A Missionary's Nightmare

You might be surprised to know that missionaries have nightmares. Although I am not naturally a fearful person, I am surprised at how often I am tempted to dwell on the possibilities. One of the most dreaded is to hit someone while driving. The penalty for death of a pedestrian is life in prison. For missionaries, it usually means prison time, paying a huge fine, buckling under immense stress and leaving the field.

It is surprising how many missionaries in Ethiopia have either seen a tragic accident or been involved in one. In fact, I don't know anyone who hasn't. As roads improve in Ethiopia, not only does the speed increase but so do the accidents. A driver must avoid potholes, buckled asphalt, herds of cattle, sheep, goats, dogs, and large numbers of villagers walking to the market. 

Two basic perspectives must be understood and embraced from the start. 1) Pedestrians will consent to share the road with motorists. 2) In the case of an accident, the wealthier party pays.

Eight months ago, there was a hit and run about 1km from our house. We were the nearest vehicle able to transport the broken body of an elderly woman to the nearest hospital 3 hours away. She had become confused at the sound of the vehicle approaching from behind her and run across the road. The driver didn't have a chance and so thinking the woman was dead, he kept going.

A month later, I got the dreaded phone call. 

“I have been in an accident but I am fine.” 

A well known reckless motorcycle driver without a license emerged from a forest onto the main road at full speed. Rolf, braking hard, nearly came to a complete stop as they collided but it was still enough of an impact to break the passenger's ankle. This passenger was a Gumuz from an enemy clan to the village that we live in. In the past, Gumuz killed for less than this.

Rolf arranged for the transportation of the injured man to a hospital several hours away and was then placed in police custody. For the next seven hours he sat in the presence of police who had no idea what to do with him. Everyone was confident of Rolf's innocence but there was the unspoken rule. He was the wealthier party. 

He was finally released and a guard was placed outside our home for twenty-four hours though we weren't sure whether it was for our safety or to ensure Rolf didn't escape. 

In the coming weeks we paid for all the medical bills, and once the bone was healed the Dibatie court case was put in place. It was a mix of traditional Gumuz trial and Ethiopian trial. Gumuz judge in their own fashion and there was no choice but to do it their way. 

Each person brings an elder who will speak on their behalf and agree on the judgement. Rolf didn't have a chance. Even his Gumuz elder was shocked at the end result. He would have to pay life sentence because a leg in Gumuz culture is worth a life. There was no guarantee (in the mind of the Gumuz man) that his leg would fully heal. In addition, the motorcyclist demanded full payment for his damaged bike. Yet everyone spoke highly of Rolf and of his complete innocence. 

A goat was purchased, plenty of alcohol passed around and the blood sacrifice/feast ensued. The first round was raw liver and tripe, the second round was semi roasted meat and the third round fully cooked meat.

The shock of the judgement hit our Gumuz community and the church in particular and yet we wondered why it bothered them so much. We see unfair judgements handed out all the time. It is the Gumuz way. But it was because everyone knew Rolf was innocent and yet was judged as guilty. We were reminded and spoke of another innocent sacrifice made for us so many years ago. Jesus' sentence was death.

Believers visited us in our home to pray for us and encourage us and during church one of the elders prayed that the Lord would bring the judgement of hell on those that had unfairly judged Rolf. A sober reminder that they still have a way to go in understanding the teaching “pray for your enemies”. 

But what surprised us most was the emotional stress that the waiting and the trial had taken on Rolf. We have no rights because we are not citizens and we know that we will be taken advantage of because of the colour of our skin. Yet the lack of justice and mercy bothered him deeply. It was a natural reaction to unfair circumstances. Bitterness will not rule in our hearts, and we pray that as Gumuz watch us in our trials, that they might also learn to forgive. 

Praying for the safety of missionaries is vital. We are physically and emotionally vulnerable as foreigners and we are constantly involved in situations out of our control. Pray that we might be wise, that we might not take offence to discrimination and that we might be quick to forgive. It is in our trials that our testimony speaks strongest. It is as we forgive that we are walking in the footsteps of Jesus.

