“And Africa Will Be Saved”

Yesterday was a beautiful day at Old Mutare. The sun shone brilliantly in a cloudless sky, and temperatures were in the 60’s and 70’s. MaiChimbwanda, Annette, and I walked the mission road to church quite early to ensure a seat on a busy Sunday morning. The service would be festive, with many visitors. Rev. Daniel Wandabula would be consecrated Bishop of the East Africa Annual Conference of the United Methodist Church, with churches in Sudan, Uganda, Rwanda, and Burundi. Bishops had arrived from Angola, Mozambique, and Zimbabwe, along with many delegates. There was a grand procession of dignitaries into the church, led by two choirs, our own church choir and the choir of Africa University. Our own bishop led the service, which had been supremely well planned and organized. All was in English, with translation via earphones to those whose language is Portuguese. Sadly, one glitch caused difficulty: there was no power. Speakers were forced to use a bull horn to be heard by the more than 2,000 in the congregation. Thankfully, there was no lack of light, as the sun poured in through the large windows. (I can only begin to imagine what would happen in a typical American church if power were out. No organ? No keyboards? No guitars? No projector or sound system? Could worship proceed?)

Music was marvellous. Long before the service began, the high school students began singing informally and continually, ending only when the sound of choirs signalled the onset of the procession. The congregation sang “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” and “Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior.” I stopped singing just to listen to the harmony of that great singing congregation. There were several songs by the two choirs, including a setting of “His Eye Is on the Sparrow,” by our church choir, with solo verses sung by the daughter of our headmaster and his wife—not Ethel Waters either in size or power but exquisitely beautiful nonetheless.

The most moving part of the long service—we had been seated before 9:00 a.m. and left the church at noon—was a song by the Africa University Choir. Repeated again and again in the song was the refrain, “The Holy Spirit will come down, and Africa will be saved.” Suddenly, I believed the truth of what was being sung and felt confidence as never before in our Africa pilgrimages.

No day goes by without someone or many speaking about the deprivations of life. I learn of great sacrifices being made to send children to school. I hear of the difficulties of having sufficient food to feed the family and see the hard labor necessary to maintain gardens. I hear of school children who may not have eaten for days. I listen to vigorous, bright high school students dreaming of university education but knowing well that barriers between them and their dreams are enormous. Last week, my 8-year-old friend, Silas Mudonhi, suffered from a bout of malaria. Thankfully, treatment shortened his illness to a few days, but I thought of many children throughout Africa who would be far less fortunate. Many days, I must fight off a pervading gloom.

But suddenly yesterday, I was caught up in the words of a song and embraced by hope. I thought that probably such hope is not so much in the episcopal structures being displayed before us, although strong church leadership will be vital. I thought more of those bright, strong young people seated behind me, students of Hartzell High School, with great potential of mind, spirit, and heart, who, with many like them, are the hope of Africa. Dedicated to following Jesus, they will change their continent. I had no trouble believing that through them, the Holy Spirit will come down, and Africa will be saved. Those words will be my mantra in what remains of my time here.

This Wednesday, we go to Harare to meet Bizet, our daughter, arriving with Abby, our granddaughter. They will have 12 days to experience rural Zimbabwe. We hope it will be as eye-opening and mind-bending for them as it has been for us, who on Wednesday, complete four weeks of our stay. Annette has only two weeks remaining before her trip back to the U. S. with Bizet and Abby. She must then deal with the sadness of ending rich and indispensable relationships. Fortunately, I have two more months to live out those relationships and add to my growing reserve of knowledge and experience. Just one example: last week, two Form II girls stopped me at school to ask if had time to meet them for remedial math. We decided on 9:00 a.m. Saturday. I arrived shortly before 9:00 a.m., unsure whether my two students would appear, knowing that new interests could easily have replaced their concern about math lessons. Promptly at 9:00 a.m., they and a stream of others arrived until the classroom was jammed to the last seat, probably 40 students who then, most of them eagerly, joined in our discussion of solving inequalities. I can only wish that just a few of the world’s inequalities might be solved as simply, but if the dedication of those students is an indicator, it might happen. “The Holy Spirit will come down, and Africa will be saved.”

