…UNTIL YOU CAN NOT SEE TO READ YOUR BIBLE ANYMORE. (Tuesday 10-27-11)

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Yesterday I found that I was going to be preaching at Pastor Peter’s Church which is  on the mission’s property.  Today I asked Pastor Didier what time the Service started.  He told me that it would start at 5:00 pm.  “How long am I  to preach?” I am sure you know what his answer was. 

The Service started on time with just a few people present, but they just kept coming until all chairs and benches were filled.  About fifteen or twenty minutes into the Service more chairs were brought in for late arriving  children.  At 5:25, Pastor Didier motioned me toward the pulpit with a wave of his hand. He stood to my right interpreting the sermon into French. Pastor Peter to my left giving the people the message in Swahili.  I preached for about 35 minutes and then sat down  though I could still see to read. The sermon was followed by what I hoped was warm applause.  Did that mean that they were glad to have me sit down, or did it mean that they really appreciated the sermon?

As Pastor Didier and I hurried toward the car to go to Lubumbashi for unfinished business, he told me that the people wanted me to preach for an hour on Friday night. “The will come one half hour early,” he said.

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Ball-loons

To be an instant celebrity about all I have to do is open the door to the guest house.  Adults stop to visit, even though we can not understand one another. The conversation goes somewhat like this, “good morning” even though it may be mid-afternoon. Next, I am fine how are you. Then we stand there not knowing what to do next.  I usually find a reason to go inside and close the door in a very short period of time.

About dusk I had tossed out a Frisbee for some older boys; needless to say it soon became a game of Frisbee Keep Away.  The older boys were  playing against  the younger.  Little children to young for such activities got balloons.

When it was so dark I could hardly see anything, I went to the door for some now unknown reason.  As soon as I opened the door it was almost like having a quartet singing, “Ball-loons.” Four little boys probably in the five to seven year age group were letting me know what their heart’s desire was. 

I waved them on to the porch where there was light, went to the bedroom shelf and got each one a ball-loon.  Their eyes danced as they each took a blown up balloon from me They squealed with excitement as they ran off into what appeared to me to be an impenetrable darkness holding on to a treasured ball-loon.  

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THE STREET INTO TOWN WAS CLOSED THIS MORNING…

Pastor Didier attempted to buy food for the today’s Pastor’s Conference, but was able to travel only so far and found the street was closed by burning tires.  I am in Lubumbashi in the province of Katanga.  Katanga is a very rich mining area.  Unfortunately the local population sees little of this wealth.  The right to mine goes to an international high bidder.  The soil containing the minerals is exported to another country where the wealth is extracted from the dirt. It is my understanding that China and India are greatly involved in the mining industry.  Apparently there was a dispute between the local government and the mining industry. Which side burned the tires is knowledge which I do not have.

My question is: will I be able to fly on Monday?

MONDAY EVENING 9/26/2011

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OBITUARIES

The Late Mr. or Ms. Mouse

We do not know your date of birth, but probably today is your last day on earth.  This is written anticipating your soon demise. Your accomplishments were few but they led to your sickness and death.

On the night of my arrival, you ate your full of my Cliff Bars which I had carefully imported from the Costco store in Folsom, Ca.  Surely you thought that you had arrived in the land of plenty.  When I placed the bars  on the highest shelf in my bedroom, not only did you climb to there to fill your tummy, but you left a black trail of droppings to let me know that you had overcome my best laid plans to protect my property. 

Your appearances were very frequent.  One time in broad daylight I saw you climb head first down from my highest shelf.  Several times you made notable appearances by running down the hall.  On night I watched you scurry down the hall and go behind the deepfreeze. 

Another time you dared to run under the bathroom door and actually enter the room about six inches before you realized the room was occupied.  How shameful,  you were invading another’s privacy.  You left hurriedly without even saying, excuse me.  How rude.  At that point I realized you must go.  Though you have seniority and surely thought this was your private property, I now have obtained squatter’s rights.  I will prevail.

