CROSSING THE BORDER + KENYA INTO SUDAN

From Marich Pass, Kenya into the Sudan

“ Lord, will you blind the eyes of the border guards?”

It was a photo copy; Nervously, but confidently in Christ, I pulled the photo copy of my Sudan Travel Permit from my travel wallet and laid it before the Sudan Costumes official who glared at me as he sat in his desk.

Romans 5:3 “ We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials-for we know that they are good for us – they help us to learn to endure. And endurance develops strength of character in us, and character strengthens our confident expectation of salvation. And this expectation will not disappoint us, for we know how dearly God loves us because He has given us His Spirit to fill our hearts with love.”

Rejoice God, when events seem to turn against me? And these negative events are meant to strengthen my faith? To develop my character? Does anyone else struggle with this seeming strange scriptural paradox? “ How dearly God loves us…”

Luke chapter one, recounts the amazing story of the angel Gabriel announcing the birth of Jesus. Mary is the unsuspecting recipient of this world changing and life transforming news. But the angel says …. ‘dearly He loves you..” The God who fashioned the moon and stars loves us, and that means me, dearly. Dearly.

So this tells me that God loves me dearly…then my trust, absolute trust ( my health, body, words, work, family concerns ) are all rendered unto and under a God who loves me dearly. No problem or trial is NOT sent by the Lord without an intended purpose meant for His Kingdom building and under His dear love.

As His child He knows me inside and out and loves me dearly.

It was during my stay at Marich pass that the Bylers and I began to discuss the trip into the Sudan; Never a fun or predictable experience and one journey I had yet to make. All details must be in order at the Sudan/Kenyan border; Inventories of transported goods, legitimate reasons for traveling, and proper documentation is essential! It was the essential proper documentation aspect that I dropped the ball.

In Torit, Sudan I purchased a Sudan Travel Permit. This permit is permission to freely travel, leave, and re-enter the country. Searching through my documents I discovered one missing item! My Sudan travel Permit. This was major course for worry…and stress…and became a spiritual thorn in my side! Lacking my travel permit meant a few things would happen at the border. None positive on my side. If kicking myself in the hiny for mistakes were a degree I may have received a Master’ in this art. I was frustrated; Whether through a lack of preparation, honest mistake, or lack of clear understanding the reason for the mistake no longer mattered. The correct document was not on me. The Torit Travel Permit was however, neatly stacked away in my file; In Torit!

Immediately, and slightly nervously, I humbled myself before God and acknowledged the mistake. The resolution was no longer in my hands.

“ Lord, will you please blind the eyes of the border guards?”

How will I recover from this error? I placed the Ipod earphones into my ears and watched the sun set over the Marich Pass mountains in the distance.

“ Forgive me God, I’ve made a mess this time.” Stories abounded of other Christians who were pressed into walls where their faith was challenged. And our God delivered in remarkable ways…it was this help I now beseeched.

The entire evening spent in Kenya was lost on me, the beauty of Marich Pass, the sunset and sunrise, the Pokot Kenyan people. As I do when frustrated or nervous, I became quiet and withdrawn. Wallowing in my self indulgent way. Spiritually, I grew weary and depressed. Feeling I had let down the group, not as much worry over myself, but concerned about how this error may hurt or delay the progress of our journey back into the Sudan safely and securely.

Sunny and hot we arrived early in the morning near the Kenya border with the Sudan. As we approached the checkpoint the Kenyan police notified us of a recent car robbery that had taken place on the Lokichogio pass into the Sudan

And there is NO other option of another route. We prayed, waited and embarked along the route with a small convoy. Our cars drove slowly, bumping over the rocks and rocking occasionally with the curves of the uneven surfaced road.

Our mini convoy consisted of only the small, white vehicle ahead which added two passengers at the border checkpoint. Two armed Kenyan Turkana men.

We arrived without incident to Narus, Sudan.

The Sudan border station was a small town. Several shacks and tin shops were set up alongside the dusty street. The signs were in English and pulled onto the side to park our land rover and preceded to the border station. Before I rolled out of the vehicle I took a collection of photos sent to me from my family; Pictures of me holding Savannah, Mahoney Park family photos and the like. I stuffed a few into my travel wallet and breathed in, still nervous about what may happen in the next few minutes. As we walked my eyes searched every Sudanese man I walked past, hoping to smile at the right man. We entered the gates and went quickly to the border guard checkpoint station. After a short wait a plain clothed Sudanese man walked into the cramped, tin room and asked for our destination and purpose. My turn was first and walked toward him as he was seated in his chair at the table. I first acknowledged that I had made a mistake. I placed the photo copy of my Sudan Travel Permit on his desk and said that the original document was in Torit, Sudan where I lived and worked. After I strung this brilliant collection of English words together and I inhaled and shut up! He turned the paper over frontward and backward and then scanned the Travel Permit photocopy section.

“Where is the period?” His question surprised me. I looked at the gray, wrinkled copy of my face, scanning the bottom of the document hoping my eyes would find where his were focused. He never looked up, just placed his pen at the bottom line of the paper and began tracing in air the final stanza of the travel permit photocopy. His hand stopped and made a connection with the page. He paused, sighed, then looked at the paper, almost self satisfied with his personal correction he then said flatly, “ It’s O.K..”

