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TITLE: August in Turkana Part 3 By yvonne north 10/10/09 |
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August in Turkana Part 3
Triumphant Return
...and now “the rest of the story”...
Mission endings are as important as mission beginnings. Leaving well increases the possibility that God’s work will continue to grow and move. The Turkana Team’s desire is to leave the Lord’s Warriors in a state of readiness to move out among their families and communities carrying HIS power and blessings with them. To this end, we like to leave after corporate worship on Sunday.
God’s Sunday morning arrived late. On this, our last day we slept until fingers of sunlight pried our eyes open. With great care we dressed in our Traveling/Sunday duds, gathered our belongings and packed our luggage. With this task accomplished, we reported to the kitchen and broke the fast standing with sandals on, loins girded and ready to travel. Breakfast completed, dishes washed, and makeshift kitchen dismantled, we all hustled off to the church.
The church service lasted about three hours, after which we all participated in a photo op with our new friends. One most notable participant was our miracle baby, Blessing, and her mama. We held, cooed and loved on this baby as we reluctantly gathered bags for the trek to Kakuma Town. Mama Jackie, Rispa, and Rev. Elizabeth left on the morning Lodwar transport to have a visit with Mama Gigi and attend to some business, so there we were nine unsupervised rascally missioners fresh from the field ready to invade Kakuma Town.
The plan was to go to town, have a victory lunch, do some shopping and catch the late afternoon bus to Lodwar. After dumping our “stuff” at the Eldoret Express bus depot our little band went in search of food. With the help of some local citizens, a place to eat was found and we enjoyed a traditional Kenyan meal of roasted goat, ugali and sukuma wiki (kale). After many days of rice and potatoes the green sukuma on our plates convinced us we had died and gone to heaven. As if to confirm our suspicions, the waiter brought each of us our soda of choice.
Armies and missionaries travel on their stomachs and now we knew we were headed for home.
After lunch, we still had about an hour to kill and several members of our happy little group decided to go to the refugee camp. The Turkana Mission Team had served in the camp on an earlier mission and the members wanted to visit some old friends. The rest of the group decided to do a bit of shopping in the town and we all would meet at the bus at three thirty pm sharp to claim our bus seats for the ride home. The plan looked good on paper, but...
At three thirty the American Missioner and her group were waiting at the
Eldoret Express bus station ready to load and board the bus. No sign of our wondering friends. We picked up and distributed the seat tickets. No sign of our colleagues. The conductor called for the luggage to be loaded. No lost missionaries appeared. A barrage of frantic messages and calls went out to various phones alerting the missing team members of our impending departure. No response. The conductor called for seated passengers to board the bus. No sign of our wayward associates. Another barrage of calls and messages. No response. What to do, what to do? The standing room only passengers (those who stand in the aisle to ride) began to board and the bus driver mounted his seat to start the engine. Panicky eyes searched the landscape from the bus windows. Finally a bright blue shirt appeared on the horizon. Wind whipping at her skirt our team leader arrived on the back of a boda boda (passenger bicycle). She boarded the bus followed by her four tardy children and began searching for their luggage. Finding that all was in order they took the remaining seats, the doors were closed and our Eldoret Express Bus headed toward Lodwar.
We made our way through the barren terrain loading and off loading passengers in the middle of vacant space, spotting the occasional arrogant camel and groups of goats dining on thistles and thorns. Our next stop was Lodwar where we picked up two team members and dropped off one. The bus was loaded and several security men joined the throng of bodies stationed by the door. One of the “bouncers” patrolled the aisle threading himself through the sardine packed people; two manned the door and one rode at the front of the bus. I had never seen so security men on one bus before. After several loadings and alightings an armed guard ascended the steps and took a seat next to the driver. It was getting dark and we knew something was up but we said nothing and asked no questions.
The journey continued without issue; folks mounting and dismounting on the way until at one of our stops a man who appeared to be drunk attempted to get on the bus. The bouncers refused and a scuffle at the doors occurred. As the security man shoved him off the step he shouted to the driver, “go! go! go!” Pedal to metal; the massive bus lurched forward. We heard gunfire, the side mirror cracked, and as we sped away armed bandits reached out and banged on the bus with guns fists and sticks. It seems that the man who appeared to be drunk was a decoy to delay us until the rest of his thug partners arrived. We came to learn later that there had been several robberies and hold ups along the road on that very night. In addition we were caught in the middle of a tribal skirmish between the Pokot and the Turkana. The protection of our bus was a direct answer to prayers of the faithful.
The journey from Turkana to Ngiya is a study in contrasts. Straight dusty pathways develop into packed dirt networks, giving rise to tarmac infrastructure.
Stifling hot winds gentle and cool until blankets and sweaters are necessary attire. The Turkana Team arrived in Kitale long before the sun began to light and warm the earth. We off loaded our luggage and drug our weary bodies across the parking lot to another vehicle. A twelve passenger minivan loaded with nineteen adults, three children and two chickens steered its way to Kisumu where we connected with another vehicle for the last leg of the journey home. Along the way members of the team found their own homes, off loaded and stepped back into their lives. Elizabeth continued on until we reached Ngiya. When we arrived we saw our friendly ambulance and our faithful friend, Fred, waiting to transport us and our luggage up the hill to our homes where sweet cool drinking water and a warm bath waited. Indeed, there is no place like home.
As I ponder the events of this mission, I see how GOD wove us into HIS plan. He knew our sleeping and our waking, our joys and sorrows, our fears and excitement. HE was our pathway, our protector and our provider, and I anxiously await the next adventure HE has planned for us.
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