Earlier in the afternoon a silver gray Hyundai pulled up to our parking spot at Victoria Square. Out jumped two people whom I have not seen since the mid to late 60's - old high school mates. They have spent some time in Johannesburg and are enroute to the Congo (DRC) where they currently live and reside. It does not take long for us to be deeply immersed in reminiscences and reflections of our life in the heady 60's when Congo demanded its independence from Belgium and teetered on the edge of chaos - as the historic traumatization at the hands of the colonizers boiled to the surface and exploded in violence and pain and unrealizable expectations.
My own family's escape route as the violence rolled south took us to the Angolan border with the Congo, enroute to the capital Luanda. Very early one morning the call came to leave quickly and quietly. The vehicles had been loaded the previous day. As everyone piled in we did not know whether we would make it to our destinations. Road blocks, stones thrown at windows, unruly military, threats of molestation and death, nights sleeping on the road beside fires, refugee camps, airlifts to safe zones - all these comprised the days, weeks and months until we were able to return to Canada. We thanked God at the end of each day and each time we achieved the next destination.
As children of missionary parents we were caught up in the maelstrom of the time. Our journey this day in Johannesburg, as we reminisced, retraced the various paths we and our families took to escape the approaching armagedon. Our families all had to flee their work settings in unprotected convoys heading for the nearest borders. Today we also caught up on each others lives over the past five decades and how our paths had criss-crossed the Atlantic, US and Canada and of course the African continent. It was amazing to relive our common experiences and remind each other of who we had been and explore where we were now!
Beto ke vanda ngolo!
BWB
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