This afternoon Didier and I went to the local Jambo Market where I purchased Rat and Mouse Killer—a deadly poison which is designed to be very appealing to one like yourself, absolutely irresistible. 

While we do not know your date of birth, your educational experience, the number of descendants produced we do know that you departed from this earthly existence on 9/28/2011.  Adieu.

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TUESDAY MORNING 9/27/2011

Yesterday while at the market, we purchased mosquito spray.  I had accumulated so many visible bites that people were becoming alarmed when my arms were exposed.  I just counted the bites on my right arm and there are twenty-two visible red spots where some nightly monsters  feasted on me.  Didier has repeatedly asked me if I am taking my malaria pills and I have repeatedly assured me that I am current. He told me yesterday that there are more people in Africa dying from malaria than from AIDS.

I do not understand the mosquito problem here because I thought that there had to be standing stagnant water for the mosquitos to have a breeding place.  Didier told me yesterday that the mosquito problem precedes the rain.  According to him we are beginning to experience things which precede the rainy season.  There is almost daily a horrible wind and dust storm.  I have almost become accustomed to having grit in my mouth.  The wind so I have been told will eventually bring clouds and then  rain.  The dust becomes mud and the low places become pools of standing water.  And  I hate to think of what the mosquitos will be like.  I have read in missionary reports of “clouds of mosquitos.”  If they are this bad in the dry season, what will they be like in the wet season. 

As soon as we came from the local market with the spray, I went into my bedroom and covered my pillows with the bedspread.  Took my clean clothing out into  the hall and then Didier exhausted the whole can of mosquito spray in the bedroom, walked out, closed the door and told me not to enter for two hours.

  I accumulated no more bites last night, but my room needed to be aired out.  I have been instructed to keep my bedroom door closed day and night and to never open my barred and shuttered window.  This is hard for a fresh air addict.  It is doubly hard when you wake up covered with sweat. 

I am out of After Bite the topical medicine which is advertised as an itch eraser. I found it in Wal-Mart for less than two dollars, how I wish I had bought more. 

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Marriage in the African Culture

As I have previously mentioned in my blog, you do not see Christian women from the mission compound struggling with heavy loads of water each morning.  A member of the Church named Emory starts carrying water to the different houses in the community about 6:00 am.  He is thirty nine years old, engaged to a very attractive women in her mid to late twenties—my estimate.  Their engagement may last for three to five years as he or they try to save enough money to pay the dowry or bride price.

In this culture (pagan) the bride to be is seen as belonging to the extended family.  Her fiancée must not only buy the bride from her father and mother, but also from aunts and uncles on both sides of the family.  He may negotiate the price with the parents, but also must satisfy the rest of the family or a spell may be cast upon the bride by the family.  The spell may involve the wife being barren after the marriage if everyone involved is not satisfied financially.

The price of the bride is unknown for Emory, but Didier told me that for the parents to be satisfied they may want  $600.00.  Then the family may want a refrigerator or a TV.  Someone may want a bicycle, another may want a blanket. It is not uncommon for the dowry to go to $1000.00 or $1200.00. That is probably about what Emory will earn this year.  The Church may help, friends and family may contribute. 

The scenario may change if the bride to be becomes pregnant.  When it is apparent visually that the woman is pregnant then the man takes her to his house and they live together until the baby is born. This is allowed in the pagan society, because to fail to do so brings demonic spirits into the relationship. After the baby is born then things change dramatically.   If the girl’s family is capable of supporting the mother and child they take the new mother  and her baby and the price of the dowry goes up. If the family is so poverty stricken that they  cannot support the new mother and the baby, they may allow the couple to get married without the dowry or a lessened dowry. 

If the girl is not married by the time she reaches the age of thirty, then her dowry goes down because men want a wife  capable of having children. Another possibility is to marry her to a man who has a children already, but whose wife has died.

