We finally got Anna’s papers at the American Embassy in
Nairobi. She is officially an American!
But on the eight hour drive home, in the middle of nowhere, our car began to
overheat. We pulled over as far as we
could, with traffic flying past us (no shoulders on these roads). John began to assess the situation. With no
services like AAA here we knew we needed Divine intervention.
He remembered a gas station not too far up ahead. After the car cooled we got back on the road.
We made it, but the gas station was old, broken down and no longer in service. What we did find was a tiny garage, if you
can call it that, with some interesting-looking guys claiming to be mechanics.
With no other options, John agreed to drive our car up the scary-looking,
not-sure-if-it’s-stable ramp for the “mechanics” to take a look.
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To the left of the parked cars is
the make shift ramp. The guys lounging
on it are the so called “mechanics” and the guy with the hat is the ring
leader. The picture is blurry because it
was taken out of a moving vehicle.
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At first they seemed
confident it was a simple fix, a leak, but time ticked on with no apparent
progress. John tried to keep up with
them but with all five of them working on the car at once and speaking to each
other in their tribal language, we had no clue what was going on. I stayed with Anna in the back seat of the car
the whole time; there was literally nowhere else to sit. With no idea what was
going on all I could do was start calling friends to ask for prayer and watch John’s
face for clues as the hours passed one after the other. A few times he peaked his head into the car
for a brief moment to see how we were doing and would comment under his breath,
“I don’t know if these guys know what they’re doing, pray.”
Allow me to pause
there for a moment. If you’re a woman who’s been pregnant, or if you’ve had a
pregnant wife, you’ll understand my very uncomfortable situation. I had to pee! With no other options of a
restroom or even a bush to hide behind, I did what any missionary mother in my
situation would have done: I discovered just how absorbent Pampers are. Of course with my big belly it was a real
accomplishment to do this discreetly in the back seat without peeing all over
myself.
Finally it became clear: we were stranded, with our baby, at
the mercy of strangers we couldn’t trust.
As night was falling I got a
text from a friend who knew a pastor living an hour and a half away in a town
called Nakuru. We were grateful for any
connections and called Pastor Alfred. We
explained our dire situation and he graciously agreed to drive out and pick us
up once he was through with his meeting.
By this time the “mechanics” had dismantled our entire engine
and there were parts strewn everywhere. John felt the best option was to send me
and Anna and the luggage with Pastor Alfred, while he stayed the night with our clearly disabled car to
keep it from being stolen. I wasn’t okay
with that. I didn’t know Pastor Alfred
or where Anna and I would be taken.
John’s phone was nearly dead with no way to charge it leaving no way of
communication the whole night apart. Being near the Great Rift Valley, temperatures
were dropping fast and John didn’t have any warm clothes. Most worrying was the
fact that we didn’t know these men or their intentions! My husband was third
runner up for Mr. Eldoret in weight lifting in his day, and is buff, strong,
and brave, but he was up against five guys.
All I could do was pray and text urgent prayer requests to
friends and trust that God would deliver us.
I kept putting layers on Anna as darkness approached and it got colder. Thankfully I had plenty of crackers and
raisins, which she ate hungrily. Once it
got dark the “mechanics” said they “had to buy a part,” and disappeared leaving
us there vulnerable and utterly stranded.
John came into the car with me and told me it was obvious now that these
guys never meant to fix the car. We could not stay there safely, and we had no
way to leave. We knew the few local shops
in the distance would close at nine—we’d be alone and a target. Periodically, some of the guys would show up
and then disappear again, obviously in the process of getting drunk on local
brew.
Pastor Alfred had still not arrived and it was approaching
eight; we began to think he’d never planned to come. We continued calling
everyone we knew who could possibly have connections in the area to help. We needed a tow truck. A few friends knew of people but they were
all too far from us. One guy was willing
to come out to us (a drive of several hours), but he wanted $300, which is more
than what we had with us, or even in our bank account at the time.
At this point I had called a very close and dear missionary
couple who were my college teammates, who offered any financial help we needed
and committed to keep praying until we were safe. I felt a wave of faith rush over me and I
knew all would be well, but in God’s time and way, not ours. A few days prior, God had dropped a name in
my heart for this little miracle growing inside of me and in that moment, that
night, He confirmed it: Eliana, Hebrew
for “My God who answers me.” When we
pray we do not pray to a lifeless, imaginary person in the sky, but the ONE true
Living, Breathing, Caring, Saving, Able, Father, Friend, Deliverer—Elohim! HE WILL ALWAYS ANSWER!!
We finally got a hold of Pastor Alfred who said he would be there soon. It was a relief. He finally arrived
at nine. After we explained the
situation, he offered to try and tow us himself. He had a minivan, not exactly a towing
truck.
The guys must have been nearby, watching and waiting,
because as soon as he arrived they reappeared, accusing us of not trusting them!
