APOSTLE TO THE PYGMIES; DR. JERRY GALLOWAY M.D.,
Missionhurst Brother at MISSION PENDJUA, ZAIRE
Author Joyce Godwin Grubbs
August 4, 2007
Background matters; his was a chaotic roller coaster trying to find “his way.”
In the sixties he had traveled to South Carolina to a medical convention where he saw old classmates and friends. One of them asked him to see a patient. Jerry agreed reluctantly. He wasn’t licensed in the state and knew his friend to be a wonderful doctor, but he agreed. His friend drove him out into the countryside and when they got out of the car they were totally surrounded by fields of flourishing crops. Jerry could not fathom why they were stopping. He followed his friend through the fields until they arrived at a tar paper shack with no plumbing or running water. Inside a very small black boy lay on a cot. It was then explained to Jerry that the boy was barely a teen but had been paralyzed from the waist down for sometime following a fall. Currently he had kidney problems and needed medical attention.
Jerry was still wondering why he was there. His friend had certainly taken care of this type of patient before. Why didn’t he just hospitalize him and get on with it? It was quickly explained to him. The child was a sharecroppers child with no medical insurance and no money to pay for care. It was the sixties and in the still transitioning segregated south, this was not a cut and dried issue or opportunity.
Immediately Jerry was very angry. In his world he’d just do it and almost as easily as snapping his fingers. His world of medical practice status had him in an affluent lifestyle, status symbol convertible and dressing in clothes that by today’s standards would be considered elite. Not that he hadn’t gone through his “hippy” stage with the Afro hairdo as a youth, and wearing the tie die shirt with print pants. But this situation immediately humbled him. The realization of what his friend was about and his level of personal caring opened a new reality to Jerry.
The immediate resolution of getting care for this young man was first. He was carried to the hospital in Jerry’s car and there is no doubt in my mind the scene that could have taken place at that hospital. I would not have wanted to be in the direct firing line of his authoritative barrage of angry directions and opinions. The young boy got treatment and indeed became a special and loving person in Jerry’s life through the young man’s adulthood. Literally his “son” which he never had.
In later years after we were acquainted better, I remember Jerry’s pride telling the story of taking him to Washington DC to see our nation’s capitol, and the disappointment of not being able to take him in most of the monuments and hampered in the museums because of his wheelchair accessibility being limited. The barriers were mostly at the entrances only. In the years to come when the young man got a van with hand equipment for driving, Jerry was as proud as a dad whose son just played football. The independence of this young man was staggering.
The toll of knowing the “reality of need” wins out.
The first visible change professionally following that foray into the needs of poverty level patients, was that Jerry left his prestigious practice behind and signed on to help develop a medical program for “The Great Society Program” (unofficially called the War on Poverty) under President Lyndon Baines Johnson. He worked to set up the medical access in South Carolina for the poor and dis-advantaged. But the anger he felt that day in a tar paper shack had not dissipated and in fact festered like a cancer inside of him.
He worked with professionals of “like mind” such as Dr. Michelle Harrison who went on in later years to create Shishur Sevay in Calcutta, India for disabled girls and is still active as the founder and administrator of the program today. .
But in their immediate distress at the reality the people were living in while surrounded by the American Dream, there was great challenge and discouragement. The Dream seemed unattainable for the poor at the most crucial level; healthcare.For Jerry, it was taking too long and the insult of controversy for sustaining the program infuriated him.
The idealist in Jerry boils over and he finds a solution.
Not knowing who or what to blame in a way that would be expedient, he became angry at the government, politicians, and worse for him and his parents, he became angry at God. His work now revealed a panorama of suffering and prejudice he had never seen in such dire terms and in such staggering numbers. The resistance of change and lack of humanity he encountered when trying to help the poor and suffering took its toll.
Jerry opted out. Out of the program, his practice and his country. His pride and his belief in the American Dream as it had always been presented, was a shattered and fragile pipe dream at best now. Jerry signed up for the Peace Corp and went to the country of Zaire. It was here that he would find his life’s calling, first in being a part of helping set up the health care system for the country of Zaire on a national level, and eventually to root himself lovingly into the struggles of the Pygmies in the rain forest.
But first, he had to endure a test of “faith”.
Jerry’s father continued to struggle with his son being away and showing no signs of wanting to come home. The successful, elite, son was now a “rag tag” do-gooder to his father. Finally in desperation it was conveyed to Jerry that his father’s depression over the issue had grown so great it was considered “grave”.
