Kitabu : the Drum Still Cries: N/A

By Earl L. Reifel

Kitabu: The Drum Still Cries is not only the story of a young missionary living in a remote area with an indigenous group of people, but also a story of the struggle and the victory, as the missionary learns to share the Gospel in culturally appropriate ways, so that the men of the African tribe can pass on the truths of the Gospel, and transform their own lives.

This unique story is told by an imaginary troubadour, who observes the youthful missionary, who seeks to find redemptive analogies and culturally appropriate ways to present the Gospel to a civilization far removed from his own educational background. The African men must take up the challenge of reaching their own people for Christ. Kitabu: The Drum Still Cries will make you laugh and cry, as you walk through the foothills of the mountains, with the men who face challenges of planting a truly original church among their own people, for themselves, and for God.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jun 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781449733919

Earl L. Reifel

EARL REIFEL has served Jesus Christ as a missionary in Sierra Leone since 1975. The fruit of his ministry is evident in the spiritual and numerical growth of one church which has developed into an indigenous district of churches reaching more than fifty towns. Earl and his wife, Clare continue their ministry in Africa.

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Part 1: Dembeli and the Kuranko

Chapter 1: The Scattering of the Fire

Dusty brown feet hurried over the dry Judean hillside. As Amos scurried along the path, he wondered which of the messages he had delivered to his people had angered the king. Years before, God had spoken to Amos and told him that Jehovah would not do anything without first revealing His plan to the prophets. The first message God had given Amos didn’t seem to disturb the status quo of his own community. But when God began to speak through him to the nation of Israel, it stirred things up.

As he hurried along, Amos was thinking about how God had commanded him to remind the people how Jehovah had tried to communicate with them: by withholding rain, sending hunger and plagues, and by challenging His people through the voice of the prophets to Seek God and live. But the people were confident that—as God’s chosen ones—whatever they did would be blessed by God. They proclaimed Jehovah’s presence and power even as they ignored His statutes.

Almighty God had declared that He expected His people to seek good and not evil, that they might live. Then God Almighty would be with them just as they claimed He was… (Amos 5:14). Amos realized that in this message he had delivered, God was telling His people that no matter what claims they made about His presence being with them, if they lacked obedience in their hearts then Jehovah would not be there. Amos also wondered if the injustices he had cried out against were now the reason he was being summoned by the high priest. He had made a passionate plea for justice, but it had fallen on deaf ears.

God’s response to the nation had come in the form of a vision, and Amos found himself pleading with Jehovah to be merciful to His people. As Amos stood in the breech between the Creator and the created, he was being unjustly accused of starting a conspiracy against the king of his nation. Amos was not afraid, but he wanted to avoid a confrontation with the religious leaders. Still, he knew in his heart that the God he served had called him and that it was the Creator who had given him the messages he had declared to his people. Now, standing before the priest at Bethel, Amos could hardly believe his ears. The thundering voice of the religious leader of his nation was telling him to Get out… Go back to the land of Judah. Earn your bread there and do your prophesying there. Don’t prophesy at Bethel anymore, because this is the king’s sanctuary and the temple of the kingdom (Amos 7:12-13).

In the stillness of his soul, Amos heard the now familiar voice of his Creator and declared to the nation his innocence and his obedience. I was neither a prophet nor a prophet’s son, but I was a shepherd and I also took care of sycamore-fig trees. But the Lord took me from tending the flock and said to me, ‘Go, prophesy to my people Israel. Now then hear the word of the Lord’ (Amos 7:15-16). Amos’ heart broke as God showed him the dark days that were ahead for the nation of Israel. He wept as he became the mouthpiece of the Lord declaring The days are coming when I will send a famine through the land—not a famine for food or a thirst for water, but a famine of hearing the words of the Lord.

