This is a true story about experiences that changed my life.
By Paul Stefanson
Summary
In the Spring of 1962, while in the Army, I was deliberately run over by a truck and almost killed! 9 months later I went back to college. In my Junior year in 1968, I was at a beach party where I looked across the room at this beautiful girl, who at the same time looked over at me, and we just knew we were going to spend the rest of our lives together! We had about four dates until June 1971, when I left for Africa to teach Math as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Two weeks after I got there, she wrote me an eleven-page letter telling me how much she loved me! Three months after I came back we got married!
After Graduate School there weren’t many jobs available; I had been thinking about teaching, and one morning I got a call from the Peace Corps in spring 1971, telling me they were looking for Math teachers in The Gambia, West Africa. I told the person I wanted to go!
The real changes happened while I was in Africa, where I had three tropical diseases that I almost died from, and another deliberate attempt to kill me. Those experiences certainly had a lot to do with what changed my life, but there were other reasons.
I was placed in a remote village by the name of Gunjur, about 2 miles from the ocean where about 800 people lived. Only the Principal, the teachers, and a few students spoke English, and it took me between three and four months to become fluent in Mandinka, pretty good in Arabic, and some basic sentences in Wolof, Jola and Serahuli.
Getting settled in Gunjur
All the Peace Corps Volunteers were paired off together and sent to teach at schools from the coastal town of Banjul, the capital of The Gambia, up to the easternmost end of the country, 200 miles up the Gambia River to Basse. I was placed alone, 35 miles south of Banjul at the southwestern corner of the Gambia in a remote village called Gunjur, to teach Science in a Middle School.
I ate the food provided by a family who lived nearby and drank water from a deep well. This was on a two-acre farm where I lived in a one room mud walled house covered by a corrugated tin roof. Less than two months after school started I became really weak, until I couldn’t get out of bed. I don’t remember how much time went by when I heard loud knocking on the door; fortunately, someone took the door off and I was taken to the hospital where I was diagnosed with amoebic dysentery. I was in the hospital for more than a week.
There was a library at the Peace Corps Office in the Capital where I could check out as many books as I wanted. I discovered when there was no moon, the light from our Milky Way galaxy was bright enough to read a book, so I would sit outside and read way into the night. If it was raining or otherwise too dark, I would read using a candle on my window sill. Before Africa I had no interest in reading, but once in Africa, I read more than 1,500 books, far more than I had ever read in my life!
In the middle of December, I begin to feel weaker and weaker, and was found lying on the ground half way to the ocean by some nomadic cow herdsmen. They carried me back to the road where a taxi took me to the hospital. I was diagnosed with Hepatitis. The Doctor told me if I hadn’t made it to the hospital that day, I may not have survived! It took me until the first week in January, 1972 to recover before I was able go back to Gunjur and teach.
In May–eleven months after I arrived in Gunjur–I started having chills followed by fever, back and forth, in the afternoon, until a terrible headache started that eventually became unbearable! Finally, a few hours after midnight, the headache went away and I would fall asleep. The next day it started all over again in the middle of the afternoon! I thought “No, no, not this again!” On the third day, about 1:00pm, and just before it started, the Country Director and his wife came to visit me; I told them what was happening, and they immediately told me to get in their car and drove me to the hospital. They said I had Malaria and I could die if they didn’t get me there quickly. They told me another volunteer had died from Malaria in Liberia! I was in the hospital for 2 weeks this time, then stayed with another volunteer for 2 more weeks before I could teach again.
One weekend, I was walking along this road about a mile when I looked up ahead and saw this 5-foot-tall Baboon 25 yards in front of me standing in the middle of the road, his arms crossed over his chest, with his lips pulled back showing his teeth in a threatening grimace and staring at me! “Now what do I do?” I stopped and looked at him for a little while, then casually turned around and walked back slowly–at the same speed as I came–really hoping he would think of something else to do rather than come after me!
Nevertheless, having survived three near-death experiences (plus the one 10 years before) had a profound effect on me. Why am I still alive? There must be a reason.
People who have money and possessions have worries. People in The Gambia had nothing. When they woke up, their prime objective was to find something to eat (and knew where to find it), but they were so happy! They loved my sense of humor, and returned it! Once I learned to speak their language–with their help–wherever I went people greeted me, asked me questions and offered me food, treating me like I was part of their family! A gift like that lasts forever. Many of us became good friends, and one of them called Abu became my best friend, and eventually named his son after me!
In class one day, I was shocked when one of the students stood up at his desk and said in English (pointing to the boy next to him): “Mr. Paul, this man blew foul air!” All the boys started laughing, and I was laughing so hard I almost peed in my pants!
I begin to realize that these are the things that make me happy. How wonderful to be happy just like these people are! Maybe I should think about ways to make other people happy when I got back to America. Could this be the reason I’m still alive?
5th Event
About halfway through the summer break something so terrible happened I thought for sure I was going to be killed!
Muslims live and have official status in West African countries including Senegal and The Gambia. We had been told during in-country training that some Muslims in this area may have a very negative view of Americans, so we must always respect their religion and customs. So I learned Arabic greetings (while learning Mandinka, the language of the village, where I had been placed) and as many Arabic phrases as soon as I could.
Around the middle of summer, I was walking on a path away from the village. Suddenly, several Muslim people—some I recognized as having given me angry looks whenever we passed each other in the village—came out from the jungle, encircled me and put a black hood over my head! I was led off the path somewhere and put down on the ground, then felt a knife against my throat! I immediately thought “They’re going to kill me! Why? After all I’ve lived through already, why?”