For Jerry’s part in Zaire he was learning about family and it’s importance. In Africa many people had only their family and little else. In their lifetimes, there would be only the devotion and joy of family to make their time on earth worthwhile. Jerry could feel no less for that was one lesson he learned and believed in. He determined to go home to the U.S. at the end of his Peace Corp service, but only long enough to get his father to accept that this was now his life’s chosen work and Zaire was his chosen place.
“What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?” …
Enter me into the picture. Jerry had taken the position as Medical Director in a multi-faceted government sponsored clinic. Patients paid according to income (sliding fee scale) and we provided all levels of medical care. MD’s, PNP’s, PA’s, Pediatricians, Dental, Counseling and Economic Outreach workers to assist in accessing health care needs and introducing them into the system.
Of all the nurses in the clinic, they assigned me to be his nurse. He sure didn’t pick me.
Jerry was all business and very serious when we met. I on the other hand was “Mrs. too darn Happy“. While I did not know this for some time, he thought I was a religious nut and over the top with loving everyone and wanting everyone to be happy. While he was probably right, it was truly the way I was at work or outside in my personal life. No pretense. I always saw the glass as half full and looked at it with rose-colored glasses. Jerry was still very angry at God, America and bureaucrats. He was only going to stay in the states long enough to win his dad over to his point of view. He would then go back into the Peace Corp and back to Zaire. None of this was known to me or to my colleagues. He was very private .
Practicing medicine in America insulted Jerry’s need to work with people who had “real needs”.
One of the areas we had to care for in our clinic was fulfilling the contractual agreement with our County Health Department to do all the venereal disease treatment. Now that was never boring. At least not to me. You cannot know the look of sheer terror on someone’s face who had tested positive for gonorrhea and come for treatment and had me (who knows about everyone in the world) walk in. I treated teachers, Sunday school kids from the churches, husband’s of friends, prestigious business and local government officials as well as skid row prostitutes. It was always my biggest job to convince them my lips were sealed.
As for Jerry he just hated to do the vaginal exams and penile tests for the men and would always grumble about American medicine being this when he could be in Zaire doing meaningful surgeries and saving lives. He made the point they were so needy that often he had to do surgeries, major surgeries, without the benefit of anesthetic.
I had no understanding of why he wasn’t there if that was what he wanted. After all he wasn’t married, he was free, white and not quite forty. And it certainly wasn’t because he was under duress. I would like to have seen the person who could hold him down. And actually I did, years later. I got to meet his dad.
I am on the left attending Jerry’s parents’ 50th Golden Wedding Anniversary; Next to me is his mother Rita and his father Otto “Scout” Galloway. It was a blessed day in my memory and I hope pleased Jerry who was in Zaire (which then became the Democratic Republic of the Congo).
Jerry and I had many adventures together as doctor and nurse. I couldn’t help the fact that I was a buttinsky and could find more “situations” which needed special care of considerations. After a while he stopped trying to reform me and went along. Once I called from a patient’s home and refused to come back to work after delivering lunch to the stubborn old codger who refused to go to the hospital. Jerry had to move all sorts of mountains to get services out there right then to take care of him and assess the situation before I’d return to work and could prep patients for Jerry. Still I smiled at the angry look on his face when I returned. He couldn’t make it stick and I knew he was glad I had taken care of our patient.
Then there was another old gentleman who was donating his house to the Catholic Workers on the condition he could live there until he died. He was living bed-bound , right in the middle of the living room so he wouldn’t “miss” anything. He laid like a King holding court, surrounded by the homeless and indigent folks who used the services or the Worker House. He was bed-fast in a hospital bed and refused to come to the clinic for care or even to allow them to bring him into the clinic. Jerry was persuaded to make house calls weekly and some times more. He would end up seeing and treating the homeless men living there and some drop-ins who knew his habit of seeing the Old Codger.
Like heaping hot coals on his head.
Now if he thought I was a religious nut and too happy when he met me, as Christmas approached I really became obnoxious. In July I’m singing carols and wanting to decorate by Halloween if not held down. All of this fuss made him surly and he began to pick at me verbally about things. I was known to always spend my breaks doing my prep for teaching a teenage Sunday school group and doing my Bible study on my lunch hour. I didn’t preach to others and I wasn’t pushy, but it just didn’t go un-noticed by him. Apparently it was a thorn in his emotional/spiritual ” flesh”.