A BUSY WEEK

Last week was full of activity around the D.S.'s home where we are living. The week before the annual women's (and men's) revival demanded much work by both Givemore and Ruth Chimbwanda, including seeing to the butchering of a "beast" (we would say steer) and handling all of the meat to feed people at the revival. The revival, which took place at Nyakatsapa, about 30 km from Old Mutare, brought thousands of people for the services which began Friday evening and continued until Sunday morning--an all-night program Saturday night. Annette and I attended most of the Saturday program, and I had the incomparable privilege of preaching to the crowd Saturday afternoon shortly after lunch break (when we ate part of the beast), substituting for Abiot Moyo. My sermon, ably interpreted in Shona by Mr. Mukwendiza, a sixth-grade teacher at Hartzell Primary School, was just about the only thing in English the whole time we were there. We recognized few words, but the spirit and power of the gathering was unmistakable, an amazing experience. On our trip back to Old Mutare I was in the back of the pickup with Ed Wentz, a water engineer from North Carolina doing a study of the water supply for Hartzell High School, whose presence will be a very interesting addition to our experience here. Our trip in the darkness, with the clear, starry southern sky above us, was another special time.

Adding to the busyness of last week was the visit of the United Methodist bishop of the Zimbabwe East Annual Conference on Thursday. Everyone around all of the units of Old Mutare got to work cleaning and making the premises beautiful. The bishop visited each unit and pronounced all in topnotch order.

Annette's and my tasks went on somewhat nornally. I am now teaching 13 classes in the weekly schedule, plus spending time at the hospital doing data entry that is far behind. Friday I got the rare privilege of speaking to the Hartzell students, about a thousand of them, in morning devotions. I wish I had words adequate to express the feelings I had looking out into a thousand faces of young people and feeling the magnetism of their acceptance. Annette was at the hospital two days counting pills into little bottles, and she is preparing for the next session of her quilting class this coming Saturday. Tomorrow I will visit a third-grade classroom at Hartzell Primary School and will think about my third-grade friends in Jacksonville, whom I miss greatly. Yesterday's worship service at Old Mutare UM Church was another highlight, as we were among at least 2,000 worshipers, most of them Hartzell boarding students, whose singing is marvelous. We were treated to a dozen or more numbers by a visiting church choir, which in the U. S. would be considered up to professional standards. It was another outstanding experience for us to add to our rapidly-growing collection.

A NOTE TO OUR REGULAR E-MAIL FRIENDS: I have yet to be able to access my Earthlink account and thus do not know if you have written and am unable to send letters. Also, I was counting on regular Earthlink access for my addresses and can remember few. Forgive me, please. I hope to find a computer soon that Earthlink will accept. I am so sorry not to be in direct contact with you. I want you to know that Annette and I well and continually enjoying our close contacts with people who are becoming very special friends.

At Home in Old Mutare

We are well into our second week in Old Mutare. Perhaps today, I can at last connect to communicate with you. I have made five attempts over the past week, on several computers, without success. Speedy, dependable Internet connections are an illusive luxury here.

Other than a baggage snafu in Atlanta and many bumps between Sal Island and Jo’burg, our trip to Africa was fine. Our arrival had been well orchestrated by Abiot Moyo, as have all other details of our stay, for which we are more than grateful. Our friends, Emmanuel Bawa and Kenny Nokomo met us in Harare and whisked us through customs. We spent the night at the Bawa’s home, and the following day, rode to Old Mutare with our host, Rev. Givemore Chimbwanda. The Chimbwanda family has welcomed us with much grace and made us feel at home. Other’s in the family are Givemore’s wife, Ruth, and their children, Simbarashe, 16, a boarding student in Form V at Hartzell High School, Rumbidza, 13, in sixth grade at Old Mutare Primary School, and Tanyaradzwa, 3, a stay-at-home charmer. You might not guess that Simba is a boy, and Rhumbi and Tanya are girls. Annette and I have occupied Simba’s bedroom.

Annette has been busy. Ruth has a cottage industry making sweaters (jerseys here) with a knitting machine. She sells the sweaters at cost to local folks who are dealing with the “bitter cold” (to me, bracingly cool). Coming from the machine, the parts of the sweater must be sewn together, and Annette has joined Ruth in that task. She has also begun making quilted bags with Ruth and the two maids who share the household, Juliet and Veronica. Tomorrow, she will meet with a dozen church women and make plans for quilting classes. Later today, she will go to Old Mutare hospital to do pill counting. She is not short of work.

