Oddly enough, I didn’t actually shoot the Eastern Cape bushbuck that has become my favorite trophy. I lost a wounded bushbuck in 2005, but bagged a second ram. Here’s the story…
I have previously written, in detail, about my mission kid experiences and don’t wish to rehash. However, let it stand that growing up in Africa without a rifle produced in me great incentive to address that lack. A “catty” (slingshot to me) went only so far in my learning to hunt, and the great variety of birds around Leimo Hospital in south central Ethiopia served as my schooling.
My dad was a nurse assigned to running the hospital, doing all but major surgery as we sought to bring health benefits, both physical and spiritual, to the mostly Hadiya populace. At home on vacations from boarding school, Mom was my best friend and helped with my efforts, stretching the surgical rubber tubing just right so I could tightly tie them to my forked stick base. She also soaked and then washed many a bloody pocketed shirt from “trophies” I collected for mounting.
I never spent much time around Dad, he being more people-centered (not an outdoorsman) and busy with medicine. Even after our return to America in 1975 from then Marxist Ethiopia, shift work kept my dad and me apart. Having begun college studies in 1975 I transferred from Wheaton College near Chicago to Texas A&M University where I finished a B.S. in Wildlife & Fisheries. Pamela and I married in 1983, our having met as fellow transfers and then at First Baptist Bryan through college choir and Baptist Student Union volleyball practice.
I began a “career”, first in car sales to be near Pamela’s job in the chemical industry. A fish farm job materialized for me a couple years later, and I got to use my degree. That’s when the fight started. (We have been married 30 years now, so the fight was in me not with her.) Needing to actually make a living for us, I wound up as a lab technician and then a production operator in, of all things, chemicals. Fifteen years into that adventure, a boss went after my job. At 50 years old, I could “retire” and look for the second half of my working life. That was a full six years ago now, and despite many attempts, no work other than a few short assignments.
Pamela had her own rifle and shotgun from hunting days with her father. Over the years working at sporting goods store, then at Dow Chemical, I added .280 Remington, .375 Weatherby and even a .416 Rigby to a full list of calibers for which I learned to hand load. Raccoons in the attic brought a pellet rifle into my arsenal. A gun range trip with little Courtney learning gun safety and how to shoot, along with some .375 work of my own brought Africa back into my life. We made several little safaris beginning in 2001, then all together in 2007 including time at Blaauwkrantz Safaris with the Rudman family. A solo trip in 2005 yielded my first real trophy, but not without heartache.
In 2001 with Pieter Diedricks, I held out for a kudu bull and Pamela shone with both impala and a huge warthog. My own smaller warthog had to do until 2005 where I began with Philip Dixie. Even after extensive practice to be ready, the first animal encountered was a bushbuck wounded high in the shoulder and eventually lost. Nceba, the tracker, offered me a pick-up head and I have had that consolation prize on my wall for many years. (One Eastern Cape kudu, a blesbok, impala and brown duiker later, I also opted for a second bushbuck which I successfully took.)
Now, I had over time struggled with the “Why” concerning my work life and its agony. As part of the bushbuck wounding process, I surrendered my right to complain about it all and asked God to use it to accomplish His own purposes. Immediately upon making the loan against my 401k to take the whole family on safari in 2007, my job was threatened. Greg Rodriguez had been my booking agent. His daughter, Chloe, developed childhood leukemia and I had begun to pray for her returning health. Two times around that track and she seems well. Greg was murdered in 2013 so I now cover Cole and Lisa in prayer as a matter of course, but am free to book directly with the Rudmans for any future trips with Philip Dixie.
In the back of my mission kid mind dwells the question; “Am I being punished for doing something wrong?” Although not perfect, connecting personal difficulties to past performance issues, such as getting along with others at work, really didn’t add up. Rather, what seemed to be happening was that God was directing it all to an end that would eventually make sense. I now believe that is where I’m finally at.
In the process of taking care of elderly parents, and moving Dad down to Texas from Illinois to live after Mom’s passing, I ran across several books that helped me “see” better. Of particular impact was one book written in memoire form by a schoolmate’s mother. She and her builder husband spent time in many areas also familiar to us Nagels as we served in SIM. (Sudan Interior Mission, now become Society of International Missionaries was nicknamed by us “Saints In Motion”.) What to her was simply “deer meat” acquired by permission from the local governors of the day, I recognized from picture or locale as Menelik’s bushbuck and mountain nyala, both highly desired by trophy hunters today! Venison was “deer meat” and “a great big deer”. Mama Ediger, I thank you for the photos and the giggles.
Now at home with us, Dad and I have devoured a new book about our times and familiar locations written by someone six years my senior. “Under An African Sky” (Julene Hodges Schroeder, 2013, available through Amazon.com) sheds further light on something I had not realized until the Ediger book, “Worth It All” (La Verna Ediger, self-published in 2001.) I had thought the reason for the gospel message’s widespread impact in the areas where Dad and Mom spent their efforts was due mainly to friendlier than usual tribes being in the area. People in Kambatta in particular are so friendly and hospitable, treating me as almost royalty at times as I tramped the hills after birds. However, the recent past for them had meant a life of fear and appeasement / worship of Satan himself, by name! To be delivered from that bondage into a life of grace meant the world to the new believers, despite organized and concerted efforts at intimidation and under communism drastic torture. That is true punishment, but not at God’s hand. I still hold Ethiopian believers, as a result of their testimony and sometimes martyrdom, as my standard of what a true follower of Jesus looks like. Anyhow, to the point. Along with the Hodges, Edigers and numerous other families involved, us Nagels have been in thick of activity as God blessed individuals in Ethiopia with the good news of freedom from sin’s grasp. My part is to take care of one of those servants in his last days.
After ER visit number four over the years, asthma was diagnosed for me -- explains a lot. God was simply removing me from working with chemicals. Then, I had five years to “process” and get over anger issues stemming from mission life and work issues owing to poor guidance. During this time I worked at reclaiming part of an old golf course that became our new church, as our family contribution. (There’s more, but this is about my favorite trophy.)
Intending to have B&B Taxidermy in Houston sell me a cape and do a shoulder mount of the pick-up horns in the photo, I am going to save the money and simply enjoy “as is” the trophy of my experience centered among other memories of Africa and safari. Yes, we do have kudu and waterbuck shoulder mounts and shield mounts of other animals Pamela and I hunted. Did I get it right, finally? Well, I can report a sense that God has been pleased. Peace is the sign of His presence, and joy that of his pleasure. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Nice story; I enjoyed it. Thanks.

That was a great post. I have been in need of a bit of "peace". Thank you!

Nice bushbuck and a really nice warthog by the way. Sometimes we don't find the inner peace we are looking for. I'm still searching. I've been told, when you quit looking, it will come to you. Thanks for the post.

Wow! What a great story, and how can we thank you for sharing it with us here?

It would be wonderful to know peace, but, after fighting in a war, and the "kill or be killed" part, I do not know if peace will ever truly come to me.

That said, I have learned to be content. As Paul said, he had lived in plenty and in want, fed or hungry, free or in prison, freed or in chains...

Friends have termed me "irascible" others have used less flattering terms. I guess I have never learned to walk away from an insult or a challenge.

God is obviously NOT finished with me yet.

Thank you for a very inspiring story,

Rich
hardheaded to say the least...