Not in Haste

“he that believeth shall not be in haste.” — Isaiah 28:16 (ASV)

In September 1876 the Ethiopia steamed up the wide, muddy estuary of the Cross and Calabar rivers, past mangrove swamps and the ruins of the pens where enslaved people had once waited for the ships, and anchored off Duke Town.

Calabar was not part of any European empire. The towns along the river were ruled by the Efik, who had grown rich for two centuries as traders with Europe, first in slaves and later in palm oil. Mary quickly learned that this was an ordered society, with laws and customs as strong as any in Europe. People lived in great Houses under a chief. A powerful men's society, Ekpe (Europeans called it Egbo), made and enforced the law. The people believed in a high God, but lived in fear of spirits and witchcraft. A death was rarely thought natural: someone was to blame, and the accused could be made to drink poison made from the Calabar bean to prove their innocence. When a great man died, slaves and wives might be killed to go with him.

At Creek Town she met King Eyo Honesty VII, a Christian king who led worship in his own town. He was so pleased to hear that her mother followed the mission that he wrote to Mrs. Slessor, and the two wrote back and forth: an African king and a poor widow in a Scottish tenement.

Mary was determined to learn Efik properly. She learned it from the people, by ear, and in time visitors said she spoke Efik better than many Efik did.

She also met an uncomfortable truth. In a poor part of Duke Town she spoke against the rum some men were selling, and one answered in the coast's pidgin: “What for white man bring them rum suppose them rum no be good? He be god-man bring the rum, then what for god-man talk so?” Her biographer wrote simply: “She cannot answer the man.” The drink came from countries that called themselves Christian. She never forgot it.

Fever hit her again and again. “I want my home and my mother,” she wrote. After a furlough home she came back in 1880 to run the station at Old Town. There she began living on local food, and her colleagues thought she simply liked living like the people. The truth was that she was sending most of her salary home to her mother and sisters, and was, as her biographer put it, “too loyal to her home and too proud of spirit to reveal the reason.”

At Old Town she met the custom that would become the cause of her life. The birth of twins was seen as a disaster: one child, people believed, had an evil spirit for a father. Twin babies were killed and left in the bush, and their mother was driven out to live alone. Mary was not the first to fight this. The Efik rulers, with the British consul, had banned it as early as 1849 and 1851, and missionaries had been rescuing twins since 1852. But a law doesn't change a belief, and the killing went on in secret.

She rescued a pair of twins. While she was out, relatives took the boy by a trick and killed him. In 1883, so ill she had to be carried onto the ship, she took the girl home to Scotland. Her name was Atim Eso. She would be baptised Janie.

Mary was impatient by nature, and she wrote the verse at the top of this chapter as a reminder to herself: the one who trusts God does not need to rush. She would see very little harvest in her lifetime.

You probably want results fast, from friends, from school, from God. Some of the best things grow slowly.

One thing to do this week: choose one thing you have been impatient about, a friendship, a skill, a prayer. Instead of forcing it this week, do one faithful step and leave the rest with God.