That Spring the May 31^st wedding was all we thought about until June. We then began thinking of returning to Rethy.

We were hearing news that the rebel army under Kabila had taken over the country and that Zaire was soon to be called Congo again. We had evacuated Zaire when I had the responsibilities of Station Manager, including the accounts, and was the Director of Editions CECA. The Koda Hydroelectric Company had been placed under the leadership of Kwani Lodzavi, using the crew we had trained. Ellen was the accountant and cateress for the dorm as well as school nurse. We then had only four little boys in our Dorm, plus our own son.

I had begun the installation of the FM broadcasting station, Radio Tanggezeni Kristo, but it had not yet been completed. It was operating from a temporary site out of a shipping container, near the press, with the simple HCJB antenna bound by rubber strips to the top of an adjacent pine tree.

There were, no doubt, many loose ends, since we had left the country so abruptly. We wanted to return to care for things the best we could. What had happened to all the people with whom we had been working? After all that looting, we wondered what might be left, if any of the houses were habitable, and if the school would ever run again. What had happened to the radio equipment and the broadcast tower parts, in the shipping container, waiting to be erected? Were the printing presses at Editions CECA still functional? Could we complete publishing the projects that had been started? Had the Koda Hydroelectric system been damaged beyond repair?

Here we were back at the farmhouse with no definite plans, and a summer before us. If this was a scheduled furlough, we would be visiting churches, welcoming all the family members who came home to visit us, tending the garden, getting hay into the barn, wood into the cellar and, of course, repairing the old farmhouse.

Ellen’s dad had suggested a couple times before, that I should get rid of the Sears Indestructo furnace, but I never had. He helped me get firewood every year we were on furlough and stoked the fire for us when I was away. Ellen’s parents had lived here with us when their farm sold, and while they set up their new home by the spring. They knew how much work it took to keep the farmhouse warm during the winter.

His advice to upgrade the farmhouse heating system was offered, since he had an idea where we could get rid of the cast iron furnace! He was replacing the roof on his house and, using the Ford’s bucket, had dug a big hole in his garden, where he would bury the trash and the old shingles. Would I like to bury the old Indestructo furnace in the same hole? I decided to destroy the Indestructo, using a sledge hammer.

The old ductwork was sized for the air to circulate by convection currents, so it was way too large for a forced-air heating system. I planned to install my own oil furnace, where the flow of air is regulated by dampers on the individual pipes rather than by the size of the pipes. I would use the existing openings and registers in the floor so would need to buy reducers. All the ductwork had to be removed, including the large heat exchange cylinder surrounding cast iron heat dome above the firebox, with its grates, shakers, feed and ash doors. The asbestos coated tinwork had been there for about 40 years, yet when we tore it off the cast iron beneath showed no cracks. Ellen’s dad had the Ford at the outside bulkhead fitted with the big snow bucket and we repeatedly loaded it with the bent tin. He kept coming back for more.

To destroy something that had lasted so long, and would still work well with coal, seemed sad. The furnace had apparently been assembled in place, the parts fit together with some kind of asbestos furnace cement. We beat the cast iron repeatedly and cracks appeared. Chunks small enough to lift were carried up the cellar steps to place in the Ford’s big bucket. Grandpa drove off, with load after load. I don’t recall ever seeing the broken furnace in the hole, but the Indestructo, was destroyed, and buried.

Removing the main source of heat, without replacing it, would make it impossible to keep the old farmhouse warm. To hire a professional was far beyond our resources.

We installed a modern oil furnace with all the related ductwork using advice from the one who sold us the materials from Valley Electric. When he came to start it up with us, he complimented the quality of the workmanship and layout, saying, “We could take a few pictures and go into business.” We weren’t licensed, so of course it wasn’t even a temptation. Jeff would later learn a lot about HVAC as part of his student employment at Houghton College. All I knew of forced air heating had been learned at Honey Rock Camp, while a student at Wheaton College about 30 years earlier. Neither of us was really qualified, yet the project had been completed with the help God gave us.

The Heatilator Fireplace I had built, when we first moved in, had rusted through, the damper no longer functional. In effect it was a place to burn wood without heating the house, except by radiant heat. The Woodmaster in the kitchen had a broken cast-iron grate that allowed the wood to drop into the ash drawer. Those needed upgrading too, but the work wasn’t to be completed that summer.

The best way to find out what the situation was at Rethy was to go there. It was reported to be possible to travel by bus from Nairobi, Kenya, across Uganda to Goli, a small mission station in Uganda on the border of Zaire. I can’t recall the details, but think it was Ukumu who came to get me in a Land Rover, and I returned to Rethy. Kabila’s new government had stationed some soldiers at Kwandruma and things appeared to be peaceful. The dorm workers and many of those who had worked with me on various building projects came to greet me. Now, what would happen next? Were the missionaries coming back?

