How important is the Bible to you? How often do you read it? How much trouble would you take to get a Bible? If you are tired and ready for bed in the evening and realize that your Bible is at the other end of the house, would you take the trouble to go and find it, or would you simply roll into bed and with a short prayer go to sleep? Here is a true story of a man in Africa who travelled many miles to find a Bible.
In the remote sandy wastes of the Kalahari Desert, in the country of Botswana in southern Africa, lived some primitive bushmen. They had never known civilization. They lived where the white man seldom went and never stayed. Sekuba, a bushman, was fully grown but only five feet tall.
When Sekuba and his family crept in out of the desert cold one night in 1952, they had no idea that their way of life was about to change forever. Sekuba kept his bow and his quiver of poisoned arrows near him.
The bushmen knew nature and knew her secrets. They knew where to find the roots that yielded the poison for their arrowheads. They knew where to find the shells of wild ostrich eggs that they could fill with water when it rained briefly. They knew the forbidden dessert. They had survived incredible hardship. But generations of their way of life seemed to have almost effaced the image of their Creator.
Sekuba’s family slept. But for him the night was suddenly brighter than day, and he talked with one who spoke from the fire he saw! The next morning he tried to tell his wife and family what had happened. Over and over he tried: They attached great significance to dreams, but who had ever heard of a dream like this?
What was the Book he was talking about? And who was the shining one who had spoken from the fire, so bright he could not look at him? Why must Sekuba go to the east to find the people who had the Book and could tell him about God? Why did he feel he must leave this very day because of the angel’s command? They couldn’t comprehend it.
“How will you speak to the people you will meet?” They wanted to know.
The bushmen spoke a language that was different from the Bantu language in Botswana. No one would ever go to the bushmen with books since their language had never been reduced to writing. It was seldom that Bantus or whites ventured near them, for with their poison arrows shot from ambush they were to be feared. But Sekuba told his family, “The Book talks. The shining one taught me words of the Book. I understood them, and I will be able to read them.”
His family made no attempt to remind him of the dangers he would find along the way. They were impressed, too, by his night vision – impressed enough to travel with him a part of the way.
Each day they drew nearer the eastern border of Botswana, hunting to sustain themselves. Finally, on the fringe of civilization, they found some scattered bushmen who knew a little more about their Bantu neighbours. Sekuba left his family near them, and they believed his promise to return when he had found the people with the Book. Clad in his skin loincloth, carrying his blanket made of animal hide and a scanty supply of dried meat, armed with his bow and poison-tipped arrows, he advanced eastward alone into the unknown, as the angel had directed.
Many days later, a hundred and fifty miles from his original starting place, Sekuba hesitantly approached the huts of some African Bantu farmers. The tribesman at the first hut was startled and not a little frightened to see a bushman standing before him. But he saw that the bow in his hand was empty; so he did not flee. Sekuba waited respectfully for him to speak. “I see you,” said the Bantu, according to African custom.
With dignity Sekuba returned the greeting and then asked, “Where will I find the people with the Book?” The amazed Bantu could find no words for a moment and Sekuba continued, “I have come to find the people who worship God.” “You speak our language!” the African burst out.
“The shining one taught me,” Sekuba said simply, and then he told more about his night vision. “Can you take me to one who can teach me more of the Book?”
“This is marvellous,” exclaimed the Bantu. “Yes, I can take you to our pastor. He lives near.””
They started out together, their progress impeded by excited Bantus who crowded around, wanting to see this bushman who had been taught to speak the Tswana language by a supernatural being. It was near dusk when the group – it was a group now, for others had joined the two along the way – reached the humble dwelling that had real windows with glass panes. They told their excited story, and then the pastor wanted to hear it direct from Sekuba.
The little bushman was not awed by his strange surroundings. Rather, he was happy for the success of his mission and glad to tell of the vision that was responsible for his long journey. When he had finished, he asked humbly, “Have I found the people who worship God – and have the Book?”
