6 p.m. Saturday I dragged my exhausted body upstairs, leaving our guests behind.  6:30 p.m. I fell into a deep sleep.  7:30 a.m. Sunday I opened my eyes to a brand new day.  Grateful, oh so grateful for an unheard of thirteen hours of uninterrupted sleep.  

What would cause this grandma to be that worn out? Three weeks of preparation in and around the edges of Shiloh's normal activities.  Preparation for a full blown party to celebrate the ten years Francis has worked for us.  

Here in Cameroon an employer can arrange with the government to present a ten year medal of honor after their employee has given them ten years of work.  And the government will present another one after fifteen years and again twenty years of work.  Then a person is eligible to retire any time they choose after that.  It's a very big deal to receive a medal of honor for work.  And it's also very (as in very, very) expensive to do this through the government.  So years ago we decided we could change the wording and print our own certificate.  It has been a highly successful thing to do.  For example, Francis.

He was overwhelmed when we approached him about his party.  Nobody had ever celebrated anything about him over his thirty years of life.  And though he was right in the middle of the extensive planning and preparation, he was thrilled beyond belief to be honored like this.  In Cameroon you throw your own party, pay for everything, even pay transportation to and from for your out-of-town guests, and are responsible for housing and food during the time the out-of-town folk are in town.  Fortunately Francis works for us.  We covered all expenses.

Sixty guests came to Shiloh at 1 p.m. on Saturday.  Family, friends, neighbors, people from church.   There were many speeches. The Shiloh choir sang.  There were other special numbers as well.  His pastor gave a powerful message.  Each of his children recited passages of scripture they had memorized.  Even his three year old son.  Francis himself gave a very moving speech, thanking each of us for the investment we have made in his life.  Then Papa Jim presented him with a beautifully framed certificate.  And the feasting began.  Three tables were loaded with food.  Francis, being our cook, had chosen the menu and supervised every bit of the cooking.  A local bakery made a beautiful cake for him.  Pictures were taken.  Everyone wanted their picture taken with everyone else.  And everybody, or so it seemed, had their own smart phone to take pictures with.  Talking and laughing and visiting went on and on for hours.  And the exhausted grandmother slipped quietly away at 6:00 p.m.  

Papa Jim stayed 'till the last dog died at 10 p.m. and then he came to bed.  He's clearly a lot younger than I am!  Some of the out-of-town family members stayed at Shiloh on Friday and Saturday nights.  Papa Jim was up bright and early Sunday morning to feed them. Mama Alice did not wake up until they were gone.  Grateful, oh so grateful for for an unheard of thirteen hours of uninterrupted sleep.  

At breakfast they shared their story.  All four are Cameroonians.  All are English speaking.  All have graduated from university.  And all found it impossible to land a job here in Cameroon.  Their families had struggled to put them through school with the expectation that they would land a good job. They were then supposed to contribute financially to the needs of the extended family.  And so each was ready to fall for the exciting promise of a job in another country.  Without doing any research into what this was really all about, each gal jumped at the chance to get out of Cameroon and make it big somewhere else.  One was hired to teach English to  school children in Kuwait.  For another it was the promise of a good paying office job in that country.  The only hitch was that money was needed to pay for passports, visas, plane tickets, and other fees.  One young lady reported that her father sold his cocoa farm which had been in the family for many generations.  He was left penniless with the firmly held belief that his daughter would soon be sending lots of money back to him.  

Nothing turned out as promised.  As each young lady arrived at the Kuwait airport she was met by a "handler" who took her passport and rushed her off to a mall.  There she was put on display for men to see her.  Soon a Kuwaiti man would like what he saw and purchase her.  Without being allowed any time to recover from her trip or to adjust to this foreign land, she would be taken to his house and immediately be made to work.  These girls were treated as slaves in their owners homes.  They had to work for 22 hours each and every day.  They worked from 4 a.m. until 2 a.m. the following day.  During that time they were not permitted to sit down.  They could only have their phones when they were off work for those two hours.  And at any moment the man would bring them into his bed and do whatever he wanted to with them.  In fact, the wives encouraged the African slave girls to have sex with their husbands.  

