The Beginning of the End

So here I was just down the hill from our house at the Babati Hospital with a man  whom I've never met who was dying from a cause yet undetermined on the very morning I really didn't want to pull myself atop that 'electric donkey' of mine to anyway.  I left home early that morning in order to fulfill a discipleship engagement in the village of Mdori where I had been ministering 3 days a week.  Now, after only two hours time I had returned almost to my port of origin having been thrust out of my normal pattern of ministry into a 'way side' opportunity. 

After dismounting the bike and locking my helmet to the seat, I rushed over to help carry the poor man...but...he was already being carried.  I followed them into the examining room where the men from the car left him and said that he smelled like 'dip.' 

For those of you thinking 'Frito-Lay' or even 'Copenhagen' I should clarify by saying that 'dip' refers to the poison used on cows to kill fleas, ticks, tsetse flies, and other kinds of annoying pests which persecute cattle to no end.  The poison is usually sold in capsule form and then mixed in about 50 gallons of water.  The water is sometimes sprayed on the cattle; but, more typically they are herded through a dipping station where they are submerged...hence the name. 

The question is then begged--why does this poor sick man smell like cattle dip? 

Those who had carried him into the hospital quickly turned and left. I stayed behind to describe the situation as I discovered it and to relay a detailed account of my short conversation with the sick fellow to the nurse.  The nurse's preliminary astute analysis was that he was poisoned...and with the pungent aroma of cattle dip in the room, little more examination was necessary for validation.  The astute nurse then began asking him loud pointed questions like: "What is your name, young man? Where are you from? Who's trying to kill you? Are you trying to kill yourself?"  To which the only response she could elicit was: "Hospital!  Hospital!  I'm dying!  Take me to the Hospital!"

They immediately moved him to a ward where there was only one nurse on duty who then started inserting tubes into most every bodily opening he had.  Being understaffed, this was quite a battle so I stepped in to assist in holding him in various ways as he began to lose control of himself!  I fought to hold him...she fought to insert tubes...we finally prevailed as he settled into a forlorn mental state of helplessness! 

The dutiful nurse then asked who would be in charge of caring for the patient.  I had to confess to her that I had unfortunately skipped the normal social formalities which usually occur upon being introduced to a stranger and thus knew nothing about the poor, sick, young man.    The head nurse for the shift finally came in and as she and I talked we reached an understanding that I would be responsible for him until it could be determined who he was and from whence he came! 

From the hospital, I went back home to relax a few minutes, to get my bearings, and to talk to a Tanzanian friend of mine about what had happened.  We went together to bring him raw milk, as requested by the nursing staff, as well as a complete change of clothes.  We didn't think that he would survive the night, but we wanted to be prepared if he surprised us. 

Morning came and we returned to the hospital.  To our surprise, the young man had made it through the night!  I wanted a chance to talk to him about the Lord but at that moment he was under heavy sedation.  I told the nurse that she should inform me if he were to recover and be in any condition to receive visitors. 

Two days later they called...

"Are you drunk!?!"

That was my first question.  Not a good ice breaker, I know, but the normal formalities for which the Tanzanians are known seemed inappropriate in view of the circumstances. 

“Please help me…please take me to the hospital!”  was his panicked response. 

I couldn’t smell any type of alcohol on the helpless man laying in the ditch crying out for help.  It was puzzling.  My previous experiences of finding drunk people passed out in ditches didn’t match up with this one any way.  It was early morning and I usually find people in ditches in the early evening…occasionally in mid afternoon…but this would have been the first morning encounter…unless you count crazy people whom I have sometimes encountered sleeping in the street in town in the early morning.   But they usually haven’t bathed in forever and are wearing rags for clothes...like the guy who climbed into the back seat of my car in town a few weeks earlier and then had an ‘accident’ in the back seat when we tried to get him out.  No, this guy was dressed well enough…and clean.  He was also in his right mind for the moment although panic stricken.  The more I examined him, the more puzzled I become. 

