Caterpillars?

Months and months ago... yes, it's been impossible to blog about it before now because the internet would NEVER allow me to load the pictures... I went to Zimbabwe for my long-term visa. While I was there, I took advantage of the opportunity to shop for things that are just not found in Moz.

Bag of bugs! Yum!

The aisles and aisles of goodies in the local supermarket were startlingly cheap and I confess I went all out.

The thing is... they had things I'd never seen before. The most surprising of these options were caterpillars.

Hard.    Spiky.    Crusty.    Dried up caterpillars in a bag.

I picked it up to make sure my eyes were not playing games with my mind. Peering through the plastic, I inspected one black creepy crawly after the other until I was convinced.

The crawlers before they were cooked

A black man stocking the shelf beside me caught my eye and I turned to him for help.
-- "Is this really what I think it is?" I asked innocently. "Are these caterpillars?"
He smiled, nodded his head, then said, "Yes. They are really tasty."
-- "Tasty huh?" I said with a smile. "But how do you eat them? Do you just eat them like chips... out of the bag?"
-- "No, no, no," he laughed, taking the bag of critters from my hands, "You cook them first. They are delicious. I always have a bag full in my car for snacks."
-- "Really?" I said with excitement (I'm always looking for new, crazy foods), "Can you tell me how?"
He smiled wider, assuring me it was simple and taking me through the steps one by one.

Caterpillar Recipe: 

Step One~
Soak, then boil the caterpillars until they are soft.

Step Two~
Boil them so they get cleaned out and turn rubbery. 

Step Three~
Dice onions and tomatoes and whatever else you think will be tasty. 

Step Four~
Strain the softened caterpillars and toss out the water.

Step Five~
Sautee onions and caterpillars in a saucepan, seasoning with salt and pepper. 

Step Six~
Add the tomatoes, keeping heat low so it does not burn.

Step Seven~
Dish them up and enjoy! 

Fun note: I found them to be wetter (and chewier) than I expected from the store clerks recipe. So I asked a Zimbabwean friend what I did wrong. His reply was that it was perfect, but if I wanted snacks for the road, I'd have to fry them longer.

(Optional) Step Eight~
Fry in more oil, until crispy.














Note: So I did what I was told... but I fried them too long and got this.

Step Nine~
Enjoy with gusto! 

Side Note: As I'm sure you can see... they look exactly like they did out of the bag. So I can only assume that I overcooked them.

However, my Zimbabwean friends didn't mind at all. Nor did I. Honestly, I found them better when crispy. They are easier to chew.

So there you have it. Once again, I'm convinced that any bug is yummy if deep fried long enough!       

Moral of the story: Some people eat chicken. Some people eat steak. And some people eat... caterpillars?  
             ---Yum!

Swimming with Sharks!

Much can be said about birthdays. The more you have... the longer you live!
        --- Personally, I like them.

This year's birthday was extra special though; I got to cross off another long life dream from my bucket list.

I went swimming with Great White Sharks!

For anyone who knows me even a little, you aren't surprised by my thrill seeking decisions.
        --- Life is an adventure and is worth living well! 

So when I realized that I'd be in South Africa again on my birthday this year, (attending the wonderful and amazing Calvary Chapel African Conference near Cape Town!) I immediately started planning how and when I might swim with the fishes (aka: the Great White overgrown guppies with teeth!)

As it would turn out, the cost was much less than I expected and all was arranged pretty quickly. My missionary friends were not interested in joining me but they were willing to get me to the boat on time. This was no easy task however, as we had to be out the door by five a.m. to make it!

Fortunately the day was warm and beautiful for this time of year and the sea was calm. Since it is still late winter in South Africa, the waters were chilly --a startling 53 degrees Fahrenheit (or 11 degrees Celsius).

As I waited my turn, five to six sharks turned circles about our boat, nibbling at our fish-head bait before moving on. I was surprised to learn that although they come to investigate the bait, sharks are not scavengers by nature. They much prefer fresh meals. Who knew?!

