Although Refugees, Happy to Be Serving God
WARS, famines, disasters, and unrest. For some people these are just headline news. For many others they are a part of daily life. Being a worldwide association of Christians, Jehovah’s Witnesses are well aware that anytime a war breaks out or a disaster strikes, a part of their international brotherhood may suffer. And when people have to flee for their lives, our brothers may have to do the same.
For years Witnesses in a number of countries in Africa have had to endure such experiences. Many of them have had to pack up whatever they could carry and seek refuge elsewhere. Although a few have had some means of transportation, perhaps a bicycle, the majority have had to walk and walk and walk—for days, even weeks—to reach their destination.
One such destination was a little town named Mboki, in the Central African Republic. Over the years, men and women, young and old, have come by the thousands. Among them were a number of our Christian brothers and sisters, accompanied by interested ones. Of course, fellow Christians at the Watch Tower Society’s branch office in Bangui, the capital of the Central African Republic, were very interested in meeting these refugees to provide help. Five times, a representative was sent with money, food, clothing, and medicine, generously provided by the Witnesses in Bangui, about 700 miles [1,130 km] away. While those offering this generous help had little financially, they were happy to do what they could.
Getting to Mboki
The brothers at the branch office wanted to see what else could be done and how the refugees could be helped spiritually. So my wife and I took off in a four-wheel-drive Land Cruiser, accompanied by Symphorien, a special pioneer, and his wife. Symphorien knew the road well, and he speaks Zande, a language of the refugees in Mboki. It took us four long days to get there.
The last 250 miles [400 km] were through a beautiful area of rolling countryside and huge baobab trees. Here and there we passed little villages. On this stretch of road, my wife counted exactly 50 bridges—many in very bad shape, some impassable. We repaired some bridges with sticks and rotten beams, put the four-wheel-drive car in traction, prayed, and proceeded very carefully. If there was a little village nearby, youngsters would come running to help—for a small fee. We were surprised that they always found pieces of lumber and boards from the bridge in the deep grass and under bushes nearby. It made us wonder if they were taken off and kept there for customers in need.
On three occasions we refused the help of those youngsters, for the bridges looked too dangerous to cross. So we drove off the road, down into the creek, over rocks, uphill again, and back to the road. How glad we were that it was the dry season, as otherwise there would have been no way for us to make the trip, except perhaps by helicopter!
What would Mboki be like? This often came to our minds while driving on this endless “piste,” a French word used in the Central African Republic for a road or trail of sand, rocks, and rubble—and thousands of holes.
On the fourth day, just after noon, Symphorien pointed to some grass huts surrounded by papaya trees and cassava fields. “Voilà! This is where Mboki starts,” he shouted. We were quite surprised by what we saw. “This is Mboki? Where is the camp?” we asked, for what we saw was not a camp, just houses scattered about. They were small but clean little huts with grass roofs. There were also trees and bushes everywhere. People plant crops next to their houses. Mboki was not the sort of camp we expected to see; it was a big village, about 22 miles [35 km] long.
Meeting the Brothers
The brothers in Mboki knew we were coming, although they figured our trip would take five days. When they heard our car, they came running. Men, women, and children rushed out of their huts and compounds and came in from their fields to greet us. Everyone was smiling, laughing, and shaking hands, several times if possible. They held out their babies. All wanted to say hello, and they gave us a most hearty welcome.
There was not much for my wife and me to do at the moment because of the language barrier. We tried with a little French, a little Sango, a little English, and Arabic. Most of our brothers speak, read, and write Zande. Symphorien had to translate, explaining the program for our visit.
We continued a few more miles and arrived at the Kingdom Hall. It was the first “church” built by refugees of any religion in Mboki. More brothers and their children and interested ones showed up to shake hands. Even many neighboring children came along with the brothers to shake our hands.
Our brothers had prepared two little houses for us, their visitors. They were spotless. Buckets of clean water were ready and waiting for us. We had brought along our own food and drinking water, expecting the worst and in order not to burden our brothers. While we were unloading the vehicle, a young girl came and asked how we would like the chicken prepared that night, roasted or cooked in sauce? We never expected that and asked what they had planned to eat with it. The answer: cassava, or manioc. So we opted for the chicken in a spicy sauce. Our enormous hunger was well satisfied that night. But they kept on feeding us every day—noon and evening. We could hardly believe it—refugees feeding and taking care of us, though they themselves did not have much.
A Happy Little Congregation
Here we were, in such a remote place but among 21 of our brothers. Only two of them came here already baptized. The rest were interested persons when they came. They continued to study and were baptized over the last two years. Four more were baptized in a nearby river during our visit.
One outstanding example is Faustino. Before coming to Mboki, he learned basic Bible truths from a friend. Faustino appreciated what he was learning. Soon he and his friend started preaching to others, but they ran into opposition and were put in prison for “exciting the population” with their religion. While in prison, Faustino’s friend gave up out of fear and was released. Two months later Faustino was tried. However, it was clear that the accusations against him were unfounded, so he was released. When war came to his area, Faustino fled to the Central African Republic, where he met the brothers and resumed his Bible study. He was baptized in July 1991, and in 1992 he took up the full-time ministry as a regular pioneer.
The happy and friendly little congregation in Mboki now consists of one special pioneer and 21 publishers. Two English-speaking brothers serve as elders and are able to keep in good communication with the branch office in Bangui. We expected our refugee brothers to be in a terrible, desperate condition, but this was not the case. Though poor materially, nobody was complaining, worrying, or murmuring. Since their arrival the brothers have built their huts and houses and have started to grow food and raise chickens. They have less than they formerly did, but they are alive and are with fellow Christians.
Since there are between 17,000 and 20,000 refugees in Mboki, with more coming each month, our brothers have a large field for their ministry. We went preaching with them, which was very interesting, indeed. They often use the Bible in Zande, and this translation contains God’s name in the Hebrew Scriptures and in several places in the Christian Greek Scriptures. To these people, God is not just “Mboli” (Zande for “God”) but “Yekova,” which is how they pronounce God’s personal name. “Mboli Yekova” is a common expression. Protestant translations in many other African languages do not follow this correct rendering; rather, they replace “Jehovah” with “Nzapa,” “Nzambe,” or other African names for God.
True to Jesus’ prophecy, the Kingdom good news is being preached all over the world, even in Mboki. (Matthew 24:14) The congregation is now well supplied with Bibles, books, magazines, booklets, and tracts in all the languages they need. Perhaps in the future, more publications will be available in the Zande language.
Awaiting a Permanent Home
On the first evening, we showed the Society’s slide program “Happy Conventioners in Eastern Europe Praise Jehovah.” The next night the program was “Bringing the Many to Righteousness in the Time of the End.” Projection took place outdoors, next to the Kingdom Hall, under a clear sky and a silvery moon. What an atmosphere! Hundreds came to watch these slide showings, and our brothers were happy and proud to present something special to the population.
When Monday came, we prepared for our return trip. It would be another four-day journey over the same roads and crossing the same 50 bridges. A sister insisted on preparing some food for the trip—two more chickens, already roasted and seasoned with garlic. They smelled so good during the morning hours in the Land Cruiser. At noon we stopped in the bush to enjoy roast chicken while thinking of our brothers in Mboki. Although obliged to be refugees, they continue to serve Jehovah faithfully, awaiting a permanent home of peace in God’s promised new earth. (2 Peter 3:13)—Contributed.