My day begins at 6:00 a.m. when Rumbi awakens me as she is about to set off for school. I wash up (showers do not exist and a full bath is a luxury where hot water comes from the kitchen stove) and eat my bota (a delicious porridge of corn meal and peanut butter), drink a cup of rooibus tea, and walk up the mission road, joining many children on their way to the primary school, to the assembly hall at Hartzell High School. There, the 1,000 students, looking sharp in their blue and gray uniforms, are lined up outside to enter the hall for morning devotions, and I join the teachers on the platform at the front of the hall. The devotions, mostly in English, although African English that I have yet to be accustomed to, may include singing of hymns. The first time I heard that mass of young people sing, I was close to tears. The beauty of their singing in parts is entrancing. By 7:20, everyone is off to the first classes of the day. The winter term began last Tuesday, and I am not yet into a regular schedule of teaching, except for a 4:15 after-school remedial class of Form I (eighth grade) students working on basic algebra. I spend some of my day visiting classes and other aspects of Hartzell’s big operation or return home. Yesterday, I visited the dining hall for Forms I to IV and met Nigbert, their chef, who showed me the enormous, black pots in which sadza (the staple Zimbabwean food, made from corn flour), beans, vegetables, and a meat stew were cooking over wood fires.. Nigbert oversees four meals for the 850 boarding students, breakfast, midmorning tea, lunch, and dinner. Those fortunate students are fed well. Next week, I will begin teaching ten math and English classes a week, and will speak at the morning devotions next Friday, in addition to my continuing remedial after-school class.

Last Sunday afternoon, I had a special privilege, accompanying Givemore several kilometers into the countryside to a rural church at Muntenda, where the finance committee counted money raised at the morning Thanksgiving service. Far more than at Old Mutare, I was given a sharp picture of rural life and also of the vibrancy of churches far off the main road, serving God and God's people in remarkable ways. I look forward to many more such trips during the three months I am with the Chimbwandas.

Sunday, after services at Old Mutare Methodist Church, we will drop in at House 8-A at Fairfield Children’s Home for Justice’s birthday party, his 10th. We met Justice last year and have quickly reestablished our friendship. Like the other Fairfield children of school age, he is a student at Old Mutare Primary School, along with Hartzell a vital part of the United Methodist mission at Old Mutare.

Today, I am at Givemore’s office in Mutare, where he does much of his work as district superintendent of the Methodist churches of the Mutasa-Nyanga district. His computer modem, which has not been functioning, is now in good shape, and I have high hopes that I will get to post this blog on our website. We have just purchased fabric for Annette’s quilting projects, about 5 meters of material for which we paid nearly 2,000,000.00 Zim$. We will stop to buy petrol on our return trip to Old Mutare, and will spend 4,000,000.00 Zim$ for 10 liters. Unlike last year, fuel is available, but the cost is sky-high, and there is never a fill-up. The trip from Old Mutare (15 km) crosses Christmas Pass, a high point from which Givemore puts his little Mazda pickup in neutral and coasts down the long hill. On a trip earlier this week, he was anxious about whether petrol would hold out to the top of the hill; we were lucky, coasting into the petrol station on the outskirts of Mutare. Inflation here is beyond belief! $1,000 and $500 bills are Tanyaradzwa’s playthings, worth about at half-cent and a quarter-cent US$

Forgive the long blog! I have little idea when I might again have the opportunity. Thanks much for your interest and prayers. We’re doing just fine, enjoying ourselves greatly, beyond describing in this way. We consider ourselves immeasureably blessed.

On Our Way to Zimbabwe in One Week

As I write this shortly after 9:00 a.m. PDT on Monday, I realize that exactly one week from today, Annette and I will be well on our way across the Atlantic Ocean. Our South African Airways flight leaves Atlanta at 10:30 a.m. Monday, May 1, beginning an 18-hour flight that includes a one-hour refueling and crew-change stop on Sal Island (Cape Verde) before turning southeast to Johannesburg. We land at Jo'burg shortly after 10:00 a.m. local time, wait about nine hours, then begin a short flight to Harare, Zimbabwe, arriving at 9:00 p.m. Local time there is nine hours in advance of local time here in Portland; those 20 hours of flying have moved us much further south than east. We will have crossed both the Equator and the Prime Meridian. We will have moved from spring to fall. Far more important, we will have moved from a thriving, modern American city to rural Zimbabwe, an awesome but enticing cultural shift.

The pictures were taken last summer. Above, Annette works with her class of enthusiastic quilting students. To the right, the kids are at Nyakatsapa High School, a few kilometers from Old Mutare where I will be working with students much like these.