In the Christian community things are being seen differently as the daughter belongs to God and marriages should be encouraged. Children are a gift from God and are to be protected and loved. 

Didier told me that it was very difficult for him to marry Annie as he was a graduate student when they met.  He took off two years from school to manage a retail outlet for a rich man.  He got Annie a job and they both saved for two years before they got married;  then he went back to school.

FRIDAY WAS ABOUT ZEPHANIE

I was asked to blog about a little girl age four who is in our orphanage named Zephanie.  She came to us from the Amani Orphanage and is about age four. That was all that I knew.The Amani Orphanage does not normally take children of less than school age as they need to have their resident children in school for part of the day.  I asked Didier about her;  he told me that when she came to them she had a terrible infestation of lice.  She was not only infested, but the lice had caused an infection.  She had sores in her scalp.  He knew nothing of her back ground. 

Friday morning Didier came to the guest house and told me that he had made an appointment with the Amani Orphanage and we were going to meet with their staff to inquire about Zephanie’s background.  We drove to the orphanage and I was introduced to the staff—the mother of the orphans and a social worker.  We soon found that they had little knowledge of this little one.  But they knew where the foster parents lived who had take care of her and brought her to their orphanage.  So off the four of us went to do our research.

Pastor Didier told me that I was going to have to have a very large heart as we drove into the area from which Zephanie came.  It was more than a small island of poverty;  it was a very large community.  There poverty hit me like a blow to the solar plexus.  Poverty has its smell,  view and emotional  touch.  I will only mention briefly the view.  My first real glimpse was of a pre-teen girl with the unmistakable distended stomach. Little boys ran around either naked or partially naked. 

We stopped in front of a living quarter to visit the foster parent(s).  The social worker went ahead of the rest of us to ascertain whether or not it was alright for us to follow.  In just a few minutes he was back waving for us to follow. We went in, I having no idea of what to expect.  We entered an unlighted room which had a smooth floor—probably cement.  It was obviously the living space, about 30 sq. was my best estimate.   The walls were brick which had been smoothed out with mud.  there were two cracks in the wall into of the cracks was inserted the most worn out tooth brush I had ever seen.  In the other crack was a totally worn out scrub brush.  They were indeed a matching pair. 

There were  five white plastic chair one of which was already occupied by a woman whom I assumed to be the foster mother of Zephanie. Soon all were filled.  Didier asked me what I wanted to know.  The first question I wanted him to ask her was how much money the state paid her for taking care of Zephanie.  He did not even bother to ask, he just told me that she got no money. 

Soon a very animated conversation ensued of which I could not participate.  Then Didier almost whispered to to let me know that we were in reality talking to Zephanies’s mother.  This was an overwhelming bit of information. We soon learned that Zephanie’s father died before she was three months old.  Her mother had a complete break down: mentally, physically and emotionally.  While she was incapacitated, someone took  Zephanie for her protection and was delivered to the Amani Orphanage. 

The community tried to nurse Zephanie’s mother back to health.  When they failed, she was taken back to the village from which she originated to be treated by the local witch doctor.  He failed.

She was returned to the community and her doctor has told her that at any time she may die.  She is incapable of caring for a child. Until we arrived she did not know that Zephanie was alive, she assumed that her little girl was dead.  Pastor Didier showed her a picture of the child.  She looked long and hungrily at the picture and her eyes filled with tears. Pastor Didier whispered she is filling her mind and her heart with the picture. 

Before we left she signed papers of abandonment of Zephanie.

Zephanie on the far left is a beautiful,sweet, charming,  lovable little girl loaded with personality and  possessor of many smiles is presently our only adoptable child.  Her mother has legally abandoned her and she has been in our possession for more than three months. 

SATURDAY NIGHT 9/24/11

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Pastor Didier and I just finished a meal of beans, pork, rice and boiled potatoes. The potatoes had been peeled and boiled; the servings looked very much like smaller balls of foo foo. Assuming that the potatoes were foo foo, I almost missed a very delicious part of the meal. I did not realize how delicious a simple boiled potato could be.

