Consider what Jesus gave for you and me

I rarely say things like this. Events of the past weekend however, have stirred up deep buried emotions within my heart. They surfaced to remind me of what I always say about the salvation of the LORD. I say to people who do not know me, those who think I am crazy about Jesus, "Leave me alone; you don't know where Jesus found me." Rude as that sounds it is the truth of how I often feel. 

It was not easy for me to be saved. I mean this in the sense that for a start, I had to accept the message, then, allow it to permeate my whole being, and finally prepare myself to carry the cross where I was saved. Saving me was a miracle indeed. People need to feel this way rather than feel that they owe some other human for their salvation. Hearing is the first thing as the Bible says, faith comes by hearing.

The first time to "hear" the gospel was on a day in October 1979. Up to that point everything was relative. On that day, the message became "personal" or better put, "personalized" to me. The keys to personalizing the gospel message to me were: my search for answers to specific questions, the environment I encountered, and the clarity by which the message was given. That was in 1979, and I still remember the day as if it was yesterday.

A personal message has two dimensions: someone who knows you and you, the hearer of the message. A message which addresses you by name is a personal message. When someone comes to me and says, "Mac, the LORD says you should do the following tomorrow morning..." is very personal, no matter who brings it to me. It means the sender knows me.

It takes on a deeper meaning when the message says the sender (God) knows exactly what we are going through and offers personal help. This level of personalization of message can never fail to touch the receiver. As often as preachers personalize the message to the hearers, it touches them, for better or worse. Show me a ministry that has learned to personalize the message and I will show you a church that is growing.

Today's messages are often relational and relative, not personalized. They fail to impress their hearers because they are packaged for mass distribution. They say, “Whosoever will, may come,” and stop there. They should also say, “Jesus knows you by your name and calls you to say yes to His saving grace today.”

 Jesus never meant for the message of the gospel to be only relative, but personal. Salvation is personal. God intervenes in our lives to respond to specific needs and often to answer specific questions we ask.

I wanted help for my spiritual situation. I knew the young man named Saul was right when he once said to me, "God is there, but we do not know how to worship him." Saul was a school drop in a little village near Magoye. I met him at the home of one of the witch-doctors I went for help a few months before I heard the gospel message. Although He has chosen to hide his face from us, God is there. Jesus we know, His face we know, some pictures of Jesus have been drawn and displayed in some places. But God's face!! Not a glimpse. Thank God for Jesus.

We must clarify our questions when approaching God. In life, generally, the clearer our questions are, the better our chances of receiving our answers. Sometimes we are not sure what we are asking. We sort of know what we want although we are unable to say it; we can clarify our issues and questions by reflecting and writing them down. The simpler our questions are stated the better.  After all, what ends up happening is that we may not even know what we are in need of; the process of clarifying helps us achieve that clarity.

Saturday morning October 24^th 1979, as I walked into the hall to attend the meeting that changed my life, I found young people with whom I could relate. Like me, they were full of life and promise. Their lives stretched out far into the future. Potential was unlimited. The sound of their voices still rings in my heart when I reflect deeply today. I can hear them singing, 'At the cross, at the cross, where I first saw the light..." I can hear them sing, “When I survey, the wondrous cross, at which the Prince of glory died..."  

Such sweet memories! I still see their faces, their tears, their closed eyes and gentle sway; ladies and gentlemen. I knew this was not ordinary music of happy people; they were speaking a language I did not know.

I knew they found something I was looking for. They sang out of their hearts, not out of their brains! The music was written in their hearts and all over their minds! They were one with the message they sang, "Burdens are lifted at Calvary, Calvary...," they sang on!

The message I heard was this, "Someone called Jesus of Nazareth went to the cross to pay for your release from suffering and pain. He died and paid the full price that sets you completely free. Free from the things you know that bind you and much, much more besides." 

The clarity was astounding. Here was a person looking into my eyes telling me, in the simplest way I knew, “Jesus calls you to step out; He knows what you are going through, He cares and is ready to help you, here, now.” For the first time Jesus was personal, the message was for me, not for my mother or father, as much as they loved me. The message was specific, for a specific time and place, from a specific person, specifically to me. That is the gospel.

I could respond to Jesus or hold out in my own shallow cabin sinking in the world of make believe. I chose to follow. I took my first step. He helped me with my next and the one after that.  

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When the song was finally recorded in my heart, "Just as I am without a plea...," all of my resistance was gone. All of my fears were bundled up ready to be placed at the feet of the cross. Tears filling my heart, years of bondage behind me, the unknown days ahead, mixed battles in my mind, I surged forth to the place where I could meet my Savior. That is how I got save. 

Oh how true, how true the saying, a journey of a thousand miles starts with a step. It has been a long journey for me; it started in that classroom in Makeni with the first step I took.

Consider what Jesus has done for us. He spared nothing for himself but gave it all up to make our salvation sure. He was betrayed by his own men, rejected by his own community and killed by strangers. And yet He knew we would be here today. He looked out for us.

