Land of Promise

by James Wesley, Rawles

  Rick and Meital’s secure video conversations grew longer and longer, and ranged into rambling discussions about their personal upbringings, their favorite foods, and their likes and dislikes in music. Without verbalizing it, they both recognized that they were growing increasingly fond of each other. Meital felt uncertain if her fondness for Rick was being amplified by the emotionally charged situation. She wondered if their shared enthusiasm for the project was affecting her judgment and rushing her into a relationship. Always consciously guarded socially, she felt some of those barriers falling, and this worried her.

  As all the negotiations were in progress, Mark’s wife Nancy stayed in Zambia and ran the GCC office in Mark’s absence, praying constantly. She also sewed what she hoped would be the flag of a new nation. The flag was in three equal panels -- two dark green panels on the sides of a tan panel. In the middle of the center tan panel was a tall reddish-brown tree-like cross, symbolizing both Christ and the soil of Africa.

  Nancy Mtume was born in Toronto, the child of Haitian immigrants. She gave up a lucrative career as a Christian pop music singer and actress to marry Mark and willingly took on the humble role as his appointments secretary and office manager. They married when they were both 38 years old and found that they had married too late to start a family. So they adopted three Zambian orphan children and raised them as if they were their own flesh and blood.

  The cover story for the series of meetings in Juba and Nairobi was this: Mtume and the two Presidents were planning an upcoming GCC conference and fundraising concert. After so many lengthy meetings in two weeks, however, that story wore thin. A guest on Kenya’s perennially popular PowerBreakfast current affairs talk television show revealed the series of meetings but conjectured that Mtume was maneuvering to have large refuge settlements built for Christian refugees in both Kenya and South Sudan. A photographer from The Nairobi Star (formerly a tabloid format newspaper, but more recently a popular blog site) snapped Mark’s photo as he returned to his hotel on October 22nd. The photo was posted hours later under the headline: “Nairobi/Juba Mystery Man -- Is Mark Mtume Planning the World Biggest-Ever Relief Concert?”

  Mark Mtume initiated an Unseen videoconference with Alan, Rick, and Meital immediately after he returned to his hotel. Fearing that his hotel room might be bugged by journalists or even by agents of WIS-MOIS (World Islamic State Ministry of Intelligence and Security), he made the call from his laptop computer from the area behind the hotel swimming pool. He was sitting on a lounge chair alone at the pool, except for a British tourist family that was playing Blind Man’s Water Tag down at the shallow end of the pool.

  Mark had tears in his eyes and his voice was uneven as he began their conversation. “I have in my hands the second Memorandum of Understanding. The Kenyan Cabinet has agreed to a full grant of sovereignty with the boundary right at the Maud Survey Line, with the exception of a small rectangle around two villages right on the border, which they are reserving as Kenyan land. So, here we are, my brothers and sister! Project SWILL has reached its goal. By God’s grace we can announce the formation and independence of the Republic as soon as we’d like, but the MoUs stipulate that the formal release of sovereignty will be at noon, CUT, on November 1st.”

  Alan was also teary-eyed as he replied, “I can’t tell you how deeply moved I feel by this answer to prayer.” After taking a few moments to collect himself, he added, “To give this event the greatest respectability in the eyes of the international community, we need a public ceremony and photo op on that day, and it is important that it take place inside of Ilemi territory. But we need to keep nationhood confidential until the last minute.”

  Meital suggested, “Then why don’t we helicopter in both Presidents, each with a television news crew, and just keep it small?”

  Rick jumped in. “Yes! We could do it right on the stretch of the Kibish Road, where it crosses the Maud Survey line.”

  Mark nodded vigorously, and said, “If we can maintain secrecy, the story will hit the news services almost simultaneously, and that won’t give the Caliphate the chance to prepare a protest statement.”

  “What about the borderline site?” Alan asked. “It’s just a dirt track presently. The rainy season ended early this year, but it won’t do at all to have three national Presidents walking around in the mud. That would be bad PR.”

  Mark replied, “Oh, I know a man in central Kenya named Riley who runs a road construction company. I’ll ask him if he can get up there straight away to widen out that stretch of the road, lay down some gravel, mark some helipads, and demark the border line somehow.”