Returning to Zimbabwe

(Click picture to see a screen-sized image.)

Hills of eastern Zimbabwe! Old Mutare! Children at Fairfield Children’s Home! All will become much more familiar when we return there in early May. We fly from At­lanta to Harare May 1-2 and will soon be on our way 250 km east and south to Old Mutare, in a rural area near Mutare, Zimbabwe’s third largest city. We will serve as representatives of The Big Ministry, the organization, founded by Abiot and Tsitsi Moyo, that sponsored our 2005 trip.

Old Mutare is a historic United Methodist mis­sion station, founded in the 1890’s when the country was Rhodesia, a British colony. Today at Old Mutare, there is a model children’s home, a hospital, a dental clinic, and large primary and secon­dary schools. Annette will organize quilting classes for local women, intending that a new skill will give them one means to provide family support. I will teach English and math to high school students in Form 4 (11^th grade) who long to pass national O-level examinations. Within sight of Old Mutare is Africa University, the goal of many students. To be eligible to attend the University, they must pass O-level, go on to A-level (two more high school years) and pass A-level exams. It is a challenging course to pursue, but many students keep that elusive goal before them as they work hard to learn amid the deprivation of their daily lives. It will be an enormous privilege and honor to work with them.

(Click picture to see a screen-sized image.)

Our plan is that I will stay at Old Mutare until August 5, near the end of the winter school term. Annette will return June 13 to attend the 50^th anniversary reunion of her nursing school class in Chicago. Bizet, our daughter, will arrive May 31 and will return to the U. S. with Annette. We are eagerly hoping that our granddaughter, Abby Anderson, will be with Bizet.

We will be glad for your prayerful interest in our new Africa adventure. Also, I will be glad for financial support to help purchase quilting materials for the women Annette will teach and school supplies for students with whom I will be working. We have contacts in Mutare that will make possible purchases of supplies there. Costs are prohibitively high for Zimbabweans, and students work with bare minimums of the supplies American students take for granted. $U.S. will be a great help to them. Please contribute to The BIG Ministry and designate your gift for quilting and/or school supplies. You will find pertinent information at www.thebigm.org. Thank you!

Worshipers Outside Seaview United Methodist Church, Mutare, Zimbabwe

RAISING THE ROOF

Perhaps the most uplifting and energizing aspect of our visit to Zimbabwe was seeing up close the teeming growth of churches in and around Harare. Reading our blog, you will be aware of some of those thrilling experiences. A vital part of that growth is new church buildings, an especially heavy task for poor people doing their level best to cope with runaway inflation.

Now, back in the U. S., we ask how we can support and enable further growth. Our answer: participate in BIG Ministry’s fund-raising effort to provide a roof for Seaview United Methodist Church in Mutare. We worshiped with Seaview people in the shelter that has provided adequately for their growth, but now, government authorities are demanding Seaview to vacate their “temporary” shelter soon.

It will be Seaview’s task to build the church walls. Bricks will be made by the people and walls constructed for about $3,000.00 U.S., for a building that will accommodate over 1,000 worshipers, but they will need at least $6,000.00 to put a roof on that building. That is BIG Ministry’s challenge to those of us who know first-hand the courage and determination of our Christian sisters and brothers at Seaview United Methodist Church.

We are inviting you to join us in fulfilling that challenge. If you want to help us raise the roof, please send contributions, marked “for Seaview,” to BIG Ministry, PO Box 125, Stow, MA 01775-0125. There is an e-mail link to us in this blog, and we will be glad if you let us know about your contribution. You can find out more about BIG Ministry and the Moyos at their website, www.thebigm.org. You will also see several pictures and details about our team’s visit to Zimbabwe last August.

Round Trip Complete

Once again, we are in Maynard, MA, three flights behind us since we left Gaborone, Botswana, at 4:30 p.m. yesterday (Saturday), then Jo'burg at 8:00 p.m., flew all night, landed in Atlanta, GA, at 7:30 a.m. today (that's 17 1/2 hours if my math is correct), and were on a Boston flight at 10:30 a.m.--and our luggage followed us all the way! We are truly grateful, not just for safe travels but much more, for three marvelous weeks filled with mind- and soul-stretching experiences with people who found their way under our skin and into our hearts. Annette read me a quote from a flight magazine that summarizes our feelings: Africa is like malaria; once it is in your blood, it stays there a very long time. Thanks much for your interest and prayers.

