The
prayer garden at Pomba is beautiful; it occupies a small hill, with
terraced gardens and lots of meandering walkways, dotted with
solitary benches. One can always find a quiet place to sit and
meditate, read, or pray in the garden. The garden and visitors’
compound are the only two places on the base where Pomba kids are not
allowed to go. Ever. Under any circumstance. Pemba villagers are also
not allowed in these areas, althought–unlike the Pomba
residents–they are also barred from the children’s compounds and
some other areas of the larger compound.
Don’t
get me wrong. The children at Pomba can be a delight, and we visitors
love to spend hours a day with them, talking (though we might not
share a language), laughing, coloring, crafting, playing, and eating.
The favorite of the littlest ones, though, is to just be held. Many
have never known a mother’s touch, and the need for it flows out of
them almost visibly. Any visitor who sits still for even a moment
will end up with a small child in his or her lap.
But
for Westerners who are used to “down time,” to self-imposed
solitude, to shutting the doors of their homes at the end of the
workday, closing out all but the most intimate members of their
families, the constant crowds, the constant “being with,” the
constant noise, and, frankly, the constant need
of
everyone around them becomes overwhelming. We must have someplace to
retreat to, and that is why the visitors’ compound and the prayer
garden are enforced by compound security as for Visitors Only.
One
evening, toward the end of our stay at La Pomba, our group was on its
way back to the visitors’ compound when we saw that there was
something going on at the prayer hut, which is a very large gazebo in
the prayer garden. Our group leader, Kaye, was in the lead, and she
wandered over to see what all of the music, voices, light, and
movement were about. The girls followed, and one by one, they went
in. It was a large–and loud–prayer service, which is common in
this particular branch of Christianity.
I
wanted to pray but I felt like I really needed some quiet time with
God. I wanted to pray in solitude, not in the circus. I guess I
needed that door that I could close to shut out the crowds. I stood
on the walkway outside the prayer hut, watching the rest of our group
go into the service, and considered going back to our room in the
visitors’ compound, but I knew that even there, it would be crowded
and noisy. I set out in search of a bench I could have to myself. I
liked the idea of being near enough to the prayer service to absorb
some of its energy but far enough away from it to not be distracted
by it.
On my
way to a bench, I saw some strange activity in the garden, but I
didn’t dwell on it. It seemed like there were people in the prayer
garden who shouldn’t be there. I went to the bench closest to the
hut, but someone was already there, in an attitude of prayer, so I
went on. The next bench, at about the highest point in the garden,
was free, so I took it. I often pray with my eyes open, so I still
found the light and noise from the gazebo a little distracting. I
turned away from it and continued praying.
I
also continued to be aware of odd activity in the garden, though I
was trying to stay focused on praying. I had seen a number of shadowy
figures walking around in the back of the garden, which is just a big
field that they aren’t using yet and haven’t cleared. It has
high grass, small bushes, and a few trees. It’s an excellent
hiding place if you want to go sneaking around. It appeared to me
that several of the older children who lived at Pomba were doing
exactly that. The wall that separates the ministry from the village
was about 20 feet away, with a big baobab tree in front of it. At
that point, the wall is low enough that just about any person in
reasonably good shape could get themselves over it. I got the idea
that Pomba kids and village kids were meeting up in the bushes, and I
couldn’t imagine that it was for any good purpose. As I was aware
of all of this shady activity going on behind me, I had the odd
thought, “What if something bad happened? What should I do?” And
the thought came to me, “You should scream.” But this was a
fleeting thought, and I didn’t dwell on it. Instead, I tried to
make myself focus on praying. I had seen four people walk along the
farthest back edge of the garden, one at a time, and carefully spaced
out so that it didn’t look as if they were together, but they all
headed toward the wall. Once they disappeared behind the baobab tree,
I didn’t see them again. Later, three people emerged from the same
spot, again, carefully separating themselves in time and space, so
that they looked like they were alone. If they were some of the same
ones who had gone behind the tree originally, the fourth one never
emerged. I just had the sense that something very dark was going on
back there. I prayed.
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