Hovare – born ? – Died July 27,2016
Hovare’s early life is shrouded like so many hidden stories of what the white men speak of as coming out of the Dark Continent. It is a time when history was produced but only recorded in people’s minds and hearts but not on paper.
Over the course of my years spent with him he shared verbal snapshots of his past. He was born in a traditional house. I sat in many of these houses but never saw one constructed as they had given way to the easier constructed round hut with thatched roof by the time I arrived in the area in 1985. His birth father had died early and his mother and siblings were passed to a “father’s” brother. He lived naked as most children of the area did until he began to be self-aware of his nakedness probably 5 or 6. Hovare spoke favorably of his second father who would send him on traditional medicine man’s missions. His father also taught him to play the balafon, and Hovare learned well and quickly. He watched the beef herd and interacted with the herders. Animals would fight, animals would get lost and of course the retribution of a severe lashing would be the punishment when discovered. I pictured Hovare an aspiring young boy which the elderly man that appreciated him, I think they had mutual love for one another. When he was around 12 this father died, and once again he was assigned to another “father”. His mother rebelled and did not go and live with that man. The next period becomes a blur in my mind, I feel another “father” or two died and he finally arrived at a time when I knew Hovare living with Gbinagi, the man I knew as Hovare’s father. Hovare spoke of his early teen years being a proficient balafon player, who was popular at funerals and like today’s rock stars popular with the girls. He fell in love with a girl who he could not marry and he “went south” with her to work on plantations. In today’s vernacular he became a child slave. He made two tours working in the cocoa plantations. I once asked him about the modern efforts to stop this practice and he said it was like slavery but the young men willing went. They often needed to sneak off without parental permission. Some that went never returned as they got sick and died when they had no one to care for them. For those who fulfilled their contracts with a successful harvest they returned with new clothes and a bicycle. They were looked on with envy as those that stayed behind had poor clothes and no bicycle. On Hovare’s second effort on the plantations he had a vivid dream. It was a dream of seeing a yellow book and a school. He asked his Muslim plantation owner about it and the man had no clue to its meaning. Later, Hovare would begin his Christian testimony, begin with his quest to find meaning to his dream. When he returned to the Loron area in 1986 he discovered that white Christian missionaries had moved in the area. When he talked to his neighbors about his dream they thought maybe the missionaries could help him. When he showed up at the door of the missionary they understood enough of his request to make out he searched for a yellow book. The missionary gave him the only one he had close to that description the Gospel of John that Wycliffe Bible translators had translated and printed in Loron a few years earlier. Hovare happily took the book, but he could not read, he could not write.
I forget how my first contact with Hovare was but my first language helper had quit working well for me. Hovare indicated a willingness to teach me. He knew no French and I knew little Loron but Hovare proved to be a perfect teacher for me. As I look back, it is amazing that he would walk the 6 miles round trip to endure the process of teaching a white man his language. I was a slow learner by even white man’s standards but by God’s Grace and Hovare’s ability I learned not only his language but his culture.
When I knew him he had two wives, his “love” bride and the traditional wife. I had a hard concealing my favoritism towards Hovare’s traditional wife. As is often the case a white man try as he can, cannot keep his emotions secret (nor can the black man) and today her children favor me. Hovare would half lament at having to keep equality in the home, any inequality was noted and not tolerated by his wives, and concerning his off-spring he had 10+ children with each of his wives. As the years past few things were secret between us.
Hovare was incredibly smart and talented. In about three times of exposure he was able to understanding symbols with sound and was reading and writing his language and reading other languages he knew. History reveals how God’s providential hand was at work concerning the expansion of His Kingdom concerning Hovare. Our time together was a mixture of language, culture and exposure to the way of Christ. With Hovare it was never a formal setting, I was a learner and he a teacher at other times I shared things he did not know and I became the teacher and he the learner. We were just friends and eventually brothers in the Lord. If he never became a Christian he would have remained a friend.
He was there as I prepared all my lessons; he was there when I prepared all my scripture translation. Among the Loron work it may have been called Jerry’s teaching, but Hovare shadow was over it all.
When time came for me to move on to the Loma tribe, it caused concern for many among the Loron. Some felt I was abandoning the work of the Loron, but I felt the Gospel had been planted and there remained a tribe void of any witness of the Gospel. The void among the Loron is what took me to the Loron and that same void is what moved me to the Loma Tribe. When Hovare said he wanted to join me I told him I would not compensate him for his time, he would have to come because of his conviction that God wanted the work done and God would provide. He said no more compensation, he would trust God as I had been trusting God. From 1996 till the day he died Hovare trusted God for his and his family welfare. As most people he struggled, but in the end he would die as a wealthy man by tribal standards. God’s blessing was obviously upon him.
Hovare worked hard among the Loma. He quickly learned the language fluently. He worked hard at translating the lessons from Loron to Loma. The Loma believers would engage with him as he sought their help in preparing lessons. He worked hours with them translating the scripture to their language.
