The glory of the African sunset can be summed up in one word, and one word only: God. Hannah Trevett, on a visit to Romania, once sat with a toddler looking at the moon. Pointing it out in the sky, she asked the child, 'Look, what's that?' With all the doctrinal accuracy of St Paul, the metaphorical beauty of Shakespeare and the innocence of a five yr old Romanian girl, she replied: 'God.' It's a bit like that.
That is the memory that I want to keep from this past week. It's also the image I want most to communicate to all you friends, prayer-people, blog-surfers and others who are reading this. Sometimes it's blood-red, sometimes it's peach, mauve, pink, orange...it's always big. It always sucks your eyes away from the small things of life. And the hotter, dustier and more miserable the day has been, the more gorgeous it is. Like I said...God.
On Thursday night, after a week that must have lasted since I was born, I sat outside on the kondi [verandah], eating spag bol by the light of a candle. I was too tired to mind the mosquitos much. The power was off, so there was nothing else to do. The sun was directly behind the candle one minute. The next I just had a candle and one of those rare feelings that everything IS going to be ok with the world despite... 
In other news, Wik's dog Tiki killed the three remaining puppies born to her niece, Chip. I reversed the Maestro into the shiny new pickup of a big car fan. It was also just after a Bible-study with his mum others that he would prefer we didn't have at all, let alone in his house. Wik's no-claim bonus is no-more. I also came down with a severe cold which many of you have lovingly dubbed a man-flu, though I never mentioned the F word! So not the greatest week in the history of Ian Thomson by the common measuring standards.
This week's CPC service went well, and the young people followed it up by a trip to Chikwawa prison. The last time I went it was with a group of Welsh students on a missions trip, back in July when it was hot. This time the group were all Chichewa speakers with the exception of Matt, a longish term missionary bloke - oh, and it was REALLY hot. Chikwawa is in a rain-shadow behind the hills FR nestles among, and with Malawian summer coming on...yeah, it was rough. The prisoners cowered into one small patch of shade at one end of the courtyard, while we cowered in one opposite them. Whoever happened to be speaking to them had to walk out into the sun to do so. They also had to stand next to the open sewer and the dustbins and shout to be heard. Six of the young people talked to the prisoners about topics ranging from the values of being old to a brief summary of Biblical history. Matt and I picked up a word or two of it here and there, but the prisoners seemed to love it. We also played football with them and apparently drew 1-1 though I don't think we ever actually scored. I wouldn't know though...I attempted to play barefoot and after 5 minutes and 2 blood blisters I spent most of the match hobbling around feeling sorry for myself and shouting useful comments that the Chichewa speakers probably didn't understand: 'Get in, lad!' - 'Middle it!' - 'Use the 1-2, use the 1-2!'
OK, this is strictly for those who are going to diligently pray: pastor Glen's wife is Kerry Halliwell. Her sister in Canada fell from a ladder last week and broke her back. Felix from church has just started a new orphanage on discovering the flaws in many of the existing ones. 
Since doing so he's had church leaders criticise him, the police try to dump children guilty of witchcraft on him, and unsurprisingly, he's come under some heat from the other orphanages in town. He's going about his work with a smile and a Bible verse ready for every situation. I've been invited to help record some jazz music with a group of Chichewa musicians, which is an awesome answer to prayer, but I'm under a lot of time constraints from work at the mo, so I'm asking for some time to be created in my week, and that I'd not fall for that old stress-lie the devil loves to chuck at us.
Monday, 24 September 2007
O Celestial Sphere
Sunday, 9 September 2007
...and week 4...
Apologies for that wanton break in communication, it was unintentional I assure you.
Week 4: The biggest drama was enacted by two of the smallest characters. On Thursday morning, Tiki (bereaved white Maltese terrier mum), in a fit of apparent jealousy savaged one of Chips healthy pups. His temporary name (subject to any names given by the rightful owners should they have met him) was Colin. He was my favourite of that litter. We were all devastated at the ferocity and unexpectedness of the attack. Needless to say, Tiki got a punishing and Chip's litter was moved further away from Tiki to avoid any encores. Nature's harsh. It's a shame we've screwed it up like this.
