Bible teaching in beautiful Busokelo

Things didn’t exactly get off to the best start. I was going somewhere I had never been before, accompanied by a young man who I had only met for five minutes a couple of days earlier, in order to provide three days of Bible teaching to a group without a single familiar face among them to encourage me. And then on the way there, less than an hour from home, my car decided to overheat.

I had prayed before the journey for protection and no problems with the car. Didn’t God hear me? Of course he did, and even in the midst of this inauspicious start, I could see God’s care. The problem with the car was spotted when we stopped to buy tomatoes and onions from roadside stalls a little way out of town. Ahead of us were lots of hills – if the lady selling tomatoes hadn’t told us that water was leaking from under the engine we would have carried on and encountered a much more serious problem half way up a hill a long way from any help. Although my usual car mechanic wasn’t available, an office colleague who lived in the area and drives a car was able to come with a mechanic, identify the problem, and guide us to a garage to get it fixed.

The car shenanigans meant we were somewhat late arriving and I was pretty tired after my early start and then driving along a rough, dusty road for about an hour and half, but I needed to jump straight in and start teaching as everyone was there waiting for us. Once again, I had reason to give thanks as I thought it would be uncomfortably hot, but the church turned out to be an open sided, grass roofed building that stayed pleasantly cool. And when we finally got lunch after 3pm, they had kindly prepared food without onions for me to eat, so I could enjoy my plate of rice and pork in a tomato sauce without worrying.

I wasn’t quite sure what my sleeping arrangements would be, though I had been in communication with a local pastor about all the practical arrangements and knew I would be staying in someone’s home. It turned out I had the house to myself as it is owned by an elderly couple who had left a few days previously for medical check-ups, which was a nice surprise as it meant I felt freer in what I did. The pastor also proved game to take me on a good walk all around the village – we climbed up to where Lutheran missionaries had built a hospital about 50 years ago (the views were amazing, looking particularly beautiful in the soft evening light as the sun set), down to a few small shops and along trails between fields of banana trees before ending up at his home.

The pastor’s home is under construction. It was hard to believe anyone could live there, as it looked like most of the rooms didn’t have roofs yet! However, with true Tanzanian spirit and the heart of a servant of Christ, he and his family had moved into the house before it was completed so as to avoid the cost of renting rooms as they planted a church nearby. By the time I got back to my house, it was dark and I was tired! I had a wash, a light tea (I had brought my own food for this) and headed to bed. After lying there for a while, I heard scuffles. What was it? Mice? I thought I’d better check that my food was secure. Coming out of my bedroom I saw large cockroaches scuttle away as my solar light shined on them. That’s what the sound was – their pattering feet and the sound of them eating the polystyrene insulation of an old hot pot! (Hot pots are insulated food pots, so that you can cook food and keep it warm for some time, which is really useful when you only have one stove to cook over – it means you can cook one thing and keep it warm while you cook the next, and they’re also useful when guests turn up late.)

The church was on the opposite side of the road to where I parked my car. In reality it was more of a dust bath than a road! Not only did this mean that my feet were constantly dusty, but also everything else was covered in a thin film of dust because every time a vehicle went through it kicked up all the dust and it landed gently on everything within a few metres of the road. Blow the dust off my teaching resources one minute and a few minutes later they would be coated once again. So I was worried about showing the Jesus Film (in the Nyakyusa language) on the evening of the second day – concerned that the projector and my laptop would get dust inside them. However, we had planned to show the film in an open area with a few shops around the edge, and this area was covered in grass, the nearby road was less dusty and the breeze had dropped, so it was fine. I don’t know how many times I have watched the Jesus Film now – although I sat there with everyone else, I was listening to a podcast! There weren’t as many people there as I would have hoped for considering the central location, but there were still a good number (including children) who stayed from start to finish, despite the chilly night air.

Cooking station

Going back to lunchtime of day two – I experienced one of those cultural things that always makes me feel very uncomfortable. They brought me a plate of chipsi mayai (chip omelette), while everyone else had rice. It is their generous hospitality and their desire to honour guests that causes them to do this; my remonstrations with the pastor the previous day that I would eat what everyone else ate fell like water on a duck’s back. Almost everywhere I go to teach, I end up eating in a separate room with the pastors and we are often given ‘better’ (in their eyes) food than everyone else has. While I appreciate their hospitality and the respect that they show to their leaders and guests, it grates with me, partly because of my cultural background in which egalitarianism is valued (sometimes at the expense of a healthy respect for others) and partly because of Jesus’ teachings around servant leadership.

On day three I tried something I haven’t done before. Normally I do the Bible overview seminar in two days, but as I had three, I was able to take more time over it and add in an extra exercise. In order to help the participants see how understanding the Bible’s story helps us interpret different parts of the Bible, I chose an Old Testament (OT) passage for them to discuss in groups, thinking about how it points to or is fulfilled in Christ and how it applies today. I chose Deuteronomy 28, which is about blessings for the Israelites if they obey God’s voice. I wasn’t surprised to find that they still jumped to applying it directly to today, without thinking about how we are not Israelites about to enter Canaan! But this then gave me the opportunity to talk them through how I would handle the passage, in light of its context in the grand narrative of the Bible, and to draw their attention to verses like Galatians 3:14* and Ephesians 1:3*. At the end, when I asked what new things they had learnt through the seminar, one of them said, “We shouldn’t just take the Old Testament as it is.” It was great to see that some of them had got the point about needing to read the OT in the light of the whole story of the Bible, while others said they had learnt how important it is to read the OT and not just the New Testament (NT). Someone else said they found the different methods I used for teaching helpful (I even got them doing actions) and another said it was like being at college. This feedback was encouraging, and the door is open for me to return. As always, I was struck by the huge need for good Bible teaching. And for Bibles! Some people didn’t come with Bibles while for a couple of people I noticed that the only Bible they had was a children’s NT (the ones that are given out for free by Operation Christmas Child)! A few people had Nyakyusa NTs – they said they read them at home when they don’t understand their Swahili Bibles; it was good to hear the local language NTs are helping people understand God’s Word better. I was also able to put the audio version of the Nyakyusa NT on a couple of people’s flash drives for them to listen to at home.

