I met my Kisi colleagues (Claudia and Stanslaus) at the bus stand at about 5.30am and we caught a 6am bus to Njombe, where we needed to change buses to get to Ludewa. A couple of months ago I had made the same trip, when I went to the Manda language area (see earlier blog) to do the same thing – a couple of workshops on Luke’s gospel. The Manda and Kisi language areas are next to each other, so getting to both areas involves a bus trip to Ludewa first, after which you head directly west to Lake Nyasa to get to the Kisi language area, while the Manda language area is further south, though also next to the lake. Although geographically further away, the Manda language area is actually easier to get to as the land slopes gently down into the lake so villages can be reached by reasonably good dirt roads, while the Kisi language area is made up of steep mountains that drop directly into the lake, so getting from one village to another involves precipitous mountain tracks or boat rides to the lakeshore villages.
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| Left map shows the route from Mbeya to Lupingu (at the very bottom of the map on the eastern shore of Lake Nyasa), via Njombe and Ludewa. Right map shows the different language areas – the Kisi area is the one bordered in red, the Manda area is to the south and the Pangwa area (we’re also doing Bible translation in this language) to the east. I’ve circled the town of Ludewa and the village of Lupingu in blue. |
Enjoying an evening walk in Ludewa
I was
startled awake in the night by the sound of rain. Rain in July?! It’s the
middle of the dry season, we shouldn’t have been seeing rain until October or
November. And it was proper rain, that kept going most of the night and it was
still drizzling when we got up the next morning. We rented a car and driver to
take us along the mountain road to the Kisi village of Nindi, and were duly dropped
off at the Catholic church where we would be holding the workshop (not in the
church itself, but in one of their rooms just down the road); the Catholic
church is the main denomination in the area. Leaving the workshop resources
there, we headed down a red dirt path to where we would be sleeping in the grounds
of the Catholic church, which were extensive. The accommodation was basic but
ample – what more do you need than a bed with clean sheets (though the mattress
was somewhat thin, so I could feel the planks of wood through it), a table and
chair, a toilet next-door to my room (albeit outside, with a door that stuck
when you tried to open it) and a friendly welcome from a Catholic
sister promising hot water to wash with in the evening. My kind colleagues had made
sure I had the nicest living situation, as their toilet was not just outside,
but maybe 20-30 metres away from their rooms! While on the topic of toilets,
the one available for use by the classroom where we held the workshop, had
grass walls and no roof, so it was wonderfully smell-free, if a little exposed.
Big, 1cm-long ants, with shiny black bottoms, scuttled around the hole –
definitely wouldn’t want to get those
ants in your pants!
The classroom's toilet
Staying
at the Catholic guest house in Nindi (outside, bathroom and bedroom)
We had sixteen participants on the first day of the workshop. In a nutshell, the workshop covered learning to read Kisi and studying Luke’s gospel together (recently published in Kisi). Through a mixture of group work and up-front teaching, we looked at a range of passages that helped us identify some key themes in Luke. We finished by thinking about how what we learnt applied to our own lives and how they could use Luke’s gospel (in both print and audio forms, together with the Jesus film) in their homes, their churches and their community.
Workshop
participants learn to read Kisi and start to read Luke’s gospel in Kisi (Nindi)
When it
came to lunchtime there wasn’t enough rice for everyone, as some participants
had turned up after we’d informed the cook of how many people there would be
(the usual issue of people arriving late), so we waited while she quickly
prepared some ugali to go with the beef stew. Beef stew sounds rather grand for
what is just beef in stock with a little chopped tomato for good measure. I was
happy to wait for the ugali, which I generally prefer to rice as they often put
too much oil in the rice for my taste. However, I failed to finish my lump of ugali,
as I only had three small cubes of beef (which was tender and tasty) and the
fatty stock (where the fat quickly solidified into orange blobs due to the cold
weather) to wash it down. On a short evening walk, I picked up some tomatoes to
supplement the carrots, cucumber and oranges that I had brought with me for my
evening meals, making up for the lack of anything fresh at lunchtime. I knew
that I wouldn’t be able to find any of those vegetables or fruits here, which
is why I had brought them with me; typically the only fresh thing you can find
in rural villages is tomatoes. Although the village of Nindi is less than an
hour’s drive from the town of Ludewa, it feels very rural, as the mountain
roads are not easy to traverse. This is why so little is available for sale, be
it food or anything else. Phone network coverage is also poor, which adds to
the feeling of remoteness – around noon the network suddenly seemed to wake up,
before disappearing again in the evening. My colleague said the phone towers
are solar-powered, so they only work once the sun is high in the sky, and as
the first couple of days were cloudy it was particularly slow to get going. 