—

Generations later, in a land far, far away, another pair of dusty feet scurried down a rocky trail in response to the summons of a king. Finaba heard the echo of the king’s drum as it reverberated through the hills with the familiar cadence that summoned all the men of the village to the compound of their king, known to his people as the Paramount Chief. For generations Finaba’s people had been called to important meetings by the sound of the huge drum. It had been hand-carved out of a log so large that it required a complete cowhide to cover it. As the deep, throbbing beat echoed and re-echoed through the valleys of his homeland Finaba mused that it was no wonder his people heard the drumbeat from miles away. But today the urgency in the rhythm set his young mind wondering why all the men of the village were being called to a meeting when the food supply was short and every able-bodied person was out gathering fruit, roots, herbs, and other edibles from the jungle that provided the sustenance for his people.

Upon arriving in the village, Finaba quickly found an obscure place a safe distance from the ring of men who sat nearest the chief, but close enough to hear every word. Somehow he sensed that today’s discussions would change his life forever. In the past his position was out on the fringes of the crowd for he had been unimportant as a child. Now that he had gone through the initiation rites and had passed into manhood, he was entitled to move closer to the center of the circle where the men sat. The older women could no longer tell him to move back out of the way. Even so, he was pushing the boundaries by finding a place so close to the ring of elders now gathered around the great chief. Scanning the crowd, he noticed that the hunters had returned. Suddenly a tingle of excitement swept through his body as he realized that for the first time he might be allowed to take part in a major hunt led by the legendary Mende Fa Bore. His new status as a young man permitted him to enjoy such privileges.

The drumbeat stopped as one of the town criers strode to the center of the clearing surrounded by mud huts, the verandas of which were now crowded with people. As the musicians beat out the rhythm of praise on their homemade instruments, the crier sang the praises of their chief and Finaba’s heart swelled with pride as the crier recalled the history and lineage of their great Paramount Chief. He knew that as a future Storyteller of the Kuranko people, he would one day learn all their history so he could pass it on through oral tradition to others. He dreamed of the day he would have the honored position of relating publicly the great names and events of the past, soon becoming lost in his own private world—musing about the great dynasty his people had established in Central Africa almost three hundred years before. It had been kept intact all those years, and only now were his people beginning to feel the threat of a foreign invasion.

Suddenly Finaba was jolted back to reality as the Paramount Chief rose to speak. Another crier strode onto the scene and began to loudly confirm the words of the chief through an abbreviated echo. More than the volume and quality of the speaker’s voice, the very message the chief was conveying was what shook Finaba’s being. Mende Fa Bore, the legendary hunter of his people, had disappeared.

Finaba’s mind reeled at the thought that such a great hunter could possibly be gone. For all his young life he had known with pride that the master of all hunters lived among his people. Without the luxury of high-powered rifles, the fearless Mende Fa Bore had killed more animals than any other hunter. Even the elephant, leopard, and cape buffalo had fallen prey to his incredible skill. Finaba knew beyond any doubt that he had heard the stories of conquest from the greatest of all hunters, and now his mind failed to grasp the unthinkable: Mende Fa Bore was actually gone.

A search party of all able-bodied men set out to scour the hills for the missing hunter. Finaba joined in the endeavor, but as days became weeks, and weeks moved on through the months of the dry season, the legendary hunter was not found. By this time, Finaba was one of the few who still held onto hope that the hunter might someday come home, though admittedly he searched with a heavy heart. His people still foraged in the jungle for fruits, nuts, berries and herbs, but the abundant supply of meat that Mende Fa Bore had helped to supply was missing.

Finaba’s mother and sisters would beat the leaves of a dry-season plant into a powder and join the other women as they scattered the concoction on the rivers and waited for stunned fish to float to the surface. With much laughter and more than the usual amount of gossip, the women followed in the wake of the poison, scooping up the paralyzed fish with nets woven from raffia. As the fish were caught in the nets, the women would take them out and put them in gourds attached to ropes hung over their shoulders. In spite of the fish, without the usual supply of meat, Finaba knew the hard times of hunger for the first time.

