Teaching with Delight in the Land of Hope By Betty Tope
Wives
of foreign evangelists, of necessity, play an important part in the teaching program of the newly established congregation.
All preconceived ideas of ideal age groups, classrooms and teaching materials are soon forgotten. Many of us have taught classes
while tending our infants in baby buggies or high chairs. The age of the children in one class may range from a few months
to 12 or 14 years of age. I handled that by teaching the lesson to the whole class using flannel material, sand box, shoe-box
dioramas or other means. Then the younger children were given story-related pictures to color while the older ones filled
in question sheets I had made up to reinforce the lesson. It worked well for me.
Suitable class material is often non-existent. Material brought from overseas may be inappropriate
for use in the foreign country, both because of the language problem and because of cultural differences. For example, books
on courtship and dating are of no use in a culture that frowns on dating and practices arranged marriages. Material full of
Americanisms is not good to use, either. We must remember we are trying to convert people to Christianity, not American ways
and customs. Teaching material may be too costly to buy anyway. Flannel material may be made out of pieces of felt and used
dryer sheets, if you live where you can use a clothes dryer. A variety of visuals can be made from cardboard toilet rolls
and paper towel inserts. If you want to send something useful to these teachers, construction paper is always welcome. We
learned to make visuals from pictures from magazines, adverts and food boxes. Ideas are all around you once you get used to
looking for them. Backing the pictures with construction paper not only increases the visual appeal, but it makes them more
durable, too. The best lessons are those made up by the teacher to fit the need of her students. (And isn’t that the
best lesson anywhere?)
Classes have been taught in bedrooms
and kitchens of our homes, while the adults studied in the living room. We have used store rooms in rented buildings, verandahs,
the shade of trees and even the interior of automobiles. One class our teenage-daughter Susan taught met in the courtyard
of an Indian family with the distractions of wandering neighborhood dogs, crowing roosters and the sounds of the neighbor
man throwing up after a drunken spree the night before.
One must
be adaptable, creative and possess a sense of humor. Things rarely go as planned. If you are teaching outside, using a flannel
board, a gust of wind may blow your whole teaching plan away. On one occasion we were holding classes in a rather rural area.
At that time Mt. Edgecombe was a tiny settlement for the sugar plantation workers. Our students came from the poorest of the
poor and consisted of Asians as well as Africans. We met outdoors next to a Hindu temple where sacrifices were left under
the palm trees for their gods and goddesses. Talk about ready-made visuals! Susan and I worked all one evening making name
tags to put on the children’s shirts and dresses so we could identify the children. After we started writing down the
unfamiliar names, we suddenly realized the process would take the whole class period and besides, most of the children had
no clothing to pin the tags to. Another brilliant idea come to nought!
But, Oh
the joy on those eager young faces as they would come to class ready to soak up God’s word like little sponges. What
a privilege to teach a class full of children who want to be there!
A Visit to Mt.
Edgecombe
Red-brick
houses nestled there
In the
sea-salt laden air Dirt track winding through
the cane Swollen clouds that promise
rain Chickens squawking Vendors hawking Children
playing Old men praying Women busy with their
choresWashing clothes and sweeping floors Wide eyes staring after us Wary,
cautious and suspicious
Idol houses standing there Mocking
us in our despair
Betty Tope
The Multi-Cultural Cuisine
Of South
Africa
by Betty Tope
One thing that has served me well during our years of living overseas has been my enthusiasm
for trying foods of different cultures. I credit my mother for that. She had a rule in our house that my sister and I had
to take one bite of everything on the table. Consequently, we learned to eat many different kinds of meats and vegetables,
including venison, rabbit, pheasant, horse meat (right after WWII), rutabagas, parsnips, various kinds of squashes, beets
and turnips. However, though I learned to eat it, I never did learn to like liver. Upon our arrival in Johannesburg South Africa in November of 1957, there were many new foods for me
to discover. An Asian Indian man came around once a week with his vegetable truck and we housewives would make our weekly
purchases of fresh fruits and vegetables from him. In the beginning, I would only buy those I was familiar with, but this
man was a very clever businessman. He would give us a bonsella (a free gift) each week in the form of a paw paw,
mango, avocado, litchi or some other fruit I knew little about. In time, we came to love all these fruits, too, and would
purchase them from him. In
the early days before super markets, shopping was rather time consuming as you went to the green grocers for all your fresh
fruits and vegetables, the meat market, the dairy, and the grocer for staples. You could always buy bread at the local café.
The Farmer’s Market in downtown Johannesburg
was an exciting experience, too, as you could buy everything from garden produce to raw honey or fresh fish. The meat market
carried beef, pork and lamb but the cuts were different to those I was used to buying in the United States. They also sent an African man around on a bicycle each week to take
orders from their customers. He carried a little book with him wherein the customer could write her order. I would read all
my neighbors’ orders to get ideas for my own meals. It was very helpful! The butchery itself had carcasses of sheep
and pigs hanging in the window, sawdust on the floor and flies buzzing around, so I really appreciated the service of being
able to order from my home and having the meat delivered. Visiting the butcher in person was a real turnoff! Chicken was
expensive and most people would only buy it for a special occasion like Christmas. As time went along, chicken farms sprang
up and the cost of chicken went down. However, for a period of time they were feeding the hens fish meal and they tasted like
fish. Ugh! Lamb was the meat of choice and an honored guest would be served leg of lamb, roasted potatoes and rice, pumpkin
and green beans. We came to love it! When I was growing up we usually ate meat only four times a week for economic reasons.
The meat in South Africa was so cheap by comparison
that we often ate it three times a day. Alas, times have changed there, too.
South African pumpkins are white skinned with orange flesh and are generally served
as a vegetable. I have never met anyone who baked pies with them.
