Asabing's Legacy
March 1997
Asabing has been in my thoughts a lot lately. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's the days and days of gloomy weather we've had. Grey overcast sky, lots of fog and the moody blahs. This is how it was when Asabing died. Well, actually, he was murdered.
I guess it's not surprising, then, that these cold, gray days would bring thoughts of Asabing. But more than just thinking of his death, I think of his life. He was a great guy.
Asabing was a Kimyal, one of the tribal people I lived and worked among as a missionary in the mountainous interior valley of Korupun, Irian Jaya, Indonesia. The Kimyals are a semi-pygmy group of people, averaging under 4'11" in height. But they were fierce and ruthless. The neighboring Yalis, though bigger and stronger, were afraid of them. At war, Kimyals were like little fire-ants.
That didn't describe Asabing, though. Yes, he was small - at 4'6", smaller than the average. But there wasn't a drop of fierceness in his blood. He was the most gentle man I've ever met, except my dad. He reminded me of my dad in other ways, too. He loved growing things. Every Kimyal grows a garden for daily food, but few consider it pleasurable. It would correspond to grocery shopping in our culture - something done out of necessity. Asabing was my gardener, and took chest-swelling pride in "our" yard. Other Kimyals would point to a flower and ask, "Can you eat that? No? Then what do you do with it?" Learning that I just look it at, my questioner would walk off laughing to himself. Asabing, though, delighted in those flowers, and did not think them silliness at all. His eyes sparkled at the beauty he created in my (oops! "our") yard. Asabing also had a very loyal, generous heart. He would risk anything for a friend. In fact, he did.
For three months our Korupun grass-and-gravel airstrip was shut down while we did some major work on it, removing a four-foot deep "bounder" at the touch-down area. Without machines, using just muscle power, the project was a major task. Being shut down meant that the only way we had of sending or receiving mail was to send it eight hours over a high mountain pass to the airstrip at Sela when they were expecting a plane. Even the courier's pay was not always enough to entice someone to go. One day, after being without mail for an especially long time and not being able to find anyone willing do a mail run to Sela, I asked Asabing if he would go. If he hesitated, it wasn't enough for me to notice. Pulling back his shoulders and flashing a smile, he said, "Sure."
I didn't realize what I was asking of him. My biggest concern what that it was awfully cold and wet up there on the top of the 10,000 foot pass. Even at our 6,000 foot elevation I needed a jacket outdoors. All Asabing ever wore was the traditional Kimyal men's clothing, a gourd penis sheath. Between me and Jessie, my colleague at Korupun, Asabing was outfitted with a sweater or sweatshirt and some long plastic rain gear. We put the mailbags inside a large plastic bag, gave him some food to eat on the way, and he trotted off. But exposure wasn't the real enemy. Asabing was of the Mirin clan. It wasn't until later that I found out that two Sela men had been trying for weeks to ambush any lone Mirin they could find on the trail and kill him in revenge for a perceived wrong.
A Sela man whose name translates as "Ant-Man" and his brother whose name I don't remember, except that it was a double name like "Bon-bon," so I'll call him that for now, had a sister who had married a Mirin from Korupun. Despite their demands and threats, they had never been paid the customary dowry of pigs. The sister disallowed that, saying "Why should they be paid for me when they killed my first husband and never paid me for that?" Good point, but Ant-Man and Bon-Bon weren't thinking of fair; they just wanted the goods. So, they said, "If we don't get pigs, we'll get a man." Ant-man and Bon-Bon were bigger and stronger than the average; their threats were taken seriously. Siud and Bogso were closer relatives to the Mirin brother-in-law, but each of them had been traveling with groups on recent trips. Threats like this are never secret in Kimyal-land. Asabing must have known the danger, but risked it for a friend.
When Asabing did not return the next day or the next, a search party was sent out. They found nothing, which they knew meant the worst. If Asabing had gotten sick or had accidentally hurt himself and needed to rest on the trail, he would have put his gourd at the spot where he left the trail to find shelter, so someone could find him. There were no such markings on the trail. Finally, on the fourth day searchers found his body way off the trail in a little ravine, brutally beaten with an axe. Our in-coming mail was still with him. I cried not only at the loss of my gentle friend and the violent way he died, but also at the fact that his loyalty and generosity over something relatively superficial had led him to that death. It was all so unjust.
I don't usually write such depressing stuff. So why am I telling this story? Well, as I said, I have been thinking about Asabing a lot lately. Not morbidly, but with great warmth in my heart for such a friend.
The Bible says, "Greater love has no man than this: that a man would lay down his life for his friend." Asabing literally did that, and so needlessly. Thinking about him, I began to survey my life and all the friends God has blessed me with. Friends, including relatives, who in other ways have "laid down their lives" for me. It was because they extended themselves beyond what would be expected that I was enabled to make the absolute most out of the strength polio left me with. My first school-bus driver who every day lifted me into the bus with a "Good morning, Sunshine," that made me feel special. Friends who later carried my books and cornet between classes and up and down stairs. Brothers who pulled me on sleds or rode me on their bikes 1/4 mile to the bus stop for 12 years. Friends without whose help I could never have had those 17 wonderful years in Irian Jaya. When post-polio brought me back from Irian, my friends were an absolute necessity to my ability not only to readjust to life as an American but also to begin to get a grip on a workable management program for this disease. Friends and family are still a needed part of what is keeping me as strong and active as I am now, able in turn to give help to yet others.
No, thinking about Asabing isn't a morbid exercise. It certainly is humbling, though. It causes me to recognize how greatly God has blessed me and it motivates me to pass that blessing along, with great joy. So, though Asabing's death was senseless and was so very unjust, it need not be wasted. It is a wonderful legacy as I let Asabing's example of generous friendship lead me to recognize how much God has blessed me with others' love and share that wealth. You want to join me?
