A Long Way to Home
by
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Preparing Monga for his role in selling the fruit, Kanjundu quickly gave a few simple instructions. He could see the uncertainty in his younger son’s face and tried to assure him there was nothing to be anxious or frightened about. His task would be simple, he promised. All he had to do was to board the rear railway coach and sell fruit to passengers. His brother Mukanda had done it without mishap on numerous visits, he said.
“But hurry and be careful,” he added. “The train has a schedule to keep, but you must not be in such a rush that you forget to collect the money.” Then, knowing the time was critical, his father sent him with his basket aboard the train.
To Monga’s surprise, the task was easier than he had imagined. Within minutes, he had sold all the oranges, bananas, guavas, and mangos in his basket; the coins and wadded bills were safely stuffed into his pocket. Now grinning, he returned with new confidence to get a refill from his father.
Although it had been cool when they left the village, the sun had heated the air, causing beads of sweat to run down his forehead. He refilled his basket four times while his father peddled fruit to passengers leaning out the train windows. Together, they collected enough money to make all their needed purchases in the track-side shops.
Rushing to keep the train on schedule, the crew had switched locomotives; the first was now ready to return to the Angolan side of the border. The replacement engine was already in place, being loaded with more cords of firewood and the reservoir filled with water from the tower.
Monga was in the middle of the coach when the train’s steam whistle gave the first ear-splitting blast, catching him by surprise. He momentarily froze and looked about but found no reason for alarm. Hungry passengers still crowded around him with money in their hands to buy his remaining fruit. He again lost all track of time and had only five oranges and three bananas in his basket when the whistle gave a second and longer blast.
This time, however, it was not a warning. The wheels of the locomotive began to spin noisily, and more steam spewed out. Within moments, the train was slowly rolling forward, headed eastward through the long tree-lined tunnel of surrounding forest. Monga froze too frightened to move. Several critical moments passed before he understood what was taking place.
Pushing between two passengers, he fought his way through the crowd along the aisle to the nearest doorway. There must be time to jump off, he told himself. But try as he could, he could not get through the wall of passengers that blocked the aisle. He looked toward the windows, but other travelers still leaned out to wave their last goodbyes.
“Let me out! I must get out!”
No one paid attention to his cries for help.
The train rapidly gathered speed as passengers near the windows pulled them down to prevent the black clouds of smoke and hot cinders generated by the locomotive from entering the coach. Clutching the basket to his chest, Monga sank to the floor, tears streaming as he pleaded for divine help. “Oh, God,” he prayed. “Please help me! I want to go back home! Please, God, please!”
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About the Book
In the early 1960s an eleven-year-old boy from an isolated bush village in the Congo forest climbs on a passenger train at a small station near Angola to sell fruit, but he fails to get off in time. Believing the train will reverse direction, he’s carried across central Africa to Elisabethville. Armed soldiers force him off the train, and he enters a city where he knows no one or how to survive.
Alone and knowing nothing about life in a rapidly growing, modern African city, the boy’s pleas for help go unanswered. He’s lost and alone until a street boy teaches him how to steal and beg. His attempts to slip aboard a train to return home remain blocked by armed soldiers. He learns to live by his wits and becomes adept at stealing purses, wallets, and unguarded parcels. He witnesses the death of a friend, is caught in the middle of a military battle for the city, and lives in fear of being killed by a local thief.
Suspicious and distrustful of white people, he’s reluctant to accept assistance from a foreigner who offers to send him to school. He becomes ill and almost dies until found by the one willing to help. He becomes part of this man’s family and visits the site of his old home in the bush. He never loses his desire to locate his village family, but he discovers that home isn’t a place but people who care for him.
About the Author
David L. Allen, a United Methodist minister, was a missionary in the Democratic Republic of Congo from 1961 to 1973, where he taught high school, directed a pastoral training center, and served as a community developer. Upon his return to the United States, he was administrator of a large mission and superintendent of mission churches in eastern Kentucky. Allen now lives in a retirement community for ministers and missionaries in north Florida.