Dry season gave way to the refreshing showers of the rainy season. As the thirsty ground soaked up the water, plants that seemed dead spread their roots a little deeper to soak up the life-giving moisture. Edible leaves became abundant, and fruit, almost forgotten in the intense dry season heat, began to re-appear. The search for Mende Fa Bore was now a thing of the past. One by one the men of the tribe had reluctantly begun to accept that he was gone, and the hope of ever seeing him again was set aside. After all, the African bush had swallowed up many unfortunate hunters in the past. No one would ever know if it had been the charge of an enraged elephant, the nasty fangs of a wounded leopard, a seemingly slow-moving crocodile, or the meanest of all animals in the bush—the cape buffalo—that had claimed the life of their hero. Even in the re-telling of the legends that recounted the phenomenal exploits of Mende Fa Bore, men had to acknowledge in their hearts that Nature never forgives carelessness or forgetfulness, and maybe, just maybe, Mende Fa Bore—even in his greatness—had grown overconfident and misjudged his prey. The simple fact remained: he was gone.

—

One still, tropical evening was shattered when a drum began to beat. All other concerns were set aside as a spirit of expectation rippled through the town. The rhythm was picked up quickly by other drums, and like an electrical current sweeping through a city, the atmosphere was charged with excitement. Drums beat, youth danced, women sang as hands clapped, and Finaba strutted through the village on a beautiful night lit by a full moon. He enjoyed the festive atmosphere and the attention of certain young ladies who huddled together awaiting their turn to dance the dance of the bird and receive the applause of the crowd. They were also anxious to pick up the gifts that would be thrown to them as tokens of admiration for their skill as dancers, or for the view of their supple bodies, which were displayed to the maximum as the girls stomped their feet and shook to the rhythm of the drums. Finaba enjoyed the dancing every bit as much as they did on these full-moon nights when only the youngest, the weak, or the very old slept near the fires in their huts.

That night Finaba suddenly noticed that there were no elders at the festivities. Puzzled, he searched for his father and other family members, finally spotting an uncle in the shadow of the mango tree talking in hushed tones to the blacksmith. Unnoticed by the crowd, both men quietly left the gathering of people and strolled toward the chief’s compound. Finaba followed, careful to remain unseen.

The throbbing of the drums and the stomping of dancing feet contrasted with the sharp sounds of clapping hands and squeals of delight coming from children, but it all faded into the background as Finaba stole quietly through the trees to the chief’s hut. The other men there were waiting for the last of the elders to take his rightful place among the chief’s advisors. Time meant nothing—Finaba knew that the meeting would not start until all the important men were on hand. For a while he tried to remain hidden, crouched in the shadows near the doorway, but he soon realized that he had nothing to worry about. The importance of the chief’s summons to the elders demanded their full attention, and even if he had been noticed, his presence would not have been acknowledged. He watched as the chief quietly reached into the folds of his gown, withdrew a handful of cola nuts, and passed them around to the men.

Finaba listened attentively as the chief recalled the blessings of bygone days when food was plentiful and the hunters, under the leadership of Mende Fa Bore, had provided an abundant supply of meat. In those days, peace had reigned throughout the kingdom. But then the chief’s face grew long as he reminded them of the skirmishes on the border of the kingdom, the absence of meat, and how hard it was for families to find enough food. He shared honestly that even with all four of his wives out foraging for food, he had had difficulty providing for all the needs of his extended family and dignitaries from visiting clans. He concluded that the country was no longer able to support the growing population, for their wives had been fertile and the devils of disease had not attacked because they had been appeased through animal sacrifices and proper respect paid to ancestors.

