his glasses, and the difference was minor.

     We had our meeting with the director about our stay here, and she wanted to know all the good and the bad and ways they could improve. I told her that one thing we have seen first hand, that could never be faked, is how happy these children are. The light is back in their eyes that was not there when they came in. She loved that!

     Our flight leaves at 11:30 PM on Monday night so in typical Nairobi fashion, we will leave here at 6:00 PM to get there on time in case the traffic is snarled. We are dying to see our family and friends! Our love to all of you, Barbara."

      We came to Nairobi just after the President agreed to sign a power sharing agreement with the opposition. While we were preparing to leave, the opposition seemed to be beginning to think he didn't really mean it. It seemed likely the killing was about to resume. Perhaps we chose a wise time to come, and perhaps we are choosing an even wiser time to go home. Africa has a way of getting into one's heart, making one always want to return. Most likely, we will never see our wonderful kids again. Then again, maybe we will. Either way, they will be in our hearts forever.

THE END

Forever A Hillbilly: 12 Africa

Forever A Hillbilly: 12 Africa:       Deb took us to Moshe, to show us around. The stores were very inexpensive, selling unbelievable things, but carrying th...

12 Africa

 

    Deb took us to Moshe, to show us around. The stores were very inexpensive, selling unbelievable things, but carrying them home is another matter. For lunch, we ate somosas, a triangular shaped meat pie. Very good.

     Native women, hair cut to the scalp, huge earrings hanging far down, in brightly colored wraps walked the streets. They carried large round platters filled with a very large load of bananas. Barbara longed to photograph them, but felt that would be impolite. Kilimanjaro produces a moist micro climate in Moshe, in this dry, arid bushland that is East Africa.

     An old house beside the village housed 15 teenagers who go to school there. They make fantastic crafts to pay the rent. Barbara bought note cards, made from Banana leaves. We can look at them, but never figure out how they did that.

      We went to church on Sunday with Deb. It was different, but we have the same God. A man and three women walked around, singing different parts of Christ's resurrection. It was very powerful.

     We all drank from the large silver cup for communion. That part of the service was identical to that of St. Andrews church in Little Rock. Actually, St. Andrews is a church plant from the African church.

     The Tall blonde German woman who befriended us at the border was there, and she turned out to be a friend of Deb's. She was a missionary, and spoke ten languages.

     Driving out of town, we saw a hospital that was named after Rosemary Jensen's husband, Dr. Bob.

     Yeen Lan called us the last day. We were able to tell her we had seen the top of Kilimanjaro every day, a rare event  She told us she had prayed for us to see the mountain in all its glory. She said some people stay there for weeks without ever seeing the top. Don't doubt that Yeen Lan has those connections. I personally believe Yeen Lan is an African legend in the making. If we live long enough, many people will be enthralled to find we actually know her.

     We got bad news just before heading back to Kenya. Deb told us our visa was a one way thing, and we would have to buy another to cross the border back into Kenya, at $100 each. No way around it, that's just how it's done. We didn't have that much on us, and only cash could be used.

     Deb insisted on cashing a personal check of ours before we left. Barb seemed confident we would never need that money, I wasn't so sure, and I took Deb up on her offer. But, as I well knew, its very easy to underestimate Barbara's abilities, when it comes to public relations.

    On the bus headed out, we saw many small, circular compounds in the bush. Mud and cow manure huts were surrounded by a high fence of thorns. Most were unoccupied. The Masai, with their herds of cattle, mules and goats, just went wherever the grazing was in this dry, arid land, paying no attention to borders. The donkeys were used to haul containers of muddy water from sources that might be many miles away.

     Drinking water was a real problem there. The Masai often had to drink from the same source the cattle had been in, a very bad thing in Africa. Many people die because of the water. Modern water wells and filtering systems could save many lives there.

     Young boys herded the goats. "Isn't that dangerous?" I had asked.

     "Yes, we do lose boys often." Those who survive and become a man are a very formidable force, with only a spear, in protecting their herds.

     Traditionally, a young Masai man has to draw first blood in the killing of a lion to become a man. One young warrior showed me how this was done.

     When a lion stalks their animals, four or five warriors track it down. They surround it, each with a spear and a cowhide shield. The young warrior seeking to become a man confronts it. When the lion charges, he braces the back of the spear with his foot, points the spear at the charging lion. If things go well, the lion will be impaled, and the warrior crouches behind the cowhide shield. Other warriors then move in and help. This is technically not legal now, but many older men show many scars from the day they became a man.