I also learned that they are not at all interested in human blood. (It does not register as 'food' to them.) And shark attacks are usually as a result of them confusing humans for seals --especially those humans on surf boards.
      ---What a crunchy surprise they must have at first chomp!

Convincing myself to get into the water was hard, however. It was not the sharks but the cold that worried me. Even with my full body wet suit, I'd knew I'd freeze. But in the end, the desire to see the slick beasts up close won out, and I jumped in.

The visibility was fair but the viewing was best from the boat by the time my turn at the cage came around. Fortunately, I was able to see at least one of the sharks underwater before we had to close up shop and head home.

Since my camera was unable to capture the overgrown guppies when they surfaced, I purchased a video of the day from the boat photographer. Enjoy!



Video filmed by the unknown boat photographer at Shark Lady Adventures.

Not All Storm Clouds Rain...

In August, I made a purchase of a deep freezer. It's small and fits in the corner of my kitchen, allowing me the privilege of buying meat once a week --rather than having to buy it day after day.

After pricing things out, I discovered it was heaps cheaper to buy an animal and have it dressed than to buy it in the supermarket.

(I'm not ready to buy it from the outdoor market yet... the flies and blood stained wooden counters somehow throw me off.)

So I asked around and found someone who was selling pigs... and went to meet him.

Chris is a Catholic friar from Louisiana with a background in agriculture. He's been working in Mozambique for about two years and was disappointed to find out that very few Mozambicans are willing to eat pork.

However, I was not upset by this news because it meant that he had an excess of pork... and was more than willing to off load it for cheap.

How to buy a pig in Mozambique ~

Day one: Meet Chris and select the white beast for execution. Ask one of his workers to butcher it in exchange for all the offal and feet.     ---What a bargain! 

Day two: Go pick up my shaved and slaughtered pig, then notice a number of goats for sale... ask about the price of goats and a broken container. Take home my pig in nice happy sections and pile it neatly in my freezer --with the head on top staring through the zip lock bag! 



Day three: Go back for a (live) goat and the broken water container (which Chris was willing to part with for free and will be used, God willing, in an aquaponics project).

Easy. Peasy.

After buying my goat, I asked the Chris and the other Mozambican staff for name suggestions (since she was intended as a pet rather than dinner) but no one was willing to name her. But as I was about to leave another friar showed up, Andres from Spain, and he suggested I call her "Storm Cloud" since her white and grey coat resembled the stormy evening quick approaching.

I agreed that would be a good name for her... and quickly dubbed her Nebulada (or Storm Cloud in Portuguese).



We piled her on the trailer, tying her to the inside of the broken container and off we went. But instead of raining... this Storm Cloud bleated.
         ---She bleated all the way home!

Clearly... not all Storm Clouds rain.

Bonus: I'm happy to announce Nebulada is pregnant! I watch her belly expand with interest wondering if she'll be my first Mozambican delivery!
  
He he he... We'll just have to wait and see. Won't we?

Labor of Love: September 2013

   Labor of Love Sept 2013

Labor of Love: July and Aug 2013

   Labor of Love July & August

School Days...

I’ve been in language school for a month now... and loving it. There is just something deeply rewarding about opening my mouth, jabbering a bit, and having people actually understand.

In fact, my Portuguese is coming rather quickly.

This is due in part to the other languages I speak (French and Spanish), but I also think it has a lot to do with the fact my classes are catered to my particular needs. Meaning... I can go as quickly as I want.

There have been a few delays however.

For instance, at first my language director and various teachers were confused at my insistence on homework. (They don’t seem to give homework here?!)

What is more... when I told them they could not teach me out of a textbook, they looked absolutely lost.