My Shower/Bath

I think that I have told you that there is both a bath tub and a shower in the guest house, but no running water.  If Didier is not swamped with work he will heat  and bring me about a gallon of very hot water, I assume that it was boiling when he took it from the charcoal heater.  The gallon of hot water becomes about 2 1/2 gallons of bathing water by the time I cool it down. 

Due to my Navy shipboard experience where we got a shower at sea about once a week under the supervision of a Chief Petty Officer with a stop watch: strip naked, line up, step in the shower for 30 seconds, step out, soap down, you have two minutes to stand under the running water to get the soap off.  I have trouble using so much water.  But it sure did feel good to pour the water over my head and let it run down washing away the soap, sweat and dust. 

As I started to step out of the tub, I looked down on a rather large spider.  It was probably and inch and one-half long and just about that wide.  I threw my used T shirt over the spider and was about to step on it.  Then I  remembered all snakes in Africa are poisonous, what about spiders.  I took my towel folded it and crushed and flushed the spider.

THERE IS A MOUSE IN THE HOUSE

I am sure that I have told you about my adventures with the mouse eating my food and waking me up during the nights.  According to Didier his house is overrun with mice.  He even hears the baby mice crying at night if I understand him correctly.  Sunday after Church we will start a new adventure--shopping for a mature cat. Hopefully one with a voracious appetite.

NEXT WEEK

Monday through Thursday we will run the Conference only for males who are either Pastors or want to be Pastors. 

 

THURSDAY 7:55 AM 8/22/11

I HAVE EYES IN MY FEET

Yesterday Pastor Didier and I spent  a lot of time in the internet café, the net was so slow that I thought I would never get my mail downloaded.  Didier had some major documents which needed to be downloaded and printed out for the court system.  We never accomplished the latter; it seemed that all we did was consume time.                                                                                                                                                            

We headed out of town and Didier told me that he needed to get a haircut. As it was already twilight we found that the barber shops were already closed.  We kept searching and finally after at least half an hour found one that was open.  We both went inside the shop.  No barber’s chair just a plastic one and almost needless to say there was no artificial lights or electric clippers.  I sat and read until I could no longer see.  Didier’s haircut was finished with hand powered instruments and no light. 

On the way home in absolute darkness and flying dust we saw women walking with loads on their heads. Remember there are virtually no sidewalks in the areas which we frequent.  When Didier comes to the guest house to see me after dark, I ask him if I could walk him home with my flashlight, he tells me, “No I have eyes in my feet.

  THERE IS A STRONG COMITTMENT TO THE DIVISION OF LABOR HERE

One of the things I have learned over the years is that missionaries are not supposed to go to another culture and try to change the culture.  By that I mean that we Americans see things that are done differently than they way we do them. We want to tell the people if you will just do it this way, it is easier and better.  Years ago, a returned missionary told how the women on his field stooped  to use a short broom to sweep the floors.  He bought brooms with long handles  thinking that they would immediately recognize the wisdom of using a longer broom to protect their backs.  The brooms were used as long as he was there.

Every morning I like to go to the porch and observe the local culture.  Part of the local culture is the division of labor.  It is a female job to carry the water for the household.  Occasionally I will see a boy or boys carrying water.  Sometimes a wheelbarrow is used or a bicycle usually it appears to me by a young male.  But you see almost without exception women water for daily household usage. 

A generalization is destroyed by a counter example.  In the Christian community where I am living I have yet to see one female struggling with a heavy load of water.  There is a servant of the local church here named Emory who carries the water for everyone. I watch him carrying water to Pastor Didier’s house and to the orphanage. He even washes the clothing.  Where Christ is preached lives are changed from the inside out and the culture is changed.

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IT IS NOW FRIDAY NIGHT AT 8:00 PM

I have no intentions of going to an internet café tomorrow so I do not know when this will be posted, but I have much yet to say.  Tomorrow is about getting rest and r to prepared to preach on Sunday.

