CARS - LEMONS AND MISFITS

We have made a lot of mistakes with our cars over our many years in Africa starting in 1953 and ending in 2000. The first was the car that we chose to take with us from America. Our Chevrolet Carryall had the appearance of being perfect for poor roads. Mechanically, it was fine and service was readily available, but As South Africans would say, “eina!” (ouch!). There were problems. The first was a minor one. When the car was offloaded from the ship at Cape Town, it had a flat tire. Of course there as no service available at the docks to fix that. A bigger handicap was that it had left hand steering in a country where the rule of the road is to drive on the left side of the road. That meant that we, new to the country, drove from a position next to the left curb. Fortunately, we soon left city driving in Cape Town and started seven hundred miles north to Kimberley. Almost immediately the roads deteriorated to corrugated and potholed gravel. This called instant attention to the next problem. The backs of all the seats were all closed with sheet metal, directly against the springs. They set up a clamor that had to be heard to be appreciated. Again, there seemed to be no dust seals of any sort. We were traveling with a seriously sick baby riding in a car-cot. We had to place a baby blanket over the whole cot and it was soon red with an accumulation of Karoo red dust. The Great Karoo is semi-desert. Before we reached our ultimate destination of Windhoek we had replaced a new tire ruined by sharp rocks, and had spent four days on terrible roads. We drove that vehicle until our first furlough, when we gladly parted with it.

Back in America, we bought a new 1957 Chevrolet sedan. We loved that car. (Wish we had it now.) It is now a classic model. It had been slung in a net and lowered into the hold of the freighter that we traveled on for our return to Africa. A few dents here and there, and the inside had been twisted off, but not so serious. Fellow passengers had “encouraged” us with the tale of a former passenger who had a beautiful new luxury car which they had dropped into the hold from the boom when they loaded it. They did not tell him until he went to claim it after it had cleared customs. Ours arrived, only minus the battery and with the inside rear view mirror twisted off. Phyllis later got her South African driver’s license from the head of the traffic department who personally road-tested her right down town Kimberley, and had her maneuver through the parking area of the fruit and vegetable market on a Saturday morning. He wanted to make sure that she could handle that "big" American car in heavy traffic, particularly because it was also a left hand drive.

Another, was our tiny Fiat Multipla, I don’t recall its age, but it had to be the ugliest car we ever owned. It might have looked like a green cracker box, but it was an absolute pleasure to drive around town. The engine was in the rear, and sat crosswise to the body. The cooling system was totally inadequate. After our only out of town trip with it to go to Bloemfontein, a hundred miles away, we almost seriously commented that we got 40 miles to the gallon of gas, but ten miles to the gallon of water. I literally watched for windmills and water tanks all the way there and back. I used it to drive our children and those of some of our friends, to school, where we were greeted by the jeers of the children in the playground, “Look at that funny looking car.” One stormy day when Phyllis and Annette had gone into the black township for the regular Thursday afternoon women’s meeting, Al and I struggled through the deep puddles of water with the Chevrolet, only to see the ladies returning home through those same puddles crossing them like a happy duckling on a rainy day. They had given up on their meeting because of the intense noise of the rain and hail on the church’s tin roof.



Our Commer van was a very serviceable vehicle. (Picture above.) I bought it second hand from a Kimberley dealer, and asked that he have glass put in the sides of the back. Their driver, taking it to have that done, had an accident at the very door of their own business, so they took it to a Pannel Beater’s (Body shop) instead, and hoped I would not notice. It was later delivered, with the glass and the repairs done, but of course the truth will out. I drove it at night right away, and discovered that the left headlight was shining high up in the trees on my left. That was apparently the side that was hit. We used that van as a church bus and often had it maxed-out with small Coloured children going to church and Sunday School. On one occasion, we had 30 people in it at a road block. The cops never said a word, they just waved us through. On other occasions I went to churches in the surrounding towns to conduct classes. At one I slept in the van at a little camping park near the river. I had placed a mattress in it for those occasions. That particular time it was winter and I nearly froze! It had absolutely no insulation.

