“Held In His Hands” Book Excerpt: Chapter 3
The story continues with faith tested by danger, as providence and courage carry the gospel forward through uncertainty.
Read Time: 6 minutes
Chapter 3
Kya’s Story, The Scary Night
It was a hot, muggy night. Crickets and cicadas were trying their hardest to provide a soothing melody, but two young boys were tossing fitfully on a thin mat and couldn’t sleep. Gunshots had rung out several times in the last hour, and the sound was getting closer.
Housed in a small mud-brick hut in the eastern part of the DRC, Kya was fearful. Rebels often came into the village at night to terrify everyone so that they could steal livestock and the few possessions that people owned. Occasionally, they killed those who got in their way. Kya knew his own parents had died when he was only two years old. He knew that sometimes people had even been locked into their homes and burnt inside the walls. A mass grave lay nearby in the countryside. When shots rang out, Kya knew that they weren’t safe. He had a vivid imagination, and the scenarios playing out in his young mind were terrifying!
Loud gunshots suddenly blasted the dark night very close by, and both boys cried out in fear. Boazi put his arm around Kya, and they huddled close.
“Come, my boys,” Ann Marie called out anxiously from the next room. “Come in here with me.”
Thankful for her call, the young lads ran in as quickly as they could. Kya was ten, and Boazi had just turned eleven. Widowed and aged, Ann Marie had taken them in as orphaned toddlers, and now she was everything they had.
Wrapping her arms around their hot, sweaty bodies, she pulled them close. More gunshots rang out, then screams, a loud shout, and a horrible thud.
“Let’s pray,” Ann Marie cried anxiously. A devout Catholic, Ann Marie prayed often. “Lord Jesus Christ, please help us,” she begged. “See us here in this mud house with no one to protect us but You. Please stop these rebels from hurting us or anyone else in this village. You can stop them, Father. Jesus, you can stop them. Please give us strength to not be afraid but to put our trust in You. Mary, Queen of Heaven, please look down and have compassion on us with all your heart. See these small boys in my care and protect us, please protect us from harm…”
As she prayed, seeking divine protection from many patrons above, the gunshots seemed to fade a little further away. Safe in her arms, Kya and Boazi listened carefully to every word she said. She kept praying until their small bodies relaxed against her large frame and their hearts stopped beating so wildly.
“Kya, pray for us,” she encouraged.
“Father, please look down and see us,” Kya pleaded as tears welled up in his eyes and slid down his cheeks. “Please make these bad men go away from our house. Please don’t let them get into our house and hurt us. Please scare them and make them run the other way. Please don’t leave us alone with these killers… and please keep everyone in our village safe!”
Then Boazi took his turn, and then Ann Marie again. They kept praying until the fearful noises faded away. Soon the commotion was no louder than the army of crickets and cicadas surrounding their home.
Kya yawned.
“Are you alright, my sons?” the older woman asked kindly.
Sleepy now and weary from the fearful hours they had spent awake, Kya and Boazi nodded.
“Stay here in my room,” she offered. The boys were very happy to drag their thin mats in next to her, and curl up close to her bed.
Kya never forgot that night, and while he fell asleep before thanking God for the safety He had brought to their little home, it was a moment that deeply impressed upon his heart that divine help came from Heaven, and prayers were effective.
Sadly, Ann Marie’s prayers didn’t stop all the suffering in the villages. Rebels continued to invade from time to time. Early deaths and funerals were a common occurrence. Even so, the boys developed confidence that God was looking out for them, as Ann Marie was frequently down on her knees, appealing for everyone above to provide divine protection.
Although they were orphans and life was so uncertain, Kya and Boazi had a happy home with Ann Marie in the fertile region of Fizi. Strong and hard-working, Ann Marie loved her adopted boys like they were her own children. Their village of Mukwezi was a beautiful, lush region along the shores of Lake Tanganyika, where palm trees grew straight and tall. Avocado and mango groves were abundant. Even orange and lemon trees grew in the fields, next to guava and pawpaw. In the compound where Ann Marie resided, there were also pineapples and many other plants. It was a beautiful location.