To change our communities, we (believers) need to realize that the same keys are needed to give others a chance to enter. The Gospel is His message; Jesus', and the Holy Spirit's. It is God's message through us.

We have to figure out how to personalize that message to the person who does not want to come into our churches as well as to those who come too close to the place of God's mercy who nonetheless back away to their seats before trading in their sorrows for the joys He bestows.  

A ChiTonga proverb

"Nziniini ikukkala njiikuyanda," translated as, "The fly that sits on you likes you."

Actually we can take that further by translating the proverb word by word as follows. The fly that sits repeatedly on you likes you. 

Before we talk about how they use the proverb let us review what the proverb is saying. Flies are a nuisance especially in the dry warm tropical climate. They are all over you, throwing themselves in your food and sitting on exposed surfaces. They want to sit on your face, on the skin and especially they like to sit on the mouth where they can pick food particles.

Babies and young children suffer greatly when large numbers of flies sit on their mouths or uncovered stomachs. In the village, flies like to follow people wherever they go. Proper hygiene and appropriate perfumes can send them off in other directions.

No one likes flies hanging around at all. They are always a nuisance and hated to death by squashing. However, due to sheer numbers flies are often tolerated and waved off with one's hand. Ironically it is these creatures that this proverb speaks of liking people. If a fly repeatedly comes back after you wave it off with your hand or after missing it in an attempt to squash it, then the proverb says it really likes you.

Here is how the Tonga people use this proverb. If a person hangs around you there comes a point when people notice. They notice that it is no longer simply a matter of following you. They conclude that he loves you. In essence the proverb is saying, the person who comes often to be with you loves you... no, he or she is in love with you! That is especially true when a man and woman are involved.

I may be slightly exaggerating the idea of being in love here. However, the proverb intends to intentionally communicate the meaning that this is not merely 'liking' another person, it is a little more of being 'in love with' than merely liking him or her.

There are times when the proverb is used for a situation where people cannot possibly be 'in love', but where adoration is invoked. People can stick around those they adore.

The other time I was in the village for a wedding. A kid was fascinated by my outfit and by the story that I came from America. He followed me wherever I went. He gave me a new name and insisted on sitting next to me wherever I sat. I acknowledged him and gave him the space he needed to be himself and to explore his fascination.

A cousin came along and said to me with a hint of a smile on his face, "Nziniini!"

I smiled back and went my way knowing exactly what he just said. He said, the boy likes you very much. I said, Yes, and moved on without saying as much as one spoken word between us.

Proverbs make village life very interesting. Proverbs and body language often go hand in hand. 

It also makes it challenging if you did not grow up in the village where proverbs are often used. I am often unable to understand the meanings of some proverbs. People use different proverbs in different parts of Tonga country. Some however are common enough to be understood by most people across the four or five dialects of ChiTonga.

There is a whole language of proverbs by which people who appear to be illiterate brilliantly communicate with each other in truths a stranger might never know.

Next time a Tonga says Nziniini, remember it is not about the dirty old fly! It is about precious love. Smile!

Why we should not defend Jesus or fight for God

Christianity is centered around the death and resurrection of Jesus. Jesus is alive. He does not need a man's help to fight his battles!

Christianity is not centered on a place or thing such as a rock, a tree, a body of water, or on a person other than Jesus. Christianity is built around a relationship with Jesus, and not on a philosophical system of belief.

If it was based on a philosophy, men might argue their way through to salvation; if it was based on a place or thing, people would be at some advantage by their ability to get to the place or object of worship.

Salvation is the gift of God received by faith alone through confession of sin. Men and women of all ages can be saved only by the grace of God through the fully paid work of atonement that Jesus accomplished at Calvary. Praise be the name of the Lord.

There is no way to fight for God, or to defend a finished work of God. We can only accept it or reject it. We cannot build a fence around it, we cannot enclose it in some secure place or by some some security device. God does not need man's help or protection, neither does the work of atonement need further refinement or human explanation.

Read the Bible. Here are some interesting scriptures:

"So then faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God" Rom 10: 17. "For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation" Rom 10:10. "For if, when we were enemies, we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, being reconciled, we shall be saved by his life. Romans" 5: 10. "But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us" Romans 5: 8.

A Good Friday memory

Good Friday, 199X. Our church service started at 10 AM. As we settled down to the reading of God's Word, our ears were greeted by loud cries for help. "Help! Help!" News was reaching us that a boy was drowning in the dam. In the moments while we reacted to these words, half a mile away in the dam, a soul was rising out of the body into the unknown.

We rushed out of Chifwankala, the church building situated at the bottom of Chikankata Mission. People were pouring in from all directions towards the dam. News travels fast. Church services from around the Mission were breaking up to come and see what was going on.

Within half an hour, dozens of people were standing in small groups near the edge of the water, and at the top of the dam. We still did not know what happened information was still scanty as to what actually transpired or who was involved.

We soon learned that two or three boys were involved, two of them were local high school guys. These both survived. The third among them was a University student on holiday at her sister's place. He was a visitor in Chikankata. Apparently he went under the water because he was unable to swim. This is the account of that fateful day and the days that followed.

