Sirens blaring

The siren woke me up sometime between 02:30 and 03:00 Friday morning. It sounded just like all the tornado sirens I'd ever heard--piercingly loud. I poked David over Timothy's sleeping form.

"Is that a siren?"

"Yes."

I waited a few moments. On our compound, the siren often goes off for no reason at all, when something short-circuits. But we weren't on our compound; we were at Miango for the week. Was this just an electrical problem?

Then I heard the first gunshots. I grabbed David's hand but didn't say anything. Then I shook myself alert.

"David, would you please lock the deadbolt on the door?"

My wonderful husband crawled out of bed, felt around for the key on the nearby desk, and somehow managed to lock the deadbolt on our door. He climbed back in bed, and we lay still in the darkness for what felt like an hour before I whispered,

"Shouldn't we go into the bathroom?"

"Why?" David asked.

"Because there's a wall between the window and the tub. We can hide there. If the robbers come to the windows here, they can shoot right at us!"

David was unconcerned. "There are curtains," he said. "They won't see us."

"But they can still shoot in the windows and hurt us, even if they can't see us!" I insisted.

David lay still in the bed. I scooped Timothy into my arms and crept into the bathroom as quietly as I could. My baby stirred and cried out, and for a moment I panicked. But I stuffed the pacifier back into his mouth as I leaned against the bathroom partition and slid down to the floor, and he quieted.

We sat like that for maybe 45 minutes, huddled on the cold concrete bathroom floor. At first, I was more scared of scorpions and spiders than of the armed robbers, but the gunshots continued, and I started to pray. It was a muddled prayer. I tried to remember Bible verses of protection and comfort, but I could only think of a few. "The Lord is my light and my salvation. Whom shall I fear?..."

I tried to sing a song or two under my breath, but I had trouble thinking of protection songs. After I'd gone through a few, I finally lit upon "You Are My Hiding Place" and sang that over and over again. I expected I would be panicking, but instead, God's peace was tangible. I told God that I wouldn't mind dying, that I was ready, but that I knew it would be hard for Timothy especially. And I told Him I really did want to see Timothy grow up, start to walk and talk, go to school, like girls, play with trucks, graduate from school, get married, have a baby... But I was ready to go.

Rationally, I knew the chances of my being killed were very small. Miango is a huge compound, with tens of little cottages and houses scattered around a wide area. We were staying in a row of four small rooms. No robber in his right mind would come bother us when there were bigger fish in the pond. But my heart told me to be ready, so I was.

I finally prayed over and over, "Lord, guard us. Send your angels to protect us. Keep us safe." I hadn't realised how tense my body was until Timothy tooted in his sleep, and I jumped several inches.

My cell phone rang around 03:40, waking Timothy. The siren was still blaring, and Timothy started to cry. The phone kept ringing as David tried to find it in my computer case, and finally stopped as he opened the bathroom door and handed it to me. Dad had tried to call. He, Mom, and Luke were staying in a cottage a few hundred yards away. I tried to call him back, but I couldn't get through. So I sent a text--"We r ok," praying it would work, since the network had been terrible all week, taking hours for texts to go through. I immediately got a message back: "ok."

I turned my phone on silent mode and crawled back into the bedroom, trying to keep Timothy happily quiet. He wanted to talk and play, so I gently kept shoving the pacifier back in his mouth, willing him to silence. Every muscle in my body felt tight.

Finally, near 04:00, the siren stopped. We lay still for another five minutes and then started talking. There wasn't much to say, since neither of us know anything about the events, but it felt good to talk anyway. I sent another text to my dad: "Now what? R u guys ok?" Dad sent a return text: "We r fine, just staying inside." As Timothy fell back asleep, I thought, There's no way I can sleep again tonight. But fifteen minutes later, I was drifting off.

In the morning, we didn't find out much--just that there had been an armed robbery and that no one had been seriously hurt. Not until early afternoon did I hear more of the story. The robbers had gone to at least three cottages on the compound and harassed the previous manager and his family, among others. A posse of three American missionaries and a Nigerian man arrived from Jos and went with the local Miango men to track the robbers through the previous day's mud. Finally, ten robbers were caught, and most were immediately executed.

We all thank God that no one was seriously hurt, and that none of the women were abused. God is so merciful! When I think how it could have been--how it was in the past--I am amazed at God's goodness. But a part of me is still terrified of similar events taking place at our house. If robbers came here, what would I do? Would they leave me alone if I gave them the things they asked for and more? Would they hurt my baby??

But as I've said before, "A life lived in fear is a life half-lived." So may God give us courage as we live each day in the face of such danger and evil.