by Kathi Macias
“Stop watching me,” Chioma grunted. “It’s rude.”
Emma dropped her eyes. “I’m sorry. You’re right, of course. I didn’t mean to stare. I just …” Her voice trailed off, and Chioma saw the woman’s chest rise and fall as she took a deep breath. “You’re such a lovely young woman. I know my nephew thought very highly of you, and … I can’t help but wonder why you …” Her voice trailed off again, as if she had run out of words, even as Chioma’s anger resurfaced.
“Why I what? Why I ran away from the farm to join this group of freedom fighters? Why I’m married to the group’s leader?”
Emma’s eyes raised briefly before lowering again, and Chioma felt her cheeks flame—with anger or embarrassment, she wasn’t sure. Either way, the woman had no right to judge Chioma’s actions.
“I did what I had to do to survive,” Chioma hissed, silently chiding herself for feeling she had to justify her behavior. “I couldn’t stay on the farm after … what happened to Andrew. I would have been blamed. Or those pigs who killed him would have come after me and killed me, too. So I ran and joined up with this group—with Themba. I became his wife because … because he chose me. And they all protect me and take care of me because we’re comrades, fighting for the same cause. We’re loyal to one another … to the death.”
Emma’s eyes raised again, but this time she didn’t lower them. “You’d die for them then? For Themba?”
Chioma’s heart skipped a beat, and she hesitated briefly before answering. “Of course I would—as he would for me.”
After a moment, Emma nodded. “As Andrew did … for you.”
Like a bolt of jagged, searing lightning, Emma’s words ripped through Chioma’s heart, and she nearly cried out with the pain of it. Slamming her cup down on the floor, Chioma grabbed the rifle and leveled it at Emma’s face, right between the blue eyes that reminded her of Andrew. “I should kill you for that,” she growled, her finger on the trigger.
“You could,” Emma said softly. “But it wouldn’t bring Andrew back—or your parents or brother either.”
The words hung in the air between them, even as Chioma realized the missionary couple was awake, watching the life-and-death struggle playing out before their eyes. Chioma was torn, wanting to kill them all and knowing the rifle in her grip gave her the power to do that—yet sensing some large, unseen hand holding her back, forcing her to face the truth of Emma’s words.
At last she lowered the weapon, feeling the fight drain out of her as hot tears filled her eyes. What would she do now that she had acknowledged the words of this white woman who had stolen Chioma’s resolve to fight? What good would she be now to the cause, to the group, or to Themba? What point was there in living … and what chance that Themba would even allow her to do so now that she had betrayed her ancestors and all they stood for?
Defeated, Chioma laid her rifle on the floor beside her and let the tears flow down her cheeks, as Emma reached out with her bound hands and pulled the young woman against her chest, holding her close and whispering to her that all would be well and God would take care of them. Chioma desperately wanted to believe her, but she knew better. Themba would soon return … and then all four of them would die.
Chapter 26
JEANNIE WAS STUNNED, AS SHE LEANED AGAINST HER husband and watched the young woman named Chioma sob on Emma’s shoulder. It was obvious God was doing something here; she had been sure of it since Chioma asked Jeannie if she might be pregnant. Though Jeannie was still nervous and unsure about what lay ahead, she was at peace with the certainty that God had everything under control.
Paul squeezed her hand, interrupting her thoughts, and she looked up at him, returning his smile at the emotional scene they were witnessing. When Paul leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, she nearly wept for joy that the two of them were here together, sharing this amazing experience. Hadn’t they given their lives to God’s service, pledging to follow Him and minister to anyone they met along the way? How would God use them now, in this young woman’s life as well as in the lives of others? Whatever happened, Jeannie felt certain she and Paul would be an integral part of it.
Chioma sat back then, drawing Jeannie’s attention. Their captor’s face was streaked with tears, and her eyes mirrored a depth of sadness that spoke of a suffering Jeannie could only imagine. She understood why Emma had reached out to Chioma and held her, just as Jeannie herself wished she could do at that very moment.