Not wanting to cause trouble, not knowing how many others there could be watching
us in the darkness, John placated them by saying we were so thankful for their
help and would pay them for their work but we needed to go. The ring leader
jumped in to the driver’s seat of our car, reeking of alcohol, and began to put
it in neutral to roll back down the ramp.
I heard John yell, “Wacha mama na mtoto washuke kwanza”—“Let mom and
baby get out first!” But we were already
rolling.
My heart was in my throat. We could easily fall off the
ramp. I felt the rear tires hit ground
and I exhaled. A random guy opened my
door and began grabbing my bag, telling me to get out. I thought it was Pastor Alfred
or someone with him but a second later John grabbed the bag back and stepped between
me and this stranger. John told me to
get in the pastor’s car.
After a few minutes we were moving. A childhood song was
playing in my head— I could hear my dad singing it with his guitar, the way he
did at our family devotions: “Jehovah Jireh, my provider, His grace is
sufficient for me. My God shall supply
all my needs according to His riches in glory. He will give His angels charge
over me. Jehovah Jireh cares for me.” A warm tear ran down my cold cheek and I
placed a hand on my tummy and whispered, “Eliana, He answered.”
After a few minutes I
felt a jerk; our car had come loose. I
saw John get out and hook it up again. Could
we make it all the way to Nakuru like this?
Next we were stopped by police, and unlike in America, the police here
are not your friends and are not there to help you. I quickly said a prayer for favor and that they’d
let us go, and as soon as I did I saw them wave us through. This happened twice.
It took us two hours to get to Nakuru. Anna slept the whole
way, bundled up in whatever I could find.
I had my own personal heater in my womb, so though I was cold, it wasn’t
bad. Pastor Alfred took us to a
Christian motel. Finally, our car was unhooked and parked and our luggage
inside and we were in a warm room. John
and I hadn’t eaten since morning, but it didn’t matter at that point; we were
safe and had shelter and a bed with warm blankets and somewhere to lay Anna for
the rest of the night. Pastor Alfred
promised to be back in the morning to check on us. We were so thankful for this
brother in Christ who willingly helped us, strangers, and who could easily with
blame have said, “No, I’m too busy.” It
was past one in the morning when we finally turned out the lights.
Pastor Alfred returned in the morning with his mechanic to
assess our car. It turned out to be past
fixing. We were so thankful to have escaped the night before that we didn’t
care. We took as much of our things as
we could; the owner of the motel agreed we could keep the car there for the
time being. He also drove us to the bus
stop, where we were able to get a minivan headed west. We had to transfer in Kisumu.
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| Squeezed into the back of the minivan |
From there we took a matatu. This is also a minivan, but
they cram extra seats in, and pack you in like sardines. Normal seating
capacity is eleven but matatues cram twenty!
John was told there were working seat belts, but when we got in with
Anna in her car seat, all seat belts were broken. So, for the last leg of our adventure I held
her seat in place. Half way into the
VERY bumpy ride (over a dirt road with no shocks), it started pouring rain with
lighting and hail stones.
Now logic would say if it’s raining so hard you can’t see
the road in front of you, you should pull over till it lets up, right? Wrong.
Logic, here, says drive faster, and comment how you can’t see where
you’re going, so all your passengers feel reassured (or not). Rain began leaking inside the van, wetting
John’s shoulder. It leaked all around Anna but not on her.
We finally pulled into Kakamega shortly after dark and
John’s taxi owning friend took us home.
When we got into the house there was no electricity, which is so common
an occurrence in Kakamega that it was comforting—we really were home at last.
* * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * *
Besides the totaled car, there’s so many reasons why a new
car is needed. We spent too much money just barely keeping our old car on the
road; potholes and unmarked speed bumps kept it going back to the mechanics
almost weekly. Our family is expanding,
with Doreen here, and Eliana coming in August.
We often have to drive eight hours to Nairobi for ministry, embassy
visits, medical care, etc. And we live in an unstable country. Not having
reliable transportation is scary. The nearest ER is over an hour away.
Remembering 2008 post-election violence that nearly tore Kenya apart, and the
recent Nairobi Westgate and Garissa University terrorist attacks, if a quick
evacuation is needed, a reliable vehicle is a serious necessity.
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| One
of the many times we were stranded on the side of the road. This was in
November of last year. |
We were able to sell our old car in the condition it was in
(which was a miracle) but we are far from being able to
purchase. Second hand vehicles here are
still expensive. We’ve found a car we
feel God’s marked for us, which the Salvation Army is selling for $9000 (that’s
average here). It’s a used Toyota Noah
in decent condition. Click Here if you’d
like to help us financially.
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Another time we broke down on the side
of the road last year. That time I had to walk over a mile with Anna to get to
an area where I could wait while John worked with some mechanics to get us
moving again.
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Below are some pictures of the roads in Kakamega. As you
can see, these roads are tough for any vehicle, but were killer for our small,
low riding car.
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One of the roads in Kakamega town
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| The road we live on and would drive down daily |
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| Our car on the road right outside our house, before it was gone. |