Earlier that morning, the sister spoke with the University student, finding him awake, and greeted him.

"Good morning my brother, Happy Good Friday." She called outside his bedroom. Hers was a two bedroom house. He was occupying one of those rooms which would normally be vacant when schools were open. The brother would stay at Chikankata for a few more days while schools remained closed for the Easter break.

"Halo, I am fine, I slept well," He said, "Thanks, I will come out when I am ready."

"We will be getting ready for church in a short while, please get ready too. You can join us." She invited.

"I am not sure I want to go to church," He replied, "I have not made up my mind."

"It is customary at this time of year that we share in activities signifying the first Passover. All who are in the Mission are invited and it is very interesting." She persuaded him. 

He did not respond.

An hour later she got ready and invited him to church one more time. He turned down the invitation to go to church. 

His friends came to his place and invited him to the dam instead. He agreed.

There was a dug-out canoe at the dam. It was far from perfect. Although it could hold weights only the experienced and able to swim were safe to go on the boat. It was very risky for anyone to attempt sitting on the boat for a long time because of the danger of losing one's balance on the wavy water of the dam.

Although it appears calm at many times, the dam can develop waves when the winds are strong.

The young man did not know that or chose to ignore those dangers. Two of the three boys jumped on the boat and rowed a hundred yards towards the middle of the dam. While church services were going on, the boys rowed on the dangerous water of the dam without much thought as to what would happen if the boat capsized or if one of them fell into the water.

The dam is said to have three sections. The first is the shallow edges running about 20 yards wide or so from the sides of the dam. Most of the sides of the dam would have the shallow edge except the section near the water pump which is said to be very deep indeed. If you stand on the top of the dam you can see the signs of depth on that section of the dam, it appears very deep blue and almost always calm.

The third section is said to consist of parts of the central parts of the dam where the original stream runs. The river that created the dam is said to divide into two branches. Each of those is a fast moving current from which an object or person falling there cannot help themselves. It is very deep and dangerous in those sections.

It is quite likely that on that fateful Good Friday morning, the boys were playing where the water was deep and the currents strong and swift. What happened was narrated by the third boy who stood at the top of the hill overlooking the dam, from the dam wall.

"I saw the boat dancing from side to side and the student trying to balance on the boat where he was standing up. In a moment, he seemed to make it, to balance. The next moment he was tipped over as the entire boat went upside down. The other boy started to swim to the side of the dam. The student was not able to swim. He went under, came up once, throwing his hands in the air and water in total desperation. He went under a second time before finally appearing to surface but disappearing for the very last time I saw him."

"All this happened so quickly; all shouts for help were too late or too weak to help him."

The capsized boat bobbed up and sat on the water again, without its occupants.

By this time an hour had expired. The groups of men in a new boat went further to the point said to be where the student drowned. There were no signs of life there apart from the waves that moved about the water as usual.

The sister was standing at the edge of the water, surrounded by a group of close friends who held their hands in disbelief. "Only an hour ago he was with us, and now he is gone. Forever." Someone said.

For two long hours the groups moved about hoping for a miracle. They went in and came out, and still no sign of the student.

Finally someone advised the sister to go home and wait there. Sooner or later, perhaps days later, the body would shore up. That is when it dawned that the young man was prematurely gone, on Good Friday. The commemoration of Easter turned into a tragedy that would live with us forever. The sister loved the LORD very much. She was heart broken, at losing a young brother in such a way. Her hopes for his salvation were dashed when instead she chose on this special day, to look away and instead row a dug-out canoe over dangerous waters of the dam at Chikankata.

The sister happened to be my daughter, a very special spiritual daughter to me. This incident was not going to be forgotten, ever. Although it is hard to take lessons from your own loved ones, we all had lessons to learn about the frailty of this life and the word that says, we do not know when we shall face the LORD. At any moment, something can create a situation where we lose our lives. The Bible says, "And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment:it" Hebrews 9:27

Sunday morning came and went, there was no sign of the body of the student who drowned in the dam. On the morning of the seventh day a woman walking near the edge of the dam spotted the body. Thinking it was perhaps an object of interest he drew near before realizing it was the body of a dead person. Seven days.

I saw my daughter many times during that period of seven days from the hour of the young student's drowning in the dam. She was pieces of flesh and bones, broken. I had no words with which to comfort her. I dared not open my mouth, whether in comforting or in advising; I simply spoke to her with my eyes, that I loved her very much and cared for her and for the loss she felt. But since I knew not her experience and since I could not enter into her inner sorrows, I waited until her LORD would call her out and speak first.

Those are moments when all we want to say is, Hold me while I cry.

The body that lay on the mortuary floor was twisted and swollen beyond belief. The grief of my daughter settled in her heart that day. I know that because it settled in mine. How can we change so much? Seven days! Life, oh life, how fickle; how fragile and oh, how tender. While believers celebrate the life in the free gift given through the blood of the lamb, death celebrates the victory over those who reject the gift, in those mangled lives and twisted forms. And still greater the woes in eternal separation in hell where neither day nor night separates the victim from the suffering and anguish.