Eventually I began to have strange conversations with Jerry, initiated by him. He would bring up some of the most off the wall or obscure Bible passages or stories and challenge me with some perspective or opinion and expect me to defend the situation. I of course thought he was “just interested” and knew he liked to tease me about my church. Or at least I thought it was teasing. But it didn’t matter how obscure the verse or challenge he would put forth on the Bible issues, it would always “coincidentally” have just been what my preacher preached on the Sunday before or I had just read in my daily devotional. I would always know the answer and it drove him nuts.
It wouldn’t be for another year, but I would learn from him that he was so determined to trip me up and get that happy go lucky religion out of me, he had gone to the Catholic book store and bought a Bible. His family was Catholic and I was to learn later his sister was a distinguished Catholic nun in the Chicago Catholic School system. But his intention was to read the Bible then trip me up. And he tried and tried and tried. But according to him it only drove him “into the word”.
Christmas at work was like walking a tightrope around Jerry.
Just before Christmas I was giving out my little token gifts (our family budget didn’t allow for more). Most of the doctors got books including Jerry. He glowered at me when he found it on his desk as I was leaving his office.
“I don’t do Christmas” he stated with a really gruff tone.
“That’s okay. I do, so there’s your gift” and I walked out.
THE STORM BEFORE THE CALM
Christmas is a season for flu, mumps and all kinds of illnesses. It wasn’t surprising then, that on Christmas Eve when the staff was to get off early afternoon, there were still many patients to see. I remained with Jerry seeing the adult patients and our staff slowly finished in Pediatrics and everyone was gone except for us. The folks in the lab were just waiting for our word we were finished with them. I went to let them know the remaining patients wouldn’t need lab so they hurried out of the clinic. That left Jerry and me and it was well after supper time and getting dark.
Jerry really hadn’t addressed me in any personal way since the Christmas gift “exchange”. I didn’t even dare to ask him about his plans and knew he had volunteered to cover for the doctors who were all married with children. At least he had that much Christmas spirit, I reasoned.
Finally the lights were off in the patient rooms and dimmed in the nurse’s station. I was packing up my things getting ready to go. I heard him approaching and kept my head down trying to decide whether to wish him a Merry Christmas or just a teasing “Bah, humbug” as he passed. He approached at warp speed and slammed down a brown grocery sack onto my desk and said in his now familiar gruff voice, “Here. This is your present. It’s not wrapped”. He kept going as I sputtered out a shocked thank you to his back”.
Inside the sack was a little manger scene similar to one you see in every five and dime or grocery store at Christmas. But to me it was a fantastic gift because it was from Jerry who really did have a soft side and wasn’t the bear he tried to make me think he was. I proudly brought it home and put it under the tree. That little manger scene was the only thing I put out for Christmas the year our neighbor boy, who was like a son to us died. No tree, just that little stable scene on some strands of angel hair. It remained visible in our Christmas decor for years to come . It was used in the future to remember Jerry and to be the real center of what Christmas is really about. (My youngest daughter now has it at her home. It was a very special gift to her from me when she married and was starting her own Christmas traditions.)
Jerry goes rogue and shows his softer side.
After the holidays there was a noticeable softening in Jerry ; not just toward me but noticeable to all the staff and with his patient interactions. He had always been good and caring with the patients, but he would speak about the paperwork and the American bureaucracy which ‘took time that he needed for patients’. This began to subside and we went into a “quiet” time where Jerry seemed more content and was going out of town more. I later learned it was to visit one to one with his family.
When you become close to someone, and if you are spiritually involved in a prayer life for them, I believe God uses “HSP” (Holy Spirit Perception) to give you a quickening in your spirit when there are things afoot in their lives. I began to have feelings of a noticeable avoidance by Jerry. Not in a negative way, but a feeling there were things he wasn’t sharing with me. I had to assume they were personal as our working relationship was flourishing.
One day he announced in a formal meeting of the staff he would be leaving for a week of vacation. He gave us instructions as to date and time. We had one week to prepare and ask questions. That next week in the all staff meeting, he gave us one last chance to ask questions about coverage and needs while he was gone. We teasingly asked where he would be if we needed him. “No where you’re going to know about.” was the curt answer. We were all chuckling and speculating when our Clinic Program Director walked in with two priests in tow. “Here’s Jerry”.
I had no idea Jerry could blush or anything would be able to provoke one, but blush he did. He quickly mumbled he was about ready and he turned back to us to speak when one of the priests introduced himself, then the other, and they told us where they were from. It was out-of-state. They assured us they would “take good care of our doctor” that week.
