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.
