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The daily grind of life can sometimes be a killer.
Last week I found myself fighting for my own sanity and swamped in a bog of the mundane. I've been there before and know that this quagmire doesn't treat me kindly!
An escape plan was offered me by my kind and caring wife - a weekend away from routine and normalcy. A chance to see some more of Mozambique, get to know its people and experience the outdoors.
I snapped up the offer without a moment's hesitation. I was desperate to do something different; something unusual and refreshing.
So came Friday afternoon and having said goodbye to Becky and Gracie, I hopped on to the back of a flat-bed truck with my sleeping bag, tent and change of clothes. It was a party of six, me being the only white man, and we were heading to Xai-Xai, three hours north to spend two days with a local community.
I had signed up to go on an outreach, something that's regularly offered to visitors at our centre. We were going to evangelise the community where our group leader, Pastor Zacarias, had a burning passion to start a church.
Zacarias is a young Mozambican (see opposite) in his 20's and has spent the last 10 years with Iris Ministries. He was originally brought in to the orphanage as a teenager by Heidi Baker and is now a local Pastor. Up to now, I knew little about him, only that he did these trips quite regularly and wanted to take God's word to all of Mozambique.
The others with whom I shared the journey were Mozambicans too; I was in their hands for the next 48 hours so I knew things would be relaxed, slow paced and would include the unexpected.
Where the chickens come in
The truck in which we rode not only carried our sleeping gear, but also a mini sound system, a small generator, boxes of gospel tracts and an electronic keyboard born in the 1980's.
We sat surrounded by all the gear, speeding along the bumpy road, no seatbelts to hold us down and just the side of the truck, about a foot high, to stop us from going overboard. The further we drove, the more I began to unwind and let the stress of life get blown away by the blustery wind.
Halfway through the journey, we stopped to do some food shopping for the weekend.
Since the trip was led by Mozambicans and funded by the ministry, I didn't feel I could offer any input as to my dietary requirements. Loaves of bread, bags of tomatoes and onions were joined by two chickens, alive and scared in the back of the truck. This is how 90% of people live here - none of that "buy your meat at a local supermarket" tosh. We were buying it while still alive and kicking.
We arrived at our destination at dusk. It was a village community in a spacious, sandy bush area with homes mostly constructed from reeds and clay. Our tents were pitched on a plot owned by Zacarias' extended family. They were a simple, very poor family, but extremely hospitable and welcoming.
That evening we held the first of two "crusade" meetings in the neighbouring village of Machalene. It involved parking the truck in the middle of a football field and using it as a stage to hold the speakers, microphones and the 1980's keyboard - all of which were powered by an old, noisy generator.
I was really just a tag-along for the trip; I didn't have a defined role and couldn't play a big part since I didn't speak the local dialect. Although Portuguese is the official language here, many Mozambicans, especially rural ones, are still strongly rooted in their African languages.
Preserverence goes a long way
That night was fraught with problems and obstructions. To start with, the generator was too weak to carry the load of the sound system and lighting. It was either sound or lights, not both.
There was no difficulty in getting people to come. Despite the bad quality sound, by the end of the night around 150 people had showed up and were heartily joining in the dancing and clapping to the songs.
However, part way through the evening, the village chiefs arrived with very unhappy faces. No-one had told them that our event was happening on their soil.
Although Zacarias had previously gone to painful lengths to get permission, the chiefs claimed they had not been informed. They kicked up a big fuss and demanded that it should stop, despite the fact that our event was the only good entertainment for miles around.
We managed to persuade them to let us finish what we had started and eventually they gave up complaining. When we got back to our tents, we shared about the experience together. A tasty meal was served which included one of our two chickens and we sat chatting and eating around a little candle.
Although Friday night was a difficult one for my Mozambican friends, for me it was a blessing. I was blessed in being part of a group of people who didn't let worn-out equipment or hostile locals stop them from doing what they set out to do. I saw perseverance and tenacity in Zacarias and the others. They knew that what they were doing wasn't for their selfish gain, but instead to honour God.
The next night, we took our musical truck to another part of the same community and were given a much better reception. The generator also seemed to perform with renewed vigor and there was alot of positive response from the crowd.
It may not have been the way that you or I would choose to evangelise, but nevertheless, it was wholehearted and sincere.
On returning home, I realised that the weekend had done me alot of good. It wasn't just that I had survived a couple of nights without home comforts or found relief from the predictable routines. It was more that my soul had been revived by spending time with those who carry out the commands of Jesus in such a simple and dedicated way.
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(Click on photos to enlarge)
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