Daddy’s Stories

One of the things I’m trying to accomplish while in Nashville is to write down some of my dad’s stories as he tells them.  At one point he had wanted to write a book about his experiences while a missionary in Nigeria.  His book was going to be titled “They still eat white people there.” 

We’re not making much progress. 

The other day, as he was flipping through the bazillion TV channels, he saw pictures of the Sahara Desert and he started talking.  This is the story he told me.

I flew from Amsterdam to Lagos, and flew across the Sahara.  I took all kinds of pictures.  I was amazed at the Sahara from above.  I got to Lagos and made it through customs.  We loaded Henry’s trunk with the medicine that I was carrying, and started driving to the next terminal. 

We made it to the first roadblock.  He looked like he was a police officer, but with a sub-machine gun.  And you knew it was loaded.  He pointed to me and said, “What do you have in that?” pointing to me and the camera around my neck. 

“It’s my camera.” 

“What do you do with it?” 

“I take pictures with it.” 

“Let me see.” 

This is when I still worked with film.  I pulled out a part of the film strip and tore it off and said “See here?  You can’t see anything on them, and you’ve ruined those pictures.” 

He let me go. 

Right into the next roadblock.
I will try to post more stories as he tells them to me.  Until then.