Celebrating Warriors

It's the meskel holiday today, celebrated throughout Ethiopia as the finding of the true cross. The people stick pieces of wood in the ground and they light fires. But here in Gesses, the meaning of Meskel takes a different twist. Here it is a time to celebrate warriors who have killed. It is a time to curse one's enemies. They stick pieces of wood in the ground, build fires, and pour small cups of alcohol on the fires causing mini explosions. They call curses down on their enemies by word and song. 

Dozens of cattle have been slaughtered this weekend and consumed in various forms: raw, rare, roasted and cooked. Rolf had three rounds of raw meat in the village where they held an early morning church service. After church we were invited to the homes of several people who kindly cooked the meat and served us keya (fermented millet drink) and coffee. 

Although the physical violence of this holiday ended several years ago and the cursing does not lead to an immediate act of revenge, the drums are beating, the flutes play a wild tune, and the songs cursing enemies continue to be sung late into the night. 

Our hope is that one day this holiday will still be a celebration of warriors celebrating the victory of the greatest warrior of all time: Jesus. The One who broke the power of death. They would celebrate every man and woman who has been victorious and has found the true meaning of the cross - salvation.

Several of the village song leaders are believers, yet the pressure of the community caused them to lead the traditional songs that curse enemies. This afternoon, one of the young Gumuz church elders shared his concern about this. At dusk, Rolf went to a nearby village to pray for and encourage the believers to boldly lead songs of hope. It is not easy for these first generation believers who are young to change their culture. 

But this evening, the air is filled with songs of praise! 

“Praise the Lord. Call on His name. Let us tell what He has done to all the people. Let us sing songs of praise to God. He is good. His love endures forever. Let us praise God!” 

We are celebrating warriors this evening. Young believers stepping out boldly with songs of praise. This is the beginning, and one day, we believe in faith, that these mountains will no longer resonate with curses but with praise to the One True God.

Living Dangerously/Poor Fred

It started as an unusually quiet Monday morning. That is, quiet by the standards of our family of seven! School had gone relatively well and recess had just commenced. Kalia and I were finishing up a final math question but Ariana and Joel were already up in their favourite spot: the unfinished treehouse.

Rolf was busy working on some reports inside the car in order to tune out the chatter of our four year old daughter playing in the house. Because of this, he was 5 feet away from the treehouse. Cries for help caused both of us to jump from our positions and run to to the base of the tree.

Ariana was dangling 13 feet off the ground! With one hand she gripped a branch and with the other a rope. She and Joel had been playing a prohibited game involving throwing things up from the ground into the treehouse. The reason that it was prohibited was because rails on two sides had not yet been constructed.

When Rolf ran to the foot of the tree and looked up, it was clear at a glance that Ariana could not hold on any longer. So he commanded her to let go; she instantly obeyed. The event happened so quickly that there was no time to make a second plan. The catch was flawless, with Rolf executing a backward tumble so that she wouldn't slip through his arms.

My treehouse nightmare had nearly come true before my very eyes. That afternoon the rails were completed. Filled with thanksgiving, we spoke of God's mercy throughout the day and the days to come. God's hand, an angel preventing harm, Ariana's unsually strong grip. To God be the glory.

Then over the lunch hour, as the children were relaying science details to their dad about the human body, he broke the news. We had left the classroom door ajar and he found goats chewing on our school papers. Unfortunately all that was left of Freddy, our lifesize paper stock skeleton, were his legs! That is right - we found his tibias, fibulas and femurs. The wall above his legs void. Ariana wittily replied: “Freddy's second death. Eaten by a goat.”

Signs of goat sputum were found on the remains of school work that the children held up. A half eaten map, a single rib, a shredded colouring page. Sigh. Goats do more damage in an hour than rats and termites do in a month. 

Our new skeleton, Teddy, is now placed on the wall attached to Freddy's remains and we have learned another valuable lesson: never leave the classroom door open.