Back in Gaborone

It's Friday afternoon, and we are back in Gaborone after a 700 km bus trip from Ghanzi. We said good-bye to Jim (Jan has been in Gabs for a conference) at 7:00 a.m., and the bus set off down the long road south and east on the Trans-Kalahari Highway. The only problem: the driver did not make the usual rest stop at Kang, 260 km from Ghanzi. I needed that stop, so I raised the issue after we left Kang. The result: a stop along the road, a dozen people, men and women, getting out and heading into the bush, or almost into the bush, including me. There is always the possibility of a new experience! Annette stayed put and managed to survive until we reach Jwaneng, 180 km further on, and a 15-minute stop there. All in all, it was a good ride, and now we are in the final countdown before our long trip back across the ocean tomorrow night.

In Touch with San People

Tomorrow, our Ghanzi visit ends when we board the 7:00 a.m. bus to Gaborone. It has been a week full of powerful experiences. Jim and I have just come from the Community Center where gifts were given to several orphans and used clothing passed on to other needy people. That was the climax of a two-hour meeting with many speeches but also hymns and prayers, surprising in a government-sponsored event but altogether common here.

Yesterday, we rode more than 100 km into the bush to visit a San village, New Xati. The ride itself was an experience to remember--that total distance in one hour over gravel roads. In addition to simply seeing such a bush village, it was interesting to learn that the San of that community had been moved from Xati, a location further east in the Kalahari Game Preserve, just seven years ago. The resentment at that forced move is still strong. A large concentration of government services, including a boarding primary school and a sizable hospital, are in Xati. We were especially impressed by a program called Permaculture, aimed at providing stable income for Xati residents--making jewelry, raising gardens, making cement blocks for house-building, raising chickens.

Certainly, the most mind-boggling experience was attending a San funeral on Tuesday here in Ghanzi. Jahn Wessels picked me up at 2:30 p.m. Our first stop was the hospital pathology lab, where, with several members of the family, we watched the dead person being placed in the coffin. The coffin was loaded into a Toyota Land Cruiser and taken to the man's home, a shack, where a large group of people of all ages waited for us. The service took place there, and then we processed to the cemetery for another short service and the grave closing by men in the group, accompanied by women singing. We returned to the man's house, listened to stories about him (all in Tetswana or Naro, of course). Finally, we were served tea and samp, which had been cooking nearby over an open fire. Altogether, it was an experience of enormous cultural distance that I would not want to have missed.

We will leave Ghanzi and the Lundeens sadly tomorrow. They face an interesting and productive two years with beautiful people who are genuinely warm, accepting, and caring. We will continue to follow their experiences eagerly.

Ghanzi Adventures

Our trip to Ghanzi Saturday morning began as an adventure and continued so until our arrival eight hours later. Our very considerate taxi driver took us through the maze of bus ranks at the Gaborone bus station, almost every available space around the buses occupied by venders' stalls and a throng of people, to the Ghanzi bus, an aging but comfortable Volvo. As soon as we were seated, a parade of hawkers entered the bus, determined to sell us candy, drinks, food, wallets, key chains, or whatever, most responding to a shake of our heads, a few much more determined that we must buy their wares. Shortly after the scheduled time, 10:00 a.m., the bus began to move slowly through the maze and out into the streets. We were soon speeding down the highway toward Ghanzi, 700 km northwest, stopping occasionally to pick up passengers in the city. Major stops were at Jwaneng (a diamond town) where women surrounded the bus, selling lunches and drinks, and at a truck stop/ gasoline station in Kang. By this time, our surroundings were flat desert with few signs of population other than animals: donkeys, cows, goats, ostriches beside the road and often on the road. About 5:00 p.m. and 70 km from Ghanzi, the bus slowed to a stop. We soon realized there was engine trouble. The engine was beside the driver. A large "hood" is removed and smoke and the smell of overheating fills the bus. The driver adds a large quantity of oil, and the trip resumes at far less speed than the over 120 km speed limit we had been traveling up to then. The bus limps slowly into Ghanzi, our arrival 45 minutes later than scheduled.

Jim and Jan Lundeen waited for us at the bus stand, and we walked a block to their house. It was great to see them in their new element, browned by the elements of their desert setting. We enjoyed an evening of dinner and conversation, catching up on their life and work in Ghanzi (pronounced HAHN-zee, incidentally), getting to bed fairly early after our long day of travel.