English South Africans tended to cook differently from Afrikaans South Africans and
so did the Greeks, Portuguese and Jewish South Africans. However, rice was a staple in the diet of everyone. When we first
arrived in the country, it was necessary to pick through the rice before cooking it to remove the stones, pieces of hemp,
etc. Then we would rinse it with water to flush out the debris too tiny to pick out. One day I was visiting another American
family as the wife was preparing to cook oatmeal. When she discovered the oats were wormy, I asked her if she was going to
pick those out, too. I was very relieved when she laughed and told me no, she would cook it for the dogs. It was a happy day
when Tastic rice arrived on the market and we no longer had to clean our rice.
The African tribes ate more corn in the form of a stiff porridge called mealie meal
pap (corn meal) or phutu. Many people of all races eat phutu for breakfast with milk and sugar. For any other meal it is cooked
stiffer and eaten with the hands. South Africans are fond of braais (cook outs), where a typical meal would consist of boerewors
(farmers’ sausage made of lamb & beef), or lamb chops or sosaties (chicken or beef kebabs) grilled and served with
stiff phutu and a tomato and onion gravy. It is all delicious!
We spent the day with an Afrikaans family one Sunday who served cold meats and salads
for lunch. That night we had all the leftovers as sandwiches. I was surprised to discover how good leftover cold creamed corn,
beet salad, etc. is on a sandwich. One of our dear English-speaking friends, with whom we stayed many, many times, was fond
of serving the evening meal’s spaghetti for breakfast the next morning. It, too, was surprisingly tasty. The Asian
Indians curry everything including their vegetables and salads. We came to love their curries and breyanis, the sojees (semolina
pudding) and googalas (Indian donuts). The Indian community is fond of holding various Thanksgivings at their homes wherein
they invite friends, neighbors, brethren and relatives. These functions provide wonderful opportunities for preaching the
gospel to people who would not think of attending a regular worship service. Huge tent structures are erected alongside the
house over the driveway or the tiny yard. Trestle tables are covered with butcher paper and the curries, dahl and salad are
served on paper plates. Though spoons are usually provided for Westerners like us, I have been known to eat with my hand like
everyone else when the spoon was not forthcoming. That, of course, caused many amused stares among the other guests.
My most memorable experience was when we were served breyani on a banana leaf . . . we felt truly honored! One of my most unusual experiences
occurred after a ladies’ Bible class. I didn’t know these women very well at that time, and the usual custom was
to serve the guests in the parlor, while the people of the house stayed in the kitchen. Consequently, my friend Judy and I
were alone in the parlor and enjoying a delicious sandwich of grated cheese on whole wheat bread when Judy asked me if my
sandwich tasted like Vicks. I took another bite and realized I could taste Vicks. That cooled my enthusiasm
for my sandwich somewhat as I tried to envision how the Vicks got on the sandwich. Not a pleasant thought! We still laugh
about our Vicks sandwiches. My
worst experience was being invited to eat lunch after a worship service in a brother’s home. As usual, Gene and I were
eating alone. We were dismayed when the man of the house left on some errand and left us alone to enjoy his wife’s hospitality.
The meal was not the best, but we valiantly tried to do justice to it so as not to offend our hostess. The dessert was a dish
of red paw paw, which should have been delicious. However, I soon discovered a worm in mine, which I discreetly spooned out
and set on the table. The worm promptly started crawling away. I then discovered the bottom of the dish was full of these
little white worms. I’m sure our hostess would have been mortified to learn of it, and I didn’t have the heart
to tell her. One
of my happier experiences was when one of our dear Zulu sisters invited the women of the church to her house in the African
township outside Richards Bay. At the time Lindiwe was living in a one room dwelling with her seven children.
There was no way we could all fit in her home, so she set up a table under the trees and borrowed chairs from her neighbors.
We sisters spent one of the most pleasant mornings I have ever spent anywhere. She had made bread on top of a primus stove
(kerosene) and served us a wonderful lunch. I was humbled by her generosity and ingenuity. Where there is a will, God will
provide a way. Throughout
the country we were privileged to break bread with all races of people and share in their daily lives and culture, as well
as special occasions like weddings, funerals, teas, birthday parties, and other celebrations. South Africans are a very generous
and hospitable people and we are so thankful for the opportunities we have had to share our daily bread with them as well
as the gospel of Jesus Christ.
NATAL
Monkeys playing in the trees
Jasmine scents upon the breeze Pine trees swaying in the wind Sandy
running round the bend Verdant hills and waterfalls Paw paw trees and mousebird calls
That’s
what I like about Natal!
The ocean liner’s dazzling white The gentle rain all through
the night The sparkling sand and ocean’s blue The Tibouchina’s exotic hue The gently floating mysterious
mist Enveloping all with a silent kiss
That’s what I like about Natal!
The proud Zulus in native dress The white-clad Nannies off to
rest The Hindu with his friendly smile Begging, “Sit with me and chat a while. Sip my tea
and eat my curry. The night is young, so what’s the hurry?”
That’s what I like about Natal!
The English with his tie and “brolly” Van der Merwe
and good ol’ Solly Cricket fields and baseball bats Tennis courts and Sunday hats Rolling fields of sugar cane Safari suits and rain, rain, rain
That's what I like about Natal!