     Masai often open up a vein in a cow's neck, drink the blood, and close it back up.

     When dry times hit, and the grazing dries up, They move the cattle into downtown Moshe, in the moist micro climate. They have been doing this for eons, long before Moshe, and besides, who is going to stand up and tell these warriors no? Since they strongly believe that all the cattle, and all the grazing in the world belong to them, they go where they wish.

    Before we reached the border, a large truck had wrecked, totally blocking the road. A large crowd of very scary people had gathered. The bus driver just hit the ditch, spun, backed up, over and over again, before getting around this. It looked like an impossible thing to do, but even I knew this would not be a good place to stop. When we hit the pavement, I yelled, "Let's hear it for THE MAN!" He got a big hand. CONTINUED

Forever A Hillbilly: 11 - Africa!

Forever A Hillbilly: 11 - Africa!:      Deb took us to Moshe, to show us around. The stores were very inexpensive, selling unbelievable things, but carrying them home is anot...

11 - Africa!

     Deb took us to Moshe, to show us around. The stores were very inexpensive, selling unbelievable things, but carrying them home is another matter. For lunch, we ate somosas, a triangular shaped meat pie. Very good.

     Native women, hair cut to the scalp, huge earrings hanging far down, in brightly colored wraps walked the streets. They carried large round platters filled with a very large load of bananas. Barbara longed to photograph them, but felt that would be impolite. Kilimanjaro produces a moist micro climate in Moshe, in this dry, arid bushland that is East Africa.

     An old house beside the village housed 15 teenagers who go to school there. They make fantastic crafts to pay the rent. Barbara bought note cards, made from Banana leaves. We can look at them, but never figure out how they did that.

      We went to church on Sunday with Deb. It was different, but we have the same God. A man and three women walked around, singing different parts of Christ's resurrection. It was very powerful.

     We all drank from the large silver cup for communion. That part of the service was identical to that of St. Andrews church in Little Rock. Actually, St. Andrews is a church plant from the African church.

     The Tall blonde German woman who befriended us at the border was there, and she turned out to be a friend of Deb's. She was a missionary, and spoke ten languages.

     Driving out of town, we saw a hospital that was named after Rosemary Jensen's husband, Dr. Bob.

     Yeen Lan called us the last day. We were able to tell her we had seen the top of Kilimanjaro every day, a rare event  She told us she had prayed for us to see the mountain in all its glory. She said some people stay there for weeks without ever seeing the top. Don't doubt that Yeen Lan has those connections. I personally believe Yeen Lan is an African legend in the making. If we live long enough, many people will be enthralled to find we actually know her.

     We got bad news just before heading back to Kenya. Deb told us our visa was a one way thing, and we would have to buy another to cross the border back into Kenya, at $100 each. No way around it, that's just how it's done. We didn't have that much on us, and only cash could be used.

     Deb insisted on cashing a personal check of ours before we left. Barb seemed confident we would never need that money, I wasn't so sure, and I took Deb up on her offer. But, as I well knew, its very easy to underestimate Barbara's abilities, when it comes to public relations.

    On the bus headed out, we saw many small, circular compounds in the bush. Mud and cow manure huts were surrounded by a high fence of thorns. Most were unoccupied. The Masai, with their herds of cattle, mules and goats, just went wherever the grazing was in this dry, arid land, paying no attention to borders. The donkeys were used to haul containers of muddy water from sources that might be many miles away.

     Drinking water was a real problem there. The Masai often had to drink from the same source the cattle had been in, a very bad thing in Africa. Many people die because of the water. Modern water wells and filtering systems could save many lives there.

     Young boys herded the goats. "Isn't that dangerous?" I had asked.

     "Yes, we do lose boys often." Those who survive and become a man are a very formidable force, with only a spear, in protecting their herds.

     Traditionally, a young Masai man has to draw first blood in the killing of a lion to become a man. One young warrior showed me how this was done.

     When a lion stalks their animals, four or five warriors track it down. They surround it, each with a spear and a cowhide shield. The young warrior seeking to become a man confronts it. When the lion charges, he braces the back of the spear with his foot, points the spear at the charging lion. If things go well, the lion will be impaled, and the warrior crouches behind the cowhide shield. Other warriors then move in and help. This is technically not legal now, but many older men show many scars from the day they became a man.