IT IS 3:00 PM IN LUBUMBASHI ON SATURDAY (This escaped the process of being mailed and is now old.)

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WHAT HAPPENED ON FRIDAY EVE?

I was sitting in the breeze way of the guest house listening to singing coming from the church.  I thought that there was a service in progress, but did not feel free to go by myself. The singing which I heard was just a musical practice session.  

Pastor Peter left the church to walk to his house which  is really just a small part of the guest home.  Soon he left his room for the Church, on his way he graciously greeted and invited me to the Church Service.  Before long two other men had invited me so by then I would have been ashamed to not have gone. Since I was dressed in walking shorts, I hurriedly put on long pants and walked about fifty yards to the Church.   The Church is really just a wooden framework wrapped in and covered by corrugated tin sheeting. Inside the building are plain white plastic chairs which are readily available in a Wal-Mart for about ten dollars each.  The floor is a cement pad.  No sound system, no decorations, no screen for Power Pointing sermons.  Just the necessities.

I did not count but there was probably about twenty-five people in the service plus a medley of children.  Junior church and nursery were not in existence.  One young mother was nursing her baby.  Little children not much past the walking stage danced  to the music.

A young man named Stefan—a teacher in the public school-- led the service.  He had two pieces of what looked like iron in his hands. He struck the pieces together to establish a very pleasing melodic beat.  Pastor Peter went to a wooden drum  shaped like a World War II torpedo. Between the two of them the music rocked out.  There was music, singing, preaching, praying.  The music and singing was interspersed with short passionate sermons in the Swahili language.  There were lots of hallelujahs and amens.  At the given points for prayer all prayed at one time including many children.

Pastor Peter left the drum, went to the pulpit, spoke to the congregation in Swahili, then in English welcomed me.  He told me that everyone knew that I was a Pastor from America. I nodded and smiled a thank you.

More singing, Pastor Peter did a solo which introduced a choral response from the congregation.  The total effect was to cause a delighted sensation to run down my spine.  It was the closest things to angels singing I will hear in this world.

Everything came to a stop, Pastor Peter spoke to me in English asking me if I wanted to preach.  I didn’t understand him, I thought he wanted me to close in prayer. Which I did. It would be this morning before I found out what he had really said.  I cannot imagine saying anything in English that would have helped this Swahili speaking congregation and Peter’s English is not good enough to serve as an interpreter.

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This morning we went to our usual internet café to find that it had no electricity.  Remember the rolling brownouts, they were having one in this area of Lubumbashi. We went to another café.  For some unknown reason I could not use my computer, so had to use one with a French Keyboard. I was finally able to get to my email account. I wanted to answer some mail, but was totally confused by the keyboard,  I had to ask Didier to find an e which was on the top row of keys. I was stressed by the keyboard, it was very hot, sweat was soaking my clothing, I was feeling sickly and needed to get out of building which I did.   Outside I cooled off, drank some water and ate a Cliff Bar.  Soon I was feeling much better.  (No posting today).

While I was standing outside regaining my strength, I was a major point of focus for pan-handlers and street merchants.  Someone had jewelry, another screwdrivers, a lady with bananas, another had plastic maps of Africa and the Congo.  I manfully resisted all.

I almost forgot to tell you that we had a major dust storm going all morning and it is beginning to pick up again as I write this.  My guess is the wind was blowing at least 40 MPH.  At one point on our way to Lubumbashi I am sure that we could not see six feet in front of us.  Fortunately the major visual impairment was very short lived.

About 2:30 this afternoon I ate my first MRE—meals ready to eat.  It is what the military and firefighter live on when in the field.  I ate just the main course which was a chicken and rice dish (480 calories with 70 mgs of that stuff which clogs your arteries forever). The food is heated by pouring a small amount of water into a chemical.  The water reacts with chemicals and soon you have boiling water to heat the food.  It was delicious. I am drinking Dasani water which is a Coca Cola subsidiary—no problems there.