Betty Tope
 A note from Cindy:
I would like for you to put yourself in the picture
that I describe in this section. It won’t be difficult because if you are reading this, you likely
have a computer in your home, and electricity to use it. Anyone who has ever visited the Woodland church
of Christ here in Sumter, South Carolina knows that we have a small basement building. It’s not fancy
but it is fairly comfortable. We have carpet on the floor, pads on the benches, air conditioning in the
summer and heat in the winter. Oh! And there are flushing toilets, and sinks with running
water, and windows to keep out mosquitoes. When I was baptized in Ocoee, Florida, back in the 50’s,
we walked to a lake a few blocks away from the church building and where the baptisms took place. But now
most congregations have built in baptistries, some are even heated. Are you still with me? We live in
homes that are sturdy and protect us from dangers of weather extremes, and keep the creepy-crawly things outside. The
doors have locks to keep the bad guys out while we sleep. We have several sets of clothes, shoes, coats,
and comfortable beds and furniture, electricity, hot water and privacy for bathing, refrigerators to keep our food cold, and
freezers that allow us to buy more than just one day’s food. Oh! And treats like
ice cream! We have stoves and microwave ovens to prepare the food we were able to buy with the money from
our jobs. All of us live several miles from the church building but that’s not a problem because
all of us have our own cars and are able to get to services with very little difficulty. Not all of us
have air conditioning in our vehicles, and some of us have to baby our cars to keep them running, but we can drive to services,
grocery stores, doctor’s appointments, or get a ride from another member of the congregation. Did
I mention that those stores are brightly lit, have heat and air conditioning, and we feel safe inside them? I
could go on for a good while and most of you would be able to identify with me, counting the blessings we have where we live.
Let’s take it a step further. In America, as in other countries where some of you live, we feel quite
safe to gather for worship services without fear of persecution or harm. In many countries, such
as parts of Africa and Asia that is not the case. That is the reason we wanted to add the Sojourning in
Distant Lands page to Our Hope. In America we often complain: The price of gas is up; grocery prices
are up; our economy is down. But you know what? Whether or not we like our government,
we get to elect our leaders. We are free to speak out about such things as abortion, same sex marriages,
and to work to try changing unfair laws. As you read the letter below, written by our brother
in Christ, Les Maydell about conditions in Zimbabwe, please pray for those who are suffering in that country, and then thank
our Lord for the blessings that we have where we live.
Dear brethren
As many of you know, the country of Zimbabwe (where my wife and I and many others have labored much in the past few
years) is in turmoil at this moment and is desperately in need of our prayers. The people live in fear because President Mugabe’s
political party (Zanu-PF) is beating, torturing and imprisoning alleged MDC supporters and their families – even children.
They are forcing entire villages to watch people being beaten and tortured, simply because the village as a whole did not
vote for Mugabe last month. Hundreds of huts have been burnt to the ground and thousands forced to flee their homes in various
parts of Zimbabwe . I have spoken to four Zimbabwean preachers who say they do not know any brethren who have been directly
affected by the violence, but all live in fear, not knowing where Mugabe will strike next. In the past he has committed terrible
crimes against humanity all over Zimbabwe. We know the brethren would so much appreciate your prayers for their safety during
this time.
Besides this, the economy is on the verge of collapse. There is
very little food in the shops, money is virtually worthless, and brethren are struggling to get enough to eat. There has also
been a drought that has destroyed the crops of many of our brethren. Aid is being sent by many brethren, which is much appreciated,
but I sincerely ask you to pray that the doors allowing this aid to reach the brethren will remain open.
Sadly, the brethren are also restricted in being able to hold gospel meetings, particularly in the rural areas. They
are able to have their ordinary Sunday worship services, but the meetings we have been doing in the past are now too apt to
be construed as political gatherings and are not advisable or allowed. The four Zimbabwean preachers that I spoke to (who
live in different parts of Zimbabwe) were all adamant that visitors should not come at this time because it puts the visitor,
the brethren, and the work in danger. Please fervently pray that this situation will soon be normalized so that the gospel
can be freely taught in an atmosphere of peace. “The effective, fervent prayer of a righteous man avails much.”
We have come to love our brethren very much, and our hearts are sore
and burdened by their suffering. Perhaps if we humbly cry to the Lord, He will hear and heal their land. Your brother in Christ, Les Maydell , South Africa
1 Tim. 2:1-4 Therefore I exhort first of
all that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and giving of thanks be made for all men, for kings and
all who are in authority, that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and reverence. For
this is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Savior, who desires all men to be saved and to come to the knowledge of
the truth.
Update
from May 17th: The
violence in Zimbabwe continues to escalate, and the hope of a peaceful political solution becomes ever more distant and less
possible. We do know however, that with God all things are possible, and so we continue to pray that our brethren will be
the “leaven” that will spare their land from further violence, hunger, disease, etc. Those displaced are now in
the tens of thousands, and those tortured in the thousands, including at least one good brother who spent two days in the
hospital after being severely beaten. Botswana has banned the export of bulk fuel to Zimbabwe, making petrol scarcer than
ever. (Petrol is needed to deliver relief to the brethren.) So we do continue to ask for your earnest prayers.
Les’ letter certainly needs no additional comments from me, but I do want to add a bit of information that I
gleaned from the Zimbabwe newspapers in the past few days.
This horror in Zimbabwe began in earnest after longtime President Robert Mugabe
lost the presidential election this past March. Mugabe refuses to step down and there is to be a runoff on June 27th.
To make sure he wins the runoff, he and his henchmen have resorted
to a reign of terror. His military police and intelligence officers are now running Zimbabwe.
Their intention is to intimidate the supporters of the opposition so that they either cannot, or are too afraid to, vote in
the run-off elections. Their methods include torture, beating, burning the crops and
homes of those who may have voted for a new president, and other violent tactics.
They obtained a list of all the polling agents and all those who are a part of the new MDC (Movement for Democratic Change),
and they've been systematically going from village to village, on a quest to eradicate them all. The methods of
torture are so gruesome that I could not sleep the night after I had read about them. I cried and prayed for hours for
all of those who are having to endure these things and see their loved ones being so cruelly treated,
but especially for Christians who are caught up as victims of some of the violence.