At home he continued his farming practices; he was the first large producers of cashews. He would travel the 7 miles to my home in the Loma village and then return to his home to administrate his farm and be one of the primary leaders in the Loron Church. At home his day would start early with family devotions and music training. As his children grew they would solicit his balafon playing so they could dance. He had many daughters and like bees to honey young men would be around and enjoy the setting. Hovare enjoyed a good time but he was a man who understood the ways of young men with girls. He kept a close and discerning watch.
The civil war in 2002 created changes in his life. All government service stopped. Schools, medical facilities, civil services were all gone. I was no longer permanently around. Security became an issue, Hovare eventually forbid his girls to walk the 3 miles to the market for fear of rape. At certain times of heightened insecurity he commanded everyone in his household to sleep with their clothes in case they needed to flee. He made adjustments, he started a school at his house, he began to serve the area ‘s medical attention. For years he served the needs he could that the absence of government had created. He lamented that his older children had been robbed of the opportunity to be formally educated and receive degrees. Yet his children can read and write with the best in the Loron language, one of his daughters has typed the majority of his writings into a computer.
During my times of visiting him we would share experiences that the civil war created. A woman came to a Bible conference and was bitten by a snake, with only prayer as our resource we saw her live and survive. We also share the pain of seeing a man succumb to a snake bite, we thought he had made it only to have him die and together we carried him back to the grief of the village. I saw enough grief in my limited time that he would begin a story and look at me and with his smile and say “Are you asking to know?” I would always say “No!” we would always smile and sometimes he would continue to have me hear a sorrowful experience most time he would respect my wishes. It was hard times he lived through.
He aged, his papers said he was born January 1, 1960, but it was a guess, they didn’t even get his birth father right! I use to think he was younger than me, and probably he was but not by much. He gave his strength to see others blessed, and gained strength when more strength was needed. As the effects of the civil war decreased so did his strength. He was weakened by diabetes; by God’s grace the Doctors of 1040i were able to assist him. His weakness affected him, emotional as well. I always wanted him to travel with me to spend time at my home, and he always found the strength. I worried I pushed him, but he never died with me, and I am glad for that. My last memories of our time together were ones of laughter and good moments of a friendship that is rare.
I am so glad to know that he is with the Lord who had prepared him for the life that he lived. Hovare was faithful to follow it Christ’s way, and I am blessed because of it. On his motorcycle he wrote John 1:16 Grace upon Grace. That is what Hovare thought – apart from Grace I would have no hope. Thank God for God’s Grace. Amen!
Hovare’s early life is shrouded like so many hidden stories of what the white men speak of as coming out of the Dark Continent. It is a time when history was produced but only recorded in people’s minds and hearts but not on paper.
Over the course of my years spent with him he shared verbal snapshots of his past. He was born in a traditional house. I sat in many of these houses but never saw one constructed as they had given way to the easier constructed round hut with thatched roof by the time I arrived in the area in 1985. His birth father had died early and his mother and siblings were passed to a “father’s” brother. He lived naked as most children of the area did until he began to be self-aware of his nakedness probably 5 or 6. Hovare spoke favorably of his second father who would send him on traditional medicine man’s missions. His father also taught him to play the balafon, and Hovare learned well and quickly. He watched the beef herd and interacted with the herders. Animals would fight, animals would get lost and of course the retribution of a severe lashing would be the punishment when discovered. I pictured Hovare an aspiring young boy which the elderly man that appreciated him, I think they had mutual love for one another. When he was around 12 this father died, and once again he was assigned to another “father”. His mother rebelled and did not go and live with that man. The next period becomes a blur in my mind, I feel another “father” or two died and he finally arrived at a time when I knew Hovare living with Gbinagi, the man I knew as Hovare’s father. Hovare spoke of his early teen years being a proficient balafon player, who was popular at funerals and like today’s rock stars popular with the girls. He fell in love with a girl who he could not marry and he “went south” with her to work on plantations. In today’s vernacular he became a child slave. He made two tours working in the cocoa plantations. I once asked him about the modern efforts to stop this practice and he said it was like slavery but the young men willing went. They often needed to sneak off without parental permission. Some that went never returned as they got sick and died when they had no one to care for them. For those who fulfilled their contracts with a successful harvest they returned with new clothes and a bicycle. They were looked on with envy as those that stayed behind had poor clothes and no bicycle. On Hovare’s second effort on the plantations he had a vivid dream. It was a dream of seeing a yellow book and a school. He asked his Muslim plantation owner about it and the man had no clue to its meaning. Later, Hovare would begin his Christian testimony, begin with his quest to find meaning to his dream. When he returned to the Loron area in 1986 he discovered that white Christian missionaries had moved in the area. When he talked to his neighbors about his dream they thought maybe the missionaries could help him. When he showed up at the door of the missionary they understood enough of his request to make out he searched for a yellow book. The missionary gave him the only one he had close to that description the Gospel of John that Wycliffe Bible translators had translated and printed in Loron a few years earlier. Hovare happily took the book, but he could not read, he could not write.