     Masai often open up a vein in a cow's neck, drink the blood, and close it back up.

     When dry times hit, and the grazing dries up, They move the cattle into downtown Moshe, in the moist micro climate. They have been doing this for eons, long before Moshe, and besides, who is going to stand up and tell these warriors no? Since they strongly believe that all the cattle, and all the grazing in the world belong to them, they go where they wish.

    Before we reached the border, a large truck had wrecked, totally blocking the road. A large crowd of very scary people had gathered. The bus driver just hit the ditch, spun, backed up, over and over again, before getting around this. It looked like an impossible thing to do, but even I knew this would not be a good place to stop. When we hit the pavement, I yelled, "Let's hear it for THE MAN!" He got a big hand. CONTINUED

Forever A Hillbilly: Africa - 10

Forever A Hillbilly: Africa - 10:      We were contacted  by three women we went on Safari with and invited to dinner at the home of the UN attached lady who lives across to...

Africa - 10

     We were contacted  by three women we went on Safari with and invited to dinner at the home of the UN attached lady who lives across town. They were all very nice women, but we had to turn down the offer because it would have been too complicated.

     The gate here is locked at night, and the guards don't have a key. One of the missionaries has it at his house. The director really didn't want us to go, but suggested that if we did, we should hire a security company to take us, wait for us, and bring us back. The missionary with the keys would need to be waiting at the gate when the security company arrived, and open the gate only on the signal from the car, so that it never stopped at the gate. Most robberies occur when a car stops at a gate. That all seemed like a bit much to just go to dinner. Besides, we hated to disappoint the kids at the supper table.

     Doug had been hijacked once when stopping at the gate. These particular robbers had a gun, and the gate guards didn't. They drove him around awhile, took all his stuff. Trying to decide what to do with him, One robber asked him, "What are you doing in Africa?"

      Doug told him he was a missionary, and about his work.

      The robber said, "That's a very nice thing for you to do."

      "Then why are you robbing me?"

      "The need is very great." They finally let him go, minus the car and all his stuff.

     During the violence, Yeen Lan had 100 mouths to feed, and they were running out of food.  In addition to the children, the national workers who were of the wrong tribe stayed there also. Leaving would have meant death for them.

     Yeen Lan worried about the situation, one morning at her desk. Looking out the window, the Mango tree nearby was loaded with ripe fruit, a couple of month's early. She sensed God was saying to her, "Oh you crazy woman of little faith! I will provide." That spurred her to action. She called the UN across town. Yes, they had food. No, they could not bring it. The town was torn by violence. Sending the national workers for it would have meant sure death. So far, they were not yet killing whites. Doug and another White missionary Built a hidden compartment in a station wagon. They had to cross town multiple times, passing through roadblocks for both sides, to get the food back to Rafiki. The food, in the hidden compartment, was not found.

     Doug told me that during the violence, once a group of hundreds of warriors walked past the gate, all making their war sounds. Not a fun time.

     A great fear during that time was that a large group of tribesmen would come in and try to kill all the children that belonged to the other tribe. The child's name often gave away the tribe name. Remember Kip Keno, the great Kenyan distance runner? Many children from his tribe were in our village. They all carried the name "Kip."

     That weekend, Yeen Lan had arranged a trip for us to the Tanzania Rafiki, which lies at the foot of Mount Kilimanjaro. This was a six hour trip by fast bus, which had only about three stops. The slow bus, which most of the natives rode, took two days, stopping at every village. At 6:30 AM we loaded on the bus. Emily went with us.

     Rafiki Tanzania had been completed for only a short time, and only had high school age walk-ins currently. They were preparing for the babies. The first group would all be babies, and the next year, as they grew, another group of babies would enter.

     The bus pulled up at the border, stopping on the Kenyan side. It was a hectic, confusing place. People of every nationality, color, and tongue crowded into those small offices. We stood in very long lines to show our visa. Mostly, they just let everybody figure it out themselves. Barbara and I got help from a very tall, blonde German woman, who spoke very good  English. Somehow, in the lines Emily got separated from us. We finished first, and headed back to the bus. The driver said he had to drive the bus to the other side, and the remaining passengers would walk across. Emily finished, walked back to the bus, and It was gone. She was in panic, momentarily, then thought, "Barbara and Pat would never let that bus leave me in this awful place." She was right. She finally located the bus.