“I don’t know what to do,” Chioma said, her voice strained from crying. “Themba will return soon—perhaps tomorrow, or Monday for sure.” She shook her head. “I don’t see how I can save you.”
Jeannie’s heart leapt at the thought. Chioma obviously realized that her husband, the group’s leader, planned to kill them, just as the three captives had suspected. But now the young woman wished to help them, though Jeannie couldn’t imagine how that would happen. The tall, muscular man with the AK-47, who Jeannie was sure still waited and watched outside, would surely not hesitate to kill any or all of them without a second thought. Now there was the added complication of the other young woman and her baby, sleeping in the back room. Even if the three of them plus Chioma were willing to take the risk to try to escape, they couldn’t put the baby and its mother in danger.
“It’s all right, Chioma,” Emma said. “God has a plan. With Him, nothing is impossible. If it’s His purpose that we get out of here alive, then it will be so.”
Chioma hesitated, raising an eyebrow questioningly. “And if not?”
Emma smiled. “Then we’ll die and go to be with Him, which is far better anyway.”
Chioma looked doubtful, but Jeannie relaxed at Emma’s words. Though she wished her friend’s mother hadn’t been here when this happened, she couldn’t deny that her presence afforded great comfort.
“How do you know it would be better?” Chioma asked, her tone skeptical. “I want to believe it’s better on the other side, with my ancestors and their gods, but how can we know that for sure?”
Emma smiled again. “You can know the true God who waits for us on the other side. Chioma, can you go into the bedroom and get my Bible from the table? I’d like to show you something.”
Chioma hesitated, then reached into her front pocket, pulled out a small, worn book, and held it out to Emma. “I have my own holy book. Themba gave it to me. Many times I’ve heard the dominee—your sister’s husband—read from his holy book when I was working on the farm. But … I don’t understand what it says. It’s very confusing to me.”
Jeannie felt herself smile, even as Emma took the book from Chioma. It was obvious God was drawing the young girl to Himself, and it was exciting to realize they were about to witness the greatest miracle imaginable.
At that moment Jeannie caught Chioma’s eye, and was surprised when the warrior-child returned her smile—tentatively, gently, even shyly—as Jeannie felt hope mingle with the joy in her heart.
“Are you … all right?” Chioma asked, nodding at Jeannie.
Jeannie raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Yes. I’m fine. Thank you, Chioma.”
For a moment Jeannie couldn’t read the emotions that seemed to war on Chioma’s face. Then the young woman spoke again. “Your baby. It is also well?”
Jeannie felt Paul stiffen beside her, even as she herself came to attention, sitting up a little straighter and groping for the right words. “I … Yes, the baby is fine also.” She turned to look up at her husband. “I should have told you, but … I wanted to be sure first. Now, somehow, I am.”
Tears formed in Paul’s brown eyes, even as a smile formed on his lips. “A baby?”
Jeannie nodded. “A baby. Yes.”
“Oh! A baby!” Emma’s voice broke through then, and Jeannie turned to the woman sitting beside her. “How wonderful!” Emma exclaimed.
Jeannie nodded, amazed that even in these dire circumstances, the promise of new life brought a joyful response. Surely God hadn’t brought them to this point to snuf
f out a life that hadn’t yet seen the light of day.
But when she looked at Chioma, the sadness in the young woman’s eyes twisted Jeannie’s heart, wrestling with the hope that rested there.
Emma’s heart ached with joy at the thought that Jeannie and Paul were expecting a baby, but it wasn’t something she could allow herself to dwell on at the moment. They were scarcely in the best of predicaments to celebrate such an announcement, so they would simply have to leave the details of the impending event in God’s capable hands. For now she had a more pressing birth to attend to.
