MY LAST SUNDAY IN LUBUMBASHI

The Service started at 10:00 am, but Pastor Didier had been hard at work for several hours. We were combining two churches for this service. Chairs had been moved from one church to another to accommodate the increased number of attendees. Didier drove to the church which he pastors to pick up the university aged choir—probably about 12 young people. Two busses, 7 passenger vans, were hired to bring worshippers from one church to the other. In the Congo the vans may haul 20 people normally, but in abnormal circumstance 30 may be crowded in if it is physically possible. Unfortunately I did not see the vans unload so as to be able to count the arriving group.

Annie had prepared rice, beans and fish for 200 people; the actual number went beyond this. There was over 100 children in attendance. Because of this large number the children they had to meet in a separate building.

At 9:00 I went to the church to just sit and meditate. Already the first university choir was there, soon a high school aged choir was in place. Before the morning was over two adult choirs would be participate also. Keep in mind that the plan for a worship service under Didier’s direction involves one hour of animated singing, plus one hour of preaching. To this we were going to add a communion service.

I preached and officiated at the Communion Table. The service lasted for more than three hours. Then the crowd had to be fed. The children were in the process of being fed when the adult service was over. Didier apologized to me about eating late because he knew I was hungry. While we were waiting for food he decided to move the borrowed chairs back to where they had come from. He asked me to help; moving the chairs involved about an extra hour.

When we arrived from moving the chairs, I went immediately to the church to get my food. I looked at the table and found the food containers were empty. Just before disappointment depressed me, one of the girls from the university aged choir called to me and held up a plate of rice, beans and a partial sardine which she had saved for me.

The choir was seated in a circle, some sang and some were still eating. Singing seemed to be the preferential act as those who had not emptied their plates would stop eating to sing. While I was eating and they were singing one of the young men told me that they were telling me good by by singing. I was very deeply touched by that realization. After the food was eaten and the singing was over, we all stood up and one girl came to me with a short speech. She said, “Pastor Wheatley we love you, you are gentle man.” I am sure that she was speaking for the group.

I replied,”I love you also, may I kiss you on the cheek?” She extended her cheek for my polite and loving peck. Just as soon as she got her kiss, another girl rushed up and said, “Me too.” Needless to say….

I went outside and had countless pictures taken of me with various church members. One was with a little baby boy who was probably very frightened of being held by a strange white man. Tears rolled down his cheeks , but mama still wanted me to hold him for the picture. I co-operated. In their culture to have an older Pastor hold your child is to have your child blessed. I felt like some sort of dignitary.

I headed to the guest house; the choir was following me. I have no idea what they were planning, but Pastor Didier met us and gently discouraged them from following me. I was glad that he realized how tired I was.

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The Last Leg of my Trip to D. C.

In a previous posting, I have told you of my extra day spent in Ethiopia. At 10:15 pm the plane departed from Addis Ababa for Rome where we refueled and changed the crew of the plane which took about an hour. I was seated next to a 29 year old Ethiopian graduate student who lived and studied in Kentucky. She slept most of the trip, but it seemed like every time I would fall asleep, she would accidently jab me in the ribs with her elbow. One time in my sleep, my body drifted to close to hers and I realized how badly we both probably smelled.

At about 7:30 am we arrived at the Dulles airport. Remember we had flown north to Rome and then had crossed the Atlantic by so doing we were chasing a setting sun. This makes for long days so I don’t know how many hours we actually traveled.

Clearing customs was no problem; no one was interested in opening my bag. It was just a matter of patiently waiting in line, sliding my passport through an electronic reader and a friendly greeting. Before long I was in a taxi headed to my daughter’s home. On arrival I found a hidden key and headed straight for a shower and a shave. I was soon calling home and Sharon wanted to know if I took a long shower. Actually I could not take a long shower without feeling guilty over it. I am still living with the realization of how much I have and how little some people have.

On Being Re-Americanized.

I drank milk for the first time in more than three weeks. I drove a car. I am in Starbucks drinking coffee, I had a bagel with creamed cheese. Wow! I did not realize how culturally deprived I felt until I got re-exposed to the wealth of America. Soon I am going to go Costco to develop some pictures which I will take to Hannah’s school. I hope to be able to share them with her class and maybe another class where I know the teacher. I will fly home on Monday.

I FORGOT TO MENTION THAT I ATE WORMS AT ONE MEAL WHILE IN THE DRC.