     We arrived at Moshe, and were picked up by the village director, Deb, a very nice lady from Texas. Rafiki, a few miles out, was shiny new, Surrounded by a tall wire fence. It was not as secure as our rock wall, but each house was a fortress in its own right. They were brick, with heavy metal grates over all the windows and doors. A beautiful mansion stood on a hill nearby. I asked who lived there.  "Oh, thats the African Mafia," Deb said. I knew immediately we would not wish to visit the neighbors.

      The majesty of Kilimanjaro did not appear until later in the day. When the top did begin to show, we had to raise our eyes up higher to see it than we would have ever thought. Far above the cloud layer. Words can't describe it, so I won't even try. Kilimanjaro is 19,000 feet high, the tallest free standing mountain in the world. It is snow capped, standing on the Equator. Deb had hiked it years before, a four day climb, the last day being through hellish arctic conditions. A guide service was a requirement, and it was very expensive. We were far too old, way too poor, and not enough time. CONTINUED

Forever A Hillbilly: 9 - Africa!

Forever A Hillbilly: 9 - Africa!:   PART 9      Wesley got a big scare on the afternoon outing. He saw the end of a woman's toe in the corner o...

9 - Africa!

 

     Wesley got a big scare on the afternoon outing. He saw the end of a woman's toe in the corner of his vision when driving, (The woman was sitting behind him, one level up) and I thought he was going to dive out of the moving jeep. He later told us black mamba's, when ran over, sometimes wrap around the axle and get into the open jeep

 and by then it would be very mad.  If that happened, it could take out a lot of people. A story was told of a black mamba getting into a truck load of 57 farm workers. It killed them all. One was recently found at Rafiki. Doug and others managed to kill it with a high pressure hose.

     A group of Masai warriors came to our camp that night, in their full dress costumes, and talked and danced for us. They pulled Barbara up to dance with them. These warriors were very tall, and part of their dance involved jumping very high. Barbara did well, but she could not jump as high as these warriors. Good thing. They might have taken her home with them if she could have jumped high enough.

 

     We flew back to Nairobi. When we stepped off the plane, our regular driver was waiting. I proudly introduced him to the five new women, my five new "wives," and told him I had spent all my cows.

     Back at Rafiki, we had e-mails waiting. Our kids, Corey and Kinley,
 were on pins and needles, and wanted to know as soon as we were off Safari.

     I had befriended our guards, and regularly sat around and talked to them at the gate, before they started their nightly rounds. The women missionaries, they said, offended them because they never came out and visited them like I did. I told them it was a cultural thing.  In America, a  lone woman just does not normally go out in the dark and sit around with a group of strange men. They laughed at that.

     One asked me if there were people like him in America. "Yes, many." "Well, how did they get there?" I explained to them they would not like to get there the way they did. I told the whole story, and I had to start way back.

     Well, it was way after dark, and we all knew they should be patrolling now, but I had one more story to tell, and they listened eagerly. Suddenly, right in the middle of my story, I realized they were no longer listening to me. They were staring off down the road toward the middle of the camp. I stared also, but could hear or see nothing. Fully three minutes later, I began to hear footsteps coming up the path. I looked around at the guys, but they were just gone. Every one of them had melted off into the darkness, with nary a sound. Turned out, Doug, their boss, was coming. They must have heard him when he came out his door. I think we have also lost our "night hearing."

     Our Rafiki, we found out, was the only one of the ten that had not been broken into. Neutralize the guards, then rob everyone. In addition to the high rock wall, which the others did not have, there was a security service that could be called, if there was time. It consisted of a truck load of big men with big sticks. Gun use was rare. Usually, only the military and the police had guns. Yeen Lan said she could have gotten guns for the guards, and could have had broken glass embedded on top of  the wall, as most rock compounds in Nairobi had. But she felt guns and glass was just in violation of what we were about.

     She did allow plants to be planted inside the wall, with long sharp spikes on top. Jumping off the wall inside into the dark could be a very painful experience. The houses were virtually burgler proof, complete with panic buttons.

     The rock wall was possible because Rafiki sat in the middle of a rock quarry. Workers used very heavy, long pieces of rebar, sharpened on the end, to drill blasting holes into the rock. Men punching holes in the rocks could last at that about four years before being totally broken down. Life expectancy was in the 40's. It totally amazed our kids that a man as old as me, probably the oldest person they knew, could still run. Even play Basketball.

