We had a problem: We didn’t even know where we were

We woke up Monday morning, our second day of living with Bwana and Mama Mwakodi high in the Taita Hills, and Dave and I took turns walking across the yard to use the choo (outhouse). By then Mama and Bwana were ready for breakfast: black tea boiled with milk and sugar.

 

They were thoroughly gracious. They hadn’t known we were coming, due to a communication snafu, yet they smiled and made pleasant conversation with us around their small table. Bwana spoke a little bit of English but Mama didn’t understand us, so Bwana interpreted for her.

 

As we finished our tea, Dave said to Bwana, “This morning I need to meet with the District Commissioner, the Bishop, and the police.”

 

Someone—we didn’t know who—had scheduled those appointments for Dave, as our group’s leader. Brian, our orientation director, had explained that relating with those officials would assure them our group had no suspicious motives. Brian impressed upon us that establishing a good relationship with them was of great importance.

 

We had a problem, though. We didn’t know how to find their villages or offices.

 

We didn’t even know where we were. We had arrived at the Mwakodis’ home after dark and, along the way, we lost our sense of direction.

 

No electricity or streetlights lit our surroundings over twisting one-lane dirt tracks—with no street signs—cloaked in tropical forests, uphill and downhill and around corners.

 

We had seen very little evidence of other human beings.

 

We had no map of the area. Before Brian left us, he told us all we knew—that the closest of our fellow orientees lived more than nine kilometers away.

 

The nearest phone was many kilometers away, too. And even if we’d had access to a phone, we wouldn’t know who to call.

 

We had no idea what to do.

 

Just when we felt ourselves slipping into a panic,

God provided a helper with a willing heart.

Bwana offered to come along

and direct us to the various villages.

I find it hard to explain the enormity of our relief.

           

The three of us grabbed our canteens and climbed into The Pearl of Africa. Dave turned the key, but The Pearl did not start. He tried several times but—nothing.

           

“We’ll have to push The Pearl to start it by compression,” Dave said.

 

And, looking around, we were keenly aware that only thirty feet away we would come to a drop-off of nearly five hundred feet. It was going to be tricky. Mighty tricky.

 

Bwana and I pushed while Dave steered The Pearl and worked the clutch, but she wouldn’t start. We pushed again. That Toyota Land Cruiser was a sturdy, heavy vehicle!

 

Winded, we strained and shoved, but The Pearl still wouldn’t start. The nearest mechanic was probably dozens of kilometers away.

 

I looked at Dave. He looked as sick as I felt.

 

We had only one option: turn The Pearl around and face it downhill. However, whether we turned to the right or to the left, we had to push The Pearl uphill to turn it around.

 

If and when we got the back wheels up on the hill, we had to avoid yet another drop-off. Bwana and I tried, and tried, but didn’t have enough muscle to push The Pearl uphill.

           

Then, as if by a miracle, a man stepped out of the forest. And then another, and another, all of them Bwana’s friends and neighbors. For an hour, we struggled and groaned and sweated and eventually managed to turn The Pearl around, facing downhill.

 

We pushed once again 

and that time it chugged and sputtered—

and it came to life! Oh, what a sublime sound!

 

Our new friends cheered and laughed along with us.

           

How could we ever thank them enough?

 

I wanted to hug and kiss each one, but I suspected a public display of affection wasn’t appropriate in their culture.

 

Then Bwana Mwakodi told us the men were on their way to another village for market day, so, to thank them, we loaded them into The Pearl and gave them a ride.

 

God had worked on our behalf,

confirming His promise

for those He sends to do His work:

 

“Do not be afraid or discouraged

for the Lord will personally go ahead of you.

He will be with you.

He will neither fail you nor abandon you.”

(Deuteronomy 31:8)

 

That morning we experienced God’s love and provision for us through dear Kenyan people. All these years later, their kindness still brings tears to my eyes—happy, thankful tears.

 

After that, we always parked The Pearl facing downhill because we never knew when we’d have to push to get her started.  (From Chapter 3, Grandma’s Letters from Africa)