Taking action seemed to be more relevant than to continue analyzing his puzzling state of  pain-stricken soberness so I ‘changed gears’ and started thinking of ways to get him to Babati.  I knew I couldn’t carry him on my motorcycle…he would fall off for sure!  At that moment, though, a bus leaving Babati full of passengers heading for the city of Arusha approached so I decided to stop it and ask for help.  They couldn’t help, of course, because how in the world would they get a forty foot long bus turned around on a winding dirt road which cuts through the African bush?  They did say, however, that the earlier bus had encountered him just an hour ago in the middle of the road and since they were at a loss of ideas on how to help him, they dragged him off to the side and left.  That would explain the drag marks I had seen which meant that he hadn’t been hit by a car. 

As the bus pulled away a car was coming FROM Arusha going TO Babati.  Hey, if they’re going in the right direction maybe THEY will stop!  They did stop but there was no room, of course.  I proffered for a volunteer to ride with me on the bike as to make room for the puzzling sick man, but they found my offer unappealing.  Many were interested in gazing at the man before moving on; but, up to that point, I had no luck in finding help.

Then…finally…another packed car stopped…and they made room for the man.  It took three of us to carry the ‘dead’ weight of the man to the front seat and lifted him inside.  Then they took off for the Babati hospital and I followed on my bike. 

“Should I just make sure he gets there and then be on my way?  Should I stay behind until he gets checked in?  Should I stick around to make sure that he’s taken care of properly?”  A thousand thoughts filled my mind!  I knew that patients relied on relatives and friends to feed and care for them while they were in the hospital.  There are no cafeteria services available.  I also knew that unless someone at the hospital recognized him upon arrival--no relative or friend would even know that he was missing!  What I also realized was that by the time we reached the hospital the man might even be unconscious…or worse!  That means that the hospital would look to me as a surrogate ‘friend.’ 

I followed them all the way back into town and then up to the hospital where I dismounted my bike and hurried up to the vehicle to help carry him inside. 

 

Another One of Those Days

My previous series of blogs were all about what typically happens to me on a day-to-day basis when thrusting myself out into the world of 'Africa' with a Bible in my hand and waiting to see what I will encounter along the way...by God's predetermination, of course. But, what I would like to share with you now is an out of the ordinary scenerio in which I found myself similarily 'thrust into' by just going about my merry little day. So, you might call this:

Another One of My Days in the Bush.

I really did not feel like dragging myself atop that motorbike (of which I had spoken of so highly in the past) and barrelling down the long, hot, treacherously dusty road again on this particular morning. The week before the chain had broken and fallen off about 13 kilometers down the afore-mentioned road. I guess the dust not only clogs up my sinuses but also dries out the chain if not kept oiled regulary. My wife calls a lesson like this 'Too late smart.' But, I did become smarter because of it and I am thankful for that.

I had to go because I needed to keep a discipleship engagement with a young man which I had missed the previous week. But, I had been dragging my feet that morning trying to reason myself out of going. I couldn't justify it before the Lord so I 'saddled up' and rode off into the sunrise...but...I was on the road about 15-20 minutes later than normal.

That was when I saw the man laying on the left side of the road when I passed him about 7 kilometers outside of town. I didn't stop at first. As a matter of fact...I pass people laying in the ditch routinely. In the beginning I would stop and see if I could help folks, but the story was usually the same: either they were so drunk that I could hardly come within 10 feet because of the smell, or they were so drunk that they were passed out cold and therefore onlookers would have to inform me that they would be alright in a few hours. So, I just didn't worry about it.

But this young man was laying in a strange manner and there were drag marks leading to him from the center of the road...and...if that wasn't enough...he was attempting to reach his hand out as I drove by!

What should I do? Pass by on the other side...go over to where he was to get a better look at him?

Well, I did turn around to go see what I could do.

I stopped my bike several yards away, lowered the kick stand and rested the weight of the bike on top of it. I then dismounted while removing my full-faced helmet. It was then that I heard him crying in a faint voice:

"Please help me...please take me to the hospital."

It was then that I knew that I was in a real life Luke 10:30 situation! I'll let you familiarize yourself with the context and write more on another day.

