The watering cans of heaven are at work in Malawi, and green is very much this seasons' fashion. The bedraggled vendors in Blantyre market hover protectively over their treasure trove of fruit and veg - aubergines in stark purple, pineapples and bananas in yellow, mangoes in every shade from green to red, coconuts, bird's-eyes...even the fly-covered meat in the butchery somehow feels a little fresher in this weather. But Francis and I aren't here to shop - we bee-line for our favourite little restaurant - rice and beef stew for a modest K100. We've just come from a music session at CPC, preparing for tomorrow's celebration. Fairly typical of such sessions, except that three of the musicians present were students of mine, very much fresh-faced and wanting instruction, so I was trying to hold three conversations at once while meeting the new bass-guitarist and trying to keep up a conversation with God...that's what we're pruporting to be doing in these sessions, and I like to keep up appearances ;p
So it's with a certain amount of satisfaction that we sit down on our favourite rickety wooden bench, order the only meal the venue provides, and look out over the marketplace. Saturday. Busy, despite the rain. But it's my last day in Malawi this year, and I have nothing at all to do. Like the song, my bags are packed and I'm ready to go. Christmas cards drawn up and mostly distributed... presents given...ticket bought and safe at home...lift to the airport arranged. And one afternoon to kill. It's a rare and pleasant feeling.
Let me tell you about Francis. He's odder than I am. Born in Malawi to well-to-do parents, a doctor and a manager of a secretarial business, he grew up with a hunger for knowledge, in any sphere. Sunday morning mass may have sparked his curiosity, but school was more interesting. In seceondary school he was sent to a well-respected secondary school in Zimbabwe. There three things happened. His thirst for knowledge was cultivated into a good education. His cursory interest in church developed into a full-blown love for God through a personal encounter with a famous man who died on a cross 2000 years ago. And he fell in love with Zimbabwe. But school days end, and he came back to Malawi and home. His aspirations to join the RAF didn't come to fruition, so instead he went to University in Russia. After a year, the culture shock still hadn't worn off, so he tried Kenya instead, studying business. But during that time, he received the terible news that his mother had died, early and, I think, unexpectedly. He came home for the funeral, but then retreated to Kenya, University and a world of late-night parties, drunken friendship and numbness. It was easier then trying to get on with Dad at home. And then funds ran out. By this time he was having to acknowledge that the plain-sailing he had experienced in childhood was not the norm for humanity. Things fall apart. He came back to Malawi, swallowed some pride, and began to live with his Dad again. And that's when I met him. His love for God had not abated through the ups and downs of life, and he came along to City Pentecostal Church one day, to be greeted by many there - he'd been at the church longer than I had, but had been away on his last term in Kenya. He became a guitar student of mine, and then a friend. Over rice and beef, today and in the past two weeks, his story came out.
So anyway, we were chatting. Francis is passionate about travelling, so we talked about India. The afternoon wore on. He had an engagement party (a cousin) to go to, I was planning to meet my jazz crew. But it was raining, so why get wet?
There's this not-ended feeling in me. It's like a dull pain. It's like a rainy day. It's like...it's not really like anything.
Tomorrow I will say goodbye to Rory and Charlotte, and all the staff at Fisherman's Rest. I will drive the old Land Cruiser from Fisherman's Rest to Matt and Becc Armstrong's house, where I will leave my stuff to await my return on February 7th. Then I will drive to church. There I will say goodbye to various people, friends, not-quite-friends, strangers who know me as the worship leader...I will then drive with Matthew Maramba to Chileka airport, where I will deposit the Cruiser with Horace Masaule for repairs. I will say goodbye to Matthew. I will pick up my bag, my guitar, and my faith, and board a plane bound for Nairobi. By 1030 on Monday I will be in Woodhouse Eaves...home. Home? Where the family are, anyway. This excites me. This makes me happy. Most days.
But there's this not-ended feeling in me. Should I be saying this? Wouldn't it be easier to end on the word 'happy? and skip this paragraph? No, because it wouldn't be straight, and crooked happiness isn't worth the adrenaline it uses up. This is my last blog episode 2007. Roll on 2008.
Saturday 22 December 2007
Wednesday 28 November 2007
Out of the silent hours
Sorry this has taken so long.
Since Elisa's episode, things have been settling down here in Malawi. Well, I'm getting used to the mayhem, anyway. Wik and Sue spent 2 further weeks handing over to Rory and Charlotte, and when the time ran our, Wik stayed another week to finish the job. Quite a rush. I mostly stayed clear. Rory and Charlotte are now fairly well esconced at FR, and I'm really enjoying having them around. They are a very amiable and selfless couple.
During Wik's last week, 2 of their church friends who are on placements in Tanzania and Zimbabwe respectively came to visit for 10 days. Max and Tom cut quite a swathe through Blantyre with their matching blond shocks of hair and nonchalant attitudes. Several epic games of Backpacker ensued, the most epic occurring during the overnight stay of the Africa Quest team, who were just beginning their 40 hour drive from Nsanje to Zambia.
Work has continued to be quiet and methodical since October began. I'm no longer taking on any more students before Christmas, so the pressure to fill every hour has dropped. Plans for the Christmas party and Christmas cantata are proceeding largely without me, although my jazz group are booked to play light backing music at the dinner.
My career as a radio star has just begun in a flash of glory. Glen runs a weekly program on Sunday mornings for Capital Radio here, and has been badgering me to do a show on music. I eventually gave in and planned an interview/talk show looking at the spirituality of music, with a focus on young people. Capital Radio were very friendly, and so Noel Maere, Robinson Kalengamaliro and myself discussed the Malawian music scene, gospel music (here that means Christian music, not Arethra Franklin), why we use music to praise God and whether the didjeridoo should be classified as a percussion instrument or a woodwind one (OK, one of those things we didn't discuss...spot which). We'd cunningly devised a series of music tracks to be interspersed through the talk, which we brought in on CD and flash disk and left with the sound engineer. Fine, he agreed, we were all set and our recording would be played the next day. Listening back, we were somewhat surprised to hear that none of the tracks we had planned, given the engineer, and even announced, were part of the program - they'd been switched with alternative music. The sound engineer had obviously misunderstood our requests but been too shy to ask. Cringe. I'm live on national radio announcing the wrong name of songs, purporting to be an authority on music.
Anyway, they've invited me back, so that's alright. Maybe I entertain them with my idiocy.
Davina Darmanin was the second to take me up on my offer of an expenses-paid holiday in Malawi. She arrived 12 days ago and left an hour ago. During her time she spent 4 days at Bangula orphanage where she was recruited to inject premature babies with antibiotics, visited the bottom of Mulanje mountain, fell in love with the Shire River, took a guided tour around Hope Village, put up with my driving and the driving of the Blantyre populace, came down with suspected jardia, and took a lot of photos.
My percussion class at Phoenix has come to a teary end for this term. Stds 5 and 6 performed their self-written pieces in assembly, and then we had a pool party to finish the term. They think they won't see me again til April, but I'm going to be back as Father Christmas next Friday.
And the music team have their day away at Fisherman's Rest next Saturday, the 8th. We have visiting speakers coming to speak on the practicalities of playing with a group of musicians, Kerry Halliwell covering 'Why Worship?' time for prayer, time to jam, time to swim, time to see antelope, and lots of good food.
I'm pulling toward Christmas and being back with family and friends now. I'm at home 24-30th Dec, mid-Wales for New Years, Cardiff most of January, and then back out here in early Feb. Will see many of you then,
Ian
Since Elisa's episode, things have been settling down here in Malawi. Well, I'm getting used to the mayhem, anyway. Wik and Sue spent 2 further weeks handing over to Rory and Charlotte, and when the time ran our, Wik stayed another week to finish the job. Quite a rush. I mostly stayed clear. Rory and Charlotte are now fairly well esconced at FR, and I'm really enjoying having them around. They are a very amiable and selfless couple.
During Wik's last week, 2 of their church friends who are on placements in Tanzania and Zimbabwe respectively came to visit for 10 days. Max and Tom cut quite a swathe through Blantyre with their matching blond shocks of hair and nonchalant attitudes. Several epic games of Backpacker ensued, the most epic occurring during the overnight stay of the Africa Quest team, who were just beginning their 40 hour drive from Nsanje to Zambia.
Work has continued to be quiet and methodical since October began. I'm no longer taking on any more students before Christmas, so the pressure to fill every hour has dropped. Plans for the Christmas party and Christmas cantata are proceeding largely without me, although my jazz group are booked to play light backing music at the dinner.
My career as a radio star has just begun in a flash of glory. Glen runs a weekly program on Sunday mornings for Capital Radio here, and has been badgering me to do a show on music. I eventually gave in and planned an interview/talk show looking at the spirituality of music, with a focus on young people. Capital Radio were very friendly, and so Noel Maere, Robinson Kalengamaliro and myself discussed the Malawian music scene, gospel music (here that means Christian music, not Arethra Franklin), why we use music to praise God and whether the didjeridoo should be classified as a percussion instrument or a woodwind one (OK, one of those things we didn't discuss...spot which). We'd cunningly devised a series of music tracks to be interspersed through the talk, which we brought in on CD and flash disk and left with the sound engineer. Fine, he agreed, we were all set and our recording would be played the next day. Listening back, we were somewhat surprised to hear that none of the tracks we had planned, given the engineer, and even announced, were part of the program - they'd been switched with alternative music. The sound engineer had obviously misunderstood our requests but been too shy to ask. Cringe. I'm live on national radio announcing the wrong name of songs, purporting to be an authority on music.
Anyway, they've invited me back, so that's alright. Maybe I entertain them with my idiocy.
Davina Darmanin was the second to take me up on my offer of an expenses-paid holiday in Malawi. She arrived 12 days ago and left an hour ago. During her time she spent 4 days at Bangula orphanage where she was recruited to inject premature babies with antibiotics, visited the bottom of Mulanje mountain, fell in love with the Shire River, took a guided tour around Hope Village, put up with my driving and the driving of the Blantyre populace, came down with suspected jardia, and took a lot of photos.
My percussion class at Phoenix has come to a teary end for this term. Stds 5 and 6 performed their self-written pieces in assembly, and then we had a pool party to finish the term. They think they won't see me again til April, but I'm going to be back as Father Christmas next Friday.
And the music team have their day away at Fisherman's Rest next Saturday, the 8th. We have visiting speakers coming to speak on the practicalities of playing with a group of musicians, Kerry Halliwell covering 'Why Worship?' time for prayer, time to jam, time to swim, time to see antelope, and lots of good food.
I'm pulling toward Christmas and being back with family and friends now. I'm at home 24-30th Dec, mid-Wales for New Years, Cardiff most of January, and then back out here in early Feb. Will see many of you then,
Ian
Saturday 6 October 2007
Groucho's fruit flies like a banana
Marx - Time flies like an arrow. Wik is already back from the UK, which means that the longest section of my first term in Malawi is already over. And I'm only just beginning, really I am. My Chichewa language is improving, but too slowly to meet my goal of speaking fluent market Chichewa by June. My guitar and drums students are improving, particularly the drums students, but will they really be able to carry on learning and playing after I'm gone? Especially as they have no guitars to practice on? And there are untold opportunities in the schools here that I have only dabbled my big toe in - teaching music, teaching English, teaching anything. I'm still looking for a volleyball team. I've not seen Mount Mulanje, Nkhata Bay, Cape McClear, or anywhere in the north. We're a little closer to having a music leader to take over from me by next summer, but by no means there. That's not even to mention my long-term plans regarding Malawi, which have currently not got far beyond the realm of imagination (well, inspired imagination, as God has been confirming some things to me).