It's called human trafficking and it is going on today.  I sat at the breakfast table this morning and listened to these ladies describe unspeakable things that happened to them.  All four of them managed to escape, and through various means were able to return to Cameroon.  One of the girls has been ostracized from her family.  They do not ever want to see her again.  She has disgraced the entire clan.  But the most shocking part of their stories was the fact that Cameroonian men called traffickers enticed them into this job opportunity in Kuwait. In each case it was a man well known to the girl.  For one it was her cousin whom she had grown up with.  He not only sold her into this most despicable kind of slavery, he also sold his own sister and another cousin as well.  It is a business for these men.  They can make a good living this way.  One of the young ladies reported to me that her own pastor is the one who trafficked her.  He sold nine girls from his church to the Kuwaiti handler at the same time.  She is the only one who managed to escape and come back to Cameroon.  She immediately reported her pastor to the police.  He is in prison today, which is where he belongs.

These young ladies have formed a non-profit organization.  They are dedicated to warning young girls about this kind of thing.  They also are doing everything they can to help other young ladies to escape from Kuwait and come back home to Cameroon.  They have to pay the equivalent of  $3,000 U.S. dollars to their handler in order to buy their freedom.  Then they have to pay for their plane ticket back home.  All the time they are living with their owners, they are not getting paid.  

These four young ladies spent the night at Shiloh, ate breakfast, and were picked up at 7 a.m.  They were invited to speak to the young people at Rain Forrest International High School.  When our team arrived to work this morning we shared this story with them.  To our shock and horror Doris reported to us that she had been approached by a trafficker  back before she came to work at Shiloh.  By God's grace she did not to fall into this trap. 

A couple of weeks ago a missionary from Argentina put out the word in the mission community that she had some seashells to give away.  Well, being as how I still have saltwater in my veins from growing up on the Oregon Coast, I jumped on that wonderful offer.  Since I was the first to reply (or maybe the only one dingy enough to want seashells?) I won the prize. 

Then she came to Shiloh for her semi-frequent spiritual retreat.  Sure enough, she showed up with "my" seashells.  I was excited to receive them.  And what a gift they were!  Two whole quart size zip-lock bags full PLUS a small cardboard box!  Since I had a busy day planned I couldn't really do anything with them, so I set them aside.  The following morning, with a few idle moments on my hands, curiosity won out.  I cut the tape off the little box, eager to see the rest of my new seashells.  But when I opened the lid, I found an envelope staring back at me.  It had the missionary's name on it so I knew it couldn't be mine.  A short while later when I handed her the envelope, she let out a squeal!  And then she told me this amazing story. 

A number of years ago her mission had to move out of Chad because of the war that was going on.  They moved down to Yaounde and began what became an effective ministry, working with refugees from Chad.  They decided to rent a large truck to transport all their things down here.  She said it was loaded to the max with boxes, barrels, trunks, and lots of furniture.  Their major concern at the time had been how to bring the rather large amount of money they collectively had across the boarder.  They worried that border guards would want to look into all their stuff, and would certainly help themselves to any stash of money they would find.  So they finally decided the best way to handle the problem was to divide their funds into many envelopes and stash them here, there, and everywhere.  With much prayer they loaded the truck and headed for the boarder.  In God's wonderful providence the boarder guards were not the least bit concerned with the load of things that were in the back of the truck.  They only wanted to make sure that everyone's papers were in order.  It was one of the easiest boarder crossings they ever experienced.  With grateful hearts they arrived in Yaounde and began settling in. 

She said it took them months to find their various and sundry hiding places.  It  was kind of like Christmas to stumble across yet another packet of money weeks later.  The years have rolled by and now she is returning to Argentina for good.  Just the other day she began thinking about her Argentinean money and was wondering where in the world she had hidden it.  And here I was, handing her the envelope that contained that money!  Imagine what would have happened if I hadn't opened the little box of seashells until after she left Cameroon for good?  She only has a couple weeks left in country.  She was overjoyed to be reunited with her Argentinean money at just the right moment.  And of course, I am thrilled to have more seashells. 