Show me, Lord. Take me to the right page, the perfect verse …
She opened the Bible to the second chapter of the Book of Ephesians. Verse 14 seemed to jump off the page, but before reading it aloud she prayed, Father, am I hearing You right? This is a wonderful verse, but not the one I would have imagined.
The verse continued to call her, so she cleared her throat and read it, directing the words at Chioma: “For he himself is our peace, who has made the two one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility.”
When she heard Chioma gasp, she looked up at the obviously surprised girl who stared back at her. “How … how did you know? How did you know to read me that one, out of that entire book?”
Emma smiled. “I didn’t. But God did. He wants you to know that He’s speaking to you right now—you, Chioma. Out of all the people in the world, He’s speaking to you, calling you to His heart, telling you of His great love for you.”
Chioma’s eyes once again filled with tears. “I’ve heard the dominee say that many times—that the God of the whites loves us all. But I haven’t believed it.” She swallowed and then, her voice trembling, asked, “Is it possible? Does the God of the whites love me also?”
Emma’s heart broke with love for the young woman. “Oh, Chioma, He’s not the God of the whites only. He’s the God of everyone who has ever lived or ever will live. And He loves each one equally. This verse I just read to you means He’s our peace—yours and mine. Everyone’s. He has made peace between Himself and us, and He enables us to have peace with each other as well. Everything that has separated us—sin, evil, pain, death, even skin color and race and culture—has been done away with by His great sacrifice for us. In Him we are one—one race, one people, with one Father.”
Chioma frowned, and Emma knew the young woman was remembering something. “The dominee, I’ve heard him speak of a sacrifice, of a cross, of great love. But I didn’t understand the words he spoke.”
Emma nodded. “It’s impossible to understand—until God Himself opens your understanding. Do you want to understand, Chioma? Do you want to know what God is speaking to you?”
After only a brief hesitation, Chioma nodded, a hint of eagerness in her eyes. “I would like to know. Yes.”
Emma laid down the book and reached out to Chioma, taking the girls’ hands into her own, which were still bound together. As best they could, Jeannie and Paul reached over and joined their hands as well. Then Emma closed her eyes and prayed. “Father God, You see this willing heart, this broken but eager heart, Lord. Show her, Father, what she needs to see and understand so she can become Your child. Thank You, Lord. Amen.”
No greater love …
The words echoed in Emma’s heart, and she knew immediately what she was to say to Chioma. Retrieving the Bible and turning quickly to the fifteenth chapter of the Gospel of John, she read, “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.”
Looking up at Chioma, she said, “When you listened to Dominee Vorster read the Scriptures, do you remember when he talked about Jesus being crucified, or killed, for our sins?”
Hesitantly, Chioma nodded. “I remember. But … I didn’t understand why One who is called the Son of God could be killed.”
“Because He was the only One worthy to die for our sins,” Emma explained. “The Bible says that all of us have sinned—you, me, Paul, Jeannie, Themba, everyone. It also says that because we are sinners, we deserve to die and to be separated from God forever. But God loved us too much to let that happen. For the price of death to be paid for our sins, it had to be paid by Someone without sin. And so He sent His Son, because no one but God’s Son, Jesus, qualified. He is the only One who has ever lived on this earth without sin. He was a man, because He was born of a virgin named Mary, but God was His Father—and so He, Jesus, is also God. Do you understand, Chioma?”
Chioma nodded slowly, as if a light were beginning to dawn behind the shimmering dark orbs of her eyes. “A virgin for a mother. God for a Father. The only good One, dying for all the bad. In our place,” she said, almost as if she were thinking aloud.
“Yes,” Emma agreed. “That’s it exactly. And because He paid the price for our sins, that means we don’t have to be separated from God anymore. We can know Him, feel Him, hear Him, speak to Him—and one day live with Him forever. There is no greater love, Chioma, than to die that someone else might live.”