An evening walk with the host pastor to a
nearby crater lake. Livingstone Mountains
in the background.

Day four, Thursday, I headed back to Mbeya (with the same young man for company, the pastor’s son, who is at high school in Mbeya and who proved to be pleasant company). On the way we stopped at a Baptist Bible college for me to speak to the students. I understood I would have all afternoon to talk with them, but they thought I was just getting half an hour! We compromised, and I had an hour to talk about language use in ministry. They were enthusiastic listeners and several of them bought New Testaments in their local language.

I returned home tired, once again thankful for the opportunity to teach but humbled by it too. Who am I that I should be teaching God’s Word to these church leaders? I still have so much to learn myself. And my life is so comfortable compared to theirs. It’s easy for me to find time and space to be quiet before God and meditate on his Word and I can listen to endless excellent Bible podcasts, while some of them barely have a roof over their head, have many mouths to feed, a farm to tend and can barely afford a Bible. A Bible seminar gives them a chance to take time to stop and learn, something that is hard to do in the noise and busyness of daily life. Oh Lord, help me to faithfully handle your Word and to not grow weary of helping others to discover its richness.

*Galatians 3:14 – “…in Christ Jesus the blessing of Abraham might come to the Gentiles, so that we might receive the promised Spirit through faith."

*Ephesians 1:3 – “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places…”

 

A warm welcome (from the people and the weather)!

Halungu, Unyiha. The landscape is very different from Umalila (see my previous blog). Instead of layers of hills covered with a patchwork of small fields, it’s flat and covered with large open fields. It’s a coffee growing region – some fields are filled with mature coffee bushes, while in others neat rows of young coffee plants, interspersed with banana trees, are starting to grow. Other fields are completely bare, ready for planting maize. The bigger fields allow for the use of cows to plough the earth, so those who can afford it will hire cows to do the work.

Morning mist

When we arrived in Halungu not long after 10am on Friday morning it was already very warm. The church where we held the seminar is currently just a shell, with a tarpaulin strung up between poles to give shelter. Thankfully it clouded over in the afternoon and got cooler, otherwise I think everyone would have fallen asleep from the heat. What surprised me, though, was how cold it got at night. We were staying in the pastor’s home, where I had a room to myself, with a mattress on the floor for my bed. They’d provided a blanket, but in the night I found I had to put on my cardigan and wrap myself in a couple of kangas* to try and keep warm. However, when morning came and the sun rose in the sky it quickly warmed up and the dawn mist over the fields started to evaporate.

The church

(*A kanga is a piece of patterned cloth with a proverb or saying of some kind printed near the bottom. They are wonderfully versatile – they can be wrapped around as a skirt, worn as a shawl, provide a sheet at night, twisted into a ring to go on the head for you to then carry a bucket of water or a pile of firewood, used as a towel etc. They are common gifts, especially at weddings and funerals, with the kanga being chosen carefully according to the words printed on it.)

I was there to teach another two day Bible overview seminar (Friday to Saturday), working through the Old Testament and how it points to Jesus. The two pastors who were there really appreciated the teaching, commenting on how there is very little good teaching like this and how much it is needed. Over lunch I was saddened to hear of more examples of wrong teaching in churches – one said how some people pray in the name of their pastor rather than in the name of Jesus and another said he heard someone preach that pastors are like angels and we should listen to and treat them as such, as direct messengers from God. They also talked a lot about the issue of denominationalism, and how often the particular perspective of a denomination is proclaimed more than the Word of God itself. Questions asked during the seminar revealed other areas of misunderstanding – like people talking about churches as being ‘God’s tent’ because they haven’t understood the role of the tabernacle in the Old Testament and how Christ opened the way for us to enter into God’s presence, or people thinking they still have to pay some kind of price for their sins and to gain their salvation, without understanding that Christ’s sacrifice paid the full price for sin.

My car parked in the shade by the pastor's
home (the edge of which you can see on the
left) and the bathroom is the little brick hut to
the left of the car.

 The host pastor and his wife kept apologising for their poor hospitality because of the village environment they live in. Poor hospitality?! They provided us with everything we needed! They cooked me food without onions, prepared hot water for bathing, gave us a place to sleep and were good company. I think they felt they needed to apologise because we always had ugali to eat (rather than rice, which is what is usually served to guests) and we didn’t always have meat, but the food was tasty and there was fresh avocado with each meal and lots of greens, which I much prefer to lots of tough, greasy meat! Every day we would break at 1pm for a two hour lunch break so that people could go home and cook and eat before we carried on. We got lunch about 2.40pm each day – it takes a long time to cook over wood stoves.

Drawing water from
their well

I returned home exhausted but thankful for another opportunity to teach. Exhausted because I’d been teaching all day in the heat (and not drunk enough) and then had to drive home (about 2.5 hours), calling in quickly at the office to unload boxes of books together with the projector and speakers we’d used for showing the Jesus Film in the Nyiha language on Friday evening. Thankful because it feels like a huge responsibility and great privilege to explore the Scriptures with people, and I was encouraged by comments from the pastors, such as that they wished people from other churches had come and had the chance to learn and that I should open a Bible college! May God continue to open doors for his Word to be taught and may he help me to teach – I’m definitely a clay pot, but I pray he may yet be able to use me to help people know him better through his Word.