     Police often use instant justice. If they pretty well had a robbery pinned on someone, a bullet in the head greatly speeded up the wheels of justice.

     I got to noticing during the afternoon play period that most of the kid's soccer balls and basketballs they were playing with were partially deflated. I dug around at school until I found a pump and inflation needle, and headed out into the masses of kids. I started pumping up balls, and the more I pumped up, the more balls they were showing up with. I think they were running to the houses and digging them out from everywhere. At long last, completely exhausted, I pumped the last pump on the last ball. Within minutes, they started showing up for a re-pump. Then I realized. Many of the trees in the compound were thorn trees, and almost every ball had a hole in it.

     Barbara found three bottles of bubbles in an old chest in our guest house, and She took them out to where the kids were. I've just got to tell this story in Barbara's own words -

     "Oh my goodness! I was more popular than a rock star! It really was fun but somewhat taxing. I got my reward when a little girl named Susan laughed at the bubbles. It made my heart soar. Susan's mother was killed by her father when she was in her mother's arms. She had been at Rafiki just more than a year now, and she had not smiled once that first year. To see her beautiful face light up was such a treasure!" CONTINUED

* Bottom left photo is a tea farm

Forever A Hillbilly: Forever Cry Reader Reviews

Forever A Hillbilly: Forever Cry Reader Reviews: I will be back to my Africa story - three days. Forever Cry is now available on Amazon.com. If you liked Dead Eye Sam, you will love Forev...

Forever Cry Reader Reviews

I will be back to my Africa story - three days.

Forever Cry is now available on Amazon.com. If you liked Dead Eye Sam, you will love Forever Cry. This is the full life story of Tenny, who appeared in Forever Cry. It is a combination of true stories of Tenny's life, details about things I think happened but can't document, and at times, pure fiction. I think you will like this combination.

Forever Cry goes much more into detail about it's stories than Dead Eye Sam. And, it pulls no punches. I hope you will like it.

FOREVER CRY Book Review by S M

I have long known Pat Gillum, a friend from my church, as a repository of his family’s genealogy. After reading the back cover of this book, I decided I’d never again be able to look him in the eye! However, my recently acquired love of romantic historical fiction lured me to open the book, and then I didn’t want to put it down until I finished. Pat has skillfully woven together history and his characters (real and imagined) with the help of the “residue” of a grandmother he never met. And I like that he didn’t omit the “real” life experiences that even Christians may try to keep locked away in the closet. I was so impressed, that I can’t wait to read it again!

Here is my endorsement for Forever Cry.  By JD
Forever Cry was a great read. Not only is it an entertaining, heartwarming, and at times gut wrenching story of a family in the 1860's, it has fascinating history lessons woven throughout the book. 
Gillum has an incredible way of making history come alive. There is not much written about the post civil war days and the hardships experienced following the end of the war, especially for blacks in the south. It was heartbreaking to read about their plight to find work, land and dignity in the midst of their new found freedom. 
I came away with a new understanding of this very important time in history. I wholeheartedly recommend this book

Forever A Hillbilly: 8 - Africa!

Forever A Hillbilly: 8 - Africa!:       Two female lions had just killed an antelope, And as we got in close one tore the face off. Barbara was on the co...

8 - Africa!

  

   Two female lions had just killed an antelope, And as we got in close one tore the face off. Barbara was on the corner of the Jeep nearest the lions, but for once in her life, she should have gladly given up the best photo angle. But she didn’t. Over the years, when we have joined a crowd looking at some big animal, they tend to single Barbara out and make a run at her. A bear, a big ram, an alpaca. So far, she has always outrun them all back to the car. But no car here.... She made all these photos from an open jeep with no telephoto lens. Anything for a good photo.

     With misgivings, we shot pictures like crazy. Maybe get something for our kids to show at our memorial service back home.

     Soon two male lions came running, trying to take the kill over while Hyenas circled, waiting for their share. One female Lion jerked off a large chunk of meat, and ran off with it, chased by a male.

     Water buffalo had another lion treed, and each time he would try to come down, they ran at him with their sharp horns, trying to protect their young. He just went back up the tree to wait them out. These kind of encounters continued for a while, then Wesley drove us back in some woods along a river bluff, overlooking a river full of Hippos, and set up a table for our breakfast.