I won't describe the horrors because it's too upsetting, but if you want to read about it, the information
I've included here comes from The Zimbabwean newspaper. In the May 30, 2008 online edition, they printed
an article called "Zimbabwean Crisis At A Glance." I'm not sure how long the link to that article will
be valid, but at the time of this writing, it is working. http://tinyurl.com/5jg53k
This article is not about politics. It's
about Christians in Zimbabwe who are in desperate need of fervent prayer. They have lived in deprivation and famine, and have suffered so much from a collapsing economy, only to see some of
their own family members now unjustly being beaten, arrested and jailed. All of the Christians there
live in fear for their lives.
Some of our readers know Christians living in
Zimbabwe personally. I've been
in touch with several brethren who live in South Africa,
or have lived there and spent a lot of time working with churches in Zimbabwe, and I'm told that phone calls and emails going in and out of that country are likely
monitored. Any calls or emails to them could place them in danger. For that reason and after much prayer and thought,
I've decided not to mention the names of specific members of the Lord's church who have been beaten, imprisoned, or
harmed. When we pray for the Christians who are suffering at the hands of these cruel men, the Lord
knows who those people are. cg
Medical And Health Care Differences In The Land Of Hope By
Betty Tope
One of the prime concerns a preacher’s family faces when contemplating doing
foreign work has to do with medical care. The unknowns of moving to a foreign country with it’s strange foods and differing
cultures are daunting enough without adding in the medical equation. Some of the concerns are: - Will I find a doctor who speaks English, or a brand of English I can understand?
- Will his/her
treatments be similar to the kind of treatment I am used to?
- Will the medical facilities be up to date?
- Will the
hospitals be hygienic?
We were fortunate in all our years of living in South
Africa to have had excellent doctors and, consequently, what I consider excellent
medical care. Contrary to my first fears when I went to see an Afrikaans-speaking doctor, his English was perfect. Dr. Johannes
made house calls and became a trusted friend. He delivered two of our babies, removed my appendix and an ovarian cyst, performed
Becky’s tonsillectomy, and stood by us through many childhood diseases and the loss of our beloved Karen. I figure we
have moved about 50 times during our married life so we have had occasion to consult many physicians in many localities. In
our experience, Dr. Johannes was one of the best diagnosticians of all.
Having borne seven children and suffered many surgeries, I am well acquainted with hospitals, too. American hospitals are
like hotels with your own TV, telephone and often a private room. South African hospitals on the other hand were more bare
boned with no TV, perhaps a communal phone in the hallway and often a many-bedded ward. Though, when Gene had some emergency
surgery in Durban on one occasion, he was
given a private room with a sea view. I think he was in too much pain to enjoy the view, but we visitors did! During my confinements
I usually enjoyed getting to know the other patients and listening to them talk among themselves and to the staff in Afrikaans
and Zulu. It always fascinated me the way South Africans could switch back and forth between English and Afrikaans when speaking.
I had one ward mate who had grown up on a farm with Zulu playmates and she spoke fluent Zulu as well.
American hospitals send around a menu so the patient can circle his/her choices for
the following day’s meals. South African hospitals offered no such luxuries, but I had few complaints about the food.
I loved the soups, the porridges, and the tea times. We were woken up with early morning tea and biscuits (cookies), served
tea following the main meals, then morning and afternoon tea and biscuits and then again before bedtime. The nursing staff
was always attentive and compassionate. I soon learned the frills were not nearly as important as quality care.
During our years in the Kloof/Gillits/Cowies Hill section of
Natal, our family doctor was Dr. Savage, who
was Jewish and rather elderly. He had an English nurse who had a running battle with him over his equipment. Once when I was
in for an EKG the nurse was muttering about the need for a new machine. I remarked that maybe he didn’t want to learn
how to operate new equipment at his age. Her reply was, “Hmpf. I’m older than he is.” I was always amused
when Dr. Savage took my blood pressure. He would take it with one piece of equipment, then shake it and take it again. Then
switch arms and switch cuffs. He usually ended up taking it three times before he was satisfied. During the many years we
consulted him, Dr. Savage never changed the appearance of his waiting rooms one iota. The chairs became aged, the linoleum
worn, the paint faded. But the waiting room was always full. (I remember there was a basket of yarn in there so the women
could knit squares for blankets while they were waiting.) His patients were very loyal. In fact our son-in-law’s mother
and step-father continued to consult him up until a couple of days before Dr. Savage died.
Our son Scott came down with bronchial pneumonia when he was just three months old and this left him prone to allergies,
wheezing and croup. He outgrew the wheezing and croup by the time he was 13, but the allergies still plagued him. When he
was about 14 years old, Dr. Savage tested him for allergies and then had a special serum made up for him in Pretoria. For a while we took Scott to him five days a week for injections
of that serum and gradually tapered off until he didn’t need any more. We will always be indebted to Dr. Savage for
that.
While
living in Gillits we lived in a house with a sunken living room accessed by three or four flagstone steps. This house had
a bar tucked in the corner by the stairs. It was not unusual for homes to have bars in them for entertaining. Though we didn’t
drink, I found the counter tops to be great work places for collating printed material, binding booklets, etc., and the storage
underneath worked as a great place to store games and puzzles. As I was dusting off the counter top one morning while standing
on the stairs, I turned around and stepped off and fell and chipped my ankle bone. I guess I just forgot where I was standing.
While still in shock I was able to walk back upstairs to the kitchen and when Gene came home he took me to see Dr. Savage.
Of course, by then I could not put my weight on that foot, so I hopped out to the car and then hopped in to Dr. Savage’s
rooms. He sent me to the lab for X-rays, which was in another part of Pinetown and up a flight of stairs. More hopping. They
could only take me a couple of hours later, so Gene brought me home to wait in my bedroom.
During the interval I hopped
into the bathroom. Coming out, I felt like I couldn’t do any more hopping, so I decided to crawl back to the bed. Imagine
my surprise to look up from the floor and find a houseful of people. These were estate agents who had come to look at the
house prior to our putting it on the market. Needless to say, I felt rather foolish greeting them from the floor, but I was
totally embarrassed when I found out Gene had told them I was “sick.” I could just imagine what kind of sickness
they thought I was suffering from!