Chioma was silent for a moment. Then she said, “Like Andrew. He died for me … so I wouldn’t have to. That’s why … he spoke His name—Jesus—before he died.” She swallowed and dropped her gaze, and it was obvious she was fighting to maintain her composure. Then she lifted her eyes and locked them on Emma’s. “He’s there now, isn’t he? Andrew is with God. With Jesus. With the Father.”
Emma nodded again, tears of her own streaming down her face. She could hear Jeannie and Paul sniffling as well. “Yes, Chioma. Andrew is with the Father. With Jesus. And you can be sure that you also will be there one day. Do you want that, Chioma? Do you want to be certain that you’re God’s child and that you’ll spend eternity with Him?”
Chioma nodded again. “Yes … I do.”
The words came out as a sob of joy, and Emma once again took Chioma’s hands in her own. “Close your eyes, sweet girl, and pray with me. Just say what I say. All right?”
“Yes,” Chioma whispered, squeezing Emma’s hands.
“Father God, forgive me for my sins,” Emma said, spacing her words so Chioma could repeat them after her. “I’m sorry, Lord, and I need You. I believe You sent Your only Son to die for me—for my sins—on the cross, and I thank You for that, Father. I believe Jesus died on the cross and that He rose again, and that because He lives, I, too, can be forgiven and become Your child and someday live with You forever. Send Your Spirit, Father, to live in my heart and to change me to become the child You want me to be. I receive You now as my Lord and Savior. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
By the time Chioma had echoed Emma’s “amen,” they were all crying tears of joy. What would become of them after that moment, Emma had no idea. But their eternal destiny was assured, and with that they could rest in God’s provision for whatever else lay ahead.
Chioma’s heart had never felt so light or free. In the past few hours since praying with Emma and the missionary couple, she had alternated between tears and laughter, but now she was trying to stay quiet so her three new friends could catch a little sleep. Kefentse had checked in briefly and then left again with a cup of coffee, while Chioma had decided she was too excited to sleep and didn’t need any more caffeine to get through the night.
But even in the midst of her newfound joy, she was troubled. What would tomorrow bring? It was sure to bring Themba and the others. Even if they delayed until Monday, it would be no later than that. Then what? Though it was comforting to know she and the three captives would go straight into God’s presence if they died, Chioma also knew that life was precious, and she needed to do whatever she could to try and preserve it. And, of course, there was Mandisa and Sipho.
Emma had told Chioma that nothing was impossible with God, that He could do anything. But would He? Would He intervene on their behalf and somehow deliver them from what she now knew was certain death? Even if He did, what was she to do in the meantime?
Unbidden, the memory of the King Proteas that had splashed the ground with color in the spot where
Masozi’s head had been smashed against the Acacia Karoo rose up in her mind, whispering to her of resurrection and promise. Protected by the authorities, the flower continued to grow against all odds—despite revolutions or uprisings, or even the ugliness of apartheid. Eyes closed, Chioma prayed, Oh, Father, what are You trying to tell me?
No words came, but a warm sense of peace enveloped her, assuring her of God’s love—and of the everlasting truth of His promises, even in the face of death. Comforted, she opened the Bible on her lap as she remembered Emma’s admonition that God’s will was always found in His Word, the holy Scriptures. It’s up to You, God. I’ll do what You want me to do, but You’ll have to show me what it is and give me the courage to carry it out. You already gave Your Sons life for me, and Andrew died for me, too. May I also have such great love when it comes time for You to call my name.
Chapter 27
SUNDAY MORNING HAD JUST BEGUN TO CREEP OVER the horizon when Chioma awoke to a sharp jab to her ribs.
“What are you doing sleeping when you should be standing guard?”
Kefentse’s gruff voice was accusatory, piercing the fog of sleep that lingered over Chioma’s mind. She hadn’t meant to doze off, hadn’t thought she would, but she must have—at least for a little while. Still, there was no harm done. The prisoners were tied up, and she held her rifle on her lap … but of course, that wouldn’t be an acceptable excuse to Kefentse, or Themba either, for that matter.