“How can we teach you if we don’t follow a book?” they complained.
“I don’t like these books,” I explained, “They go too slow.”
“Too slow?”
“Yes. If we follow this book, I won’t be speaking for ages. I don’t have ages. We have to go quickly.
“Hum... okay,” they finally agreed. “Let’s try....”

Well. I can honestly say that they made lots of adjustments for me and have tried to keep up with me. And now, they are convinced my way of learning is far better.

They are absolutely amazed that I’m as conversant as I am after only a month. And you know what... so am I!

What a blessing to have this time to focus on language! What a blessing to be able to converse with people in the streets and learn about this fabulous culture through friendships. I feel absolutely humbled and blessed!

I only hope and pray that learning Chitewe will be so simple.

I guess we’ll see. Won’t we?

Please pray that I’m able to finish strong. I have another month of language instruction before I complete my Portuguese lessons. Then I’ll have a bit of a break as I receive a missions team from my home church and then go to a missions conference in S. Africa.

Thanks!

New Car.

About the time I had given up all hope of finding a car in my price range and on the very day I was determined to purchase a shiny red motorcycle, God moved.

And I got a text.

God seems to like taking me to the very end of my patience and then surprising me with something great. But in this case, I’m convinced He moved, in part, so I would not be dodging goats and semi-trucks on a 50cc bike.

Even with the helmet I bought in S. Africa... it would have been sketchy.

But I digress.

The text was a quick message with a number saying there was a Brazilian selling a Toyota Surf (sold in the States as a 4runner) at a price that seemed more than fair.

When I called him about it --even though my portuguese was limited-- we arranged to meet and discussed the finer details of the car.

So that afternoon instead of buying a bike, I found myself test driving a dark grey Surf.

Since there were a few things we could still not discuss (as my lessons had not included car parts vocabulary), we drove to a mutual friend for translation help.

And in no time, I learned the words for brake pads, shocks, and springs.

As we spoke, I prayed asking God to direct me as the last thing I needed was a lemon. And in response, He flooded me with peace.

Not wanting to be hasty, I asked if he’d mind if my director had a look the next day. He agreed and by 9 the next morning we were back again, looking under the hood and kicking tires.

The car is an older model but one that has low milage. It’s not pretty to look at but... it works.

Roy heartily approved of the purchase and we made arrangements to buy it then and there.

Two days later the money was in his account and I got the keys!

It has its quirks --as any older car might-- but it has been treating me well. I pray it will continue to be a blessing to this ministry for years to come.

Thank you all who prayed and gave generously to make this vehicle a reality! I am deeply grateful.... and blessed.

A Blue Ribbon?

On the way to the garbage pit the other day, I stumbled across a snake in the grass.
    --Literally.

I was almost on top of him before I noticed the opalescent blue of his skin and stopped to process.

There was a long delay in my brain as I flipped through the rolodex of “blue things”... and “long, skinny things”.... and “things lying in grass”. But even after a good 20 seconds, it still hadn’t come to a definite conclusion.

It had never seen anything like it... and so naturally my brain made a new rolodex card and informed me that the best guess was “snake”.

SNAKE!

At this news, it mounted the appropriate alarm, shooting gobs of adrenaline through my veins, and causing my body to jerk back with an involuntary jolt.

High on adrenaline, I was then alert enough to ‘play possum’. So I froze in my gum boots and waited.

Absolutely nothing raced through my mind.

Nothing.

All I could do was stare at this thin, blue, ribbon-esc thing in the grass and hope it wouldn’t bite me.

I was transfixed.

An embarrassing amount of time went by before I realized it was dead.

Its head was intact... and its body was whole, but its tail was unnaturally short. Something had chewed it down to a crumbled nob, then just left it there.

Eventually, I leaned in to inspect it closer and saw slight indentations on its body, as if something had knocked it about... or squeezed it about its center.

Had you been there you would have laughed at the loud sigh of relief I made.

Then somehow my feet worked again and I continued down the path to the garbage dump.

However on the way back from the dump, I decided to pick it up and take it home.