That afternoon I did have the X-rays and then went back to see Dr. Savage, who put my leg
in a cast. All this happened just a few days before we were scheduled to take a vacation trip to Kruger Park in the northeast section of the country. I gamely helped pack up for the trip. Being very security conscious, we gathered
all the valuables and put them in the bedroom and locked the iron security gate that separated the bedroom area from the rest
of the house. We were all in the car when someone remembered something they forgot. When Gene went back to get the item, he
discovered we had left the back door open in our haste to depart. So much for security. What a laugh that gave us!
Our first night’s stop was
at a little town called Ermelo. We stayed at a Holiday Inn, which for some reason could not supply any hot water that day.
By then my leg was hurting so much I couldn’t even go down to supper. I was convinced something was terribly wrong.
The next day we made it to a little Afrikaans farming town just outside Kruger Park. By that
time I had persuaded Gene to take me to a doctor. We found a little doctor’s surgery just off the main road, but he
had gone home for lunch. The receptionist very kindly phoned him at home and he came back early to see this “American
lady.” I was taken to a small room at the back (I think this was a home that had been converted to
a physician’s suite) and told to hop up on the examining table. While I was waiting for
the doctor, I was able to look around the room and view all the Old Dutch Remedies that were stored there. These usually were
very cheap and much in demand by the poorer people. When we first came to Johannesburg, I was having trouble with nosebleeds and a dear sister gave me an Old Dutch Remedy called Staal
Druppels, guaranteed to cure the nose bleed. They burned so much I was in agony, but they did cauterize the nasal passages
and stopped the nose bleed! Needless to say, I was very wary of taking anything called an Old Dutch Remedy for ever after!
So I was a little apprehensive to see such a vast assortment of these remedies. Meanwhile an African woman had come in with
a sick baby and I could hear the poor thing crying. The nurse came back and yanked the rubber sheet from under me, explaining
that she needed it for the baby. I just shook my head. The doctor eventually came in with this buzz saw and proceeded
to cut open the cast. I was terrified he was going to cut my leg. But his self-confidence was justified and he had the cast
off in no time and my leg was still intact. Much to my chagrin, the leg was fine and the cast was not the cause of the pain.
So now I was instructed to hop down off the table, hop down the step into the back yard and over to a stool the nurse had
placed under a huge tree. She brought a basin of water, the plaster of Paris, etc. for the doctor to put on a new cast. All
the while I was perched on this stool and the doctor was casting my leg, there was an audience of Africans watching the whole
procedure. I’m sure they found the process very entertaining and I could only laugh to myself at the ludicrousness of
it all. I don’t know if the cleaning lady was off sick or what, but either the doctor or the nurse or both of them didn’t
want that mess inside.
I had no further problem with my leg healing, other than the normal discomforts and inconveniences of a broken leg.
When I got back to Dr. Savage and reported my experiences, we both had a good laugh.
When we lived in Zululand in the relatively small town of Richards Bay, it became necessary for me to have varicose vein surgery. The most recommended surgeon in the area worked out of
the hospital in the neighboring town of Empangeni. He was the picture of the quintessential bush doctor. He had long white hair and wore colorful Hawaiian type shirts.
He was a sight as he came striding down the halls of the hospital, white hair flying, shirt tails flapping. The day of the
surgery I was put on a Gurney and left in a waiting area next to a very frightened young girl of about five years old. Finally,
my turn came and I was wheeled down the corridor and then suddenly halted. I was instructed to hop down off the Gurney and
walk into the room where the surgeon was waiting, which I obediently did in my bare feet, trying to hold the hospital gown
closed. Then I was instructed to step up on a stool, where the surgeon (I believe his name was Henderson) proceeded to mark my legs where the incisions were to be made. I
can only suppose this was done to save his back! After this I padded back out to the Gurney and was taken to the operating
theater laughing internally all the while.
Being in the subtropics, several of my incisions went
septic and I was on an antibiotic for several months before they cleared up. Then I suffered a bout of respiratory infection
and was put on another antibiotic. This was too much for my immune system and it appeared I just never got over that episode
of flu. At the time our family doctor was a young Afrikaans woman 29 years old - Dr. Karin Uys. She was a very compassionate,
caring doctor and we were sorry when she and her husband emigrated to Canada. Karin knew immediately what my problem was, but it was necessary to first make the rounds of
specialists to rule out other possibilities. After a few months, it was official . . . I had developed Chronic Fatigue Syndrome,
Acute Myofacial Pain Syndrome and Fibromyalgia. The pain was all-encompassing. The fatigue so severe I could not even hold
a book to read. I was so fortunate to get an early diagnosis, especially when I have since learned of many Fibro sufferers
who have gone for years from doctor to doctor before getting a diagnosis.
After Dr. Uys left the country I found Dr. Lance Giles, a homeopath with offices in
Empangeni and Richards Bay. Over several months Dr. Giles was able to put my pain and fatigue in remission.
I was able to get off all pain and sleep medication. He remains a friend to this day. Unfortunately, when we moved to Virginia I overdid things and reactivated the Fibro and
have not found anyone in the U. S.
with his knowledge and skill.
When
we finally moved back to the States at the end of the year 2000, I arrived at our daughter’s home in Ohio very ill. It took a couple of days before I realized I was suffering from
Tick Bite Fever. After all those years of living in South Africa, camping in the game parks, traipsing through the veldt,
etc., and never succumbing to this common malady, I managed to get it just before leaving the country. Susan took us to a
local doctor who was very alarmed when I told her my suspicion. She made a couple of phone calls and finally decided she couldn’t
deal with this illness and sent me to the emergency room at the Akron General Hospital. After
several doctors and interns had come to have a look-see, they finally found an infectious disease specialist who had heard
of the African variety of Tick Bite Fever and was able to prescribe the correct medication. They asked my permission and took
pictures of my back, where the bite was, for their medical books. That was definitely not the way I imagined starring in pictures!