With the seminar participants: the pastor is on the far left and
his wife is on the far right

Back in Umalila

It’s Friday evening and I am sitting in the home of the pastor at whose church I am teaching. I’m wearing my coat as the Malila people live in the hills where mornings and evenings are distinctly chilly. (Note: In Swahili the area where any people live is written as the name of the people group preceded by a ‘U’, so I was in ‘Umalila’.) Before it got dark I went for a short stroll along the road, enjoying the soft sunset sky. On the way back I bumped into the pastor’s wife and had a wee chat by the side of the road. Today was day two of teaching an overview of the Old Testament and how it points us to Christ. The teaching has felt like hard work for a number of reasons. There’s the fact that most of the group were very quiet – it was hard to tell if they were too shy to answer questions or were afraid of saying the wrong thing or simply didn’t know the answers. Then there was the way people kept coming who hadn’t been there for earlier teaching so they’d missed a lot of foundational stuff. Also very few had Bibles and only two or three people ever volunteered to read and even they read slowly and with some difficulty. And then this afternoon both my former colleague, Mwangwale (who had made the arrangements for the seminar to take place), and the pastor himself couldn’t be there, and they are the best two readers of the Malila language, which meant I wasn’t able to use the Malila Scriptures in the afternoon as I’d hoped to as we got into the New Testament. I feel very alone when I have no-one with me who I know in a seminar. Even though that person may not need to do much, their very presence encourages me; I know I can call on them if I need support such as to explain something in the local language or to do a Bible reading fluently.

Mwangwale teaches how to read Malila

So it felt like hard work, as if I was swimming against the current, and not sure if I was making any progress! However, there were moments of encouragement. Near the end, as we looked at how Christ is the final and complete sacrifice for sin, one lady was smiling broadly and spoke up – from what she said (unfortunately I don’t remember her words well enough to quote her) she had obviously understood in a fresh way just what it means that Christ has done all that is necessary for our redemption. And a particular illustration I used obviously hit home with some. I showed a picture of an elephant’s tail and then their trunk and asked what they were. People either didn’t know or thought the trunk was a snake. Then I showed the picture of the whole elephant, and used this to make the point that when we read a section of the Bible without understanding the big picture of the Bible, we can fail to understand what we read or we can misinterpret it. 

After teaching all day, I was then asked to preach in their evening service! I didn’t find out I’d be doing that until I got here. You’d think that by now I would be used to the unexpected, but somehow it doesn’t seem to get any easier. Indeed, last night was particularly stressful when I found out that I wouldn’t be staying with Mwangwale, who I am used to staying with, but instead would be staying here at the pastor’s home. I think it was a case of the pastor extending hospitality that it would be rude to turn down, so Mwangwale accepted their hospitality on my behalf. When I found out I felt my body tense in anxiety over this unexpected change and I began to worry about food and about doing or saying the wrong things and about whether they’d lock the door overnight and I wouldn’t be able to go out to the toilet. Of course, they are very gracious, and even if I am doing or saying the wrong things, they don’t let on! It feels awkward for me – I’m sitting in the lounge with other guests (men), but they sit silently much of the time. It would be nice to sit with the ladies, but they’re at work in the kitchen and I find the smoke of the wood fire (for cooking) hard to tolerate.

But at least now, on my second evening here, I feel more relaxed, that initial anxiety gone. I have a better idea of what to expect. I know they won’t lock the door overnight, that I’ll be free to go for a walk in the morning, that I can get warm water for a wash after my walk, that they understand I need to eat my own breakfast snacks because of my tummy problems, that dinner probably won’t be ready until 10pm and that my bed is warm and comfortable. My room feels a bit exposed, as all that separates it from the living room is a curtain that is rippling gently in the breeze that creeps through poorly fitted windows and doors, so I don’t feel I can get ready for bed until I know people are vacating the living room, and it always feels like I want to go to bed earlier than people here (even though they also get up earlier in the morning than me)!

Tomorrow we begin another seminar – this one will focus on Ephesians. I am thankful that Mwangwale has rearranged a meeting he had so that he can be there, as I can now see that I will need to rely heavily on him for reading the Malila Scriptures.

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It’s now Saturday night. I’m sitting in my room with the company of my solar light. The battery for the solar powered house lights has gone to church where it is being used to power the projector for showing the Jesus Film. The whole household has gone to watch the film, which started very late after various issues and an early (at 9pm) dinner, so all is quiet, except for the wind and insects outside.

I was encouraged this morning when the pastor told me he’d asked people what they’d learnt yesterday afternoon while he was away, and the things they told him were the very things I was hoping to communicate! Today we had a different topic – the book of Ephesians. (The previous seminar was intended more for church leaders with Bible teaching responsibilities, though I didn’t exactly end up with that kind of group, while today’s seminar was for everyone.) We worked our way through the book, using the Malila translation of Ephesians. We explored key themes: We are saved by grace (Eph. 1-3), therefore we can live in unity as the body of Christ (4:1-16), loving one another as we imitate Christ (4:17-6:9) and standing firm in all of this by reading the Word of God and praying (6:10-20). When we asked people at the end what they liked about the book of Ephesians, what it taught us about God’s character and how it impacts their life, they had clearly grasped at least some of the key truths that I was hoping they’d get. One lady’s comment was that through it all “…we have seen the greatness of God” and later the pastor commented on how the teaching was helpful because it worked steadily through one book of the Bible instead of their normal practice of jumping around from text to text.

I’m wondering what will happen when they come back from watching the film, because that battery lives in the room I’m staying in. Will they sneak in while I’m asleep to put it back, so that there can be light in the house? But I don’t want to wait up for them as it’s already 10.30pm and the dim solar light makes me feel sleepy! I think I’ll just go to bed and hope for the best. I’d better head outside to the long drop toilet first, with my head torch so I can see where I’m going; the good thing about needing to go outside for the toilet is that as there is no electricity in the village the stars are amazing!