BLOGGING AT 37,000 FEET (On Monday 10-3-2011)

As I write this I am on the Ethiopian Air flight from Lubumbashi to  Addis Ababa via Lilongwe, Malawi.  I think it is a little more than four hour trip to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.  

Last night I did most of my packing.  Much of the personal things which I brought were left behind:  long sleeved shirts, Vaseline Hand Lotion, my last MRE, and part of my heart.  This morning I was up about 6:15. Quickly finished packing, for breakfast I had two slice of bread, Laughing Cow Cheese, and an apple.  I found some iced tea mix which I mixed with warm water for my caffeine fix.  About 7:45 hot water was delivered to my room so I topped everything off with hot Via, but no creamer or sugar.

Everything being in place I went out to watch the morning happenings in the bush.  While in place in my usual chair in the breeze way, a little boy came pedaling along on an elderly bicycle.  On the back of his bike were two little boys, I assume that they were brothers.  I waved them over to me so I could take their pictures.   When the picture was taken the three little boys each had big smiles on their faces.  The bike was soon headed back down the road, but before it left the one who empowered  the bicycle called to me, “Papa, I love you.”

About 9:00 Pastor Didier came to get me so I could  take gifts to his wife and Mama Angelique.  He had warned them that I would be bringing gifts and taking pictures so they were beautifully dressed.  It was my great pleasure to tell them how much I appreciated their hard work taking care of the children and then to give them material for clothing which Didier had chosen. Needless to say they were thrilled. 

I had to have some good-by time: pictures and holding the orphans.  Little Matthew who adores men began to cry.  Pastor Didier said that he knew I was leaving. I had to pick him up and comfort him.  Then I transferred him to Annie’s open arms and left.  Matthew will soon be in the Layton’s  home in Shingle Springs, Ca.  He will have an adoring family.  He is so cute. 

Didier took me to the Airport and got me on the plane safely without any problems I am writing now from Ethiopia where I spent the night as my flight out was cancelled.  I had a night without mosquitos, and plenty of hot water all courtesy of Ethiopian Airlines.  

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. 

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.

SATURDAY MORNING

I had some difficulty sleeping last night. You know how it is, tossing and turning, looking for a better spot in the pillow and then finally you drift off. I used earplugs because I share a roof with a new born baby and at least one mouse both of whom can wake me up. The baby (Pastor Peter and Dorcas’s child) sometimes wakes me up by crying. The mouse can wake me up by chewing.

I was awakened by daylight at 6:30. One of first thought was, I did not get a shower last night due to Church Services. Each Church has a Friday night service. Didier had gone to one and I to another. Apparently in all the busyness, my hot water had been forgotten. To heat a couple of gallons of water, someone must be active. Charcoal must be purchased, lighted, water drawn from the well, placed over the hot charcoal. Then the water must be carried to my room. This process surely must take two to three hours before I get the water. At home it is so simple.

I am thankful that some one left some Baby Wipes here. They work.

I have eaten a Mandarin Orange and will probably have some Trader Joe’s Granola without milk. Some kind soul left the cereal behind. I appreciate it very much. Not only is it good but it reminds me of home. Who would ever have thought that I would find Trader Joe’s food in Africa?

I am typing this as I await hopefully having some hot water brought to me for my Starbuck’s Via. I really appreciate it even without sweetener and milk. I could have gotten milk when Didier and I were shopping, but the milk was not refrigerated in the store and would have had minimal refrigeration here as the power is generated here for two hours a day.

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Yesterday morning Pastor Peter and I were conversing. I was struggling trying to understand his use of the English Language.

His vocabulary is limited. In Swahili, mine is not existent. He told me that he was going to call on people from his Church. I think he was inviting me to go with him. What he said, came across to me as, do you want to shower? Now I am sure that he meant do you want to share my day’s activities with me? I was already committed for the day.

Didier came just a few minutes after 8:00 with my container of hot water and clean clothing. Again I am so thankful. I have eaten my dry cereal, three dried apricots and have had a wonderful cup of coffee. I am alive mentally.

Tomorrow is Sunday. I will preach in Pastor Didier’s Church; he will interpret for the congregation. He asked me if I had nice clothing for Church. I explained to him that I had not packed a suit as everything I brought was in a duffel bag. I knew that I should have a white shirt and a tie, but knew that everything in the bag would be wrinkled. He said, “That is alright because we have a saying that people are dressed like Americans in our country, because they do not care how they look.” We laughed over that.