Driving to Chilomoni township with Alex and Paxton (musicians) today, we had a chat about the process of becoming a musician. Paxton in particular wanted to learn just about everything I knew about guitar, drums, singing, leading music, writing music and producing. Common in Malawi, and the flattery does not outweigh the sense of burden you get when you have something that everyone wants but not the time to dispense it. We realised that the biggest problem is not the lack of music teachers in Malawi...although there are hardly any. The problem is the lack of instruments. I taught myself to play guitar and drums, and when I told Paxton and Alex I could hear the mental processes grinding away...'could we also teach ourselves?' In short, no, because they don't have access to either a guitar or drum kit. There are guitars in Malawi, but they're all imported, so very expensive. The concept of caring for an instrument is about as comprehensible to a Malawian as Inuit.
There are times in my life when I would have sorrowfully shrugged off this apparently insoluble dilemma. But those nagging voices were there again, humming like mosquitos in my ear : 'nothing is impossible with God...nothing...wih God, impossible?' As it happens, Malawi is home to some very good trees which produce very good wood. Mahogany used to be common, pine is present if a little rare, and on Mount Mulanje they even grow cedars...these woods all have very good resonant qualities. Malawians are also natural woodcrafters...mostly they use their talents making cheap wooden ornaments for admiring foreign tourists to take home with them, but what if they were trained to make instruments? How much cheaper would it be to produce handmade guitars in Malawi than ship dodgy second hadn ones in from SA? How many steady jobs would it create for locals? What sort of vision for the future would it put into the community? Maybe, if the industry was succesful enough, it would do something the halt the steamroller-ride away from the arts that has narrowed our western conception of art to 'something I do in my spare time.'
Driving to Chilomoni township with Alex and Paxton (musicians) today, we had a chat about the process of becoming a musician. Paxton in particular wanted to learn just about everything I knew about guitar, drums, singing, leading music, writing music and producing. Common in Malawi, and the flattery does not outweigh the sense of burden you get when you have something that everyone wants but not the time to dispense it. We realised that the biggest problem is not the lack of music teachers in Malawi...although there are hardly any. The problem is the lack of instruments. I taught myself to play guitar and drums, and when I told Paxton and Alex I could hear the mental processes grinding away...'could we also teach ourselves?' In short, no, because they don't have access to either a guitar or drum kit. There are guitars in Malawi, but they're all imported, so very expensive. The concept of caring for an instrument is about as comprehensible to a Malawian as Inuit.
There are times in my life when I would have sorrowfully shrugged off this apparently insoluble dilemma. But those nagging voices were there again, humming like mosquitos in my ear : 'nothing is impossible with God...nothing...wih God, impossible?' As it happens, Malawi is home to some very good trees which produce very good wood. Mahogany used to be common, pine is present if a little rare, and on Mount Mulanje they even grow cedars...these woods all have very good resonant qualities. Malawians are also natural woodcrafters...mostly they use their talents making cheap wooden ornaments for admiring foreign tourists to take home with them, but what if they were trained to make instruments? How much cheaper would it be to produce handmade guitars in Malawi than ship dodgy second hadn ones in from SA? How many steady jobs would it create for locals? What sort of vision for the future would it put into the community? Maybe, if the industry was succesful enough, it would do something the halt the steamroller-ride away from the arts that has narrowed our western conception of art to 'something I do in my spare time.'
(One week later...)
This week has been spent largely with Elisa Hombrecher, showing her what I do, what I love about Malawi, and a ferw of the things I hate as well (although I didn't make a point of that.) This week's extract will be from her pen, because I want you all to get another (and slightly less tongue-in-cheek, hopefully!) take on Malawi...
Drumroll . . . change of style . . . change of author: Thoughts from an impossibly short trip to Malawi by Elisa Hombrecher (aka Risa or Thomson 2 while out here)
Introductions are very imporant here and every person I have met so far has met my answer of 'I'm here for a week' with a broad grin and often tagged on that this was really not long enough. They are all right, it isn't. But it is long enough to be . . .
. . . dragged out of bed at 4am to scramble up a hill to watch the sun rise (which then failed to make it past the mountain before we headed back to bed)
. . . be packed in to a minibus with 27 other people (15 seater)
. . . shred one tyre on the way out of the drive (and watch for an hour as four guys figured out the best way to change a tyre - none had done it before)
. . . pop another tyre on the way in to Blantyre (much to the amusement of the locality we waited under the shade of a tree by the roadside for rescue)
. . . drive a pickup (I take back all I have ever said about people not needing those things and that they are a scourge to the environment, they are absolutely necessary when the road dips at a 45 degree angle and a bed of stones welcomes you at the bottom of the dip)
. . . watch elephants taking a bath in the Shire River that runs through Mvuu National Park (and get very wet in the process - I mean really, who thinks of taking a rain coat to Africa?)
You see, none of the above is more than a random collection of words that doesn't even come close to sharing the smell of the market, the happy feeling of grubbiness at the end of a long dusty day, waking up at 5am because there is something astoundingly large trying to bash it's way through the mosquito net and just feeeling content. Really content. The contentment that leaves a lazy smile on your face and makes other people look at you and think that something wonderful must have happened.
Best advice:
-come see for yourself.
-don't bother bringing a watch.
So Malawi, zikomo kwambiri.
And Ian, thank you. Muchly.
Monday 24 September 2007
O Celestial Sphere
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.
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
Wednesday 15 August 2007
...resuming STORM documentation...
When we left off, our 2nd team of intrepid explorers were bound for Bangula orphanage, Nsanje prison and their 2nd bout of BTM teaching...what horrors will they face there? What children will they scare with their strange pale faces? Kinda more importantly, what work does God have prepared for them? Read on...
We had no fuel. We'd had no fuel since Majete game park on Wednesday. The Raider's dashboard said so. When we set off in the morning, we hoped that running down the hill using little throttle would see us as far as the filling station in Chikwawa. It did, but Chikwawa filling station had no diesel. After filling the thirsty Sherman with the usual 70-odd litres and swallowing hard before paying the bill, we limped on southwards, praying and sticking to high gears. The last filling station in the whole of the country was 30 km away at Nchalo, and though we'd been assured in Chikwawa that they would have diesel, what that assurance actually means in Malawi is anyone's guess.
There was a hearty round of applause when we pulled up in Nchalo filling station next to an operating pump that read 'Diesel' in large letters and filled the tank. Now we only had to do about 250 km in a fuel-desert before our next refill.
Half an hour down the road in Ngabu, the engine of the Sherman started smoking. Not good. We pulled over and opened the lid, and the smoke almost immediately disappeared. If we'd known more about cars, we might have read the signs of a burning clutch, but we didn't, and we didn't. We gave it a few minutes, added some oil (the level was a bit low), chatted for a while with a passing muzungu about our chances of making it to Bangula alive (he wasn't hopeful), and got on our way. And all seemed well. No smoke. We arrived at the orphanage about noon. Pam and Will Philips were away with a team (they'd stopped in to visit us at FM earlier in the week), but we were made welcome by Harold, another Canadian, and by the kids. For me, Bangula was beginning to feel like home away from home despite the lack of showerage, the odious long-drop facilities and sleeping in a tent. It's hard not to feel at home when kids up to the age of 10 come and plonk themselves in your lap and play with your hair without the slightest provocation (I don't have any hair...I'm talking about the girls, mainly). It's really hard not to feel at home when the older kids spend half their time begging you to play their favourite songs for them and the other half singing the new ones you've taught them just that morning better than Matt Redman or Dougie-doug-doug could ever hope to. We enjoyed Bangula.
The next morning, in fear and trepidation, we embarked for Nsanje prison in two vehicles. The clutch almost immediately burnt out of the Sherman, so we packed 15 of us in the Raider and clung on for dear life as Wik zoomed (very carefully) in and out of storm drains for an hour and a quarter. At one stage when Wik accelerated away, having stopped, Vicky and myself did fall out the back. But then, we were standing up. And we were generally more hilarified than hurt. BUt it is perhaps not surprising that we were a little cautious on arriving at Nsanje prison. The prison is a square of dirt surrounded by bob-wire 20 ft high. There are three 'houses' with 70 men in each - transatlantic slave-trading vessels had more room on board - and a large shady tree in the middle of the remaining courtyard which the men gathered under to greet us. There were 10 or 12 toilets and a similar no of showers. Otherwise, just dirt. So imagine our surprise to be warmly, even jovially greeted by a chorus of 'Muli bwanj?' (loosely translated 'a'right, mates?') We began with a song, shared who we were, and then myself and Cath spoke a bit of encouragement from the Bible for them. They were impressed by Wik's 20-year record in Malawi, so much so that they let us beat their clearly superior football team 4-1 (who was that hat-trick hero then, eh?). We then distributed soap, biscuits and some tracts that William Mposa (yes, he was there again like the bad penny) had brought. We were even allowed to take video footage of the distribution process, and the inmates rose to the occasion by cheering wildly for no apparent reason apart from the camera. We would later realise that this footage had compromised our relationship with the prisons slightly, but at the time, it was such an answer to prayer.
We returned to Bangula happy, hungry and tired to have a bedtime singing session with the kids and then keel into our sleeping bags (except for the 4 boys who were sharing a tent and were beautifully warm sans) for a 9 hour sleep. Wik and William had headed home. The Cruiser had been towed back to TM to await spare parts, which Wik would bring on Monday.
Saturday dawned bright and early, but we were up before that, grabbing cereal bars and packing our stuff before we headed off for BTM in Tengani, Nsanje and Marka. Lapson Mbewe, pastor, orphanage-manager, pioneer is service to the blind in Malawi, co-founder of BTM and my translator and friend from 2006 arrived in his pickup, unexpectedly, to help ferry us to the teaching points. Nobody tell me God doesn't provide. We arrived almost on time for a change, with bread AND orange squash, and had three very good sessions - ours in Tengani was perhaps the longest. Dave Corkish distinguished himself with passionate exposition of Eph 1 and 2, while Helen and Phoebe coped well with 100 rowdy kids and no translator. Afterwards, we left the pastors distributing bread and squash while we toured the town. We saw Mozambique across the river and just made it back to shelter in a Coke shop before a freak downpour. Sam and Mbewe arrived to drive us home, but the weather was still threatening and we had not brought the top for the pickup. Back in Bangula, we packed the cars, rigged a tarpaulin over the bedraggled few in the Raider and left for Blantyre. Mbewe carried half the team, and travelled the whole way to FR (at least 3 hours) and then had to head back again after dark - would someone please pray massive blessings on that man?
