September 4, 1978, Kyaka, Tanzania
Sally Beth woke to the sound of a rooster crowing. As she rose from the depths of unconsciousness, she thought she was talking to her mother. I thought you got rid of Doolittle. Oh, I did, but he keeps popping back up. We’ll have to put him in the freezer, I guess.
That didn’t make sense. She rolled over, fighting her way through wispy shreds of visions. The bed creaked, and new smells wafted into her dreams, dissipating them like water vapor under a scorching sun. Doolittle crowed again, a raw, raucous screech that jerked her, floundering, into a bright, scented, noisy morning. A cracked concrete ceiling swam above her in the shimmering light; an unfriendly, narrow expanse of canvas embraced her from below. This was not her own bed with the glorious pink sheets from the outlet mall in DC, but a slender cot, made up with scratchy sheets in a small, concrete room that smelled faintly of disinfectant. A stunningly bright shaft of sunlight streamed through the window, reminding her that she was halfway around the world from her pink room, her pink sheets.
The rooster crowed a third time, prompting her to fling back the covers. Dirty and sweaty, she was wearing panties and the limp shirt she had traveled in. Her pink princess cowboy hat lay on top of jeans, a bra, and her jeweled sandals resting on the floor. When they had arrived in the middle of the night after a day and a half of flying and waiting in airports, she had been so exhausted she had crawled gratefully into the narrow cot without even brushing her teeth or washing her face for the first time she could remember.
A makeshift screen stood in the corner of the room, concealing a toilet and a sink with a small mirror above it. Making her way across the cool, cracked floor, she gazed into the mirror, but she could not see much in the murky reflection. Just as well. She could imagine how bad she must look. A quick search through the luggage piled on the floor yielded toothpaste and personal grooming items, and pulling a chair over to the sink, she placed her toiletries there and went to work.
After she felt a little cleaner, she pinned her hair up into a modest bun, put on a fresh dress, and stepped out into the most glorious sunshine she had ever seen. She imagined she was walking inside a diamond.
The light amplified and enriched the color of everything she saw, from the vibrant red dirt at her feet to the towering celadon trees over her head. The sky above was a pale azure, while the colors of the land were deeply saturated, steeped in light and life. She was standing at the edge of a garden that sang to both her eyes and her ears: green, gold, red, and countless other hues lay carelessly flung on bushes, on trees, on the ground, on slender stalks and fat ones. Monkeys and frenzied birds laughed and frolicked in the huge trees. She had never seen such an extravagance of color, light, noise, and life. The place sang of innocent sensuality, as if the Serpent had never entered Eden and shamed it into modesty.
Beyond the garden lay a large, flat lawn that surrounded a stone church more than two hundred feet away; the bell tower rose like a sentinel into the soft blue air. To her left and right stood a cluster of buildings linked together in a continuous arc, and where the buildings ended, a stone wall with an iron gate beyond the church completed an irregular circle.
The buildings beside and behind her were utilitarian, concrete structures that looked as if they had been hastily thrown up decades ago and had aged poorly, the blocks chipped and roughed-up, the windows cracked and leaning. The plain, hard surfaces were softened, though, by all manner of vegetation: bushes and spires of flowers, blooming vines surging upward in pulsating tints, growing over the roofs and even into the cracks in the windows. Next to one of the buildings stood a young man with red hair and skin the color and texture of badly-tanned leather. When he saw her, he waved as he called out to her.
“Hello! You’re Sally Beth, right?” His voice carried a relaxed, friendly American accent that sounded like home. “We met last night, but you were so tired I think you were past caring. I’m Red.” He laughed. “For obvious reasons. Red Thompson.
“They’re still serving breakfast, so I’ll walk you over to the dining hall. Your group is still there—at least, they were just a minute ago when I left them. Come on.” He led her through a maze of more old, tired concrete structures to a large building that exuded breakfast smells and noises.