The last time I went hunting

   My brother saved me from a rabid dog. In retrospect, I should say, an angel of the LORD, working through my brother saved me from certain death at the teeth of a rabid dog.

   I have never been a good hunter. I tried. I could never aim straight for a clear target using catapults. I tried. I saw very few birds or rabbits in all the times I tried hunting. I did not give up easily. I tried!

   On one occasion I followed my big brother who was a good hunter. We carried our catapults and stones as we went into the bush looking for small birds and animals to bring home for food. My brother went out more often than I did. He was more successful. His aims were good on target. He brought down small  and large birds and often brought down birds in flight! He could estimate the path and aim his stone for a kill.

   For me, hunting was a necessary evil, to bring food home and feed family! For him, I think it was more than that; he enjoyed it. I may be exaggerating by saying it was probably a hobby too, but I believe so. It was hard and dangerous work to me, it was not quite so to him.

   He communicated far better with the hunting dogs and commanded their respect more than I could ever dream of doing. I believe the dogs laughed at me and at my attempts to hunt with them. If I tried to take the dogs out to hunt they spent their time playing with me and just sticking around my perimeter! If my brother took them out they searched the bush and brought important information about the animals he wanted and told him where to go. They seemed to understand each other better than with me.

   On this occasion I was walking along a path deep in the bush when I stumbled across a dog. My brother was twenty feet or so away. I gave a shout that there was a dog a few feet from where I stood. He rushed to my side and saw that the dog was getting up and  getting ready to pounce on me.

   There was no time to prepare a catapult stone and I was too close to the dog.

   "He is mad, he is mad, he has rabies..." my brother was crying out to me as he came crushing through the bushes and threw me to one side, squarely faced the dog.

    It was a big dog but not as large as the ones they feed well. This was an ordinary African dog. My brother was face to face with the rabid dog. As the dog prepared to pounce on him, he went for the open jaws. In one motion I can not adequately describe, he secured his hands, left and right within the two jaws of the mad creature, upper and lower jaws. My brother began to tear the animal apart. He wrestled it to the ground and held it with all strength and tore the jaw bones at the base of the mouth in the process. 

   When he let go, the dog was dying and in greater pain than the rabies in its brain cells. He finished it with a stick. I was watching, my catapults dangling on one arm and mouth wide.

   From there I have no recollection of what he did or did not do. I was far too scared by what had happened. 

   

   I know he killed and threw away the dog and it was very large in my eyes. I also know that was the last time I ever took catapults to go hunting in the forest.

Almost swallowed

I was almost killed by a snake that tried to swallow me.

In a year's time or two, I would start schooling. Meanwhile I stayed home with mom. The school teacher's house in which we lived was located close to bushes. The pit latrine was even closer to the bushes. Not surprisingly, a snake came looking for food, and found me sitting on the pit in the latrine, doing my thing to relieve myself. It started preparing me for swallowing, without killing me first.

Mother was in the house, dressing up after a bath. The irony is that she used the same place where in a few minutes I would be in mortal danger.

It was just after tea break in the morning in 1963. Classes were going on and my father was teaching mathematics to a class of grade 7. Mother was in her bedroom, putting on her light-blue petticoat when my scream reached her. (She kept the petticoat as a reminder for many years.)

Upon realizing there was a snake rubbing against my left foot, a very large snake in my eyes, I stood up from my squatting position, pulling-in all the air I could master in my lungs, I gave out the loudest and longest scream I could give, and waited. I could not move because the snake was coiled up at the entrance into the latrine.

Fearing even to breathe, I stood there in total terror as I watched and waited. My pants were under the belly of the snake and I was totally helpless.

My mother came to the latrine and immediately saw the snake, threw the dress she was holding down and raced 300 yards to the classrooms where my father was standing in front of the class of forty-something, boys and girls. She banged the door and fell to the ground in front of the class, saying, "The child, a snake, the toilet!"

My father did not wait to be given more details. The entire class of forty something students poured out of the classroom racing for the house and for the toilet. The entire school followed, some carrying stones, others sticks and still others too afraid to fight just following to see the action.

The moments of waiting became an eternity for me. The snake was moving upwards, and it was drawing itself inside the cramped space of the toilet. I stood still, unable to do a thing.

The entrance into the toilet was facing away from the main house, placed nearly thirty feet away. The walls of the latrine rose up to the height of a very tall man. The entrance was designed in such a way that there was an extra curvature and an extension of the wall leading out. The extended wall was shorter than the rest of the building. It was possible to come and stand at the entrance and look inside, and see a person standing up because of the shorter wall.

My father rushed in and tossed his hand, grabbed me by the shoulder and air-lifted me out of the latrine over the shorter wall. In a few moments I was standing outside in the hands of some strangers - boys who came to fight.

