Ngeli, Ngeli, analia, kuju ku kisomo sasa:

Ngeli, Ngeli, analia, kuju ku kisomo sasa…

Kuja, kuja, Kuja… Mbiyo, mbiyo, mbiyo…

Usiwaiya-waiya… Usiwaiya-waiya

The ringing clang of Abrahamu’s iron rod on the rusty brake drum was an integral part of each school day at Rethy.  He used the chant to inform us that the bell was ringing.  The bell was ringing, come to school now!  Come, come, come!  Hurry, hurry, hurry!  We needed to come immediately and not delay   Actually we could fool around a little, because we weren’t really late unless we not in our seats the second time he rang the bell.

When he was young he used to use a slender switch to chase us to school, apparently not satisfied with the speed of our response to his summons.  It was a little like a game between us as we would try to steal the bell beating rod from the young Lendu man who was also the school janitor.  He would hide it in the small room where he kept his cleaning materials and fire starting papers.  You see it was often cold at Rethy Academy, a boarding school for MKs that was located at an elevation of about 6,800 feet in north-east Belgian Congo

I think Abrahamu was first hired by Mr. Miller, maybe in the late 1940’s, because I recall he was there when I first learned from Miss Stewart, my first grade teacher, how to date my arithmetic papers.  1948 was part of the date.  Fifty years later he literally fell into our kitchen when he came to visit us.  We had returned to Rethy after our Zaire evacuation a couple years earlier and Abrahamu had finally become very old.

Abrahamu’s faithful work at the school and his ringing of the bell we will never forget.  His hoarding of scrap paper to start fires overflowed his little store-room.  He kept his wood room out back full of the best split wood from the dorm wood pile.  On cold wet days there was always a fire in each classroom fireplace.

In his room he also had a supply of sawdust and a container of kerosene to mix with it.  He sprinkled the mix all over the floor before he began sweeping up the dried mud that was found under every desk and chair.  He had in one hand a bundle of broom straws, bending down to sweep as he worked forward tipping up each chair and desk in turn with the other hand.  He had a good system and the kerosene in the sawdust kept the dust down.  From our perspective the floors were always clean.

Abrahamu had a sideline, the construction of bows and arrows for us boys, even the older ones.  He seemed to have an endless supply and a good percentage of the arrows flew straight and true.  He could supply 200 arrows on fairly short notice.

Locking and unlocking all the school doors was a job he took very seriously.  The bundle of keys grew until they no longer fit in his pocket so they hung from a belt loop, swinging and jingling as he walked, or ran.  The keys wore holes in his shorts which were repeatedly patched with ever bigger patches, the hand-made stitches weaving in and out holding the successive layers of patches on top of the older ones.  It became difficult to distinguish between the original material and the patches, but his shorts were always clean.  It was impossible for us to steal his keys but the school was always opened on time and he was never sick. 

Abrahamu took a personal interest in his kids, instructing each of us who left Rethy to go to America, go to university, marry a wife and come back to Rethy to work.  Of course he objected very loudly when David said he thought he would get two wives.  Abrahamu was committed to obeying God and he began a loud lecture, in Kingwana of course, about the evils of having two wives.  “No, I’ll get three”, David said.  Stirring up Abrahamu was part of our interaction with him.  He had come to the dorm at the end of the term, as he often did, to see if the big boys had any shoes for him.  He didn’t seem to care if they fit or not.  They must have had some sort of trade value.

I went to America, completed high school, went to Wheaton College, and courted my wife.  During that time the people of Congo were granted independence on June 30, 1960.  During the power struggle that followed independence the expatriates fled the country as the Simbas targeted them and any who associated with them.  Those who had not escaped in time were captured, abused, and even killed.  Widespread destruction and looting of anything of value that could be found in their homes, schools, or churches focused on the mission stations.  It was an effort to drive out the foreigners, destroy their teachings, and remove the influence of those who had believed in their foreign God.  Many of the churches were actually strengthened by the persecutions.  Abrahamu was known to have the keys of the school, known to be the one who took care of the school.  I heard later that he was cruelly beaten and commanded to deny his belief in Jesus, the God of the hated white man.  He refused to deny Christ. When the missionaries returned he told his story, openly lifting his shirt to show the scars that were still there

When I came back from America, I had gone to university, but I hadn’t yet gotten a wife, and I hadn’t come to work at Rethy but I was met by Abrahamu.  Actually I was then a short term teacher and the headmaster of a Harambe high school in Kenya.  I had traveled across Uganda and was headed to my home at Banda for Christmas with my parents.  I stopped at Rethy to see my sister.  Abrahamu was checking on what I was doing.  He strongly reprimanded me for not fully following his instructions when I had left Congo nine years earlier.

Why was I working in Kenya?  Where was my wife?  Why had I left her in America?  Where was his gift?  What was Lester doing; what about Peter, Gary, and Freddie?  Had they forgotten him?

