Pastor Lobe

And now for the story of our last ride... well latest, hopefully not last!

We came to the library in Piedmont, Georgia, a little storefront place. We left our sticks in a bush outside, and walked in where it was cool; I signed up for a computer and sat down at it, beside an older African-American man who looked curiously at my pack. Well, at least I thought he was African-American.

He asked me--I kid you not--if I was walking to Florida! "How did you know?" said I.

"Well, I saw you two out there with your walking sticks, and I just had a feeling you were walking to Florida."

He asked us why, and I explained. He loved it, said he was a Christian too, he loved that we were doing this. By this time it was really obvious that his accent wasn't American; this was a genuine African. "Where in Africa are you from?" I asked.

"Cameroon."

"Oh," I said easily (it was the first thing that came to mind, of course, "my great-grandparents were missionaries there."

No way, says he, astonished and (though I couldn't tell) skeptical. He brings out a little map of Africa (on a "Pray for Africa" conference brochure) and asks me to point to Cameroon. Well I knew it was right to the east of Nigeria, but I almost pointed to Chad! I took a closer look, though, and got it right. Good thing, because he told me later that was a test to see if my great-grandparents were *really* missionaries there.

Well he wanted to help us then; to feed us, to drive us to our next destination. Your great-grandparents were missionaries to my country, he kept saying, "and now it's pay-back time." He told us all about himself on the way to his house; his name is Pastor Lobe and he's a missionary to America and hoped to start a small Bible-school in the storefront next to the library. He served us stuff I learned to eat in Nigeria: a stiff porridge of cassava flour that you take in little balls in your fingers and dip in the "soup", a sauce made of greens and boiled okra and seasoning and, if there is any, meat. (There was a lot more chicken in his soup than I ever saw in Nigeria!) He started out with a spoon, to be polite to our American sensibilities, but I without thinking took the stuff in my hands as I'd been taught, and he was delighted. Brought back memories...

He decided to drive us all the way to Jubilee Partners, our next destination. Jubilee is a Christian community that welcomes refugees and eases their transition into the U.S by giving them a safe and free place to live for the first few months, teaching them English and other basic skills (handling of money, dealing with bureaucracy, whatever part of the American experience they didn't have back home!), and working with them on any medical or legal problems. (Jubilee works with refugee-placement agencies, which themselves take care of placement of the refugees when they leave Jubilee.) Refugees come from all over; there are four families from Burundi right now, one from Chad, and two from Burma. (Yes they might feel funny around each other, but they'll have to become culture-flexible to survive in a foreign country, especially this one, so it's a start I guess.) More about Jubilee in the next post.

When we told Pastor Lobe about Jubilee he loved the idea; he wished the church would be more like that in general, both in terms of sharing their goods and living communally and in terms of helping others; he wanted to see this place. So he drove us seventy-five miles southwest, and we got there in time for supper, when they were expecting us; they welcomed us gladly and invited us all to come down to the Welcome Center--the little cluster of houses where the refugees live--to welcome two new families and give Pastor Lobe a chance to see with his own eyes and speak French with the Chadians.

We went down; we went from house to house with the lady in charge of medical issues, collecting the new people's medical forms; then suddenly, at one house, we were invited in. A large table, and around it almost all Africans; the families from Burundi, from Chad, Pastor Lobe, and then me and Paul and two Jubilee folks. A young man got us chairs, gave us Cokes and Fantas; a young girl started a song, and someone began to clap. They clapped faster, they sang louder, two men got up and danced. Ah, memories! They sang--we all sang, when the words were simple, though they were in Kirundi--we clapped, we swayed, though there was no more dancing. I was so glad for Paul to get a taste of Africa, though I couldn't take him to Nigeria with me. Then Pastor Lobe stood up and began to preach!

He preached in French; one of the Burundi men translated into Kirundi and I into English. The words were simple and the message short and basic--praise God, trust God; and then he prayed. The people around the table seemed to love it. As we stood and got ready to leave, he was holding a conference with the Kirundi about how they could organize their own African worship service sometime. One of the Jubilee folks gave him the phone number to call for permission, since Jubilee needs to screen visitors to the refugees; though someone like Pastor Lobe is obviously OK, the dangers of not screening are obvious. So... we'll see what happens, but God does wild things sometimes. Maybe part of what he has out here for is to connect people. I'm not sure how else Pastor Lobe could have found Jubilee!