Returning to my country In Heavenly Father's Hands

Annegret Landwehr
March 1982

Recently I had an incredible experience showing me that our lives are truly in Heavenly Father's hands, no matter how much Satan attacks us.

Part of my new country, Equatorial Guinea, including the capital, Malabo, is on an island about 70 kilometers off the coast of Cameroon, Central Africa. Three flights a week used to connect the island with Cameroon, but two days after I had taken one of these tights, the only plane crashed. When I heard that, I already had a premonition that Satan was trying to prevent me from going back to my country.

Before going there in the first place, I was prepared for anything, because that country had just survived 11 years of a very bloody dictatorship. The country is in a desolate state, like after a war, and the living conditions are very difficult. So I expected the worst and hoped for the best. Little did I know that just to reach there again would in itself be an adventure.

There was no plane anymore, but I was determined to reach there somehow. So what should I do? There are no regular boats going back and forth either, but I had heard that there are a few pirogues which traffic with Malabo. Since I like adventures and had an African brother, Zinga Luemba, accompanying me, I thought we would give it a try. We contacted those fishermen in Victoria, a town on the Cameroonian coast, and after a few days, with the help of one young man, one of them agreed to take us across.

We left early in the morning before dawn, and it was then that I fully realized that I was actually in a smuggler's boat. Since there is a shortage of basically everything in Malabo, these "fishermen" take advantage of the situation by selling things like flour, rice, onions and drinks over there. Naturally, they try to avoid paying customs. Now I understood why they had put us off a few times. Since we were not regular passengers and carried no merchandise, they were quite suspicious in the beginning. Did they really think that we were spying on them? How surprised they were when they realized that we were serious. They never thought that a "white lady" would ever enter a pirogue. I was glad to be able to rectify some of their concepts about white people.

We had just left the outskirts of the natural harbor when the "canoe-man" realized that the propeller of the engine was broken. Since the sun had already risen, we had to hide behind an islet, out of sight by the customs officials and to wait for another canoe to pass which would get us a new propeller. The pirogue had certainly seen better days; now it was leaking, and one young man had to continuously bail out the water with a bucket. But it seemed reliable, having made this trip many times.

Eventually, three hours later, we were heading for Malabo. Normally, the trip takes about four hours. After three hours, the other people in the pirogue began to argue in Pidgin, a kind of local broken English which sounds very funny. From what I could gather, they had quite different opinions about where "the Malabo" was supposed to be. The canoe-man tried to follow their directions -- all at the same time, it seemed. Everybody was so convinced that he was right, since he had been going this way hundreds of times. It was a clear example of disunity among fallen people. After a while it was quite obvious that we were lost! Since we wanted to save petrol, we had to stop the engine. The arguments continued. People's morale dropped continuously. The merciless sun kept burning incessantly. They complained about thirst and hunger.

During the rainy season, visibility is very good, so the island can be seen from Victoria. However, during the present dry season, or "Harmattan" season, it is always misty. Harmattan is what they call the dry northeast trade wind here, blowing from the Sahara desert. During this time it is quite difficult to find Malabo by boat during the day. During the night the pirogues find their way with the help of the lighthouses. But because of our broken propeller, we had left long after dawn.

Thinking about our situation, I realized that I didn't have the slightest feeling of fear or worry. I knew that Heavenly Father wanted us to reach Malabo, and I was sure that He had guided us so far in order to succeed. In spite of recent incidents of people drifting on the sea for days without finding their way -- some were lost forever -- I had faith that we would reach either Malabo or Victoria that same day.

At about 3:00 in the afternoon, we sighted a ship and immediately made for it. What a funny situation: a small pirogue trying to stop a big ship! We tried everything to make them notice us. But it passed. Yet, I was sure that Heavenly Father had sent this ship to help us, and I was right. Shortly afterwards, when people had already given up hope, the ship turned around. It was a French ship on its way to Cameroon. They were quite amused at our situation, but agreed to help us. They led us in the direction of the coast of Cameroon. After only 15 minutes (how close we had been all the time!) we could see the shoreline, and the ship took its own course. Everybody was relieved. Just before reaching the coast, however, the petrol was finished. Fortunately, there were a few canoes, so one person was sent to buy petrol. He returned--it seemed after an eternity -- at about 10:00 p.m. We reached the safe harbor after midnight, having spent 21 hours on the sea -- on top of numerous sacks of onions. We felt aches and pains in every bone and every muscle of our bodies.

The following day we made new arrangements with the help of our friend. It dawned on me how much Satan was actually trying not to let us reach Malabo, when this young man, while helping us, escaped death by a hair's breadth, when a coconut dropped right in front of him. "This is getting really serious," I thought. But I told Heavenly Father we would not get discouraged by Satan's attacks. After this, I was even more confident that we would actually reach Malabo.

Three days later, we took course again for Malabo. We left together with a second pirogue early in the morning, before dawn. Everybody was convinced that this time we would make it. It was the same pirogue, with the same people, but the canoe-man was the brother of the first man. He was more experienced -- so they said. They call him "Fine Face," though his appearance doesn't live up to that name! This time the sea was very rough, the waves were constantly sweeping into the boat, and soon everyone was completely soaked. It was still dark. Soon we discovered that we had lost the other pirogue. I couldn't figure out the reason why, but most of our petrol supply was in the other pirogue. Since we couldn't go ahead without a sufficient supply, we had to turn back. By the time we were eventually ready to leave again, the sun had already risen.