I forget how my first contact with Hovare was but my first language helper had quit working well for me. Hovare indicated a willingness to teach me. He knew no French and I knew little Loron but Hovare proved to be a perfect teacher for me. As I look back, it is amazing that he would walk the 6 miles round trip to endure the process of teaching a white man his language. I was a slow learner by even white man’s standards but by God’s Grace and Hovare’s ability I learned not only his language but his culture.
When I knew him he had two wives, his “love” bride and the traditional wife. I had a hard concealing my favoritism towards Hovare’s traditional wife. As is often the case a white man try as he can, cannot keep his emotions secret (nor can the black man) and today her children favor me. Hovare would half lament at having to keep equality in the home, any inequality was noted and not tolerated by his wives, and concerning his off-spring he had 10+ children with each of his wives. As the years past few things were secret between us.
Hovare was incredibly smart and talented. In about three times of exposure he was able to understanding symbols with sound and was reading and writing his language and reading other languages he knew. History reveals how God’s providential hand was at work concerning the expansion of His Kingdom concerning Hovare. Our time together was a mixture of language, culture and exposure to the way of Christ. With Hovare it was never a formal setting, I was a learner and he a teacher at other times I shared things he did not know and I became the teacher and he the learner. We were just friends and eventually brothers in the Lord. If he never became a Christian he would have remained a friend.
He was there as I prepared all my lessons; he was there when I prepared all my scripture translation. Among the Loron work it may have been called Jerry’s teaching, but Hovare shadow was over it all.
When time came for me to move on to the Loma tribe, it caused concern for many among the Loron. Some felt I was abandoning the work of the Loron, but I felt the Gospel had been planted and there remained a tribe void of any witness of the Gospel. The void among the Loron is what took me to the Loron and that same void is what moved me to the Loma Tribe. When Hovare said he wanted to join me I told him I would not compensate him for his time, he would have to come because of his conviction that God wanted the work done and God would provide. He said no more compensation, he would trust God as I had been trusting God. From 1996 till the day he died Hovare trusted God for his and his family welfare. As most people he struggled, but in the end he would die as a wealthy man by tribal standards. God’s blessing was obviously upon him.
Hovare worked hard among the Loma. He quickly learned the language fluently. He worked hard at translating the lessons from Loron to Loma. The Loma believers would engage with him as he sought their help in preparing lessons. He worked hours with them translating the scripture to their language.
At home he continued his farming practices; he was the first large producers of cashews. He would travel the 7 miles to my home in the Loma village and then return to his home to administrate his farm and be one of the primary leaders in the Loron Church. At home his day would start early with family devotions and music training. As his children grew they would solicit his balafon playing so they could dance. He had many daughters and like bees to honey young men would be around and enjoy the setting. Hovare enjoyed a good time but he was a man who understood the ways of young men with girls. He kept a close and discerning watch.
The civil war in 2002 created changes in his life. All government service stopped. Schools, medical facilities, civil services were all gone. I was no longer permanently around. Security became an issue, Hovare eventually forbid his girls to walk the 3 miles to the market for fear of rape. At certain times of heightened insecurity he commanded everyone in his household to sleep with their clothes in case they needed to flee. He made adjustments, he started a school at his house, he began to serve the area ‘s medical attention. For years he served the needs he could that the absence of government had created. He lamented that his older children had been robbed of the opportunity to be formally educated and receive degrees. Yet his children can read and write with the best in the Loron language, one of his daughters has typed the majority of his writings into a computer.
During my times of visiting him we would share experiences that the civil war created. A woman came to a Bible conference and was bitten by a snake, with only prayer as our resource we saw her live and survive. We also share the pain of seeing a man succumb to a snake bite, we thought he had made it only to have him die and together we carried him back to the grief of the village. I saw enough grief in my limited time that he would begin a story and look at me and with his smile and say “Are you asking to know?” I would always say “No!” we would always smile and sometimes he would continue to have me hear a sorrowful experience most time he would respect my wishes. It was hard times he lived through.
He aged, his papers said he was born January 1, 1960, but it was a guess, they didn’t even get his birth father right! I use to think he was younger than me, and probably he was but not by much. He gave his strength to see others blessed, and gained strength when more strength was needed. As the effects of the civil war decreased so did his strength. He was weakened by diabetes; by God’s grace the Doctors of 1040i were able to assist him. His weakness affected him, emotional as well. I always wanted him to travel with me to spend time at my home, and he always found the strength. I worried I pushed him, but he never died with me, and I am glad for that. My last memories of our time together were ones of laughter and good moments of a friendship that is rare.
I am so glad to know that he is with the Lord who had prepared him for the life that he lived. Hovare was faithful to follow it Christ’s way, and I am blessed because of it. On his motorcycle he wrote John 1:16 Grace upon Grace. That is what Hovare thought – apart from Grace I would have no hope. Thank God for God’s Grace. Amen!