Our last left hand drive car, was a Fargo pick-up with a V-8 engine. That carried the shell of our Bible Kiosk. It was terrible to drive in wet weather. The slightest splash, caused the engine to stall out. We still had it when we moved to Johannesburg, and it was there that I determined, “Absolutely, Never again!” I had parked alone in heavy traffic on the left side of the one-way street, and realized too late that I simply could not see behind me to back up and get out of the parking spot. I had to lie across the seat, take a quick look and try to edge out. I did not keep that truck long. When furlough time came, it was out of there and we replaced it, when we returned, with a smaller, newer South African assembled truck. I had once driven downtown Johannesburg in the Fargo, passed a one-way street, and turned at the next street that I expected to go the other way only to find that there were three one way streets together, all of them going the same way! All praises to the Lord for answered prayers, I got out of there, turned around, and no traffic cop saw me, or if he did he took pity and looked the other way. I never drove it down town again.

Once in Johannesburg, I bought a yellow Citroen, very second hand and cheaply. That car was a dream, wonderful to drive. It was so streamlined that it slipped through the air so easily that I actually had to hold it back with a foot on the brakes. Its hydraulic suspension was so cushioned that it could only be described as floating. That suspension had three levels and permitted a ground hugging low, a medium clearance, or a very high clearance for crossing streams, or placing a stand in lieu of a jack. It had no jack provided. You could actually drive it on three wheels by leaving the flat one in the trunk and making sure that the missing wheel was one of the rear wheels. Unfortunately our car had hydraulic problems. That is why it was so cheap. Park it and the engine end dropped first to the lowest clearance leaving the tail end high in the air! The only way I got rid of it at all was that I traded it in on a new 4 cylinder Ford station wagon. I am sure they just wrote the Citroen off. Other than the fact that the Ford shorted out and burned out the wiring on the first trip we started to make; once that was repaired, it gave excellent service. The lemon-yellow Citroen was gone but sadly greatly missed and never forgotten.

“MOTHER,” YOU ARE GROWING OLD!

I HAVE A DREAM!

The Kimberley Church is considered to be the “mother church” of all the work in South Africa. It was with the diamond mine compounds at Kimberley that the first evangelists started preaching and teaching. As the miners went to Kimberley on contracts for a certain period of time, they came from all over southern Africa, then the men who had become Christians scattered again back to their homes carrying the good news of Jesus back to their families. By the time we arrived in Kimberley the original building there was already very old. It has since been replaced, but very much the same size as it was originally. It is still probably the largest church building the mission has in the country.

It has long been the custom to conduct a general conference assembly by invitaton meeting some where in South Africa for preaching, teaching, fellowship and a certain amount of planning and business. As time passed, the church has grown much larger. When I was printing the church supplies, there was pretty much a standing order for ten thousand baptismal certificates and an equal number of other printed documents. That figure may have changed more recently, but naturally as the church grew, so also did the conference grow. Most ministries followed a circuit system with a central building and the minister’s home was located centrally, with numerous “house churches,” and perhaps some having small buildings, dotting an area spanning, sometimes, many miles around. Towns are often vary far apart.

More recently Easter gatherings, a minister’s and family assemblies, and youth camps have all been added. The result is that often the local church is not adequate to provide space for these meetings let alone house and feed the visitors for several days.

Some years ago one of our missionary brothers bought a large tent and since then, with variations, the committee uses the minister’s home for their meetings, the women use either the tent or the churchhouse, the men use the other, and the back room of the church is used to store the food supplies. The food is prepared in iron pots over an open fire, either in the open or under a tarpolion fr shade. Joint preaching services will be conducted in the largest space available or a nearby church may hire their larger building out for that purpose. The actual serving of meals is nearly always done in the church house itself. As you can see this is a difficult arrangement.