On Monday we had a change of plans. We had intended to teach in the schools as Team 1 had done, but we'd got our days wrong and were booked in to Mvuu and CM. The cars being rather the worse for wear, Wik hired a 16-seat minibus which had practical room for about 11 midgets and we wedged ourselves in and prepared for three hours of bumpy driving. This was good bonding time - so good we had to surgically separate ourselves at the other end. Thankfully we stopped halfway, in Zomba, to visit the chief commisioner of prisons and thank him for allowing us to beat his prisoners at football. Singing (as requested) 'The Lord's My Shepherd' in his red-velvet and teakwood-panelled office with a bevy of epauletted officers looking on was a feeling like no other - if you crossed a steak on the barby, a saint in heaven, and Maria von Trapp, you'd be getting close. Packed back in our little van, we reminisced on the bizarre experience and tried hard to sleep. And then we arrived at Mvuu.
No two times at Mvuu are the same, but I won't list all the animals we did or didn't see this time...suffice to say we saw more than expected and were duly happy. The weather was also warmer and drier. CM was similarly warm, and Sam and I had a zonk-out sess in the sun by the pool while the others snorkelled. There were 3 bus loads of Leeds students there, and we challenged them to volleyball but ended up playing by ourselves, with a few of the CM staff adding some class to each side. Wednesday night we travelled back to FR rested, but still a little stiff from all the snug driving. On Thursday we tried to make up for Monday's loss by visiting the school, but they had a school festival on - a rally to raise support for the school from the community. As usual, we were afforded plastic chairs and front row seats. Various groups of school children from the various schools represented did dances, skits, poems and recitations in Chichewa. For the first 2, I asked a nearby staff member what they were saying, but apparently every single item had the same message: 'the resourcing of education is the responsibility of all stakeholders'. I stopped asking after a while. There were various speeches, all on the same theme and with hardly any variety of phraseology. An honoured guest appeared about 2 hours late, by which stage we were almost melting from the sun. We performed two songs, the only two pieces in the entire show to say anything other than 'the resourcing of education is the responsibility of all stakeholders', felt a little out of place, and presented notebooks and biros to each school in the district, which felt a lot more fitting. We then vamoosed.
That evening we went down to the new FR trust property and showed the Jesus film in Chichewa to the villagers there. It was a big occasion, despite light rain which eventually blew out the speakers. The villagers happily watched the film in silence, exclaiming at the appropriate part, 'Wamoyo! Wamoyo!' (Alive! Alive!) - evidently they knew what was happening. Meanwhile, we had a picnic supper in the dark in the Trust house (with a broken floor, remember).
It was at this stage that Wik and Sam offered the team the option of staying a further 2 weeks. Despite not having insurance cover, further spending money, or the direct approval of team 3 themselves, Cath, Sarah and Beth accepted. There was much phoning and debating going on, and for a whole day it looked as if they weren't going to be able to get return tickets on the right flight. But eventually the ticket confirmation came through. No sooner had that happened then team 3 turned up and the handover process began again. Thankfully they were on time so the festivities only lasted until midnight or so. Team 3 were somewhat surprised to find themselves 12 instead of 9, but no-one complained. With BTM looming in the morning, it was good to have some more experienced hands aboard, and team leaders Simon and Dan soon put the newbies to work, letting them lead the first devotion.
Saturday saw team 2 leave for Lilongwe at 6am and team 3 leave for Mdeka and Chileka towns to teach. With no Sam on board, the responsibility for safety, ministry and just about everything lay on Simon and Dan in the Chileka group and yours truly in the Mdeka group. I'd had 4 weeks practice by this time, but I still felt the niggling doubts - 'Wow, think how many people's lives you could screw up if you blow it now!' But teaching went well, with Dai, Berni and Hannah all joining me in the teaching room while also helping Nish and Becca with the children. We returned to a big lunch and a game of volleyball at FR.
Sunday we visited CPC, again leading the music, and enjoyed Canadian pastor Gary Stagg's teaching on David and Goliath. We felt fairly David-like with several giant tasks ahead of us, but who wins in the story, eh? Who wins? We had lunch at Megabyte, and Berni bought half of the sweets in the nearby Shoprite supermarket - apparently they reminded her of her childhood in SA. That afternoon we joined Chinkosa, head guardsman of FR, at his church in Kantimbanye (?) village - a small grass hut with raised humps of dirt to sit on. They had brought all the chairs in the village, four-legged or short of one, for the visitors to sit on, buyt thankfully they didn't have enough so some of us got to sit in the 'pews' with the hordes of children who had followed us down the mountain, and with the village people. We led several Chichewa songs that we had learnt, and sang a couple of English ones while everyone listened, and then they sang and danced for five or ten minutes, we joining in as best as rhythm-deficient Brits can. When it came time for someone to speak, it became apparent that they expected us to preach, so I shared a verse from 2 Cor about testing yourself to make sure that you are in the faith. Then we asked if oine of the villagers had a verse. One brave man stood and told us the story of Hezekiah, who had ten years (or maybe 15?) added to his life as a result of his prayer to God. It was a bit impromptu, but the warmth of the welcome was unquestioned, the presence of the children (they're often not allowed in church, or get moved to the back) was a delight, and we walked/danced/sang our way home content, having promised to come back and show the Jesus film before we left.
On Monday we went to the lunchtime service, prepared to share a few words, but their was a visiting New York/Malawian pastor who spoke on David and Goliath. God really was trying to get through to someone, probably all of us, that there was no way we were big enough to make a difference in Malawi in two weeks - He is big enough though, so that's OK. Afterwards we had lunch and headed for Hope Village, arriving late and having to rush our visit. The children weren't impressed. On the way home we picked up Rhoda and her family and planned out our teaching the next day, before having dinner. We taught Tuesday morning and finished the distribution of the exercise books and pens - the kids were really delighted with such tiny presents
We had no fuel. We'd had no fuel since Majete game park on Wednesday. The Raider's dashboard said so. When we set off in the morning, we hoped that running down the hill using little throttle would see us as far as the filling station in Chikwawa. It did, but Chikwawa filling station had no diesel. After filling the thirsty Sherman with the usual 70-odd litres and swallowing hard before paying the bill, we limped on southwards, praying and sticking to high gears. The last filling station in the whole of the country was 30 km away at Nchalo, and though we'd been assured in Chikwawa that they would have diesel, what that assurance actually means in Malawi is anyone's guess.
There was a hearty round of applause when we pulled up in Nchalo filling station next to an operating pump that read 'Diesel' in large letters and filled the tank. Now we only had to do about 250 km in a fuel-desert before our next refill.
Half an hour down the road in Ngabu, the engine of the Sherman started smoking. Not good. We pulled over and opened the lid, and the smoke almost immediately disappeared. If we'd known more about cars, we might have read the signs of a burning clutch, but we didn't, and we didn't. We gave it a few minutes, added some oil (the level was a bit low), chatted for a while with a passing muzungu about our chances of making it to Bangula alive (he wasn't hopeful), and got on our way. And all seemed well. No smoke. We arrived at the orphanage about noon. Pam and Will Philips were away with a team (they'd stopped in to visit us at FM earlier in the week), but we were made welcome by Harold, another Canadian, and by the kids. For me, Bangula was beginning to feel like home away from home despite the lack of showerage, the odious long-drop facilities and sleeping in a tent. It's hard not to feel at home when kids up to the age of 10 come and plonk themselves in your lap and play with your hair without the slightest provocation (I don't have any hair...I'm talking about the girls, mainly). It's really hard not to feel at home when the older kids spend half their time begging you to play their favourite songs for them and the other half singing the new ones you've taught them just that morning better than Matt Redman or Dougie-doug-doug could ever hope to. We enjoyed Bangula.
The next morning, in fear and trepidation, we embarked for Nsanje prison in two vehicles. The clutch almost immediately burnt out of the Sherman, so we packed 15 of us in the Raider and clung on for dear life as Wik zoomed (very carefully) in and out of storm drains for an hour and a quarter. At one stage when Wik accelerated away, having stopped, Vicky and myself did fall out the back. But then, we were standing up. And we were generally more hilarified than hurt. BUt it is perhaps not surprising that we were a little cautious on arriving at Nsanje prison. The prison is a square of dirt surrounded by bob-wire 20 ft high. There are three 'houses' with 70 men in each - transatlantic slave-trading vessels had more room on board - and a large shady tree in the middle of the remaining courtyard which the men gathered under to greet us. There were 10 or 12 toilets and a similar no of showers. Otherwise, just dirt. So imagine our surprise to be warmly, even jovially greeted by a chorus of 'Muli bwanj?' (loosely translated 'a'right, mates?') We began with a song, shared who we were, and then myself and Cath spoke a bit of encouragement from the Bible for them. They were impressed by Wik's 20-year record in Malawi, so much so that they let us beat their clearly superior football team 4-1 (who was that hat-trick hero then, eh?). We then distributed soap, biscuits and some tracts that William Mposa (yes, he was there again like the bad penny) had brought. We were even allowed to take video footage of the distribution process, and the inmates rose to the occasion by cheering wildly for no apparent reason apart from the camera. We would later realise that this footage had compromised our relationship with the prisons slightly, but at the time, it was such an answer to prayer.
We returned to Bangula happy, hungry and tired to have a bedtime singing session with the kids and then keel into our sleeping bags (except for the 4 boys who were sharing a tent and were beautifully warm sans) for a 9 hour sleep. Wik and William had headed home. The Cruiser had been towed back to TM to await spare parts, which Wik would bring on Monday.
Saturday dawned bright and early, but we were up before that, grabbing cereal bars and packing our stuff before we headed off for BTM in Tengani, Nsanje and Marka. Lapson Mbewe, pastor, orphanage-manager, pioneer is service to the blind in Malawi, co-founder of BTM and my translator and friend from 2006 arrived in his pickup, unexpectedly, to help ferry us to the teaching points. Nobody tell me God doesn't provide. We arrived almost on time for a change, with bread AND orange squash, and had three very good sessions - ours in Tengani was perhaps the longest. Dave Corkish distinguished himself with passionate exposition of Eph 1 and 2, while Helen and Phoebe coped well with 100 rowdy kids and no translator. Afterwards, we left the pastors distributing bread and squash while we toured the town. We saw Mozambique across the river and just made it back to shelter in a Coke shop before a freak downpour. Sam and Mbewe arrived to drive us home, but the weather was still threatening and we had not brought the top for the pickup. Back in Bangula, we packed the cars, rigged a tarpaulin over the bedraggled few in the Raider and left for Blantyre. Mbewe carried half the team, and travelled the whole way to FR (at least 3 hours) and then had to head back again after dark - would someone please pray massive blessings on that man?
On Monday we had a change of plans. We had intended to teach in the schools as Team 1 had done, but we'd got our days wrong and were booked in to Mvuu and CM. The cars being rather the worse for wear, Wik hired a 16-seat minibus which had practical room for about 11 midgets and we wedged ourselves in and prepared for three hours of bumpy driving. This was good bonding time - so good we had to surgically separate ourselves at the other end. Thankfully we stopped halfway, in Zomba, to visit the chief commisioner of prisons and thank him for allowing us to beat his prisoners at football. Singing (as requested) 'The Lord's My Shepherd' in his red-velvet and teakwood-panelled office with a bevy of epauletted officers looking on was a feeling like no other - if you crossed a steak on the barby, a saint in heaven, and Maria von Trapp, you'd be getting close. Packed back in our little van, we reminisced on the bizarre experience and tried hard to sleep. And then we arrived at Mvuu.
