“How did I get here?”
That was a question I asked myself several times a day.
My life had become completely out of my control – and into his.
I would pinch myself. Tell myself “to wake up!” Over and over I just couldn't believe that this is what my life had become. I was a hostage in a foreign land and I was being tortured . . .
by my husband.
My name is Furaha. It is a KiSwahili name that means “Joy!” It was given to me by my students in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. That is where this story truly begins. The story of my birth, death and resurrection.
I was a simple country girl from Missouri. My life up until this point had been quite exciting, but I had no idea what lay ahead. I would graduate from seminary and have dreams of being a missionary in a foreign land. This was not of my own volition. I had wanted to stay in the Bay Area and work for the Contemporary Christian Radio Station for the rest of my life. I was quite content.
Yet, there was a “stirring deep in my soul” as the old song says. I answered back with “wherever He leads I'll go.” Lo and behold it was Africa. Not my original choice – Europe was. Nevertheless, I called my brother and said, “How do you feel about me going to live in the only country in the world still in the middle of a civil war?” He laughed and said, “Of course you are!”
Six months later I was on the plane headed to the land of my birth. I call it that because I never truly lived until I set foot on African soil. It was there that I learned to be free! Free from the expectations of this world. Free from the negative voices of my past. Free to live a life of love, light and song.
My life was perfect there. I was ready to spend the rest of my life in service to God, the University, and the church. I never wanted to leave. In fact, that wasn't my choice.
Enter the story, my love, my Angel. The first time I laid eyes on him I truly thought he was an angel. My Angel. The magnetic force of the earth stopped pulling me and he alone did from that point forward. Never in my life had I experienced something like him. I do not exaggerate when I say it was “love at first sight” - for both of us. I knew in that instant - “that is your husband.”
I hate victim blaming. However, it exists in this world in full force. This is where I usually feel the need to defend myself. It's not fair that we hold victims responsible for what they had no control over. But that is exactly what the world does. So for this moment, I will defend myself.
I had NO intention of dating on the field. In fact, in “missionary school” when the discussions would come up about making commitments to not date – I summarily dismissed it. You see, I had NEVER had a boyfriend. This topic did not apply to me. No one in the United States of America had ever found me worthy of asking out on a date, so why would an African. Little did I know, but EVERY African I met would find me worthy of proposal. In fact, from the first day I get off the plane I would be saying “no” to a marriage proposal at least four times a day. By the time I laid eyes on my husband, I had been worn down significantly. I was beginning to worry that I was “missing my only chance.”
To Be Continued. . .
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
BOUNDARIES
However, I cared about my job, my reputation, and meeting everyone's expectations. So I set up extremely strong boundaries. Later on, I realized it was these boundaries that hurt me in the end. They kept me from getting to know the real him.
I was dedicated to my job. So, he was never allowed to see me when I was at work. He was only allowed to see me in a public place and with others present. We were never to be alone. We were to be forthright and honest from the very beginning. No one would misunderstand our intentions – clear and open communication on all sides.
I literally had him march up to my supervisor and declare his intentions to pursue me. I made announcements to everyone – to hold us accountable to these boundaries I had created. Created to protect me, the school, everyone involved so that there were obvious intentions all around. In fact, I was told by my supervisors that they were proud of me for my maturity and transparency.
All of this didn't matter. My desire to keep everyone happy would prove futile. I would be able to keep no one happy and the only consolation prize I had was him. This is exactly what he had planned. I was shunned from my ministry. I was torn away from my true passion – teaching at the university. I was sent away to a foreign land. All because of my relationship.
The desire was for the others to get me away from him. Nevertheless, it had the opposite effect – it drove me to him. Once the rest of my life was stripped away. I felt that he was the only good thing that remained. The problem was I was not allowed to communicate with him – I was never allowed to truly get to know him - I never saw it coming.
