Outhouse Apples

I don’t know that I will ever meet anyone quite like Dave Moore. He would tell you about what he went thru in Korea, and you’d just cry. And in the same breath he’d have you laughing as hard as you ever did. Well, Dave planted some apple trees years back. I think maybe his brother Gene grafted them. If you asked what kind of apple they were, Dave’d tell you, “Outhouse Apples.” Except he didn’t say “outhouse…”

I met with two of the Congolese families, which given the extended family structure means 11 people. The patriarch, Norbert Itoula, has such grave dignity that you readily accede to his discussions! He taught me some more about the Congo’s difficult history. He kept saying how happy he was to be in America. He heard there were many Christians here, but he says, “maybe there are also many who do not believe in Christ?” He has found himself welcomed, and he is surprised. He spent 8 years in a refugee camp in Gabon, a neighboring country. A refrain of the family is that they are amazed to be in America, to find people helpful, when the neighboring countries in Africa are not very helpful at all. Talking to one of the boys, who grew up in a refugee camp, I mentioned the difficulties of Africa generally. He paused before he said, “Africa is full of hate.”

Norbert went on to say that he finds it tragic but predictable that France (“responsible for so much of our troubles—they were our ‘colonial masters’”) has no resettlement program for the refugees from their former colonies. The refugees rely on the U.S. and Canada.

I wonder what should be the real discussion(s) in our immigration debate in this country? What to do about/for people fleeing for their lives? And then, what of the church? A refugee family here, a refugee family there, makes for a great story and good work, but it is only a drop in the bucket.

Norbert said, “I have a witness. I am here because of Jesus. And I said if I made it to America, I would serve Him however I could.”

Norbert’s sister lives in California. “Where?” I asked. “San something,” he said. I told them we’d need to narrow it down, and we got to San Jose. Maybe there is something there—Joseph, Jesus’ father, the protector of the Holy Family when they were refugees in Egypt, escaping from those who would kill them.

We talked about winter. “Is it true,” Norsi, one of the sons, asked, “that you can wear a jacket and still shiver here?” I felt that way coming here from Mississippi…

I took them to the church to get a few food items until their Food Stamps come in. They took a jar of peanut butter, among other things. And let me tell you, George Washington Carver was my hero when I was a boy, and I can tell you everything about peanut butter! Norsi said proudly, “This is African!” I told them that the soil in Georgia is almost identical to the soil in West Africa, and I paused because it is hard to think about and say, “and the slaves from West Africa brought ngouba with them.” That’s why we call peanuts “goobers.”

As I left, I gave them a bag of Dave’s outhouse apples. I asked them if they ate apples in Congo. Adam’s eyes lit up. “Yes! But we have to import them, and they are expensive. What a treat!”

There was a boy from Fishing Creek, Kentucky who got sent a world away to kill, to see friends killed, to be haunted by unspeakable acts. It makes sense that he would bring so much joy to others, who have come from a world away, escaping unspeakable acts. Dave, you’re gone but not forgotten, and beneath that rough exterior was a heart of gold!