In a split second I could never have planned for, I blurted out, “That’s pretty bad when you have to import two priests from out-of-state to hear your confession and it’s going to take a week to get it done”. We all laughed but somehow inside I knew this was only the tip of the iceberg to this event.
The other shoe drops.
When Jerry returned he was different and I knew in my heart he was leaving. I didn’t know to go where, or do what. All that I felt was an impending loss. He did call me in eventually and tell me ahead of the others that he was going to become a Catholic missionary; a Brother through Missionhurst. He had to explain it all to me as being a protestant, I was not familiar. He would be going to seminary, taking vows and his hope was to be sent back to Zaire. I was stunned.
It wasn’t until Jerry actually left the clinic and went to Seminary that I learned so many things. I received a very long handwritten letter from him. It was written during a special exercise that I remember was thirty days long. It is where you are in “isolation” and you are given a scripture each day to reflect on. Nothing else. You don’t talk or do anything but pray and reflect during this time. It was at the end of this faith exercise that he wrote to me in a letter which I still have almost 30 years later.
In the letter Jerry told me of his impressions of his fanatical nurse, then friend. He talked about having gone to the Catholic book store where he bought a Bible so he could argue me down about things and how in that effort, he was convicted that he had turned on God but God had not turned on him. He said he realized God was just waiting for him to come back and fulfill the role He had for Jerry’s life. Following that, Jerry went to his parents and in the loving, understanding that Jerry would be serving God, his dad had been able to let go of his son. He still wanted him home, but Jerry was free to return to Zaire and serve God. (Jerry said in the letter that he might have to get a Vatican exception, as they wanted to send him to Haiti and that was where he was to be assigned.)
Jerry also shared in the letter about God’s great sense of humor. When negotiating becoming a Brother with Missionhurst, Jerry thought he shouldn’t have to go to seminary. He was , after-all, an Internal Medicine Specialist and he was going there to do his medical magic and help people. He already knew how to pray and he couldn’t see taking the time out for seminary. ( In that one revelation alone, one sees where Jerry was spiritually and that his irascible in-charge image of himself still needed work.
Missionhurst of course, brought him to an accepting of the fact his medical skills were important and needed, but he was going there to help the people find what he had found; God. That was to be the healing and beneficial nature of his role. He later confirmed to me that he could have given up the medicine, but never the teaching of God’s word and the sharing of God’s love to others. It would lead him in time to come to translate the Bible into Lingala, the language of many of the people he worked with.
Jerry became busy studying a variety of subjects and was also assigned to community service. He wrote that his “penance” for his brow-beating me and picking on me, was that he was assigned a stint in a homeless shelter in Washington DC where his “job” there, was working in the kitchen as a cook’s aide and doing dishes. He was being supervised by a very large black Baptist lady. He said I had a counterpart in the Black community there and she was his boss. I wrote back it was appropriate because in truth I had been his boss at the clinic but being male he hadn’t recognized it.
Thus began the 28 year Odyssey of my best friend to serve God as a Medical Missionary Brother through Missionhurst. Intermittently through all of those years he has returned to my family and been welcomed as a member, a much beloved member. We have supported his ministry which has shown leadership building boarding schools,(students walked many miles to attend,crossing streams, barefoot is densely over-grown foliage, persuading the tribes’ leaders to let girls go to school, creating educated barefoot doctors, setting up clinics, and a myriad of outreaches throughout these years .
Jerry on one of his visits, permitted every 3 years. The chair almost swallowed him up he had gotten so thin.
I still remember his first letter telling how he hadn’t even been back on the soil of Zaire for hours when he arrived as a Missionhurst Brother/doctor, when he held in his arms a dead baby that was seen too late. He vowed to change that for as much as was humanly possible. But if fact, he changed it in more than a humanly possible way. He teamed up with his Lord whom he served everyday for the rest of his life, and they made changes, provided protections, educated the people, changed the dynamics of a Master tribe and its relationship with the slave tribe, and brought joy, faith and soccer to so many.
A Christmas of a different kind in Zaire..
The Christmas he was kidnapped and taken by the soldiers I remember him telling me later about his suffering, but more about the kindness of a soldier with whom he talked and then persuaded into getting him a coke as he hadn’t eaten for three days. He had no animosity toward his captors or the Witch Doctor instigator who told the government Jerry and his people were stealing gold in the forests for America and sending it out of the country. The government officials of that region sent the soldiers to “deal with him” stealthily making him just “disappear”.