Three hours later, I was wondering if the experience of a few days before would repeat itself. People started arguing again. The canoe-man, though keeping a steady course all the time, wasn't so sure any more that he was going in the right direction. Well, we seemed to be in a quite familiar situation. You might ask why these fishermen don't use a compass. Well, this is Africa, not America or Europe. At one point, we saw another pirogue in the distance, but when we came closer it turned out to be a big log, which I was sure we had passed during our first attempt.

Suddenly somebody pointed to the horizon, quite sure that he saw the silhouette of Mount Malabo. Soon we all saw something and get all excited. What a disappointment when Mount Malabo turned out to be Mount Cameroon, the very place where we had come from. We must have made a big circle. How was this possible? We took a new course, 100 percent sure this time that we were now heading for Malabo. Believe it or not, after another few hours, Malabo still wasn't in sight. Did we lose track again? The continuous arguments about who was right and who was to blame for our predicament were interrupted by the noise of an airplane that seemed to be descending. It had to be heading for Malabo!

Full of new courage and hope, we followed the direction of the plane. Fortunately, this time we had taken enough petrol. After about two hours, we dimly made out something in the distance. It had to be Malabo, finally. But what was it? It wasn't possible! The silhouette of that mountain looked too familiar. It was Victoria again. By this time, the canoe-man got really worried. He had made this trip hundreds of times without ever failing to reach Malabo. Some kind of witchcraft had to be involved. He didn't know that I understood most of what he was saying. Looking at everyone, he said, "Somebody in this boat must be wearing an evil ring; someone ask that white woman there. Maybe she has something to do with it." The worst thing they could do, I thought, was to throw me overboard. They reminded each other that recently a boy and girl had lost their way and had drowned at sea. The arguments became hotter. Someone suggested to pray to "Papa God."

Some evil force seemed to have an influence over the pirogue. I began to realize that what these people intuitively figured out wasn't so wrong at all. The brother and I really seemed to have something to do with the whole problem. Of course they couldn't understand that a spiritual battle was going on between Heavenly Father and Satan -- with us right in the middle.

Again, I wasn't a bit frightened throughout the whole trip. It became more and more real to me how Satan is using people, especially when they are laying a base for disunity. Each person in the boat was so sure that he was right. They were so worried about the money and the time they were losing throughout this adventure. Since the canoe-man refused to pay back any money, they continued arguing. I prayed that they would not become violent and cause the pirogue to capsize. Finally people came to terms and decided to return to Victoria. This time we had spent "only" 13 hours on the sea. Were we to try again one more time, after two unsuccessful attempts, or did Heavenly Father want us not to risk our lives again? That night I wasn't so sure. Was it Satan attacking, or was Heavenly Father telling us to give up because it was too dangerous? We were praying for an answer.

The next morning when I woke up, my whole body was aching, as if I had literally been beaten up. My brother told me he had dreamt that "Fine Face" had beaten me. I had had a dream, too, in which Rev. Kwak came to see me here in Africa. Shaking my hand, he asked, "Now what is the problem?" He seemed to know and understand our situation. Now both of us, my brother and I, were sure that while Satan had succeeded twice in preventing us from reaching Malabo, the third time Heavenly Father would without a doubt be the victor. So we were going to try one more time. This time, however, we would not take the same pirogue again.

Four days later, late at night, we were about to leave for the beach again when Satan attacked one more time. Running to stop a taxi, my brother fell and hurt himself so badly that blood was dripping from his hands, elbow and toes. This must be Satan's last big attempt, I thought. He surely wanted us to give up and go to a hospital. But the brother and I were determined not to do so. On our way we stopped at a pharmacy -- which fortunately was open so late at night -- and then rushed down to the beach. This time -- the third attempt -- we reached Malabo in just four and a half hours, without any complications.

It's incredible. It took us exactly 17 days to finally reach our destination. What an adventure! It had really been a fight between the good and evil forces. We were so grateful when we approached the island and realized how precious and important this country must be for Heavenly Father. Otherwise, Satan wouldn't have tried so hard to prevent us from reaching there. The "Victoria" adventure had ended in victory for Heavenly Father. This experience showed me so clearly that I have no control over my physical life, but if I am willing to give it up for the sake of the providence, then Heavenly Father takes care of it 100 percent. It was a good opportunity to test our faith and determination.

All the time on the sea, I thought about our True Father and how much time he spends on the ocean. During the night, at times the sky was covered with millions of stars, and the waves caused by our pirogue showed a phosphorescent glow. Surrounded by the peace of nature, I felt so close to Heavenly Father and could understand our True Father's relationship with the ocean more deeply.

This experience has truly been an unforgettable adventure. All in all, the whole adventure took exactly 21 days. I felt like Moses leading the Israelites through the wilderness. Because my brother was able to overcome his fears and worries and we were united centering on the goal, we could be victorious and enter Canaan -- Equatorial Guinea.