IT IS MORE BLESSED TO GIVE THAN TO RECEIVE

This morning Ann, Hannah and I went to Church. (Terry was on duty at the fire department) After Church we stopped at Starbucks. Then home to take care of some items like letting the dog out for exercise, had a light lunch and off we went to a store which sells everything for $5.00 or less. Ann and Hannah purchased at least half a bushel of toys for the children in our orphanage in the Congo.

Next stop was Wal-Mart for shopping. Just as we entered the store, we were able to touch bases with a family who had just flown in from Africa with newly adopted twins from our orphanage. Josie started sharing the needs of the new orphans (5) which have just come into their new home. Ann took the phone and listened to the needs.

We went off to fill the needs of the five.

I just packed 30 pairs of undershorts, three pairs of blue jeans, four pairs of pants, nine shirts, two pairs of tennies, several sets of pajamas, five t-shirts and two sets of twin sheets.

Tomorrow I will go to a camping store and buy several battery operated lanterns with spare batteries. Josie said that the orphanage workers operate without lights.

I am so glad that Ann was there to do the shopping for the children. I felt so incompetent in that area.

I have yet to pack the twenty books for the leaders of the Church. I will put them in the duffel bag and dump toys on top of them.

I am so glad that Compassion for the Congo mission gave me an extra stipend for shipping costs.

Arrived In D. C. During The Monsoon

I had an uneventful flight from Sacramento to Washington, D. C.  Several times during the flight the crew announced that the weather was warm and humid or that it was showering lightly in the D. C. area.  When we arrived the captain announced that we were going to think that we had arrived in Seattle instead of D. C.  As I exited the plane, thunder shook the airport.  Unloading of baggage was delayed for at least two hours due to lightning virtually closing down the airport.  Ann phoned to let me know that she was about ten miles from the airport, but could hardly see due to the heavy rain and to tell me that she would be late as she was about to float off the freeway.

Eventually the warning buzzer sounded to let people know that bags were going to be on the carousel and there were my bags.  I grabbed them and went to the exit, phoned Ann and in about 15 minutes we were happily reunited and on our way to her house. 

We walked into the house to the delightful smell of some to the best chili I have ever eaten.  My son in law, Terry, is an outstanding cook; he had filled the slow cooker with the makings for dinner and it had cooked all day.

We dined then I went downstairs and rested. Traveling makes me so tired, but by about 9:00 pm I was feeling good.  Ann drew me a map showing me the way to take Hannah to her school.

I took her to school, met her teacher and will return to school at noon to help in the lunchroom.  The teachers desperately need help at noon as the children require so much help during lunch.  They eat in a large room at tables.  There are Lunchables  (sealed meals purchased from the grocery store) to be opened.  Spills to be wiped up. Children with hands up, needing permission to go to the bathroom. Tables that need to be wiped down after the children go back to class.  And then there are things on the floor to be picked up

I got lost on the way to the school so I had to apologize to the teacher.  It was raining and I missed an exit.  So after driving too many miles, I just returned home.  As I was driving I saw things that were scary. A road was completely washed out. The paving material had dropped into a sink hole.  The street was completely impassable.

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I got an email from the Congo we have five new children in the orphanage and again they are mal-nourished. That is to be expected. Between 1996 and 2000 more than 1/2 of the children did not live to see their 6th birthday. Typhoid, starvation, malaria and other easily treated problems  wiped them out.

Things I have yet to shop for: toys for orphans (2-3 year old), clothing for six month old babies, battery operated lantern for the orphanage and some twin bed sheets.

WHAT ARE YOU TAKING TO THE CONGO?

This morning I opened what was called a "sea bag" when I was in the Navy. In it I placed 24 Meals Ready to Eat or as they are better known--MREs. Next was a water purifier purchased from RE I. It is supposed to kill 99.99 per cent of all living organism in clear water. I have been told that in the bottled water which can be purchased locally in the Congo you can see floating items.

For Others: one package of balloons, a very large container of Band Aids, two bars of perfumed soap, four very large bottles of non Aspirin pain killers, children' s vitamins, one package of dried mangoes, a very large container of dry roasted peanuts.

On top of the container I placed a few Fiber One Bars to bring the total weight of the package up to 49.8 lbs. Fifty pounds is the maximum I can carry in a suitcase without paying a penalty for being overloaded.

