One or two folk have been asking if I'm still jet-lagged. But the good thing about going almost due south (and then due north back) is that you don't get jet-lagged because Malawi is only one hour ahead of us. Having said that, in Malawi I was working to a different timescale than usual. The folk there work in tandem with the rising and setting of the sun, getting up with the dawn about 5.30am, working in their fields until it gets dark about 6pm at night, and going to bed at 'Malawi midnight', which is 9pm in the evening! And so my body-clock is still waking me at 5am in the morning. I tried to go back to sleep when I awoke at that time this morning, but couldn't get back to sleep, so I've been up since about 6am this morning. However, I'm going to stay up really late so that Wendy and I can watch Wallander at 9 o'clock! (That man is so depressed he fair cheers me up!) But before then, let me tell you about last Friday.
Friday 30th May
Today we went to Chingalumbe Prayer House. Rory, from the FR, drives us there. Chingalumbe (for those of you who haven't been there) is north of Mbame up the main road (ok - the only road) and then you drive off into the wilds and keep going for quite a while. The dirt road is very, very rough, and I half expect the car to fall apart, Laurel and Hardy style, at any moment. On the way we pass another Prayer House, and as we do so some Mvano women come out onto the road and start singing for us. These folk are just fantastic. They've probably been waiting for us coming by for ages. We stop and get out and chat with them for a few minutes, then we're on our way again, with the ladies singing us a send-off song. Wonderful.
When we get to Chingalumbe the reception is, by Malawian standards, low key. This is probably because people don't normally get together for church at this time of day, but are just doing so to meet us, and they really need to keep working until they know we've arrived. Just across from the church some women are pumping away furiously at the bore hole, trying to get water. However, it seems that the pump isn't working properly and hardly any water is coming up. Some women have given up and resorted to the pre-bore hole routine by walking several kilometres to the river and then walking back carrying huge plastic buckets, filled with water, on their heads; and all this in baking heat. The women walk past us as we sit in the shade outside the Prayer House. It's a tough existence out here, but no-one complains. When we say hello to them they give us a big smile.
Gradually, Malawi-style, people slowly gather for the meeting. However, we're told that other folk are expected, so while we are waiting someone suggests we go for a walk through the village. At the far end of the village the view down into a valley, where another village lies below, is stunning, and worth the walk. Also stunning is the heat. An umbrella is found and I use it to shield myself from the midday sun as we head back to the church. I real feel quite the missionary as we stroll along!
Just before we started back to the church, while we were at the far end of the village, a funny thing happened that shows how unusual our visit was to the locals. Because they hardly ever see any white people some of the children we come across just stare at me, almost in disbelief. Others are clearly frightened of me. When we were looking at the wonderful view some children came a bit closer to see this strange being in their midst. I beckoned one wee boy to come over and see me. When I did so, he totally freaked and ran, screaming, in the opposite direction, for about 100 yards, before he even looked back! Children who live near the main road don't seem so scared, but they are wary. When I say 'hi' to them, often they will run away giggling, but once I'm a safe distance away, they pop back out from where they are hiding and shout 'nzunga' as I walk on. 'Nzunga' means 'white man.' These kids ain't too PC! Well, neither am I, and I think it's quite funny.
When the service finally starts the church has filled up a bit - not bad considering it's the middle of the day in a village well out into the countryside. I preach from Luke 15:1-10, on the parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin. My theme is that those the world sees as unimportant, those the world would forget, they are special, valued, precious in the eyes of God. After the service we have lunch in the home of the church leader who started this Prayer House a couple of years ago. As always these folk who have very little serve up their best and I am treated as the honoured guest.
In the evening, as I am finishing my dinner at the Tea-House, Emily and Damien come round to say goodbye. They are going home tomorrow. This makes me feel kind of funny. After lunch time tomorrow I'm going to be here in this foreign land, thousands of miles from home, on my own. When I get back to my room I commit this worry to the Lord, just like I've done with all the other worries I've had while I've been out here, and, knowing that the Lord has answered each and every one of these previous prayers, I fall into bed and sleep like a baby.
Friday 30th May
Today we went to Chingalumbe Prayer House. Rory, from the FR, drives us there. Chingalumbe (for those of you who haven't been there) is north of Mbame up the main road (ok - the only road) and then you drive off into the wilds and keep going for quite a while. The dirt road is very, very rough, and I half expect the car to fall apart, Laurel and Hardy style, at any moment. On the way we pass another Prayer House, and as we do so some Mvano women come out onto the road and start singing for us. These folk are just fantastic. They've probably been waiting for us coming by for ages. We stop and get out and chat with them for a few minutes, then we're on our way again, with the ladies singing us a send-off song. Wonderful.
When we get to Chingalumbe the reception is, by Malawian standards, low key. This is probably because people don't normally get together for church at this time of day, but are just doing so to meet us, and they really need to keep working until they know we've arrived. Just across from the church some women are pumping away furiously at the bore hole, trying to get water. However, it seems that the pump isn't working properly and hardly any water is coming up. Some women have given up and resorted to the pre-bore hole routine by walking several kilometres to the river and then walking back carrying huge plastic buckets, filled with water, on their heads; and all this in baking heat. The women walk past us as we sit in the shade outside the Prayer House. It's a tough existence out here, but no-one complains. When we say hello to them they give us a big smile.
Gradually, Malawi-style, people slowly gather for the meeting. However, we're told that other folk are expected, so while we are waiting someone suggests we go for a walk through the village. At the far end of the village the view down into a valley, where another village lies below, is stunning, and worth the walk. Also stunning is the heat. An umbrella is found and I use it to shield myself from the midday sun as we head back to the church. I real feel quite the missionary as we stroll along!
Just before we started back to the church, while we were at the far end of the village, a funny thing happened that shows how unusual our visit was to the locals. Because they hardly ever see any white people some of the children we come across just stare at me, almost in disbelief. Others are clearly frightened of me. When we were looking at the wonderful view some children came a bit closer to see this strange being in their midst. I beckoned one wee boy to come over and see me. When I did so, he totally freaked and ran, screaming, in the opposite direction, for about 100 yards, before he even looked back! Children who live near the main road don't seem so scared, but they are wary. When I say 'hi' to them, often they will run away giggling, but once I'm a safe distance away, they pop back out from where they are hiding and shout 'nzunga' as I walk on. 'Nzunga' means 'white man.' These kids ain't too PC! Well, neither am I, and I think it's quite funny.
When the service finally starts the church has filled up a bit - not bad considering it's the middle of the day in a village well out into the countryside. I preach from Luke 15:1-10, on the parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin. My theme is that those the world sees as unimportant, those the world would forget, they are special, valued, precious in the eyes of God. After the service we have lunch in the home of the church leader who started this Prayer House a couple of years ago. As always these folk who have very little serve up their best and I am treated as the honoured guest.
In the evening, as I am finishing my dinner at the Tea-House, Emily and Damien come round to say goodbye. They are going home tomorrow. This makes me feel kind of funny. After lunch time tomorrow I'm going to be here in this foreign land, thousands of miles from home, on my own. When I get back to my room I commit this worry to the Lord, just like I've done with all the other worries I've had while I've been out here, and, knowing that the Lord has answered each and every one of these previous prayers, I fall into bed and sleep like a baby.
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