THE LIFE OF RICHARD WILLIAM MUELLER, JR.
(Continued)

Dad’s Autobiography – Chapter 11 – In Book, Page 23

Reminiscing on the Copperbelt of Northern Rhodesia, Reminiscing on Lusaka, Northern Rhodesia

REMINISCING ON THE COPPERBELT OF NORTHERN RHODESIA

The Copperbelt of Northern Rhodesia lies about two hundred fifty miles north of Lusaka. It is an area encompassing five towns. During the time that we were in Northern Rhodesia it was the mainstay of the economy. Copper prices were high. The country did not have to go begging for aid.

There was one road from Lusaka to the Copperbelt – with only one rather small town along the way – Broken Hill. The road ran through the bush with only an occasional mud hut on either side of the road. Besides trees, there was not much to see along the way.

Consequently, whenever we would take the children along with us to visit our contacts on the Copperbelt, we would try to keep them occupied in one way or another. One way was to have them count the number of wrecked cars along the way – cars which had been abandoned. On one trip, they counted eighty-five within the two hundred fifty mile trip. What a sad commentary on the ability of drivers in Northern Rhodesia. It was also a commentary on the shoddy maintenance – or lack of maintenance of vehicles.

From time to time there were vendors along the road. Some of them sold meat. The animal has been butchered in the bush – and the meat hung on a tree to dry. Of course, it was usually covered with flies.

Others sold vegetables – sweet potatoes, squash, and mushrooms. Some of those mushrooms were little red ones – very tasty. No, we did not worry about any of them being poisonous. The African knew the difference – and we trusted his wisdom. We never heard of an African dying after eating a mushroom. The mushroom I liked the best was the one which filled the bottom of a wash basin. It was huge – and it was delicious. So were the sweet potatoes and the squash. My mother would never have believed that I ate them. When we were in the States, she could hardly make me taste them.

Along the way, there was a large African market where almost anything the Africans produced was sold. Every time we passed it, we stopped. One time our youngest son, Steve, who was four years old, jumped from the car, ran down an aisle, and brought back a handful of African delicacies. We asked him how he had paid for them. He told us that he had not bought them. So down the aisle we went, seeking the vendor from whom he had taken his snack. When we found her, we asked her how much we owed her. Her answer was, “if any white boy will eat what we eat, he can have it – for free.” What Steven had taken was a good helping of “kapenta” – dried minnows. We even learned to like them –with curry and rice.

Broken Hill was our rest stop on the way to the Copperbelt. What I remember about it most is its wide, wide main street. It was designed to allow an eight-span oxen team to turn around in it.

I also remember a huge fig tree on one side of that wide street. Its branches must have spread out fifty feet from its trunk – on every side. It was said that the early settlers would stop at this point on their way north and camp under its shade. The only tree I know of that is bigger than the fig tree is the baobab tree.

Before entering the Copperbelt, on the road which branches off to Ndola, we passed the monument to Dag Hammarskjöld. He was the Secretary General of the United Nations. He was on his way to Northern Rhodesia to help settle a disturbance in the Congo. His plane crashed as it approached the Ndola airport. He was killed. Now a monument marks the spot – with stones from every country in the United Nations surrounding it. It has been our privilege to stand before that monument and reflect on an earthly peace-maker. It also causes us to reflect on the perfect peace-maker – Christ Jesus who made peace between God and us when He died on Calvary’s cross to reconcile us to God.

In my mind’s eye, I can see many of the contacts which our Lord gave us on the Copperbelt. Some of them were contacts which He had given to us – contacts which brought us to the Copperbelt. Others were contacts we made while we were on the Copperbelt – a chance meeting which produced a contact.

One of those contacts was made the night the color-bar was lifted in Northern Rhodesia. Theoretically, Africans, could now enter a cinema which was formerly reserved for Europeans. They, theoretically, could now eat in a European restaurant. But many of the Europeans – or Whites, as they were referred to – objected –vehemently. They fought with the Blacks. So vehemently did they fight that the police were called. When that did not stop the fighting, tear gas was used. From our vantage point on a hotel balcony, we saw the fray – and experienced tear gas. It is not pleasant.

