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
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