  Rick chimed in, “Good. The spray paint they use for surveying work will do. And have them plant a flagpole on the Ilemi side of the line with a rope and pulley. This will be quite a day!”

  Mark Mtume convinced Alan’s father Clive Pilcher to come out of retirement to serve as the Ilemi Republic’s first Secretary of State. Clive Pilcher was 63 years old but still energetic. (He jogged and played squash three days a week.) In an Unseen video chat, the only point of negotiation was his salary. Mark had initially offered the gold equivalent of 200,000 NEuros per year, plus all travel expenses. But Clive said he only wanted 40,000 per year, stating, “I’m already financially secure for my retirement, and this position will probably delay my retirement for at least four years, so I’d really like to negotiate downward. Perhaps some of my salary can be set aside for a charity.”

  Mark quipped, “Well, at least taxes aren’t an issue, since there will be none. So what do you say to a salary of 150,000 NEuros, and you can set aside as much of that as you’d like for the charity of your choice?”

  “That sounds superlative. I think the Ilemi college fund would be a good choice. Just let me know when you want me to start.”

  Chapter 8: Appointed Time and Place

  “Thus saith the LORD, Stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old paths, where is the good way, and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for your souls. But they said, We will not walk therein.” -- Jeremiah 6:16

  Nairobi, Kenya -- July, Three Years After Declaration of the Caliphate

  With the tentative MoUs signed, they felt the need to get into the Ilemi Triangle to reconnoiter the terrain and to scout some potential sites for settlement and infrastructure development. Mark had a lengthy GCC conference scheduled in London so he could not join them, but Rick, Meital, and Alan had a week available.

  Because the rainy season had just ended, touring most of the Ilemi Triangle region by four-wheel drive would have been almost impossible. It would be another month before rivers and streams were back to normal and the muddy bog stretches of road dried up. Knowing their compressed time schedule, the Kenyan President made a helicopter available to them.

  Their loaner helicopter was a well-seasoned Russian Mi-38 manufactured in 2022. One side of the fuselage was stained by a chronic hydraulic fluid leak. Their pilot was a likable Kenyan Air Force Major who flew the old helicopter with practiced precision. For the first part of their flight, until they reached Lake Turkana (formerly called Lake Rudolf, and also known as The Jade Sea), he played the role of tour bus driver, providing them a running monologue on the terrain, town and village names, climate, and wildlife. The pilot chose a low-level flight path as a courtesy to his passengers. They saw sizable herds of gazelle, zebras, and giraffes and made many individual and pair sightings of oryx and kudu.

  They made a refueling stop at the Loiyangalani airport, where the airport crew refueled the helicopter from a 100-liter steel drum using an electric transfer pump, as two curious Turkana boys looked on. They were soon back in the air, and as they gained elevation crossing over Lake Turkana, the pilot said, “When I was a boy, the lake was much larger. But the Ethiopians built five big dams on the Omo River -- what they call the Gilgel Gibe Project. The fifth dam was finished in 2026. Those dams are still a real cause of friction between the Kenyan and Ethiopian governments. They feel that the Turkanans were robbed of water that
was traditionally theirs.”

  Once they neared the Ilemi boundary, their pilot said, “From here, I won’t be able to name any villages. The GPS map can tell you more than I can. So I think it is time for me to shut up and put on some music. Just let me know the places where you’d like to touch down.” He plugged his MP6 player into the helicopter’s intercom system, and they soon learned that his taste ran toward dramatic classical music. His music mix started with Liszt’s Les Preludes, then Mendelssohn’s Rondo Capriccioso. Those were followed by several Richard Wagner opera overtures. Most of the pilot’s music matched the joyous mood of his passengers, who felt they were taking an auspicious flight.