In another bag I will pack my personal items which are necessary for more than a month of absence.

When I arrive in the Washington D. C. area I will be adding twenty books to my shipment. I will be able to give each person attending the Pastor's Conference a free book in the French Language. These books were graciously given to me by Desiring God's International Ministry.

I HAVE BEEN READING HISTORY AGAIN.

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What did the capitol city of the Congo look like in May of 1997 when a new dictator came to power?

Kinshasa had become the third largest city in Africa; over five million people.

But:

• There was no postal service or public transit system
• Despite an abundance of rainfall two million people had no direct access to water.
• Ninety-five percent of the people were informally self employed doing such things as: carrying luggage, selling bags of cassava flour, shining shoes, hawking everything from cigarettes to nail polish.
• There were 600,000 civil servants who went to work daily in suits and ties, but seldom received a salary.   Many of those who did receive salaries were paid as little as five dollars per month.  Graft, bribery and extortion had become ways of life. There were 120,000 uniformed soldier to pay.  According to the first dictator, Mobutu, who had now been overthrown, they did not need to be paid as they had AK-47s.
• Garbage accumulated in open sewers and heaps where it rotted and was eventually burned.
• Half the population lived on one meal a day. A quarter of the people ate one meal every two days.
• The zoo had become a collection of rusty cages. Two of the lions had recently starved to death. Other animals were kept alive by a group of expatriates who brought food from upscale hotels to feed the remaining monkeys, chimpanzees, antelopes and snakes.
• The nation’s economy was one-third of what it had been in 1960 when the DRC was under the rule of the Belgians.
• Inflation was at 750 per cent. Five per cent of the population had salaried positions.
• When the new dictator went to open the vault where the wealth of the government should have been, he found that there was only a fifty franc note left behind—an insult.
• Shanties seemed to grow by themselves apart from any guidance—city planning was non-existent.
• The parks were filled with homeless people by night.
• This was the capitol of the twelfth largest country in the world which could only lay claim to 2000 miles of paved road.

My plans are to go to relatively more peaceful area—Lubumbashi.  There I will live in a guest house with barred and shuttered window and a steel door.

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It looks as if the little girl on the left, Zephanie, will end up living in the wilds of Wyoming.  That makes it all worth while.

P. S.  We are making plans to bring Pastor Didier to the U. S. He needs rest and medical care; hopefully the medical care will be taken care of before he leaves the DRC.  He has malaria and typhoid.

I WANT YOU TO MEET PASTOR DIDIER AND HIS DEAR WIFE

I am borrowing information from Jim Hagen’s journal which he recorded while in Africa in October of 2006.

We might think that someone who is carrying such a ministry as Pastor Didier is was raised in a second or third generation Christian home where he was nurtured on the Bible. No, his father was a devil worshipper who loved power and riches. His father was so desirous of what this world had to offer that he promised Satan a blood offering from his family. Of five children he offered three of his sons to Satan as a sacrifice.

Starting at age eight his mother sent Didier (pronounced DDA) to a different province (state) for eleven months of each year. He was very lonely and pleaded with her to be allowed to remain with the family. By being sent away he not only received protection but also an education. He graduated from high school at the age of nineteen.

While still a youth his mother died, his father remarried and all the attention was turned to a new wife and four new children which he sired. The situation became so intolerable that Didier fled into Zambia where he met a Christian Missionary. She taught him English and led him to a saving relationship with Jesus Christ. Eventually she returned to the States, but she challenged her replacement, a man, to continue with the process of training Didier.

The next steps in Didier’s educational process was being sent to a trade school where he learned to cook. As he returned from the school as a cook, he met his wife to be Annyta and they were married six months later. He worked as a cook for two years and then he and his wife moved to Kinshasa where he furthered his education at the Mennonite Seminary for the next three years.

By the time he graduated he had two sons. His second son became very ill and Didier took him to the hospital where he was pronounced dead. The hospital personnel were preparing to send his body to the morgue. Didier response was, “No I do not accept this death, I do not think it is from God.” He prayed being willing to accept the death if it were from God, but if the death was not from God then he believed that God would restore his son’s life. As he was praying the child gasped and began breathing again. The boy was lame for a while, but now is almost completely well.

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The picture is of Didier and Annyta with a baby which is not theirs. Next month the baby will be traveling from the Democratic Republic of the Congo to Washington D. C. and then on to California. In California he will meet his new mother and three big sisters.