For more than two weeks no one knew his whereabouts. No one could find any information and there was panic for his safety. Even the Cardinal got involved and the Vatican made a plea for information. He was found in a jail in Kinshasa, many hours of travel from where he was kidnapped. He was weak, and had lost even more weight. With the influence of the priests, Missionhurst, and the connections within the government, the Cardinal pleaded for the release of “The Apostle to the Pygmies” thus beginning the title he would become known as.
Jerry was released and eventually, after care and recovery, he went back to the Rain Forest and Mission Pendjua. That experience, spending Christmas in jail, turned out to be a time of deep soul searching and focusing on the lessons learned through the early Christians who suffered similar tests of faith. Like Paul, Jerry learned to say, “I have learned in whatever state I find myself, to be content.” He reminded all of us that Paul said that when he was imprisoned five stories below ground and in dire straits.
Jerry’s only negative feelings were toward a current deceiver who was claiming to do miracles with witchcraft overtones and people were not getting timely medical care. They were going first to the false prophet and coming to Jerry when it was too late. With Jerry jailed he had unopposed control.
Jerry serves faithfully at Mission Pendjua and then a devastating diagnosis.
In the telling of this story of my all time favorite boss, I must say that as a nurse there’s never been a more fulfilling and rewarding time than being the nurse to Jerry. It stands out among my proudest moments.
When Jerry first found out he had cancer and it was a very rare kind and little chance of successful resolution. His stateside doctor thought that he just didn’t understand the serious nature of his illness. This was because Jerry set about putting in place, plans to cover his beloved clinics and mission work. He told them the doctors and Missionhurst that he was returning to Africa to finish his work and was making plans for the years to come. The medical consultants and Missionhurst tried to stop him from going back. He told them that was his family now, and his calling. When the time came he wished to be buried at Mission Pendjua with “his family”. The medical consultants and Missionhurst tried to stop him from going back.That indicates to me they never really knew him. Or at least not the “Man of God” him.
When Cardinal Etsou of Kinshasa heard of Jerry’s illness and return to Mission Pendjua and he sent out a directive across the Diocese in Africa that stated, “Let all of us pray for our dear Brother, Dr. Jerry Galloway. The Apostle to the Pygmies.“
Jerry was an enigma to many but a steadfast rock to all.
My dearest, dearest friend passed away a week ago tonight(JULY 29, 2007 Congo time). The news did not arrive right away from Africa. I knew it was coming and yet could not be prepared for it. As I sat down in “Jerry’s chair” in our guest bedroom I looked around the room he professed to love so much. Jerry had been in this very chair just three months before. I had put this padded, rocking- chair that massaged, in the guest bedroom to accommodate his early morning habit of reading, praying and not wanting to disturb us until a later hour of the morning.
The room was congested with all kinds of angels I collected and is a Victorian “girly girl” room with white lace curtains, soft pink light fixtures and one gigantic king size water-bed on a especially high pedestal of drawers. ( We call it the Princess and the Pea bed). One has to hoist themselves up on the padded side rails . There are pictures of all the brides in our family in their wedding dresses. Flowers and keepsakes fill shelves and are reflected in the rooms mirrors. Not the usual kind of room a man enjoys.
Jerry loved that room and told me he slept better there than anywhere he’d ever been. He loved the warm moist support given to his aching arthritic body by the water-bed. The ceiling fan was always kept on for him and he never minded going to bed early just for the comfort it gave his body that was racked with pain from the cancer and also the strong chemotherapy he was enduring. I tried to picture him as he returned to his dirt floor hut and stiff cot-like bed in Mission Pendjua. It had been his chosen mode of lifestyle for 27+ years. The contrast between the two places was stunning.
Before he arrived for the last visit, Jerry had written me from Missionhurst that he missed the flowers from the Congo during his recovery phase here in the states. He was staying at Missionhurst in a regular shared, dormitory style room that was sparsely decorated. Knowing his love of roses, I placed miniature rose plants at various points in the room and filled dishes of fruit and candy and tried to make it as special as I could. I was struck by the fact few would believe this strong independent man who had lived in a six by eight hut for the last 27+plus years, would enjoy this room, not just “tolerate it”. Jerry was moved to tears but settled for a quick fist bump to my arm saying, “Did you do that for me?” and not waiting for an answer, he just moved down the hall smiling.