To solve the problem, the chief challenged the head of each clan to take his family and spread out—to claim more territory and enlarge the kingdom so that they could once again experience the blessing of abundance and safety from foreign invasions. Pulling some coals from the fire, he first offered them to the elder on his right. Finaba watched, entranced, as the elder held out a piece of bamboo to accept the coals. The chief reminded them that they had to keep the coals alive and that the hand full of colas he was giving them represented the life-blood of their people. They had to keep a fire going to warm their huts, cook their food, and burn off the bush each year so they could forage farther and find a place to plant their meager gardens. Finaba’s heart swelled with pride as he watched his own father solemnly hold out a large piece of bark and accept his portion of coals from the Paramount Chief on behalf of his clan. He watched and listened in breathless expectation as each elder solemnly accepted a share of coals from their chief. He knew that when they reached their destination his father would light a new fire and then share the coals with the head of each family in the clan. As long as he lived Finaba would never forget that night, for he had witnessed the challenge of the chief and had seen the scattering of the fire.

Finaba had never heard of the purifying fire of the Holy Spirit that cleanses from sin and sanctifies our hearts so we can stand before God. He had never heard of the Apostle Paul writing to young Timothy and saying the gift of God is in your life like a handful of coals. Fan it. Blow on it. So that it will burst into flames and the light and warmth of it will draw other men to your Savior (2 Timothy 1:6). Finaba knew nothing about the spiritual light, or Jesus, who is the Light of the World. He only knew that his people had to keep the fire going if they were to live, so he vowed that he would protect it at all costs. He also vowed to do everything within his power to fulfill the commission of the Paramount Chief to claim a new territory for his people.

Chapter 2: A Refuge from Danger

The chill of the morning air had forced even the hardiest of the dancers to find solace in the warmth of a communal fire which was fed with sticks children had brought back to the village as they returned from their foraging. But there was a sense of anticipation in the air, for the word had already circulated that the Paramount Chief had summoned the head of each clan to his hut for a meeting. The people were abuzz with speculation about what the meeting’s topic might be, and Finaba chuckled to himself because he knew something his friends did not know. Finaba knew that it would not be long before everybody in the village would know what the meeting was about, because among his people secrets were only figments of one’s imagination. Even the smallest child would soon hear what had been announced. Finaba did not have to wait long before his younger brother called him to the hut, and preparations for the journey began.

With his people, Finaba pushed south and west into the land known to us today as the countries of Guinea and Sierra Leone. They discovered that all their needs could be met in the foothills of the Konko Mountains, where the abundant forests, rivers, and swamps provided a more than adequate food supply for the animals of the forest and for their clan as well. They discovered the beauty of the rolling hills and explored the rugged mountain terrain. They drank from cool mountain streams in shady forests and fished the depths of uncharted rivers. They claimed an area so large it took a man five days to walk across it. It was a land where the hills were rich with iron stones from which tools could be made by melting them down and shaping the iron that flowed from them. It was a land where game was abundant and the forest so thick that a man could walk all day and never be struck by the direct light of the hot tropical sun. Like the rest of his clan, Finaba rejoiced in their new home.

They rejoiced until they began to hear rumors of some of the youth who had disappeared, apparently swallowed up by the land that had seemed so kind in meeting all their needs. Finaba had been taught from his earliest days that the world was held in balance by good spirits and by evil spirits. He was not overly concerned about the good spirits because he had learned that they would not harm anyone, but now he began to wonder what kind of sacrifice the elders would have to make to appease the evil spirits so no more youth would disappear. These evil spirits held his people in bondage of fear, for if they were not appeased, unspeakable evil would come upon the people to bring them into submission.

Finaba was still pondering these strange events when a summons came from the Paramount Chief to the heads of all the clans. Sensing that history was in the making, but motivated more by his curiosity, Finaba asked his father if he could accompany the elders on the journey back to the town of the Great Chief. Pride swelled in his heart, and maybe a little bit in his head, when he was reminded that he would one day be an oral historian for his people and that he would have the awesome responsibility of passing on to the next generation the story of his forefathers. His place in the clan now dictated that he attend all the important meetings, even if he was only an observer. Finaba sensed that his role as a historian was important. He no longer regretted that he had not been permitted to become an apprentice to the blacksmith to learn the secrets of melting the iron stones and the skills needed to shape the tools that served his people so well. As a child, he’d wished he had been born into a clan of blacksmiths so he could learn what he admired as a more honorable trade. Now he felt that he had an honorable calling.

