{"id":7642,"date":"2023-03-06T08:41:00","date_gmt":"2023-03-06T13:41:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.theprodigalpig.com\/?p=7642"},"modified":"2023-03-05T09:06:59","modified_gmt":"2023-03-05T14:06:59","slug":"strange-day-at-lake-munkamba","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.theprodigalpig.com\/?p=7642","title":{"rendered":"Strange Day At Lake Munkamba"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-large is-resized\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http:\/\/www.theprodigalpig.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/02\/20191227_161615-768x1024.jpg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-6987\" width=\"411\" height=\"548\" srcset=\"http:\/\/www.theprodigalpig.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/02\/20191227_161615-768x1024.jpg 768w, http:\/\/www.theprodigalpig.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/02\/20191227_161615-225x300.jpg 225w, http:\/\/www.theprodigalpig.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/02\/20191227_161615-1152x1536.jpg 1152w, http:\/\/www.theprodigalpig.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/02\/20191227_161615-1536x2048.jpg 1536w, http:\/\/www.theprodigalpig.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/02\/20191227_161615-scaled.jpg 1920w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 411px) 100vw, 411px\" \/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Prodigal:  It is a good day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Me:  I have a story about a strange day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">This is by William F Pruitt<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">1968. Kasai Province, Zaire, Africa.  As one of the missionaries who had been allowed to return to his former station in what was once the Belgian Congo, I&#8217;d been &#8220;itinerating&#8221; for several weeks&#8211;that is, visiting among the tribal missions in a radius of about a hundred miles of my station in Moma.  One evening, after preaching and showing Cecil B. DeMille&#8217;s 1927 classic film, King of Kings, I found that I was only about thirty miles from our house on Lake Munkamba.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Almost on impulse I decided to spend the night there.  It was late, after eleven, and I was very tired.  But I was also tired of sleeping in my house-truck.  Besides, I wanted to see the house again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">This was no ordinary house.  I don&#8217;t mean architecturally, though that too, given the local standards.  It was extraordinary because it was ours&#8211;the only home in Africa that was our very own.  We had built it years before as a hideaway for little family vacations, and now, with Virginia and our two sons far away in America, I longed even more to go there.  The house represented home and love and a security that often seemed elusive in those days of internal African strife.  I needed to be reminded of these qualities once more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">As I drove toward the lake,  I wondered in what condition I&#8217;d find our hideaway this time.  During the tribal fighting of the early 1960&#8217;s, it had been looted frequently.  Doors and windows and most of the furnishings&#8211;as well as the much-coveted tin roof-had been carried away.  Our roof now covered the local chief&#8217;s hut, but he had explained his taking it.  &#8220;When I saw those looters taking everything from you house, &#8221; he had said, &#8220;I knew you would want me instead of them to have that tin roof!&#8221;  Logic against which I could offer no rebuke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">At last I arrived.  The house was still there.  I fumbled my way in the darkness through the bare living room to a cot in one of the bedrooms and fell upon it.  Exhausted, I was soon asleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I awakened early the next morning, looked about a little, and said my prayers.  I thanked God for another day of life and asked Him to watch over me.  Outside, through the morning mist, I saw a lone native fisherman on the shore nearby.  There seemed to be on one else about.  All was quiet.  African quiet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Time to get going, I told myself, and took my five-gallon jerry can to the spring and filled it with drinking water.  Back at the house, I picked up my hat, and was about to leave when I caught sight of the fisherman again.  It made me wish I had time to join him for a quick catch.  Well, someday, I thought.  I&#8217;d just better check to see if that outboard motor I left last summer is still here.  With so much looting, there was no telling what might have become of a prize like an outboard motor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I put down the jerry can and went to a small storeroom in the back of the house.  It was windowless and gloomy inside, but I could see that the motor was still there.  That&#8217;s a relief, I thought, reaching down and patting it as if to say, &#8220;Good boy! Stay there, because you and I have some fishing to catch up on as soon as I can get a day off!&#8221;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">At just the moment I became aware of something else in a corner of the room.  It was black and coiled into a circle, a though very carefully placed there.  I don&#8217;t remember having a rope like that, I said to myself.  I went over to have a closer look.  I went too close.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Oh! Oh, dear Lord!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Zoom!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I felt a spray of liquid; it was as though a red-hot nail had been driven through my right eye!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Instantly I knew that what I had taken for a coiled rope was a spitting cobra, one of the most poisonous snakes in the world!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I screamed out loud and started running, running away, but I no sooner go to the door than I stumbled over the jerry can of water.  Quickly I threw myself down on all fours and frantically splashed cold water into my face, trying to put out the fire that was spreading through my head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">A figure loomed over me.  &#8220;Muambi! What is the matter?&#8221;  It was the fisherman from the lake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He looked at me, looked at the room, and ran away.  