Out for a walk in Nindi
---
4pm,
Thursday 13th July, 2023
I am
writing this while sitting in the workshop room. I’m here alone – the room has
an abandoned look, as if people have left in a hurry, with bottles of water
standing sentinel here and there, and a few Bibles scattered on the benches.
It’s because of a funeral. This morning we heard that someone had died and the
burial would take place this afternoon at the Catholic church, which is just up
the road – I can see it through the window from where I am sitting and I can hear
the faint strains of a choir singing at the funeral service. Local tradition
means it’s important for pretty much everyone to attend, whether you know the
person who died or not. It was especially important for us as half of our
workshop participants are from the Catholic church, and we are using their
buildings for the workshop! My Kisi colleagues have gone, but I have stayed to
look after the things left in the room (there’s no way to lock the door), as
the fact that I am a complete stranger means it’s less necessary for me to
attend.
Oh, one of
my colleagues has already returned; they kept that service short! He tells me
that though the service was short, the burial will be longer, as it’s there
that they will begin to tell the person’s story of when they were born, what
happened etc. (I found out later that he was only 27; he had become ill but
despite going to several hospitals they failed to identify the real source of
the problem.) At lunchtime the workshop participants were all talking about it,
as apparently someone had refilled the freshly dug grave so there was lots of
speculation over what was going on, with talk of him having been killed and
that witchcraft was involved. (The truth turned out to be that the family had
spent all their money on trying to get treatment for him, so they had no money
left to pay for proper transportation of the body back from the hospital where
he had died, so he’d been carried ‘secretly’ on the back of a motorbike,
without the proper paperwork for transportation and burial (or something along
those lines). So the grave had been refilled to prevent burial, over concern
that the proper procedures hadn’t been followed and it could create trouble.
However, in the end, this decision was overturned, recognising that the man
deserved a decent burial, and any officialdom could be sorted out later.)
Despite
everything, we were able to get through all the material I had prepared, as we
went faster than we did in the Manda area because they asked less questions! I was
wishing they’d ask more, as questions give me a sense of where people are at,
what their level of understanding really is and what issues there are in their
biblical understanding and Christian living. However, despite this lack of
feedback as we went along, the feedback at the end was really encouraging.
---
Here’s some
of what was said (loosely translated and abbreviated from Swahili):
“This
workshop has opened my eyes to how to read the Bible.” and “I didn’t know how
to use the Bible, but from now on I’ll be a teacher of the Bible!” (Many
participants were from churches where reading the Bible isn’t something that is
particularly encouraged, so it was an eye-opening experience to discover how we
can study the Bible and learn from it for ourselves.)
“I’ve learned what principles to use when
reading the Bible, and tools for teaching, such as sitting in a circle and
discussing.”
“I’ve
learned about prayer. Even Jesus prayed for something he didn’t get.” (This
referred to one of the themes we looked at in Luke of Jesus being a man of prayer.
We talked about how Jesus prayed for his cup of suffering to be removed, but
may God’s will be done.)
“This has
been a new thing for me, do we preach Jesus or do we preach the development of
the church? We need to make changes. If someone comes to my church, will they
meet Jesus or a request for money?” (This came out of our discussion about the
themes in Luke, and how those themes compare to the things we normally teach in
our churches.)