No two times at Mvuu are the same, but I won't list all the animals we did or didn't see this time...suffice to say we saw more than expected and were duly happy. The weather was also warmer and drier. CM was similarly warm, and Sam and I had a zonk-out sess in the sun by the pool while the others snorkelled. There were 3 bus loads of Leeds students there, and we challenged them to volleyball but ended up playing by ourselves, with a few of the CM staff adding some class to each side. Wednesday night we travelled back to FR rested, but still a little stiff from all the snug driving. On Thursday we tried to make up for Monday's loss by visiting the school, but they had a school festival on - a rally to raise support for the school from the community. As usual, we were afforded plastic chairs and front row seats. Various groups of school children from the various schools represented did dances, skits, poems and recitations in Chichewa. For the first 2, I asked a nearby staff member what they were saying, but apparently every single item had the same message: 'the resourcing of education is the responsibility of all stakeholders'. I stopped asking after a while. There were various speeches, all on the same theme and with hardly any variety of phraseology. An honoured guest appeared about 2 hours late, by which stage we were almost melting from the sun. We performed two songs, the only two pieces in the entire show to say anything other than 'the resourcing of education is the responsibility of all stakeholders', felt a little out of place, and presented notebooks and biros to each school in the district, which felt a lot more fitting. We then vamoosed.
That evening we went down to the new FR trust property and showed the Jesus film in Chichewa to the villagers there. It was a big occasion, despite light rain which eventually blew out the speakers. The villagers happily watched the film in silence, exclaiming at the appropriate part, 'Wamoyo! Wamoyo!' (Alive! Alive!) - evidently they knew what was happening. Meanwhile, we had a picnic supper in the dark in the Trust house (with a broken floor, remember).
It was at this stage that Wik and Sam offered the team the option of staying a further 2 weeks. Despite not having insurance cover, further spending money, or the direct approval of team 3 themselves, Cath, Sarah and Beth accepted. There was much phoning and debating going on, and for a whole day it looked as if they weren't going to be able to get return tickets on the right flight. But eventually the ticket confirmation came through. No sooner had that happened then team 3 turned up and the handover process began again. Thankfully they were on time so the festivities only lasted until midnight or so. Team 3 were somewhat surprised to find themselves 12 instead of 9, but no-one complained. With BTM looming in the morning, it was good to have some more experienced hands aboard, and team leaders Simon and Dan soon put the newbies to work, letting them lead the first devotion.
Saturday saw team 2 leave for Lilongwe at 6am and team 3 leave for Mdeka and Chileka towns to teach. With no Sam on board, the responsibility for safety, ministry and just about everything lay on Simon and Dan in the Chileka group and yours truly in the Mdeka group. I'd had 4 weeks practice by this time, but I still felt the niggling doubts - 'Wow, think how many people's lives you could screw up if you blow it now!' But teaching went well, with Dai, Berni and Hannah all joining me in the teaching room while also helping Nish and Becca with the children. We returned to a big lunch and a game of volleyball at FR.
Sunday we visited CPC, again leading the music, and enjoyed Canadian pastor Gary Stagg's teaching on David and Goliath. We felt fairly David-like with several giant tasks ahead of us, but who wins in the story, eh? Who wins? We had lunch at Megabyte, and Berni bought half of the sweets in the nearby Shoprite supermarket - apparently they reminded her of her childhood in SA. That afternoon we joined Chinkosa, head guardsman of FR, at his church in Kantimbanye (?) village - a small grass hut with raised humps of dirt to sit on. They had brought all the chairs in the village, four-legged or short of one, for the visitors to sit on, buyt thankfully they didn't have enough so some of us got to sit in the 'pews' with the hordes of children who had followed us down the mountain, and with the village people. We led several Chichewa songs that we had learnt, and sang a couple of English ones while everyone listened, and then they sang and danced for five or ten minutes, we joining in as best as rhythm-deficient Brits can. When it came time for someone to speak, it became apparent that they expected us to preach, so I shared a verse from 2 Cor about testing yourself to make sure that you are in the faith. Then we asked if oine of the villagers had a verse. One brave man stood and told us the story of Hezekiah, who had ten years (or maybe 15?) added to his life as a result of his prayer to God. It was a bit impromptu, but the warmth of the welcome was unquestioned, the presence of the children (they're often not allowed in church, or get moved to the back) was a delight, and we walked/danced/sang our way home content, having promised to come back and show the Jesus film before we left.
On Monday we went to the lunchtime service, prepared to share a few words, but their was a visiting New York/Malawian pastor who spoke on David and Goliath. God really was trying to get through to someone, probably all of us, that there was no way we were big enough to make a difference in Malawi in two weeks - He is big enough though, so that's OK. Afterwards we had lunch and headed for Hope Village, arriving late and having to rush our visit. The children weren't impressed. On the way home we picked up Rhoda and her family and planned out our teaching the next day, before having dinner. We taught Tuesday morning and finished the distribution of the exercise books and pens - the kids were really delighted with such tiny presents
On Tuesday afternoon we had a surprise visit from two families - one were Malawi residents from SA and the recent visitors to Malawi from Holland. The second family had had a horrific time in the country - they'd arrived for a two month mission trip only to be attacked by armed bandits at their home the first night - both parents were injured by machetes and the oldest girl had been sexually assaulted. To compound their sorrows, they'd had to spend most of the rest of their time in Malawi sitting in police stations and hospitals filling in forms. Considering their situation, they were bearing up incredibly well, but they still needed some time out to chill in relative safety - so they came to FR. We had an awesome game of volleyball with the older children, and then went for a series of game walks through the FR park, which revealed only one little duika, unfortunately. After dinner they went back to Blantyre.
Wednesday morning we left for CM. Team 3 did most things backwards by STORM standards...they had their visit to the lake and Mvuu first, finishing with prisons work and Majete in the last week. Anyway, the lake was sunny as ever. I was glad to use it as a chance to chill to the max (any Pepsi executives out there? I think that deserves some sponsorship) and eat vast quantities of good food. There was a missionary convention going on, Southern Baptists from the States, so the place was full and we were spread around various chalets in various parts of the property. It was at CM that I first developed signs of oesophagial ulcers. They had developed as a result of my use of doxycycline antimalarials, and for several days I thought it was heart-burn, so took antacids, which only made things worse.
Mvuu was also good - made more special when Wik unexpetedly flew into the airstrip there to join us for breakfast. His airborne photo of us on our river cruise is definitive of STORM 3. We returned to Blantyre on Friday, where we bought a generator as a present for Pam and Will at Bangula and I stopped taking doxycylcine.
On Saturday morning we left for CTI teaching on the way to Bangula and Nsanje. We were towing 500kg of maize in Wik's trailer, but we were stopped at the first checkpoint and Dan's licence was confiscated (horror!) because we didn't have insurance papers for the trailer. Eventually the police officer let us off on compassionate grounds, because we were involved in relief work - Nsanje district was suffering a shortage of maize. We then met up with our translators, Mbewe and his friend Charles, both of whom were excellent as ever. The pastors at Fourways didn't turn up, which was providential because it meant that my team at Nchalo, who were completely overwhelmed by the disorderly kids there, had extra hands to help. The teaching again went well, with an all time record no of teachers teaching, starting with myself, then Berni, Hannah, Becca, and Simon. After leaving bread and Sobo squash for the pastors to distribute, we met up with Wik and said goodbye to Mbewe and Charles. We then headed to the southernmost tip of Malawi where we had been invited to attend the annual convention of the church of disciples, with whom Wik had formerly been very involved. Pastor Rodgers, a humble man and longstanding pastor, welcomed us to the mission house there where we actually had beds! (well, half of us did) Wik and arranged to meet the prisoners at Nsanje for a follow-up session, and then we had dinner, handed over the maize, and then turned out to their evening meeting, which was a packed sweaty hall heaving with dancing bodies. It was fun to begin with, but we soon became aware that very few there knew quite what they were there for - they weren't listening to Rodgers, preferring to chat at the back. When called upon to speak, Wik laid in to them with a challenge to unity in worship - some listened, many didn't. We finished the service with some quiet English songs, which none of those there knew, and then headed for bed. I was now not eating at all because the ulcers were reacting to anything I swallowed with the exception of warm water.
Saturday morning we went early to the prison with fresh-baked bread. Becca and Beth both shared thoughts for the day before we played football - Rodgers' sons played for us and scored all of our goals - I think we won three-one. I was supposed to sit out on account of my illness, but couldn't help playing the second half. Honestly, I tried to say no, but my legs weren't listening! We returned to the Church of Disciples to join their morning meeting, which had been going since 730am. Various choirs were singing, and then Rodgers delivered his sermon which was a call to courage from the book of Joshua, and very very relevant to our own situation at the time. We were then formally introduced (the mood hadn't quite been right for it the previous night), and several of us shared testimonies. Rodgers and the elders gave us a right royal sending-off, with prayers and blessings, and we returned to the mission house for lunch, before leaving for TM.
By now the kids at TM were getting used to the green shirts of the STORM team, even though the people in them changed every fortnight. I was surprised at how many of the 130 orphans I now knew by name. We had a really good time singing and putting on a puppet show for them that night in their newly-finished hall, then set up our tents and slept. The next morning I started eating again, and we led the assembly with another puppet show. Will, the two oldest classes of kids, and a team of medics from the States (with one Scot) were preparing to go out on mission themselves to two nearby villages. They had a lorry which they were loading with their video-projection equipment (and the generator we had bought to power it), their food for 5 days, medical equipment and about 30 people - a hefty operation involving a lot of ropes and spanners. When they finally got on the road at noon, we visited the remaining classes for an hour each, shared lunch with the kids, and then led in some games on the abandoned airfield outside the gates, while others of us spent time hugging babies in the newly-built infants' house :-) And that wasn't just the ladies, was it Dan?
Back in FR that night, we planned out the last few days of our time in Malawi. Tuesday we would visit Chikwawa prison for the morning, and work at the FR Trust in the afternoon. Wednesday we were booked into Majete, which left Thursday for one more lunchtime service, gift-shopping in town and work at the Mpemba clinic.
The warders at Chikwawa were prepared for us this time, which is just as well, because our leading man of all other prison visits, William Mpemba, was busy at work. They let us in, sat us down, and laid out in detail their plans for the prison's development and the part they felt STORM could play in it. It was impressive! They had 40 acres of arable land which needed irrigation, for which they needed a bore-well and pump. They also needed vegetable seeds for planting and had researched which plants grew best in the area. And they needed uniform for their prisoners so that they could send them out in work gangs in the fields and locale. This was not the African begging we had become accustomed to - this was a carefully thought out, courteous but firm request for commitment. We hadn't expected anything such, and it took us a few minutes to grasp the concept, but once we had, we were excited. This was exactly the kind of thing STORM needed if it was to make any lasting change in Malawi - committed on-the-ground partners who we could feed into for short time periods but with great intensity, to support year-round work. We shared with the prisoners as usual, this time without one of the prisoners translating for us (which was a little nerve-wracking at first, but he seemed to be doing a faithful job). The lady prisoners, at the lady STORM-members request, were allowed into the men's prison for this meeting, which I had never seen before. When we asked if there were any choirs who wanted to sing, we instead got a pair of brothers who jammed with me on Sarah's guitar and sang a couple of their own reggae-style songs. And the football game was a faster afair this time, which ended with STORM avenging its earlier humiliation with a well-fought 3-2 victory. We again distributed soap to each prisoner, and then made our way home to FR - and for all of us, it was becoming home. At the FR trust, we had great fun demolishing the old cookhouse with sledge-hammers, pickaxes and long wooden poles, while two of Wik's workmen cut down the mbawe tree that had been destroying the foundations of the main house. All the children of the village joined us, forming a chain to pass rubble from the destruction site to the rubbish pit.
