Fire’s crackling mixed with screams and shots. Breezes blew choking smoke over Irungu. While awaiting the secretive blanket of night and desperately fighting a cough, another hider succumbed. Footsteps responded stimulating someone’s panicky flight. A bullet screamed death. Powerful ancient dreams shatter another night. Praise God for saving me.
Ali opened his grimy eyes, seeing Isa still slumbering. The rusty trash bin disgorged Ali. Planning the day’s hustles, he discovered malaria had destroyed Musa. Shrugging, he practiced appearing deformed while Isa woke. Would his ten year old struggle end like Musa? Could Muslims take the missionary’s offer of schooling?
Wambui, glancing furtively, stuffed the stale loaf into her kanga. Bitterly mourning losing her malnourished family, she stubbornly ignored those sufferers who mercilessly denied her children’s pleas. Along with a baby’s cry, she hears, “Whoever gives a cup of water …” Weeping, she gathers the infant off the deceased mother.
Pastor Gitanga closed the rickety door. By fasting this week, he could purchase a mosquito net, saving the rest of the children. Gitanga would respond to his tummy’s screaming by praising God for the future joy lighting the family’s eyes. God lovingly replaced enough missed meals that he remained healthy.
George unloaded solar ovens while giraffes strolled through Mr Irungu’s garden. Four of the elders on the list had qualified for micro-businesses. All distributed tracts to customers. Praise God, finally he was ending poverty, growing congregations, and planting churches. Dead methods were eliminated but the mission board threatened firing him.
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