So dear friend, put your fears aside. Other cultures
may be different, sometimes even bizarre, but we can learn much from them if we keep an open mind, a sense of humor, and trust
in our heavenly Father.
Blue
Blue is a color
Not often seen In the animal world Full of browns and green
But I know a country
Where creatures
abound With blue-colored bottoms And blue-colored crowns
Where the blue-bottomed monkeys
Play
in the trees While the blue-headed
lizard Keeps one eye on me!
Betty Tope
Moving To Krugersdorp, South Africa By Betty Tope
In November of 1961 we returned to South
Africa, this time moving to the city of Krugersdorp in the Transvaal
province to preach the gospel and plant the New Testament church in this predominantly Afrikaans-speaking city. Krugersdorp
is situated on the West Rand about 20 miles
from Johannesburg and was named after Paul
Kruger, an Afrikaans statesman, who was the President
of the Transvaal Republic in the late 1800s. The city was renowned for the Paardekraal Monument which was a commemoration of the first Boer War. During the ten years we lived there, it was a thriving community
powered by rich Uranium mines.
Our first task was to
find a house to buy, so we located an estate agent by the name of Mnr. Van Aswegan. Being curious as to why this American
family would move to his city, Van, as we affectionately called him, asked us one day who we knew there. He was taken aback
when we replied, “We know you.” We did have several religious discussions with this fine family, but they never
became New Testament Christians.
As soon as we were
able to move into our house at 74 Willoughby St.,
we began holding worship services in our home. We met in the living room for worship and I taught the children’s Bible
class in the kitchen. At times my students ranged in age from 9 mo. (In the high chair) to 14 yrs. of age. Of course, the
house had to be cleaned for company each Sunday and Wednesday, chairs put round, the communion trays readied, and song books
brought out. Then the whole process reversed after people left. Through brethren from other parts of the
country we located one sister who began meeting with us, and were put in contact with relatives of other Christians, most
of whom agreed to study with us. Gene taught Bible classes nearly every evening except Friday, which we reserved for family
time. Most of the time I accompanied him. Many of these studies bore fruit and several
were baptized during the first six months we lived there. Gene bought a cattle tank for our back yard, which served us for
many years as a baptistry. Frank and Elaine Saayman were some of our earliest converts and were instrumental in bringing many
family members to Christ. Their son Norman is faithfully preaching the gospel in the Eastern
Cape Province today.
As the church grew we converted our
garage into a study for Gene and a meeting place for the church. During this time our neighbors were baptized, though they
did not remain faithful. However, their dog very faithfully attended every service we had in that garage! For a while, Gene
rented a shop downtown, where he had his office in the front and we held services in the back. It gave us a wonderful opportunity
to advertize via the window displays. When we outgrew that we rented the town hall in the suburb of Luipaardsvlei.
The hall was noisy and cold and at times dirty, but we were thrilled to have the use of it. We had many gospel meetings
in that hall with visitors of about 40 people for each meeting. In the late 1960s when Paul Williams and his family moved
to the nearby area called Florida, Gene and Paul
held meetings all over Johannesburg and the
West Rand in these local town halls. At the
time both families had five children and we all distributed leaflets from house to house three weeks in a row in the pertinent
neighborhoods prior to the meeting. With our two families we were always guaranteed an attendance of 14 people! Our children
were most disappointed during one meeting, however, when not one visitor showed up after all their hard work. But many did
come and attended follow-up Bible studies and were converted. A young man named Hendrik Joubert was baptized during one of
these town hall meetings and is now preaching in Mebane NC.
In the winter of 1964 Gene and Ray
Votaw received a call to come on a preaching trip to Witsieshoek, which is situated in the corner formed by the boundaries
of the provinces of the Free State and Kwa-Zulu Natal
and the country of Lesotho. Since it was during
a school holiday we decided the whole family would go and use part of the time for a holiday. We rented a small caravan to
tow behind our little Austin Cambridge, loaded up our four children and set out on another great adventure. I and the children
were to stay with the Louie Visagie family on their farm just outside of Kestell while the menfolk traveled on to the kraal
in Witsieshoek, taking the Visagie’s son Bertie with them as translator. Though we had good directions to the farm,
we missed our turn and traveled on up the mountain as the dirt road got narrower and narrower. We realized we had come too
far and needed to turn around, but the only way to do that was to unhitch the caravan and turn it around by hand. In the process
the caravan got away from us and rolled down an incline coming to a stop against some farmer’s fence. That was our first
near catastrophe that trip.
We spent a lovely week
enjoying the hospitality of the Visagie family and visiting with our dear friends and brethren Ray and Thena Votaw. The winter
days were warm in the sun but the nights were bitterly cold in the unheated farm house. I wore everything I could get my hands
on to bed, including my socks. During the week the well went dry and our hosts had to buy and haul in water. Since Scott was
just three months old, that presented a laundry problem for me. I ended up taking our laundry up the hill to the mountain
stream and washed in that ice cold water by hand. After that I could truly empathize with the African women who washed their
families’ clothes in the streams year after year after year! Baby Scott became ill during the week and we took him to
the local doctor. That illness was the beginning of his childhood bouts of asthma and croup.
On the Sunday we enjoyed a very uplifting worship service with the Visagie family and the small band of saints in Kestell.
As we prepared to leave, we had many helpers hitching up the caravan. Imagine the shock we had as we were driving merrily
along to see the caravan free-wheeling alongside of us! Once again our hearts were in our mouth. But again disaster was averted
and the caravan came to a stop without any damage being done.
The following week Gene was to hold a meeting at Harrismith and we had arranged to spend the week camping at the city caravan
park. Two incidents stand out in my memory:
1. The time when I was
cooking spaghetti on the stove and the cover for the stove came loose and fell down, knocking the pot of spaghetti onto the
floor. It landed right side up and I was not burnt.
