My sweat-soaked shirt sticks to my back and chest like cellophane as I squat under the eaves of the little hut. It’s the only shade for a quarter of a mile, and the owner has taken pity on me, allowing me close enough to rest in its shade. This is my first time in a highland village.

About a week earlier, my friend Sandy showed up on my front porch wondering if I could lend him a little rice for a project he had going. “What do you have up your sleeve?” I asked, rummaging around in the kitchen.

“Oh,” he replied casually, “we just heard that everyone in the closest highland village is sick, and we thought we would go see if they wanted you to come treat them. It’s only a couple hours’ hike away.”

“That sounds great!” I replied. “I’ll be praying for you as you go.”

Late that evening, Sandy and his two companions arrived back in Balangabong.

“Everyone was sick,” he reported. “Lots of people want your medicine, but the chief wasn’t there, and we couldn’t find him. They sent us on a wild goose chase. We will try again next week.”

It was a pretty typical story. Highlanders don’t do anything without their chief’s approval. A chief’s power usually stems from his ability to heal, bring disease or kill through the power of the spirits. Anyone who breathes a word against him suffers immediate consequences. When approached by outsiders, the chief finds it most convenient simply to disappear rather than be forced into the embarrassing situation of flatly refusing to allow anyone to contact or help his people. His people will lie until they’re blue in the face to protect him, so it’s hard to make any progress.

A week after Sandy’s visit to the highland village, I was sitting outside the church with a group of members talking about their upcoming return visit to the village. “Why don’t you just come with us this time?” Sandy suggested. “What do you think of that idea, Fufuama Lito?” he asked, turning to Lito, the one village elder who is a church member and our link to the highlands. (Fufuama means elder or grandfather.)

“Sure,” Lito replied. “If the chief gets mad, we will just respectfully leave, and hopefully it won’t become a major incident.”

It was agreed that we had waited long enough for the highlanders. It was time to cautiously make the first move and start applying a little bit of pressure. That night, I fell asleep praying for God’s blessing on our efforts.

It was a long, hot hike. I had just recovered from three weeks of a mystery disease that had laid me out flat, and I was still weak. Anything was worth it to reach my people, though. As we made our way higher and higher, the air itself seemed to be on edge, as if tainted with the odor of fear. I knew there were highland people very near. We walked through several fields that had obviously been abandoned moments before. But I didn’t hear or see anyone.

As we passed through one highlander’s mountain farm, I noticed an ancient tree that had been felled to prevent it from shading the crops. It split into two trunks at the base, and each trunk was easily 15 feet in diameter. It had been cut down by hand with a machete, and my companions estimated it had taken upwards of three weeks to do it. I was tempted to pull out my camera so I could prove to you that I’m not making this up, but I knew that if highland eyes were watching, that one move could seal my fate.

We cautiously approached three different highland huts, one after the other, each of which had been reported to us as the chief’s current residence. No one was home. Finally we surprised a group of highland women before they could run and hide. They nervously assured us that the chief was down in the lowlands. They wouldn’t tell us anything else. We knew they were just trying to deflect us from the village.

Still, we pressed on until finally we heard children playing among a group of three huts. Fufuama Lito went on ahead to break the ice in highland fashion while the rest of us quietly waited just out of sight.

After a few minutes, Lito motioned for us to approach the huts. At the sight of me, the three children who had been playing ran for their hut. One of the kids was too small to run, so his older sister dragged him to safety.

The village was silent except for Lito who was squatting outside the largest hut, chatting with someone he knew. “So, where’s the chief today?” he asked.

“Oh, he’s a long, long, long ways away today,” came the reply. “He’s about a day’s walk farther upriver. You couldn’t make it there even if you wanted to try.”

“Oh, okay,” Lito replied, and continued to make small talk. Finally he asked, “Do you mind if my friend here sits under the eaves of your house? It is awfully hot out here.”

The man eyed me suspiciously from the darkness of his hut, then nodded his consent. I gratefully dropped my pack full of medicines and squatted in the shade. Lito gave me a subtle signal. Taking the hint, I started trying to make small talk with the hut’s owner in Taubuid to show that I could speak the language and try to break down some prejudices. I got a few surprised looks when I started talking, and then silence. The most I could get from him were single-word answers now and then. As I continued to talk with Lito, though, I heard the man inside the house commenting to his family, “Wow, he sure is respectful!”

Praise God! Though I wasn’t very fluent in Taubuid yet, I had done my best to learn how to be respectful and polite, and now it was paying off.

Encouraged, Lito and I chatted back and forth in Taubuid, biding our time to see what would happen. I found out later that Lito was hoping the man was lying to us and that the chief would show up.

Sure enough, as we continued talking, a head suddenly appeared above the brow of the hill we were perched on. The man took one look at me and froze, an expression of utter surprise etched onto his face. After a few seconds, he recovered his composure and cautiously joined the circle.

Lito began talking cheerfully to the man who turned out to be the long-lost chief. The chief’s companions gathered around timidly, and as they talked they swapped machetes. Inspecting each others’ knives very carefully, they commented on the quality of the metal and asked how the temper was holding. I guess men are men and will discuss whatever the latest technology is, whether it be automobiles, smart phones or machetes.

After warming up to the conversation for a while, the chief addressed Lito directly, choosing his words carefully. “May I ask what brings you here to our village?”

Lito paused and looked at me. “You tell him,” he said simply

I had passed the test! The fact that Lito trusted me to speak for myself in such a delicate matter meant he had confidence, not just in my language ability, but that I would speak tactfully and appropriately in a sensitive third-culture political negotiation.

Sending up a silent Nehemiah prayer, I started in. “We’re here to offer help. I heard from my friends that many people in your village were sick. My bag over there is full of medicines, and I would be glad to help your village if you would like.” It sounds so simple in English, but it was a message composed of carefully chosen words and precisely orchestrated body language.

Apparently I had passed muster with the chief, too. If I had offended him, he would have become angry. Even worse, if I had shown no knowledge of how to conduct myself culturally, he would have simply blown me off. Instead, he replied with the utmost care and politeness, “If that is the reason you are here, I can tell you that while there were many sick people in the village, they have obtained their own treatment and are now well. We won’t be needing your services at this time.”

We accepted the chief’s decision and didn’t push any more. After chatting for a few more minutes, we took our leave and started home. My companions were elated. No, we hadn’t been accepted. No, we hadn’t treated anyone. But this was the first time the highland people had ever even treated them civilly and hadn’t angrily commanded them to never come back. The chief had treated us with great respect, and almost a hint of friendliness. There was even a chance that next time he would allow us to treat people.

This had been my first contact with highlanders in their own territory. It had also been my first practical exam in the language and culture. I hadn’t been perfect, but by God’s grace I had passed.

We are not in yet. In fact, we’re probably not even close to being able to move into highland Batangan territory. But this visit was a big step in the right direction. I praise God and pray earnestly that He will use us in His time and way to bring salvation to the highland Batangan.

Thank you for being a part of this effort. I realize daily that I could not be here without your help. Thank you for being a part of this team, and I pray that I will be found worthy of this great responsibility. Please continue to pray for me and for the Batangan. We need it.

• Twitter