*today’s post is in current time, a departure from my usual narratives out of a more distant past. I’m in Africa. A ministry visit. Thank you for your time and for joining in special prayer.
Tanzania, my country host, lies mourning.
The bright young students held such promise, their minds fired up
for the day’s challenge. That was reality a few mornings ago. Before the bus they traveled in left the road.
I am writing from East Africa this morning in May – a month for honoring mothers. I’m the lone mzungu – white person, on a twenty-passenger shuttle bus, it’s occupants making our way from northern Tanzania to Kenya.
I silently offer thanks for our seasoned driver. “I’ve driven commercially since the 80’s”, he had told me. I’m in the front passenger seat. The driver is to my right as vehicles here use the left lane. Six hours more and we’ll reach Nairobi. Keep him alert Lord. Mist gathers on the windshield and he passes the wiper blade across the surface. It’s Wednesday. My mind returns to Saturday’s incident, down the way, beyond my lodging near Arusha.
The primary school students, 12 and 13 years of age, were en route to another school to take an exam.
Rainfall glistened on the pavement ahead as their bus descended a steep hill. For a reason not yet known. . a blown tire, excessive speed. . the vehicle swerved and plunged downward into a river-swollen ravine. Among the thirty six who died, thirty-three were children.
Join with others, would you, in praying for those overtaken by loss. The grieving friends, the siblings, the fathers, the school teachers. And of all. Remember the mothers.
©2017 Jerry Lout