Chingale

Every culture or region seems to have one group of people who are the source of jokes. These jokes usually revolve around the rural nature and economic status of the people of that area. The Chingale region is the source of that sort of joking in the southern region of Malawi. Economically, Chingale is the poorest part of the region. This has to do with the landscape, first. It is rocky and hilly, not at all conducive to agriculture, the primary source of economic stability for the entire country. Second, there is no steady water source, so irrigation is not an option. Everyone and everything is dependent upon rainfall, not a reliable method of farming. The landscape also makes road construct difficult, so since there is no economic motivation to construct, there are no good roads in the area. The best are one lane dirt roads, pocked with ruts and rocks. The worst are trails wide enough for a bicycle but hardly negotiable by car or truck, although both use these trails, since they are the only means of connecting the residents of those areas with the rest of the country. The schools that exist are understaffed and undersupplied. Education suffers. Only a few of the children’s parents can afford to send them to school. Pastors joke about being sentenced to Chingale, rather than being sent there. But I disagree. While all these factors are true, and life there is remote and difficult, the people of Chingale easily compensate for the geography and the economy. That truth was born out again Thursday when the team from Chigodi went to Chingale Presbytery to present our building project.

We had made arrangements to go to only one church. This meant that the women who were invited had to travel to the center of the region, to the Chingale CCAP church. This was not an easy task. I had never been there but our driver said he knew where it was. He knew where the Presbytery office was, but that was not the same church. We made several inquiries and followed several people’s directions, unsuccessfully, until we finally spotted the pastor and offered him a ride, in exchange for guidance. The problem was that one of those trails was the only way to the church. We hadn’t recognized it as a navigable road and had driven past it three times. The women of the region had no such difficulty. They were there to welcome us, with singing and dancing. More than a hundred women walked, rode bicycle taxis or hitched rides in the back of flatbed trucks to come to the church. One group made arrangements with a truck driver to bring the entire group from the church. They arrived and left sitting in the open flatbed of the truck, joyfully singing as dust swirled around them.

The church is more than a kilometer from the nearest market area, in the middle one of the few level, cleared gardens, ready for planting when the rains come. There is no electricity near the church and the nearest well is at the trading center. In spite of this, we were offered cool drinks when we arrived. Some of the ladies had carried them from the trading center when they came. They cared for their visitors with grace and generosity. None of them had cool drinks. They had water that several of them had carried in buckets on their heads from the market area.

We come, asking them to help us finish a dormitory that was left incomplete from the last administration. We suggest that if each church or prayer house in the Synod would contribute MK4,000 (about $27), we could finish the project. These ladies asked if they could contribute maize flour or casaba to sell, to make up their contributions. They don’t have cash, but they have some crops and they are willing to sacrifice those to support the project. I was deeply touched. At the end of the program, in typical Malawian tradition, they offer gifts to the visitors, in thanks for their coming. (Yes, we come asking for money and they give us gifts to thank us for coming and for asking – amazing!) Each church group or prayer house group brought their gifts, individually – small bags of ground nuts (peanuts), casaba, maize flour, pigeon peas, a head of cabbage, a bunch of bananas. All of this was carefully stacked in front of us and we shook hands with each one presenting a gift. These women scratch to feed their families and they were sharing with us from their family’s storerooms. While the meeting was going on, a small group of women had been cooking for the entire group. After the program, we ate in small groups – we three visitors in one area of the church, the pastor and session clerk in another and the woman gathered on the floor in the sanctuary. The guests were served rice, nsima, chicken, vegetables and cool bottles of soda. The pastor and session clerk were given nsima, chicken, vegetables and sobo (water and flavoring, like Lemon Blend). The women ate nsima and vegetables and drank water. Separate dining areas downplayed the different menus. It was humbling.

When we prepared to leave, they sang us out of the church and all the way to our vehicle. They carried the gifts they had given us and loaded them in the truck. Then they ran alongside the truck, singing and waving their chitenji (wraps) as we pulled onto the dirt path. Their reception and treatment of us overwhelmed me. Chingale is no joke. It is populated by generous, gracious people of God. That is not something to laugh about but rather to praise God for.