---
With my colleagues, Stanslaus and Claudia, in
Nindi (in front of the Catholic church)
Workshop
over, we were picked up by the same driver as before to be taken to Lupingu, down
by the lake, where we were welcomed by warm air and the sound of waves breaking
on the beach. (I had felt cold the whole time we were in Nindi, due to overcast
skies and a chilly wind.) I killed four big cockroaches in my room and en-suite
bathroom before bed – warmer weather always means bigger bugs! The next morning
we went to visit the pastor of a church, who so far has refused to support and
be involved in the work we are doing. Working cross-denominationally can be
challenging, with some people being very denominationalist, unwilling to work
alongside people from certain other denominations. We praise God that a side
effect of our work is often bringing about co-operation between churches that
previously wouldn’t have associated with each other. Unfortunately, the pastor
was out fishing and wouldn’t be back for some time, so we spoke to the pastor’s
wife and then headed back to the guest house, packed up our stuff, and got in
the small motor boat waiting to take us to Makonde further up the lake.
Being
Saturday, we took it easy, but we still went to visit another pastor to invite
his participation in the workshop and our work in general. He was of the same denomination
as the pastor we tried to visit in Lupingu and he proved equally reluctant to
get involved; incidentally people from that same denomination had participated
happily in the Nindi workshop. We also visited a couple of other pastors (who
are fully supportive), though I spent most of my time subtly reading a book on
my phone while my colleagues chatted with them in Kisi (whenever they switched
to Swahili, I joined in, but I don’t understand any Kisi, though sometimes I
can pick up the gist of a conversation by occasional Swahili words that get
thrown in). I also enjoyed a short swim in the evening, and a few moments of
quiet by the lake after the sun set before hiding away in my room. Although we
were staying in a guest house, it was more like an AirBnB in feel as the guest
rooms are within the family’s own home, so I could hear the family and my
colleagues talking together in the living room, a strangely comforting sound. I
enjoy chatting with folk here, but I find I also need time to myself – the fast
conversation of a group can be hard for me to follow and engage in, either
because I lack context or because I don’t know the relevant vocabulary, all of
which can make it quite tiring to follow along. Sunday was a fairly quiet day,
other than attending a local church in the morning (the one where we would hold
the workshop) – I was really encouraged by the good teaching of the elderly pastor,
who faithfully taught the truth. Despite spending much of the day just sitting
around reading, doing cross-stitch or listening to audio stuff, I didn’t find
it very relaxing, though it would be hard to put a finger on why, other than
maybe just that sense of being a guest in a strange place so that you are
always conscious of how you behave.
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| Left: Claudia teaches about the letters that exist in the Kisi alphabet that don’t exist in Swahili. Right: Group work, discussing various Bible passages in Luke. In the foreground, you can also see the basket of cups and thermos flasks ready to serve chai (morning tea – black, very sweet and lightly spiced). |
After we
finished, Claudia and I went to a participant’s house to enjoy oranges freshly
picked off her tree (I tried to explain to Claudia that oranges in England were
actually orange, but I think she found it hard to take in, as oranges here are
typically green, maybe with a bit of yellow or orange on them). I also had a
fun conversation with her about hair, explaining that we use shampoo and not
oil in our hair like they use. When I came to eating my tea, I was disgruntled
to discover that tiny ants had got into my food tub. I proceeded to knock and
blow them off my homemade granola bar as best I could, clean out the tub and
clean off the floor where they were now scuttling around. I then noticed some
of the ants on my neatly folded pile of clothes and realised that ants were
running around all over the place. I shook out my clothes, moved everything to
a different part of the room and resolved to ask that my room be cleaned the
next day. Ants are a relentless problem in a place like Makonde. In Mbeya I
sometimes find ants scuttling around my bathroom or crawling over our waste
food tub or along the worktop in the kitchen, and much worse are the termites
in the garden constantly eating away at our fence, but I think in this warmer,
more humid environment by the lake, the situation is much worse.
The
workshop finished well on Wednesday, with people who had come from further
afield beseeching us to visit their village with workshops like this, and even
the people of Makonde itself asking us to come again. It was encouraging to see
the spirit of unity between churches that was fostered through the workshop –
there had been some awkward questions and comments that could have been
divisive, but at the conclusion of it all it was clear that they recognised
that we share one message of good news for the people of Makonde and we need to
work together to proclaim the Kingdom of God and to make the Kisi Scriptures
available. And this message is needed just as much in Makonde as anywhere. One
evening I walked past a house where a lady had created what looked like a very shallow
paddling pool (maybe 2 metres long by 1 metre wide), filled with a slightly
brown liquid with froth on top, which she was stirring. I found out later it
was local brew (usually made from maize) – what she was doing was a quick way
of cooling it off so that it would be ready for selling and drinking. From afternoon
to evening, every day, people sit around next to the football field, down by the
lake, drinking. It seems that alcoholism is a real problem here. (And not just
here, I’ve heard it’s a problem in many many places.)
