A Typical Day of A Bible School Teacher

It was the wee hour of the morning when I woke up. Without light in the room and power on both my devices, it was left for nature to wake the son of my father up.

The light rays beaming through the window cracks and an uncovered section of the accidental vent sent me rushing out of my bed like a man whose long awaited appointment with the president had been approved. Of course in my case, I talk with the King of kings and LORD of lords on a daily basis. To satisfy your curiosity, am a servant in His vineyard.
Getting back to the point, I rushed out of my bed and headed for the bathroom, only to find a queue of people waiting for their turn to try and beautify this earthly tabernacle by washing off some dirt. 

Patient like an expecting woman I waited for my turn, and although it felt longer than 9 months my turn came and I couldn’t wait to get out fresh and clean.

Dressing like an old boy preacher I hurried to grab a boda/motocycle to take me to meet my eager class, this is when the real adventure began. I grabbed a two wheel cab (motorcycle) and told the rider to hurry, and my hired chauffeur for the moment decided to take a detour with the claim that it is shorter to my destination, and there is less traffic. To this I reluctantly obliged although there was an internal hesitation.
When we had had a ride for over thirty minutes passing behind the backyards of uncountable huts through the supposed shortcut, my chauffeur stopped turned to the back to look at me and said, “this road is impassable, we need to go back.” To this I asked, “are we lost?” In fear he responded, “yes sir, we are lost.” We again spent another thirty minutes plus in riding back to the centre, and when we arrived, he put me on another Boda, and took off by the wind. I was back to where my journey had begun over an hour before.


As a known teacher of the Word in this Moslem dominated territory, I was doing my best to maintain my witness by putting a smile on my face and staying calm but truth be told, I was grumbling from inside over the wasted time and the stress I went through on roads similar to ridding on a sweet potato garden. 
Without hesitation, my newly appointed chauffeur kick started the motorcycle and off we went. Just when we had gone about five minutes into our journey we were met by several riders of the same going at the speed of light in our direction; one of them slowed down and told us about the traffic police officers who were apprehending every motorcycle and their riders without a helmet.
This new development sent my chauffeur on another “path of safety”, we branched off to the jungle and followed a small path that had no print except for man and animals. Its almost like I was gone hunting, except the fact that i did not have a bow and arrow, or a riffle. We were on this foot track for over thirty minutes before hitting the main road. When we did, I realized we were on our way to Moyo. Although we were far off from my destination, it felt nice being back on the main road without leaves slapping my face or the thorn bushes scratching my leg.
Unfortunately, though, this sweet but dusty road was short-lived, because just after a few kilometres’ ride towards Yumbe town, another cyclist stopped to tell us that the traffic police were a head of us. On hearing this, my immediate thought was, “not again”, and yes, again we took off to the jungle.
My desire by this time was to just get to my destination. I had ceased making glances at the watch on my wrist. After what seemed like ages passing through the jungle, we made it to the main road again only to land in the hands of the offices we had tried to dodge for hours. It is my position as a servant in the vineyard of the KING that gave us favour before the officers. They just laughed at us and allowed us to proceed.
We finally made it to the Bidibidi Transit center, and I took the third boda to ride me to zone one, block one where our training facilities are based. I arrived too exhausted, looking like I showered with brown soil and very late. A glance at the eager students looking helpless like Sheep without a shepherd made me forget my tiredness and how i was looking, and i jumped straight to teaching. God was glorified even in the midst of these struggles of getting to where He had sent me to feed His flock.

This is just part of what we go through in the field as we minister to God’s people.
In His Vineyard

Kasule Jacob.

Servus Servorum Dei

Reaching the unreached world for Christ.

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