I was three years old, living at Banga. Kadima was our house helper. He did the cooking and cleaning while Mom was busy at the clinic she was setting up for the surrounding community, and Dad was busy preaching in the villages. Kadima was a gentle and kind person.
One day I was concerned that I couldn’t find my Mom. I wandered around the house crying, “Mom, Mom, where’s Mom?”
Kadima took me out the front door and off the front porch to the lane leading away from our house. He pointed over to the clinic which was about 100 yards away. There was Mom, standing in front of the clinic waving to me and smiling. She must have heard me crying. I immediately calmed down and went back into the house.
Mom enjoyed putting me into the front basket of her bicycle and taking me for a ride around the station, which I also enjoyed. There must have been no need for a helmet in those days!