Views around Makonde
Each
evening that we had stayed in Makonde the lake was quite rough, so on Tuesday we
made the decision that I shouldn’t try to leave on Wednesday evening straight
after the workshop, but should wait until Thursday morning, as the lake is
usually calmer in the mornings, even though this meant I wouldn’t get home
until a day later. So the boat and car was accordingly arranged for Thursday. Remembering
the last time I had visited Makonde and the very rough boat ride back to
Lupingu, which made even the locals somewhat anxious, this felt like a wise
course of action. But when Wednesday evening arrived, there was hardly any
breeze and the lake lapped gently against the shore; people here always say,
“The lake is unpredictable!” At least
this meant there was a chance to have one final dip in the lake, enjoying the beautifully
coloured fish swimming around the rocks on the lake bed and staying until the
big pink disc of the sun sank below the hills of Malawi on the other side of
the lake. Idyllic though this sounds (and it was truly beautiful, causing me to
break into song, “Oh Lord my God, when I awesome wonder, consider all the works
thy hands hath made”) I also felt very ready to head home, to where I can speak
English with friends and not feel so very much like a fish out of water. Still,
I spent a pleasant evening chatting with the landlady for a while outside,
while marvelling at the stars, and then chatting with her husband and Claudia
indoors and watching the news together, before retiring to my room for a bit of
time to myself and to make sure I was ready for the next day’s early start.
The next
morning I was up at 6am. Half an hour later I was ready to go. By that time,
one of the landlady’s children, who couldn’t have been more than ten years old,
was already outside sweeping the yard and a wood fire was already lit in the
kitchen (a brick building, separate from the house), with smoke billowing out
the open door and windows. The landlady shortly headed down to the beach to try
and find some fish or meat for the cooking she’d be doing that day. We had kept
her busy, as she had cooked all the food for our workshop, and now she would be
cooking for the 5-day meeting my colleagues would be holding with the ‘Reviewers
Committee’ (a group of Kisi Christians) to check through the first half of
Genesis. I didn’t get to have any fish while I was there, despite being next to
the lake, as the choppy waters meant hardly any fish near the shores and no
fishing. We had pork one day though – there are lots of pigs roaming around the
village, and while I waited to board the boat to leave, I could see a pig lying
lifeless on the beach, with a man hard at work cleaning the skin ready to
butcher it. Next time I turned around to look, there was the head, eyes staring
sightlessly up into the sky. It almost made me want to turn vegetarian, but I’m
rather partial to pork!
And finally I was off. Stanslaus (who accompanied me) kept up a loud conversation with the boat people over the noise of the engine and every now and then got busy with a scooper to get rid of the excess water sloshing around in the bottom of the boat. Within a couple of hours we’d arrived in Lupingu, where they somehow managed to drop my rucksack in the water as we climbed ashore, so my clothes all got rather damp! I said goodbye to Stanslaus and got in the waiting car, together with Stanslaus’s wife and daughter-in-law, as the latter was pregnant and needed to go to the hospital in town ready for giving birth. An hour and a half later we were in Ludewa and I had bought a ticket for the 11am bus to Njombe. Arriving in Njombe about 4pm, I couldn’t face getting on another bus, so I bought a ticket for a 6am bus the next morning and headed to a guest house. I struggled to hold back the tears when I was finally alone in my room. The travel, the tiredness, the unwanted attention because I’m white and the resulting bad attitude I had to people who were trying to help me (albeit with the hope of getting money out of it) left me feeling miserable. But after hanging out my damp clothes to dry, a shower, a walk with lovely views, some grilled maize and a friendly chat with the guest house worker, I felt a lot better.
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| Waiting
for the accident to be cleared – the queue of traffic stretched into the distance. The bus I was travelling on is the one on the left. |