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I’m now back home in Mbeya, sipping on a coffee as I type and nibbling some Lindt dark chocolate with sea salt – lush! (No, I can’t buy that here, I always stock up on good chocolate when I’m in the UK!) Let me carry on where I finished off… They did not sneak in to put the battery back, but I still heard them come in well after midnight! Apparently many had gathered and had been moved to tears by the film.

Sunday morning. I had been asked to teach in the morning service – although I didn’t know this before I went, I had a hunch it would happen, so I’d picked up notes from a couple of previous sermons to take with me just in case. I decided to talk about the importance of teaching our children about God and reading the Word with them, looking first at the example of Timothy and his mother and grandmother as well as sharing from my own life. I also taught the children the song ‘Read your Bible, pray every day’ (which I have translated into Swahili), which they enjoyed. I lost count of how many choirs sang and then I had been given an hour to teach so it was quite a long service!

Back at the pastor’s house, lunch wasn’t too long in coming, more rice, greens and meat. Feeling like I had already been very blessed by their hospitality, as they prepared food especially for me (no onions etc), I was then overwhelmed to receive a gift of a big basket from a member of the church plus a sack of maize, a bag of dried beans and a rooster from the pastor’s family! (I got my househelp to prepare the rooster for me on Monday – it turned out to be the toughest chicken meat I have ever eaten; it must have been the grandfather of the flock!)

On the way home, with the rooster lying calmly in the basket, on top of the sack of maize, I picked up a couple of young ladies who flagged me down, needing a ride to town after having been in the village working in their potato fields. It was nice to have a bit of company as we bumped our way over the rough, dusty road back to town and tarmac. I thank God once again for his care of me on the whole trip – so much potential for things going wrong, but despite changes in plans, God watched over me and I pray that those who I had the privilege of teaching may know the width, length, height and depth of God’s love for them.

“And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge…” Ephesians 3:17b-19a

Lupingu travel journal

Day 1

It was dark and quiet when I got up at 5am. Fifteen minutes later I was leaving the house to walk to the bus stand, accompanied by one of the night guards on our compound. My colleague, Stanslaus, was already there waiting for me. Our journey would require two buses, as the bus that goes all the way to our destination doesn’t run every day, and today was one of those days when it wouldn’t, so we had tickets for a bus that would take us to Njombe, a regional town about a 4.5 hour ride away, where we would then change to continue the journey to Ludewa, which takes about another 4.5 hours.

Things did not bode well when I found myself sitting next to a man who’s breath seemed to smell slightly of alcohol, who exclaimed over sitting next to a ‘white’ (as he described me) and who had a very loud voice. Thankfully he slept for some of the journey and later he disappeared (when I was dozing) and was replaced by a young lady with a cute one-year-old. In contrast to the situation inside the bus (which also included very unwholesome music videos), the environment outside the bus was beautiful, with the morning mist lying low over the fields like a soft fleecy blanket. As the sun rose everything took on a warm golden edge. Despite the early hour, children were already walking to school (this would be from about 6.30am onwards). When I was visiting friends over the weekend, the husband said that he leaves as early as 5.30am each day with his daughter, accompanying her along the road until she meets other students and they can continue the rest of the 1.5 hour walk to secondary school together.

Another feature of bus travel is sales merchants. So it was no surprise when someone got on the bus, stood in the aisle and gave his sales pitch, touting his wares of soap, toothpaste and various other items that are apparently able to cure all kinds of ailments, as we continued to motor along.

Our second bus set off at an alarming rate, slowing down fractionally when passengers complained. It turned out that the lights on the bus didn’t work and he wanted to make sure he arrived at the bus’s final destination before dark. We were thankful to arrive safely in Ludewa, stretch our legs with a short walk to the market (I wanted some bananas), buy 12 six-packs of bottled water ready for the three-day workshop ahead of us, and get into the car that was waiting for us for the last stage of the journey. This is a 32km (20 mile) drive down a steep mountain road, which takes about 1¼ hours – the slow pace being not so much due to the quality of the road (which has been widened and improved since my last trip, though it’s still a dirt road) but due to the steep descent and tight corners.

My room at the guest house

At some point the lake suddenly came into view, shimmering in the late-afternoon light. The mountains all around us reminded me of a big bath towel dropped on the floor, with peaks and dips and wrinkles. They look pretty inhabitable, but every now and then I’d spot a house or we’d pass through a village or you’d see a section that had been cultivated (probably with cassava). And finally we reached the lake itself. We are staying in the same guesthouse we stayed in last time we came to do a seminar – maybe it’s the only guest house here. I’m in the same room and there is the same problem of little ants crawling around on the floor and an en-suite bathroom that doesn’t have a light. Bathroom is really too grand a word for the little room with a long drop toilet and a bucket of water with a jug to flush it. And there is the obligatory pair of flip-flops at the door to wear when you enter, as this ‘bathroom’ also serves as a place to have a bucket bath, leaving the floor wet, so you need flip-flops to go in and out if you want to keep your feet clean and dry!

From my room I can hear the sound of the TV in the little shop next door, run by the guest house owner, the voices of people talking outside and children playing (despite being 9.30pm), the sound of a motorbike (the main form of transport here), the classic African night-sound of the cicadas and occasionally I can also hear the sound of a wave breaking on the beach beyond some of the village buildings. I’ve had a quiet evening in my room, after going for a short swim. I had been directed to the section of beach where the women bathe and as I swam I watched the red ball of sun drop below the horizon, behind the blue mountains of Malawi, leaving the sky a picture of pink-orange and turquoise and all shades in between that I can’t begin to describe, with a thin sliver of silver moon hanging above it all. How awesome are the works of God’s hands, how incredible this world that he spoke into being.

