The Chief of Ngai
The Chief of Ngai perked up his ears. After the initial amazement of hearing his mother tongue coming from our car audio-cassette player, he listened—and responded—with marked enthusiasm and animation.
He stared, grunting Mmmm at the amazing teaching of Zezu. For years he had heard these spiritual words—unclear for him—in the trade language, Fulfulde. Now he clapped his hands and exclaimed in amazement, Kay, kay, kay. Zezu had just fed 5,000 people with only five pengs and two nzuys—incredible.
I had stopped our truck at the village of Ngai, when the old man requested a ride. I hesitated.
With our two daughters taking up the back seat, it would be crowded. But my wife, Yezmin, in the passenger seat said, “Bob, this is the chief of the village. He’s an old man.”
She then kindly squeezed in between the two front seats and gave him the seat of honor. I sighed, knowing that especially for her the next leg of the journey would be bumpy and uncomfortable.
I often run into former hitchhikers. “Hey, it’s me!” they say. “Don’t you remember me? You gave me a lift.” Rarely do I remember them. I am usually too busy navigating bumps, ditches and washed out bridges to build a long-term relationship. However, the trip with the Chief of Ngai still sticks in my mind.
We had published the Gospel of John in the Karang language of Cameroon. Then in early 2003, Vernacular Media Specialist Roy Buyse came from the capital to our home in Sorombeo to audio-record the book, with sound effects and a different voice for each speaker.
Gamada Jonas played Zezu’s voice, Ngang David was the narrator (John), Yodam Esther spoke for Mary. I played the role of Pilate—complete with foreign accent! The two 60-minute cassettes sold for about one dollar.
With the chief snug in his seat, I snatched up one of those cassettes—between switching gears—and plugged it quickly into the car stereo. Kassed mbete Zah munu! (This is a cassette of the book of John!), I informed the old man.
Hearing about the feeding of the 5,000, he responded in amazement. At each of the chief’s grunts, I glanced at him and saw a man absorbed in a different world.
Oops, a chicken! Yes, crossing the road. The chief did not pay any heed to my abrupt swerve. He simply braced one hand on the dashboard, eyes not focusing on anything particular, but he was all ears, and the look on his face, intense.
Then came Chapter 5, the sound of waves and wind bivbid bivbid*, the kumbon almost tipping over banglang banglang*. Zezu’s gunboks were terrified at the sight of a man walking on the water towards them. I lab hekme ya. A bi Zezu munu ("Do not fear! It’s me, Zezu").
Bang! I hit another ditch in the road. The chief, however, was no longer with me. He was in the kumbon with Zezu’s gunboks. He was watching Zezu come to him on the waves and in the wind.
When we dropped the chief off at his destination, to his great pleasure, we gave him the pair of cassettes. A few weeks later, we passed the village of Ngai. A crowd of enthusiastic people crowded around our truck. “Do you have any more cassettes? We want to buy the book too.”
The chief of Ngai had made every villager, and visitor, listen to the recording over and over. His enthusiasm proved contagious. Now whenever we pass the village of Ngai, people ask about the translation and usually someone buys the latest publication in Karang.
A year after that crowded ride in our truck, the Chief of Ngai passed away. I think often of that day, the way Zezu came alive to him. I know he heard the story over and over again. It entered his heart in his own language.
He’s one hitchhiker I look forward to seeing again, and when I do, I’ll say to him, “Hey, it’s me. Do you remember the lift I gave you on the road to Ngai?”
*As in many African languages, “ideophones” serve as adverbs in Karang. Bivbid bivbid indicates the gusting of the wind; banglang banglang, the uncontrolled rocking of the boat.
—Bob Ulfers and his wife, Yezmin, are translators for the Karang language group in Cameroon.
This story originally appeared in "Eyes to See, Ears to Hear," the Fall 2006 issue of Rev. 7.