Suddenly ravenous, Sally Beth hurried forward, but between herself and the door of the building stood a knot of women, the most colorful people she had ever seen. Some were very black, blacker than she could imagine people could be, like the purple-black tail feathers of Doolittle, the Marans rooster of her dream. Others were lighter, the color of milk chocolate, but all of them were beautiful in their own way, dressed in wildly colorful clothing, glowing with health, with dazzling white teeth and shiny skin. Some of them were slim and tall, sporting completely bald, perfectly shaped heads, balanced on long, graceful necks. Others wore bright headscarves and lengths of cloths wrapped around lush bodies. Sally Beth blinked, taken aback by their openness, then suddenly she found herself surrounded by at least a dozen of these stunning, shining women, smelling of warm woman-flesh and spice.
Red halted, touching Sally Beth’s arm. The women were staring at her. Some were laughing openly, others hid their smiles behind their hands, but all had friendly, bright, inquisitive eyes, and some seemed to want to reach out to her. They all murmured in musical voices. “They are fascinated with you, Sally Beth. They rarely see fair-skinned people. When I first got here, I could tell they were dying to touch me, but they didn’t because I’m a man. But they want to feel your hair. Would you mind? They mean you no harm. They think you’re beautiful.”
Sally Beth hesitated, but only for a moment. These women looked so beautiful, of body and of spirit, she was not wary of them. She smiled, nodding, and reached up to pull the pins from her bun, then, as the hair was freed, shook her head and let it flow out toward the women.
They rushed to her, hands outstretched, stroking and petting her, exclaiming over the texture and color of her pale hair. They rubbed it between their fingers and then brought it to their faces to stroke along their cheeks. “Beautiful!” they cried. “So soft, so fine! So pale, like silk, like the moon! Like the moonflower!” Some brought it to their noses and sniffed the floral scent of Sally Beth’s shampoo, and then they exclaimed more. Sally Beth reached out likewise, running her fingers along the smooth, supple skin on their arms and faces. Suddenly, they all began to laugh, and Sally Beth felt the happiness welling up in her chest like a flower blooming. There was nothing here that she had ever seen before. It was nothing like home, but somehow, she felt as welcomed as if it were.
It took her a week to get used to the light, and even then, she was astonished by it every day the minute she stepped out of her room. It came quickly into the mornings, splitting open the cold, indigo nights, blooming upon the land with a suddenness that never ceased to surprise her. At home, in her mountains, the light came creeping in softly, at first barely perceptible, and then gradually turning the air into a soft, watercolor dawn before it stretched up, tiptoeing over the tops of the trees and the mountaintops until the day sparkled through prisms of dew or ice. At home, the light flirted demurely, playing with shadow and wind; here it rained down uninhibited joy, unfettered and free.
Thank You, Lord, for bringing me to this. I have been living in a watercolor world, not even imagining that this kind of color existed.
In the beginning, her job was undemanding. All she had to do was check in patients as they came to the medical clinic, taking their names and performing basic triage. Most of the people spoke a musical, highly formal-sounding English; those who did not were sent to Falla, a small, black-skinned woman, delicate as a bird, who wore floating, colorful dresses and bright scarves on her head. It seemed that Falla’s primary task was to lend serenity and grace to the aura of the waiting area, although she also made tea and translated, for she spoke several languages. Sally Beth fell under her calming spell the moment she came into the room each morning, sensing that everyone who received one of her smiles immediately felt better, no matter how bad their condition. Falla’s face was the first of the healing anyone received at the clinic.
Before a few days had passed, Sally Beth began to soak up knowledge that floated among the medical personnel: how to give injections, how to irrigate eyes and wounds, to palpate for broken bones and sprains, when to merely clean and bandage a wound by herself and when to bring it to the attention of one of the doctors or nurses.
She became used to the privations and general poverty of the area, the scarcity of clean—and especially hot—water, the intermittent hours of electricity, and the lack of anything soft or luxurious, but she never grew used to the unbridled joy of these African people she had come to serve. They brought their wounds and their illnesses like offerings, cheerfully submitting their pains and their bodies to the hands of the medical workers who touched and prodded them. Smiling, laughing easily, speaking in soft, musical murmurings, they made Sally Beth’s heart expand with what seemed like a never-ending flow of joy.
Oh, Lord, I came here hoping to share Your love, and now I find it is heaped upon me. This must be what heaven looks like.
