My First Year

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I left Toronto in July 1992 after a tearful farewell, surrounded by many of my good friends. I flew via Holland, where I had my family goodbyes. They were quite bewildered with my decision to go to Tanzania to serve the Lord. Even though it was tough for them, they gave me a very special goodbye, but my dad, who had always been close to me, was distraught and said: “I will never give you my blessing!” Others were afraid I would never come back or die of Malaria. I couldn’t blame them for their feelings, but I knew God had called me, and I knew I had to obey His voice despite everyone’s opinions. I left for that unknown country of Tanzania with no clear idea of what to expect.

We touched down at Mwanza airport in August of 1992. A missionary walked up to me and asked me abruptly: “Are you Hanneke?” I confirmed that I was. “There is a red truck outside, just get in, and I will bring your luggage.” As I sat in the car waiting, staring out the window, I tried to adjust to this kind of welcome and wondered if I was at the right place. My eye caught the most beautiful sight of a red Hibiscus flower where a brilliant coloured Sunbird was filling itself with its nectar. Somehow this picture assured me that I was in the right place and that God knew how I felt.

The man came with my luggage and took me to the home of an elderly missionary where I would meet my colleague, whom I would be working within a remote village named Kolandoto. (He never introduced himself). At the home, a houseful of Nationals and the two missionaries greeted me. I was introduced to everyone in the room, about twelve people whose strange names I immediately forgot. “Welcome to join us in our Christian education meeting! We are just starting, and you will be part of this work” Everyone was speaking Swahili, and I had no clue what was said that day… As soon as the meeting was over, I was taken to the Africa Inland Church head office to meet the Archbishop and another missionary who was his secretary. I was to stay in Mwanza for a couple of days to have some training and learn more about the church before going to the village. After this meeting, I learned that we would leave the next day! All I remember in this blur of activity is that I was happy to hit the sack that night.

Since it would be a long ride, we left early. It sure was! The car crammed with my colleague, Mara, who was driving, three Pastors, and I drove over the dirt road, full of potholes, which swung us from right to left and bounced us up and down in our seats. Mara asked me how you could recognize a drunk driver in Tanzania. The answer: It is the one who drives straight! As everyone was chatting in Swahili, of course, I did not understand one word. I amused myself by looking at this new landscape. Dust flew everywhere as we passed villages with mud-brick huts with grass roofs. I saw many bare-footed adults and children strolling along the side of the road. After about five hours of bouncing around, I asked how much longer it was…only about an hour left!

We arrived in the village, and Mara introduced me to my new home. After the pastors got out of the car, my new friend and I went into our large mud-brick duplex house. Her half of the house had been fixed up and had smooth cement floors and ceiling boards. Then I entered my half! It was not a very welcoming sight: the roof had caved in, and you could admire the stars from inside the living room. White ants crawled out of the rough cement floor and building their residence beneath a table I inherited from a missionary who had just retired. Spiders, cockroaches, and even a scorpion greeted me on my first night. I called Mara and told her I had a scorpion in my bathroom. “Cannot be!” was her answer, but then she came and had a look. “Kill it, kill it! She shrieked, “no, wait! Let me take a picture first!” (My first introduction to Tanzanian wildlife!) At least the bedroom had a finished floor. During the first weeks, I slept in my friend’s spare bedroom while my roof was getting fixed.

The house was across from a field from the mission’s hospital and our church. Behind our house, a path meandered up to the main village. The village had about 150 adults and many more children. Most families have up to ten children.
I will never forget that first evening. I am so thankful that, during dinner, Mara explained about the local peacekeepers. These are the men of the village who keep watch because there are so many thieves around. If I heard yelling and whistles blowing, I was to ignore it since that only meant that the peacekeepers were chasing one or more thieves, and she explained that if they caught a thief, they would club him or stone him to death. I didn’t think much of this and went to bed looking forward to a blissful sleep after my first exciting day. Around midnight I heard some strange grunting noise and whispering beneath my bedroom window. Then, sure enough, the whistles and yelling started. The thieves had stolen a cow and tried to hide at our house. They began to run, and I began to pray: “Please, Lord, don’t let them catch them and kill them!”

The next morning, I heard all about the thieves. They got the cow but not the thieves, so I thanked the Lord. Over the next few months, I found this chasing and killing of thieves to be common. They killed a thirteen-year-old boy for stealing a bike. He was an orphan, and his uncle, who was taking care of him, told him to steal it. I felt so sad, and I hope those who killed him would feel guilty.

Some of the rules of these village peacekeepers are that all adult men are to participate. Anyone who doesn’t gets fined or something worse happens to him. One night a group of thieves came to our village market where there were a few stores. The peacekeepers were alerted and had surrounded the area. Then all of a sudden, a shot was fired, and everyone took cover. In the confusion and fear, many of the thieves escaped, but they killed three. One was the son of a police officer. No one came to claim the bodies which remained on the path near the hospital for three days.

A local doctor fired an alarm pistol. Because he had caused the confusion and caused the other thieves to escape, there was a council meeting of the village elders and the peacekeepers. The doctor was fined a cow and was warned never to obstruct justice again. Then they slaughtered the cow and had a great feast.
That doctor and a local doctor visited me one day, expressing how they hated having to kill thieves. They asked me what they, as Christians, should do. They spoke English well, and during our discussion, I agreed with them that this was not an easy problem to understand. They were afraid of getting killed themselves if they did not participate or even disagreed with the killing of thieves. We prayed together, and I prayed for courage for these men.

Today there are still peacekeepers in many rural villages, but they no longer operate in towns and cities.