In This Place. Kim L. Abernethy

I managed my household stayed with me, but that never hindered me from finding common ground with the other women on the compound. It was, more than anything, a difference in philosophy. It held no great hindrance in our relationships that I recall, and deep inside me, I wanted to learn what the “veteran” missionaries could teach me without losing the unique spark that made me who I was. That is not to say that it is wrong if a woman preparing to be a missionary feels that she should only carry a backpack and a sleeping bag to the place God has called her to minister. Of course not! As I said before; it is a matter of priorities. God gave me (eventually) three daughters to whom I desired to instill the color and creativity that can be placed in a home no matter where that home was. Live out your personality and dreams no matter where God puts you!

      African Pioneers

      During the first January in Tappi, we had the privilege of meeting the pioneer missionary wife and her daughter when they came out for a visit. Mrs. Mellish and her husband were the ones that started the mission station in Tappi almost fifty years before we arrived. In 1939, the only way for them to reach the interior parts of Liberia was to walk. Mrs. Mellish told us of how she and her husband would set out from Monrovia and walk the 180 miles to the small town of Tappeta! Taking them several weeks to accomplish that incredible feat, her stories made me vow right then to never complain about the one-hour plane ride to Monrovia.

      As we missionaries of the 1980s sat around and enjoyed the stories told by Mrs. Mellish, it was clear that we had much for which to be thankful. Baptist Mid-Missions had sent the Mellishes out to Liberia because of a hunger in their hearts to see the Liberians reached with the Gospel of Christ. The mission station where we lived was a result of their desire to see missions remain a vital part of that country—even when their active ministry was completed. To this day, I am so thankful that Jeff and I could begin our missionary career in Liberia by meeting one of our missionary foremothers. She was an inspiration to me and helped put many things in perspective!

      Faraway Food

      Getting used to some of the foods that were available to us and having to do without some of the ones that were not available was certainly a challenge those first few years. Sometimes just finding the most basic food was a chore. There were countless days when we did without eggs, fresh vegetables, and such.

      My journal of January 3, 1986, says:

      This has been a rather good day–I seemed to enjoy it. We didn’t have much to eat for breakfast except cereal. We were out of bread and eggs. Jeff bought bread later, but still looking for eggs. The bread is really good, but you wouldn’t believe it seeing where it is baked. Jeff took me down there to see it the other day. It’s an outdoor kitchen with big black pots and a “baking hole” under a shed but they do keep it clean. The bread was soft, round, and very tasty, much like a round Italian loaf found in a bakery. Only the crust was soft like the inside of the bread. We called it Ghanaian bread because it was baked by a pair of sisters from the country of Ghana who had married men from Liberia.

      When I first rode with Jeff on his motorcycle to buy bread, I could not help but hone in on the seemingly unsanitary conditions where the bread was made. The crude oven and pans that the bread was baked in were always suspicious in my book. Looking back, I laugh to think how afraid I was to eat the bread though I wanted it so badly. I recall that I would take a cloth and wipe the loaf off before cutting it. What did I think that would do, I wonder?

      As time went by, we started missing foods from the states. In my journal dated January 7, 1986, I reflected: The two things that I miss the most right now is my mama’s sweet iced tea and some real, homogenized milk! This powdered milk is for the birds. Jeff says he misses ice cream, candy bars, chocolate milkshakes, and his mom’s chocolate cake with white icing. I never got used to the powdered milk that we had to buy in West Africa, especially in those early years. It was much like Carnation powdered milk, only the brands imported into Africa were whole milk powder and had a much stronger taste. All three of our daughters grew to love it; so much that they would just eat the powdered milk out of the can with a spoon. I substituted my lack of milk by really chowing down on the amazing European cheeses that were available in the grocery stores in Monrovia. We would buy an entire ball of cheese which was probably the equivalent of 15-20 pounds, grate it, bag it, and freeze it to keep it for as long as possible.

      Someone gave me a copy of a West African inspired cookbook written by and for missionary wives. It was an indispensable guide for any American food preparer trying to find her way in a kitchen surrounded by strange foods and ingredients. In that cookbook were several recipes for making milkshakes using a blender, powdered milk, ice cubes, sugar, vanilla, and cocoa powder. Within six months, we had refined one of the recipes to our liking and it became an almost nightly treat. Minutes before the electricity was set to turn off, I would run the blender and we would all enjoy a cool, refreshing milkshake in the middle of the steamy jungle. Now that’s adapting!

      Espresso and the Gospel

      While ministering in Tappi, I would at times fight the sensation of being claustrophobic. The first few months were the worst until I became more aware of the freedom and beauty of the jungle around me. Jeff stayed so busy at the airplane hangar or riding into town or flying with one of the other pilots that I do not think he understood when I would tell him how I felt. There were just times that I found myself missing the opportunity to travel somewhere. Though Jeff might not have understood, he still was sensitive to my restlessness and would take me into the little town of Tappi once a week for a little outing. One of the highlights was visiting the Lebanese women in the small downtown mercantile area of Tappi. We’re talking four or five stores on a dirt road–almost like a town in the wild, wild west—without the horses and hitching posts, of course.

      My journal of December 31, 1985, reads:

      Yesterday Jeff took me to visit one of the Lebanese stores. The wife was there and she asked me to have some coffee with her. She fixed a cup for Jeff, but he knew what kind it was and graciously refused it. It was the real thick espresso coffee that is almost the texture of mud or syrup. That’s definitely not Jeff’s kind of coffee. But, of course, being the gourmet that I am, I loved it! Michelle said she wanted to try it, but I had finished most of it and there was only the real thick stuff in the bottom of the cup. She took a swallow and oh, you ought to have seen that face! She opened her mouth with a grimace and it looked like she had been dipping snuff!

      One cup of that strong espresso, as it is now called, was always enough to get the heart rate up and spike the body’s energy level to a peak. One time, a few months later, I was enjoying the coffee so much that I accepted a second cup. By the time I arrived home, I was wired to the max and our house got an electric cleaning like I hadn’t done since we had been in Africa! Anytime, after that, when I was particularly sluggish, Jeff would joke about getting me a cup of that electric magic.

      I became very fond of my two Lebanese friends. At first, admittedly, visiting them in town was mainly a diversion from my house and the compound, but after a few weeks, we became friends; sharing, laughing, learning from each other, and celebrating the differences. Early in our emerging friendship, God gave me a distinct burden for them spiritually. Later, I was asked by one of those Lebanese friends to prove my belief in Christ and my faith in His salvation in a very unusual and unexpected way!