A few years ago, they learned of a camp site for Christians near Barkley West. The story is that a farmer there discovered a diamond pipe on his property and became very wealthy. As he was a Christian, he decided to build a Christian campsite beside the mine and Deo Gloria Camp was established. He felt he needed to share his wealth with others. There are are now two camp sites. These were built during apartheid years so he built one for Europeans (whites), and the other for people of darker color. I have only been to Deo-Gloria, but it is a wonderful facility. It has lawns beside the now closed mine, now a very deep lake, with a large central hall, a modern kitchen with a walk-in cold-room, electric lights, class rooms, instructor’s cabins, dormitories for both men and women as well as showers and toilets for each. There is also a pool, though it has not been available at any time I have been there. Both the longer sides of the building have covered porches and wide sliding glass doors to allow cross-ventilation. Unfortunately it is not large enough for our conference gatherings, but it does suggest a possible solution, were there more sleeping quarters available.

As it can easily be a two day drive for the most distant people to reach a major meeting, and since there is also an Aids problem in Africa with thousands of orphan and abandoned children, and there are many widows and elderly pensioned ministers, there really needs to be something like Deo-Gloria for them. It would need to be located central to the nation, with permanent housing for the widows, orphans, and staff, and visitors, and it needs to be accessable by bus and train, preferrably. The same facility could be used as as a rest and recovery home, where missionaries could build their own cottages if they chose to go there regulaly. Everyone could be fed from the kitchen in the dining space, worship services could use the chapel, and it would be available for short-term missionaries to stay and participate in the Lord’s work in Africa. All these needs could use the one property and care for it. Local churches could still have their own area meetings being less demanding of space.

GUESTS, NOT CITIZENS

We were unique in that our family entered South Africa with a permanent resident permit and green card from the word “Go”. All the missionaries that I knew later entered with a temporary permit that had to be renewed periodically. Because we were residents and not citizens, I was always very careful to remember that we were guests and were there to do the work of the Lord only. I was especially cautious to steer clear of expressing opinions of a political nature. It is not the place of a guest to criticize his host He canalways be “invited” to leave or escourted out.

On one occasion when a reporter from a local television station, reporting on a major Christian convention in America, saw my display and with a camera-man at the ready, wanted my statements which would quickly become political in nature. I declined to comment. I knew what careful editing and network connections can do with the meaning of even normal conversations. They aired my refusal to comment, with their own comments which confirmed what would probably have happened had I spoken up.

I had entered Namibia shortly after a very politically involved Episcopal priest had been deported. As we had no telephone, so our phone could not be tapped, though it would have been if we had one. We had no congregation as yet to infiltrate, and we had turned away those who came to our door trying to buy liquor, so the only thing left was to send a man who offered to interpret for us. That we were grateful for. He found that we were only teaching Scripture. After all, that was why we were there.

When we moved to Kimberley, it was a completely different story. Our message was the same, but there we did have a phone, and I once commented to a friend that our phone was tapped. When he wanted to know how I knew, I simply pointed out that every day at the same time, when they changed the tape, the phone jingled. We never heard it make that little jingle ever again. I am sure they found it a complete waste of time and effort anyway, unless they were really interested in our calls to the butcher to place an order.

I knew it to be a fact that there were “conversions” in our local congregations that were actualy motivated to provide an inside ear to all that was said there. In the end one man himself reported that this was so, when he truly came to believe and serve the Lord.

After I was asked to serve as superintendent of the mission, two more incidents happened. In that job that had to be totally expected. On one occasion, I was served a summons to appear in court as a witness some 500 miles away. The case had nothing to do with me personally, even my work. An African man had been soliciting money door to door and had used the mission’s name. That make it my job at the time. One means of funding subversive activity was in just that way, so I was called to confirm if he was legitimately collecting money. He was not, but after travelling there, the case was thrown out of court, and the judge gathered up his golf clubs and was away without me ever being heard. Fortunately I had enough time to arrange to visit two churches on the trip or it would have been a wasted thousand mile three day trip. The man had wisely changed his claimed connection from house to house and so confused the evidence that the case was thrown out. Before I even reached home again, he was arrested in another city doing exactly the same thing. That time, he was “permitted to escape” by a greedy guard.

On another similar occasion, perhaps the same man, visited my office in downtown Johannesburg, to solicit money and offered as credentials a false endorsement, supposedly signed by the superintendent of the mission, at the time that was myself! Needless to say, I confiscated his letter immediately. The head of the Special Branch visited me in this connection but he left again a happy man. We can be glad that God does not send us to straighten out politicians, but to preach the gospel.

