Chapter Sixteen
The idea of going to Africa came out of the blue, out of a master plan that God began designing long before my part in it was revealed. I smiled as I remembered how Jan’s excitement had, thankfully, overshadowed all my fears.
The journey began at our church, which is really no surprise. In the heartland during the sixties, the church was the life-blood of the community, the central core that pulsed rhythm and balance into our lives. Elk Valley Lutheran Church stood on fertile ground by a lonely country road in the midst of lush grain fields and shelterbelts less than a mile from our farm.
One dusty day during the long, hot summer of 1968, our pastor Bob Cox and his wife Anita paid us a visit. We all sat around our kitchen table to talk, just like we had done many times before. But this time, I became uneasy when he started the conversation with “I have a life-changing question to ask you and I hope you will understand how important it is.”
He had my attention.
“There is a Lutheran mission station in Ethiopia that needs an experienced farmer to supervise their farm program. They are looking for someone to be there for about six months while the permanent director is in another city attending language school. This little African farming community also needs someone to teach music to the school children. Oben, you are an excellent farmer and an experienced people manager. Jan, music is your passion and you are good at teaching. My question to you both is, will you go? Can you help?”
For once in my life, I was speechless. Thousands of questions flew through my mind so fast I couldn’t catch up and verbalize them. It was a volunteer position. How could we possibly pay the $2600 airfare? Who would take care of our three children? How could I just quit farming, pack up, and go to Africa? How could we leave our house empty for that long? Especially during the winter when pipes can freeze, furnaces can quit, roofs can cave in from the weight of the snow.
We weren’t even sure where Ethiopia was. Jan left the kitchen table and came back with the children’s globe. The tops of our four heads were almost touching as we turned the globe from North Dakota to Ethiopia and back again. Either way, Ethiopia was a long, long way from our farm in the Red River Valley in North Dakota.
Bob told us we were needed from October to the following April. When he and Anita left our house that day, they left Jan and me with a lot to talk over, our heads spinning with possibilities.
Since that time of the year doesn’t involve plowing, planting, or harvesting crops, we decided that, with a little help from our friends and a lot of help from our divine sources, we could be gone for that period of time. After much worrying and talking and changing our minds back and forth, we decided to go.
When you consider doing something like this, word spreads like wildfire and the exact things you need arrive from highly unexpected sources. I received a phone call from Margaret Brandon in nearby Larimore, the very same couple who used to take me in during the winters when I was attending high school. “Lester and I have been thinking about you ever since we heard you may go to a mission station in Africa. We’ve come to the decision to volunteer our home for your two daughters to stay while you are gone. We won’t take no for an answer.” Soon a similar call came from Jim and Vella Hougen, opening up their home for our son.
Piece by piece, everything began to fall into place. Our church put the word out that we needed help with our airfare. In anticipation of donations coming in, we set up a special account with Valley Bank to receive contributions for the $2600 airfare. Then we took out a loan, hoping we’d be able to pay it back later.
Later, after we had returned from Africa, I nervously paid the bank a visit. All but $70 had come in. The bank decided then and there to make that final contribution themselves, solving the problem right to the penny. The loan was paid off, in full.
But not everyone thought it was a good idea to go to a foreign land to do missionary work. One lady at our church, one of the more out-spoken members, voiced her concern by telling me that a person certainly didn’t have to travel that far away to help out people. There was plenty to do right here in North Dakota.
“You’re absolutely right,” I replied. “So you should probably get busy and do something.” She pursed her lips, muttering something that I couldn’t hear. I guess my comment wasn’t quite enough fuel to feed her contradictory nature.
Only three days before we were scheduled to leave, I finished my fall plowing and we were off to Ethiopia. As Jan and I boarded the plane for the first leg of our long journey, we looked at each other, hoping we were doing the right thing. Neither of us had ever flown in a commercial jet before and we held each other’s hands tightly as the airplane lifted us up into the familiar deep blue sky of the prairie and beyond, deep into our unknown adventure.
By the time night fell, we were high above the Atlantic, neither of us sleeping a wink. We were exhausted when the plane landed and taxied into Rome the next day. While we waited in the airport for our next flight to arrive, assured by airline employees that our departure would be clearly announced, we felt comfortable enough to take turns sleeping while we waited. And waited.
According to my itinerary, it was nearly time for our plane to take off but we still hadn’t heard any announcements. I became concerned and walked down a long hallway to the departure gate to see if the flight had been delayed. Just as I arrived at the gate, they were making the last call for passengers to board the plane we were scheduled to be on. I yelled something, hoping they would interpret my frantic words and hold the plane, and sprinted back to get Jan as fast as I could. We jumped on board just seconds before they closed the door for take-off.
We flew into Asmara, a sprawling city located at almost 8,000 feet on the edge of an ancient, extinct volcano. As we exited the plane, the stifling air that hit us felt just like it does when you peek your head inside the oven to check a roasting turkey. Only the foreign odors that wafted my way were like nothing I had experienced before, especially the accoutrements surrounding a savory, golden bird.
Two people from the mission station met us at the airport and immediately packed Jan, me, all our luggage, and months of supplies into a battered British Land Rover for the five hour trip to our destination village, Selek-Leka. I somehow got lucky enough to ride shotgun, perched precariously on top of all the boxes, suddenly feeling very homesick for my new Oldsmobile back on the farm. It felt like we’d journeyed through time, transported to this mysterious and extraordinary land of great antiquity, with a culture and traditions dating back more than 3,000 years.
As we traveled in the Land Rover, a leisurely ride that was reminiscent of a spin on a bronco, through this hot, arid bush country, the driver drifted back and forth across the road to avoid impact with the constant flow of colorfully-dressed people and domesticated animals. They were everywhere, fading in and out as the particles of dust slid around them, sometimes clearly visible, sometimes not.
One of the first things I learned about traveling in Ethiopia is that there are no rest areas along the road. A bathroom stop meant that you simply looked for the closest bush. I had a feeling there was a lot more to learn about this exotic country.
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