Sunday turned out to be a day of remarkable adventure. At 8:00 a.m., the four of us are picked up by Jahn Wessels, the Reformed Church missionary in the Ghanzi district. He tells us quickly about his morning problems: a neighbor's goat had invaded his yard, eaten all of his garden, and ended up in the back of his pick-up to be transported back to its mother. Thus, when we arrive at his house to collect his wife and two children, the hose is brought out to thoroughly wash away the obvious evidence of the goat passenger so that the back of the pick-up would be suitable for human passengers. Presently, we are off on an 85 km trip--at speeds up to 160 km/hr--to Chobokwani, where the first of two bush church services will take place. Jahn's first act is to ring the church bell for five minutes, while Beppi, his wife, sets up tea and biscuits for her guests. Well fed, we then set out for a walk, stopping at two homes (thatched-roof rondavels) of church families. The people in Chobokwani, and much of the Ghanzi district, are San, a tribe with ancient history in southern Africa, often a history of abuse and displacement by whites and other African tribes. These are the people who make up the church group, probably 50 people, mostly young people and children, who eventually gather in the church shelter, sitting on narrow, backless benches, and the service begins. Compared to the Methodist services in which we participated in Zimbabwe, this service is subdued, but the singing is marvelously harmonic. Jahn preaches the sermon, then gives me an opportunity to speak briefly. Altogether, it is an amazing, first-time experience.

After a snack of bread and tea, we again board the pick-up, this time accompanied by a second pick-up, the boxes of each packed with young people, and we are off to the second service with San that work on a farm belonging to white Christians. This trip is 40 km, except for the first five or six, on rough, sand roads, at 50-60 km/hr, stopping several times to open and close gates, as we drive deep into the desert bush to the cattle farm (ranch, in America) that is our destination. There, Jahn takes us first to a small compound of San houses, and soon people are walking across the sand--here, eaten bare except for the high branches of trees, by the flock of goats that are nearby--to the yard near the farm house. There is no church bell, but soon about 70 people, again mostly young and including the 30 or so young people who have come with us from Chobokwani, have gathered, sitting in a circle on the sand. Again, Jahn Wessels leads a service much like the service we had attended earlier, the singing usually soft and beautifully harmonic, no clapping, no dancing, but quiet and worshipful. The service ends, the people walk away toward their homes, we visit for a while with the couple who own the farm and employ the people with whom we had worshipped. Then, we return to bouncing down the road, back to Chobokwani and a delicious dinner Beppi has prepared for us over an open fire while we were away. That finished, we set out for Ghanzi in the darkness, at much slower speeds so that Jahn can avoid hitting the animals, mostly cows that graze here and there near the road.

Today dawns cloudy, surprising the people who expect relentless sunshine at this time of year. Jim and Jan remark that there have been no clouds since they arrived three months ago. Annette and I go with them to their offices, Annette with Jan, I with Jim, in time for the 7:30 a.m. devotions that open the day in the government offices where they work. We hear singing, preaching, and praying, starting the day for these workers, whose major concern is the HIV/AIDS epidemic that infects about a third of their people. Later today, after a trip with Jahn to another San village, we will attend a prayer meeting at the Community Center, involving many of Jim and Jan's co-workers, with prayers specifically centered about meeting the challenge of HIV/AIDS in the Ghanzi district. Perhaps you will join with us at that time (11:30 a.m. EDT).

In Botswana

This morning, we woke up in Gaborone. A short flight from Jo'burg yesterday brought us to this small city on the edge of the Kalahari Desert. Differences from Harare were immediately evident as we rode in a hotel shuttle from the airport, most obvious, vehicles at gasoline stations being filled with fuel, no long lines waiting for fuel that may not come for many hours, even days.

Later this morning, we will take a taxi to the Gaborone bus station and, at 10:00 a.m., should be on our way to Ghanzi, 600 km northwest on the far side of the Kalahari, where we will visit Jim and Jan Lundeen at their Peace Corps post. We look forward to an entirely different adventure with them.

Back in Jo'burg

We left Harare early this morning, sad to leave friends who have become close and dear. Now, we are in Johannesburg, on the way to Gaborone and further adventure in Botswana. I have not had computer access for several days so have been unable to tell you about our trip to Great Zimbabwe and more wonderful contacts with people in churches and homes. Our Zimbabwe visit met all of our expectations and much more, and any fears we had were groundless. We have a host of new friends and memories of amazing hospitality. Now, we are concerned for 16 of our teammates who have been stranded in Harare by a strike at Heathrow.

