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
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!