September 9, 1978
On her first day off, Sally Beth spent time getting to know the people who worked at the mission. The pastor of the church was Mr. Umbatu, a tall, slim young man who informed her that he was of the Haya people who had lived on this land for thousands of years. By his side was Lyla, a beautiful young woman, a little lighter skinned, dressed in a purple, blue, and yellow dress. Around Lyla’s head was an elaborately tied scarf, and she wore large gold earrings that hung halfway to her shoulders. Sally Beth found her elegant and glamorous.
“I am happy to meet you, Sally Beth,” Lyla purred in a soft tenor. “My fiancé Pastor Umbatu is proud of his people, but I, too, am of a proud people. I am of the Sukuma.” She laughed as she looked up at Pastor Umbatu. “We are rivals from generations back, but our hearts are bound together, so we are like Romeo and Juliet!”
September 16, 1978
The second Saturday, Dr. Sams took her through the gates set in the stone wall surrounding the mission to the village and adjacent countryside. They walked down a road as red as poppies in the shimmering sunlight to the banks of a wide, muddy river.
“This is the headwaters of the Nile, Sally Beth. Here it’s called the Kagera, but it flows into Lake Victoria, and it becomes the Nile when it leaves there. If you’ve seen the movie, The African Queen, some of it takes place on this river.”
“I’ve seen the movie. I never dreamed I would see this. It’s wide to be a headwater.”
“Yes, but it’s much wider at Cairo. And below there, it can be vast during the flood season. I’d love for you to see it.”
They turned to walk back up the hill toward the village. “You look happy, Sally Beth. I knew you would thrive in this.”
“It does beat doing hair all day long. I mean, I love making people beautiful, but it’s even better making them well. Being here is more than I ever thought it could be. Thank you for bringing me here.”
He laughed. “Thank you for coming! It was very brave of you, actually. I understand this is only the second or third time you’ve been out of the mountains.”
“Yes. I went to Washington, DC, on my senior trip in high school, and, well, you know I just went out West last month. Gosh, it seems like a year ago. I’ve done more traveling in the last month than my whole family has in generations.”
“Well, I have a feeling that now you’ve stretched your wings, you’ll be flying off to all manner of new places.” He glanced ahead to the ramshackle village they had passed on their way to the river. “Here we are. This is Kyaka. It isn’t much, but soon I’ll take you down to Bukoba, which is much more impressive, and you can see Victoria Lake, although you won’t be seeing where the Nile comes out. That’s in Uganda, not a place we want to be going right now. It is a country in crisis, run by a despot, backed by an army of thugs. I’m sure you’ll be hearing more about that. Since we’re only about twenty miles from the border, we often get refugees from there coming to the clinic. They’re lucky to find a way out.” His face grew sad for a long moment before he brightened again.
“But the lake is really beautiful. And in a month or so, we’ll shut down the clinic for four days so we can all go on safari. You’ll get to the see the Serengeti, and Kilimanjaro. You’ll get to do the whole African experience.” He laughed. “Well, not the whole thing. That would take years. Just a part of it.” He fell quiet again before adding almost shyly, “An extended stay after our three months stint here might be possible. I could show you more.”
They spent an hour wandering around the village, where some of the people recognized Dr. Sams. Most were friendly and very curious about Sally Beth’s pale skin and hair underneath her cowboy hat, but they did not give her the same enthusiastic reception the women had given her at the mission on that first morning. A very few looked openly hostile.
“Don’t mind them, Sally Beth. Some people here hate whites, for various reasons, some of them legitimate, some not. His voice dropped to a low, almost warning register. “They are not like us. They have their own way of doing things, their own line of thinking, and some are still resentful of the colonial government that was here until the early part of this century.” In a lighter tone, he added, “Well, the Christians are welcoming, especially the ones who have been living or working at the mission. As followers of Christ, we have something in common, and they are slow to take offense when we come off as arrogant or condescending.