The smooth working of the cars had lulled me into a false sense of security until a policeman politely reminded me on Aug 31st that my road tax for September had not been paid. A short scramble for documents later, Charles (a legend and one of the staff at FR) tootled off into town and spent two days in queues to obtain my legality of driving, while I took the minibus.
Music at church has been very good...almost easy, but not quite. My most talented musician, Clem McCreal, was asked to step down from the worship team after being caught on a drinking spree in the College of Medicine bar. Thankfully, Clem seems fully repentant and was very open about his situation - he's going to give music a rest for a few weeks until he feels his life is on a more even keel.
My other musicians have really gelled together with each other and with myself, which is a massive encouragement. Today my co-guitarist, Eddie, volunteered and played a song which told his personal testimony as part of the service. You know that feeling when you've been working at something all by yourself for what seems like a long time, and then someone steps in and helps you carry the load? Additionally, and thanks to you who prayed, I now have two violinists to add to the group, our first lead instrumentalists. They are Kirsi and Maria, mother and daughter of a family of Germano-Finns who have returned from furlough in Europe.
Their return has been sparked by the start of term in schools here. There are faces in CPC services now that are new to me but old to most of the congregation. I'm excited at the pool of prospective musical talent! Another feature of the new term is that two schools in the district have offered me jobs teaching music. Word gets around fast here, and music teachers are thin on the ground. Those musicians who do teach prefer to make a mint going private than relying on unreliable pay-packages from state or private headmasters. It's enough to make a grizzly bear cry - not only is Malawi poor in musical resources, but it is further crippled by the corruption of its own leaders. Any of you reading who can play a musical instrument well enough to teach:
1) count your blessings
2) come help me deal with the hundreds of kids and adults who have never had the chance to learn music and will jump at the chance.
Anyway, that's me. Thanks for reading, as ever, and I hope you enjoyed it and/or learnt something interesting. Feedback on a postcard to Box 1654, Blantyre, Malawi ;)
Week 4: The biggest drama was enacted by two of the smallest characters. On Thursday morning, Tiki (bereaved white Maltese terrier mum), in a fit of apparent jealousy savaged one of Chips healthy pups. His temporary name (subject to any names given by the rightful owners should they have met him) was Colin. He was my favourite of that litter. We were all devastated at the ferocity and unexpectedness of the attack. Needless to say, Tiki got a punishing and Chip's litter was moved further away from Tiki to avoid any encores. Nature's harsh. It's a shame we've screwed it up like this.
The smooth working of the cars had lulled me into a false sense of security until a policeman politely reminded me on Aug 31st that my road tax for September had not been paid. A short scramble for documents later, Charles (a legend and one of the staff at FR) tootled off into town and spent two days in queues to obtain my legality of driving, while I took the minibus.
Music at church has been very good...almost easy, but not quite. My most talented musician, Clem McCreal, was asked to step down from the worship team after being caught on a drinking spree in the College of Medicine bar. Thankfully, Clem seems fully repentant and was very open about his situation - he's going to give music a rest for a few weeks until he feels his life is on a more even keel.
My other musicians have really gelled together with each other and with myself, which is a massive encouragement. Today my co-guitarist, Eddie, volunteered and played a song which told his personal testimony as part of the service. You know that feeling when you've been working at something all by yourself for what seems like a long time, and then someone steps in and helps you carry the load? Additionally, and thanks to you who prayed, I now have two violinists to add to the group, our first lead instrumentalists. They are Kirsi and Maria, mother and daughter of a family of Germano-Finns who have returned from furlough in Europe.
Their return has been sparked by the start of term in schools here. There are faces in CPC services now that are new to me but old to most of the congregation. I'm excited at the pool of prospective musical talent! Another feature of the new term is that two schools in the district have offered me jobs teaching music. Word gets around fast here, and music teachers are thin on the ground. Those musicians who do teach prefer to make a mint going private than relying on unreliable pay-packages from state or private headmasters. It's enough to make a grizzly bear cry - not only is Malawi poor in musical resources, but it is further crippled by the corruption of its own leaders. Any of you reading who can play a musical instrument well enough to teach:
1) count your blessings
2) come help me deal with the hundreds of kids and adults who have never had the chance to learn music and will jump at the chance.
