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