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In October 2008, a caravan plane landed in a tiny village in Southern Africa. “Here we are,” said the pilot as we landed on bumpy red soil. When he opened the door, we were welcomed by a strong hot wind. As I climbed down those tiny stairs, all I could feel was the heat on my face. It felt strange that the airport had no asphalt runways, no buildings, no check-in terminals, no houses, no people and no cars except a Caucasian man (our team leader) with his red quadbike, and a few armed soldiers. We collected our luggage and loaded them on a quadbike.
We had to walk for a few kilometres to a truck that was waiting for us in the bush. We trudged through muddy paths, sweating under the scorching sun with a local guide leading the way and soldiers guarding our backs and sides. Finally, we spotted the truck, climbed onto it, assuming that it would take us to our final destination. Instead, we were dropped off along the banks of the Blue Nile River. As it was high tide because of the rainy season, we had to transfer to a small boat built by the missionaries. There were many people by the river – women washing clothes, children playing and swimming. For the first time, I shook Africans hands – those black coarse hands – and returned their big warm smiles. After crossing the river, we found another car waiting for us that finally took us to our station – the missionary compound. Our teammates welcomed us joyfully. It felt like a fun adventurous trip at the time, but challenging days lay ahead of me.
And so began my real life in Southern Africa, a country full of bloodshed and violence, a place hardly anyone would visit. ‘Suud’ means ‘black’ in Arabic. The Africans are known as the blackest people in the world. The people knew nothing but war. I fell in love with the people, and South Africa with all their quirks, dangers, and risks became my home for the next ten years.
I lived in Southern Africa during the most uncertain times where there were constant outbreaks of war between the north and the south, and among the different political parties and the ethnic groups. Against all odds of risks and dangers, the Lord protected me and our team. We were imbued with uninhibited joy as we served the people. The Africans are an amazing people, very relational and open-minded. They taught me many things – live for the moment, enjoy life to the fullest, laugh and let go, be thankful for each day even if that meant having only tea and coffee and one meal a day. The beautiful community life and warm hospitality, the generous heart of giving in poverty, the enduring courage and strength in every circumstance changed my life forever.
The people’s outward optimism, however, could not disguise or obliterate the effects of war – the lingering pain, grief, hopelessness, despair, hatred, and anger. Suffering lined their faces despite their broad smiles. Hunger and starvation were daily battles. They were also fighting a spiritual battle. The Evil One reigned in their hearts for many years. The Gospel took a long time to make inroads into the communities. When it finally did, we saw many people turning to the Lord, and breaking free from their traditional beliefs, practices, and demonic oppression.
Here is a story of a sister who encountered Jesus in a wonderful and miraculous way. Jemima had been part of our women's group. She appeared to be quite sincere and seemed hungry for the word of God. Yet she was overcome by doubt and frustration. Something in her rebelled against the truth.
One day, I found Jemima sitting on the ground in shaggy clothes looking pale and sick. Her eyes were sunken, her lips parched from dehydration. A small crowd had gathered around her. Suspecting something was wrong, I asked if everyone was doing well. Some nodded their heads; others kept silent while their eyes remained fixed on Jemima who looked traumatised. Jemima began to speak, “You have been coming to teach us the Word of God these past months. You care for us and you teach us good things about God but I have failed to obey your words. I am sorry to have disappointed you.” She continued, “I nearly died last week. I could have been killed and even if that happened, I deserved to die because I disobeyed God, but God saved my life.” She went on to narrate the incident that had caused her to reconsider her life.
As was her routine, Jemima was preparing her cooking pot outside her tukul (a traditional African house made of mud and straw), to brew alcohol. After building a big fire, she set the pot over it. As the alcohol brewed, it suddenly caught fire. Flames leapt from the pot. Jemima struggled to fight the fire, her eyes transfixed on the burning pot. Without the intervention of her neighbours, her tukul would have been burnt down. The pot was completely charred but Jemima surprisingly suffered only singed eyebrows.
“This must be the act of God because no such thing had ever happened in my life before,” she recalled in a trembling voice revealing the extent of her trauma. Jemima had been making alcohol for many years as there seemed to be no other means to earn a living to feed her family in the refugee camps. From her years of experience in making alcohol, she knew it wasn't normal for the fire to consume the pot instantly with such great force and fury. She confessed, “After every Bible study, you would go home, and I would start making alcohol. This had been going on for months. You knew nothing about this. But God knows everything and because of my disobedience, He sent fire to teach me.”
I was speechless as I sat there listening to her. There was no anger or judgment in my heart; instead I was filled with compassion and joy. This woman was convicted of her sins and had seen the power of God in the form of a blazing fire. She was choking on her tears rendering speech impossible. So, she pointed at her tukul to indicate that she wished to spend some private time with me alone.
In her little tukul, Jemima surrendered everything to God and gave her life to Jesus. It was a most beautiful moment as we wept together and rejoiced over what God had done in her life. From that day onwards, her life was never the same. She put her faith in God and promised never to make or drink alcohol again.
Many like Jemima suffered a great upheaval in 2011 when South Sudan became independent, sparking a refugee crisis as the Africans regime sought to prevent the southern states from declaring nationhood. Many fled to neighbouring states and countries to seek refuge and many others lost loved ones in the war. The years of hardship and suffering made even young women look old before their time. But while they had survived the ravages of war, they continued to wrestle with the evil forces of darkness. At times, they yielded to their fleshly desires and bought into the evil one's lies – raising false hopes with promises of wealth and health. Jemima succumbed to such a lie, believing that making alcohol was the only way for her to make money and feed her children. She experienced forgiveness and release at the feet of our Lord when she found the true bread of life. No matter how fierce their battle, the Lord fought it for them and set them free, “…For the battle is not yours but God’s” (2Chronicles 20:15b, NIV).
What a privilege I have been given, to be able to witness God’s love and acts of mercy and compassion for those living in darkness as He brings them into His light.