In this second excerpt from his memoirs, missionary to Tanzania, Howard Olson, provides a picture of life in 1950s Africa.

One day while I was preparing a sermon in my office there was a frantic knock on my door. Here was a young shepherd who was so agitated that he did not even observe the customary courtesy of greeting me. He simply shouted, "A lion has killed my cow. Come quickly with your gun." This would have been a fitting interruption had I been preparing a sermon on Daniel in the lions' den.

This must be the same lion, I thought, which had been killing cattle at night in the surrounding homesteads. The government game scouts had tried in vain several times before to dispatch this stealthy marauder. If only I could track and kill this lion I would be honored by the whole community as one whom they call "muhomi" who brought to a halt this devastating feline scourge.

This sudden emergency would brook no delay. So I ran to grab my 375 Magnum stuffed ammunition into my pocket, since there was no time to get my cartridge belt and followed closely behind the shepherd without even saying goodbye to my wife.

As we covered the half mile to the scene of the carnage I reflected on how it perhaps was this very same lion that had given me the slip a few weeks earlier At that time I had invited two of my visiting colleagues to go for a walk with me before the sun set. Because of the dangerous animals in the area I took my trusty rifle with me. Darkness was almost upon us when I spotted what I thought was a lion crouching in the tall grass at the edge of a meadow about 150 yards away. I said to my companions, "That looks like a lion lying over there." They scrutinized carefully what I had seen and laughed at my uneasiness, saying, "No, can't you see that it is just a termite mound?" Embarrassed over my faulty reconnaissance I acquiesced to their judgment. Now since at the equator twilight is very brief we had to turn around and head toward home. As we did so the termite mound got up and ambled off into the thicket protected by the cover of night.   

The time for reminiscing was past. While the shepherd had come to summon me, his herd could have got hopelessly scattered, or the lion out of sheer maliciousness might have killed yet another cow. As we neared the site of the lion's attack, the shepherd inched forward cautiously. He pointed to the spot where the kill had been made. By now the victim had been dragged into a thicket cover where the vultures could not detect it. I could hear the lion crunching the cow's bones, but in this dense thicket called "Itigi bush" I could not see the lion. To make sure that I stayed down-wind, I scooped up a handful of dust to ascertain the leeward side based on the movement of dust as it spilled from my hand. However, there was no evidence of even the slightest breeze in the stifling heat as the sun reached its zenith.

We crept uncertainly toward the lion hoping it would not get our scent. Finally I could see a hind leg of the lion protruding from the thicket. This did not provide a target which would assure me of a fatal shot. If I merely wounded the lion with a poor shot it might turn the beast into a man-killer. Consequently I waited for the lion to move a bit anticipating that I might get a chance for a head or heart shot. Suddenly a slight gust of wind carried our scent to the lion, and it scampered away to safety unharmed.

I told the shepherd, "Don't worry, the lion will come back, because it has not sated itself yet, and in any event it would not be content to leave such choice beef for the hyenas. In the plains country lions live in a pride, and after the female has made a kill the whole family enjoys the repast. Here in the heavy bush terrain there was no pride of lions, but just this lone marauder. We chose a well-camouflaged blind to await the lion's return. My naive confidence that the killer would come back was unrewarded as we waited and waited while the hours dragged on.

Finally we had to give up our quest, for there was much work yet to be done. The scattered herd had to be corralled again and be led to the security of his thorn-encircled kraal. The shepherd did not recover any of the remaining meat, because to eat such meat is taboo, and furthermore, the lion could return unexpectedly and attack the shepherd for pilfering his prize.

This crafty beast, in stark contrast to the cowering lion in The Wizard of Oz, had outsmarted me for the second time. It eventually was killed by game scouts, but not before it had slain a total of 19 cows in the area. Our lion had won a temporary reprieve on this day from a lionhearted shepherd lad. The young man had been armed with only a knobkerrie. When the lion attacked his cow he hurled his meager weapon with all his might striking the lion on its mane-padded head. When I asked him how he dared jeopardize his own life in this way he replied, “That is what is expected of a shepherd.”

Howard and Louise Olson served for 42 years as missionaries to Tanzinia. His translations of African hymns like  “Listen, God is Calling” and “Christ Has Arisen, Alleluia!” has introduced much of American Lutheranism to African hymnody. This selection is taken from his memoirs “Footprints” under consideration for publication by the ALPB, and is copyrighted by Howard Olson who has graciously granted permission for its posting here. Howard and Louise currently reside in Florida.