Day 2

I slept pretty well, protected from the mosquitos by a capacious net. We headed up to the Catholic church buildings that we would use for the workshop, arriving to find a lady we had met the previous evening in Ludewa already busy sweeping. She had been at a meeting until 1am in Ludewa the night before! Due to the nature of travel here, with people travelling by a passenger boat from the lakeside villages, I learned that the church arrange their leadership meetings to take place in the evening, after the boat will have arrived and people can get up the mountain to the town, and go on into the night so that they can finish in time for people to catch the next morning’s boat to return home, all helping to keep costs down.

Planning pictures of key biblical events

An hour and a half after people had been told the workshop would start, only five people (mostly catechists in the Catholic church) were there. Each was served a plate of boiled potatoes accompanied by a steaming mug of sweet tea for their breakfast. They patiently waited, attempting to read the book of Ruth in their Kisi language in the meantime until I led them in a Bible challenge. I gave them a set of pictures of key biblical events, which they had to put in order. I was sad to discover how low their level of biblical literacy was – I’ve done that same exercise in many places but their attempt was one of the poorest I have seen.  I then used the pictures to talk them through the big story of the Bible, trying to show how it is one story of God’s relationship with man and how the Old Testament points us to Jesus. Spending an hour or so on this can do nothing more than hopefully give them a desire to learn more. As we continue through the workshop, teaching them how to prepare and lead simple Bible studies, I’ll be referring back to what we did in order to emphasise how knowing the whole Bible’s story can help us in understanding any one part of the Bible.

When it looked like no-one else would be coming, we officially started the workshop. After introductions, we did a Bible study on Luke 24:13-27, talked about the benefits of a Bible study and then got stuck into learning to read the Kisi language. Tomorrow we’ll continue with how to prepare and lead simple Bible studies, using both the Kisi and Swahili Scriptures. At one o’clock the church bell began to ring, and I was startled as nearly the whole group stood and began to pray! They were obviously praying a set prayer for the time of day – it felt like being in a monastery, with set times of prayer. In fact, this place has something of the feel of an old European monastery – I believe it was founded by a padre from Europe and most of the buildings are red brick with tiled roofs.

By lunchtime there were nine participants, all bar one from the same denomination, and only two had arrived with Bibles. Disappointing. I’m sure there are many reasons, but I think one of them may be a lack of unity and acceptance between denominations and another may be communication. The latter isn’t easy here! As far as phone calls are concerned, networks don’t work until the sun has risen high enough to reach into the shadow of the mountains and charge up the solar-powered phone towers. And even then, only certain networks work and in certain places.

Lupingu beach

After the workshop was over we tried to visit the pastors of the churches that hadn’t sent anyone. We succeeded to meet one but failed to find the others. There was still time for a swim when we got back, so off I went again, waiting until the sun had dropped below the horizon before getting out of the water, despite the fact that I was getting cold, because the sunset was just too beautiful to miss. On my walk back to the guest house I was greeted from afar by a lady I’d met the previous day when I went swimming, so I went over to chat with her and the lady braiding her hair (well, ‘twisting’ would be a better description) – it will take her some time to do the whole head.

While eating my tea in my room, I heard a scuttling around the water bottles. A large cockroach emerged. It did not live long – flip-flops are a great weapon against all unwanted crawling bugs! I hardly ever see such large cockroaches in Mbeya – it seems that the warmer the environment the bigger the bugs, and Mbeya is generally not very hot, unlike this area by Lake Nyasa, though at this time of year it’s cool even here. A sharp headache has just started – did I breathe in too much of the bug spray I used to try and conquer the ant invasion?!

Day 3

Breakfast supplies - the yellow bucket
is full of potatoes and the flasks full
of tea.

Today was much the same. I found it hard to read the faces of the workshop participants to get a sense of what they were thinking, but they seemed to be taking in what we were saying and responding well when asked questions. A lady who had been helping with organising the workshop (communicating with people, organising the food etc) invited us to her home after we had finished. I assumed this was just to be a little visit, but it turned out she wanted to serve us food, so we sat out in the shade for some time waiting for the food to be ready. I would like to say I enjoyed just sitting and being, but I didn’t, I was restless. I talked a little with my colleague and the lady (who came and went as she supervised the meal preparation), but otherwise tried to battle impatience. I wanted to be moving, doing something, swimming or going somewhere. My legs were itching to be exercised and my mind wanted stimulation. I felt very un-Tanzanian! And I felt guilty for not accepting the situation and appreciating her hospitality. My tummy still felt full from lunch, despite being around 6pm by the time we ate, but I was able to eat a respectable amount of the chicken and rice set before us. Our host had to disappear before she’d eaten more than a couple of mouthfuls, as a guest had arrived, a fellow ‘diwani’. Diwani seem to be representatives of the people, taking local issues to a higher level in the government, and our host was a diwani voted in by the local women to be their voice.

Signposts have recently popped up all over
Tanzania, such that even in this rural village
the road now has it's own signpost.

There didn’t seem to be any point in sitting around, so once we’d eaten our fill we said our goodbyes and headed off. We climbed up the church (where we were holding the workshop), before dropping down the other side, accompanied by a crowd of children all vying to walk as close to the ‘mzungu’ (white foreigner) as possible. I know I should be used to this by now and able to accept that it’s exciting for them because they hardly ever see any non-Tanzanians, but much as I try to shake off the stress it causes me, I can’t. I just want to run away and hide or scream at them to leave me alone, but instead I try to smile as my colleague laughs at how the children are enjoying themselves.