For a Jack

Since my last travel adventure, when the tire literally fell off, my colleagues at the Synod have arranged for a vehicle and a driver from the Synod when we go off on trips for Chigodi. This protects me and my companions from being stranded, if something happens. We put this to the test on Thursday. We, (Mrs. Majamada, the program director, Rev. Catherine Jailos, the assistant administrator and myself), had to go to Thuchila Presbytery, between Mulanje and Phalombe. It isn’t a great distance, nor a particularly remote area, so it was a good test for this new procedure.

At 7:30 a.m., I was at the Synod offices, awaiting the driver. He was late, so the Human Resource Director, the one responsible for drivers and vehicles, assigned another driver, to get us on our way. Mr. Kabalula is usually the General Secretary’s driver, but since the GS is out of the country for a week, he drew the short straw and was selected to drive us. He is a delightful man and an excellent driver, so I knew I could relax. We were assigned the Toyota Camry, an older sedan, but since we weren’t going on rough terrain, it seemed practical, so we set off for Chigodi to collect the others and head to Thuchila

The first church we were to visit was on a dirt road that had a few deep dips and bumps, but Mr. Kabalula handled them well. He maneuvered us through a small, crowded market areas with great skill. I would have been a bit stressed, if I had been driving. We arrived in good time and held our meeting with about 70 mvano from 10 different churches and prayer houses. At the end of the meeting, they presented us with gifts, a Malawian tradition. This group was extremely generous in their expressions of thanks for our coming. They danced in with bags of sweet potatoes and casaba, packages of beans, a pole of bananas, and sticks of sugarcane. It was overwhelming. All I could think of was how it would all fit in the trunk of the car. If we had had my CRV, there would have been no problem but this was more than100 kgs of “kindness” that had to be transported. Mr. Kabalula ably handled the packing while we had lunch, then he joined us.

He decided that since the car was sitting low in the back, he would use a different route to the next church, one with fewer ruts. We were traveling about 20 kilometers an hour to avoid big bumps. We were putting great strain on old springs so he wanted to be careful. But there was one particularly rough spot. We rubbed the bottom of the car and bumped harder than we had before. Then we heard a thudding sound. I looked at Mr. Kabalula as he stopped the car. He said he thought it was a tire. We all got out to check. Sure enough, the left back tire was flat. The bump had jarred the tire enough to pop it from the rim. Mr. Kabalula never batted and eye. He just began to unload the trunk to get to the spare tire and the jack. That is when we discovered that we had no jack. The spare was new; there was a tire wrench, but no jack and we were nowhere near any one or any place that would have a jack. Mr. Kabalula began to look for alternatives to the traditional jack while Mrs. Majamanda looked for alternative transportation to get her to the next church ahead of the rest of us, to meet the ladies who were waiting for us. She decided she would take a bicycle taxi and we could meet her there. When I suggested I take a taxi, too, and go with her, she just laughed and rejected my idea. It was inappropriate for me to ride on the back of a bike, but she could. I know better than to argue, even though I was certain I could handle the ride as well as she could. Rev. Jailos and I stayed with Mr. Kabalula.

After several failed attempts to drive up on large rocks placed under the car, Mr. Kabalula agreed that I could pay a few of the strong young men who had gathered to watch us, to lift the car as he placed the rocks appropriately, to serve as a jack. The young men were more than willing to earn some easy money. They lifted while he shimmied the rocks into place and then he set about quickly changing the tire. In less than 15 minutes the tire was changed, the car lowered and the trunk repacked. We paid the young men and slowly moved on to join Mrs. Majamada at the church.

The ladies who had been waiting at the church had gone ahead with lunch preparations, so when we joined them, everyone was joyfully eating, unconcerned about our delay, but grateful for our safe arrival. The meeting proceeded as the first one had, including the generous gifts at the end of the program. I was caught in an emotional struggle: I was deeply grateful for their generosity but deeply concerned for the weight and space of the car. Once again Mr. Kabalula did the packing. He emptied bags and filled in knocks and crannies in the trunk; he repositioned the spare tire (which he had repaired while we were in our meeting) and only placed a few small bags in the floor of the back seat. The backend of the car was sitting very low. After a pastoral visit to the minister of the congregation who was ill and the appropriate farewells, we headed off more slowly than we had arrived. The blessing was that we were very near the main road, so we did not have much of a distance on rough terrain.