The six months spent apart romanticized the relationship. Every beautiful love letter, poem, song that was ever written was played over and over to give me strength to continue going on. Only positive was given to me continuously. The few negatives were easily dismissed because of the emotions of the forced separation. His beauty, love and enduring faithfulness were magnified over the Mediterranean ocean.
I never saw it coming. Every warning by anyone else was because they didn't know him like I did. Every person who tried to bring out his negatives were holding him hostage to his past. Every piece of anger was fueled by abandonment of a father when he was born. No one knew him as I did – so no one could speak “authoritatively” into our lives.
Don't get me wrong, I saw issues. I BEGGED for help. I was told that it was my responsibility – not theirs. I needed to get my affairs in order. So I took matters into my own hands, no matter how incapable they were. We both saw pre-marital counselors. Accountability partners were spoken to on both sides. We both had traumatic childhoods and I was not stupid. Just naive. I believed the people I spoke to who said they were helping him. I had faith in him.
I was wrong!
To Be Continued. . .
I was dedicated to my job. So, he was never allowed to see me when I was at work. He was only allowed to see me in a public place and with others present. We were never to be alone. We were to be forthright and honest from the very beginning. No one would misunderstand our intentions – clear and open communication on all sides.
I literally had him march up to my supervisor and declare his intentions to pursue me. I made announcements to everyone – to hold us accountable to these boundaries I had created. Created to protect me, the school, everyone involved so that there were obvious intentions all around. In fact, I was told by my supervisors that they were proud of me for my maturity and transparency.
All of this didn't matter. My desire to keep everyone happy would prove futile. I would be able to keep no one happy and the only consolation prize I had was him. This is exactly what he had planned. I was shunned from my ministry. I was torn away from my true passion – teaching at the university. I was sent away to a foreign land. All because of my relationship.
The desire was for the others to get me away from him. Nevertheless, it had the opposite effect – it drove me to him. Once the rest of my life was stripped away. I felt that he was the only good thing that remained. The problem was I was not allowed to communicate with him – I was never allowed to truly get to know him - I never saw it coming.
The six months spent apart romanticized the relationship. Every beautiful love letter, poem, song that was ever written was played over and over to give me strength to continue going on. Only positive was given to me continuously. The few negatives were easily dismissed because of the emotions of the forced separation. His beauty, love and enduring faithfulness were magnified over the Mediterranean ocean.
I never saw it coming. Every warning by anyone else was because they didn't know him like I did. Every person who tried to bring out his negatives were holding him hostage to his past. Every piece of anger was fueled by abandonment of a father when he was born. No one knew him as I did – so no one could speak “authoritatively” into our lives.
Don't get me wrong, I saw issues. I BEGGED for help. I was told that it was my responsibility – not theirs. I needed to get my affairs in order. So I took matters into my own hands, no matter how incapable they were. We both saw pre-marital counselors. Accountability partners were spoken to on both sides. We both had traumatic childhoods and I was not stupid. Just naive. I believed the people I spoke to who said they were helping him. I had faith in him.
I was wrong!
To Be Continued. . .
Saturday, October 8, 2011
BILLBOARDS
On the day he proposed, he told me that he wanted for us to get married on Valentine's Day. So in February, I got on a plane and left my life behind in the United States to start my new one in Africa. I dreamed of happiness and simplicity and most importantly us being together. We knew of abandonment in our own families, we were never going to know of abandonment in each other - “never leaving nor forsaking, till death do us part.”
It was a whirlwind, I got off the plane and rushed into the arms of my beloved church family in Kenya. Immediately, we were thrust into ministry on a daily basis. I was in heaven – sitting on the front row looking up to my beloved in the pulpit. I had had visions of this when we were in Congo. I knew what he was capable of – I had called him on it – I had prayed for God to bring it forth. God is faithful to answer our prayers!
We were on Billboards, on television, on the radio – we were touring all over the country! Every day one of us was in the pulpit, with every weekend attending crusades. I greeted, sang, ministered to the ladies who came to pray with us afterward. All my dreams had come true! I got up every morning praising God for the many blessings in our life! Every day I fell more madly in love with my husband and the life I had always desired!