Thankfully there was still time to go for a swim and by the time I had changed the children had gone. The sun had already set, and the remaining golden light in the sky reflected off the water such that I felt as if I was swimming in a sea of liquid gold. I stayed until the sky had changed colour and started to fade and the shore was becoming harder to see, before slowly walking back along the shore and returning to the guesthouse.

Day 4

Stanslaus demonstrates teaching 
someone to read their language.

Last day of the workshop. Nothing special to report. There was some positive feedback at the end, with participants saying that they had learned more about the Bible that will help them in turn to teach others. They are obviously looking forward to having the Jesus Film in their language. Translation of the script has already taken place and it is hoped the recording will happen in early October. Two guys wanted me to put the Kisi audio Scriptures on their phones (so far Jonah, Ruth and Luke are available), so they patiently waited as I transferred the files via Bluetooth, and then another participant ran off to find his flash drive so that I could give him the Kisi audio plus the Swahili audio New Testament and some Swahili film resources.

As I said goodbye to the guesthouse owner, he was asking how I had trained for the job I was doing. I told him about my Masters in Bible and Mission, and he said his son had a Masters in Education but no employment is available so he lives there in the village and drives a motorbike (for carrying passengers). How sad that this young man should have achieved that level of education, probably at great cost to his father, but not be able to use his training. I have heard this kind of story before. Education is highly valued, parents will do their utmost to get their children through school and even university, but professional jobs are few and far between and many of these students end up doing something like that young man.

The same car that drove us down the mountain was ready and waiting to take us back up the mountain, and I could feel the air getting cooler the higher we got. We went first to the bus station to get our tickets for the next day and then to a guesthouse, which was deserted. A piece of paper stuck on the door gave the phone number of the receptionist, so we called and a few minutes later she turned up and we got our rooms – spacious and pleasant with a shower and, I discovered, a light that at night was blue (but white during the daytime), presumably so as not to wake one up too much!

Day 5

The bus set off promptly at 6am. The bumpy dirt road shook us around like lottery balls and every bit of the bus rattled, which coupled with the occasional person talking very loudly on their phones, did not make for a quiet ride! There was occasional reprieve from the rattles though, as the road is being worked on and some sections already have a concrete surface. At one point we passed them putting digger loads of cement into a shallow iron framework that covered the road and being smoothed down by people with shovels.

It was cold, and didn’t get any warmer as the skies were heavy with clouds and it rained lightly until we arrived in Njombe. I got a bag of hot chips at the Njombe bus stand, delivered through the bus window, before we set off again. With various other stops and slow traffic on a hill due to an accident, we arrived late in Mbeya. I was glad to stretch my legs on the short walk home after fourteen hours on the bus. Much as I enjoy these teaching trips, it’s always good to get home. And this time was especially exciting, as in my absence a new toilet had been put into my bathroom and the big cracks in my wall had been filled in. I thank God for his protection, for the privilege of serving here and for the blessing of a comfy home to return to and a fab housemate to share it with.

I'm home

I step off the plane at Mbeya’s airport and immediately I know I’m home. The air feels different, Mbeya’s beautiful mountains welcome me and there are those
things that would just never happen in England that leave me in no doubt that I have returned. Like from the window of the plane I could see a class of primary school children standing excitedly in front of the terminal, obviously on a school outing to see the plane and staring at the passengers as we alighted. And there’s the warm greeting from an airport shuttle driver who I regularly use and the long wait until there are no more potential customers left before the shuttle will leave, but then finding a couple more people waiting at the end of the airport’s entrance road and haggling over the price (even though it is supposed to be fixed) until eventually they come to an agreement and they get in.

As we make the journey to Mbeya town (for the airport is on the outskirts, about a 30-40 minute drive from home), the senses are assaulted by the vibrant life all around. People are everywhere, on foot, working, shopping, waiting for transport – so different from the quiet roads of my parents’ village or even the roads of an English town. It’s a bit more like an English town on a sunny public holiday, when everyone is out. And there’s the colours – people wearing brightly patterned fabrics, ice-cream sellers with their orange cool bags and shirts, houses and shops painted in white or bright green or pale pink or any other colour you may not expect, with corrugated iron roofing that can now be bought in blue or red or green; and something about the light makes the colours seem warmer.

Truly, it’s a vibrant scene, bustling with life, a far cry from a street in England, where people avert their gaze to avoid catching your eye as they walk past, everyone busy about their own business. But as always, there is more to life than meets the eye. Talking later to my neighbour I hear how people are stealing maize from the fields, because there isn’t enough food. The rains were late this year and crops have struggled. And in Mbeya we are fortunate; in other parts of the country there was hardly any rain at all. Prices are rising, both due to the poor harvest and due to global issues that we all know about. My neighbour also shared how hard it is for graduates to get work, and how her husband’s hope, before he was tragically killed in a road accident this year, was for his children to gain degrees in England, as this would give them a much better chance of getting a job back in Tanzania.

So I’m home. There is much that I love about England, not least precious times with family, seeing friends and the lush green countryside with so many opportunities to walk, run and cycle. But somehow this time, more than any time before, arriving back in Mbeya really felt like I was coming home. I went to visit my neighbours on one side, who warmly welcomed me, shooing the children watching TV out of the living room, so that they could chat properly with me. They were delighted by the tea towel I gave them with a picture of a deer on (as I’d just been on holiday to Scotland) and the kids loved the balloon with a Union Jack on. Then I visited the neighbours on the other side (the ones who were recently bereaved). To be honest, I have never really spent much time talking to these neighbours, but this time I went inside and ended up eating with them! Their typical Tanzanian hospitality meant that as they were about to eat, so must I, and so I joined them for ugali and fried meat, which I have to say was very tasty.