Once on the main road, we still traveled slowly, not over 60 kilometers an hour, because we were overloaded. This made the trip longer, but safer. The only concern I had was the police road block. This is a routine stop where they check for expired safety stickers, but do check the minivans for excessive passengers and baggage. We would have had some explaining to do, weighed down with a trunk full of casaba and sweet potatoes, if they had stopped us. We speculated about our explanation and the policeman’s possible responses. Praise God we were just waved through with no questions. God is good!

The jury is still out on the blessing of a Synod vehicle. The CRV would have been better for the roads and the load, but there is no question of the driver. Mr. Kabalula is capable, resourceful and careful. I would travel with him anywhere again. The real question is if he wants to travel with the Chigodi crew again. We have been prone to adventures, but God has been faithful and has protected us and provided for us. He provided Mr. Kabalula this time. We will see who or how he provides on the next outing.

Mr. Kabalula addressing the jack issue.

Protection and Provision

I’ve gotten in the habit of praying before any trip for God’s protection and provision for me and for all those around me. I’ve seen too many accidents and breakdowns to take God’s care for granted. Thursday night I experienced that care.

I had had a day of speaking in Chuita Presbytery. Rev. Catherine Jailos, my assistant at Chigodi, Mrs. Majamanda, our program director, Thomas, Jean and Chimwemwe were all with me. Thomas and his family were coming down to spend part of Mother’s Day with me on Friday. We dropped Mrs. Majamand near her home, so she could spend the Mother’s Day holiday with her family and were proceeding to Chigodi. It was about 7:30 p.m., dark but past rush hour, so traffic had thinned out. I had heard a noise in the front of the car when we hit bumps and made a mental note to call Sam Ncozana, my friend who helps me with all things car related, in the morning to have him take a look at it. This was a bit disconcerting, since I had just spent a great deal of money on repairing the suspension system and on new tires.

We were about a mile from the turnoff to Chigodi when there was a great thud, and the front passenger side of the car dropped to the road. Metal scrapped the pavements as I gained control of the wheel and steered the car to the right should of the road, across what would have been traffic, if there had been any coming. Praise God there was not. (We drive on the left side of the road in Malawi.) Here there was room to get the car off the road and inspect the problem. This is an isolated area of road, with no houses nearby. Thomas got out, instructing me to stay in the car. While he inspected the car and put out triangles (warning markers), I tried to call Sam for assistance. There was no answer. I texted him. After several attempts, I called Rev. Kadawati, the General Secretary and my friend. He said he would send a Synod driver and mechanic to assist us. Thomas got back in the car and we began to count the things for which we were thankful: We were all safe; no one was coming toward us; no one was close behind us; the car steered to a safe stop; the spot in the road was wide enough for us to be safe; I was not alone; help was on the way; Chimwemwe was asleep and quiet. About this time, Catherine’s phone rang. It was the matron at Chigodi, wondering where we were. Catherine reported the incident to her and she insisted on sending one of the police officers who lives on the Chigodi ground (built-in security for the Center) down to be with us. Apparently the thing that made that spot a good one for stopping is the very thing that makes that spot dangerous – it is isolated.