In my brain, Logic argued with Reason insisting that ‘since it was dead, I should just reach down and pick it up with my hand’.

But Reason would have none of that and started screaming, “No! Whatever you do...you never touch snakes. NEVER. Especially ones you don’t know.”

And again... I stood there hesitating over the lumpy, half-chewed beast.

Eventually, Reason won the argument and I found a long stick. Using it, I picked up my new blue ribbon by its middle, and carried it home with me.

Half way home, Lumpy, the white pregnant cat, came to greet me. And I laid the blue ribbon in front of her thinking she might enjoy a snack.

She is always scrounging for new treats and often comes to beg.

However when she approached my “gift”, she too did the same involuntary jolt, jumping back a good three inches.

Hilarious!

Apparently, even pregnant cats have their limits and this was it! She would not eat it. Instead, she sat several feet away and watched it out of the corner of her eye.

Eventually she left it undisturbed on my porch for one of the orphans to find.

He he he...

Preaching in Pinayanga.

After I first arrived in Mozambique, I was having dinner at a missionary-friend’s house and the topic of Simply the Story came up. I was naturally enthusiastic having just come from another training (before I left the States) and I was discussing how it’s used for oral learners.

My friends (and missionaries from Australia), Roger and Amanda, were curious but hesitant to hear about another teaching method. Didn’t Africa have enough of them already?

I insisted it had its place and offered to show them how it worked sometime. Roger, who teaches pastors in the villages, listened but made no indication that he’d be interested.

Nevertheless, part of his pastor training curriculum focuses on various types of teaching methods. So in an effort to teach the pastors a more oral way, he invited me out to teach. Attendance was not mandatory since it was a ‘special feature’ of sorts, but I was thrilled at the opportunity all the same.

When I prayed about which story to share, God led me to the story of Jesus calming the storm and the waves found in Mark 4:35-41.

I prepared by testing it out on a few missionaries at Maforga a few days before, and I prayed.

A lot.

The village in which Roger teaches is called Pinayanga. You might remember that Pinayanga is also the village I visited last year when I discussed the possibility of teaching their girls nurse-midwifery. (You can read that story here and here.)

When the Pinayanga villagers learned that I was coming, they remembered me and were eager to have me come. I suspect most were eager because of medical questions, but, at least for now, they were going to get a STS story instead.

In preparation for the teaching, Roger arranged two translators (one to speak for me, and one to speak to me). I tried to explain to them what it would entail but some of it was lost in translation.

Early Monday morning as we drove to the village, Roger tried to lower my expectations.

-- “I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” he warned. “This group doesn’t participate much.
-- “Oh..?” I said softly then waited, seeing he had more to say.
-- “Yes. I cannot get them to answer any of my questions. They only like to listen and they won’t ask questions. It’s the way they learn in school here,” he continued.
-- “Okay.” I answered slowly, adding optimistically. “But perhaps with this style, it will be different...”
He glanced at me sideways as if to say he knew better. But didn’t say any more.

"Ultimately," I thought to myself. "God would speak to them through this passage or He wouldn’t. How much they answered didn’t matter." So I continued.

-- “If they don’t answer... then the teaching will be very short,” I added matter-of-factly. “Anyway... it’s more the chance to practice and learn, right?”

He nodded in agreement, and we continued to drive in silence.

I, however, continued to pray. I’d seen this teaching method bring crowds alive with discussion and was eager to see how these villagers would respond.

But more than anything, I anticipated good things.

For God is good.

We didn’t have to announce our arrival. The minute our shiny black SUV drove through the main square, people started making their way to the church property. Within a few minutes we had about a dozen women and children, and a spattering of men.

Apparently, most of the pastors had in fact decided to take this day off.


When we walked into the church there was a young girl waiting for us. Sitting slightly slumped on the church bench this girl moaned to herself in pain. Her mother stood behind her propping her up.