Jim

A Sunday in Harare

Early this morning--but not early enough--we left our hosts' home to go to Glen Norah East United Methodist Church. When we arrived at 9:15 a.m., the people had been waiting more than 45 minutes, but we were joyfully welcomed nonetheless. The church, which meets in a community center, is six months old. About 300 people were gathered to welcome us, most of them sitting on the floor. At the front, to the left, a group of maybe 50 children were seated on the floor. The Americans were seated at the front, facing the congregation. I sat at the end of the row, next to the children. The joyful singing, and some dancing, continued after we arrived.

The service was entirely in Shona, except for two testimonies by team members and my sermon, which were interpreted. It was my first experience preaching with an interpreter. Preaching in that setting was almost beyond description. By the time I began my sermon, I was feeling so uplifted and joyful myself that almost nothing, including an interpreter, could get in the way of a triumphant experience for me. It was altogether thrilling, with the congregation responding visually and audibly to give marvelous support to the preacher. Even those young children were with me, and that was delightful. I sat down and within a few seconds, I had the hands of several children in mine and two little guys sitting on my lap. I was beside myself with just plain happiness.

Lavish greetings followed the service, and we then went to the pastor's home for the noon meal (the service lasted well over one-and-a-half hours after we arrived). There, we were greeted and thanked and provided a generous meal.

The remainder of the day, like most of yesterday, was restful, with no special obligations. That felt very good, simply to relax and play for a while with Menasha and Tajuba, Pastor and Mrs. Mungure's young granddaughters. Tomorrow, we head south to visit the orphanage where several children supported by the Moyo's BIG Ministry are living. We go on from there to visit the historic site, Great Zimbabwe, on Tuesday.

It is hard to believe that only four days remain in our stay here. We are already feeling the sense of loss we will experience when we say good=bye to our marvelous and generous friends in Zimbabwe.

A Trip to Rural Zimbabwe

It is Saturday morning, a beautiful, sunny, warm winter day in Harare. At breakfast with our hosts, we had Swedish pancakes (my work), and now Annette is hard at work with ten women, teaching them basic quilting. Annette’s goal is that each woman will have a quilted bag in which to carry her sewing materials. It is really a wonderful scene, believe me.

Last evening, we came back to Harare from a trip to eastern rural areas near Mutare. Visiting rural African countryside was new for us, yet we found the same wonderful spirit of people as we worshipped with them, ate the abundant food they prepared for us, and talked with them. Shona is their mother tongue, but most have enough knowledge of English for conversations. In the two worship services we attended—one in a mountain church, the other in Mutare—the major language is Shona but all was interpreted for us. We were again swept up into the sheer joy and enthusiasm of African worship amid the privation and suffering the people endure daily.

We visited Fairfield Children’s Home in Old Mutare and soon had several children surrounding us with their laughter and curiosity. Later, a few of us visited the nearby hospital, prayed with two very ill women, and left the bandages we had rolled with friends in Salem, OR. Another compelling visit was at Nyakasaba High School where we talked to students, took many pictures, and got in on the outdoor closing ceremony as the school term ended. A conversation with the school librarian got me thinking about whether wireless Internet connections might be possible via satellite, as there are now no working computers for students to use. Both Old Mutare and Nyakasaba have long history dating back to the beginning of United Methodist missions in the late 1800’s. Remarkable results of that early work are abundantly evident.

One night, we stayed at Nyakasaba in the pastor’s home. We slept well, but a rooster outside our window did not let us sleep late. We decided he must be a refugee from India, since he began his crowing at 2:30 a.m., three hours before even a hint of dawn. He continued regularly and faithfully until the sun had risen, without a sign of hoarseness in his voice.

Everywhere, we see how much walking is a part of the daily lives of people. We constantly see people of all ages walking at the edge of roads in the city and the countryside. I talked to two young women at the high school who walked for an hour to come to school. We were told that many of the more than 500 students there walk even further. We learned that rural pastors walk many kilometers from church to church. Abiot Moyo, our tour leader, served one circuit in the area of Nyakasaba with seven churches in his circuit, and he walked as much as 16 km between those churches.