As the elders prepared for the journey, Finaba realized that his place was now being acknowledged as honorable, for he could now begin to walk among his people with a status accorded to few. He purposed in his heart that he would be the best historian he could possibly be among a people who knew nothing of reading, writing, or filing of records. His people knew only the oldest and best means of communication known to man, the fine art of storytelling. And that was what Finaba’s mind was being trained and disciplined to do.

A solemn group met three days later near the Paramount Chief’s hut. The Chief listened carefully to reports from all over the chiefdom. He sensed the deep frustration of his people over the loss of so many youth. People argued about which of the spirits should be appeased to end the devastation that was creeping among his people. Finaba noticed that the chief would periodically slip out for a short time and then quietly return to enter into the discussions as if he had never been gone. After two days of discussion the chief displayed a look of confidence on his face. He called for the attention of his people and declared that a consensus had emerged. He pointed out that the people in the north felt that the disappearances were due to foreign invasions and skirmishes. The people on the southern edge of the newly formed kingdom were discovering that other tribes were also endeavoring to enlarge their territorial boundaries and were willing to fight for the same area now claimed by the Kuranko people. He concluded that the disappearances were caused by an even greater danger: the slavers who were coming into the area and taking youth away, never to return them to their homeland again. The chief felt that safety for his people was not a matter of appeasing the evil spirits, but of finding a way to defend themselves against invasion and the terrible aggression of slavery. He challenged the elders to consider how they could protect their people from foreign invasion.

Discussion continued long into the night, and Finaba took full advantage of the moonlight as he meandered from one group of elders to another to catch the essence of their discussions. He was appalled by stories of slavers that had come into a neighboring area and taken many of the young people. Fear gripped his heart as he heard how the slavers had laid a large chain on the ground in the middle of the village. Then they had taken a small chain and put it around the neck of each young man or woman, and padlocked the small chain into the big chain. One by one, young slaves were chained together by the neck only one step ahead of the slave behind them. Finaba asked what the slaver had done when he reached the end of the big chain. The elder explained that the slaver had simply padlocked another big chain to that one and had gone on chaining the youth by their necks. When all the youth of the village were chained, the slaver ordered the slaves to begin walking, and he herded them out of the village in total defeat.

Adding to his shock, Finaba discovered that the slaver purchased slaves from a neighboring Paramount Chief who had captured some young men during a tribal skirmish and sold them into slavery. The rumor was circulating that the slaves were being sold to men who carried them away in big boats—so far away that they could never come home again. Finaba’s heart ached as he pictured the young people chained together, being marched for weeks to the coast where they would be sold to passing slavers who came on ships ready to carry their human cargo to the ends of the earth.

When asked why the slavers used such a method, the elder pointed out how the slaves still had their hands and feet free but could not escape because they were chained together so closely. Another elder spoke of when the Great Creator made the world and gave the angels a bag of rocks to scatter over all the earth. The angels began distributing the rocks all over the world, but the bag broke suddenly when they were flying over Sierra Leone. That’s how they explained the rocks in the forest, rocks in the swamps, rocks on the plains, rocks on the hills and rocks everywhere. There did not seem to be a straight path anywhere, so the slavers had to find a way of getting their captives to the big river by a flexible means that would allow them to march along the bush paths, through the forests and swamps, and around the stones for almost three hundred miles to the coast.

Finaba had heard of the river that was so wide it did not have a bank on the other side, and was large enough that huge ships could float on it. Those ships carried hundreds of slaves to the end of the earth and left them somewhere so they could never come home again. Finaba was not sure about ships, and he certainly did not want to believe that a river could be that wide, but then Finaba had never stood on the shores of the Atlantic or seen the floating fortress that carried the human cargo to another world. He heard of a cottonwood tree where the slaves—his people—were taken and sold like goats in a market, and he wondered what kind of plan the great Paramount Chief could devise to protect his people against such powerful evil.