Wednesdays trip to Majete was successful as ever - Dan and Dai enjoyed driving safari-style in the Cruiser, and both groups of walkers on the telemetric elephant-tracking walk were rewarded with the sight of elephants. I was even getting a bit bored of elephants, we'd been that blessed seeing them.
On Thursday I had a bit of a panic when I realised my 30-day visa was 6 days overdue, so while the medics helped in the maternity ward of Mpemba clinic and the others finished off work at the FR Trust, Wik and I went into town and chatted to the immigration office who took one look at my Temporary Employment Record application and stamped my passport for another 2 months. We then all met up at the lunchtime service, where Dan and Sarah shared their testimonies and we sang a couple of songs to end the service.
Simon had discovered that, unexpectedly, we had 30,000 kwacha (GBP100) of team funds to spend in one afternoon, so we headed back to the market, and then to Megabyte for lunch. While there we visited Shoprite supermarket to buy some last edible reminders of Malawi, and headed home.
In the evening we fulfilled our promise to the villagers of Kantimbanye village, where we'd visited in the first week, and showed them the Jesus film. William Mposa and Rhoda Makuti (& family) joined us for the film, and then came back to FR for a last, big meal to celebrate 6 weeks of utter mayhem, great fun, and obedience to Jesus Christ. William, ever magnanimous, had brought some baobab juice for us to share - it wasn't alcoholic but it certainly had something powerful in it. I managed a mouthful. Sarah, our baobab-hugger, was overjoyed. After the meal, when William and Rhoda had left for home, we had our last team 3 meeting. Everyone was given an award for service (I was 'Go-go-gadget' man for every situation), and we prayed to close. Then Berni co-ordinted the team in chucking Simon in the pool. That done, the team turned their attention to Dan and I. Dan resorted to dire threats to save his skin, but there was an enormous scuffle between me and everybody - I spent a lot of time clinging desperately to table-legs, door-frames, and eventually a large acacia tree while they dragged me ever poolwards. But that acacia tree saved me, and after a while someone (I'd lost track of exactly which ghoulish fiend was who by this stage!) settled the matter by pouring a bucket of pool water on me and Cath Brindley, who was unlucky enough to be trying to extricate my fingers from the branch at the time. I remain defiant. I didn't go in the pool. Clear victory.
The next morning after almost no sleep we loaded our 30-seater minibus (I made it more like 20 seats for average-sized people, but it was enough in any case and headed for the airport -Team 3 to say goodbye to Malawi for at least a year, and myself to say goodbye to the last people who physically linked me with Cardiff and the UK. William Mposa came with us, which was awesome as it gave us chance to get to know him a bit more and plan for next year's prison work, and it gave me company on the return journey. I'll not spend too long on the goodbyes. I don't cry often. In any case, all of them, including Wik, managed to get their flight and Sarah Ken texted me to say thaty'd got home the next day.
William and I, meanwhile, stopped in Dedza pottery in the way home, where there is an excellent cafe. We both had cheese and mushroom quiche, which was surreal in Malawi where mushrooms are almost non-existent and cheese is exorbitantly expensive. The pottery is a truly gorgeous place, both practical in what it makes and aesthetically pleasing in the grounds, the artwork, and the attitude of the staff.
And so ends my account of the STORM 07 trips to Malawi. I'll post again soon, but the lunchtime service at CPC is starting downstairs from this internet cafe, and I want to play guitar at it so... ndapita!
Wednesday 8 August 2007
The STORM account
I was certain internet was likely to be slow in Malawi, but the truth is a little more complex. Yahoo Beta mail is a nightmare, but once I switched back to the original I could mail almost as fast as in the UK. Blogging has taken me 5 weeks of trying to even access and today, randomly, it loaded in about 5 seconds flat. Ours not reason why, ours just to do before the computer dies...
This is likely to be a horrendously long post, so beware. I have six action-packed weeks of STORM mission to document, if I can remember them, and there's not really anything I feel I can leave out, so here goes:
Before beginning, some key names for the record: STORM is Student Outreach Malawi, a bunch of madcap students and ex-students who somehow know Sam Orr from Cardiff Uni CU and want to follow him to darkest Malawi (MLW) to do all sorts of strange things in the name of Jesus Christ - whoop whoop! So Sam Orr(SO) is another, he co-ordinates things from the student side. Wik Chichowski co-ordinates STORM from the Malawi side of things. He has a wife Sue (W&S) and together they own Fisherman's Rest (FR) where STORM stays in MLW - a gorgeous resort and mission's base, and also where I now live. There were 3 STORM teams this year: STORM 1 was made up of Sarah N and Rich (leaders), Louisa, Katie, Becci, Steph and Mim, Ben, Darren, SO and I. STORM 2 was Pete and Vicky (leaders), Dave, Amy, Anna, Beth, Cath, Sarah Ken, Helen and Phoebe, SO and I. STORM 3 was Dan and Simon (leaders), Dai, Becca, Berni, Nisha, Libby, Hannah, then Cath, Beth and Sarah K from STORM 2 and I. Blantyre (BT) is the biggest city in Malawi. Tiyamike Mulungu (TM) is an orphanage we do a lot of work with. CTI/BTM is Bible Teaching Malawi, a programme of Sat seminars for rural pastors. Mvuu is Mvuu Camp, in Liwonde Game Park. Club Mak (CM) is Malawi's premier lakeside resort. LL is Lilongwe, capital of Malawi. Sherman is a 20-odd yr old Toyota Land Cruiser with an attitude. The Raider is a 20-odd yr old Toyota Hilux Raider. The Maestro is the third car at FR. Confused is what you now all are, having read that exhasutive list. But for a new country you need a new language. I may also chuck in some Chichewa words just to spice things up a little and compound your bewilderment ;)
After returning from India on the 14th of June, I had just over a week at Bethel to write my reports, pack up Gareth and Becky Payne's now-empty house (they were in Anglesey) of all my worldly katundu, say my goodbyes to a hundred and one really good friends (and some not so good ones, who also deserved a goodbye ;) ) and get myself to the airport in Heathrow. Oh yeah, and then there was the Malawi inauguratioin weekend at Wik and Sue Chichowski's house, Cold Blow, in Pembrokeshire, which was a great time for all 29 STORM members, plus one ex-STORM member and W&S' family to get together and brainstorm our trip. Anyway, I got through all that stuff and was feeling pretty good about the whole STOMR trip thing. I mean, the packing and saying goodbye is always the hard part, and I'd breezed through it, so what could stand against me?
Ethiopian Airlines (EA). We arrived at Heathrow early for the flight, but couldn't find the check-out queue for EA. When they finally opened one, we queued for two hours before being told that the plane we were to fly on was grounded in Rome with technical problems. Five minutes later, there was a call on the PA to evacuate the terminal, so we all proceeded somewhat hysterically to the road outside terminal 3, fully expecting the building to go up in a fireball at any moment. It didn't, but all the emergency services darting around did entertain us a fair bit. Apparently someone had been caught on CCTV darting into the terminal with a bag, and then darting out without it. The bag proved to be harmless. Which begs the question, what was its bearer up to? A prelude to the foiled attempts of two weeks later on Glasgow and Heathrow?
Back in the terminal, it was now time to fly, but we still had no plane, so EA promised to put us up in the Holiday Inn. A bit disappointed, but excited to be a team, we headed off to HI, only to find they were overbooked. Another phone call to EA promised us entrance to the Crowne Plaza Hotel, but on arrival there, they said they had heard nothing from EA. It was now 1am. At 230pm, when EA had still sorted nothing, Wik paid for our rooms personally (expecting recompense from EA) and we got 3 hours sleep. At 6am we headed back to the airport, where there was no certain news of a plane, so I had to entertain us all by trying to sneak my penknife through immigration (it was an accident, honest!). We boarded at 11 and arrived in Addis in the evening after a torrential downpour we were glad to miss. We had, of course, missed our connecting flight, so EA had to put us up in a hotel for two nights. They promised an 'upgraded hotel'. It had cockroaches in the rooms and electrical sockets in the showers, but we were too tired to complain anymore. They had also lost 3 of our bags, but promised to find them before we flew again. Anyway, we spent 36 hours of fairly successful R&R exploring Addis and sleeping. EA seemed to have got themselves back on track, because they found our three bags and flew us, on time, to LL on Monday the 25th. Only 48 hours late. Only 80 hours after we'd left Cardiff on National Express. In one of histories famous blunders, I text my family to tell them we'd arrived '80 days later' and they wondered if they'd had a Rip van Winkle experience.
After a long sleep, we got straight into the programme. Huge credit to the team Spirit, after all we'd been through, we only wanted to get stuck in to what was left of our mission trip. Having missed a visit to Hope Village (HV) orphanage and our inaugural service at City Pentecostal Church (CPC), we began with a visit to Chikwawa prison. William Mposa, businessman, financial consultant, pastor, quirky individual soon to become a close friend, got us past the outer gate and into the governor's office, where we had to explain ourselves. Needless to say, we were a little nervous, but after several rounds of nervous ice-breaking, we were allowed by chief officer Mankhusu at least to speak to the prisoners. Winner! And so we spoke, shared testimonies, sang songs ('Shackles' was a favourite) and let the prison choir wow us with their African tones. And we gave out 12 Bibles and a New Testament, very thoughtfully donated by Wendy 'Meara of Bethel Baptist Church, Cardiff, before challenging the prisoners to a game of 6-a-side football, which we lost 10-2. We blame the heat, the rocks on the pitch, our lack of suitable footwear and and...well, just about anything else you can think of. A re-match was in order, but it would await another day...another month in fact. We finished by distributing bars of Antelope soap to each prisoner, two to the ladies, and two to the guards. Having not eaten, we were famished, but back in FR the ladies (Lucy, Mary and Esnet) had prepared sumptuous food that we would come to take for granted, so often and so easily did it appear.
Day 2 was another enigma, because we went to see Majete game park. This trip had been planned as a light break from four days of mission. We'd only had one, so sitting in the back of a Toyota all day watching animals, great though it was, was a bit frustrating for some. The park itself is inspirational. In 5 years it has gone from being a govt-owned scrubland with one nice waterfall spoilt by a powerstation to a world-class Dutch-run wildlife preserve hosting more than 2000 animals, with a formidable anti-poaching record and a considerate approach to the human population surrounding it.