I also had the biggest most beautiful family that I had ever wanted! I was embraced from the first second I got off the plane into an amazing family! I fell in love with them as much as him! I had sisters, a momma, cousins, grandparents, aunts & uncles that stretched for miles. Everywhere I looked, I had a new family member. I adored them as much as they adored me! Everyone kept saying, “You've brought our son back to us – he's completely changed! He is the boy that we once knew! Thank you for your love has healed him!” I believed them, life was beautiful!
Slowly things began creeping in, I summarily dismissed them. I defended him. I explained how it was being back in the land of his birth, where all of the negative things happened, that was affecting him. It was spiritual warfare for our powerful ministry. It was our cultural differences. It was our age difference. It was just the way he acted in front of his old friends. It was a misunderstanding. It was the hurt being expressed since we were forced apart for six months. It was insecurities. It was the pressure. It was perfectionism. It was familial expectations. All we needed was to finalize our marriage with our civil ceremony, then get on the plane to go to our new job in China. Once we got away from all of this, our life would go back to the way it was in Congo.
The day of our civil ceremony was practically perfect. He served me breakfast in bed. He scooted me off to the spa for a morning of pampering in time for our noon ceremony. I got a mani/pedi, my hair perfectly curled, a make-up artist, and a perfect white katenga to get married in! I was escorted back to the hotel to find the most gorgeous man in the world, standing there in all white, grinning at me from ear to ear! I cried through the whole ceremony. I couldn't wait to hear him speak those vows aloud with all our friends and family present! He whispered in my ear, “there will never be another.” My heart was light and peace flooded my soul! I knew that this was the final commitment, no more fear, anxiety, questions – it was legal in the presence of God and country. I knew that there would only be good going forward! “Heaven came down and glory filled my soul.”
I would go to bed that night alone and wake up to the biggest horror of my life. . .
To Be Continued. . .
It was a whirlwind, I got off the plane and rushed into the arms of my beloved church family in Kenya. Immediately, we were thrust into ministry on a daily basis. I was in heaven – sitting on the front row looking up to my beloved in the pulpit. I had had visions of this when we were in Congo. I knew what he was capable of – I had called him on it – I had prayed for God to bring it forth. God is faithful to answer our prayers!
We were on Billboards, on television, on the radio – we were touring all over the country! Every day one of us was in the pulpit, with every weekend attending crusades. I greeted, sang, ministered to the ladies who came to pray with us afterward. All my dreams had come true! I got up every morning praising God for the many blessings in our life! Every day I fell more madly in love with my husband and the life I had always desired!
I also had the biggest most beautiful family that I had ever wanted! I was embraced from the first second I got off the plane into an amazing family! I fell in love with them as much as him! I had sisters, a momma, cousins, grandparents, aunts & uncles that stretched for miles. Everywhere I looked, I had a new family member. I adored them as much as they adored me! Everyone kept saying, “You've brought our son back to us – he's completely changed! He is the boy that we once knew! Thank you for your love has healed him!” I believed them, life was beautiful!
Slowly things began creeping in, I summarily dismissed them. I defended him. I explained how it was being back in the land of his birth, where all of the negative things happened, that was affecting him. It was spiritual warfare for our powerful ministry. It was our cultural differences. It was our age difference. It was just the way he acted in front of his old friends. It was a misunderstanding. It was the hurt being expressed since we were forced apart for six months. It was insecurities. It was the pressure. It was perfectionism. It was familial expectations. All we needed was to finalize our marriage with our civil ceremony, then get on the plane to go to our new job in China. Once we got away from all of this, our life would go back to the way it was in Congo.