      I picked up a huge bone, and brought it to Wesley for ID. "Never do that. There could have easily been a black mamba under that."

      He got a call, someone had spotted a leopard, and we were off, scattering water buffalo as we went. Sure enough, a leopard was treed. We got photos. We made many good photos that morning. One of the most beautiful birds I have ever seen, many animals in the deer family, then a herd of elephants. Next was a herd of zebras rolling in the dust.

      "That's why nobody ever rides a zebra. Their first instinct, with something on their back, is to lie down and roll over on it," Wesley said.

      When we got to lunch, back at camp, we only filled up one table of many in the lunch room.

      "It is just hard to get tourists to come in,"  Wesley said," when someone's getting hacked to death over the hill with a machete."

     Our group consisted of a war crimes recorder, with the UN, her two sisters from Canada, two missionaries, and us.

     Using my trademark charm, I told the ladies, "I would have been here long before, if I had only known I would be dining with six beautiful ladies." I know they all were inwardly swooning over that, but ourwardly, It looked a little more like they were gagging.

      The waiter, not very busy, sat down and talked to us a lot. He was explaining how his generation of Masai were trying to change old customs of his tribe. The old customs largely stripped them of their wealth, and also contributed greatly to the aids problem. Their dad wanted to buy yet another wife, but his sons told him he didn't need another wife, he had given far too many of the cattle they had for the group of wives he already had. The dad was pouty about that, but he didn't get the wife.

A dead man's wife was traditionally taken by his brother, helping further spread the aids problem.

      A Masai leader came to talk to us that afternoon. I think he sorta expected our women to swoon at his full dress costume, But these were strong, outspoken women, and they had their own agenda.

    "Why do you circumsize your women?" was their first question.

      Well, all he could tell them was, "It's just our custom."

      The UN War Crimes woman stated, "Well, its a bad custom, and you need to stop it." Poor guy. He was just never able to get around to his prepared speech, and was happy to see us go. He did manage to ask me if anyone in America had cows. When I told him many people do, he said, "Tell them we will be coming for them." The Masai feel they own all the cattle in the world. CONTINUED

Forever A Hillbilly: Africa - Part 7

Forever A Hillbilly: Africa - Part 7:      Yeen Lan stayed very busy trying to get a birth certificate for each child. It was a major task. Many public officials just didn't...

Africa - Part 7

     Yeen Lan stayed very busy trying to get a birth certificate for each child. It was a major task. Many public officials just didn't care. Or at best, were very lax.  She would get all her paperwork in order, drive a long way over very rough roads to get to court, get it before a judge, only to face total incompetency. It just wouldn't be ready. Sometimes, they would complain about all the work involved, expecting a bribe. She would just stare them down, saying, "I only want you to do your job." Then repeat it.

     Sometimes, she would be told at the very end, "This requires a parent's signiture."

     "So, you're telling me, I just need to take this orphan out to the cemetery, dig up a parent, and get a signature?"

     Once, a Judge told her he had left the papers at home. "So let's go get them." The Judge pointed to a long waiting line. "I'm sure they would all be willing to wait, so this child can get an identity." So they did. Anything to get this woman off his back. At home, the Judge couldn't find them. She started through his papers, and found them.

     It was time for our safari. We were to fly, instead of driving as was normally the case, because people were still killing each other in the countryside. When we arrived at the dirt runway in our thirty passenger plane, a man was busy clearing the wild animals off the runway. We were at the Masai Mara, the Kenyan portion of the Serengeti. When we stepped out, our guide had a small folding table set up beside his four wheel drive vehicle. He constantly watched for dangerous animals while we had cookies and tea.

     Our guide, Wesley, drove toward Kichwa Tembo camp, which would accomodate sixty or so, but only we and fourwomen were there now. All white people in Kenya now were still UN related or missionaries, and this group was no exception. Wesley had been one of Kenya's top distance runners. He told us they all got into distance running because it was the only chance they would have to come to America. He ran a four minute flat mile in the finals, but didn't qualify.