“But you’ll find that kind of thing anywhere—people who are suspicious of anything that is alien to them. Just keep to yourself when you’re off the compound and don’t be too friendly. They will come to you if they want to be social, and eventually they’ll come to accept you. Most of those who have been to the clinic appreciate what we do, although surprisingly few of them have been there because they can treat their own illnesses very well. The Sukuma especially have a very good knowledge of herbal medicine.” He nodded to a tall, thin, somber man wearing a burnt orange-red, tunic-like garb and carrying a spear. “Habari ya asubuhi, Mubabe?”
“Nzuri,” came the reply. The man gave a dignified nod before slipping away as silently as a shadow.
He turned back to Sally Beth. “He is a Maasai warrior. There aren’t very many in this region. Most of them live over on the other side of the lake, but they are cattlemen, and there is good grazing here, so a few have migrated.”
He continued to stroll along the dirt road, glancing at people as he passed them. “There are several distinct tribes here. They each have their own dialect, but most of them speak English.” Pausing to watch villagers set up shop in the dusty street, he added, “Remarkable people, and very self-sufficient. The ones who don’t know us or what we can do for them don’t really appreciate our ways, and some resist coming to us, unless they need us for something acute, like broken bones or infections that get away from them. And of course, we try to immunize the children. That’s been going on for several generations now, and we’ve pretty much wiped out the most serious illnesses that we can immunize against. Really serious things requiring surgery or long-term treatment, we take down to Bukoba or Ndolage. The hospitals there can handle most things. Do you want to look at anything in particular?”
Sally Beth stopped at a stall to look at jewelry, but since she didn’t know if she was supposed to haggle or not, she merely smiled at the woman and turned to another stall displaying bolts of bright fabrics. “Dr. Sams, do they have sewing machines at the mission?” she asked him.
“Yes, and please call me Jim when we’re off campus. There’s a pretty strict protocol here, and everyone likes more formal forms of address, but when we’re away from everyone, I’d like it if we could be friends.” He smiled at her, and she wondered what he meant by that. He was nice, but if she was going to be working for him, she thought she’d better keep things more formal. She nodded, but said nothing.
When the sun rose directly overhead, they returned to the mission where Sally Beth went to her small room to wash the red dust off her hands and face before lunch. Walking back toward the dining hall, she heard the sound of an airplane engine above her, dipping lower, then circling back and dropping behind the church. She ran to it as it rolled around into her line of vision.
A small amphibious plane was taxiing toward her through the grassy meadow that lay behind the church. Sunshine glinted off the pristine, white body and wings and crisp, red letters on the side stood out as if they had been newly painted: MORE MOOJUICE. She laughed aloud, thinking that the owner of the plane would be surprised to know what that would mean to an American.
When he touched down on the grass inside the mission compound, John scanned the field ahead of him carefully, hoping to avoid potholes and bumps. He wouldn’t have been so careful in the old plane, but he didn’t want to bang up this new one. Glancing ahead, he saw a woman running toward him, and his heart skipped a beat before the sun coming in through the windshield blinded him temporarily. He blinked and looked harder. Was he going insane? Geneva, the woman he had loved and lost was standing in a watching pose, holding her hat on her head, the wind whipping a light pink dress tight against her legs. He rubbed his eyes. Surely, he thought, the sun was playing tricks on him, but still, his heart beat out a syncopation of hope cavorting with alarm. Pushing the brakes until the plane jolted to a stop, he leaped out, ready to race to the woman in the pink dress.
“John!” she shrieked, running to him, and his breath stopped, but then he recognized her and he felt a momentary surge of disappointment, followed by a surprising flush of relief. It was not Geneva, but her cousin, Sally Beth. Sally Beth, of all people.
He broke into a wide grin, whooped, and ran to meet her, his arms opened wide, laughing as he hugged her. She was so light, he almost felt he could toss her in the air like a child, but settled for spinning her around and squeezing her tightly.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, amazed at the sight of him. He was bronzed and beautiful, and she was so happy to see a familiar face, she almost kissed him.
“What am I doing here? I live in Africa. For now, anyway. The question is what are you doing here?”
“Oh, it’s a long story. I thought you were in Kenya. Isn’t that a long way from here?”
“Not really, just over the lake. Nairobi is only a little over 350 miles from here, and I come here all the time to deliver supplies and mail. It takes about two and a half hours in this baby,” he said, gesturing toward the plane. “And as of last week, we’re going to set up a station at Kigemba Lake, only about ten miles from here.”