Blessings from the Lord

Rodney

The end of it all

Leaving Andrew’s hut, I headed back down the trail which narrowed to a widened path with encroaching wilderness on either side... the path is hard and I had to slow to a crawl…

Suddenly, I noticed movement ahead— the road is covered with baboons! I switched off the bike and etched closer for a good picture with my Nokia phone/camera, but they all scattered. It was then that I realized that they were absolutely everywhere! In the trees…in the bushes…in the tall grass…hiding behind rocks.

Understand that when I don’t feel in control, I often find it safer to just run and hide and then evaluate the situation, which is what I elected to do on this occasion. Besides, I forgot to eat and I was also starting to feel somewhat dehydrated.

Switch on—kick start—gear—throttle and go!

20 minutes ahead, I joined back up with the main road and headed southward...homeward.

The sun set, the shadows grew long, and the bugs were out! After taking a few in the mouth, I lowered the plastic protector on my helmet and double timed it home. The road is dangerous after dark and I wanted to get there and see my wonderfully patient wife and sweet children. I had missed them throughout the course of the day and wanted to be on time for our evening meal so we can talk about the day we all had.

I rolled in about ‘dark 30’ and was welcomed by our two rottermans…then Cherith (our 2 y.o.) followed by Moriah (our 4 y.o) before I could even make it of the Honda. Prior to making it to the door Shawn and Jamison (my 2 BIG boys of 9 & 7) meet me to take my bag, and finally my dear wife with a welcome home kiss and a glass of cold water.

Thank you Lord for another good day in your ministry and for a family that loves me and loves you! May your Word forever stand and may the hearts which were confronted with the truth melt in submission so they may find true peace and everlasting salvation.

I can hardly wait to go back on Sunday!

~Mwishoni ~ aka ~The End~

[These 4 posts were NOT a mixture of outstanding events which happened on several occasions that I combined to make my day sound more interesting! This was just an example of a typical day in the life of ministry. There are many stories which I COULD tell…and may…but not today.]

Maybe YOU can help by suggesting another story about which you would like to hear.

1.) The “Good Samaritan” scenario
2.) Over night with the Datooga
3.) Interesting encounters with…bugs
4.) “There’s a crazy man in your car!”
5.) Witnessing to a Masai

On the other hand, it could be possible that you are interested more in a shorter ‘Infoblog’ where I talk about things that I mentioned throughout the story in which you would like more info:

1.) Baobab trees—Ivory, Slaves and the lucky German
2.) Tarangire National Park and its ‘wildness’
3.) The Great Rift Mountains—From north to south
4.) African time verses Western Time—Two philosophies in conflict
5.) OR JUST SUGGEST SOMETHING :)


Make your suggestions by posting a comment and I will take it from there.

My Day in the Bush--Yet another close encounter (part 3 0f 4)

Yes, you read the title correctly--in this continuation of the 'My Day in the Bush' series, I have yet another close encounter. As if naked tribesman and killer Cape Buffalo weren't enough. Well, here is the start of the conclusion...

Instead of going back home the way I came, I decided to go back on the opposite side of the road…still bush, but more ‘wide open’ fields to cross. On this side, the Great Rift Mountain range is visible in the near distance.

I made it to the back roads that brought me up closer to the mountain range and the trees and bushes started to thicken some, though the way was still rather wide open. I casually glanced over to the left at the Baobab trees off in the distance when I saw that one had the bark torn off at the base and it was covered in red! Could someone have killed an elephant there? I wondered.

I went over to investigate more closely when I noticed that it was not blood but red paint. But, why would someone paint a tree red? The base of a Baobab tree can easily be 8 feet across and some are even hollow. Maybe someone marked it because they are storing ivory inside! Hmmm.

I stopped my bike and dismounted while pulling my helmet off. Almost immediately I heard a swarm of African Killer bees above my head! Whoa! The tree WAS hollow and there were several large holes about 15 feet up where the Killer Bees had made impressive hives. I pulled out my cell phone and opened up the video camera option and started recording. Unfortunately for me that after about 5 seconds of recording, a bee flew right into my neck and stung me. My obsessive/compulsive reaction was to murder the little bugger to prove that I was the man and thus in control; but, as soon as I did I knew that I was in trouble!