The sleepless night of fear and unease ended with the dawn of the new day, but the freshness of the morning did not lighten the ache in Finaba’s heart as he and his father approached the meeting hut near the chief’s compound. Apparently, like Finaba, the chief had wandered from one small group to another the evening before, or more likely, the groups had wandered over to the chief’s compound and shared their fears and insights with him. In the morning meeting a variety of plans were suggested. After lengthly discussion a consensus began to emerge.

Finally the great chief called for the attention of all his people. He pointed out that caves had been discovered throughout the foothills of the mountains. He suggested that food be stashed in certain caves and that young men be posted as sentries where they could see long distances in every direction to warn the people when slavers were coming. When the warning was given, every man, woman, and child should immediately leave whatever they were doing, head for the cave closest to their area, and stay there until the slavers had passed. All of the clans quickly accepted the plan, and after a feast the elders began their journey back to their homes and families.

Several of Finaba’s closest friends were designated as the sentries who kept constant watch for approaching slavers, but he never really thought that they would have to give the warning that would send his family into the cave. He thought that would only happen to the clans living farther south. One evening as Finaba and his friends sat around the fire, someone shared how he had met a sentry from the neighboring clan who told him that in the tribe south of them some people had been captured. Several escaped and ran away with the slavers hot on their trail. The young men found their way to the southern edge of the foothills and through the pass marked by huge pinnacles of granite. At that point the slavers turned back, knowing that the young man and his escaping companions could lose themselves in the hills and forest and never be seen again.

Finaba wondered how a person, if captured, might find his way to freedom. The scout advised that if he was ever captured and were able to escape, he should head for the foothills of the mountains and hike through The Gates of Jubilee, those pinnacles of rock on the southern edge of the mountain range. Finaba also wondered about the hardships the escapees must have experienced, and how they had to learn another language to get along with the people from that neighboring tribe. He felt secure because he still figured the slavers would never make it this far from the big river.

A few days later, however, that security quickly vanished when the signal from his own clan’s sentries echoed faintly in the distance. Finaba paused in his work to listen, thinking that all the stories had begun to work on his imagination and that he was just hearing things. But then the call came again and his heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, in his mind he pictured again the concern he’d seen on the face of the Paramount Chief as he talked to the elders and explained his plan for the safety of his people. Finaba remembered how the chief had felt it would be safer to hide in their own beloved hills than to fight the slavers who came with weapons far more advanced than the hunters had. Those weapons could speak harsh words to a resistant slave and leave that slave wounded, bleeding, or dead on the forest floor. So it was with a sense of fear that Finaba gathered his few simple farming tools and hurried off toward the hidden cave.

Scurrying past the sentries, Finaba did not even bother to wave as he had so often done in the past. As he rounded the corner and stepped into the mouth of the cave, his heart overflowed with relief when he saw every member of his family gathered there. In fact, most of the clan was there—but he feared that those missing were even now en route to the river so big that it did not have a bank on the other side.

The smell of smoke drew his attention to a few coals his uncle was trying to persuade to become a fire. Finaba watched as a tendril of smoke curled toward the rocky ceiling, and it slowly dawned on him that his whole clan was once again reduced to dependence on a handful of coals, remnants from the scattering of the fire. The importance of those coals was not lost on him, for he knew better than most that his people had to keep that fire going. He knew that when the danger was past, his father—as the elder of the clan—would call the heads of the families and from that very fire would give a few coals to each so that when they returned home they could start their own fires.

The warning to be silent came as a whisper, and even the smallest of the children settled into an almost holy hush. They could hear the slavers in the distance, and the sound was drawing nearer. Finaba realized that it was probably fear that kept even the rowdiest children quiet. The slavers marched right up over the mountain and on to the next valley, never realizing that in the ground beneath them were the very people they had come to capture. It seemed an eternity before the all-clear signal came from the sentries. Like the others, Finaba treated his lungs to a breath of fresh mountain air and wondered how he had remembered to breathe during those hours when his people were in the gravest danger.