  Once inside the Ilemi Triangle, they looped south of the Lokwanamoru Mountains. In making their low-level flight over the flats, the helicopter often startled big game animals, including eland, impala, zebras, lions, and giraffes. Seeing so much wildlife revived some youthful memories for Alan, but this was all new to Rick and Meital, and they were ecstatic. Their first landing was at the west end of the Ilemi on a very large dry lakebed just east of a hill marked Emurua-Kidel on their maps; 25 kilometers of this huge lakebed lay on the Ilemi side of the border. Rick had already realized that this could someday serve as a landing field for a spaceport. Equatorial locations were ideal for spaceports because of the shallower depth of the atmosphere, requiring less propellant to lift a spacecraft into orbit. Where they stood was just four degrees latitude north of the equator. It was 36.6 Celsius (98 F) on the lakebed, and their GPS showed the elevation was just 473 meters.

  Alan said, “I propose that, if there is ever a spaceport built here, it be called Robert A. Heinlein Field.”

  Meital asked, “How about Robert A. Heinlein Interstellar Spaceport?”

  Rick assumed his deep Moses voice and said, “So it shall be!”

  Next, they turned back eastward and flew from hilltop to hilltop in the western portion of the Lokwanamoru Mountains, making brief landings. At each landing site, Alan and Rick furiously typed notes on their laptops and recorded GPS waypoints. Meanwhile, Meital shot panoramas from each landing site with a MiniHD video camera and voiced a monologue to key the video to their waypoint numbers.

  In the late afternoon, after they had moved on to scouting the eastern half of the Lokwanamoru range, the pilot warned that they were approaching their critical return point on fuel for their exploratory flight. “With so much hopping around, we’ve been burning a lot of fuel. We will need to stop for fuel in Lokichoggio.”

  He circled an expansive mountain plateau that, according to the GPS, was halfway between the tiny villages of Napak and Liwan. This slightly tilted plateau had a dramatic C-shaped drop-off to a yawning canyon that faced west. The drop from the plateau’s edge was at least 700 meters. Just then, the music on their headphones switched to another piece by Wagner.

  Meital clicked her intercom button and asked, “What is the name of this music?”

  The pilot answered, “It is the Overture to Tannhäuser.”

  Rick gave an appreciative nod when the pilot correctly pronounced the opera’s name “TANN-hoyzer.” But Meital muttered, “He was a great composer, but it’s too bad that he was an anti-Semite.”

  Alan said, “If we eliminated listening to every composer who was an anti-Semite or anti-Christian, it would probably greatly limit our classical music listening options. Personally, I draw the line on songs versus tunes. If there are lyrics, then that’s where there can be some bad influences, so those never make my listening list. So, for example, for Wagner, I only listen to the overtures. Besides,” he confessed jovially, “I never liked screechy opera singing.”

  Meital nodded, and said, “Ditto.”

  Rick was awe-struck by the dramatic terrain and exclaimed, “Wow, look at this! It’s like a gateway to a huge expanse. That drop-off is like something you’d see in one of those wingsuit videos. If it is not already named, I think we ought to call this place the Tannhäuser Cliff or Tannhäuser Gate, in honor of the music we’re listening to. Quite propitious, this music.”

  Meital urged the pilot, “Please set us down right there, just back from the lip.”

  The pilot did as he was asked and then shut down the turbine engine. He again warned, “This will have to be our last stop. We need to get to Loki with no detours, or we will run out of fuel. I don’t want to have to practice my auto-rotation skills, for real.”

  After the rotor came to a stop they stepped out, just as they had several times earlier in the day. They stood just a few yards back from the precipice, and took in the view of the canyon. Alan sat in the doorway of the helicopter, typing notes into his laptop. Meanwhile, the pilot looked at his flight sectional chart.

  Rick and Meital strolled along the edge of the canyon, but they were careful to stay well back from the lip. The post-rainy season wildflowers were still in bloom in a blaze of yellow, blue, violet, and red. Scattered trees, mostly East African Yellowwood and East African Rosewood, towered above them. In the canyon below, the forest transitioned to mostly flat-topped Acacia Mellifera trees. Nearby, they could hear some sort of lark singing; they later learned that they had heard the call of a Pink-Breasted Lark. The elevation on Rick’s GPS showed 1,579 meters or 5,180 feet. This was one of their highest landing sites of the day. Because of the elevation, the temperature was just 37 Celsius (79F). With a standard 3.6F degree drop per 1,000 feet, the plateau would average 17.25 degrees Fahrenheit less than down on the dry lakebed. Off to their right, a small seasonal stream swept by quietly until it reached the precipice, where it transitioned into a noisy miniature waterfall.

