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.
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.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
MY LAST SUNDAY IN LUBUMBASHI
Monday, October 3, 2011
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.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
…UNTIL YOU CAN NOT SEE TO READ YOUR BIBLE ANYMORE. (Tuesday 10-27-11)
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.
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.
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?
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
MONDAY EVENING 9/26/2011
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.
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.
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.
Monday, September 26, 2011
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
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.
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.