The day of our civil ceremony was practically perfect. He served me breakfast in bed. He scooted me off to the spa for a morning of pampering in time for our noon ceremony. I got a mani/pedi, my hair perfectly curled, a make-up artist, and a perfect white katenga to get married in! I was escorted back to the hotel to find the most gorgeous man in the world, standing there in all white, grinning at me from ear to ear! I cried through the whole ceremony. I couldn't wait to hear him speak those vows aloud with all our friends and family present! He whispered in my ear, “there will never be another.” My heart was light and peace flooded my soul! I knew that this was the final commitment, no more fear, anxiety, questions – it was legal in the presence of God and country. I knew that there would only be good going forward! “Heaven came down and glory filled my soul.”
I would go to bed that night alone and wake up to the biggest horror of my life. . .
To Be Continued. . .
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
BROKEN
Before we married, I had “grilled” him on his expectations of me. I was never going to be a true African wife and I wanted him to clearly understand what I saw my role to be. He had given me all the right answers – “If I wanted an African wife, I would have married one! I want you and who you are – that's the kind of wife I want.” He actually wanted a perfectly silent, beautiful, rich, punching bag.
During the wee hours of the morning on my wedding night, my husband finally came home and beat me to a bloody pulp. I would come to find out later that he had left me at the hotel to “get ready” while he drove his sister home across town. He then met his mistress at the bar, drank his brains out, and impregnated her that very night. He came home to a wife who had cried herself to sleep and accused her of cheating on him while he beat her over the head with the champagne bottle that the hotel had sent up for the honeymoon toast.
Less than eight hours earlier, he had been standing on the pulpit telling the world how much he was blessed with the most amazing wife in the world. He was praising God for all of his dreams coming true and healing him of his past. Who was this man who just walked into the room? I married Dr. Jekyl, but here was Mr. Hyde.
I had never met Mr. Hyde. Looking back, along the way I think I glimpsed his shadow – which is why I asked for the help that we received. However, I never believed that he was actually real. A shadow is not “real.” A shadow is something blocking the LIGHT. It was like all of the light had disappeared and only the darkness remained. From that point forward, I only lived in shadow. I literally lived in darkness for the next two months trying to bring him back to the LIGHT. It felt as if I went into hell to reach him! The problem is that people CHOOSE hell and I couldn't persuade him to come back out with me.
Immediately our lives changed, we left the ministry that very day – got into a car to go off on our “honeymoon” and I became a hostage. I was under lock and key and guarded every second of every day. All communication had been monitored for a while before that, but now it was not allowed at all. I was not allowed to talk to anyone, even in person. I wasn't allowed to look at anyone, but him. I wasn't allowed to speak, even when we were alone, to him. I was to be silent, look pretty, and take every punch that was given.
His mistress showed up on our “honeymoon” and eventually came to live with us and I would be forced to take care of her as well. I especially took the beatings for every time that he was mad at her, because she was footing the bill. He then took us out of the country to show off his “wives” at his ministry centers all over Africa.
This is where my death occurred - Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania. Everything had escalated to the point that incidents were daily and I was not being let out of doors, even to see the sunshine. Finally, one day I was told that I was being taken to a beach club so I needed to get dressed. I dressed in my best outfit, so that I could be “shown off” to the public – the mzungu wife. I even put make-up on to conceal the bruises. I pulled my hair back into a bun so that no one would notice all of the bald spots. I wore my most form flattering outfit and practiced trying to smile without wincing.
He and his mistress got into a fight while on the ferry on the way over there and I knew it meant trouble for me. I was then accused of stealing money to buy food for her and was told that I was being left behind at the beach club. I was used to these outbursts by now, so I quietly walked out and stood next to the car. Apparently, the biggest mistake I could have made.
I will not go into graphic detail about the many ways I was dragged all over the parking lot. Because my death was not physical but emotional. It was the death of hope. I lost all faith in humanity. I saw person after person come out of that beach club and stand by the side of the road and watch me being assaulted by my husband as if they were watching entertainment. When I realized that no one was going to help me because “she is my wife,” I laid there and passed into the oblivion.
To be continued. . .