He knows what has happened, I told myself.  He knows there&#8217;s nothing he can do.  He&#8217;s probably gone to tell the chief that I am here dying.  Every native African knows that the spitting cobra first blinds and paralyzes its victim with a deadly venom before attacking again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The pain was excruciating.  Where was the snake now?  I went on splashing water on my face even though I knew my flailing might cause it to strike again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Was I beginning to feel a numbing sensation creeping over me?  It seemed that way, but I wasn&#8217;t sure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Minutes went by, maybe five, maybe ten.  Three people entered the room.  Strangers.  A man and two women, white.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The man rushed to me.  &#8220;What&#8217;s happened?&#8221;  he asked, and I stuttered out the word, &#8220;Cobra.&#8221;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He ran outside and came back with a large stick.  &#8220;There it is! he yelled, as he lifted the stick and again and again brought it down on the snake&#8217;s head, killing the creature&#8211;a seven-foot long female carrying seven eggs!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">One of the women came to me, check my pulse, and tried to look into my blinded eye.  &#8220;I&#8217;m a nurse,&#8221; she said.  Then she looked up at the other two people helplessly.  &#8220;I don&#8217;t know what to do, but I feel I must do something!&#8221;  Then, as almost an afterthought, she opened her handbag and started searching for something.  &#8220;A sample of an eye medication came to me in the mail the other day.  I don&#8217;t know anything about it,&#8221;  she said, addressing me, &#8220;but it&#8217;s all we have.  Shall I try it on you?&#8221;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I understood what she was really saying:  The poor man is going to die anyway&#8211;or go bling; why not take the gamble?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I nodded and she put a few drops of the unknown prescription in my eye.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">&#8220;It&#8217;s just possible that the water you threw on your face helped,&#8221; the nurse said.  Now we waited to give the medication time to do its work, if it was going to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">A half hour passed.  Just as the pain seemed to be easing, we heard footsteps.  Another white man appeared, a stranger to the others.  I was mystified.  Where were all these people coming from?  In those days in that part of Africa, no unidentified white man traveled alone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Who was he?  A French doctor, he said, on his way to a diamond mine fifty miles away.  He&#8217;d heard of the beautiful Lake Munkamba and he&#8217;d detoured several miles off his route, parked his car a half mile away, and walked down to the shore of the lake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The nurse explained to him what had happened to me.  &#8220;Do you know how to treat venom in the eye?&#8221;  she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">&#8220;Yes,&#8221; he answered.  He told us of an effective new antibiotic.  In fact, he had used it successfully on a man at the diamond mine just the month before.  Unfortunately, he didn&#8217;t have any with him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">&#8220;Do you know anything about this?  the nurse asked, handing him the medication she had put in my eye.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He looked at it carefully.  &#8220;That&#8217;s it!  That&#8217;s it!  That&#8217;s the very one I was telling you about!&#8221;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The French doctor stayed for a while.  Then, after giving instructions for applying the drops every thirty minutes and telling me to stay in bed for the next twenty-four hours, he left us, as quickly and mysteriously as he had arrived.  None of us had even learned his name!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Now, however, I learned who my other saviors were:  a Scottish missionary and his wife who were vacationing nearby and a nurse visiting them from English mission.  The kindly Scotsman took me to his house and put me to bed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The next morning my eyesight was fully restored, my energy had returned, and my eye was not even red!  Today I see as well from one eye as from the other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">So they cried to the Lord in their trouble,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">and he saved them from their distress;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">he went his word to heal them<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">and bring them alive out of this pit of death.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Let them thank the Lord for his enduring love and for the marvellous things he has done.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Psalm 107:19-21 NEB<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Jennifer Van Allen<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">www.theprodigalpig.com<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">www.faithincounseling.org<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Prodigal: It is a good day. Me: I have a story about a strange day. This is by William F Pruitt 1968. Kasai Province, Zaire, Africa. As one of the missionaries who had been allowed to return to his former station in what was once the Belgian Congo, I&#8217;d been &#8220;itinerating&#8221; for several weeks&#8211;that is, &hellip; <a href=\"http:\/\/www.theprodigalpig.com\/?p=7642\">Continue reading <span class=\"meta-nav\">&rarr;<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7642","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v28.2 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Strange Day At Lake Munkamba - The Prodigal Pig<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"This is a devotion with words from William Pruitt. He talks about a day that the Lord showed up in a believer&#039;s life.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"http:\/\/www.theprodigalpig.com\/?p=7642\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Strange Day At Lake Munkamba - The Prodigal Pig\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"This is a devotion with words from William Pruitt. 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