The policeman arrived in uniform with his gun and his two teenage sons (for help if needed), just as the Synod team arrived. The police officer stood across the road, in the dark, keeping guard, while the mechanic and driver got to work assessing and dealing with the damage. The ball joint had broken, they said. Patrick, the mechanic, put on his work overalls, took out his tool box and a jack, and he and Mr. Banda, the driver, began temporary repairs, to make the car drive able. It took over an hour, lots of pounding, a piece of bull rope, and a great deal of engineering “jury-rigging,” as my father would have called it, but by 9:45, we were ready to roll, at a very slow pace, but ready to move. There were no brakes and everything was held together with rope, so Patrick was going first, alone in my car, at about 20 kilometers an hour. I tried Sam again, to let him know the situation was under control. He was driving down from Zomba and said he would get us along the road. We unloaded the luggage (including 2 live chickens given to us by the Presbytery) from the back of my car into the Synod truck, shifted the sleeping child and the rest of the passengers and the police force into the truck. We, in the truck, turned off at Chigodi to deliver the group that lives there and then catch up with Patrick and follow the car on its slow trek to the Synod. We deposited the Chigodi folks and katundu (stuff), paused to praise God for his care, and then headed back to the road to catch up with Patrick. On the way down the Chigodi road, my phone rang. It was Sam asking if I were driving my car. I said no but Patrick was. He said he was just behind my car and was hoping I was not the lone driver. I assured him I was not and that we would be joining them shortly. As we approached the procession of two cars, Patrick pulled off the road. We all thought something was wrong. Mr. Banda quickly pulled in front of my car and jumped out to see what was wrong. Thomas followed him. After a short time, they came back, laughing. Patrick was nervous about an unknown car (Sam’s) following him, so he pulled off for us to overtake him. He was relieved to learn who was behind him. So we started off again in a slow procession of three – Patrick, the Synod truck, and Sam. It took us almost an hour to get to the Synod, but the blessing was that it was late at night and traffic was very light. We were not causing traffic snarls with our slow pace. We pulled into my yard about 11 p.m. Sam and Patrick talked “repairs” for a few minutes while the rest of us unloaded the truck and put the sleeping child in the house. Sam said he would come in the morning to attend to the car. There were not enough words to thank Patrick and Mr. Banda for all they had done. They just smiled and headed home. They both had to report to work at 7 a.m.

After Thomas and Jean and I got Chimwemwe settled and got a little something to eat, we sat and reviewed again God’s great protection and provision for us that night. We were save; the car was safe; we and the car were back at the Synod; gifted and dedicated mechanics had come to help us; we had our own police protection. God was so faithful to care for us in all these ways and more. I can only praise him for his care. Our God is an answering God!

Mother's Day

Today is Mother’s Day in Malawi. Yes, it seems like an odd time for Americans, but this is Malawi. Mother’s Day is always on the Friday of the second week of October, regardless of the date.  Actually, Mother’s Day is quite different here. It is a National Holiday, so banks and businesses are all closed. People are encouraged to spend time with their mothers, or those who have been mothers to them (since there are so many in Malawi who have been orphaned and raised by someone other than their biological mother). It is because of this practice that I am celebrating Mother’s Day. Actually, I’m spreading the celebration out over a few days because of the boys’ schedules. Charles has church meetings today and tomorrow, so he and his family are coming on Monday morning and we will celebrate together on Monday. Since I was in Ntaja   yesterday for a teaching time at the Presbytery, Thomas and his family came down with me last night and were here for the morning. Then Jean went to see her mother and Thomas headed back for church meetings tomorrow.

But this morning, after Thomas escorted Jean to the minibus to go see her mother, he came back to have lunch and collect his luggage (and a few goodies from Mom) before heading home. We printed recent photos from his ordination and installation for him to take home. Photos are rare treats here, expensive and hard to come by. As we were scrolling through the library of pictures, we came across some older ones, from 2007, when we first became family. There was one photo that stopped me, as I remembered all that was behind the taking of it. When I showed it to Thomas, he just gave me a long, hard hug and whispered “Thanks.” The photo was of him and his biological mother, taken just a week before her death.

Many of you know the story, but as I looked at that photo, it all came back to me. It is a Malawian Mother’s Day story, the heart of what we are celebrating and worth remembering again, I think. The day the photo was taken, she was being discharged from the hospital. She had been admitted several days before.  She had pneumonia and other complications associated with HIV/Aids. Ten years before, she had made a choice to stay with her husband, knowing he was being unfaithful, and knowing that she would become infected, but also knowing that if she stayed, her 5 children would be provided for by their father. If she left, they would all be cut off from any support. The night before she was discharged, Thomas came to visit me as he returned from the hospital, with the request that I go with him to the hospital the next day to talk his mother into taking the ARV drugs the doctors were recommending she take to keep the HIV at bay. She was refusing and he wanted me to talk to her. I asked why she was refusing. He said she had explained to him that she had nothing to cause this disease. She had been faithful in her marriage. She could face her Lord and savior with a clear conscious. If she took the drugs, her life would be extended, but the little money her husband, Thomas’ father, had left the family at his death10 months before would be used up. So she was refusing. I listened and then I said I would not go to try and convince her, even if I could. For the second time in her life she was consciously choosing death over life out of love for her children. Thomas stormed out of the house and slammed the door. I fell to my knees in prayer. Early the next morning, there was a timid knock at my door. Thomas stood quietly and asked if I would go with him to get his mother, to take her home in honor of her wishes. To that I willingly agreed. At the hospital, he asked me to take their picture, which I willingly did. It is the only photo he has of his mother.