Then, just as Finaba had expected, his father called the heads of the families and solemnly gave a few coals to each. Looking around the cave, Finaba became genuinely grateful to the Paramount Chief for suggesting this successful plan of protection. The cave was a safe retreat where they could go and remain unharmed. It was the refuge they needed where danger could not reach them.

Finaba had never heard about a place called heaven, and he knew nothing about an eternal refuge where he would be free from sickness, pain, sorrow, and death. He had never heard of Jesus telling His followers not to be afraid because He was going to heaven to prepare a mansion for each of them where He would give them eternal refuge (John 14:1-6). He had never heard of the new heaven that the Apostle John saw, where there would be no tears, crying, pain, or death (Rev. 21:1-4). Finaba only knew that he needed a place of physical refuge to shield him from the dangers around him. He did not know what would happen to him in the hereafter, but he did know that he needed—and had found—a refuge for the here and now.

Chapter 3: The Supreme Sacrifice

It is hard to say how long Finaba’s people lived in the foothills of the mountains or how many generations passed into eternity without knowing about the Supreme Sacrifice that would end all their sacrificing. Generation after generation after generation marched their way through the hills, never having heard that Jesus had paid the price for sin and that they could be free from the bondage of their ancestral worship, consisting of fear, of sin, of death and of hell.

Finaba saw the generations of his people pass over the mountain and into eternity. He also continued to hear stories of young men and women who disappeared, never to be seen again. The reality of the possibility of being captured and taken to the coast as a slave cast a constant dark shadow over the lives of his people.

The story of a young man from a neighboring tribe stands out in Finaba’s memory. This young man was journeying closer to the coast on a business venture. Finaba suspected that he was going after a wife, for what other business would be important enough to cause a man to travel that far. On his return trip the young man saw a slave chain coming and quickly hid in the bush so that he would not be noticed. As he hid in the bushes, he saw his older brother walk by with his head padlocked by a small chain into the big one. Anger gave the young man courage and he rushed to the slaver and demanded the life of his older brother.

Finaba mused that it must have been a bitter argument that followed as the young man declared that his older brother was born free in their hometown and that they would never be slaves to any man. The slaver, of course, mocked the idea and pointed out that the young man’s brother was obviously somebody’s slave. Finaba imagined the terrible argument that must have taken place as the young man endeavored to get his brother freed. At some point the slaver angrily held out his hand for money and told the young man that the older brother was his, and the young man would have to pay the price of freedom for the older brother to walk free again. Realizing that his anger was doing no good, the young man knelt in the dirt and begged for the life of his older brother. He was curtly dismissed by the slaver who said that he had no time for such nonsense.

Darkness had fallen, and darker still were the feelings of the young man as he hurried home to tell his father what he had experienced. In the morning when he found his father and told him the news, his father hurried to the chief and asked him for help. The dull beat of the drum echoed through the hills, and soon all the men of the village had gathered at the summons of their chief. When told about the captive brother, people began to contribute what little they had so the young man could purchase him back from the slaver. Time dragged for the young man until he was assured that the chief had gathered enough and he was able to start his journey to the coast to purchase his brother’s freedom.

Fortunately, the young man reached the coast before the slave traders, one of whom may have been John Newton, arrived for the auction held under the famous cottonwood tree on the Freetown Peninsula. John Newton is familiar to us because he was a slaver whose ships carried many from Africa to Europe and the Americas. His headquarters were on the Banana Islands just a few miles off the coast of Freetown, Sierra Leone, so he had easy access to the West African slave markets. A tropical disease laid him low and almost claimed his life, but in sickness he himself became a slave to others. While a slave, he was introduced to the person of Jesus Christ and saw his need for a Savior. His life was radically changed, and he later wrote the song, Amazing Grace, his story and testimony.