Assured of my safety, my father and the boys returned to the main task of killing the snake. In minutes the snake had moved out of the small building attempting to reach a thick bush. Sticks as thick as the snake itself were falling on its head. Stones were crashing into it from all sides. It stopped and coiled, and eventually stopped and died. Later I learnt that a python is not at all easy to kill. Even if it dies the heart goes on beating long afterwards. Whether true or not, you learn many things about strange animals like the python than nearly killed and ate me.

My mother who was holding her head with both hands, crying all the while, received me in her hands and took me inside the house.

I came out later to look at my adversary. I had never seen such a big snake; I was too young anyway. All the snakes I ever saw were tiny and cowardly. They mostly ran away or tried to scare people like the cobra. Others were green grass snakes that too ran away if you found them stealing eggs from chickens.

Many boys in the school were alarmed at the size of the snake that nearly killed me. Fortunately, as my father later said to us, it was still young; a full grown python would have used a different approach to deal with its prey. It would have killed me first. I was told by others I would have had no chance if I had met that same snake outside the latrine, if it had used its natural means of catching prey. It would kill me by suffocation first.

The snake was skinned; its skin was claimed by one of the big boys who killed it, saying it had medicinal value for which it is priceless to him. We asked him to leave it fully displayed for all to see, until evening.

If it was in the day of Facebook we would have posted pictures of the snake... and perhaps, the boy!

Do ghosts exist?

The question surrounding the existence of ghosts is as old as curiosity itself. At a certain point in my life I became extremely fascinated by the possibility of their existence. First, there was the case of my big sister who "saw" ghosts, then, the case of my young brother who had strange sensations and finally, the matter of my cousin-sister Elinah, a witch-doctor.

Other people who seek an answer to this strange question do so for reasons I may not be able to provide in this short article. Mine was a pressing desire to understand a dimension of life and of our existence that remained in the shadows, undocumented. Our family seemed to criss-cross ghost experiences! I wanted to be able to stand in front of other people and speak about ghosts in the same way as we speak about worms - unfettered by the unknown, unimpeded by the strange phenomenon surrounding occurrences of ghosts.

Why should the common man not talk about such interesting creatures if they truly exist? Why did they remain in the shadows if indeed they existed. Why were ghosts in our culture almost always related in terms of the haunted places? These and many other questions should occupy the common man whose only true desire is to live and be bothered with nothing more.

SjambokMy sister Ellie indeed 'saw' ghosts. Every time they approached our home she would rise up as one in a trance and begin to chase them. My father learned to arm her with a sjambok. With it she ran around the house, chasing invisible beings while saying "go away from here," and lashing out with the weapon in her hand. This happened mostly in day time. She just got up and said, "Dad, those people are coming." Dad knew the invisible beings were coming.

Ellie heard them, she sensed them when they were still afar off. She got up and started to chase them away.

As soon as the beings left she too calmed down and returned to her normal senses. I never could understand. I watched her do this over many years growing up at Hakwambwa Primary School. 

My sister died a few months before my wedding, in 1988. I was at her bedside when she breathed her last. She knew I loved her dearly. I know she loved me too. Her conversion took place in Chingola nearly one year before her death. This is how it happened.

In those days I was praying for her salvation. I went to visit her in her house in Chingola. I found her sickly and her two little babies with her - Mwelwa and Fridah. I stayed for a week in all. On the day of my arrival she gave me a room to use. I put down my weapon - the Bible - and anointed the house and the room where I would spend my days. I always did that because different houses are dedicated to different gods other than the Living God of Abraham.

On the first night I could not sleep. I wondered what the problem might be. So, I knelt down in earnest prayer to the Living God and pleaded the blood of Jesus for an answer. The LORD heard my prayer and answered. He showed me that the house was filled with enemy spirits. I saw in my dream that the very room where I was sleeping was a base of operations. I woke up after the vision. The time was just after 2 AM.

I knocked on Ellie's bedroom and asked her to the sitting room where I opened the scripture and explained the cross of Jesus and the new life found in Jesus. I explained that the enemy had set up camp in her house and I intended to stand on her side to fight them out. She agreed. She was terrified at first, but after my assurances that everything would be alright she calmed down. I prayed for her and laid my hands upon her head in prayer.

I asked her to bring every herb, concoction, root, or paraphernalia any witch-doctor or healer gave her. She brought everything and filled the floor of the room in which I had spread my bed. I received everything in the name of the LORD Jesus. I asked her to acknowledge her wrong doing to the LORD God of Abraham. She did asking for forgiveness.

I gave her a basin of tap water to wash her hands while she asked the LORD to cleanse her hands, feet, ears, eyes and heart. By 3:30 AM she was ready to return to her room. I prayed and went to sleep too. 

In a dream I received confirmation that the battle was thoroughly won. I thanked the LORD.

I saw her in the morning before she went for work. She was looking better than the day before, happier and refreshed. Still more, I wondered what she thought about our night activity. I did not ask her. I encouraged her to go to a local Pentecostal Assemblies church which then was led by a man of God I knew personally. She said she would try.

I left Chingola after a week of intense prayer in her home. I also assured her that she would be on my prayer list all of the days I was away in Lusaka. 