Thursday we headed for TM in Bangula, 100km or so south of FR. There Pam and Will Philips run a 130-strong orphanage...google Tiyamike Mulungu for more info. We spent the day playing games and music with the awesome kids there and giving the teachers/Pam/Will a bit of a break. That night was difficult for 2 reasons - the girls, sleeping in a brick hut near the boys' tents, were attacked by a fiendish mouse which dive-bombed Katie and proceeded to wreak havoc until the heavy fist of Sarah Nathaniel ended its life. We boys were awoken at midnight by the girls demanding they also have a tent, so, good blokes that we are, we got up to oblige, with the exception of Rich, who slept through it all. Little did we know, as this was happening, a more serious problem had developed elsewhere in Bangula. One of Will's chief builders had lost his wife, probably as a result of complications from her pregnancy - her newborn had died the week previously. Will and Pam were broken by the event, and having our team and 2 other teams around simultaneously did not help things. We lightfooted it around for the day. A few of us went to the funeral with Will to support him and see firsthand village life and village death. The rest made themselves useful by waging war against the rats that had infested the storerooms at TM - 23 rodents lost their lives and Rich got brains on his leg. Need I expand on the epicness of the battle? Anyway, as soon as the funeral was over, we gave Will and Pam their space and scampered back to Bangula in Sherman and the Raider.
Saturday was our team 1's only BTM session. We visited Livunzu (Ian, Sarah and co) and Mitondo (Sam, Rich and friends) on the eastern escarpment, just south of FR. Bad roads meant we were a little late, especially to Mitondo, where the pastors, also new to the BTM experience complained at our tardiness, our failure to bring them bread (apparently new BTM policy had now ceased providing lunch for delegates, and we were unlucky enough to be the first teachers to have to impolement this), and the fact that we only visited once a year! I don't think they quite understood how much it cost us and our supporters to visit at all, and they didn't seem to care. They also demanded Sam set up an orphanage then and there and stay with them indefinitely. Thankfully, in Livinzu, things were a little more civilised. The teaching was well received, and the grumblings regarding bread were easily solved by sending a boy to the shop with MK900 (3 quid) to buy lunch for all 90 delegates. We did have one of the children trying to persuade the others that 'white muzungu are poisonous', but most of them were a little too well-educated for that myth. That afternoon we played our first game of volleyball at FR, a welcome down-time, destressing from some pretty extreme experiences.
Sunday we played music at the CPC service - a good service on all fronts. Pastor Glen (my new boss, and a Canadian missionary with some 18yrs Malawi experience) preached a very challenging and encouraging sermon about personal holiness, and we spent the time between church and lunch visiting David Livingstone's original mission station and 'cathedral' in central BT. That evening we prepared for teaching in Madziabango and Nasundu primary schools - a new experience and one we wanted to be well-prepared for. We had met Rhoda Makuti, the regional director and a person of obvious integrity, on Tuesday night, but there were still big unknowns about the program - minor details like 'How long are the lessons?' and 'What subjects am I teaching?' In any case, Monday went off with only the minimum amount of kerfuffle. Sarah also managed to save Madziabango school from going up in flames when a science teacher attempted to heat a bottle of paraffin over a naked flame to demonstrate evaporation!
Tuesday and Wednesday am we spent at Mvuu, 3 hours drive north. Unfortunately the Raider broke down with a dislocated drive shaft (or something) half way there, so we packed all 11 of us, plus 2 guitars, plus baggage into the Sherman and ditched the Raider, keys under the fuel cap, by the side of the main road for Wik to pick up and fix later in the day...only in Africa! Mvuu was cold and wet, but we saw everything from elephant to palm vultures ('the only vegetarian vulture', quipped our guide, Samuel, because they eat palm nuts). Wednesday lunch we had an hour up the road at CM, where we had been unexpectedly upgraded to Special Guests, which meant we got itchy woven reed sun hats and two beds each. CM made the Holiday Inn look a little tacky, with its 600-ft pristine beach, extensive array of water-sport, tennis/squash/astro courts and location on the gorgeous Monkey Bay. Some of us went snorkelling at nearby Boadzulu 'Bird' Island...some of us zonked out.
We returned to BT for one last day of local mission and tourism. We spent the morning at the curios market in BT, and the afternoon visiting HV very briefly. It was also Independence Day, so everything was shut, with the exception of a few stalls in the market. On the way to HV, we had our first road accident when a car ahead of the now-fixed Raider braked for a pothole. The Raider stopped in time, but Sherman, with her heavy brakes, didn't and pranged the back of the lead vehicle, almost pinning a shocked Louisa's arm between the two. No-one was physically hurt, although Sarah N, who had been driving the Sherman was unsurprisingly shaken by the experience. On the way home from Hope Village, the Sherman's fan-belt snapped and the engine quickly overheated while climbing the steep hill to FR. Ben, Sam and I waited with the stricken old beauty while Sarah and Rich and the rest went for help in the Raider. Wik returned with the Raider and proceeded to tow the two-ton Sherman 15km up the hill to FR with one headlight in the dark. There was a lot of prayer happening in that car ;)
That evening, team 2 arrived. They'd had some problems in Ethiopia with Claire's bag being lost and some of the team being ruthlessly overcharged for drinks in a rather dodgy venue, but at least they'd arrived on the right day. They'd also had to overcome a security guard fishing for bribes halfway from LL to BT. They arrived just before 11, and the welcome party, communion meal and settling in process lasted until at least 230. Team 1 then rose at 5, and left at 6 for the airport in a dodgy minibus with a suspect driver - their home journey was almost as eventful as their outward one, but for details you'll have to ask them, I wasn't there.
This is likely to be a horrendously long post, so beware. I have six action-packed weeks of STORM mission to document, if I can remember them, and there's not really anything I feel I can leave out, so here goes:
Before beginning, some key names for the record: STORM is Student Outreach Malawi, a bunch of madcap students and ex-students who somehow know Sam Orr from Cardiff Uni CU and want to follow him to darkest Malawi (MLW) to do all sorts of strange things in the name of Jesus Christ - whoop whoop! So Sam Orr(SO) is another, he co-ordinates things from the student side. Wik Chichowski co-ordinates STORM from the Malawi side of things. He has a wife Sue (W&S) and together they own Fisherman's Rest (FR) where STORM stays in MLW - a gorgeous resort and mission's base, and also where I now live. There were 3 STORM teams this year: STORM 1 was made up of Sarah N and Rich (leaders), Louisa, Katie, Becci, Steph and Mim, Ben, Darren, SO and I. STORM 2 was Pete and Vicky (leaders), Dave, Amy, Anna, Beth, Cath, Sarah Ken, Helen and Phoebe, SO and I. STORM 3 was Dan and Simon (leaders), Dai, Becca, Berni, Nisha, Libby, Hannah, then Cath, Beth and Sarah K from STORM 2 and I. Blantyre (BT) is the biggest city in Malawi. Tiyamike Mulungu (TM) is an orphanage we do a lot of work with. CTI/BTM is Bible Teaching Malawi, a programme of Sat seminars for rural pastors. Mvuu is Mvuu Camp, in Liwonde Game Park. Club Mak (CM) is Malawi's premier lakeside resort. LL is Lilongwe, capital of Malawi. Sherman is a 20-odd yr old Toyota Land Cruiser with an attitude. The Raider is a 20-odd yr old Toyota Hilux Raider. The Maestro is the third car at FR. Confused is what you now all are, having read that exhasutive list. But for a new country you need a new language. I may also chuck in some Chichewa words just to spice things up a little and compound your bewilderment ;)
After returning from India on the 14th of June, I had just over a week at Bethel to write my reports, pack up Gareth and Becky Payne's now-empty house (they were in Anglesey) of all my worldly katundu, say my goodbyes to a hundred and one really good friends (and some not so good ones, who also deserved a goodbye ;) ) and get myself to the airport in Heathrow. Oh yeah, and then there was the Malawi inauguratioin weekend at Wik and Sue Chichowski's house, Cold Blow, in Pembrokeshire, which was a great time for all 29 STORM members, plus one ex-STORM member and W&S' family to get together and brainstorm our trip. Anyway, I got through all that stuff and was feeling pretty good about the whole STOMR trip thing. I mean, the packing and saying goodbye is always the hard part, and I'd breezed through it, so what could stand against me?
Ethiopian Airlines (EA). We arrived at Heathrow early for the flight, but couldn't find the check-out queue for EA. When they finally opened one, we queued for two hours before being told that the plane we were to fly on was grounded in Rome with technical problems. Five minutes later, there was a call on the PA to evacuate the terminal, so we all proceeded somewhat hysterically to the road outside terminal 3, fully expecting the building to go up in a fireball at any moment. It didn't, but all the emergency services darting around did entertain us a fair bit. Apparently someone had been caught on CCTV darting into the terminal with a bag, and then darting out without it. The bag proved to be harmless. Which begs the question, what was its bearer up to? A prelude to the foiled attempts of two weeks later on Glasgow and Heathrow?
Back in the terminal, it was now time to fly, but we still had no plane, so EA promised to put us up in the Holiday Inn. A bit disappointed, but excited to be a team, we headed off to HI, only to find they were overbooked. Another phone call to EA promised us entrance to the Crowne Plaza Hotel, but on arrival there, they said they had heard nothing from EA. It was now 1am. At 230pm, when EA had still sorted nothing, Wik paid for our rooms personally (expecting recompense from EA) and we got 3 hours sleep. At 6am we headed back to the airport, where there was no certain news of a plane, so I had to entertain us all by trying to sneak my penknife through immigration (it was an accident, honest!). We boarded at 11 and arrived in Addis in the evening after a torrential downpour we were glad to miss. We had, of course, missed our connecting flight, so EA had to put us up in a hotel for two nights. They promised an 'upgraded hotel'. It had cockroaches in the rooms and electrical sockets in the showers, but we were too tired to complain anymore. They had also lost 3 of our bags, but promised to find them before we flew again. Anyway, we spent 36 hours of fairly successful R&R exploring Addis and sleeping. EA seemed to have got themselves back on track, because they found our three bags and flew us, on time, to LL on Monday the 25th. Only 48 hours late. Only 80 hours after we'd left Cardiff on National Express. In one of histories famous blunders, I text my family to tell them we'd arrived '80 days later' and they wondered if they'd had a Rip van Winkle experience.
After a long sleep, we got straight into the programme. Huge credit to the team Spirit, after all we'd been through, we only wanted to get stuck in to what was left of our mission trip. Having missed a visit to Hope Village (HV) orphanage and our inaugural service at City Pentecostal Church (CPC), we began with a visit to Chikwawa prison. William Mposa, businessman, financial consultant, pastor, quirky individual soon to become a close friend, got us past the outer gate and into the governor's office, where we had to explain ourselves. Needless to say, we were a little nervous, but after several rounds of nervous ice-breaking, we were allowed by chief officer Mankhusu at least to speak to the prisoners. Winner! And so we spoke, shared testimonies, sang songs ('Shackles' was a favourite) and let the prison choir wow us with their African tones. And we gave out 12 Bibles and a New Testament, very thoughtfully donated by Wendy 'Meara of Bethel Baptist Church, Cardiff, before challenging the prisoners to a game of 6-a-side football, which we lost 10-2. We blame the heat, the rocks on the pitch, our lack of suitable footwear and and...well, just about anything else you can think of. A re-match was in order, but it would await another day...another month in fact. We finished by distributing bars of Antelope soap to each prisoner, two to the ladies, and two to the guards. Having not eaten, we were famished, but back in FR the ladies (Lucy, Mary and Esnet) had prepared sumptuous food that we would come to take for granted, so often and so easily did it appear.