2. The morning Gene woke up while the rest of us were still in our beds and he went to light the portable propane tank to
heat up the caravan before we got up. The top must have become loose because a huge flame shot up. He grabbed the tank and
threw it out the back door, which not only prevented a fire in the caravan, but it put out the flame.
Does this remind you of the movie The Long, Long Trailer starring Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz? Needless to say, we were very
relieved to return the caravan to its owner and we never tried that again.
Oh, how did the meetings go, you may be asking? Though the gospel was preached at Witsieshoek, Kestell and Harrismith there
were no baptisms at that time, but the seed was sown and who knows what changes were made in the hearts of men as a result?
Twilight Sounds
As daylight fades behind the hill
And busy hands
at last are still
And cluttered thoughts are pushed away,
There comes a time at close of day
When the air is
filled with Twilight Sounds.
When the crickets & their nocturnal friends,
Before the darkness closes
in,
Begin to screech and pluck and strum
Lacking only a big bass drum.
When the Ha-de-dahs with
wings outspread
In flight formation overhead
Signal kindred spirits for miles around
That they are on their
way to their nesting ground.
When the little babbling brook below
Seems to manifest itself and grow
Into a wild crescendo of emotion
As it begins its hazardous journey to the ocean.
When the night wind
racing through the trees
Bathes the parched earth with its cooling breeze
And heralds the storm not yet in sight
But due to break in the dead of night.
And the toy-like cars on the ribbon road
Hurrying home with
their weary load
Are purring a happy little tune,
“We’ll be home soon, we’ll be home soon!”
And I in my moment of reverie
Project myself in fantasy
To my own twilight so soon to come
And
fancy I hear the twilight sounds,
“I’ll be Home soon, I’ll be Home soon!”
Betty
Tope
Rest and Recreation in South Africa
by Betty Tope
One
thing we were not prepared for when we moved to Johannesburg in 1957 was the overwhelming weight of responsibility we felt
toward the lost of this teeming metropolis. We would drive through the downtown area of Hillbrow with row after row of highrise
apartment buildings and be overcome by the sheer weight of the task we had set ourselves and ponder the question of how to
reach the multitudes with the saving gospel of Jesus Christ. It took a while before we realized the lost of any nation are
saved one by one. Rarely, are crowds of people responsive to preaching. Rather, it is a slow process of teaching one on one
in home Bible studies around the kitchen table.
Throughout our years
in Africa, we felt the burden of responsibility - not only toward the lost but also toward the new babes in Christ. When troubles
arose among brethren, and they surely do, we had no elders or mature Christians to turn to. Only through much searching of
scripture and prayer were we able to resolve such conflicts. Of course, we didn’t realize at the time that we were growing
through these trials, also. It was always a surprise, though, as we took off from Jan Smuts airport on our way home to discover
a huge burden was lifted from our shoulders. We probably took more on ourselves than we should have and did not rely enough
on God, but that was our feeling each time we came back to the United States on furlough.
As
we would busy ourselves with various Bible studies and classes . . . sometimes three a day, we soon realized the need for
frequent holidays. You may be able to keep up that pace for a few weeks, but if you are in a country for the long haul, you
will soon burn yourself out without times of refreshing for both the body and spirit. Even Jesus recognized the need to be
apart from the crowds at times. After each such holiday, we would come home with renewed strength and filled with plans and
ideas to better accomplish our work.
Usually these breaks occurred during the
school holidays and took the form of visiting other brethren or camping. We had a tent and sleeping bags and made good use
of the many camps around the country. On one such occasion before we had our tent we rented rondavels at a national park camp
called Colefort in the foothills of the Drakensberg mountains. It was very restful for me because I had a break from cooking.
Cooks were provided and all one had to do was give the cook the required eggs and bacon or meat, potatoes, etc., about an
hour prior to mealtime. There was playground equipment for the children, but mostly this camp was about hiking and fishing
and we took advantage of the many trails to hike during the mornings and rested in the afternoons. One morning we hiked down
to the river through some tall grass. I was just commenting that this looked like good snake territory when I stepped on one.
Next thing I knew, I had jumped straight up into Gene’s arms. Don’t know who got the biggest fright, me or the
snake!
Sometimes we combined our recreation with Gene’s preaching trips.
One Easter week end he was to preach in Sekukuniland so we decided to take our tent and fit in a few days of camping as well.
There is a provincial nature reserve called Loskop Dam just a few miles from where he was to preach (or so we thought; it
turned out to be 50 miles from the kraal where the preaching was to take place.) The dam is in a beautiful setting surrounded
by mountains. The sunsets on the dam were too beautiful to describe. Those of you who don’t like to rough it too much
would enjoy camping there. For a few cents a day you could hire an African woman to wash your dishes, wash clothes, etc. At
one camp I saw two servants. The woman was washing dishes and the African man was sweeping the campsite, washing the car,
building the fire, etc. Our girls were very disappointed that they had to be our “servants.” One thing that marred
my enjoyment of the place was the sign that said swimming was forbidden because of the danger of Bilharzia and crocodiles.
Bilharzia is a parasitic disease caused by several species of flatworm of the genus Schistosoma. Fresh water snails are the
host for this worm and are to be found in most of the streams in the country. The worm will borough through a person’s
skin into the blood stream, where it can cause liver and intestinal damage and be very debilitating. It is dangerous to even
stick your hands in the water, so I was a very nervous mother trying to keep her chicks out of the water.
Over the holiday week end the camp was inundated with campers in every conceivable kind of camping equipment.
Tents were pitched so close together that our girls complained you could even tell which brand of toothpaste everyone used.