During the wee hours of the morning on my wedding night, my husband finally came home and beat me to a bloody pulp. I would come to find out later that he had left me at the hotel to “get ready” while he drove his sister home across town. He then met his mistress at the bar, drank his brains out, and impregnated her that very night. He came home to a wife who had cried herself to sleep and accused her of cheating on him while he beat her over the head with the champagne bottle that the hotel had sent up for the honeymoon toast.
Less than eight hours earlier, he had been standing on the pulpit telling the world how much he was blessed with the most amazing wife in the world. He was praising God for all of his dreams coming true and healing him of his past. Who was this man who just walked into the room? I married Dr. Jekyl, but here was Mr. Hyde.
I had never met Mr. Hyde. Looking back, along the way I think I glimpsed his shadow – which is why I asked for the help that we received. However, I never believed that he was actually real. A shadow is not “real.” A shadow is something blocking the LIGHT. It was like all of the light had disappeared and only the darkness remained. From that point forward, I only lived in shadow. I literally lived in darkness for the next two months trying to bring him back to the LIGHT. It felt as if I went into hell to reach him! The problem is that people CHOOSE hell and I couldn't persuade him to come back out with me.
Immediately our lives changed, we left the ministry that very day – got into a car to go off on our “honeymoon” and I became a hostage. I was under lock and key and guarded every second of every day. All communication had been monitored for a while before that, but now it was not allowed at all. I was not allowed to talk to anyone, even in person. I wasn't allowed to look at anyone, but him. I wasn't allowed to speak, even when we were alone, to him. I was to be silent, look pretty, and take every punch that was given.
His mistress showed up on our “honeymoon” and eventually came to live with us and I would be forced to take care of her as well. I especially took the beatings for every time that he was mad at her, because she was footing the bill. He then took us out of the country to show off his “wives” at his ministry centers all over Africa.
This is where my death occurred - Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania. Everything had escalated to the point that incidents were daily and I was not being let out of doors, even to see the sunshine. Finally, one day I was told that I was being taken to a beach club so I needed to get dressed. I dressed in my best outfit, so that I could be “shown off” to the public – the mzungu wife. I even put make-up on to conceal the bruises. I pulled my hair back into a bun so that no one would notice all of the bald spots. I wore my most form flattering outfit and practiced trying to smile without wincing.
He and his mistress got into a fight while on the ferry on the way over there and I knew it meant trouble for me. I was then accused of stealing money to buy food for her and was told that I was being left behind at the beach club. I was used to these outbursts by now, so I quietly walked out and stood next to the car. Apparently, the biggest mistake I could have made.
I will not go into graphic detail about the many ways I was dragged all over the parking lot. Because my death was not physical but emotional. It was the death of hope. I lost all faith in humanity. I saw person after person come out of that beach club and stand by the side of the road and watch me being assaulted by my husband as if they were watching entertainment. When I realized that no one was going to help me because “she is my wife,” I laid there and passed into the oblivion.
To be continued. . .
Saturday, October 1, 2011
BORN . . . AGAIN
I was born on May 10, 1976. On May 10, 2009, I turned 33. I knew that this number was significant - it was the age that Jesus was when He died. I knew that this year would be a turning point for me. I would either live or die.
On May 10, 2010, I was shocked that I was alive. I had been held hostage in a hotel room for the past ten days with no food, no clean water, and only my husband's daily entries into the room to torture me again. My head had been bleeding for three straight days. I had intestinal parasites from drinking the water out of the bathroom and had lost another 50 pounds. Every inch of my body was purple and sore. I literally felt like I was loosing my mind. I pleaded with God to take me to heaven because I could not live like this. I had prepared myself to die at 33. Instead, God gave me a miracle and I was born . . . again.
My husband had left the country. He had abandoned me there after removing anything I had of value or that would tie me to him. His last words to me the night before were, "If I ever see you again, I will kill you." To me, I was surprised that I was still alive. Right as I was being kicked out of the hotel that had been complicit in holding me hostage, two angels appeared in the form of Kenyans who knew who I was. They dropped all of their business in Tanzania and immediately began a three day "underground" journey to get me back to Nairobi without my husband finding out.
