Street Contacting On Umtata's (Mthatha) Town Square. Missionary Stories.

One of the hottest days that I could remember is in February,  the middle of summer in South Africa! Being a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was one of the dreams of my life I fulfilled as I went about with Elders Thompson, Streadbeck, and Danisa doing community service at the medicine dispensary counting pills and putting them in bottles.

The city, Umtata (now Mthatha), was always alive with pedestrian activity in the center of town near the government buildings. We four headed there to do some street contacting to tell any interested passerby that we had a life-changing message to share.

Any and everybody who is anybody passed through that town center in front of the courthouse on business—at least once a week. So of course, it was the best place to open our mouths to the public.

As usual, we four prayed and separated to do our work. We always made sure we remained within earshot of each other, but on this particular day, earshot rules proved challenging to keep. Missionaries follow rules that protect them from things, kidnappings, and scandals in the local area that would cause the locals not to listen or trust them and the Church. The rules also help to keep the Church out of the news in the wrong ways due to the misbehavior of its representatives.

Street contacting was not one of the things I enjoyed doing because of the rejection that usually followed and how public and embarrassing those rejections could become. Being a new missionary at the time, I really did not want to be out there. Cold-calling with faces is what I called it--my face to another person's face who might spit in mine!

Remembering that I was there to share the truths that I had come to know because I loved God, I pressed forward. "Excuse me, sir," I said to a smartly dressed man walking in the courtyard in front of the Courthouse. "I am a missionary from the Church of--"

"I no English," was his brisk reply as he moved on dismissively.

"Excuse me, Sir," I said to the next man near me. "I have a message from the Lord!"

"You are so young to teach me emfana (young man)," the other man laughingly retorted before moving passed me with an incredulous smirk on his face. I hate rejection. 

Rejection was not so bad in Umtata (Mthatha). It came so infrequently because of the pleasant nature of the Xhosa people that I learned to look past it. Those who did accept my invitation were not precisely the ones I targeted. Black Americans did not frequent Umtata. I was a novelty. That little bit of celebrity would get attention as the people strained at my message only to get a chance to speak to a Black American.

I recorded their names and weeded them out by inviting them to Church. If they pitched up at Church, we would teach them the message we promised would bring them joy in life. The ones whom we targeted, capable men, I hesitated to pitch on occasion. We were discriminant of whom we tried to actively teach. Such discrimination was not due to any belief that boys, women, or girls would not add value to the Church. We proceeded that way so that we could find men with wives and children who could, as a family unit, explore the Gospel together. That was our goal, families. We targeted men because women tend to be more willing to seek out the missionaries on their own. The best way to get to whole families was through the husband, we determined. 

In this mode of discrimination, I found myself when I jolted at a sight. There I stood in a suit in the sweltering hot sun of South Africa when my estranged girlfriend walked up! At least that is who she reminded me of the moment I saw her. I spoke to her.

"Hello," She said. "What are you doing out here?"

"I'm sharing a message about Jesus Christ,” I returned overcoming my amazement. I saw two gentlemen pass by who looked as if they would speak to me, but saw I was engaged with this young woman of marital age and moved on. Frustration began to well up inside of me because this woman made it hard for me to think clearly.

"That is good,' she continued."I too am going about speaking of God and His word."

Deciding to make the best of this I said, "So what church do you belong to?"

"Jehovah’s Witness, I go to the Kingdom Hall"

Yes! I shouted within myself. If I tell her I'm a "Mormon," (though we prefer to be called members of the Church we belong to) she will run away in fear. "Really, I have an older brother in that church? I am a Mormon." She did not move.

“I attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the Mormons.” Still, she did not move.

“What church is that?” she returned interrogatively. 

She had a smile on her face and she kept the sweat from her eyes with a white kerchief. I thought profoundly of my estranged love and how much I missed her; but also on my mind were the dozens of potential priesthood holders passing me by as I explained things to this woman, who looked like the woman I loved!

Also, Jehovah's Witnesses tended to not appreciate "Mormon" Missionaries in the United States. Apparently, that was not the case in the good old Republic of South Africa, RSA!

For some reason, my companion had not rescued me from this lengthy conversation with the girlfriend look-alike. The rule is if the conversation went too long, the other missionary would come and join the conversation or save the other from mobs, which Elder Thompson had to do several times for me. But he was engaged with someone too!

The purpose of this young woman was to convert me to her beliefs. I could tell after a few minutes. She and others of her faith were in the square competing for proselytes,, and I was the enemy. Her whole purpose was to keep me occupied as the others sought out candidates after she discovered I was in direct competition with her beliefs. 

“Elder Johnson," called Elder Thompson finally coming to my aid after the woman left.  "How come you did not end the conversation and move on?" I had moved out of his eyesight during my interview with the South African girlfriend doppelganger.

I shrugged it off, and he never let me too far from his sight again. I think I may have mentioned to him later how much that lady looked like my "waiting for me unofficially" girlfriend. I learned that day that polite conversation is good, unless you are a missionary, and the person you speak to is a replica of the woman whom you left in the States missing severely!