Anyway, that's me. Thanks for reading, as ever, and I hope you enjoyed it and/or learnt something interesting. Feedback on a postcard to Box 1654, Blantyre, Malawi ;)
Monday, 3 September 2007
Fighting up from the bottom of a ball pool...
That's a bit what this whole internet lark feels like. It took me five minutes to load Yahoomail today.
As you can see, the Spirit is growing His fruit in me, primarily patience. And as you can also see, I am resistant as ever.
Let's go by weeks, as I have four to describe since the end of my last post. The first week, I turned up scrubbed and smiling to my first day of work. It was Tuesday the 6th of August. Pastor Glen Halliwell showed me around the office, gave me authority over the library (to bind, not to lose, and to drive out evil source texts), access to the music files, and a brief description of a cell group he wanted me to lead. It was a lot to process, but after the STORM mission, I was ready for almost anything bar purple people-eaters invading. I began by going through the music files and choosing songs for that Sunday. I was somewhat spurred on by the experience of the previous Sunday - a little saddened by the departure of my last physical links to Wales, and expecting to just fit myself into the music group, I was instead faced at the Saturday morning practice by a gang of nice-looking but utterly expectant faces: my fellow musicians were waiting for me to choose, lead, teach, play, pray and generally do all the work towards Sunday's music. I gently dispelled that myth by some cunning delegation, but they were as unprepared as I was. Let's just say that Sunday's experience spurred me to a put a little more effort into my job the following week.
Driving was also fun. The Maestro MG Wik had wisely (mwahahaha!) left in my care is about the lowest-bottomed car designed. On Malawian roads it scraped off everything. I soon learnt that slower was better, not only because it avoided serious abrasion with the road surface, but also because it also gave me more hope of evading the sporadic drunks and crazy dogs who wander across rural roads at night.
But I was hopeful. I really felt, and feel, that this was where God wanted me. Just as well, really, or I could have gone a biut barmy. FR also contributed to my sereneness - two early morning game-walks a week does a lot for your spirit.
Week 2, and things were becoming a little more normal, and I was making more time to meet people. CPC is made up of a good few Malawians, many of whom are street kids, and others of whom are well-travelled business people. There are also a good few South Africans, some Zimbabweans, many Dutch, British and North American missionaries, a smattering of all-purpose Koreans (have you ever noticed how Koreans are good at everything?), and some Indians. Needless to say, social gatherings are colourful. My CARE Bible Study Group, for instance, contains five regulars: Yvonne Turner, a 70-yr old outgoing South African lady who runs a chemical works, hosts the gatherings (although she currently has malaria). Monty is a US trained Malawian NGO social worker. He works for an American company, housing orphans, liaising with community elders and managing the finances, most of which come from abroad. He's in his mid-late 20s. Alan Bonhomme is Mauritian but was born and bred in Malawi. He is a mechanic and manages a 2nd car workshop as well. Originally a Roman Catholic, he knew almost nothing of God, the Bible, or faith until his conversion 4 years ago. I'd estimate late 40s or early 50s. Roosevelt is a member of one of the first Christian families in Gujarat, India. He has been in Malawi for a long while. His English is limited and he regularly prays, and reads, in Gujarati, which spices things up further. Again, around 50. And then there's me. Oh, go on then, I'll do me as well. Ian Thomson was born in Thailand, although he boarded at a school in South India for years. He works as the music co-ordinator at CPC and teaches music on the side. Somewhere in his early twenties, it is somewhat incongruous that he finds himself leading these studies and attempting to facilitate meaningful dialogue between the disparate parties.
Meanwhile, back at FR, the older of the three Maltese terriers[Tiki- or tick-y as she is aptly named] had given birth to 7 pups, quite an event. Her niece, Chip, was pregnant with another four, who would be born later in the week. So a good portion of my evenings were spent checking up on these little ones, feeding them, and providing company to the father of all 11, Fish, who had been banned from going near the litters. It's a beautful way to spend the evening, and when two of Tiki's pups inevitably died (she hadn't teats for them all, let alone milk!) I felt I'd lost a couple of proto-friends. The others are all doing fairly well. Tiki's 5 are all furry and walking open-eyed now. Chip's have opened their eyes, but need a while before they'll walk.
