In the summer of 1986 I was asked to go to Lagos, Nigeria to train national church leaders. This once beautiful country was in the midst of a devastating civil war. Corruption was rampant. Religious tensions were high among the Christian majority and the ruling Muslim government and military.
Ethnic violence was erupting everywhere. Students were protesting in the streets, churches were being burned, and pastors and their families were being targeted. A yellow fever epidemic broke out in the eastern part of the nation. Politicians were ducking for their lives as the threat of assassination was in the air.
I had a wonderful life in Canada, a beautiful wife and three small children who were depending upon me being around. It was a difficult decision to go, but one that we finally came to peace with. The call to go was greater than the fear of what I might have to face. Still, the six weeks I was there seemed like an eternity.
One memory that impacted my life forever occurred when I was driving through a suburb of the nation’s capital. A bus, filled with people inside and many riding on top, had been attacked by a gang of thugs and burned with fire. It was a horrific site. As I watched, a bulldozer came in and bulldozed charred bodies into the ditch to allow the traffic to flow. There was no body bagging, no dignity, and no process of identification for families. Read the rest of this entry »
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