When killer bees are squished as I squashed this one little hoodlum, they emit a warning smell for others to rally forces and attack! Kinda like how my my wife reacts after I capture Greenland from her in the game of Risk!

Since I now had the attack stink on my neck, I felt an escape plan was necessary. Thus, I rushed over to my bike, threw on my helmet, mounted and zoomed to safety as several bees thudded into my coat!

As I sped away, I was NOT thinking of how lucky I was that my bike started on the first kick thus narrowly dodging yet another opportunity to injure myself. “I can’t wait to get home,” is what I WAS thinking, “so I can kick myself for not getting better video footage!”

Soon after, I found myself in a part of the bush of which I was not familiar. I knew that there was a ‘main road’ (huh!) nearby but I couldn’t pass through the thick hypodermic-needlelike bushes to get to it.

I started to double back and immediately I saw a small hut nearby so I went by there to say hello and ask for directions. As I pulled up on my ‘electric donkey’ I called out to announce my presence and asked for directions to the ‘main road.’ A small, older Iraqw man emerged.

The hut was normal enough—made of limbs, sticks, and thick prairie grass—the overall dimensions being about 10 feet long, 8 feet wide and 5 feet tall. An older man came out to greet me with a stunned look on his face; I figured he must not get too many white American visitors especially in his neck of the woods.

I got directions from him on how to get passed this towering, never-ending wall of BUSH and offered him a John & Romans booklet which I used as a springboard for witnessing about the Good News of Jesus Christ. He received it thankfully and then told me that he had been saved and followed up in believer’s baptism back in 1958! I was somewhat bewildered because 98% of the churches which have been in Africa since the 50’s believe in two common heresies: 1.) You cannot know if you are truly saved until you are dead (kinda like God saying--'Surprise, you’re not really saved and now there is nothing you can do about it")…and …2.) baptism somehow washes away ‘original sin.’

Thus, his claim was shocking.

But when he said that he had been a member of a church started by a GFF missionary then I understood, though saddened due to the fact that the nearest church is quite a distance away. He invited me in where we read the Scriptures and prayed together. Afterward I thanked him for his hospitality and then I was on my way.

My thoughts often go back to Andrew realizing that he presently lives 50 kilometers away from the nearest GFF church. When you realize that it takes me an 1 ½ hours to drive 50 k's on my bike whereas he would have to go on foot or bicycle, it makes your compassion grow somewhat. Though disappointed, I can hardly blame him much for frequenting the Lutheran church on Sundays.

Leaving there I head back down the trail which narrows to a widened path with encroaching wilderness on either side...

---Learn of my final encounters next week---

My day in the bush--continued...

As I sped on to the village of Mdori where I spend my time witnessing 3 times a week, I passed through the African bush land on foot paths and cattle trails.

I like the cattle trails better because they are wider and straighter but the ground is clumpier which makes it more treacherous on my bike. Certain parts of the trail are dangerous because of the overgrowth of African thorn bush which produces thorns from two to four inches in length! They resemble hypodermic needles and can ruin your day if you hit them while on a motorcycle. I steered clear.

Eventually I made it up to Lake Burunge. One day I tried to pass on the east side of the lake so I can possibly see the hippos better; but, I was strongly warned by some locals to turn back because there were cape buffalo watering during that time of the day. A decision to continue would have been deadly for me as there is no other animal that surpasses the buffalo in killing people in Tanzania. The far edge of the lake sharply borders the Tarengire National Park where we have visited on many occasion with guests from America to see zebra, wildebeest, giraffe, elephant, lion, cheetah and more.

So, instead, I traveled on the west side of the lake and spotted a number of hewn-out canoes the local folks use for fishing. Most of the fisherman had come in already with their first large catch for the day. I have eaten this type of small fish before, but I do not prefer the way they cook it. They throw the whole thing—skin, scales, head, eyes, etc, etc, etc—into the deep fat fryer and let `er cook until crispy. Not everyone one eats the head and tail, but most usually do. The mere sight of one now makes me want to…well…anyway…you understand my limitations in that area.