I never asked her what she did with her faith in God. I knew that when it happened, whatever the LORD did in her life, she would reach out to me as a valued brother, friend, and helper who stood with her during the most difficult times of her life.

Monday, March 9, 1987, I reported for work as usual at 7:30 AM. I was a lecturer at Evelyn Hone College. Just as I was leaving the staff room for the laboratory I received a call redirected from the departmental switchboard. This was a long distance call, I was told.

"Halo, this is MacDonald." I responded.

The voice of my sister on the other side was alarming to me.

"Mac, I hope I can talk to you for a moment." She inquired, "Are you in a place you can take my call or should I call you later?"

"No, no, I am in a good place," I said, putting down the papers and keys I was holding in my hand. I pulled a chair and prepared myself for a bombshell.

"I have just come out of the bathroom, Mac, and I am so overwhelmed with what I experienced in there." She said excitedly, sounding as though she would begin crying.

"What happened, tell me everything." I encouraged her.

"As I lay back in the warm water of the bath something like a cloud descended upon me. I entered it involuntarily like someone traveling through a place. I was in the cloud no sooner. I saw many beautiful sights and heard music never sang on earth. I heard so much wonderful sounds in my ears. While I was in there I started to break apart with the pain of joy. I could not contain the joy in my body. When that happened the cloud began to draw back and I was alone in the bath room." She cried. I did not know what to do other than urge her to continue to the end because I was still listening and interested in what she was telling me.

"Then, suddenly, again, the cloud descended on me and I was in the cloud. In there I lost myself completely. I felt like a new person altogether. So much peace, so much joy, so much music, so much happiness!" She continued to sob.

"I did not want to leave the place of so much happiness. But the cloud began slowly to draw away again." Then she stopped and cried loudly so that I could hear her attempts to control herself.

"Here I am now and I am telling you this. If it happened two times I would have found it hard to explain what happened. But for the third time, while my eyes were wide open and I could feel myself, the cloud descended on me in my bathroom. This time I heard a voice saying to me, 'I love you.'" She was totally out of control now. She was crying loudly at this point.

Now that I am here and it happened less than an hour ago, I know what I am telling you is the truth and I remember every detail as I have told you."

"I am listening," I assured her, "and I will remember every detail you told me."

"What does it mean Mac, will I live? Am I dying?" She inquired.

"No, you are not dying; you are not dying Ellie. That was the LORD God of Abraham showing you what awaits you in heaven. You just visited your future home in heaven. Remember what the Bible says, "God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away" Rev 21:4.

I spoke to my sister for longer than thirty minutes on that day. Never before, nor ever again did I have a chance such as that to speak to my dear sister Ellie on the phone.

Ellie was a guardian angel to us, she saw the invisible. She warned the family of them and fought them. She was equipped with eyes to see through the mist, and to hear through the waves of the air. Did she see ghosts? Do ghosts exist?

This brings me to the case of my young brother Leonard. He was my best friend. Leonard knew I loved him very dearly. Although I was his elder brother we grew up together, sharing spaces and facilities in home. Our parents cared for us equally and saw us up to the time we were in high school where this story began to happen.

One day Leonard was sitting in a chair by the table. He said, "Dad, someone is blowing cold air at my leg." Was my brother suffering from malaria? What was it?

Air was coming into the house, it was hard to understand a person saying 'someone' was blowing air at their legs. But my brother insisted, "Dad, the air is increasing, please stop them." Then I knew we were facing something invisible. Ellie was long gone from home, she lived alone with her friends in a town far from home.

Without Ellie we were like a lost ship, blown with the wind, unprotected and unsecured.

Then my brother said, "Dad, I am feeling very cold, please give me a blanket." One blanket, then two and finally three. He was still feeling cold. The night air was warm, how could anyone feel cold on a night like this? It had to be something else, someone invisible to the eyes.

I never understood how Leonard was healed of this all the time we lived together. From time to time the invisible air blower would be at it again. From time to time Leonard felt unnaturally cold when the air in the room was actually very warm. Was it ghosts? Do ghosts exist? Do they do tings like this?

My sister Elinah rarely visited anyone. She was a witch-doctor. Her life was guided by spirits; she only went where she was directed to go. So, it gave me the greatest pleasure that one day she came to our home to visit. 

To many people Elinah was a BIG person who did marvelous things and dealt in important matters of life and death. And indeed that was so. She was a true witch-doctor who worked by the spirit. However she was home with us. This gave her a certain sense of love and protection she lacked elsewhere.

I was young and impressionable and I did not have a personal faith in the LORD Jesus. That is the phase of this encounter with her. I loved Elinah very much and she knew it. She loved me too very much and I knew it. When we met we stayed together. We looked out for each other. I looked out for Elinah and she did the same for me. I had not met her husband although I saw him in pictures. I was yet to meet their two children.

So many things had happened and I was grown up, so I could ask her to explain the mysteries to me. 

One day, while speaking with her, I turned to her and asked Elinah, "Do ghosts exist? Have you ever seen a ghost."