     We went to our tent to stow our stuff, and get ready for our first outing. Monkeys were all around us, and warthogs were everywhere. When we left our tent, I tied the doorway tightly, as instructed, to keep out baboons. Our first trip went well, for a time. It was a big plain with sparce trees. Many large animals could be seen scattered throughout the plain. After we had gotten a good close up look at a lot of animals, and were miles from camp, a major storm blew up just before dark. Wesley got out rain gear for us all in that open Jeep, But it did little good in this storm. The plain was flooded, and we got stuck, again and again, each time finally managing to get out. After dark, I kept my face covered to try to keep out some of the rain. I once looked out, just as a big lion jumped out from in front of the jeep, and stared at us hard. I knew this was the last place on earth that I wanted to spend the night. We finally got back to our tent, on the edge of the plain. We were protected from the animals outside by a couple of strands of electrified wire. We were freezing, but felt safer, and they had placed hot water bottles in our beds. Two guards wandered about, armed with bows and arrows."Arrows? against a Lion?" I thought. But These were Masai warriors, the most experienced people in the world with Lions. I had read that President Obama had also used Masai warriors for security when he went on safari.

     Early the next morning, I was awakened by big animals of some description, growling loudly, around our tent. "You've got to be kidding me," I thought. This just had to be recordings, played to make our experience more real. Didn't need that. It had been far too real already, last night. Turned out, a warthog was in heat and a couple of males were fighting.

     Once in the Jeep for our morning outing, Wesley got a message from another guide, in Swahili, so we didn't get the drift, But he headed out fast. On the way, he explained, Large animals just see the Jeep as one big unit. Step out of the Jeep, they see you as a meal. Don't get out for any reason. He told us of a honeymoon couple a few weeks earlier. They were filming a lion, and the husband stepped out to get a better picture. The wife was operating a video, and she filmed her husband's death. CONTINUED

Forever A Hillbilly: Part Six - Africa!

Forever A Hillbilly: Part Six - Africa!:      Our children, since having arrived at Rafiki, have only been taught that which is good. They do not know hate, or prejudice, and very ...

Part Six - Africa!

     Our children, since having arrived at Rafiki, have only been taught that which is good. They do not know hate, or prejudice, and very seldom anger or jealousy. They melt our hearts.

     Barbara and I go to a bible study, with a different family, each night. The children were full fledged prayer warriors, for the most part. Some were still too young or shy to talk much. The mama led the bible study, and we were always amazed when they could almost always answer her questions.

     We all sang hymns, they really got in to it. When it came time to leave, they never wanted to let us go.

     We were the only mini missionaries there now, but there were normally several at a time. I told the kids how lucky they were. They were surrounded by all these loving people, and I knew of none others who had so many people come from so far away, just to be a part of their lives, for a time.

    On the way back to our guest house, the sounds of hymns being sung by many children often filled the night air. That blissful scene could sometimes be suddenly interrupted when, without a sound, a big man, with a big club, face covered ninja like with a scarf, silently emerged from the darkness, and was right there. Right at our elbow. Barbara always screamed. That would be a guard. When I got to know the guards better, I asked, "What's with the scarf over the face at night?"

     "Our face is cold." Barb and I were very comfortable in the cool African night in short sleeves, but they had never known cold. If the temperature dropped close to 70 degrees, they started adding clothes.

     The guards laughed at us, carefully lighting up our pathway at night with our "torch." But I knew Black Mambas thrived here. One had just recently been killed. The guards just laughed that off. "Snakes don't crawl at night." They further asserted, "You Americans have used torches so much, you have lost your night vision." There may be some truth to that.

     Emily, our only guest house mate, was technically a mini-missionary like us, who usually don't stay longer that a month. But she just could not seem to leave. We could often hear her, talking to her parents on Scype, crying, in the privacy of her room. She missed them greatly. But then she would come out, pull herself together, and go sign on for two more months.

     Emily once got a very large thorn embedded deeply in the top of her foot while playing soccer. After some time, she mentioned it to us. I told her, I was very good at digging thorns out with a needle, as long as it was not in me. She finally agreed. I saw it was very deep. As I dug deeper and deeper, she toughened up and never complained, other than making wierd little Emily sounds.

     This was not working. Too deep. Then I thought to ask her how long it had been in there. She said weeks. That changed things. Sooner or later, a thorn will just try to work its own way out. I squeezed really hard all around it, and It just popped out.

     There were two other young women missionaries there, and they, also, were very brave. They thought nothing about walking to a distant market in a rough looking area, alone. Or, they might hop in a car and drive long distances alone to a church they had never been to. But when a lizard got in her room, Emily totally came unglued.