The pastor, deeply moved, entered his house and returned with a Bible in his hand. Sekuba’s eyes lighted up. He clapped his hands softly and bowed his head as he exclaimed, “That is it! That is the Book!” “This is the end of your journey!” the pastor exclaimed. “You shall stay with me tonight.” He had led the group in prayer, and the Africans returned to their huts. Sekuba was made comfortable in the little hut that served as the pastor’s kitchen. A servant prepared food for him. Then he lay down to sleep, happy to have found the object of his search.
But that night the angel came again. “This is not the true church,” the shining one said. “You must continue our search. You must find the’ Sabbath-keeping church and ask for Pastor Moyo. He will not only have the Book but also four brown books that are really nine.”
So in the morning Sekuba explained to his host, “I must leave you. I cannot stay here. The shining one came in the night and told me to find a people who keep the seventh day as Sabbath.”
The pastor could not believe his ears. “This is the chiefs church,” he said, with irritation in his voice. “Would the chief be wrong? You have not understood.”
Sekuba was respectful, but he was also firm. “Sir, I have not misunderstood. These things were shown me plainly.
There are people who worship God on the seventh day. Please tell me where I may find them.”
Now there was anger. A crowd gathered. Sekuba was arrested for defying the chiefs church. But he never changed his story. Finally he was set free by the white commissioner, who felt something akin to awe as he saw an unlearned bushman speaking Tswana and holding firmly to his story of an angel’s instruction. Safely on his way again, Sekuba spent the night where darkness found him. But he was troubled. How could he find Pastor Moyo? What direction should he take? Alone in the desert he talked with the unseen God and asked Him to direct him, to give him some sign. Then he fell asleep.
In the light of dawn he saw near the distant horizon a small, mistlike cloud.
That, in the clear dry air bordering the desert, he accepted as his sign. Patiently he followed it. For seven days and 118 miles (about 180 kilometres) it led him on. Carefully he avoided roads and men, for one mistake was enough. Somewhere – it may have been before he left the shelter of the commissioner’s court – he had acquired some European clothes. So now he did not look so conspicuous as he entered a little settlement. The cloud that had gone before him now disappeared. Would he be able to find Pastor Moyo?
The next morning a Bantu African directed him into the village, and he had no difficulty in finding Pastor Moyo’s home. The pastor was startled at the sight of his visitor. Like other Africans, he harboured some fear of bushmen. But as he studied his face, he knew that this was no ordinary African, and he invited him in.
Once again Sekuba told his story in Tswana while the pastor listened with growing awe and wonder. And the little bushman said, as he finished his story, “I am commanded to find the people with the Book who keep the seventh-day Sabbath.”
Gladly Pastor Moyo brought out his worn Bible and assured him that he had found the people he was looking for. “That is it!” Sekuba exclaimed. But he had one more request. “Where are the four books that are really nine?” Pastor Moyo turned to his bookshelf and brought out the four brown volumes bearing the title, Testimonies for the Church.
Every Seventh-day Adventist is familiar with these books from the pen of Ellen White, whose writing bears the marks and meets every test of inspiration – nine volumes, at one time bound for convenience into four books. Sekuba was satisfied and delighted.
He said eagerly, “You are the people!” His journey was ended. But there was so much more – so much more to learn. All that day they talked and read from the Book. For two weeks they studied together, and Sekuba drank it
all in.
Then Sekuba returned to his own people with the good news about Jesus, and Pastor Moyo visited them.
It was discovered that the bushmen, even with their primitive background, had phenomenal memories. They were able to memorize long passages of Scripture in a short time without forgetting them.
Sekuba became church elder, evangelist, and pastor of the first bushman church. And he retained until his death in 1957 the ability to speak, read, and write the Tswana language – the ability given him by the shining one who spoke to him from the fire. You and I need to make no long, tiring, dangerous journey to find the Book. You probably have one sitting on your table in your house. By comparison to the bushmen, the light that floods our path is blinding. Do we follow it as carefully, as persistently, as did the little man from the African bush? Do we value our Bible as much as he did? Do we search it as diligently at he did? I hope you do, because Jesus has many wonderful things to tell you in His Word. Search for it like you would for gold and silver and start today.