To say she turned white is not an accurate statement. But she changed momentarily. I cannot explain what happened to my sister, the witch-doctor. She was avoiding eye contact with me. This was entirely unusual.

I tried again, "Elinah, can you tell me if ghosts exist or if you have seen one? What do ghost look like?"

Finally, I got a glimpse of her eyes. I was not speaking to my sister! I was speaking to a stranger! I knew I was on shaky ground. 

She never said a word about ghosts.

Later, when Elinah went to the market, I narrated my failed conversation about ghosts to my mother. My mother had many stories of ghosts, none of them was first hand, and failed my validity test for a real ghost story. Well, when Elinah returned from the market she called me to the side and lovingly told me she heard me speaking to my mother about our earlier conversation. I never opened the subject with Elinah again. Until the day she died she loved and respected me and feared my God greatly and I in trun loved my sister deeply and prayed for her salvation and release from satanic bondage of witch-craft.

Do ghosts exist? Yes they do. They are not quite what people think they are. For instance, they are not shadows or shells of people who died. Furthermore, there are no good ghosts. Ghosts are actually demons, fallen angels who followed Lucifer in the fall out of Heaven, of which the LORD Jesus speaks in Luke 10:18, "And he said unto them, I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven."

Demons do not have physical or earthly bodies and they desire to have bodies. My sister Elinah would have told me to be careful what I ask. In the last days of her life she tried to turn to the LORD. To the extent that she pleaded for his forgiveness my sister probably received God's forgiveness but the enemy does not forgive and it is likely she lost everything in the process and died of a broken heart. Her husband died first, her two children died in a short space of time one after the other. She lost her property and returned to her village a broken woman with nothing in her hands. He is a bad devil. Jesus is our good God.

Do ghosts exist? They do; they are demons and they are already angry, out to kill, steal, and destroy. Jesus has come that we may have life and have it in all fullness" John 10:10.

Days my family never forgot

Two of the most vivid memories buried in my childhood relate to the loss of siblings. I was very young when a baby boy born to my mother died a few days after delivery, and I was ten when my young brother was abducted. I intend to exhume them!

Alvin, was missing. No one knew his whereabouts.

The day was warm and the sky blue with a streak of gray in the foreground. Birds were flying overhead as they sought new pastures for more food, or as they went from forest to watering holes. There was a dam near the school, a short walking distance.

On many occasions my friends and I walked that distance for fishing. Although the dam was not far we were forbidden from staying too long in is waters, or late in the evenings there. There were rumors about ilomba being raised in the dam by some unscrupulous witch or wizard. Wizardry was not uncommon although no one could point out a single practicing witch or wizard.

Alvin was born in 1962. At four, he was a very handsome boy and attractive. We fondly called him boogy cheeks. He had the most disarming smile and inviting eyes. They oozed love. Both family and strangers found him attractive. It was not uncommon for a passer-by to ask whose son he was. By today's standards he would easily win a village contest for the most adorable child. Alvin was already at the point of getting ready to start schooling.

Boys and girls played together in the village yard. Those from teachers' homes played together in the school yard, often joined by kids from the local village, old enough, who strayed far enough away from their parents to join them. They picnicked together and played family games for as long as they could. That usually lasted only a couple of hours at the most, as one mother was bound to come looking for their baby.

Six or seven was not considered a baby. At that age some kids went out to look after goats or to fetch the cows. They were old enough by village standards for a girl to accompany mother to fetch relish from the fields.

My father was a teacher at Hakwambwa Primary School from 1965 to 1970. During one of those years it happened that while he was busy teaching in class, his child disappeared.

Mother was the first to notice. She was alert and knew instantly that something drastic had happened.

It was broad daylight and all the kids were playing together on the school playgrounds. Alvin was with them. But then, he was gone. Everyone asked said they did not know what happened to him or where he might have gone.

At ten, I saw everything going on and heard many things that were said and the people who did or said them. Although it is many decades ago, memories of Alvin triggered a flash back as though it happened yesterday. Something else that happened more recently brought these memories to me.

In 1991 my young family lived in Helen Kaunda compound, Lusaka when our daughter, aged two and a half, went missing. It was late afternoon as she played with friends outside the fence to our rented house. The mother was in the house and I was working on the car, near there. My wife came to me with the look of fear and despondency I never saw before. "She is missing! Rosah is gone!" She cried, and dropped into my hands.

"Where was she? Who was with her? What happened? ... " a stream of questions rushed all over me like a swarm of ants, crowding my mind with fear and dread. How could this happen to us? Our daughter! I was paralyzed in my heart and totally unable to think as we all rushed inside the house. We paused in front of the cupboard inside the house. Nothing meant a thing to me. Everything was hopeless.

I do not know who prayed, my wife or I. It is more likely she prayed because she has always been more spiritual than I. Immediately after that we went outside and split into two directions searching and calling at the same time, "Rosah, Rosah ..." as we went. We met on the other side of a narrow stretch of this sprawling compound. Houses were so close to each other and cramped together so that it was impossible to tell where she might be hidden. We already concluded that she was abducted.