  Meital exclaimed, “This is so beautiful.”

  Rick asked, “Do you remember when Mark Mtume mentioned how he wanted to put a refugee camp west of a village called Liwan?”

  “Yes.”

  Rick showed her his GPS. It indicated 4°52’41.28” North by 35°30’56.51” East. He nodded and recorded this reading as a waypoint, and then did a couple of comparisons. Looking at Meital, he pointed eastward over his shoulder and said, “Well, according to my trusty GPS, Liwan is just 10 miles east of here.”

  Turning back to Meital, he continued, “So what are the chances that Mark, five years ago, felt his eye drawn to this plateau and then, years later, we come here and feel an instant bond to the very same piece of ground?”

  “You know I don’t believe in random chance, Rick.”

  “Nor do I, Meitali.”

  Rick pointed his index finger to an even more dramatic point on the plateau rim just a short distance to the north and asked, “How would you like to build a house right about there, Meitali?”

  She looked up at him and asked, “A house on a mountain top in the Ilemi? Is that some sort of proposal?”

  Rick said, “No.” But he quickly pulled a small felt-covered box from his front pocket, and dropped to one knee and extended the box and gave a nod to indicate that this was his proposal.

  She took the box, but her hands were trembling, and she seemed momentarily incapable of opening the box. Rick reached forward again and opened the box for her to reveal a ¾-carat square-cut diamond on an ornate gold band.

  “Those are a couple of bits of Africa for you. They’re just symbols, mind you, of my love for you. Please marry me.”

  She looked at the ground and her expression darkened. She said, “I wish that I had the chance to mention this earlier, Rick. But before I can give you an answer, I need to let you know something: When I was in the IDF I was very nearly raped, and that experience gave me nightmares for years and soured me on relationships with men. In fact, for a while I hated all men and had doubts about what it was to really be a woman.”

  Rick nodded and said, “That’s understandable.”

  Meital looked back up at Rick and said, “I really do feel a bond with you, and I have the same depth of faith as you. Intellectually we’re a good match, and I really enjoy your sense of humor… oh, and I should mention that I’m attracted to you, ah, strongly. But I have
to warn you that if we marry, you will have to be very patient with me about that part of our relationship. I’m afraid I may be a disappointment to you.”

  “I understand how there could be problems, Meitali. I promise to be very gentle, very kind, and very understanding. And even if that part of our marriage requires unknown time and patience, I will be incredibly happy to have you as my wife for the rest of my life. I truly mean that.”

  After a pause to study Rick’s face again, Meital said, “Then my answer is yes.”

  When they walked back to the helicopter tenderly holding hands, Alan immediately caught on to what had transpired. He said: “I had a feeling you might get up the nerve…”

  Rick shouted gleefully, “She said ‘Yes’!”

  As they flew to Lokichoggio to again refuel, Alan pressed his intercom button and asked, “Have you two set a day?”

  Meital answered, “No, not yet. But with the potential timetable for Project SWILL, it had better be soon, or we won’t have a chance for a proper honeymoon or for visits and introductions in Texas and Israel.”

  They were married four days later at Nairobi’s Marula Manor, with Mark Mtume officiating. Meital’s younger sister Liel was able to fly down for the wedding, on special leave from the IDF, where she served as radar technician. Two connecting flights left her exhausted, but she was thrilled to attend. Not surprisingly, Meital’s parents did not respond to the invitation.

  Harry Heston flew in on his Embraer Legacy 700 corporate jet. With him were three of Alan and Rick’s closest co-workers from GlobalMAP and their wives. There were also two security guards.

  Mark’s wife and Alan served as the witnesses. Meital wore an Italian-designed wedding dress that she found waiting for her “off the rack” at the Fever Group fashion store on Ngong Road. With just a one-day delay for fittings, the formal white silk crepe dress fit her like a glove. With the train removed, it could be worn as an evening dress. And because the crepe material showed no wrinkles (since crepe was already a mass of wrinkles), it would be ideal for traveling. Meital wanted it to look elegant, but she always had a practical streak.