Finaba pictured in his mind what the young man must have found when he reached the coast. Each slaver had a series of huts, where he would chain his wares until the slaving ships arrived. Many of the slaves, like the older brother, had been captured by the slavers. Others had been purchased from Paramount Chiefs who had taken them captive in battle against a neighboring tribe as they endeavored to enlarge their boundaries. All of these slaves were housed in the most miserable conditions imaginable, and Finaba’s mind staggered at the unbelievable atrocities he had heard about. Finaba’s people saw deeper than the mere physical pain of slavery, for it was reported that during the slave auctions one could see the demons and devils as they danced above the slaves in the branches of the great cottonwood tree which provided the shade for the illicit activity. Today that cottonwood tree still stands in the middle of Freetown, Sierra Leone’s capital city. It is more then a reminder of the past. It is a monument to freedom, and a declaration of an independent people who can face the future with the confidence that they too can overcome.

Fortunately, the young man found his brother still alive in one of the huts owned by the swaggering slaver. It made him angry all over again. The ensuing discussion was likely not the most peaceful one carried on that day. The young man finally paid the required price for his brother. The slaver pulled out a string of keys, walked over to the older brother, and opened the padlock securing the chain around the older brother’s neck. The chain fell off and the older brother threw his hands in the air shouting, You pulled my head! You pulled my head! You pulled my head! I am free!

Years later, this story became the basis for the contextualization of a Biblical principle. In the neighboring area, while translating the Scriptures into the language that belonged to the same linguistic group as the Kurnako, one of the early missionaries was looking for a word for redeemed. The villagers could not think of a word like that in their language, even after the missionary explained the concept of redemption. As they continued to work their way through the translation of the New Testament, the missionary would occasionally bring up the issue again only to be told that they did not have that word. One day Finanba was visiting friends in the area and he decided to stop and when he heard that God’s Word was being taught he decided to go and see what God had to say. He joined the group seated with the missionary and the subject of redemption came up again. The young men chuckled at the missionary’s persistence in trying to find a word in their language that means redeemed. But they settled back to listen to the story of redemption again, and wondered why it was so important to the white man that he have a word for redeemed. As the missionary finished, Finaba spoke of the young man who had paid the price to free his older brother. Looking at the group of young men, Finaba, the Storyteller, concluded that the missionary was trying to say that we are bound by the chains of animism, ancestral worship, fear, sin, death, and hell. He explained that if we believe that Jesus died for us and that He is our Supreme Sacrifice, He will pull our heads from those chains of bondage and we will be forever free. The missionary’s heart rejoiced as he heard the Storyteller conclude that the word for redeemed is to have your head pulled. Now he could explain in terms they could understand the concept of redemption and salvation.

Time meant nothing to Finaba or his people as they marched on towards eternity. They knew nothing about the wars waged overseas, or about the Emancipation Proclamation declared by England in 1780 that set slaves free. They hadn’t heard about American President Abraham Lincoln’s declaration of Emancipation eighty years later on September 22, 1862. Finaba did hear the story of strange people who were dropped off at the coast. He heard about the thunder of the cannons. He heard about the strange languages those people spoke. But it was much later that he discovered they were freed slaves and that across the big river their king had emptied some of the jails and deported criminals and prostitutes along with many freed slaves, sending them to form a colony on the coast of Africa. He heard that when the king captured a ship bearing a cargo of slaves, his men would turn the ship around and release the cargo on the African coast. (The colony on the peninsula became known as Freetown, for it was there that the captives knew again the joy of freedom.)

Finaba had no way of knowing that people from tribes he had never heard of were now living in his part of the world. He did know that they had to be able to communicate, and that over the years the neat-sounding words from each of the languages found their way into the vocabulary of the people on the peninsula. Using English as a base, and absorbing words from many other languages from all over West Africa, a unique and beautiful language was born which later became known as Krio.

In time, Finaba heard of the arrival of the white man. He knew that of the first nine who arrived in Sierra Leone, six died in a matter of weeks. In the first twenty five years of their ministry in Sierra Leone, the Church