Cars - the two big vehicles were effectively off the road, the Raider with a flat battery and connection problems that I couldn't locate and the Sherman from sheer cantankerosity (she doesn't like starting in the morning and is too heavy to push-start). At the beginning of week 3, the Maestro began to leak oil and I began to lose my hair. Short of options, I took her into Alan's garage on Monday, expecting her to be returned that night. She wasn't so, I learnt to use public transport. Another truly Malawian experience, pubtrans consists of 10 seater minbuses, usually crammed full of 15 Malawians and their kids, goats, shopping, briefcases - oh, and now me as well. I actually quite enjoyed it, once I realised that not everyone was going to steal my wallet/bag/remaining hair. But I was glad to get the Maestro back on Wednesday - until I saw the K66000 bill (GBP220). I'd been expecting maybe K10,000. I thanked God for me wheels and let Wik handle the money-haranguing.
I was starting to get to know my guitar students now, the ones who turned up. Malawian punctuality is not the world's best. I'm beginning to realise it actually springs from optimism, not carelessness. Yes, they'd love to have guitar lessons! Yes, they'd be there at 2pm, even if it meant catching a minibus home to some suburb, eating lunch, and returning to church in the space of an hour! Oh, whoops, it's now 530 and the teacher has gone home for dinner. But as I said, a good portion did turn up. My youngest (still prospective) is three and my oldest 50. There are about 8 of them, and also 4 or 5 drum students. They seemed to come from everywhere, despite me not doing any advertising. I charged them K200 an hour (70p), and had to provide guitars for both of us as hardly any of them had their own.
Sunday music had drastically improved with a bit of effort. My focus is on trying to create as much space in the service for God to speak to or through the members of the congregation as possible. I do get some wary looks when I announce that we're going to have a time of open prayer, especially from the street kids and the Malawian visitors who are used to the traditional one-man pastor-worshipleader-preacher attitude to services, but I also see others opening up to themselves and to God, and learning to use the space for real, rather than programmed, worship. It takes a little bit of getting them there, though...I usually start with a fairly upbeat session of singing where I firmly take the lead. One week, we had a power cut which tied in with some new songs I wanted to teach. Without the powerpoint, this proved a tricky, and even at midday the CPC sanctuary is a little dim...without their usual scenario many of us found it tough to worship. But God has plans in that too
As you can see, the Spirit is growing His fruit in me, primarily patience. And as you can also see, I am resistant as ever.
Let's go by weeks, as I have four to describe since the end of my last post. The first week, I turned up scrubbed and smiling to my first day of work. It was Tuesday the 6th of August. Pastor Glen Halliwell showed me around the office, gave me authority over the library (to bind, not to lose, and to drive out evil source texts), access to the music files, and a brief description of a cell group he wanted me to lead. It was a lot to process, but after the STORM mission, I was ready for almost anything bar purple people-eaters invading. I began by going through the music files and choosing songs for that Sunday. I was somewhat spurred on by the experience of the previous Sunday - a little saddened by the departure of my last physical links to Wales, and expecting to just fit myself into the music group, I was instead faced at the Saturday morning practice by a gang of nice-looking but utterly expectant faces: my fellow musicians were waiting for me to choose, lead, teach, play, pray and generally do all the work towards Sunday's music. I gently dispelled that myth by some cunning delegation, but they were as unprepared as I was. Let's just say that Sunday's experience spurred me to a put a little more effort into my job the following week.
Driving was also fun. The Maestro MG Wik had wisely (mwahahaha!) left in my care is about the lowest-bottomed car designed. On Malawian roads it scraped off everything. I soon learnt that slower was better, not only because it avoided serious abrasion with the road surface, but also because it also gave me more hope of evading the sporadic drunks and crazy dogs who wander across rural roads at night.
But I was hopeful. I really felt, and feel, that this was where God wanted me. Just as well, really, or I could have gone a biut barmy. FR also contributed to my sereneness - two early morning game-walks a week does a lot for your spirit.