We were not too happy with the folks in a neighboring tent who had a drinking party and kept us awake all night. One wonders
why people would go to the trouble to travel long distances to a place of such natural beauty and then drink themselves senseless.
Once the long week end was over, however, most of the campers cleared out and we pretty much had the camp to ourselves. Then
it truly was a time of re-creation.
Because the December school holidays coincided
with the three-week shut down of factories, builders, etc. in the country, we soon realized it was hopeless to try to conduct
classes during this time. Sometimes you just have to learn to go with the flow. So, in 1969 we planned a 3-4 week camping
holiday to Capetown. After years of planning and many delays and cancellations, we were finally able to make the trip. Les
Maydell was living with us at the time and made the trip with us. So imagine if you can a Ford station wagon with 8 people
in it, 2 tents, table, 5 chairs, 8 sleeping bags, 8 suitcases, and all the other paraphernalia necessary for a three to four
week camping trip. I think our back bumper cleared the road by 2 inches!
After
an overnight stop in Aliwall North, we arrived in Port Elizabeth where we spent a few days with Basil and Gloria Cass. We
had a wonderful time with the Cass family and enjoyed renewing our acquaintance with the brethren there. Gene and Les both
preached during our visit in Port Elizabeth. Next we spent a delightful few days at Jeffreys Bay, enjoying the sun and the
sea and collecting bags of sea shells. We continued our drive along the famed garden route, spending a few days at the Wilderness.
Here, I believe, is some of the most beautiful scenery in the world. Driving along the mountain passes and looking down on
the beautiful blue-green waters of the Indian Ocean is an experience too wonderful to describe. Over and over we were made
to marvel at the handiwork of God!
Our trip down was marred by the loss of
two suitcases off the top of the station wagon. We located one right away and gave chase to a car that we thought had stolen
the second one. The boys thought that chase was the most exciting part of the trip! They kept yelling, “Squad Cars!”
which was a popular radio program at the time. After we finally caught up with the car, the driver said another man had picked
up the case and said he was taking it to the police station in the next town. We very dubiously drove on into the next town,
while I was thinking of the new wardrobe I would have to buy in Capetown. But, much to our surprise, there was my suitcase
- very much battered, but with the contents intact.
Upon arriving in Capetown,
we quickly set up camp and then contacted a young brother who had been on his own in Capetown for about seven months. Rodney
Burtenshaw was converted in Pretoria, but was transferred to his firm’s Capetown factory. Rodney came out to our camp
the next morning - Sunday - and we had worship services in our tent. The next day the wind started blowing - a South Easter
- and continued to blow for several weeks. After two days of this, our tent collapsed (three main poles snapped in two) so
we packed up and headed in the direction of home. We got about 25 miles from Capetown to Stellenbosch where Les’s aunt
had a farm sheltered from the wind. She very graciously invited us to camp up at one of the dams there, so we spent a lovely
few days being serenaded by the many frogs sharing the dam with us. We contacted Rodney again and he came out and spent a
couple of days with us over the Christmas week end. We had another wonderful Lord’s day together and Les preached in
Afrikaans to a gathering of farm hands. The return trip was uneventful except for Susan waking us up in the middle of the
night at Knysna with a crab in her sleeping bag. Ouch!
I must mention that
at the first gas station we came to after leaving the farm, we all rejoiced in the wonders of instant hot water, indoor plumbing
and electricity! How quickly we forget to be thankful for these modern conveniences.
Our
first introduction to the wonderful national park facilities provided by the South African government, took place about a
year after we arrived in the country. We took advantage of one of the school holidays to make a trip to Kruger Park in the
northeastern part of the country. Kruger Park is one of the largest wildlife preserves in the world. The animals roam free
while humans must stay in their cars and be inside the fenced camps by sundown. At a few spots you are allowed to walk to
an overlook to view the hippos and crocodiles in the river, but only accompanied by an armed guard. We booked huts at a different
camp each night with the last night being in the furthest camp north. The first camp had paved roads and electricity, though
one still cooked over an open fire. Between the camps were rest stops where you could picnic and use toilet facilities. An
African kept a fire going at all times, which heated drums of water so you always had instant hot water to make tea. How we
loved the teatime custom of the country!
We marveled at the variety of antelope,
the zebras, giraffes, wildebeests, lion, elephants, etc. At one point we came face to face with a huge elephant flapping his
ears. He kept advancing and we kept reversing until he finally turned aside and disappeared into the bush, much to our relief.
The camps became more rustic the further north we went, so that by the time we came to the last camp, we had two tents with
2 cots in each. Gene slept in one with Becky and I slept in the other one with Karen. Neither one of us got much sleep between
the cold night and the sound of the elephants making a terrible racket just outside the chain link fence. I expected
them to come crashing through that little fence at any minute. Gene was up at 4:00 sharing the fireside with the African on
duty and that knowledgeable man pointed out to Gene the sound of the lions calling to each other in the bush. As the dawn
broke, we were two happy campers until we saw the devastation the elephants had wrought in the night. There was not a tree
left standing where there had been thick bush the night before. I still shudder to think we were in those flimsy tents just
inside the fence.
So, whether we camped or visited dear brethren like the Casses,
the Lovells, the Votaws and the Williams, we always returned home with a deeper appreciation of God’s handiwork and
His abundant care for us, and a refreshment of body and spirit, ready to tackle new problems and new opportunities.
Natal Highlands
Traveling through the highlands of Natal
Heading north to the great
Transvaal
Cotton-wool clouds in a sea-blue sky
Hanging over us as we pass by
Cattle grazing on
the lush green hills
Water gurgling down the rocky rills
Chicken farms gleaming in the noon-day sun
Mealie
fields waiting for the harvesters to come
Far-off mountains with their smoky haze
Zulu kraals clustered as
in former days
Sleepy towns shut up for tea
Caring nought for the likes of me
These things we saw
while on our way
One bright and shiny autumn day
Betty Tope
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