"Welcome to Cameroon," the Dean of CBTS said with a smile.

Yesterday was a fairly atypical day, with far more drama than what we've come accustomed to. Once we adapted to the tentativeness of all plans here--interrupted class, impromptu speeches, abrupt faculty meetings--the only drama that we deal with usually is Wesley hording one pancake too many at breakfast or goats in our garden.

Wednesday morning, a boy from a nearby boarding school visited our house at seven-thirty in the morning and was sent away by our cook. He came back an hour later and asked to come in for water to drink. He had began a friendship with Charlie a week ago; last Sunday, he was at the house for an hour or two, asking Charlie questions about Scripture and faith. He had asked Charlie to come to the boarding school to speak to students about Christianity, and he had asked me to take him on a jog sometimes. I gave the boy two glasses of water to drink and sent him on his way. I was a little annoyed; he had been coming over far too often in the past week, and at fifteen years old, he should have been a bit more conscious of respecting our space and time (even according to the cultural standards here).

Around ten o'clock, Charlie and I left for tea time with the faculty. Charlie and Wesley came back to the house twenty to thrity minutes later. When I returned at ten-forty, I joined them in conversation for a bit. When they got up to go to their rooms, I noticed that our living room seemed a little empty. I had left my laptop on the chair, and it was gone. I poked my head into Charlie's room to see if the computer had been moved, but it wasn't there. Back in the living room, I saw Wesley's computer wasn't there, either. I nervously said, "Wesley, where are our computers." He gave me a funny look, glanced around the living room, and said, "You're joking, right?" Charlie came out, and after we established that none of us were joking--a necessity in this house, especially with Charlie--we began the process of alerting people and trying to track down our missing computers.

Our cook, Pa, is also an ex-vigilante in town. I'm not sure how to explain what that means here. If someone commits an act deemed a crime in the communities eyes, the vigilantes could be alerted. They would track the supposed wrongdoer down, capture him, tie him up, beat him, and leave him tied up for a period before setting him free. This was Pa's description of the volunteer work, as I remember. About half-an-hour after we noticed our computers were missing, Charlie and Wes were at Philemon's house (another missionary), and I walking around our house with Pa. Pa spoke in the dialect with some boys swinging on a tree by our house, and then he ran into the house. I figured that our lunch was burning. Then Pa comes out with a butcher knife. I followed him slowly, a little afraid--not for myself or for Pa, but for whoever he was going after. He passed through a garden and stopped to pick up a large rock for his other hand. He wasn't running; just walking intently, like a killer in a movie who is above running. He didn't stop to tell me what he was doing, so I followed behind, deliberating whether I should tell him to chill out. Not far away, there were two men sitting in a the forrest next to our house. Pa spoke to them harshly in the dialect (harsh to my ears), and then his composure relaxed. It was just two CBTS students reading their Bibles together. I had approached them from the side to flank them, and was glad to realize that Pa wouldn't be using his knife for anything beyond our green beans and carrots.

Anyways (I told myself I'd keep this short), after we discovered our items missing, CBTS administrators called to alert the administrators of the school. The school disciplinarian found the boy and pulled him into his office. Three slightly-intense hours later, the discplinarian (a strange title--their language, not my invention) met with us on CBTS' campus and returned our items. The boy had stolen my laptop and Wesleys, along with Charlie's power chord. He put it all into my laptop, which already contained two large Bible commentaries. The boy also stole our cell phone. Fortunately, all of it was recovered and none of it was damaged. Yesterday and today, we've had many visitors come by to give us their consolations and to show their support of us. Students and faculty members have been very kind. We've found out just how fast news travels around here.

We later found out that the boy had stolen Charlie's keys at some point, and that's how he entered the house.

All of it made for a crazy day. I think Charlie and Wes would agree with me that it was a good reminder of God's sovereignty. Even if our computers are used to teach here at the seminary, we're still ultimately just stewards of them. If they're taken away from us, they're taken away from us. While the items were missing, I kept thinking about the text in Hebrews describing how the community had "joyfully accepted the plundering of their property." The students here reacted with much indignation over the crime and sympathy for us when they heard the news announced this morning in chapel, but we've heard far more serious announcements far too many times this year in chapel to get _too_ upset over stolen computers. Some of the students here have responded to the incident with words of grace toward the boy, which has been encouraging. From what we've been told, the boy was most likely beaten for his actions--something the three of us find disturbing and unsettling. I heard today that he's run away, probably anticipating that he'd be dismissed from school for this and previous offenses.

One final thought for this already-too-long post. Many people here have told us not to let people in the house, or to only welcome in those whom we are confident are trustworthy. It's reminded me that love necessarily involves risk. I've had to reflect on what's most important: pursuing people or preserving possessions. The banner of love certainly does not cover all foolishness, but I think it covers some.

--Tommy

PS. Charlie and I are watching the second season of LOST now, at an aggressive pace, and I was sure I could find the trail of the culprit outside our house. I determined the two most likely paths of departure from our house, and scouted them both for many yards to look for any sort of clue or sign. Of course, it was a fruitless venture. Just like how I had hoped being in Africa would improve my health in miraculous ways, just like John Locke was able to use his legs on the island.