When the riot started, we were across the street from a restaurant and cinema. As we stood there, waiting to see what would happen, I struck up a conversation with an African. I told him who we are and why we were on the Copperbelt. He expressed great interest in what I had to tell – and asked that we come and visit him the next time we were in his area. The next day we were to return to Lusaka.

To make sure we would find him, he took me around the corner to show me where he worked. Irene and the three children we had at the time remained behind. Little did I know that the rioting crowd would be running past my family. As the Lord would have it, a European grabbed my wife and children and pulled them into the entrance way of a store. There they were safe. The crowd was intent on the fleeing Africans.

Meanwhile I was around the corner with the African to whom the Lord had led me. As we returned to the place where we had met, the rioting crowd came rushing around the corner. We had nowhere to go. It came upon us so suddenly. All I could do is put my arm around this black man and continue on our way. I will never forget what happened next. That crowd parted – and ran around us, some on one side and some on the other. It was like the parting of the Red Sea. The Lord had sent His holy angels to protect us – as He did so many other times when we were in Africa. And He continues to do so.

REMINISCING ON LUSAKA, NORTHERN RHODESIA

The first time I was asked to conduct a funeral in Northern Rhodesia, I did what every American pastor does. He thinks about the person who has died, thinks about what words he will speak to the survivors, and, perhaps, even thinks of what Scripture text he will use as a funeral sermon.

Word had come that a child at Chunga Line had died. Chunga Line was about ten miles from our home in Lusaka. I took my time to get there – and when I did, I found that the grave had already been dug and that the body had been placed in the grave. I learned my lesson. From then on, I wasted no time to go to where the body was. The African sun is hot. Decay takes place immediately. There is no embalming.

As time went on, I learned more and more about African witchcraft. At first I saw it, but did not know what it was. For instance, I would see a tree growing near the door of an African hut – and thought it was put there for shade. It was not. It had not always been a tree. At one time it was a pointed stick, put there to impale evil spirits who would come to harass the inhabitants of that hut. The more we saw witchcraft, the more we understood why God had taken us to Africa. Witchcraft does not protect us from the devil.

Then there was a hut with no roof – a hut which still had its walls – intact walls. Then I learned that an occupant of that hut had died – and that the roof had been burned off so no one would live in it. Again, it was a belief that evil spirits were in that hut and might bring illness to anyone living in it.

There were also forked, pointed, sticks here and there in the bush stuck into the ground. On one of the pointed sticks, a chicken head was fastened. Then I learned that a chicken had been sacrificed there and the blood spilled on the ground as an offering. When I learned these things, I saw more clearly why we had been sent to Africa. We had come to proclaim the perfect Sacrifice, Christ Jesus – once for all.

Witchcraft and superstition are prevalent everywhere – in villages and in towns. Children are exposed to it from birth. Almost immediately after birth, it is usually the grandmother who prepares the first charm. It is made of a nut wrapped in leaves. This is placed on a string around the babies neck for many reasons. Its first purpose is to help heal the soft spot in the babies head. It is also there to help ward off coughs and colds – and many other kinds of illnesses. It is a talisman of many virtues.

Some missionaries, when they would see this amulet, they would tear it from the baby’s neck. It was an offense to their Christianity. However, this action on their part did nothing more than to have the mother bind it around the baby’s waist, under its clothes. I often saw it there when the baby squirmed.

Our reaction, however, to this form of superstition was to say nothing. Rather, we let the Word of God do the work. We taught the Law in all of its severity, but brought the Gospel in all of its sweetness. When the Holy Spirit worked in the hearts – when they learned that it was our almighty Father to whom they should turn for all their help, those fetishes we taken off by the mother – never to be seen again. The Gospel has done its work. It freed them from the slavery of witches and superstition.