After what seemed like 10 minutes, the person holding the knife took it away. I was thinking “Oh! They’re not going to kill me?” I heard him get up, walk away, then heard them talking about something I couldn’t understand. A short time later I heard someone walking back over to me, taking the hood off and telling me to stand up, (that’s when I saw Abu 20 feet away with the others) and asked me in English “Why do you like us?” I thought about the course I’d taken in college titled “World Religions” taught by professors and other people knowledgeable about various religions throughout the world, so I said to him in Arabic: “Allah-Kalinga-lay-Undahh!” (One God has made us). He just stared at me, then became calm. I stood there a moment and said “As-Salam-u-Alaikum” (Peace be upon you) to which he replied “Wa-Alaikum-Assalam wa Rahmatullah” (May the Peace, Mercy, and Blessings of Allah be upon you).
Abu must have recognized my clothes and red tennis shoes I was wearing, and had told something like this about me to the others “From the time he came to our village, he has always spoken to us and treated us with respect to our religious beliefs and customs, and almost everyone in the Gambia knows this is the kind of person he is, and he is the only American here who treats us like this.”
They smiled at me, and slowly walked away. I just sat back down and thought about what happened, before walking back.
Goat Express to the Capital
The next day, on Saturday morning, I walked over to the Taxi, a Peugeot 404 Station Wagon, to get a ride to Banjul, 35 miles away. Inside was a driver and 2 passengers, in the back seat were 2 passengers, and in the back was a cage with 6 chickens, and 2 goats, and 1 seat left for me in the back seat.
On the way, we were having fun talking with each other. Then the driver started asking me questions and I was answering them; when I gave him an outrageously humorous answer to his last question, everyone in the taxi started laughing hysterically! At that very moment, while everyone was still laughing, the most wonderful feeling I’ve ever had in my entire life, a feeling of immense happiness overwhelmed me in such a way that I thought of myself as the hood ornament on the front of this taxi, my back arched, my arms spread outward towards the sky, screaming to the universe: “This is my purpose in life: To make people laugh and to be happy!”
When the taxi stopped at the Capital and everyone got out, everyone talked about how much fun it was and how happy we were together during the trip!
I still try to do whatever I can to do kind things for people to make them happy, and to make them laugh, because it makes me happy! There’s an ancient Chinese saying that says “Doing good is the greatest source of happiness.”
Final Days
In August, 1972, before school started again, Yibu, the Principal of the school, complained to the Peace Corps Country Director, that I had missed too many days of school. I happened to be in the Capital that Saturday and was asked to attend the meeting. I listened calmly to his allegations. (He had never mentioned this to me before). Rather than argue with him or say anything negative about him, I told him “I sincerely apologize for not being there when the students really needed me. I’m so sorry.”
After he left, the Director said he wanted to transfer me to a High School in the Capital. I told him I’d think about it.
On the way back to the place where I had learned far more than I had taught, I realized I had already made my decision. That night I wrote a short letter of resignation citing “Not assigned to teach in subject of specialization.” (My degree was in Mathematics; not Science).
During the next few days, I visited all the compounds where my friends and their families lived, thanking them for their hospitality and friendship, telling them how happy they had made me every day.
Three girls from the village came over to visit me one afternoon, and brought me a little basket they had made. Two of them came by the next morning, and I asked,“Where’s Senabu?” Joko told me in a casual manner “Oh, she died last night.” I felt terrible, because I had known these three girls from the time I came. As soon as I told them I was going home, they hugged me so long that I started to cry.
The following morning, there were more than 100 villagers lined up along the road outside where I lived, waiting for me to come out for the last time, to get in a taxi with my best friend Abu. They were yelling in Arabic “Baraka!” (Bless you!), over and over, as the taxi pulled out onto the road, away from Gunjur, and all my precious friends.
Saying Goodbye
On the way to the airport, I told him how much I had learned from the people in Gunjur, that I had learned so much more than I could ever have possibly taught! I told him how my living in Gunjur had made me happier than I had ever been in my life. As we got out of the taxi and walked towards the plane, I couldn’t stop the tears as I thanked him for saving my life. He said: Let’s shake with our left hands.” (Muslims always do everything with their right hand.) This was extremely meaningful to him, and to me. I could see tears in his eyes just as he turned and walked away. I watched him go until he was out of sight, then turned and climbed up the stairway to get into the plane, knowing my life had been changed forever.
San Diego Airport
In the middle of September 1972, when I got off the plane in San Diego, my parents were there to pick me up. They were startled at the way I looked! I had long hair and was emaciated. As soon as they took me to their home, I asked if I could borrow one of their cars, telling them I needed to be alone, and hoped they understood. I really wanted to go over to see Denise, who lived in an apartment one block from the beach!
When I got there, her roommate answered the door, and I said “Is Denise here?” She said, “Who are you?” I replied “I’m Paul, I just got back from Africa!” Looking at me up and down, she said, “She’s not here right now, but should be back soon. Come on in.”
We talked for a while, when she heard Denise’s car outside and said “Why don’t you hide in her bedroom!” In a few minutes Denise came in and her roommate said “There’s a surprise for you in the bedroom!” Denise asked “What? What is it?” When she opened the door and saw me she screamed! As we threw our arms around each other, we heard people knocking on the door, and when her roommate answered, they asked “What’s going on? Everything ok?” She said “Everything’s fine; her boyfriend just got back from Africa, and she was shocked when saw him!”
A Unique Proposal
I was taking an H&R Block Income Tax course (paid for with Denise’s savings). I called Denise while she was working at the Old Globe Theater in Balboa Park at the concession booths and told her: “I’ve devised a scheme whereby we can save money on your income taxes!” She said: “Are you asking me to marry you?” “Well,…yeah, we’ll file a joint return! We got married on December 17, 1972, three months after I returned from Africa!