"Welcome and Welcome'' by. Rendell N. Mabey and Gordon T. Allred

Hang on!" someone warned.  For an instant we were airborne as the taxi careened over a tooth-jarring strip of washboard and descended into the swale ahead.  It was a hot day as usual, sweltering inside the cab even with the windows open, and the road was murderous. . .

"If only we had a little rain to cool things off," Rachel said.  "Anything to get some relief from this heat."

"Rainy season's coming up," Ted reminded her.  "Once that happens we'll be getting more water than we bargained for.''

Sitting there in front next to the window, I laughed a bit wearily, leaned forward to free the shirt from my sweating back, and grabbed for the dash as we jolted over another chuckhole.

. . .Rachel, my wife of forty-five years, was in the back with our companions,  Edwin Q. (Ted) Cannon, Jr., and his wife, Janath.  To guide, interpreter, devoted friend, and investigator.  His skin, like the driver's, was very dark, and his forehead was beaded with perspiration.  As usual, however, despite the growing discomfort, he was smiling and full of cheer. . .

That morning. . .we had embarked from Calabar in a fast open boat with an outboard motor, traversing the mighty Cross River near its mouth in one-hour journey to Oron.  There we had hired the taxi and continued our quest, often with only the vaguest sense of direction.  Addresses in that locale were nonexistent-merely the primitive-sounding names of tiny knowledge that they were somewhere out there, people who were patiently waiting, who had been waiting throughout the years and praying for a miracle.

It was difficult at the moment to comprehend that were a part of that miracles even though our efforts of the day had already met with gratifying success.  for now, it was simply a matter of point, we narrowly escaped head-on collision with a truck.  The road was hardly designed for two-way traffic, and driver's education was clearly not top priority in Nigeria, facts well attested to by the number of demolished vehicles along the wayside.

By now, however, we were encountering a few more natives, either cycling of a foot, and another small settlement had materialized.  "Village Isighe," Daniel said.  He smiled, displaying a set of prominent white teeth.  "This is it-the one we've been looking for!"

All of us craned our necks, peering and exclaiming with surprised and relief.  Just off the road was rectangular white sign with neat block letters spelling:  "Church of Jesus Christ of latter-day Saints, Inc."  The name of the village was beneath.  "And there, if I'm not mistaken," I agreed, "Practically in our laps."  Only fifty or sixty feet away was a primitive little meetinghouse plastered with dried mud: hardly likely to win any prizes in architecture or to insure cool and comfort in such weather, but a literal delight to behold even so.

It was now one o'clock Saturday afternoon, but a good many people were leaving the premises, filing from the doorway and wandering down the little lanes much as though they had just completed a sacrament meeting.  Men, women, and children all dressed in their Sunday best, some in white, others in exotic colors, were passing by as we left the taxi.  A number had stopped, in fact, to stare.  Their dark, lustrous eyes were full of wonderment, and some of them seemed too astonished to return our words of greeting.

"I wonder what's going on," Janath said.  "Church meetings on Saturday?" Daniel smiled and shrugged, sharking his head, but it soon appeared that he was not a total  stranger there.

"Some kind of meeting, obviously," I said. Even more obviously, we had just discovered another of those self-styled branches of the Church, growing independently for now like slips from the wild olive.  More people who had learned about the gospel from an article in the Reader's Digest, letters to Salt Lake City, tracts, occasional copies of the Book of Mormon, or a passing visitor.  Such congregations understood certain important principles of the restored gospel in most cases, enough to hunger and thirst for more, but their knowledge was meager and primitive. . .

Moments after leaving our taxi, we were greeted by several men in colorful native robes, clearly religious leaders of some kind.  Foremost among them was a wiry little man who introduced himself as Evangelist B. J. Ekong, head of the so-called LDS churches in Isighe and several other villages of that general area.  His eyes were alert, full of intense expectation, and he smiled radiantly as though the purposed of our visit had already been revealed.  "How truly wonderful!" he exclaimed, and he began seizing our hands.  "Praise be to the Lord! Welcome! Welcome!". . .

. . ."Well, we're very happy to be here," Ted said. "Looks as though you've just been holding a meeting of some kind."

"Yes, yes indeed," came the reply.  Those with him nodded, beaming as though they shared some marvelous secret. "We must go ring the bell and summon our people to return immediately!"

"Oh, I don't think that's necessary for the moment,"  I began, but the Evangelist was irrepressible; all of them were filled with the same explosive spirit.

"Ah, but you don't quite understand," he persisted. "We really must ring the bell! The members of this congregation have been waiting for years.  They have just completed a twenty-four-hour fast, praying to the Lord that his missionaries would come."

It is impossible to articulate the feelings of that moment, but the bell itself seemed full of rejoicing, and within minutes of our arrival we were seated in positions of honor before a congregation of approximately seventy-five people.  All of them, even the smallest infants,  seemed to observe our every movement and expression with fascination the Evangelist B. J. Ekong arose to offer his welcome in English.

"We have awaited this glad day for may years,' he said, speaking in tones of great humility and dignity.  "Now, very suddenly and without notice. . ." He hesitated, eyes glistening.  "now, very suddenly, you re here among us.  You are here to bring that light and knowledge we so greatly desire and to show us the path we must follow."  He then turned to us more fully, making a slight bow and sweeping gesture with one hand. "For such a blessing we must thank our Father in Heaven everlastingly. Welcome, beloved and honored friends-welcome and welcome!"

I then arose as our senior representative and, with Daniel UKwat to interpret, thanked all those present for their great devotion to the Lord, their interest and hospitality. . . ."We bring you greetings from our prophet Spencer W. Kimball in Salt Lake City.  We bring you word of his great love and prayers and are here today  in that same spirit, convinced that we are all children of God and therefore literal brothers and sisters,"  I testified as well to the divinity of our Savior, explained briefly the mission of Joseph Smith, and bore witness of the fact that we were duly authorized representatives of the only true church upon this earth, an organization constantly sustained by the lifeblood of prophetic revelation.

. . . Despite the necessity of an interpreter, we were "coming through." The Spirit of God, which in times of faith may transcend all other barriers, was bearing record.  I could see it in their testimonies with my own.  Last of all, Daniel himself attested to this mission.

At the conclusion of our remarks, various leaders from among the gathering arose to add their welcome and to ask questions. . . .Above all else, they desired assurance that we had not come as mere birds of passage, that never again would they be left in the wilderness, comfortless and alone.  "In time past," an old man said, "a member or two of your religion have appeared among us, but only for a fleeting moment,  They brought us greetings in one truth only said farewell with the next.  We were tempted with the truth only to have it snatched away again.  No one returned, and our letters to Salt lake City received little reply."  His eyes smoldered, but the fire was quenched with tears.  "Will it also be the same with you?"

I shook my head, finding it difficult to respond.  "we can appreciate your feelings," I said, "and greatly regret that you have been kept waiting so long.  It must have been a terrible frustration, but God has many ways of testing the faithful, and perhaps this has been one of them. . .But your prayers have been answered."

"Yes," Ted agrees.  "This is the beginning.  The restored gospel has come to Black Africa."

***The End***

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