So what does one do with seashells in Darkest Africa you ask?  Good question.  The most special ones will join a pretty glass bowl of seashells that graces a corner of Shiloh's dining room.  All the rest will be added to one of our flowerbeds.  Just a small reminder of where I come from.  They put a smile on my face every time I see them.

Word has reached us that a village grandmother whom we knew has died.  Four of her grandchildren (all teenage boys) came to know the Lord as their Savior while the team was here from American back in July.  Three of the boys were being raised by Grandmother as their dads had all died.  But now she too is gone.  What will happen to these boys?  We are going out to the village for her burial.  We want to be there to encourage these young people.  They have been faithfully studying God's Word with Damien.  We know that whatever happens to them, our Heavenly Father is right there with them.  He promises to never leave us nor forsake us. 

He's in his early thirties and he's dying.  We've known him for the better part of ten years.   This wonderful man of God is always cheerful, always encouraging, always talking about his Lord and Savior, always thinking of others.  To know him is to love him.  Though he wanted to get married and have a family, the right girl never came along.  And now it's too late.  Sadly, he was born with a genetic defect that has already robbed extended family members of life in their 30s and 40s.  Now it's his turn.  We are weeping on the inside as we watch his life slowly slipping away.  He's in a lot of pain, but his eyes are fastened on Jesus.  There is a sweet aroma of the Altogether Lovely One about him.  Though hope is all but gone, nobody wants to loose this model of godliness.  His church,  which is just down the road from Shiloh, has taken up a collection for his medical needs.  We have added our gift to theirs.  Monday a brother in the Lord will carry him to the hospital for one more round of tests.  Maybe his doctor will find a way to beat death.  We're clutching at straws.  And praying for God's perfect will to be accomplished. Whether by life or  by death, he only wants to glorify God.

Doris was in fine shape when she arrived at work this morning.  She and Francis prepared breakfast for us and then we spent an enjoyable time around the table.  She was assigned the task of cleaning a room that was vacated last evening.  Next she was to return to the Spring cleaning work.  Meanwhile Francis and I took off for town.  We had a list of errands to run.  Not long after we left Doris fell deathly ill.  Jim was heading back to our room to get something when he heard a weak cry for help.  He found her wrapped in a blanket in the room she was to have been cleaning.  She was shaking with cold.  He put another blanket on her, took her temperature, gave her aspirin, and phoned to see when we would be back home.  By God's grace we were just pulling up to Shiloh's gate.  We quickly got her into the taxi and Francis accompanied her to the hospital.  Because of the severity of her condition, there was none of the usual delay in getting to see a doctor.  She was immediately put on  IV medication for malaria.  And then they drew blood to confirm that diagnosis.  Doctors out here treat for malaria first and ask questions later.  It's deadly stuff.  She is spending the night in the hospital.  In the morning they will run other tests to see if there is anything else going on.  Malaria is an opportunistic disease.  It often comes out when we are run down for any other reason.  Life here in Darkest Africa is fragile.  If one is not prepared to die, one is not prepared to live.  And that's all there is to it.  In all probability Doris will be sent home from the hospital tomorrow afternoon.  She should bounce back in a few days, depending on what other disease they may find.  Sometimes it feels like we live from one medical crisis to the next.  If it's not Francis getting typhoid, it's Guy's daughter spiking a high fever.  We never take good health for granted.  And we cling to the Great Physician.

When I was three years old my family moved into a house that was just one block from the beach.  Every evening during the summer months our Grandma, who lived with us, would take my sisters and I on a walk after supper.  We would push our doll buggies and our favorite dolls that one block to the sand where we would watch the sun sink into the Pacific Ocean.  And then we would push our buggies back home, take baths, and go to bed.  It was our nightly ritual.  To this day I still have salt water in my veins.  The sand, the ocean, salt water, the cry of seagulls, and collecting sea shells, are a large part of my childhood memories.  

Which explains why at Shiloh you will find a special collection of seashells from the Oregon Coast and other coastal places where we have wandered over these many years.  Today we washed those seashells.  It's all part of our annual Spring housecleaning.  An amazing amount of Harmattan grit and grime was washed away.  But the memories can never be washed away.  I carry them in my heart forever.