Beyond the Hills...

Beyond the hills, those looming mountains
Are not the ones I know.
They frighten me.

Between the hills
The unfamiliar footpaths dip down
Deep down into the valleys below,
More frightening even
Than the hills and mountains.

Down in those valleys
A grey fog covers everything.
If I stumble and fall
Who will help me?
Who will hear my cry?

I descend slowly, carefully,
One step at a time, seeing nothing,
Feeling for stones
That will trip me,

I can only guess what is there,
Waiting to trip me.
Waiting to devour me.

Through the dense fog
Voices come to my ears,
strange words and unfamiliar
But I know that melody
I know that tune.

I see people here and there
With faces lifted to the mountains.
Singing my song

Slowly I begin to hum
Begin to sing that common tune.

I join hands with someone
And we sing together,
Joyously, freely!
We have the same Lord.
We sing of his promises.

I will be with you, always
You are here too Lord
In this strange land.
You welcome me.
Welcome me through your people.

I wrote this poem in 1978, ten years after we had been in the Congo. It depicts my struggle to adapt to a culture that was unfamiliar, a language I did not know, and a people I did not understand. What a joy it was to find something that was familiar in all of this. At first it was the old church hymns with their familiar tunes, even though the words were strange. Later I learned to appreciate and love the music they themselves composed, their natural sense of rhythm, their laughter and their hospitality.

Elfrieda Schroeder