He finally understood that my fiancé was finishing her nurses training at West Suburban Hospital school of nursing.  I was working in Kenya one more year at Gatumaiyu High School at Kagwe.  I planned to get married when I went back to America.  It didn’t take him long to switch from asking questions to assuming the role of the one who told his kids what to do!

Utakwenda America.  Utakamata Bebe yako.

Alakini hutakwenda Kenya; hutakwenda Tanzania; hutakwenda Uganda!

Utarudi hapa, HAPA, HAPA! RETI TUU!

There was absolutely no misunderstanding his desire.  He had repeated his normal instructions but added with all the emphasis he could that I was not to go to Kenya, not to Tanzania, not to Uganda, but to return here, HERE, HERE, only Rethy! He was standing and pointing at me emphasizing everything he said with vigorous gestures.  He bent down and hit the ground repeatedly as he said Hapa, Hapa, Hapa, Rethy tuu!  There was no ambiguity.

When God calls us, it isn’t always expressed so strongly in tongues, but I did go back to America, marry my wife, and return to Rethy to work there for over thirty years!  Abrahamu was still working as the janitor at the school, ringing the same bell, chasing kids to school, and making fires on cold rainy days.  He still took orders from the kids to make arrows for them.

Though Abrahamu remained faithful at his job it eventually became evident that his cleaning standards did not measure up to the expectations of the new principal.  He did not have the firewood, kindling, and tinder always laid ready to be ignited by the teachers when they felt they wanted one.  There was apparently a difference of opinion as to which days a fire was needed.  Perhaps the old man was conserving firewood, reducing the number of times he had to go to the dorm to bring back to his wood shed a wheelbarrow load of firewood.  He may have been finding it more difficult to split the necessary kindling.  When he found that the fire he had laid the previous day had been burned to ashes, he had more work to do before ringing the bell for the kids to come to school on a cold day.  He was getting old.

He was retired by the principal and his son Isaka was hired to take his place.  All was no doubt in order and he even received a watch as part of the thanks expressed at his retirement celebration.  Everyone no doubt remembered his many years of faithful service to Rethy Academy.  I wasn’t there but he did later show me his blue watch.

Ellen and I returned from our furlough to take up our responsibilities at the dorm. It wasn’t long before Abrahamu presented himself at our door stating his readiness to return to work.

We heard that he had refused to hand over the school keys to his son and had beaten him.  Apparently retirement was a totally unsatisfactory solution from his perspective.  I had learned about how retirement works in Zaire when we had retired Ebeli several years earlier.  In spite of the committee decisions, the official documents, and the retirement watch, I gave Abrahamu Longa the job of teaching his son how to do the work he had done for so many years.  We called him a “Par Jour” (a day laborer) receiving his pay each month depending on the number of days recorded in Silavano’s roll call book.  Though not officially an employee he was still one of the dorm workers and he now belonged again.  Eventually Isaka took over and I think he even got to carry the keys.  I have no idea if Abrahamu came every work-day or if he actually taught Isaka anything new that he didn’t already do better than his dad had.  He did show up fairly often and spent time visiting with the men in the dorm kitchen.  It was warm there and someone else built the fire.

A few years later all the missionaries evacuated Zaire as Laurent Kabila and his rebels swept the country to eventually depose Mobutu and put themselves in power.  In view of the extensive looting that had taken place it was very unlikely that Rethy Academy would ever open again.

On my exploratory visit I found that the school had been trashed and two of the three dorms had been burned, but at the other end of the mission station the looting wasn’t so bad and miraculously the press was untouched.  The FM radio broadcasting equipment had been saved, hand carried across several wet valleys to the Goikpa church.  The antenna and the materials imported to build the broadcasting tower were still in the back of the press and in the shipping container.  I made arrangements to initiate repairs to the house which was to become our new home near the press and the temporary radio broadcasting container.

Things in the country had settled down so we were allowed to return to Rethy and were assigned to direct the work at the printing press and to continue working on the new radio station with a 110-foot broadcasting tower to be erected on Puu hill, halfway to Kwandruma.

A number of the former dorm workers showed up at our new home.  Abrahamu was among the old men from the dorm that later joined us for tea.  Hosea, the former head cook, Timona, the oldest one in the kitchen who monitored the baking, and Musa were there too.  Ellen enjoyed serving her cooks the sweet bread she and Marko had prepared.  Abrahamu placed several teaspoons full of sugar in his tea, showing his appreciation with his noisy sipping and the smacking of his heavy lips.  We saw Abrahamu from time to time when he came to visit.  He asked us for blue air forms so he could write to his children in America.  He brought his letters, written in Kinguana, for Ellen to add the address, fold, and seal.  A phrase that showed up repeatedly was “Tuma dollards” (send dollars).  Of course we needed to add the Kenya stamps in order to send the letters out through Bunia for mailing in Nairobi.  Abrahamu visited often enough to have a favorite woven wicker chair that was by the door in the kitchen where he and Marco shared their tea.