Day 2 was another enigma, because we went to see Majete game park. This trip had been planned as a light break from four days of mission. We'd only had one, so sitting in the back of a Toyota all day watching animals, great though it was, was a bit frustrating for some. The park itself is inspirational. In 5 years it has gone from being a govt-owned scrubland with one nice waterfall spoilt by a powerstation to a world-class Dutch-run wildlife preserve hosting more than 2000 animals, with a formidable anti-poaching record and a considerate approach to the human population surrounding it.
Thursday we headed for TM in Bangula, 100km or so south of FR. There Pam and Will Philips run a 130-strong orphanage...google Tiyamike Mulungu for more info. We spent the day playing games and music with the awesome kids there and giving the teachers/Pam/Will a bit of a break. That night was difficult for 2 reasons - the girls, sleeping in a brick hut near the boys' tents, were attacked by a fiendish mouse which dive-bombed Katie and proceeded to wreak havoc until the heavy fist of Sarah Nathaniel ended its life. We boys were awoken at midnight by the girls demanding they also have a tent, so, good blokes that we are, we got up to oblige, with the exception of Rich, who slept through it all. Little did we know, as this was happening, a more serious problem had developed elsewhere in Bangula. One of Will's chief builders had lost his wife, probably as a result of complications from her pregnancy - her newborn had died the week previously. Will and Pam were broken by the event, and having our team and 2 other teams around simultaneously did not help things. We lightfooted it around for the day. A few of us went to the funeral with Will to support him and see firsthand village life and village death. The rest made themselves useful by waging war against the rats that had infested the storerooms at TM - 23 rodents lost their lives and Rich got brains on his leg. Need I expand on the epicness of the battle? Anyway, as soon as the funeral was over, we gave Will and Pam their space and scampered back to Bangula in Sherman and the Raider.
Saturday was our team 1's only BTM session. We visited Livunzu (Ian, Sarah and co) and Mitondo (Sam, Rich and friends) on the eastern escarpment, just south of FR. Bad roads meant we were a little late, especially to Mitondo, where the pastors, also new to the BTM experience complained at our tardiness, our failure to bring them bread (apparently new BTM policy had now ceased providing lunch for delegates, and we were unlucky enough to be the first teachers to have to impolement this), and the fact that we only visited once a year! I don't think they quite understood how much it cost us and our supporters to visit at all, and they didn't seem to care. They also demanded Sam set up an orphanage then and there and stay with them indefinitely. Thankfully, in Livinzu, things were a little more civilised. The teaching was well received, and the grumblings regarding bread were easily solved by sending a boy to the shop with MK900 (3 quid) to buy lunch for all 90 delegates. We did have one of the children trying to persuade the others that 'white muzungu are poisonous', but most of them were a little too well-educated for that myth. That afternoon we played our first game of volleyball at FR, a welcome down-time, destressing from some pretty extreme experiences.
Sunday we played music at the CPC service - a good service on all fronts. Pastor Glen (my new boss, and a Canadian missionary with some 18yrs Malawi experience) preached a very challenging and encouraging sermon about personal holiness, and we spent the time between church and lunch visiting David Livingstone's original mission station and 'cathedral' in central BT. That evening we prepared for teaching in Madziabango and Nasundu primary schools - a new experience and one we wanted to be well-prepared for. We had met Rhoda Makuti, the regional director and a person of obvious integrity, on Tuesday night, but there were still big unknowns about the program - minor details like 'How long are the lessons?' and 'What subjects am I teaching?' In any case, Monday went off with only the minimum amount of kerfuffle. Sarah also managed to save Madziabango school from going up in flames when a science teacher attempted to heat a bottle of paraffin over a naked flame to demonstrate evaporation!
Tuesday and Wednesday am we spent at Mvuu, 3 hours drive north. Unfortunately the Raider broke down with a dislocated drive shaft (or something) half way there, so we packed all 11 of us, plus 2 guitars, plus baggage into the Sherman and ditched the Raider, keys under the fuel cap, by the side of the main road for Wik to pick up and fix later in the day...only in Africa! Mvuu was cold and wet, but we saw everything from elephant to palm vultures ('the only vegetarian vulture', quipped our guide, Samuel, because they eat palm nuts). Wednesday lunch we had an hour up the road at CM, where we had been unexpectedly upgraded to Special Guests, which meant we got itchy woven reed sun hats and two beds each. CM made the Holiday Inn look a little tacky, with its 600-ft pristine beach, extensive array of water-sport, tennis/squash/astro courts and location on the gorgeous Monkey Bay. Some of us went snorkelling at nearby Boadzulu 'Bird' Island...some of us zonked out.
We returned to BT for one last day of local mission and tourism. We spent the morning at the curios market in BT, and the afternoon visiting HV very briefly. It was also Independence Day, so everything was shut, with the exception of a few stalls in the market. On the way to HV, we had our first road accident when a car ahead of the now-fixed Raider braked for a pothole. The Raider stopped in time, but Sherman, with her heavy brakes, didn't and pranged the back of the lead vehicle, almost pinning a shocked Louisa's arm between the two. No-one was physically hurt, although Sarah N, who had been driving the Sherman was unsurprisingly shaken by the experience. On the way home from Hope Village, the Sherman's fan-belt snapped and the engine quickly overheated while climbing the steep hill to FR. Ben, Sam and I waited with the stricken old beauty while Sarah and Rich and the rest went for help in the Raider. Wik returned with the Raider and proceeded to tow the two-ton Sherman 15km up the hill to FR with one headlight in the dark. There was a lot of prayer happening in that car ;)
That evening, team 2 arrived. They'd had some problems in Ethiopia with Claire's bag being lost and some of the team being ruthlessly overcharged for drinks in a rather dodgy venue, but at least they'd arrived on the right day. They'd also had to overcome a security guard fishing for bribes halfway from LL to BT. They arrived just before 11, and the welcome party, communion meal and settling in process lasted until at least 230. Team 1 then rose at 5, and left at 6 for the airport in a dodgy minibus with a suspect driver - their home journey was almost as eventful as their outward one, but for details you'll have to ask them, I wasn't there.
The beginning of Team 2 was a bit of a blur for me. I was quite tired from Team 1's non-stop programme, the excitement of Team 2 arriving was still buzzing through my synapses, and we were up at 6 to prepare for Saturday's CTI teaching. Thankfully, the 3 CTI stations were very close to FR, so we were able to ferry everyone to teaching in the one remaining vehicle. I was at Chadzunda village, about 5 km from FR on the way to BT, and we had a good sessions teaching and kids' work. Teaching the same passages for the second time was a completely new experience, although I was a lot less nervous. The bizarrest part of the morning was getting a hand-delivered letter from the head pastor of the station asking us to build them a Bible College. Yeah, maybe we'll just call one down out of the sky for you, shall we? I sincerely hope Chadzunda one day gets a Bible college, but unfortunately, it's currently a wee bit beyond my means or expertise.
That afternoon we were visited by a couple from the UK who are examining Malawi as a possible siting for some youth missions from their home church. We had lunch together, but halfway through lunch we were informed that there was a local chiefing going on - the old Mfumu had passed away and his nearest relative was having a big shebang to inaugurate himself. What an opportunity! We unanimously voted to go and pay our respects/ogle at the spectacle. When we arrived, things had been in full swing for most of the day. Various other chiefs, including the one from Chadzunda, were in attendance, sitting on grass mats. There were crowds of people for miles, chatting and laughing and vehemently not listening to the MC who was bawling something into his microphone. The chief, decked out in splendour, was sat under a grass awning, and someone found a set of plastic chairs, which they seated us on not far from him. In front of him and us was a desk at which sat two elderly gentlemen. Periodically, people would dance their way up from the crowd, to the beat of several decrepit-looking bongo drums, and put money into a bowl in front of one of the two men. When they danced up to the one man, someone shielded the eyes of the new chief so he couldn't see how much they were giving (the money was presumably tribute to him), but with the other man, he was allowed to look. It was slightly surreal but very entertaining. After some time there was a stir in the crowd and we were told the witch-doctors were coming. The crowd was beaten back to form a very small circle and into this circle a succession of oddly-garbed and masked men pogoed, gyrating and convulsing in what may have been a dance. In between salvoes of motion they stalked around the ring scaring the kiddies. While they were there, the money-givers stopped giving to the two elderly gentlemen and instead danced up to the witch-doctor and flicked notes into his headdress (another man had to then remove them from his headdress and place them in his hand - it must have been quite hard for him to see through his mask). Between the team there were mixed reactions. Some of us were quite distrubed, even afraid of the whole thing. Others were just very confused at what on earth was going on. Most of us had some measure of each emotion. One event sticks out in my mind - it came into my head to pray while the last witch-doctor (with an eagle mask on) was dancing, so I did - praying that people wouldn't be deceived by the charade, that we wouldn't be afraid, and just general prayer. It may have been co-incidence, but at almost the same time, the witch-doctor danced his way around to our side of the circle and started gesticulating wildly in our direction. At about this point we took our leave of the ceremony, clapped our hands to the new chief in respect, and drove home.
Sunday, we were back at CPC, playing music under the leadership of my predecessor as worship co-ordinator, a Canadian called Jordan. Again, it was good just to sit and listen to a good sermon and let God speak into our lives. We went for lunch to Malawi's answer to McDonalds - MegaByte! For GBP3 each we bought ourselves enormous burgers, Lebanese wraps, ice-cream floats and yoghurt drinks. Decadent, but so good!
On Monday morning the team went into the market in town, while Wik and I tried to get my bank account set up and my Temporary Employment Permit applied for. We managed the first before rejoining the group to lead the lunchtime service at CPC, which brings pastors and Christians from different denominations together for praise and teaching. Claire and Phoebe both shared testimonies (rightly, a testimony is any personal message, rather than strictly an account of the moment personal salvation). In the afternoon we visited Wik's new property down the road from Fisherman's Rest - we sledge-hammered the floor into bits to be removed and relaid...we slashed the long grass short...we helped Wik's builders set the gates in place...and I went with two of the FR staff to cut gum poles from Wik's game park, to build a sign for the property. Tiring, but satisfying work.
I took Tuesday off, but the team visited a local clinic and the medics helped out while the others sang with the patients and slashed grass. In the afternoon they visited Hope Village, a longer visit than team 1s. On Wednesday we all went down to Majete game reserve and enjoyed a day of animal spotting - particularly notable was the video-footage we got of two male elephants play-fighting, about 30 yards from our vehicle. And Thursday began our epic adventure to Bangula and Nsanje.