Once I was in the arms of my beloved church family, they helped me maneuver around Nairobi preparing everything I needed to fly home, thanks to my church family in Missouri. We had to tread carefully in Kenya, because I was still his wife. He could prevent me from leaving, if he so chose. Plus, he had rented a car under my name that he had destroyed in Tanzania and I was wanted by Interpol for theft across national lines. A lot of begging and pleading took place with officials from the Chinese embassy, who had my passport, and the Kenyan government, who had to grant me a dependent pass, to leave the country. I also had to work with the hospital and police to verify all that happened to me to clear my name with Interpol. God granted me mercy and arrangements and protections were made so that I was able to finally get on a plane to come home before May was out.
The hardest part to explain is the emotional and spiritual release that I felt that day. I was truly reborn. I had given my vows before God, including "'till death do us part." For two months, my husband had kept only one vow - "never leave nor forsake you." I still felt tied to him by that one thread. It was on my birthday, when I received the phone call that he had crossed back into Kenya without me, that I finally felt the weight off my shoulders. God granted me "until death do you part," because I had died there in Dar Es Salaam, and I was resurrected after I was forsaken.
Isaiah 60:15
“Although you have been forsaken and hated, with no one traveling through, I will make you the everlasting pride and the joy of all generations.
My name is Furaha. It is a KiSwahili name that means “Joy!” It was given to me by my students in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. That is where this story truly begins. The story of my birth, death and resurrection.
On May 10, 2010, I was shocked that I was alive. I had been held hostage in a hotel room for the past ten days with no food, no clean water, and only my husband's daily entries into the room to torture me again. My head had been bleeding for three straight days. I had intestinal parasites from drinking the water out of the bathroom and had lost another 50 pounds. Every inch of my body was purple and sore. I literally felt like I was loosing my mind. I pleaded with God to take me to heaven because I could not live like this. I had prepared myself to die at 33. Instead, God gave me a miracle and I was born . . . again.
My husband had left the country. He had abandoned me there after removing anything I had of value or that would tie me to him. His last words to me the night before were, "If I ever see you again, I will kill you." To me, I was surprised that I was still alive. Right as I was being kicked out of the hotel that had been complicit in holding me hostage, two angels appeared in the form of Kenyans who knew who I was. They dropped all of their business in Tanzania and immediately began a three day "underground" journey to get me back to Nairobi without my husband finding out.
Once I was in the arms of my beloved church family, they helped me maneuver around Nairobi preparing everything I needed to fly home, thanks to my church family in Missouri. We had to tread carefully in Kenya, because I was still his wife. He could prevent me from leaving, if he so chose. Plus, he had rented a car under my name that he had destroyed in Tanzania and I was wanted by Interpol for theft across national lines. A lot of begging and pleading took place with officials from the Chinese embassy, who had my passport, and the Kenyan government, who had to grant me a dependent pass, to leave the country. I also had to work with the hospital and police to verify all that happened to me to clear my name with Interpol. God granted me mercy and arrangements and protections were made so that I was able to finally get on a plane to come home before May was out.
The hardest part to explain is the emotional and spiritual release that I felt that day. I was truly reborn. I had given my vows before God, including "'till death do us part." For two months, my husband had kept only one vow - "never leave nor forsake you." I still felt tied to him by that one thread. It was on my birthday, when I received the phone call that he had crossed back into Kenya without me, that I finally felt the weight off my shoulders. God granted me "until death do you part," because I had died there in Dar Es Salaam, and I was resurrected after I was forsaken.
Isaiah 60:15
“Although you have been forsaken and hated, with no one traveling through, I will make you the everlasting pride and the joy of all generations.
My name is Furaha. It is a KiSwahili name that means “Joy!” It was given to me by my students in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. That is where this story truly begins. The story of my birth, death and resurrection.
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