I found that there had been extensive looting and destruction on Dorm Hill, where we had lived and worked for so many years. Two of the dorms had been burned, the Titchie dorm was only a maze of crumbling brick walls as the entire roof structure was gone. I heard that a barrel of gasoline stored in the garage was ignited in anger, after the soldiers found it impossible to start the four-wheel drive G-Wagon disabled by its owner, Steve McMillan. He was a mechanic. The Biggie dorm roof had caved in, after a fire had burned out most of the rafters, apparently started by building a large fire inside, but the sheet metal roofing was still in place. The largest, oldest dorm building hadn’t been burned but clearly the roof was leaking as the mud and wattle ceilings in the halls were caving in and bats hid in the cool dark corners. Though the roof was intact, there was nothing of interest in our apartment at one end of the big dorm with trash scattered all around, both inside and outside on what was a lawn.

The school buildings had hundreds of broken windows with the contents of the buildings destroyed, books and papers apparently thrown around in anger. A hate message, in chalk, on a black-board was readable, “hate whit man”. It was clear the school would never be restored as it had been.

It seems the emotions became spent as the looting went from house to house towards the far end of the station where the printing press and FM radio broadcasting were located. There was less destruction to those houses. Some of the wiser old men had asked why the people were destroying houses that could be used, if the missionaries returned or not. Removing all the electrical wiring, taking apart electric stoves to get the elements, and filling their houses with appliances, like electric refrigerators and computers, (thought to be TVs), had no reward. Big furniture couldn’t even pass through the door of a typical hut.

I found the press to be totally functional, all the machinery intact. The looters had apparently listened to Lainya, the skilled manager who had worked there for many years. The new authorities would need to have things printed too.

I found the broadcast antenna parts still in the press storeroom where I had left them. The aluminum sections for the 100-foot radio tower were still undisturbed in the shipping container. The bolts were even there. All the radio equipment, except for a box of microphones, had been saved by the men who had been involved in the daily broadcasting schedule. The looting had begun at the far end of Rethy, nearest to Kwandruma and the soldier’s camp, so there was some time to try to save what could be carried away. They had gathered before sunrise and carried everything piece by piece, down across the valley, over two more hills, until they reached the small church at Goikpa. In their haste one box of mics and cables had been left behind.

The dorm workers and a number of the men who had worked for missionaries, asked me if their missionary was coming back. I didn’t know. The old labor laws required the employer to pay severance pay whenever a worker was dismissed. The workers had all lost their jobs, and few, if any of us, had calculated and paid severance pay. There was still Rethy Station money in the account when we left, so I promised to care for that, when we returned to Rethy.

If we re-entered the country less than a year after our abrupt departure, our Visa de Sorti et Retour, permission to leave and return, should still be valid. The exit stamp was valid, even if the agent at Ara rarely served any, except the ones traveling out of the country by boat across Lake Albert to Uganda. I promised to return in December.

The duplex opposite the optical shop hadn’t been badly looted, and still had the electrical wiring and plumbing intact. A 220-110-volt transformer was still in the attic and the fridge hadn’t been taken. I was able to find a functional stove. I could have a couple simple couches made so we could receive guests. I ordered a table and chairs. My masons, Banga and Sali, showed up wondering if I needed help, so I had them do some masonry repairs and replace the broken up kitchen floor. I would have to bring back glass to replace windows. Eliazar said he would build new window sash to replace what had been broken out. Actually, I was very encouraged! Some of the lights even worked. We would plan to live in the Buyse house when we returned.

The Koda Hydroelectric Plant was still providing steady power. No one had shot out any transformers. The water system had already been in poor repair and it was not working. I was asked if I would repair that and immediately declined. I did leave money to have all the windows and doors of the station houses covered with sheet metal from destroyed roofs to try to preserve what was still there.

I was privileged to have so many faithful workers who knew and trusted me. It was another of God’s incredible gifts. I had no doubt that what they promised they would do! I found it very easy to change dollars’ cash into either Zaires or Uganda Shillings and used up almost all the $100 bills I had brought in, concealed in my socks. I was eager to return to New York to share with Ellen all I had found.

She would enjoy shopping for the essentials to again set up our home at Rethy. She would know what we needed. We really didn’t need much since we would only have our youngest son, Jeff, with us this time. He would be schooling at RVA in Kenya.

Manasse found Ukumu and helped me make arrangements to get back to Goli, where I could catch the AANK bus and head back to Nairobi. The short trip back to Rethy had helped tremendously and now I knew what we needed to do, to return. God had reinforced what we understood to be His calling to serve Him in the center of Africa so many years earlier.

What would He ask us to do? That was up to Him.