It would’ve been easy for the warm glow I felt on being home to be stifled as I walked to the market and my white skin made me an obvious target for stares and comments. I can’t go anywhere without hearing at least a few people talking about me (not in an unfriendly way, perhaps commenting on the way I walk fast so they think I am always busy), probably not realising that I can understand what they are saying. And there’s bound to be some children greeting me, often trying out their English. Sometimes I hear them discussing together what they should say, what the right greeting is, and even crossing over the road so they can speak to me, but then walking by silently, presumably losing confidence at the last minute, until they are back with their friends where they suddenly start calling out loud greetings now that I am already well past them! Unfortunately, there’s likely to also be some youths calling out greetings too, in a silly voice and saying stupid things. Thankfully, on this particular walk to the market, these things didn’t bother me. It always depends what mood I am in as to how well I can handle sticking out like a sore thumb everywhere I go!

So it’s good to be home. Even if there was a nearly two hour power cut on Sunday evening, so that I had to cook and eat by solar light and candle light. And even if my trainers have been stolen from the porch (having left them out to dry after getting wet on a run through dew-covered grasses on the mountain). And even if I keep waking up in the night, probably due to the cockerel and hens next door. And even if the music was so loud at church that I had to put my fingers in my ears during the songs. And even if the Sunday school teacher who was supposed to be teaching didn’t turn up because of a funeral, so I had to spontaneously teach with no book or preparation.

I may not feel the same way in a few days, when the ‘coming home’ feeling wears off and it’s just life as normal, when I’m hit with the usual challenges in work, when the daily niggles of life wear me down and when if I hear ‘mzungu’* just one more time I want to scream. But for now I am thankful that this place does feel like home, and that my new permit means that, God willing, this place can continue to be my home for nearly two more years (and maybe longer, who knows). Best of all, God is with me, He has brought me here, He will sustain me, provide for me, enable me and love me through all the ups and downs. And when there are those days when this place feels far from home, when I feel like a fish out of water, culturally clumsy and unable to communicate my thoughts clearly in Swahili, I remember that my true home is yet to come and that Jesus has gone ahead and is preparing a place there for me.

*Mzungu: This term generally refers to white foreigners. It is not a derogatory term, but nevertheless it’s a regular stark reminder that we’re different. Coming from a culture where any kind of label like that is offensive and considered discriminatory, it is hard for me not to hear it in that way, even when the speaker did not intend to offend.

---

Postscript – It’s Tuesday

Less than a week has passed since I arrived back in Mbeya and already the rougher edges of life here have started to get under my skin – there’s the
problems with my new email system due to the slower internet speed here, shops not stocking what you’d hoped to find, friends who had borrowed my 4WD car return it and I find a long crack on the windscreen (not their fault) and the car is covered in dust (inevitable in dry season, but still annoying) and, compared to the nice little car I borrowed in England, it’s just harder work to drive around (it’s big, old, noisy and guzzles diesel, but is just what I need to get me along the rough roads) and once again the clucking hens woke me early and prevented me from getting back to sleep. But this is still home. Colleagues at the office came to greet me, my housemate returned and it was wonderful to be reunited and I was able to cook us a tasty dinner followed by some coconut and lime drizzle cake I’d also made, and most importantly that truth remains that my true home, which will be wonderfully niggle-free and so much better than even the best of Tanzania and England combined, is yet there to look forward to.

(Photos: Old photos I've taken around Mbeya in previous years)

A funeral

It was Monday midnight when I was startled into wakefulness by anguished crying. The next morning I found out what had happened. Our next door neighbour, Mwasile, together with a girl that they looked after, had been killed in a tragic road accident involving an oil tanker. One of their children, Ago, was severely burned, as was the driver. It was hard to take in. Although I’m not close to the family, I have lived next-door to them for about seven years, we exchange pleasantries and their children have played in our home. I didn’t know what to do. I was upset, but I didn’t know what the culturally appropriate way to respond was. Should I go and offer my condolences straight away? Was it okay to keep on working or should I be sitting there with the family and acquaintances who I knew would soon start to gather?

A photo from a happier day. Our house is the
one on the left, with my car in front, and
Mwasile's house is the one on the right.

I should briefly explain my living situation, so that the rest of my account makes sense. I live on the compound of a Moravian church – the compound contains not just the church, but also offices, a guest house and several houses. My house is behind the church, between two other houses, both occupied by pastors with important positions within the Moravian church for the Mbeya region. It is one of these pastors who was killed. It is the other who told me the shocking news. I normally live with another British lady, Hazel, but she had had to leave the country a few weeks earlier as her work permit had expired.

So when my neighbour told me the news, I asked him what I should do. He said I could go to the office as normal that day, but that I should be around for the funeral service which would take place on Wednesday or Thursday. Unfortunately, I wasn’t supposed to be going to the office as my work permit had expired, but I quickly realised I would not be able to get anything done if I stayed at home. Firstly, of course, I was upset by what had happened, but also wailing kept coming from my neighbour’s house as each new visitor brought on a fresh wave of grief, and that made it even worse. So I headed to the office for the day, staying in my friend’s flat on the office compound. While there, I sought the advice of a colleague about what I should do. She said it was important that I went to offer my condolences – in fact, she said I should have gone straight away. So then I was not only upset about what had happened but also worried that I had done the wrong thing and would have offended my neighbour. This feeling of being culturally very out of place and not sure how to behave stayed with me throughout the week as events unfolded. Funerals here are so very different from funerals in England. While we Brits want to give people space to grieve in private, here it’s a public affair with everyone coming together to sit with the bereaved. While we cry quietly, here they express their grief loudly. While our funerals take place some time after the death, but are then over in a few hours, here the funeral service and burial will take place within a day or two (as soon as family members can be there) and the gathering of the bereaved can last for days or even weeks. I knew all of this, but I still didn’t know how I personally was expected to react in the midst of it, and was constantly worried that I would do or say the wrong thing. Thankfully, Tanzanians are very gracious, recognising that ‘visitors’ like myself don’t always know the right way to behave.

