The vehicle proved a success, but the success proved the undoing of her
furlough. "Instead of going home as I had planned, in order to get
strength for a wider range of work, I shall stay on and enjoy the
privilege of going over ground impossible for my poor limbs." On one of
the first drives she had, she went in search of a site for a new and
larger church which she had determined to build., and was gathering
material for, at Use, and then she planned to go to Ikpe via Ikot
Ekpene by the new Government road, opening up out-stations wherever she
could get a village to listen to the message. Her aim, indeed, was
nothing less than to plant the whole Ibibio territory with a network of
schools and churches. She seemed to grow more wonderful the older and
frailer she became.
The spurt lasted for a time, but again the terrible weakness troubled
her, and she had to conduct household affairs from a couch. School work
was carried through on the verandah, and when she spoke in the church
she was borne there and back. She came to see that only a real change
would do her permanent good, and that it would be true economy to take
a trip home, even for the sake of the voyage, which, much as she feared
the sea, always invigorated her. What made her hesitate now was the
depleted condition of the Mission. "We were never so short-handed
before," she said, "and I can do what others cannot do, what, indeed,
medical opinion would not allow them to try. No one meddles with me,
and I can slip along and do my work with less expenditure of strength
than any," Had there been some one to fill her place she would have
gone, but she was very reluctant to shut the doors of the stations for
so long a period. How she regarded the idea may be gathered from a
letter to a friend who had given her some domestic news:--
These little glimpses, like pictures, of home and the old country, of
family ties and love, make me long for just one long summer day in the
midst, if only as an onlooker, and for the touch of loving hands and a
bit of family worship in our own tongue, and maybe a Sabbath service
thrown in with a psalm and an old-fashioned tune, and then I should
feel ready for a long spell of work. But I should fret if it were to
take me from this, my own real life and home and bairns. This life is
full, the other lies at the back quiescent, and is a precious
possession to muse on during the night or in the long evening hours
when I'm too tired to sleep and the light is not good enough to read or
sew, or mostly when I'm not well and the doldrums come very near. But I
should choose this life if I had to begin again; only I should try to
live it to better purpose.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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