The single sideband radio network monitored and used by the Rethy hospital brought us the message that my elderly mother has passed away.  The ANNK bus service in neighboring Uganda was still operating in spite of a number of busses having been attacked and destroyed by bandits in the Murchison Falls Park. We would follow that road in route to Nairobi for me to get a flight to Florida to briefly join the rest of my family while Ellen stayed at Kijabe.  Uwor had recently returned from purchasing medicines in Kampala and when responding to our concerns said, “If it is your day, it is your day.”  We took the ANNK bus and got through safely.  It wasn’t yet our day.

In a couple weeks we again used the ANNK bus service, passing three burned out wrecks in the park as we headed back to Rethy.  How old Abrahamu learned we had returned I’ll never know, but it wasn’t long before he came to visit.  I opened the back door in response to his weak knock.  He must have been leaning on the door because he stumbled forward landing on his face on the cement floor.  He had no strength to help Marco and I get him on his feet.  I held him erect as Marko got his chair and put it behind him.  When he was seated, he leaned against the counter-top, watching silently as Marco prepared his tea.  Export quality Ketepa tea leaves from Kenya were used to make the brew.

To my question asking about where he had tea when we were away, his weak answer wasn’t very clear.  I did discover that he had had no sugar since he had last taken tea with us.  In the dukas the Rhino Chai that “makes you strong like rhino” was sold in little green packets but I am sure he would never buy tea like that.  Tea was also sold in the market place measured out with small tomato paste tins into the customer’s container.  That tea was the small stems, twigs and sticks that were heavier than the tea leaves and dropped first when the blower at the tea factory sorted the quality tea from the debris.  I doubt Abrahamu could even afford that.  He probably had hot water that tasted of smoke if he had the wood to make a fire at home.  The fragrance of the boiling tea, his fascination as he watched Marko fill his cup, and the warmth of the kitchen was making him sleepy.  Marko added some milk.

Abrahamu tried to sit up when Marco placed his cup, a spoon, and the sugar bowl within reach.  Adding his own sugar into the cup took considerable concentration.  Carefully he added one spoonful after another.  Though a little spilled he scraped the last from the sugar bowl into his cup and began slowly stirring.  He may have encountered resistance because of the quantity of sugar he had used to prepare his supersaturated solution.  With two hands he raised the cup to his lips.  The idea of this being a reverent ceremony crossed my mind.

Abrahamu became talkative.  I began to ask him questions and he became ever more animated, raising his voice.  He became more like the Abrahamu I had known all those years.  He again began asking about my former classmates at Rethy wondering if they had sent any “dollards” back from America for him.  By now he had drunk all the liquid from his teacup and was consuming, with relish, spoonful after spoonful of tea colored sugar from his cup.  I asked him if he wanted me to take him back to home to Bwa, but no, he wanted to go to the Kwandruma market place.

I was concerned that he would be unable to walk home from Rethy and now he was insisting that he wanted to go to the market.  That would add about three additional kilometers to his walk back home.  I had only a motorcycle so we would have to ride double to the market.  Either he was uncomfortable holding on to me, or he was unable to hold on tightly.  He wasn’t able to lift his feet up to place them on the passenger foot pegs, so Ellen helped him get them in place.

At first the road was fairly smooth and I drove slowly, but when we came to the old mud-hole near where the soldier’s camp used to be, I could tell he was about to fall off the bike.  The mud had dried but the hardened ruts were so uneven that it was nearly impossible to keep the bike erect.  With the help of Jeff, who had been following on his smaller motorcycle, we again got his feet on the pegs and continued our slow progress for a couple more kilometers to stop at the market.  He didn’t want me to wait for him to take him home.  A mutual friend told me he would watch him so I headed back home.

An earlier sponsor of the radio outreach effort heard that it was possible to continue the work and sent $25,000 to begin construction of the new radio studio at Puu.  We used bricks from the Titchie dorm that had burned down and rock that was dug locally and hauled to the site.  The work was progressing well and the 110-foot tower erected.  Ellen had Abrahamu, Timona, and Musa join us for tea and cookies several more times.  We would visit for a while but I returned to work as soon as I could.  We sent letters to America for Abrahamu, but I can’t recall any “dollards” coming from his friends, who were mostly my former Rethy classmates.

Our time in the new DRC abruptly came to an end when we were told by the church to leave Rethy.  The Lendu and Hema tribes were in conflict at nearby Blukwa, the Lendu were killing and driving away the Hema.  The Lendu at Rethy were similarly hostile to the Alur.  We evacuated again, this time by road.

Some years later we had an opportunity to send letters to our friends at Rethy and enclose some “dollards”.  When the missionary friend returned to Bunia he passed the letters on to trusted men to carry to Rethy.  Charlie Lonu, who had worked for the Klines, was one of those trusted men.  In his two-page letter later carried from Bunia and posted in Florida, Charlie shared a lot of news from Rethy, relating that a number of our faithful dorm workers had died, including Abrahamu.