Yes, I take my Malaria pill and vitamins daily.

Tomorrow I preach to Didier’s Congregation, but that is another story.

SUNDAY 9-25-11

• UP AT 6:35 AM
• IT IS TO WINDY TO GO OUT AND SIT ON THE PORCH
• I READ MY BIBLE AND PRAY IN THE LIVING ROOM/KITCHEN
• BREAKFAST IS CHILI WITH BEANS AND CORN REALLY QUITE GOOD (MRE)
• AT ABOUT 8:10 DIDIER COMES WITH MY HOT WATER
• HE IS RUNNING LATE SO HE DOES NOT SIT DOWN, HE PLANS ON BEING BACK BETWEEN NINE AND NINE FIFTEEN
• I HAVE COFFEE AND THEN WASH MY FACE AND SHAVE WITH THE LEFT OVER WATER, I HAD A HOT SHOWER THE NIGHT BEFORE
• DIDIER HAS TO LOAD HIS FAMILY PLUS QUITE A NUMBER OF OTHER BEFORE WE LEAVE, PROBABLY ABOUT 9:35 BEFORE HIS VAN BEGINS TO MOVE
• AS SOON AS IT BEGINS TO MOVE I GO TOWARD THE VAN AND GET IN IT
• CHURCH STARTS AT 10:00 SO THERE IS NO TIME TO WASTE
• ON THE WAY TO CHURCH, WE HAVE TO CROSS A ONE LANE BRIDGE
• THE BRIDGE IS BLOCKED BY A PUSH CART WHICH IS BROKEN DOWN—THE DRIVER, PUSHER, OWNER WHATEVER IS WORKING ON WHEEL, (I THINK THREE MEN COULD CARRY OR PUSH THE CART OFF THE BRIDGE BUT I DID NOT SAY ANYTHING) AVOIDING BEING A KNOW IT ALL AMERICAN
• DIDIER SAYS “IF WE TURN AROUND WE WILL BE LATE, SOMETIMES IT IS VERY BAD TO LIVE IN THE CONGO.”
• HE TURNS AROUND AND WE TAKE A DIFFERENT ROUTE TO CHURCH, ARRIVING AT 9:55
• I PREACH FOR ONE HOUR,  PASTORS DIDIER AND MICKEY EXHORT THE CONGREGATION FOR ANOTHER 15-20 MINUTES, WISH I COULD UNDERSTAND FRENCH OR SWAHILLI—MAYBE THEIR EXHORTATION IS BETTER THAN MY PREACHING
• FOLLOWING CHURCH I PRAY FOR A SICK LADY, DIDIER SPENDS SOME TIME COUNSELLING WITH YOUNG PEOPLE
• THIS SUNDAY I AM SPENDING A LOT OF TIME TREATING MOSQUITO BITES AS I GOT 12 BITES ON FRIDAY NIGHT
• SATURDAY NIGHT I USED REPELLENT AND GOT NO BITES, BUT I MUST PAY THE PRICE FOR NOT USING THE REPELLENT ON FRIDAY NIGHT—PREVIOUSLY HAD NO PROBLEMS WITH MOSQUITOS/HAVE SOMETHING CALLED AFTERBITE WHICH TAKES AWAY THE ITCH.
• AFTER CHURCH THERE IS A SMALL AMOUNT OF FOOD SHOPPING, QUITE AN EXPERIENCE, MAYBE MORE ABOUT THAT LATER
• HOME ABOUT 2:30 HAVE LIGHT LUCH, THEN DIDIER COMES WITH ROUND BALLS OF FRIED SWEET BREAD CALLED DOUGHNUTS—DELICOUS
• DIDIER SPENT ABOUT AN HOUR EXPLAINING TO ME THE INTRICAIES OF CONGO ADOPTIONS.
• NAP TIME FOLLOWED BY FISH, FOO FOO, VEGETABLES AND RICE.