“Oh my goodness, I’m just beside myself! Imagine. You being just a couple of hours away. And coming here. And what a beautiful plane.”
John’s face shown with pleasure. “Yes, I just got it three days ago. I didn’t think our program was very well known outside of Nairobi, but apparently, someone who was at the conference where I delivered a paper last year got interested in my project and has made a big donation. He gave us two planes. Along with about $500,000 to set up another station here in the Kagera Region.
“It was the oddest thing,” John continued. “About two weeks ago, we got this call from a bank saying a group interested in world hunger—I had never heard of the group—but they wanted to wire money to our foundation, and it was to be used specifically to buy land in Kagera for another experimental station, and they gave us two planes. We’re supposed to get involved with local missions, too, but mostly we’re to expand this new milk enhancement program. No reason, no other stipulations, just that, so I’ve been over here looking at places. I found the perfect land for sale at Kigemba Lake just yesterday, and our offer has been accepted.” He closed his eyes in a long, slow blink, baffled by his new circumstances. “It’s unbelievable. First, we get all this money and these planes, we’re buying land, and now here you are. All these impossible things happening all at once.” He looked at her closely. “So what are you doing here, 8,000 miles from Tucker? The last time I saw you, you were on your way to Las Vegas. Did you take a wrong turn?”
Sally Beth laughed. Oh my. It’s so good to see him! “Sort of. Rather, we had some car trouble—that is, Lilly’s car caught fire and burned up in Texas, and we just happened to run into Jimmy Lee who saved our hides, and when we got home, the doctor down at the nursing home—he comes here to do mission work, and he had this team all ready to come here, but somebody backed out at the last minute, so he asked me to come, and I had exactly five minutes to make up my mind, because we left about a week later. I had to drive over to DC to get my passport and visa and had to go to the Tanzanian consulate, and to Senator Byrd’s office to get it all done, and I’ve only been here since last Monday.” She took a breath. “I think that was the fourth. What is the date today, anyway?”
He laughed. “I know what you mean. The time passes differently here. It’s Saturday, September 16. Gosh, I can’t believe it’s you.” He hugged her again, knocking the hat off her head, and they both chased after it as it spiraled through the grass, laughing like schoolchildren running through the fields on a summer day.
John ended up staying the night at the mission, with plans to stay off and on indefinitely, for he would be in the region for several weeks while he finalized the purchase on the land, looked at cattle, and talked to contractors about building the barns to house them. That suited Sally Beth just fine. John’s familiar face and the cadence of his Appalachian accent, reminders of home in this beautiful but strange land, were a balm to her soul.
September 17, 1978
John joined the staff for Sunday service at the mission church, then for lunch at the dining hall. Sitting at the table with John and Sally Beth were Dr. Sams, Dr. Price, the other American doctor at the mission, the two nurses Janie and Francine, Pastor Umbatu and Lyla, and three people she had not met before: two quiet African men and a very young woman with watchful eyes.
Sally Beth turned to the minister. “Pastor Umbatu, I’d never been to a Lutheran service before I got here. It is very interesting.” This was true, at least for about half of the sermon, and then it had ceased to be interesting and instead had become very long. She wondered if all Lutherans went on like that. But the music had been good. They had sung a few traditional hymns, probably for the benefit of the American congregants, but for the most part, the music was very strange to her: loud, joyful, and colorful, with people clapping and dancing, lifting their hands high. Some people jumped about and flailed their hands and arms. It was far different from the quiet Quaker services she was used to.
“Thank you, Sally Beth,” he said in his deep, melodic voice. “But I am guessing that you found it too long, and perhaps too noisy? That is what I am told Americans tend to think when they first come to this country. We go on too much with our worship.”
Lyla interjected, “Pastor Umbatu! You must not tease our friends. Sally Beth will think you are being serious and she will feel compelled to insist that she liked the sermon very much, and you will force her into telling an untruth.” She turned to Sally Beth. “He is only teasing you, my friend,” she said. “Although I think maybe he will be fishing for compliments. You must not encourage his vanity.”