Tomorrow, I preach at Glen Norah U. M. Church here in Harare. There will be hundreds of people in the congregation. I will love the experience, I know, although now I cannot imagine being able to bring the sort of excitement and enthusiasm to which the people are accustomed and must need to cope with tests and trials in the week ahead. I will be glad for your prayers.

Why No E-mail?

To those of you who have been expecting e-mail from us or have sent e-mail to us, I must let you know I am sorry I cannot either receive or send e-mail from this computer. The browser is an old-timer that Earthlink will not accept, so I am left in the lurch when it comes to any direct communication with you at present. Annette and I really regret this circumstance, especially because we want to hear from you. You may send messages on this blog, but, of course, those messages are open to any readers.

In Harare

We are nearing the end of our second day in Zimbabwe. We arrived in Harare Sunday evening via Air Zimbabwe from Jo'burg, but without our luggage. Of course, we had no idea where it might be--somewhere in the U.S. or anywhere between. When I arrived back at the Harare Airport Monday afternoon, I was delighted to spot one of our bags on a pile of unclaimed luggage and soon located the other two in the same pile. It was a major relief, as we had not been out of the clothes we were wearing since early Friday morning. Perhaps due to the inconvenience of having to retrieve lost luggage, the customs agent passed me quickly with few questions.

Our hosts are Samson and Mai Mungure, and their children, Musa and Sam, Jr. Samson is district superintendent of 20 United Methodist churches in this area of Harare. The Mungares are making us feel entirely welcome, and we are enjoying all the comforts of their comfortable home, including abundant food. Yesterday, we joined our group (who had arrived on time Sunday morning via British Airways with all 36 pieces of their luggage arriving with them)for meetings with several pastors and visits to churches. Last night's worship service was with hundreds of lively worshipers in a shelter open on all sides to the mild Zim winter, beside the shell of a large church building awaiting its roof.

Today, we first visited for an hour with the Methodist Bishop of this area, then went to a nearby private game park to view African animals in a confined natural area. The giraffe and elephant were missing, though, rented out to a movie production company in South Africa. As enjoyable as viewing animals was seeing up close the excitement of hundreds of young school children on a field trip.

Tomorrow, we leave for Mutare to spend the night. We will visit two orphanages and schools where there are children supported by BIG Ministry, and we will also visit Africa University.

This afternoon, Annette is off on what will surely be one of her happiest adventures. She and Tsitsi Moyo are shopping for fabric. On Saturday, Annette will conduct a quilting workshop with a small group, including Tsitsi, which may be the prelude to a larger quilting program for church women at some later, yet-undetermined future date.

So far, we are enjoying ourselves immensely, as we expected, and bask in the unbridled welcome of the people wherever we go. Also as expected, we are sad to see up close the deprivation so many people live with constantly and are gripped by the desire somehow to make a difference for them in whatever small way.

Blessings and thanks! Jim

More Waiting, Now in Atlanta

When we should be flying somewhere over the Atlantic, we are sitting in a Carribean cafe just off Peachtree Street in Atlanta, eating dinner and making use of their wireless connection. Very early this morning, Biz dropped us off at Logan Airport, and we flew to Atlanta. We rushed to the South African Airways gate, only to learn that the airplane just then landing would not leave until 10:30 a.m. Saturday. Meanwhile, we are provided with a lunch, then given vouchers for an overnight hotel stay at the Grand Hyatt and transported to the hotel.

Drinking tea at Joe Muggs, we meet our captain, who immediately complains himself about not returning to Johannesburg today, since he has been in Atlanta nine days. He assures us we will fly tomorrow--that he is well rested and eager to return home. That sounds like good news for our flight. Not so good news is that we are not assured we can fly to Harare Sunday, so we must wait until we are in Jo'burg to discover how long we will be in a holding pattern there. Sadly, I will miss my preaching appointment Sunday morning in Harare, but we are reasonably certain we will reach Harare and join our group before too long.

Good News!

We have just learned that they SAA strike has ended. The unions announced earlier today that everything should be running smoothly by Friday--the day we are scheduled to fly to Johannesburg from Atlanta. Our fingers are crossed--but once again, we are on track to fly from Boston early Friday morning. Thanks much for your prayers. We hope they will continue.

More Waiting

The South African Airlines strike continues. Today, the airline and the striking unions are in a mediation mode, supposedly aiming at "a swift settlement of their dispute." Could it be that SAA planes will be flying Friday? At present, it seems unlikely, but we are waiting. No alternative routes are currently available. Will we actually fly to Harare Friday? Check back to find out.