A Light on the Kafirland Border by W. A. S.

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D.C. · May 20, 1915

A Light on the Kafirland Border

By W. A. S.

NIGHT had fallen before we reached the last hilltop looking down upon the Maranatha Mission, twenty-five miles by wagon road from Grahamstown. The first view I had of the station was of a bright light shining out in the darkness of the valley below, which Brethren Jeffrey and Tarr recognized as coming from one of the windows of the mission house.

That first view seemed a bright omen of good. For an hour before the darkness fell, we had been looking from the top of the range toward the hills and mountains of Kafirland, stretching away northward from the Fish River, which is the border of the Kafir country proper, with its two millions or more of people.

Maranatha, with its main school, is ten or a dozen miles from the river. Our mission is thus only on the coast of that sea of needy Kafir humanity.

But the light from Maranatha is shining over into Kafirland with bright gleams of hope and promise. Transformations are being wrought in the region round about.

About one hundred and twenty Kafirs have been baptized, most of them from among the raw or Red Kafirs, so called because the non-Christianized natives wear red blankets, dyed with red earth,

and also smear their bodies with the red ochre.

The transforming power of this truth is recognized by farmers who had at first, perhaps, little sympathy with our mission. They say that years ago any bullock or cow that strayed over the range into the bush of the river valley was a lost animal. It disappeared completely; and it was of no use to look for it. Now it is different. Not only have scores of raw Kafirs been redeemed, but the uplifting influence has reached beyond our own Christian communities.

The headmen of two villages, where outschools have been established,—on the northern side of Fish River, and so in Kafirland proper,—have accepted the truth. Less than three years ago they were Red Kafirs. Today they are praying, devout Seventh-day Adventists, talking of this “blessed hope” of ours like old-time believers.

I thought, “Would that the brethren and sisters in far lands, who have prayed and given for Maranatha, might see this light station on the border of Kafirland.”

But here it is, a light shining in a dark place. And the gifts for missions and the prayers for the missionaries and the peoples for whom they are laboring, are helping to keep the light shining. The influence of the mission is extending now far over into Kafirland.

It was good to look down into that dark night of the valley and to see the bright light shining from the mission window. I was glad that all that was visible of the mission and of Kafirland was that bright signal of hope. Away across the hills to the eastward the Kowie lighthouse was flashing its signals over the Indian Ocean. Every twelve seconds, the flash appeared, searching the darkness far out at sea to guide the passing ships and to warn them of danger.

Thank God, the light from the Maranatha station is shining over into dark Kafirland, and into souls that were drifting to destruction in the region of the shadow of death, light hath sprung up.

To hear these redeemed souls praising God, and singing the songs of Zion, and praying and working for others, is a heart-melting experience. God is using the missions, brethren and sisters, and the work is onward. W. A. S.