At that, Pastor Umbatu threw back his head and laughed a deep, long, booming laugh. “Ah, Lyla, you chastise me too much. Our friends will come to the wrong conclusion, that my sweetheart is a shrewish woman—and we know that she is not!”
The elegant, constrained flirtation between the pastor and his lady became more generalized to include everyone at the table. Before long, they all, except for the three newcomers, were teasing and laughing. Not wanting them to feel left out, Sally Beth turned to them.
“We haven’t met yet. I’m Sally Beth from West Virginia, in America.”
The men remained silent, but the young woman looked at her curiously, lifted her head, and smiled. “Good afternoon,” she said in a low, gentle voice. “We are happy to meet you, and hope that you will be our friend in Jesus. I am Alice Auma, and these are my companions, Francis and Joseph. We are soldiers for the Holy Spirits.”
Pastor Umbatu stepped into the conversation. “These are our friends visiting from Uganda, Sally Beth,” he said, laying a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “They are fleeing the persecutions of Mr. Amin, and we are sheltering them until they feel they must move again.” Alice’s head came up sharply. She shot him a disapproving look.
“Mr. Amin?” asked Sally Beth.
“Idi Amin,” explained the pastor. “The ruler of Uganda, just north of here. Some say he is the president, but some say he is the scourge of Uganda. He has not been known to treat his people well.”
Alice spoke up. “We do not fear Mr. Amin. He has no power over us,” she said, her eyes steely, and her voice grew stronger. “We move on the orders of Lakwena, the emissary of the Holy Father, and he has sent us here merely for a respite. We will be returning to Uganda soon to continue the battle against evil, and when we win it, we will have a new Uganda, purged of sin and injustice.”
The table fell silent for a small moment, and then Dr. Davis spoke. “We are happy to offer you shelter, and we hope you win your battle against evil. None of us is fond of Mr. Amin, either.” He brightened as he turned to John. “So, John, that’s a beautiful plane. When did you get it?”
“Just three days ago. An American organization. Nice, huh?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“I’ll say. And when do I get to take a ride in it? This afternoon?”
“Hold on! I can understand why you want to ride in it, but I think I need to take the ladies up first.” He turned to the nurses and to Sally Beth and Lyla. “Any takers, ladies?”
Janie, a tall, sleek African-American spoke up. “Silly question. We all do! Is it a four-seater? I guess we’ll have to fight it out, since there are five of us.”
John laughed at the teasing. “We’ll draw straws to see who goes first. I’ll take you up two or three at a time.”
Alice shook her head, “Lakwena forbids me and my soldiers to move up into the sky. We have not purchased that right.”
Again, there was a puzzled silence until John spoke again, “Well, okay, then let’s see who’s going first,” he said, reaching into his pocket for a book of matches. Sally Beth was dying to go, but she knew the others were, too, so she said, “That’s okay. I have a few things to do. You can all go first. I don’t mind waiting.”
Lyla looked at her compassionately. “You are a kind girl, Sally Beth. I will wait with you, and we can go up together on the second trip.”
Lord God, what a beautiful, beautiful, wonderful day! Just wonderful. What a creation You have made. I have never seen anything like the plains and the forests and the lakes like I saw them today in John’s plane, skimming right above them, and the monkeys running everywhere, and when I saw the giraffes—oh! It was just the most wonderful thing ever. They float. They just stretch their necks out and float across the plains as if they are flying.
And Lord, I just love Lyla. She is so kind and funny. I think she will be my best friend here. And thank You for John being here. He looks so much happier now. If it weren’t for Howard being so perfect for Geneva, I almost wish she had married John so she could be here, too, and I bet they would have been happy. But Lord, I know I shouldn’t make such speculations. I’m just excited and wish everybody could be this glad. I love You, Lord! Thank You. Hi to Mama and Daddy, and to Holy Miracle, and don’t forget Edna Mae and Jimmy Lee and Lilly, and poor Lawrence, too—make things work out for good for them. Oh, and please take care of those people I met today who are taking shelter here, and all the good people at the nursing home, and… Sally Beth fell asleep listing all the people she cared about.