To this day, I still have my green card and original permanent resident documents. Legally we could probably return to South Africa at any time, but I think we shall now wait until we reach the land of our permanent citizenship where we can spend eternity with our loved ones and friends who happened to live in a far country. We shall all be with our brothers and sisters in the Lord there. We are guests in this world, our citizenship is in Heaven. “This world is not our home, we are just travelling through.”

NOTHING LIKE YOUR OWN LANGUAGE

Our neighbor and friend was a serviceman working at Stanford’s service station, a very well known garage in Kimberley. Our children and theirs were of a similar age and we often visited with them. I always had my car serviced at Stanford’s, and usually asked for Bing to do the work. In time the city wanted the site and the Stanford brothers sold the business and retired. At that time Bing and another serviceman set up a new business which became the Volvo dealership and service station of Kimberley. Of course I did not drive a Volvo, but I continued to go to Bing for any automobile work to be done, and years later when I went near Kimberley I always stopped to greet them.

Bing once related something that had happened to him. Since he was so well thought of people came to him, even from the adjoining province to have him service their vehicles. We would say “state.” This “boer” (farmer) was a very emphatic that he must be addressed in his own language, demanding that Bing speak Afrikaans with him. Often such persons would simply turn and walk away if one spoke English, but of course Bing knew Afrikaans; in fact he knew the latest technical terms for everything about a car. But, because he was not impressed with this clearly uneducated man’s demands, he said certainly he would use Afrikaans. However the Afrikaans language, not having words for so many technical things, has new words that have been have been created as they were needed. Some are very new. Bing used all the very latest words knew very well that his customer had not the faintest idea what he was saying. As expected the gentleman soon stopped him and said, “It’s all right, I understand English. Use English, please.”

At that time, I was printing quite a lot of Bible study materials, from translations, into Afrikaans. As everything printed in South Africa at the time had to carry an ISBN number and copies had to be provided to the State Libraries of Record. My name became known as a publisher in Afrikaans. I was amazed to open my mail one day to find a gold embossed invitation to attend the opening of an Afrikaans Cultural Museum in Bloemfontein. The featured speaker was to be the State President, and most of the members of parliament had been invited, of course. As I knew I would be like a fish out of water and would not understand much of what was happening, I thought it best to decline attending. The event was being held at Bloemfontein, the former capital of the old Afrikaans Republic, a hundred miles away. Incidentally, South Africa really has three capitals. The capital building and some departments are in Pretoria, Bloemfontein is the Judicial Capital, that is where the Supreme Count convenes, and Cape Town is the home of Parliament. Interestingly, Pretoria and Bloemfontein are in Afrikaans speaking areas, while Cape Town is considered to be English speaking, but has a very pronounced accent all it’s own.

South Africa has ten official languages, plus several more that are not considered to be official. It was when we were able to publish booklets and tracts, working from translations, in all ten of those languages that the demand really blossomed. There were not just thousands, but actually hundreds of thousands of requests, and from all over Africa. We were forced out of mailing free correspondence Bible lessons, when sanctions, closed areas to mail service, postage rates soared, and an acute shortage of staff forced us to change our distribution methods. We retreated to working from a located shop and area, and to stop promoting outside of South Africa. Things may now be changing, for as Greek was the world language at the onset of the church, English seems to be becoming the same in today’s world. Still, there is nothing like addressing a man in his own home language. He may be comptent in English, but he still loves his own home language.

Thinking of that, when the schools opened to all races and languages teahers were shocked to be told that when many of their potential students noted on their application forms that they were English speaking, even though they could only speak an African language. Chaos reigned when class sizes jumped, in the original rooms, from twenty or so to forty or more, speaking a number of different languages, and half of them could hardly understand a word of the teacher’s language. To add to the chaos, many Afrikaans speaking teachers, themselves not speaking English well, were teaching advanced classes in English grammar. The result was that the teacher used such terms as, “We is all going,” or “borrow me your pencil.” Those two illustrations actually were common in our own children’s own classes even when schools were still segregated.