October 2002

Fear on the Mission Field

Dear Friends

We have just returned to Chimoio, Mozambique, after two months home leave in the States. In North Carolina my brother surprised me by renting some videos which were favorites of ours growing up, including the Cold War era science fiction conspiracy movie, "Invasion of the Body Snatchers," which captures the spooky feeling of inexplicably changed relationships. Neighbors are converted into aliens by pods that assume their identity while they sleep. Back in Africa, we overtook a large, open farm truck on the highway. The truck was filled with huge heads of cabbages tightly bundled in bright green netting, nearly re-enacting a scene from the movie. The extent of the pod distribution network hit home and I stayed awake behind the wheel!

In the United States, people often asked if we were afraid in Africa. As in America, although perhaps heightened in Africa, we entertain common concerns about separation from loved ones, disease, crime.

I have heard that fear is the opposite of faith. But freedom from fear is not always proof of faith. Sometimes it is due to the pride of presumption. Strip off the cloak of circumstances and fear is exposed.

We had renewed our six-month multiple entry visas for Zimbabwe several times. At every crossing we are required to fill out a Temporary Import Permit, a left-over form where "name of pilot" is crossed out and the word "driver" is penned in by hand. I have actually memorized our vehicle's 9-digit engine and 16-digit chassis numbers! We fill in our immigration forms in advance, tucking them into our passports. The forms ask for a destination, and since we don't always know where we will be staying, we often use the address of a small flat with a daily rate available to missionaries. Apparently, on that day several missionaries had used the same address. An unfamiliar Immigration Officer questioned us. We explained that if the apartment was occupied, we could stay at one of several local hotels. He excused himself and walked into an office, then returned to tell us that our entrance into Zimbabwe was denied.

Stunned, we asked why. Our papers were in order. He refused to give us a reason, citing a new national security law. We learned much later that, in Zimbabwe's pre-election paranoia, we had been suspected of intentions to attend a political rally. We pleaded with the immigration officer, pointing out the rash on Isaiah's face. We protested that we had two minor children who were legal residents at boarding schools in the country. They had the requisite Resident Scholar's Permits, obtained at great effort and expense. The officer refused to yield. I appealed to familiar faces behind the counter, to people who knew us and with whom we had exchanged pleasantries during dozens of border crossings. They cast their eyes down and remained silent. The pods had taken over.

We were handed form I.F. 20: "*1. NOTICE TO PERSON REFUSED LEAVE TO ENTER ZIMBABWE," authorized by, "Section 8 (3) (a) of the Act, Section 48 (1) of the Regulations. . ..*(b) paragraph (b) of section 17 of the Act. . .in terms of subsection (1) of section 21, as read with subsection (1) of section 22 of the Act AARW 31111b." Charles' name was filled in, followed by "+ wife." We could appeal to the nearest Magistrate's Court, but not in person.

We were given a telephone number for immigration headquarters in the capital, Harare, knowing we were as likely to get through to a human being there as on Mars. Twelve attempts to call confirmed that no one was answering the phone. The U.S. embassy was "outraged" and sympathetic, but doubtful that much could be done. There had been several recent reports of American and European Union passport holders being arbitrarily refused entry.

I was separated from children, unfairly denied access to medical care for my son, powerless, angry, and fearful.

To be powerless is to be poor, in the biblical sense of anawim. To be poor in material goods is also to be powerless. I have been poor in the material sense in the United States, but being a white, female, American Christian, my powerlessness was alleviated. In Mugabe's Zimbabwe these same traits traded against me. For the first time I stood in closer solidarity with the average African citizen, who is both poor and powerless all of the time.

Days of prayer and many tears followed. My time of fear and forced separation from my children ended because I could draw on the financial resources provided by the faithful people of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). We hired a good lawyer and won an appeal two weeks later. Many others in Zimbabwe suffered separation from loved ones, imprisonment, beatings, and even death during the tumultuous weeks leading up to and following the election.

I am challenged to remember that the God I proclaim transcends all circumstances. I do not want to forget that the faith I profess must be lived in and through all circumstances. I believe my lessons in faith and fear in Africa will travel well back to America.

To His Glory,

Diane Wonnenberg