Curve Ball

When I was growing up, the December school holidays meant that the “city kids” got shipped off to shagz (‘upcountry’) to go spend the month with grandma and grandpa. When we were younger there was no better way to spend the school break than in shagz: fetching water from the river in 5-litre jerry cans; grazing the cows and goats; harvesting pyrethrum; carrying little bundles of firewood into the kitchen; helping to prepare dinner by peeling those pea-sized potatoes that were too small to sell; or simply frolicking about in the serene woods. Most afternoons were spent accompanying my dad on his daily visit circuit. He would go visit his relatives and childhood friends and my siblings and I would tag along, excitedly. We mostly sat there in  silence, eavesdropping,  as they reminisced and laughed about old times. It was always interesting to discover facets of our dad we didn’t know existed.

The year is 1992. My siblings and I are at the threshold age where the idea of spending a month in shagz is slowly starting to become the buzz-kill to end all buzz-kills. We are older now and are starting to shape our own lives. Being shipped off to rural Kenya means we get to miss out on hanging out with our school mates in Nairobi engaging in young-folk shenanigans. But we dared not voice our displeasure. So we always made the best of the trip. My dad drove a little white Datsun pickup “truck”. It made for an amazingly fun road trip. The three kids rode in the back. We would line the bed of the truck with blankets and pillows and turn it into a quasi-comfy bed. My mom would buy us all the snacks our little hearts desired to tide us over for the long journey.

It’s December of 1992. We are all packed up in dad’s Datsun and ready to head out to shagz. Mom prays for journey mercies and we bid Nairobi adieu for a few weeks. (Only two months prior to this trip, we had picked up the habit of praying and reading the Bible every night as a family; without fail. It was enjoyable and a good way to end each day.) Halfway through the journey to Nyeri, we happened across a slow-moving convoy. 1992 is a significant year for Kenya. For the first time since Kenya attained her independence, multi-party elections were set to be held in a couple of weeks. From the colorful flyers posted on the cars, we could tell that the convoy was a campaign rally for some would-be politician. My dad kept trying to pass the convoy – but the steady stream of oncoming traffic made it difficult to do so. He kept trying anyway because he was in a race against the elements. The dark clouds were gathering and given that our Datsun had no covering shell for the back, my dad knew he had no time to waste otherwise my siblings and I would be drenched by the downpour. (I should mention that when circumstances called for it, we miraculously were able to fit all five of us in the front two-seater cabin! Aaah, sweet, unsafe, memories!) Anyway, the road ahead finally cleared and my dad started to overtake the convoy…and that’s when all hell broke loose!

One of the campaign cars cut us off and stopped dead in front of us. Then from behind my siblings and I helplessly watched as yet another car barreled towards us from the rear – stopping just a hair-shy of ramming into us. We were boxed in on all sides. Then a seemingly endless mass of people disembarked from the cars and descended upon us in a fury of attack. They would grab ‘rocks’ from the ground and hurl them at us – but the moment they hit us they turned into soil. Some of the men approached the car and started punching my siblings and I repeatedly on the face and torso. Others took objects from our car and used them as weapons against us. The sound of our terrified screams filled the air. Everything was happening so fast and so furious that I started to question the reality of the moment. Our quiet world had been turned upside down and we were facing certain death. My thoughts were interrupted by an arm grabbing at mine. I looked up through the barrage of blows to see a man yanking at my hand; forcing me up and pulling me out of the car. I determined at that instant that there was no scenario that would see me go anywhere with him. So as soon as my shoeless, sockless feet hit the ground, I tore my hand from his and took off running – fast as my little legs could carry me – down an incline, past some trees, and into a corn field. I kept running until I saw a group of people – a family that had obviously heard our screams and had come out of their home to cautiously investigate what was going on. I spoke a mile a minute to the man of the house. Sobbing, I pulled at him and begged him to take me back to the road to find my family. I could see the hesitation in his wife’s face as she reluctantly released him to accompany me. He carried a machete with him just in case we needed protection. I clung on to him as he led me back to the road. When we finally emerged from behind the trees, I was not prepared for what I saw.

The road was COMPLETELY clear. There was nary a soul nor car in sight. The man looked at me and I could tell what he was thinking. “I am not crazy! They were right here!” I blurted out. Severe panic set in at that time. I did not know where I was. I didn’t know the way back to Nairobi. And I didn’t know the way to my grandma’s house. And most importantly, I did not know where my family was. Were they even alive? What happened to everyone? I collapsed in a heap and started sobbing hysterically. The poor man tried everything in his power to console me but I was inconsolable. In the midst of the tears and the confusion, from a far distance I saw someone who looked like my brother walking towards my direction. I immediately took off running towards him, not even stopping to say thank you or goodbye to the nice man who had helped me. As I ran towards my family they were running towards me. My dad had a fat lip. My sister had a busted lip and a swollen face. My brother was injured and bloody too. I had bumps on my forehead. My mom was the only one who was unscathed – something that haunts her to this very day.

My family filled me in on what had happened. Soon after I was yanked from the car, one of the men from the mob jumped into the back of our car and put his arms around my brother and sister. He berated the mob; asking them why they would unleash their fury on innocent children. Then at around the same time, my dad got an opening and was able to manoeuvre his way around the convoy and speed off. He pulled into a shopping centre and the convoy drove on past the shopping centre, nonchalantly. My mom described the sheer terror she faced upon realizing that I was missing. All kinds of thoughts went through her mind – which would explain the endless, nearly-suffocating bear hugs I received from her when we were reunited. We had to spend the night in that town because we had to fill out police reports, etc. We eventually made it to my grandma’s house a day later; battered and bruised, but not broken.

This was one of the freakiest things we have ever experienced as a family. We had made the journey to shagz umpteen times before without incidence. So it was quite “interesting” that this unprovoked, inexplicable attack would come on the heels of our family making a conscious decision to daily pray and read the Bible together.

When you decide to draw closer to God and when you are intentional in seeking Him and walking according to His ways, the enemy of your soul (Satan) may want to shake up your world in a bid to undermine your resolve and to discredit the name of the God you love. He’ll flex his muscles and thump at his chest from behind the shadows, growling and acting like he is bigger than the God you serve. Most times when I have decided to draw closer to God, something nasty has happened in my life. But as the Bible reminds us, “You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them, because the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world.” (1 John 4:4). As a family, we could have chosen to be upset that this had happened to us and we could’ve wondered if these are the “rewards” of drawing close to God. But on the contrary, as terrifying as the experience was, my family and I saw the undeniable hand of God. First of all, the mob looked for rocks to stone us with but they only got hardened soil clumps that disintegrated upon hitting us. For all the blows and beatings we received from such a large mob, our injuries were very minimal and largely superficial– none of us required any medical attention and no bones were broken. God had an escape plan pre-set for me and by His grace, the creepy man who grabbed at me didn’t pursue me into the bushes. But the biggest testimony is that right from the midst of the enemy’s camp, God raised up someone to be our protector (the man who shielded my siblings and asked the mob to back off).

I am reminded of the trials and testings that Job, Joseph, Daniel, David and countless others endured on account of their faith in God. But today, these personalities stand as a powerful testimony and encouragement to us when life throws us curve balls. Even though they faced many trials, they were not consumed or overwhelmed. God did come to their rescue and at the end of their valley experiences, God restored back to them better than what was lost. Just as God was always there with them, so He is with us today.

I encourage you to not let trials and the enemy’s tactics keep you from sticking to your resolve to follow Christ. It is only temporary. Keep pressing on and do not give up nor look back. God has promised to never leave you nor forsake you. He is with you always, to the very end of the age.