My nightmarish image was that she had a cotton swab placed in her mouth and put to sleep with formalin or something terrible like that. At the same time there was hope that Rosah would be found if only we could have more time of daylight. As it was, the sun was going down rapidly and before long it would be too dark and too late. When we met on the other side of the troubled island of houses I doubt my wife could recognize me, neither could I. We were like rugs of cloth, hanging on thin threads of hope of finding Rosah.

What would happen if we did not find her? What would we do? Where would we go?

Later, when reflecting on that situation my mind went back to the dark days my parents experienced. On day one, with only half a day to search, Alvin he was not found. Evidently, the boy was not merely sleeping in a certain place in the house, he was not in the school playground at all.

My father sent a young man named Jonah, a cousin of mine, to inform the headman who rushed to our house immediately on receiving the news.

Another boy took a bicycle and started off on a one day journey to Nadongo to inform my Uncle, mother's brother. Another message was sent to my father's brother in another village a short distance from my Uncle's village.

Village Criers were sent out into the outlying villages loudly announcing as they went, "The headmaster's son is missing, His name is Alvin. If you find him please bring him home."

Notices were posted at cross-roads for any information  that might lead to the finding of Alvin. The notice read: Head teacher's boy missing. Answers to name, Alvin. Please take him home. That first day ended, chickens returned to their huts and the household too.

We had three dogs who barked throughout the night. When they seemed to calm down, one of them would spring up and start over, only to be joined by the others. They gave themselves no rest, as though they understood what was going on or the stakes. I did not really sleep. I tried closing my eyes but my mind would not shut down or rest. I kept looking through the window on the wall of our bedroom as if for a sign that Alvin was safe wherever he was.


There were three big boys in the home; two of them were on errands to far away places. I wondered what they would have said about the missing brother. Would they say he was taken by a wild animal and eaten? Would they say perhaps, Alvin was taken by a snake and swallowed alive, and whole? What would they say? I would have to wait until they came, they knew better how to explain things like this.

I saw my mother. I heard her sobbing and crying throughout the night. She never slept. The night prevented further searches for the missing boy. I did not hear my father's voice, neither did I actually see him. I knew he was in the house all the time, throughout the night. They were together. What was he doing? What was he thinking? What was he planning to do?

The second day was a Saturday. My Uncle and his companions traveled from Nadongo on foot, by night, arriving just after noon on the second day. The group of women, mostly of mother's age, arrived much later in the evening. Although they were tired from walked through hills and valleys they were fully alert and engaged with the situation at hand. The whole community took part in the search for Alvin.

The entire school was put on unofficial break; no one could sit in class to teach or learn. While every teacher and student placed their minds on the issue at hand. The villagers came to my father's house offering their condolences and some offering their advice.


My Uncle was visibly angry. When he arrived he was heard throughout the village shouting his name and threatening death to the person responsible for the disappearance of the boy. "Ndime Hacinzi, naa tamubazi bakali, kono mulababona." (ChiTonga, literary translated: I am so and so (series of personal names), if you do not know angry people, you will know them this time." For all the time I saw him he was standing and pacing up and down around the house, like a mad man. His eyes were red and and threatening and his face painted in utter warfare. The stick he carried in one hand appeared larger than life.

I knew my Uncle from previous times we visited in their home in Nadongo. He was a kind man and caring too. I loved him very much. The other time he came to our house and spent the best part of a month. He was always jovial and sat down to drink his beer under the tree without anyone giving him any problem. He was a happy man. His wife and children were back in their village. He loved his sister and cared for her and her children. I sat down to discuss different matters with my Uncle. Never once did I feel threatened by his appearance or actions.

This time I was looking at a different man. I realized I did not know my Uncle. He suddenly became the big, powerful creature, the picture of a protector gone wild, one who will not be pacified, one who will do anything for his children and his sister's children. I felt safe and secure under this cover of protection.

People kept coming to our house and leaving afterwards. They came to find out what happened. They traveled from far and near, wherever the news of the missing boy reached.

A teacher from Keemba primary school came to see my father. He told him about another instance of a missing boy earlier in the history of another school near Hakwamba. The end of that boy was as mysterious as the day he went missing. Although his clothes were later recovered his body was never found. My father learnt that it was not the first time this was happening in the area. That only intensified his and mother's fears.

In the afternoon of Saturday, all the boys were instructed to go out into the villages along paths Alvin might have followed and also to the dam, looking out for any signs of his presence or clothing there. We combed the area and later returned in our twos as we went out with no good report.

My Uncle and my dad's brother left that same evening shortly after the women from Nadongo arrived, to find a witch-doctor. The witch-doctor would reveal the boy's whereabouts. That was certain to happen, they believed.

They returned when it was already very dark in the night and said nothing to anyone. They were quiet for the rest of the night as if they had sworn to a pact of secrecy. The shouting and ranting that went on when they arrived stopped. They were speaking in low tones and evidently plotting some big strategies for finding Alvin.

To be continued... what happened to Alvin, what happened to Rosah? Would you like to know?