Week 2, and things were becoming a little more normal, and I was making more time to meet people. CPC is made up of a good few Malawians, many of whom are street kids, and others of whom are well-travelled business people. There are also a good few South Africans, some Zimbabweans, many Dutch, British and North American missionaries, a smattering of all-purpose Koreans (have you ever noticed how Koreans are good at everything?), and some Indians. Needless to say, social gatherings are colourful. My CARE Bible Study Group, for instance, contains five regulars: Yvonne Turner, a 70-yr old outgoing South African lady who runs a chemical works, hosts the gatherings (although she currently has malaria). Monty is a US trained Malawian NGO social worker. He works for an American company, housing orphans, liaising with community elders and managing the finances, most of which come from abroad. He's in his mid-late 20s. Alan Bonhomme is Mauritian but was born and bred in Malawi. He is a mechanic and manages a 2nd car workshop as well. Originally a Roman Catholic, he knew almost nothing of God, the Bible, or faith until his conversion 4 years ago. I'd estimate late 40s or early 50s. Roosevelt is a member of one of the first Christian families in Gujarat, India. He has been in Malawi for a long while. His English is limited and he regularly prays, and reads, in Gujarati, which spices things up further. Again, around 50. And then there's me. Oh, go on then, I'll do me as well. Ian Thomson was born in Thailand, although he boarded at a school in South India for years. He works as the music co-ordinator at CPC and teaches music on the side. Somewhere in his early twenties, it is somewhat incongruous that he finds himself leading these studies and attempting to facilitate meaningful dialogue between the disparate parties.
Meanwhile, back at FR, the older of the three Maltese terriers[Tiki- or tick-y as she is aptly named] had given birth to 7 pups, quite an event. Her niece, Chip, was pregnant with another four, who would be born later in the week. So a good portion of my evenings were spent checking up on these little ones, feeding them, and providing company to the father of all 11, Fish, who had been banned from going near the litters. It's a beautful way to spend the evening, and when two of Tiki's pups inevitably died (she hadn't teats for them all, let alone milk!) I felt I'd lost a couple of proto-friends. The others are all doing fairly well. Tiki's 5 are all furry and walking open-eyed now. Chip's have opened their eyes, but need a while before they'll walk.
Cars - the two big vehicles were effectively off the road, the Raider with a flat battery and connection problems that I couldn't locate and the Sherman from sheer cantankerosity (she doesn't like starting in the morning and is too heavy to push-start). At the beginning of week 3, the Maestro began to leak oil and I began to lose my hair. Short of options, I took her into Alan's garage on Monday, expecting her to be returned that night. She wasn't so, I learnt to use public transport. Another truly Malawian experience, pubtrans consists of 10 seater minbuses, usually crammed full of 15 Malawians and their kids, goats, shopping, briefcases - oh, and now me as well. I actually quite enjoyed it, once I realised that not everyone was going to steal my wallet/bag/remaining hair. But I was glad to get the Maestro back on Wednesday - until I saw the K66000 bill (GBP220). I'd been expecting maybe K10,000. I thanked God for me wheels and let Wik handle the money-haranguing.
I was starting to get to know my guitar students now, the ones who turned up. Malawian punctuality is not the world's best. I'm beginning to realise it actually springs from optimism, not carelessness. Yes, they'd love to have guitar lessons! Yes, they'd be there at 2pm, even if it meant catching a minibus home to some suburb, eating lunch, and returning to church in the space of an hour! Oh, whoops, it's now 530 and the teacher has gone home for dinner. But as I said, a good portion did turn up. My youngest (still prospective) is three and my oldest 50. There are about 8 of them, and also 4 or 5 drum students. They seemed to come from everywhere, despite me not doing any advertising. I charged them K200 an hour (70p), and had to provide guitars for both of us as hardly any of them had their own.
Sunday music had drastically improved with a bit of effort. My focus is on trying to create as much space in the service for God to speak to or through the members of the congregation as possible. I do get some wary looks when I announce that we're going to have a time of open prayer, especially from the street kids and the Malawian visitors who are used to the traditional one-man pastor-worshipleader-preacher attitude to services, but I also see others opening up to themselves and to God, and learning to use the space for real, rather than programmed, worship. It takes a little bit of getting them there, though...I usually start with a fairly upbeat session of singing where I firmly take the lead. One week, we had a power cut which tied in with some new songs I wanted to teach. Without the powerpoint, this proved a tricky, and even at midday the CPC sanctuary is a little dim...without their usual scenario many of us found it tough to worship. But God has plans in that too
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