May 28, 2019 · 7 min read –
I’ve always been somewhat bold when it comes to meeting strangers or folks I encounter in my everyday life. This is probably due to my upbringing. Every four or five years, my family would return from Africa to Florida for a year and I’d be thrust into a new school and church environment. Unless I reached out to make new friends, I’d be stuck alone. Or, our family would travel around the U.S. visiting people that were supporting my parent’s work in Congo, and we would end up sleeping in many different family’s homes, eating numerous meals with folks we didn’t know or being part of a pot-luck meal at a church with strangers. So making new friends was a necessity and thus comes naturally to me.
These experiences make me a bit more forward than most to reach out to those around me, unafraid if it waxed a bit bold or presumptuous. While civil society would normally move along with a mere smile or fake greeting while passing in the hallway or on the sidewalk, I strike up a conversation. I enjoy being friendly with those I encounter in everyday life. Another example of this can be read in the blog titled: My friend and Mentor
So this unique first encounter with someone involved a goal of mine. My bucket list included a tough item: run a full 26.2 mile marathon race in under 4 hours before age 40. It simmered on the list for many years and in 1998 the circumstances and timing worked out for me to take this challenge on and be able to scratch it off the list.
I started my marathon training in February 1998. Training continued over the next few months. A heat wave hit in March, and while running around the neighborhood one late afternoon, I was sweating hard and very thirsty. I was only a quarter of a mile away from my house and figured I’d just get a drink there. But then I noticed an older gentleman out watering his rose bushes. So I stopped and asked him if he’d mind if I got a drink from his garden hose, since I was parched. “No,” he said. “You don’t need to drink from the hose. Hang on.” And he went into his garage. Meantime, I grabbed the running hose and took several swallows of the cool water. He returned a moment later with a bottle of cold water; apparently he had a small fridge in the garage. I took the bottle and thanked him. We struck up a conversation. Bill was a retired INS agent, formerly overseeing the Western United States. He’d been involved in politics due to his career and was a patriot to put it mildly. He and his wife had lived in the neighborhood for quite a few years with their two collies and had plans to move up to the mountains.
So over the next few months as I’d be running around the neighborhood or taking my dog for a walk, I’d wave or say “hi” if Bill was outside. If time permitted, we’d chat about life, kids, my marathon training and the like. Bill was good people. [as an aside: I ended up running the marathon in June and did meet my goal and was pleased to scratch that item off my bucket list.]
The following January, I got an email from my dad, letting me know a friend from my childhood in Congo had recently arrived in the States. He’d been accepted to a seminary an hour away and gotten a scholarship to earn his doctorate. Knowing minimal English (my dad had taught him High School English 20 years prior), he arrived with his suitcase and not much else. He’d come ahead of his family to get settled, learn to speak and read English better and start classes for his doctorate. Many Saturdays I’d drive the hour to see him, take him to shop for housewares and groceries and keep him company in this new and lonely place. It was fun to re-start a friendship that had been on hold for about 20 years. He and I had played basketball in Congo (on a dirt court), soccer and volleyball in the late 1970’s. We were a year or two apart in school back then. Now, it was fun having him so close by.
Unfortunately the civil war was ongoing in Congo at this time. News was sporadic, but my friend heard that his family was able to escape the advancing rebels. After hiding in the jungle for many weeks, they made their way to the border with Central African Republic and got across to safety. Coincidently, a missionary plane was returning empty to Cameroon, so my friend’s wife and 5 kids jumped aboard. In Cameroon, they would get their visas and fly to the U.S. to reunite with him while he pursued his Doctorate.
They provided the paperwork and documentation to the US Embassy in Doula, Cameroon. Unfortunately, Congo was exerting tremendous pressure on them to not allow its citizens to leave, for fear of not returning. Congo was protecting its “human capital” as it were. “But you have paperwork authorizing my husband to pursue his studies and the paperwork said that his family would be following him to the States. You know my husband said his family was following him and you told him there wouldn’t be any issues!” argued the wife. “Sorry, we can’t approve the visas.” So they sat in a guest house, waiting, and waiting. Days turned into weeks, which turned into months. A mom and 5 young kids with no job, and no purpose. Nothing to do but sit in a guest house, hoping and praying that they’d get permission to join their husband and father and be reunited.
As the weeks turned to months, I was added to an email chain that provided the periodic updates of various efforts the sponsoring mission group was making. Churches and individuals across America were praying fervently for these visas. The sponsoring Mission group sent an American representative to the US Embassy every week or so to push, prod and beg them to release the family to the States. The answer was always “No”.
Then one night I woke up and thought of Bill, my neighbor. He had mentioned working with Congressman Ed Royce, the U.S. Representative in my county that was Chairman of the Africa Sub Committee. “Maybe he could help!” I didn’t sleep the rest of the night.
So the next day after work, I knocked on Bill’s door. I explained the dilemma and asked if he had any ideas. “Sure,” he said, “Call Ed’s chief of staff.” He gave me the phone number in Washington D.C.
So that next morning before I left for work, I called and left a message. And I called the next day, and the next. On the fourth day, my message went something like this: “Mr. Sheehan, I’m the friend of Bill K. that referred me to you. I’m calling again about possibly helping secure visas for friends of mine in Cameroon, as per my previous messages.” Then I laid it on hard. “Sir, I can assure you that I will continue to call you daily until we connect, as this is important. Your return call would be appreciated.”
About 10 am that morning, I got a call at work. It was the local office of Ed Royce. The lady I talked to was terrific. I gave her the scoop. Without hesitation: “We have to hit the State Department and the American Embassy in Doula with this. I’m going to start faxing letters right away.” She cc’d me and the sponsoring Missions group on the letters. Rice paper started spitting out of fax machines in various offices in Washington D.C. and in Doula, Cameroon.
Two days later, the Missions group again sent their representative to the US Embassy in Cameroon to follow up on the visa applications. “Any update, Sir, as to the visa request for the Sanguma family that you’ve had for months now?” The man behind the desk blinked. There was a pause. “They’ve been approved. I don’t know who you know or how you did it, but you’ll have your visas tomorrow.”
Hallelujah!
A few days later, I went to the airport and picked up the family and delivered them to their apartment, reunited with their husband and dad after over 5 months apart. It was a joyous reunion indeed, and satisfying knowing I’d been able to help.
A few months later, we invited the entire family to our home for an authentic Congolese meal. My friend’s wife walked in, smelled the Congolese food cooking in the kitchen and said “Eh, najongi mboka, mpenza,” which translated means “Wow, I’ve truly returned to the village.” It was a great time to catch up and for our families to spend time together. After dinner, I suggested we all take a walk. We went to Bill’s house down the street and knocked on the door. I introduced him to the entire family. “These folks are here because you gave me a contact in Washington D.C. They wouldn’t be here if not for you. They are here to thank you in person and I wanted you to see the family reunited. Thank you, Bill.”
Looking back, I thank Rep. Ed Royce’s office staff, and I thank the hundreds of people throughout the US and Congo that prayed diligently for these visas to be approved. And lastly, I thank God for working in the hearts of those embassy folks in Cameroon to approve the paperwork. God’s hand was in this event, without a doubt.
I love a story with a happy ending. I can’t claim that the approval of the visas was all because of my efforts, however. But I know that it all started because I asked a man watering his rose bushes for a drink from his garden hose.
Congo Kid – Article # 7 – May, 2019
Copyright © 2019 by Jeffrey W. Eales. All rights reserved. No portions may be reproduced or transmitted in any format without the prior written permission of the author.