Brown. Looking past my seatmate, out the tiny window of our plane, I just see a lot of brown. And it is a blur. In fact, as I see how close the ground is, it feels like we’re traveling too fast to land. We touch down anyway. Are we accelerating? We’re certainly not slowing down. Not like these jets usually do. I’m getting nervous.
About six months prior while listening to announcements in church, there was a short blurb about an exploratory meeting concerning a trip to the Democratic Republic of Congo. When I heard this, my heart skipped a beat. I told Marla later that I think I’m supposed to go.
And now here I am, October of 2005, racing down a bumpy runway in Lubumbashi, DRC in an over-crowded plane with seven friends from Springfield Oregon scattered around the cabin. We might be slowing down a little but surely not enough. I can’t help to think that even though we pre-paid for our seats months ago, we had to beg, bribe, and then buy our seats again while waiting in the Johannesburg, South Africa airport just a few hours ago. For this.
In the spring of 2005 seven men and I began meeting weekly to plan this fifteen-day trip. We discussed details at length. We learned two worship songs in French. We practiced our testimony, developed sermons, made lesson plans for elementary school, and raised money. All the money we raised purchased clothing, bikes, and sewing machines for the villagers of Kamina.
And if this plane would get stopped, we might get to meet up with those bikes and sewing machines in Kamina the following day. Seriously, we’re slowing down some but I can’t imagine that it will be enough. The runway has to end, doesn’t it? But I wouldn’t know because I can only see out the tiny side window and watch brown zip by. Then, just like that, the plane turns left, and directly out my window is a berm of dirt at the end of the runway. Whew!
In the summer of 2005, City of Refuge was barely a dream for Richard Kitumba and John Illunga. They knew they wanted to help Kamina, the war-torn city they grew up in but God had not yet revealed his plan. When Richard and John left Kamina for America, they took a long and circuitous route to eventually end up in Springfield, Oregon. They didn’t know that this is where they would put down roots nor did they know that it was from this place that God would send them back to Kamina.
Funny, the plane has now stopped, but well short of the airport terminal. A man boards the plane, finds Richard and they have an animated discussion. Richard then walks the cabin, collects our passports, and hands them to the man. This man and Richard then step off the plane. Okay, this is no longer funny. We eventually de-plane and find Richard waiting on the tarmac for the rest of us. Standing by the plane we now watch the rest of the passengers walk to the terminal. We, however, are escorted by six men armed with automatic weapons to a building that is not the terminal. And we wait in a room that is not a waiting room. It has a few seats but it feels a little crowded - the eight of us along with our armed escorts. As minutes, then hours tick by, we are hopeful that Richard and John will convince our welcoming party that we are here for all of the right reasons.
It was only later that I figured out that the discussion was not necessarily Richard and John convincing our hosts of anything. It was more like a negotiation for our release.
As the summer began to wane and our October departure date started to feel real, our eight-man team was still preparing hard. The gifts had been purchased and delivered to Kamina. Our accommodations were arranged. We had lots of bottled water purchased and waiting. We were finishing up our vaccinations. We were also collecting crisp American hundred-dollar bills to be dispersed among the eight of us for in-country purchases, contingencies and negotiations.
After many hours in the sweltering hot waiting room that isn’t a waiting room, in the building that isn’t the terminal, in Lubumbashi DRC, it is time to use some of those crisp hundred-dollar bills that are safely stowed in our concealed money pouches. One by one a few of us privately remove enough bills to satisfy our hosts. They complain a little about the now limp, soggy bills but it’s enough to pay our way out of the building and head for our overnight accommodations in Lubumbashi. Tomorrow, Kamina!
This was my introduction to the Democratic Republic of Congo. This was the enemy’s opening salvo to stop the City of Refuge International from being born. It didn’t work. Satan didn’t know what awaited us in Kamina – thousands of the most gracious, beautiful-hearted people the six of us had ever met. We fell in love immediately.
It wasn’t until 2007 that the tiny dream Richard and John had for their people became The City of Refuge International. From its humble beginnings, it now places approximately one hundred and twenty orphaned children in permanent foster homes. It now has college scholarships available. It now offers vocational training in carpentry and sewing. It now has a livestock development program. I could go on and on about The City of Refuge but this is what I want you to know.
Sixteen years ago, I fell in love with the people of Kamina. I hope you do too.
To learn how you can help, contact our Global Outreach team at