I now look back on our daily breakfasts during that visit, much as one would look at a special memory. With love and humor. Jerry was “skeletal” due to his weight loss during therapy. I was committed to putting some weight on him and increasing his strength. His mouth was full of sores from the Chemo and he’d said he couldn’t eat. Every morning with my urging, he had fruit, Johnny cakes (made with corn meal) and I must say he ate like a trucker cleaning up everything. While it was hard for him to eat many things due to the resolving sores in his mouth and throat, he did manage this everyday. He would protest I was giving him too much and I would laugh and tell him he wasn’t any bigger than one of my legs and until he was, he couldn’t do anything about it.
When he left, the last time I would ever see him, he left with new t-shirts for all of his students that had the Robert Frost (and adapted Tom Dooley) saying,”I have miles to travel and places to go before I sleep”. And he did travel those miles back to his beloved Congo and he re-visited many places. And now God rest his soul, he sleeps.
As he wished, following his death he remains in the Congo. He is in Kinshasa as they could not return it to Mission Pendjua from the hospital . There would have been too much risk of the grave being disturbed and/or his body taken.
In the Mission Pendjua chapel is the banner that shows three pictures. The first is a crown of thorns with the word PASSION. The second are hands lovingly holding a cross with a light behind it saying FAITH, and the third is a picture of two nail pierced hands and the word JOY. Below each or the respective pictures is the same word only repeated in Lingala, the language of the tribes. This banner given to him by my family was hand carried back to the Mission by him as he didn’t trust the airlines to get it there.
His valiant struggle for the pygmy slave tribe will be carried on by others, but Jerry showed them the way when time and again he stood up to corrupt officials, soldiers, and gun-wielding transients wandering the rain forest. He accomplished too many things to list here but they remain in the archives at Missionhurst and in the hands of his nephew Kent Galloway who is writing a book about Jerry’s path to redemption and his commitment to do God’s bidding. Twenty eight years of faithful letters to his supporters that mark his journey to bring God’s love to the Batwa and Ekonda tribes are in a collection to be made available in an e-book series.
Jerry with his nephews in 1980 at his Uncle Carl’s home. Kent Galloway is far left , Mark Galloway, Bro.Jerry Galloway M.D., and Mike Galloway . It would be the last time Kent saw his Uncle Jerry and that Jerry saw his nephews.
- Jerry Galloway leaves behind an extended family of spiritually adopted children and grand children in the Congo.
- He leaves behind the hundreds of students who attend the schools and live in the boarding schools.
- He leaves behind friends and colleagues who carry on the work and will miss him.
- He leaves behind the wonderful people at Marquette University who brought him back in 2006 to receive their Humanitarian of the Year Award.
Being recognized by his alumni and school meant so much to him. He was not given to needing praise or reward, but he was so deeply touched that they cared enough to bring him all the way from Africa at their expense. They had to get special “dispensation” from the Bishop in Kinshasa to allow him to come back when it was not generally allowed to come more often than three years from the last visit. He leaves behind the beautiful and deeply concerned students of Marquette who spoke to him and followed up with him after he spoke there. Jerry was so encouraged that God was placing a burden on his replacement somewhere in the world, and he hoped it would come from Marquette.
Only his family can know their depth of loss, yet the breadth of their pride in knowing that he served their Lord in their shared faith, until the last breath.
For me and my family we will always cherish this dear man. Though we were of different denominations we were of one faith. I have no hope to ever know another man like Jerry and I know his loving friendship and spiritual kinship were my special gifts from God. My husband is a cautious, serious man and yet he speaks of Jerry as being “the closest thing to meeting Christ in the flesh.“ And he had 28 years of studying him to come to that conclusion.
Knowing Jerry as I do I am sure he would say to you all. “I haven’t left you forever. Don’t weep for me. Join me.”
In good time with God’s love and Mercy, I know that I shall see him again, for instilling God’s hope and love is Jerry’s legacy to me and to my family.
FURTHER UPDATE 2017. An UPDATE EXCERPT from DON FOSTER: Loqwa (AKA Batwa) Pygmies still remember Jerry Galloway. They even remember the day he died in 2007 and that he served there for 27 years. Last week i was in Kiri* and met Loqwa men who had graduated university because of him and his boarding school. Some were teachers. About 40 were police officers. I did not go into depth to study his legacy. I just found this out without trying. His life is definitely a significant chapter in the development of the Loqwa Pygmies.