Today as we looked at that photo together, I was reminded of the great love she had for her children. She not only passed along the power of faith in Christ, she lived it in her decisions. Her actions of love made Christ’s love real to her children, especially to Thomas. He is the man he is today because of her love and example. Twice in her life she made a choice of death over life out of love for her children, a choice few women in America every have to make but one that many women in Malawi make every day. That makes Mother’s Day especially meaningful in a country of over a million orphans under the age of 18 and many more orphaned in young adulthood, as Thomas was. Mother's day is a celebrations of mothers' love. and children's response to that love. Their picture represents that.

The big event of this weekend was the centennial celebration for Henry Henderson Institute. It has been a long time in the planning. In fact, the real anniversary was in 2009, but the celebration was postponed until everything was in place. One of the blessings of not being bound by time, as we are in the Northern Hemisphere, is the ability to celebrate when ready, not when the clock or the calendar degrees. So the celebration was set for 10-10-10, to begin at 10 a.m., marking a date that will not happen for another hundred years. Everything was in place. The road in front of the school had been paved. The trees had been pruned to make room for all the tents to be erected. Commemorative cloth had been produced and sold, so everyone and everything could be dressed in the material of the day. All the alumni had been invited, especially the Number One Alumni, the president of Malawi, His Excellency Ngwazi Prof. Bingu wa Mutharika. He was the Guest of Honor. That meant that everything that happened focused around him, as it should, as honored guest and as President.

Early in the week, preparations were begun for the big day. The grounds were readied. The tents were erected. The school buildings were cleaned and polished, inside and out. The students were rehearsed. Speeches were written and revised, so that on Sunday morning only the finishing touches remained. Chairs were set up and ushers were instructed about who was to sit where. The clergy were instructed to gather at St. Michael’s church at 8:15 for our instructions and preparations for processing to our seats near the platform. From these seats, we had shelter from the sun and a relatively good view of the Presidential party on a platform which had been erected in front of the school hall and decorated with the commemorative cloth. By 9 a.m., everyone was in place to await the arrival of the President. All the seats in the 7 tents that were erected and in the unprotected areas near the platform were filled and people stood under trees and out in the sun, to get a good view of the events. The grounds were packed. As we waited, red carpet was rolled out and swept clean for everywhere the President would walk, the Malawi police inspection for security, the media set up their equipment to televise the event, and choirs took turns singing, as final rehearsals and live entertainment. As the hour of arrival neared, women gathered along the entry road to sing and welcome the president’s convoy. Anticipation and celebration filled the air.

At 10:10 a.m. (on Malawian time), sirens sounded to announce the President’s arrival. Everyone snapped to attention as the motorcade pulled in and the President emerged. He was greeted by the General Secretary, the Synod Moderator and all the political officials who had gathered for the event, several of them alumni of HHI. They escorted him into the school, on his red carpet, where he signed the guest book and inspected a classroom and the library. As he emerged from the building, the Malawi Police Band played the National Anthem and the President took his seat of honor on the platform. After the formal greetings and recognition of all dignitaries, the program began with a worship service. This followed the usual format for CCAP worship. The Moderator, Rev. Reynold Mangisa, preached. Three choirs sang, including the Women’s Choir from Chigodi Congregation. This was a great honor for the church I serve and for our choir. The offering went to HHI for improvement to the buildings.