    Word was getting around that I worked with wood pretty well, and Yeen Lan wanted me to build her a nice bench. Doug said, just find whatever wood you need, and build it. I found some still rough dark wood, and did it. It looked really good. Too good. When Doug saw it, he turned pale. I had used his Mahogany, very hard to get, very expensive, that he had brought to trim the lunch tables with. A very valuable bench.

    Barbara was given the job of looking for baptism records for the children. In looking at all their records, she had an opportunity to see the first picture, taken when the child first came in, beside a current picture. I think that affected her very deeply. In each case, the first picture show a child with all hope gone, dullness in the eyes. In the later photo, they were obviously happy, the light had been turned back on in their eyes. That, as well as anything we saw, showed what was being accomplished at Rafiki.

CONTINUED

Forever A Hillbilly: 5 - Africa

Forever A Hillbilly: 5 - Africa: PART 5      The next week, Yeen Lan told us that she was taking us on a special trip, personally. I figured out later, that a little st...

5 - Africa

PART 5

     The next week, Yeen Lan told us that she was taking us on a special trip, personally. I figured out later, that a little statement I had made to the school Headmaster must have gotten back to her. Early on, I just mentioned to him that it seemed like these kids were closed off from the world.

     Well, I think she got it in her head that she would show us where most of these kids came from. Where they would have lived out their life, which might not have lasted long, if not for Rafiki. She said "We're going to Kibera". Other missionaries were shocked when they heard. They had driven by, but had never ventured inside Kibera. Some had just always heard that if a stranger went into the depths of Kibera, he might never surface again.

     Kibera is one of the two largest, and worst, slums in the world.

     Many years ago, during one of the not uncommon periods of major violence, it was built to house a large army. When that need ended, it was just a deserted no man's land. Hundreds of tin roofed shacks, now rusty, most not even tall enough for a man to stand up in. Kinda like our hog houses we had at Wing.

     Kibera now housed many thousands of people. People who, in many cases, were homeless in the bush, and drifted in. The government considers these people squatters, not legal residents at all, and sees little reason to provide services to better the circumstances for these people. They are from the wrong tribe, and they are non-people.

     We drove up to the entrance. Yeen Lan told us to remove all jewelry, carry no cameras. People had died for taking pictures inside Kibera.

     She told the soldiers at the entrance what we were doing, when we should be out. We walked in. There were no toilets in sight. Flying toilets were the thing. Use a plastic bag, throw it up on the roof. Or out on the walkway.

     A single, small, plastic water pipe led to the interior, where water was sold by the gallon. The store consisted of a couple of butchered goats hanging, and a couple of sacks containing beans and lentils, by the handfull.

     At intervals there were towering mountains of garbage, roamed by dogs and rats. We saw people high from sniffing glue. It was one way to escape one's surroundings, at least for a little while.

      A sweet little girl, in rags, ran out into our path, a sweet smile on her beautiful face. "Hello," she called out to us. "How are you?" Her smile broke our hearts. Barbara and I both just wanted to take her hand, and take her home with us, away from this place.

     If residents had a set of decent clothes, they always wore them. There was no place to secure anything. Surprisingly, one would sometimes meet someone walking out or in, dressed well, probably to or from a job, looking clean and neat, clean shoes on the feces cover walkway. We saw no police presence. We had been told that police almost never venture inside, except to shake someone down.

     They had their own system of justice. If a thief was caught, a group of people would gather. An old tire was produced, put over his head, set afire.

     We passed a church, burned to the ground. We had heard about this on TV in America, during the recent violence. Many people took refuge in that church during the violence, it was set on fire, and many died.

     The people, generally, ignored us. Some seemed curious and surprised. Nobody spoke. I was happy with that. From what I had heard, I feared  far worse. About 300 yards in, we turned and headed out.

     Despite its appearance, Kibera is a powerful political force, by sheer numbers. It was the main backing in the recent violence for the challenger in the presidential election.

     We'll not soon forget Kibera. Barbara wrote that, early on, God just seemed to be giving her a super-human boost in doing this work. As for me, That strange safe feeling that always surrounded me in Peru when I did God’s work there, seemed to have made the trip here to Africa with me, and kept me in good stead. When we returned back to the village, one of the Mamas had heard we went to Kibera. She asked if they threw stones at us. When we told her they had not, she replied, "You were lucky." CONTINUED