He didn’t ask why the paper was left in Torit. He didn’t even look at my passport which I placed directly next to my travel wallet. He wasn’t demanding, belligerent, vocal or in the slightest bit interested in me. He handed the wrinkled sheet to me, looked past me at the Bylers standing behind me and motioned them forward. I said thank you and turned away. Walking outside I silently thanked the Lord for His remarkable provision of my needs. He provided the right person to check the paper and changed the man’s attitude and eyes; There is no other explanation for what transpired.

Still, as a group we were not totally out of the clear. The Sudan border and custom officials had developed a recent reputation for surly and nasty questioning.

Several tall, large African men began asking me numerous questions at the same time. Who was I, where was I headed, what country did I come from. The usual.

I explained that I was a teacher and had come to the Sudan for mission work and ministry. As we talked I pulled from my travel wallet the collection of photos that depicted my family. The men looked at these and were interested in all the smiling, white, happy faces. This may have changed their moods, though I’ll never know for certain. The men made a personal connection to me as a person after seeing my family and friends from our times at Mahoney and the airport before my departure.

In total we spent another hour checking out of the border, God granted clearance without further incident. The men did a good job. A good job of their assigned job, to check and mark the provided inventory, assign the correct paper work and allow the visitors to precede to their intended destination. Not without a Bible though! As we left the men inquired about the load of Bibles we were bringing into the country. The Bibles were a great gift from the mission’s agency in Loki, Kenya and were intended for sale to our Kenyan neighbor workers for our Bible studies. But one of the Sudanese men asked for a copy. So I opened the box and took a Bible out. Then grabbed a photo of my siblings and niece: I was hesitant to part with the photo of my parents or small group but placed it into the Bible to be used as I reader’s marker. From there we left.

And from here in Torit, on New Years Day, 2008 I write. Lord You deliver and to you alone is due all praise and worship.

After Christmas in Kenya -- DEC. 26, 2007

After a wonderful Christmas with my Kenyan family, Stanley and Sylvia Mutangili the journey out of Nairobi began…on the wild and often terrible Kenyan highway system. Christmas was celebrated sans Christmas trees or holiday lights, snow or my own family from Lincoln, Nebraska. Love you.

I have spent only two Christmas’ away from the comfort and care of my own family, and both were in the home of Stanley and Sylvia. Their comfort and friendship has radically changed my life. A unique relationship in the making which the Lord has been sewing together for the better part of four years now.

No place I would rather spend the day of our Savior’s birth.

Early on the morning of the 26^th the three of us awoke and packed the little white car. We left and drove two hours to the nearby, and large, city of Nakuru, Kenya. Upon arriving we met up with my South Sudan team leaders, Phil and Linda Byler, and their son and daughter-in-law. We hugged goodbyes and the five of us began the long journey north into the desolate area of North Kenya. As we drove it became apparent that we would not have the time ( daylight hours ) necessary to reach our original night time destination.

As we all felt fatigued and the land rover’s headlights were failing anyway, we decided to stop in a remote area of Northern Kenya called Marich’s Pass. We turned right, from one dusty road onto another dusty road, and headed into an unknown stop. The Bylers were familiar with the story behind Marich Pass.

I was not.

A British man started a training center and school for the local Kenyan tribal group called the Pokot. Over the seventeen years this facility grew into a large, but hidden, campus with many nice facilities for overnight stays and small guest houses and rooms and a kitchen. Nestled into the Kenyan woods was a story book looking village that overlooked a dried out river bed river. We stopped and met the woman who operates the facility. Hidot was an Eritrean woman who had married the man who founded Marich Pass. And she had recently become a widow. Her husband who’s vision grew this sweet paradise, had been killed earlier in the year after being struck by a Kenyan passenger vehicle called a Matatu. His loss meant that her family, from all over the world, had gathered at Marich Pass to comfort their mother and help her mourn during the Christmas season.

We met Hidot and talked. She was still very hurt from the loss of her husband and wept openly over his loss as we spoke. Hidot would be the age of my mother, and my heart hurt for her. Had this been my mother… can’t imagine.

Thankfully, her family and extended relatives had arrived from all over the globe to be apart of this Christmas time. It was this group of family and individuals which really made the experience at Marich Pass stand out.

Hidot’s family, and friends of the family, had ties to the following nations and American states: Eritrea, Uganda, Miami, Nebraska, London, England, Switzerland, Juba, Sudan and of course us; We had Pennsylvania, Massachusetts and Nebraska covered. Never before have I had a dinner with such an eclectic group of individuals. There were the young Eritrean men who operated a night club in Kampala, Uganda, the British journalism student Lee from London and his girlfriend Ruth from Eritrea. There was Dempsey and his wife, now living in Miami but with a long history of extended relatives who lived and operated a bank franchise in Lincoln, Nebraska. Small world huh? Hidot’s son, Paul, was an Eritrean national but moved to Marich Pass, Kenya from Zurich, Switzerland to help start a non government foundation. There was Robin, an elderly British national who has lived in Africa since 1947! All of these people were having an evening dinner of spaghetti and salad and became friends for an evening….very interesting conversations.