[at this point, internet problems meant I couldn't save my draft, so I've published it so as not to lose it...the rest will follow]
Monday 7 May 2007
Prayer letter list
Just a quick post to say that I'm putting together a mailing list for my monthly Malawi prayer letter, and if you want to be on it, drop me a line.This week has been immersed in Mormonism. I've been through www.mormon.org from beginning to end, and really enjoyed most of it. I've read chapters of various books which describe Mormonism as anything from a vicious cult to an accident of history. I've started on the Book of Mormon, though it doesn't look like I'll finish that anytime soon, and then I'll still have Doctrines and Covenants to read as well as the Pearl of Great Price. What I don't really have much of is personal experience with them. I've met one, for about 5 minutes, in a normal social setting. I've also hosted two foreign missionaries to a glass of water once, which was fun. So if you're reading this and Mormon, please say hi. If you know
The reason for my interest is that Glen Halliwell in Malawi told me last month that the church there is increasingly coming into contact with the Latter Day Saints, as they often prefer to call themselves. Obviously, he wants to be able to communicate with them at a meaningful level, and so asked me to see if I could get my hands on some tracts or the like.
It's also been immersed in busking, as Rich and I went down Friday and Saturday. Jenny Grieve has the first STORM busking photos on her facebook, but I've hijacked this one on the left for those of you not on facebook. We raised a little over £50, which we felt was respectable! The bigger issue was surely just the chance to enjoy the sun with good music and hopefully brighten the Queen's St atmosphere for the expectant rugby fans who'd come for the St Helen's match. Sam Orr and Kristin from the Welsh college added a classy classical element to the music on violin and cello respectively. Come down and support us next Saturday if you can, we'll be on Queen St as usual.
Oh yes, I should explain STORM, shouldn't I? Student Outreach Malawi is a group of students from Cardiff Universities who go out to the Blantyre region in Southern Malawi each summer to get a taste for Malawi, the developing world, orphanages and extreme poverty, and hopefully contribute in a meaningful way to life there. I went last year and it's the reason I'm going back. I'm unashamedly praying that some of the team who go this year will do the same and return to Malawi at some stage of the future with the skills they've acquired at University, and find something of the awesome joy that only comes from giving up what you know and have to serve God, through the most down-and-out of his creatures. This year, I'm helping to lead the teams, under Sam Orr. We're hoping to get STORM registered as a charity in the next year, and hopefully there will be a dedicated website in the near future.
A few recommendations to close: Pilgrim's Regress by C. S. Lewis is a fictional romp through 20th century philosophy and theology by one of the sharpest minds of that century. I absolutely loved how no topic was off limits, but neither was any topic too serious to be allegorised.
Sam Roberts is a bilingual Canadian soft-rock group. I love 'em!
Psalm 94 for anyone who is interested in justice, God's discipline, and enduring faith.
Friday 20 April 2007
Why going to France saved my Malawi trip
Reason 1: it cast me loose on the world. I rediscovered that there are places on earth that don't speak English, and I still have to make myself understood. The rudeness of English speakers in not bothering to learn any other languages is well documented, but it still hits hard when you find it in yourself. I also rediscovered that simple patience is a good way to get thing
s to happen. When you're wait-listed for a packed bus by an incompetent company and their are cleverer, stronger people competing or your seat, cheerily obnoxious persistence gets you a long way (all the way from Paris to London, in this case.) I also made a friend in Emma Hosking, who I met on the ferry, so a big-up to you if you're out there.
s to happen. When you're wait-listed for a packed bus by an incompetent company and their are cleverer, stronger people competing or your seat, cheerily obnoxious persistence gets you a long way (all the way from Paris to London, in this case.) I also made a friend in Emma Hosking, who I met on the ferry, so a big-up to you if you're out there.Reason 2: it raised £400. Thanks if you were one of my sponsors. If you weren't but would like to be, ianomore@yahoo.co.uk is the address.
Reason 3: It taught me both the value of keeping God in touch throughout the day and how much it sucks when you forget. It's been a while since I prayed as much as I did on the road to Lyon from Auxerre, and it felt good! It also sorted out my head in ways I hadn't been aware needed sorting.
I'm looking into getting Bethel to syphen my support through so that we can claim gift-aid on it. That's one of the downsides of charity officialdom...I'm not part of a registered charity, so I don't qualify for tax-deducted support, although I hope and expect I won't be any less valid an agent for change and 'charity' (love, not pity) than the next foreign worker in Blantyre.
Leaving people behind is a very funny feeling. If I'm utterly honest, I only rarely feel truly sad that I'm leaving people. I tend to focus more on how I will manage it, I guess. There's no doubts I'm going to miss all of you reading who I know, but how that missing manifests itself I have no idea. I'm going to have to do my best to say goodbye well, I guess.
OK, tiredness i setting in. See you all for the next episode, and remember - always remove the hedgehogs from yout tights before wearing them.
Thursday 29 March 2007
Cunning little plans
This weekend I chugged over to Haverfordwest to say hello to Wik and Sue Chichlowski and ask them various questions about the Malawi experience. I was kinda spaced out by the time I arrived - work had been longer than usual and finding time to do things like eat had been a bit of a struggle. But struggle produces personality...maybe I should enter the Mr Persona UK competition for 2007.
Had an awesome weekend. I'm always flabbergasted (score one on the almost-obsolete-word count) by how involved that family are in Malawian life despite living in rural Pembrokeshire. Wik had a couple of emails in about a SA pilot he'd known who'd crashed to his death that week in Malawi, and we also had a chat to Glen Halliwell in Blantyre on the phone. Glen was laid back as ever, but he had a coupla requests for me, and I had a couple for him. Didn't feel like I knew where the conversation was going, but it went somewhere and I learnt something.
Back in Cardiff, cunning plans were being hatched to creatively part the populace of that city with it's unnecessary riches. Simon Ewing was busily applying for corporate funds, Sarah Kennedy and Steph Wells had organised charity netball, and various other members of the STORM team were planning ceilidhs, buskings, city-wide scavenger hunts and concerts. I had a brief chat to Simeon at Bethel Baptist about the support that they could provide. There are no fewer than three Bethel people going to Malawi this year, which is great ;) No concrete support yet, but I'm going to start billing my Easter cycle-trek today.
On which note, if anyone would like to sponsor me to cycle from Auxerre to Lyon in three days (10/11/12 Apr) with three friends (Paul/Zoe/Jon), that would be superb. My address is 1 Bishop's Close, Whitchurch, Cardiff, CF141NH, UK, and cheques can be made payable to Ian Thomson. Anything you can afford would be great, and you'll know exactly what I'm doing with your money because I'll be posting it here ;) You can sponsor me by the mile (the whole trip is 200 miles) or just in a full great chunk, which would mean that if I fail to complete the trip, you get your money back. There's an incentive for me!
Raising money is a funny old business. Apart from the nagging guilt that you're taking money off people and not giving them much in return, there's the whole issue of who do you appeal to and for how much? I only know so many people, and because of my lifestyle, I do tend to find myself asking them for sponsorship now and then and then and then and then...and presumably they're going to run out of money eventually. And, having grown up on Robin Hood, I kind of prefer to ask people I know have lots of money for some of it. But having just graduated from Uni, the people I know have no money. Hmm. I'm glad God provides, coz I feel like trying to be sensitive to all parties could kill me one of these days.
A wise man once said, 'We humans keep brainstorming options and plans, but God's purpose prevails.' You've seen my brainstorming. Tune in in six months or so to see how God's purpose has prevailed.
Had an awesome weekend. I'm always flabbergasted (score one on the almost-obsolete-word count) by how involved that family are in Malawian life despite living in rural Pembrokeshire. Wik had a couple of emails in about a SA pilot he'd known who'd crashed to his death that week in Malawi, and we also had a chat to Glen Halliwell in Blantyre on the phone. Glen was laid back as ever, but he had a coupla requests for me, and I had a couple for him. Didn't feel like I knew where the conversation was going, but it went somewhere and I learnt something.
Back in Cardiff, cunning plans were being hatched to creatively part the populace of that city with it's unnecessary riches. Simon Ewing was busily applying for corporate funds, Sarah Kennedy and Steph Wells had organised charity netball, and various other members of the STORM team were planning ceilidhs, buskings, city-wide scavenger hunts and concerts. I had a brief chat to Simeon at Bethel Baptist about the support that they could provide. There are no fewer than three Bethel people going to Malawi this year, which is great ;) No concrete support yet, but I'm going to start billing my Easter cycle-trek today.
On which note, if anyone would like to sponsor me to cycle from Auxerre to Lyon in three days (10/11/12 Apr) with three friends (Paul/Zoe/Jon), that would be superb. My address is 1 Bishop's Close, Whitchurch, Cardiff, CF141NH, UK, and cheques can be made payable to Ian Thomson. Anything you can afford would be great, and you'll know exactly what I'm doing with your money because I'll be posting it here ;) You can sponsor me by the mile (the whole trip is 200 miles) or just in a full great chunk, which would mean that if I fail to complete the trip, you get your money back. There's an incentive for me!
Raising money is a funny old business. Apart from the nagging guilt that you're taking money off people and not giving them much in return, there's the whole issue of who do you appeal to and for how much? I only know so many people, and because of my lifestyle, I do tend to find myself asking them for sponsorship now and then and then and then and then...and presumably they're going to run out of money eventually. And, having grown up on Robin Hood, I kind of prefer to ask people I know have lots of money for some of it. But having just graduated from Uni, the people I know have no money. Hmm. I'm glad God provides, coz I feel like trying to be sensitive to all parties could kill me one of these days.
A wise man once said, 'We humans keep brainstorming options and plans, but God's purpose prevails.' You've seen my brainstorming. Tune in in six months or so to see how God's purpose has prevailed.
Tuesday 13 March 2007
Moni!
Hi all. I'm Ian. People call me Ian, Iano, Yanobas, Mr President, Mr Thomson, sir, fatty, lazy and various other things. Feel free to call me whatever you like, just post how you're doing.
Welcome to my mission blog. This summer, on June 21st, I'm going to be flying out to Malawi to go and work for City Pentecostal Church in Blantyre (henceforth denoted 'CPC') and this site will be one of the main ways I try and keep in touch with people back in Cardiff, the UK and the rest of the broadband world. Don't expect me to phone. My facebook account is highly likely to become a barren wasteland strewn with ageing photographs and out-of-date posts, an eerie warm wind whispering through... MSN will likewise be a luxury I won't have much time for. If you have Skype, I may be lucky enough to catch you (I'm Asaphite, Cardiff, UK) now and then. Post and email (ianomore@yahoo.co.uk) will be continued sporadically. You can call me for 5p a minute if you get time and inclination, and I'll love hearing from you...phone numbers will be posted here when I learn 'em.
11% of Malawi has AIDS. There are more orphans there than you can shake a stick at, and it's been rated in the top 10 poverty-afflicted countries in the world. Loads of villages have no clean running water, no basic healthcare, no public transport and no access to educational resources. Blantyre, where I'm going, has all of the above, so I'm going to get it reasonably easy, but I'm seriously praying my work takes me into the bush villages time to time. Because I want to take in as much of Malawi as I can while I'm there - city and country, orphanages, safaris and financial institutions. I'm not really there to solve the problems. Hopefully I'll be able to help in some way, but the deeper motivation for me going is much more selfish. I want to learn how people in different, often diabolically difficult, circumstances to my own survive and thrive. Because they do. The Malawians I have met, in Blantyre last summer and in the UK, are generally happy, hopeful people. Those of you who know me can back me up when I say I'm not always either of those things ;) So if I discover anything, I'll be posting it here ____
Anyway, cheers for reading, cheers more for posting, and remember: never swing chipmunks around your head by their tails. That's just cruel.
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