Every day the boys attended a school where the studies were done in French. They were very thankful that Ann Marie walked with them to their classes and worked hard to provide them with the essentials they needed.
Kya loved Ann Marie’s little saying in their native dialect of Kibembe. When she wanted them to wait patiently for something that they couldn’t have immediately, she would say, “Wakyebelela alile atembo, na waunahuna alile suna.” This meant that those who have patience to wait for the plant to grow and the flour to be made get to enjoy the good results of eating the delicious fufu. Or simply put, “He who has patience benefits, and he who lacks patience, suffers.”
On Sundays, they always attended the Catholic Church, where Ann Marie worshipped faithfully. But one sad day in 2011, this tenuous but happy existence changed forever. Advanced in years, Ann Marie died.
Devastated, the boys weren’t old enough to fend for themselves. Kya was only eleven. Boazi was twelve. They grieved her loss greatly, as she had been their best friend and the only mama they remembered.
Thankfully, Ann Marie had a son whom the boys called Uncle Demule, who took them in. Having recently married, Uncle Demule hoped he could get the inheritance of land that his father had left for him and begin a family of his own. Taking the boys along with him, Uncle Demule walked the seven miles to where his Uncle Kakozi lived. It was a beautiful area with rolling hills and many fruit trees.
Weary from the hot sun, the boys followed Uncle Demule up to the mud-brick home on the hill. They looked around excitedly, thinking how wonderful it would be to live on Uncle Demule’s inheritance. They could see far across the lush valley. Kya imagined the prosperous farm they would develop, with so many fruit trees and flowers.
“Maybe we’ll get a cow,” Boazi suggested. “If we have milk, we can make yoguru.”
“A cow would be amazing!” Kya agreed. “And look at that orange tree,” he pointed. “It’s loaded! We could sit out there and eat oranges all day long.”
“And there are mango trees!” Boazi almost shouted. “Look, I see two huge ones over there.”
Following his brother’s gaze, Kya marvelled at their height. “We’re going to love living here!” he exclaimed. “We’ll have so much food! Maybe we will even be able to sell some in the village…”
Suddenly, they were aware that Uncle Demule was having a very difficult conversation with his uncle.
“There’s nothing on paper,” Uncle Kakozi was saying sternly. “You may think that this is your inheritance, but I think otherwise. You can’t prove anything! I’ve been farming this land for the last ten years, and what you see all around you is the result of my hard labour—not your father’s.”
“Now listen here,” Uncle Demule argued. “You got your fair share of this good land. You have more than enough for your family. Honour your brother and give his son a portion like you know he promised me before he died.”
“I don’t remember any such promise!”
Kya and Boazi shared anxious glances. This did not sound good.
“You were right there when he said it. You know he did.” “You’re dreaming. There was no promise.”
“Well, I’ll be back in a week,” Uncle Demule said firmly. “I now have two boys to care for, and we need this land to provide food for everyone. I’m happy to move into a tent until we can get a house built for ourselves, but we’re coming. We’ll be here, and we expect to help you farm this land.”
Uncle Kakozi spat on the ground. “You’re not welcome,” he replied firmly. “If you come here, you’ll put your whole family in danger.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, I’m warning you!” Uncle Kakozi scowled fiercely. The young lads cowered and moved back a few steps.
“I won’t be coming alone,” Uncle Demule retorted, giving a mild warning of his own.
“You’ll regret it!” Uncle Kakozi yelled. “Now get off my land!”
Turning around angrily, Uncle Demule took the boys’ hands and marched off, fuming. “My father would be so angry if he were here,” he told them. “He would be angry and disappointed, and he would return with the whole village to see that justice was done!”
It was a much quicker trip on the way home. In fact, it was very difficult to keep up to Uncle Demule. He was walking at a very fast speed that their short legs found challenging.
The dream that they had been holding on to seemed like it might come at a very high price. Would they have to fight for it?
Anna Tikvah