After the worship service, the real celebration began. The primary school children performed traditional rhythmic dumb bell exercises. This is synchronized movement and tapping of a set of wooden dumb bells by 40 young students. The President rose from his seat to give money to the group and to “exercise” with them. The crowd cheered his participation. Then the Beni dancers, came, young boys and girls who do military precision dance/march to a drum beat. Again the President won the applause of the crowd when he joined them in marching and gave them a monetary gift of appreciation. The alumni then marched from their seats, arranged in decade groups, in front of the platform to greet the President. Some of the older folks had been asked to represent 1909 to 1929, even though these were not their years. But from then on, those who marched did so according to the years they attended the school. The numbers of alumni swelled as the decades drew closer to the present. The Police Band played and the crowd cheered. It was an impressive procession of professional business people, teachers, pastors, and political and civic leaders. An Alumnus from each decade had been selected to give “brief” reflections on their time at HHI. This was interspersed with poems and a skit. Finally, the HHI choir sang as the present students released blue and white balloons. Then the dignitaries offered speeches. These remembered the early history of the school and those who had served in leadership over the last century. The last to speak, of course, was the President. While he shared official “State remarks” about education, he also offered some of his remembrances of his time as a student at HHI and then he presented a sizable check to the administration as a kickoff to the fundraising    for the future building improvements. He challenged his fellow alumni to step forward and contribute in the near future.

With the festivities completed, the Police Band played the national anthem again and everyone sang. The President was once again escorted to his motorcade and the women sang and cheered as the cars pulled away. The long anticipated event was over. As the crowd dispersed, comments of praise could be heard. No one seemed to notice that it was six hours since we had all gathered in preparation for the President’s arrival. Time didn’t matter. It was a good event, well worth the wait and all the preparations.

Busy Weekend

This has been a busy weekend, not that most aren’t, but this one has been especially so. This weekend held big events in people’s lives and in the lives of institutions Friday, Saturday and climaxed on Sunday. I’ll save the climax for an entry all its own. The other two events were not “big” by comparison, but they deserve reflection and appreciation.

On Friday evening the last group of oyendera (women’s church coordinators) graduated after an intense week of training at Chigodi. This is the fourth such week of training and the largest group to date - 65. The Women’s Desk of the Synod is responsible for this training and for a variety of reasons, has not done a training class for two years, so there were many women waiting for the opportunity. Over the past four weeks, there have been 203 women trained, some from each of the 18 presbyteries of the Synod. This training includes Bible Study leadership, administrative skills, mvano leadership, Synod expectations, and much more. All of this was done at Chigodi. This is a great blessing for the Center because it inaugurates a new phase of programming at the Center, as well as new training for the women. This time last year, Chigodi was closed. There were no programs, no water, no money. Another term for graduation is commencement, marking the beginning of a new phase in one’s life. Friday’s celebration was also a commencement for Chigodi, marking the new phase of training and growth for the Center. In this way, we celebrate with the oyendera as they begin their roles as church leaders and we resume our role as a place for women to develop into the people God intends them to be.

So the General Secretary and his wife came to honor the graduates, by giving a brief message and then handing out certificates. All of this was done with due pomp and ceremony and accompanied by speeches and music. Each of the new oyendera came forward when her name was called, bow, knelt before the General Secretary, in traditional Malawian fashion, and received her certificate. The rest of the class cheered as each o ne received recognition. After the program, there was a meal for everyone, fellowship together to encourage each other and rejoice together.

On Saturday, the group of 13 missionaries to Pittsburgh, USA, returned to Malawi. Unlike welcomes in the States, where your family comes to gather you at the airport and take you home, here, arrivals and returns are community celebrations. Folks from each of the churches represented by the travelers made their way to the airport to greet their members. Some came in large numbers from the far reaches of the Synod, from Migowi and Chingale and Chuita Presbyteries, to say welcome home. Mvano (women’s guild) choirs came to sing and dance welcome. Pastors and elders came to extend a hand of greeting. There were songs and speeches and flowers handed out. More than 200 folks came to say “we are glad you are back” to the 13 travelers. It was done in grand Malawian style. From the airport, we all proceeded to Grace Bandawe Conference Center for the official welcome and all the necessary speeches, and a brief reception. There were smiles and laughter at stories of faith and of cultures shared and learned from. From the “funny English” the folks in Pittsburgh speak, to the powerful worship times, the experiences shared encouraged the hearts of those of us who stayed behind. Personally, it was good to hear of folks from “home” and their welcome to my Malawian friends. I was encouraged personally. It was a great time and made the “busyness” of the weekend so worthwhile.