When I returned home that Tuesday evening, I went straight to Mwasile’s home. I was relieved to find my other neighbours there, including Bahati, the mother, who is a lovely lady that I feel very comfortable with. I was briefly introduced to the gathering and carefully stepped across the room to embrace Mwasile’s wife. The room had been emptied of furniture and mats laid on the floor where about 40 ladies sat, legs stretched out in front of them in the usual way here, sitting shoulder to shoulder, with barely space to get across the room. After offering my condolences, I returned to a spot near the door where Bahati was sitting, to cry and chat and be silent. As we sat I asked Bahati about funeral customs, including when I should give my financial contribution (very important here), and apologised for not visiting in the morning. Thankfully she reassured me that it was fine that I didn’t go as everyone was in shock; it wouldn’t have been expected. More crying followed the appearance of Mwasile’s two oldest children, who had just arrived from Dar es Salaam, where they are both studying to become doctors. How will Mwasile’s wife fund their education now without Mwasile’s income, for she is just a farmer? After about an hour I asked Bahati if it was okay to take my leave, and she assured me it was, so I stepped out and returned to my house.

I was downcast but also stressed by being located in the middle of all that was going on. On one side of my house, in Bahati’s yard, they were cooking. Several iron frames had been set up, with big saucepans on top and wood burning underneath, to cook food for the hundreds of guests that would come over the coming days. An efficient team of women were at work, chopping cabbages, cooking rice, and doing everything else that was needed to keep everyone well fed. Unfortunately all this cooking was taking place right outside my bedroom window and the smoke seeped into my room, leaving it slightly hazy, and there was the constant sound of chatter as the ladies worked. I realised I wouldn’t be able to sleep well there, so removed myself to my housemate’s bedroom, which was smoke free.

View from our lounge window, with ladies sitting
on our porch. Gazebos hadn't been set up
at this point.

On the other side of the house people were constantly milling around as they came to just ‘be’ with Mwasile’s family. I kept my curtains shut, but I couldn’t really escape things, as people made themselves comfortable around my house, perched on the cement step that runs around one side and also relaxing on my porch, such that I couldn’t even open the door without first asking them to move! It was like this all day on Wednesday, with the addition of music. Sometimes a funeral feels barely distinguishable from a party, as people who haven’t seen each other for a long time enjoy meeting again and as what to me seems very upbeat music is broadcast loudly for all to hear. People continued to come and go, relaxing on the sofas outside (the ones that had been removed from the house to make space for all the ladies to sit on the floor) or on the many plastic chairs that had been hired. Gazebo-like shelters had been set up in the space in front of our houses to keep people dry (as it’s rainy season). In the evening, there were live choirs – they sang beautifully, but the drum kit was being played with gusto and the constant thudding went right through me as our houses offer little protection from outdoor sounds.

With Raheli

I slept once again in Hazel’s room, the quietest one in the house as it’s at the back. The next day was the funeral service. I stayed at home, waiting for a sign that the service was about to begin. Apparently there were so many people and cars that the funeral procession from the hospital mortuary was very delayed, and traffic police had to be called on to help. Mwasile was a well known man. My househelp, Raheli, came for the funeral, so I eventually braved the crowds and stepped out of my house to join her. My porch had turned into a feeding station (one of several), with students serving people rice, beans and meat from two massive saucepans. Rice and beans were spilt all over my porch and the flies were having a hay-day. Raheli encouraged me to have some food – eating at a funeral is an important part of attending, it shows you have really participated. So I got a plate from my house (as they’d run out) and ate a pile of rice with my hands.

In front of the church - as the service continued
inside, many stood around outside. You can just
make out  a poster with Mwasile on. It's not
uncommon for people to wear white at a
funeral as you can see many ladies are doing.

Eventually the body arrived – church officials, in their clerical robes, carried the coffin. So sad. Words aren’t enough. His wife and children were supported by others as they struggled to walk in their grief. The church was packed. I stood outside with Raheli and a lady from my office, who had come as a representative of our office. You don’t need to personally know the deceased to attend funerals here. As he was an important church figure, many were there as representatives of their churches or organisations because they relate to the Moravian church in one way or another, without having any personal acquaintance with Mwasile or his family. In front of the church was a table with a photo of Mwasile in a frame of flowers, and some people were wearing T-shirts with his face on and a Scripture verse.

Sheltering from the rain.
Big pots of sliced 
cabbage in the foreground.

It rained. It poured down. People sheltered under the gazebos as the service continued, as there wasn’t enough space for everyone inside the church. Someone who used to work with us as a translator for the Ndali language is now a bishop in the Moravian church, and he gave the sermon. There was a long period of people coming to publicly give their contributions, sharing words of remembrance or comfort to those gathered. As my name was called I also went up to give my contribution (I had no idea what amount was appropriate); thankfully I wasn’t expected to say anything! I left before the end of the service, but it finished not too much later.

On Friday they transported the body to his home village where he would be buried. I didn’t see the funeral procession depart as they left quite early. Over the following days things gradually quietened down. Eventually they moved their cooking station to the other side of our house, just outside my kitchen, so I was able to return to my own bedroom to sleep. Two weeks later there are still a few more people around than usual, but I think they are probably close family, and the sofas are still outside! Ago is still in hospital, but sadly the driver of their car, who was also severely burned, passed away over the weekend. I pray daily and hope with all my heart that there won’t be another funeral – may God spare the family grief upon grief by restoring Ago.