Finally, after an hour and a half on my bike I safely arrived in Mdori.

It is market day and the village is bustling. I figured that I would shed a few pounds of weight by leaving my coat and helmet in the room I rent to hold Sunday services. I wanted to just slip in and drop them off and then head back to the market, but about a dozen kids followed me in. They really have no sense of ‘time’ as far as when I tell them, “No church today. Come back Sunday at 10AM.”

‘Time’ to the average villager, especially youngsters, is not divided up into ‘hours of the day’, instead it is divide up into ‘events of the day.’ Time to milk the cows, time for morning tea, school time, lunch break time (kids walk back home, cook their food, eat, then return to school) time for schools to let out, time to gather fire wood for evening meal, time to wash up, time to milk the cows, time for bed. Most never even own a clock let alone ever look at one.

Thus, I shuffled the little rascals out of the room and headed over to pass out John & Romans booklets and to talk to people about Christ.

After some time of doing this in the market I made my way out to visit Bruno. Bruno is a 75 year old Catholic whom I have been witnessing to out of the Bible for about a year. He is a talker for sure and very gracious. Nevertheless, our conversations are usually very deep and meaningful. Although he claims to have been saved by grace through faith, he refuses to leave the Catholic Church as it would cause a great breech in his family and community.
Bruno told me that when missionaries came to his village in the 1950’s they gave away bicycles, clothes, shoes, food and many other things thus creating a huge following of people. He didn’t like the way it ‘cheapened’ the church so he dug his heals in to his catholic faith and said he wasn’t for sale. This attitude is commendable but where he has chosen to take his commendable stand is miry clay. It’s saddening to spend another day with him knowing that he won’t budge. We prayed together and I promise to come and see him again.

The day was growing late and I needed to get back on the road so I made my way back over to the room to pick up my helmet and coat while talking to and greeting several people including Datooga and Maasai. I greet the Datooga with the Datooga language and the Maasai with the Maasai language and most others just in Swahili. They get a kick out of hearing me talk in their tribal tongues and it fuels my desire to learn more.

But, it’s time to go, so, after praying for the Word of God to take root into the good ground and spring up into everlasting life, I kick-start my bike and take off.

My day in the bush

Climbing on to my Honda 250R Scrambler, I choked and kick started it then took off for another Thursday in the bush.

Only 10 kilometers out of town I soon encountered a police man. Why? Because he had admired my bike several times as he saw me pass by and today he decided to hassle me into agreeing to consider selling it to him.

Please!

But, here in Tanzania, promises are pretty cheap so I led him on long enough until he let me go without a ticket for doing nothing wrong. Thanks man!

After that I sped on toward the village of Mdori where I have spent the better part of a year and a half witnessingand preaching. I encountered major road repair vehicles destroying the road ahead thus I search for the first 'footpath turn motorbike trail' and head toward bushland. I have to be careful not to run over any thornbushes along the way because I don't want to have to push my bike several kilometers to the nearest bike tire fixer. It only costs 1,000 shillings to fix (about 80 cents!) but 1,000 shillings is all I had and I planned on using it to by lunch later. It would have been a tough choice between fixing my tire and eating lunch.

Suddenly, I happened upon some tribesman out grazing their cattle. They are dressed like the typical Datooga tribesmen (naked) except for arm and waist beads and of course a toga thrown over the shoulder. I tried to draw nearer to them but the noise of the motorcycle confuses them and sent them fleeing in panic.

Owell, I tried to them in Swahili but most only know their own tribal language and those who know Swahili STILL DON"T TRUST YOU. I can't say that I blame them. Here I come prancing up on my electric donkey wearing a firey red helmet. To make matters worse I take off my helmet to expose my horrifying white skin (although I do have a pretty nice tan from my neck up and from my biceps down to my fingers). Nevertheless they were not empressed with my farmers tan and put quite a lengthy distance between me and them; but not so far so that they couldn't glare at me to see what kind of animal I was. I decided to skip that witnessing opportunity and continue down the trail toward Mdori.