Free Land of Promise by James Wesley Rawles Page B

after you are refreshened.”
    Their meeting with Mtume began at 9:30 a.m. Rick and Alan both wore suits, and Meital wore one of her Baghdad Bags. This one was tan with more embroidery than the others that they had seen. Rick’s brown suit was one that he brought with him from Texas, so it was lightweight. But Alan’s was a heavy navy blue wool suit from Harrods in London. Although it fit him well -- it had just been taken in, to adjust for his recent weight loss -- it left Alan noticeably perspiring. Rick wondered how much they’d all be sweating in the heat of the afternoon.

     
    Mark Mtume’s office in Nairobi’s Westlands district was utilitarian, with just a few diplomas, certificates, and photographs for decorations. Mtume was just as they had expected him: polite, devout, witty, and articulate. Dressed in casual clothes and wearing a “No Abd” International Slavery Awareness Campaign pin on his shirt collar, Mtume said a prayer aloud before they began their conversation, asking that the end result of their conversation would be to God’s glory. Then he put his forefinger to his forehead and said, “After my prayers last night I dreamed that this would be a very important talk when I met you. I know very little about your company and nothing about what you want to discuss with me, but my dream told me that this will be a turning point.” He looked from one to another. “Why?”
    His words immediately struck his three visitors. Rick began, “We are great admirers of you and what you’ve already accomplished. We come to you as deeply-devoted fellow Christians. For several months we have felt strongly convicted to make a positive change in the struggle against the global Caliphate. And what we want to suggest to you is a considerable departure from what you have been doing thus far.”
    Alan jumped in. “Up until now, you’ve been visiting country after country, seeking the good graces of governments and NGOs, and asking for sanctuary for persecuted Christians. That is admirable, but we believe the time has come to form an entirely new nation that will be a Libertarian Christian Republic, and that it will be dedicated as a nation of refuge. This nation will be something much like the restoration of modern Israel. With its formation we aim to turn the world upside down.”
    “That sounds amazing. But I feel the need to back up a bit and ask: Are you Kinists?”
    Rick answered quickly, “No, sir. We soundly reject Kinism, since that is inherently racist. We only believe in one race and that is the human race. If there is any partition, then it needs to be along the lines of religious affiliation, not because of skin color or ethnicity.”
    Mtume nodded and said, “Correct answer. Now, the next question is: Where should this homeland be?”
    Rick shot back, “Have you heard of the Ilemi Triangle?”
    “Yes! This is an amazing coincidence. You see, I have actually driven through part of it, all the way to a small village called Liwan, 200 kilometers north of Lodwar, near the end of the dry season. That was five years ago, but I remember it quite distinctly. We drove north from Nairobi through Kitale to Lodwar. We stayed the night in a small hotel at Lodwar, refueled, and set out early the next morning. We drove west to the little roadside village of Nadwat. From there, we turned off on a track toward Kibish, and then proceeded north into the Ilemi proper, all the way to the village of Liwan. Once past Nadwat the roads are poor, but for some reason I felt that I needed to explore up there. My Turkana driver thought I was crazy to press on, once we had got west of Lodwar. He said, ‘Beyond here, there is just empty cattle country, and Shifta -- bandits.’”
    Mark took a deep breath and then continued. “So, yes , I’ve seen part of the Ilemi. And, in fact, I once proposed establishing a refugee camp west of Liwan, but we were told by the Kenyans that it was too remote and ownership of that land was in