The rains have stopped and black strings of ash dance in the wind. The annual ritual of burning the grass that has grown wildly for the past few months has begun. The night sky glows with fires sweeping across miles and miles of savannah; quite beautiful really. The lack of rain has made the roads passable again and suddenly a flurry of activity is taking place in our little town of Yabus.
A few days ago I spent 10 hours driving on some impressively difficult roads in order to pick up some church leaders for a conference we are having. I took a guide, Yuna, and at one point he pointed off into the bushes and said, "let's go over there". He led me to a large rock and a small shack that had been built over a hundred years ago out of stones.
Yuna then let me know the history behind this delapitated home. Slaves, lots of slaves, were gathered from his tribe and brought to this location. They were then "sorted" and the strong ones were taken up north to be sold. The rest are said to be found in a deep hole in the rock we stood on. Amuna, the woman who ran the slave trade, was a bertah and Yuna is an Uduk. Even to this day, there is deep suspicion between these tribes and they both live in Yabus.
Bethany and I have stepped into a place with deep scars. Lift up this place, these people, our lives to God in prayer. Nothing short of a complete change of heart can bring peace. Nothing but forgiveness gives hope for the future.
Above: Yuna visits the place his enslaved ancestors were brought