It was clear she was burning up with fever.

Malaria.

She’d been this way for two days.

I asked a few quick questions about her status, then we laid hands on her and prayed. Her mother thanked us then placed her on a blanket in the back of the church.

I couldn’t understand why she was not getting any treatment. So I asked.
-- “Isn’t there a health post here?” I asked her mother.
-- “Yes, but the guy who runs it left for the weekend (which was 2 days before). He won’t arrive until this afternoon.”
-- “I see.”
-- “Can’t you buy the medicine in town?” I asked.
They nodded a clear yes, but then didn’t explain why they hadn’t.

Was it from lack of money? I didn’t think so. A few paracetamol are not expensive.

Then why?

I never got my answer.

The young girl moaned and slept while the rest of the learners arrived. And turning my attention for the girl, I happily joined the women all the while testing my new language skills and taking pictures.

They were thrilled to see their faces in the display screen on my camera, but many squinted in blurry disinterest when it came their turn. I couldn’t help but wonder how much sight rested in those clouded windows.


As more women arrived, I was informed they ‘needed’ pictures as well and I happily snapped off a few more shots.

The colors and layers were fascinating.

Beautiful.

Not long after, Roger called us in and the story began. My translators struggled at first but quickly picked up on what was expected of them.

The crowd had grown slightly and was then roughly two dozen strong. More men had snuck in towards the back. Plus, a number of breastfeeding mothers had gathered as well, rocking and swaying their babes as they listened.


Telling the story was easy enough. My translator had memorized the story in preparation. But Roger was right, the minute I went to ask them a question... they turned their faces to the floor so I wouldn’t call on them.

However, with time and a little encouragement, the answers started coming. First tentatively, then in full force.

Roger watched in surprise as one after the other stood to answer and throw out his or her ideas. Soon, it became a lively conversation.

There were some cultural snags nonetheless.

For instance, I could not get them to think of how anyone could have done anything different in the situation. (For those familiar with STS, this was the ‘choices’ question.)


Also, when I suggested that anyone could have done something ‘not quite right’, they argued with me saying, “No. They could not have done that. That is not possible.” The only way we found around this was by discussing ‘failure’ to do what was right. Only then did they understand and concede the possibility.

Later, Roger explained that many in church believe that one must never speak of their own failures in public. Instead, one must only speak positively.

I suspect this has something to do with the widely held belief that evil spirits are always listening, and that some things should never be spoken out loud. But that is just a suspicion.

Alas... I have much to learn!

I won’t go on and on. But know that the day was a huge success. At the end when I applied the lessons we had discussed, immediately the group came up with examples of those lessons.

One by one, they stood to testify of how and when they had clearly obeyed God and yet had still had massive spiritual attacks, and how God had gotten them through it by His power and love.

It was amazing!

So. Much. Fun.

(Happy sigh.)


They invited me to come back and teach on a Sunday morning in a few week’s time. This has to be arranged of course, but I’m excited at the possibility. Please pray with me as to when and how this might happen.

Thank you!

Life in Pictures: June & July

 

This beautiful chameleon was brought to me by Danny, my neighbor's son. He remembered from my last visit that I like them. But learning from past experiences, I decided not to bring him into my home (there are fortunately not enough bugs for him to enjoy inside). Instead, I placed him on the tree out front. He stayed four days, then meandered off. 

This funeral procession left the local hospital. Driving slowly behind, we could hear them singing worship songs. Remarkably, the deceased was in a real hearse.

It is tomato season right now... but despite the massive amounts being sold on each side, no one has discounted them. They are, in fact, MORE expensive than ever. I wonder if Mozambicans street venders fully grasp the concept of supply and demand?

Yummy tomatoes!

Not long ago, Nana (the lovely septuagenarian in orange) had her children visiting. It was the first time all four of them have been together in a long time. As a result, we called them forward at church and prayed over them all.

Cleaning Party!

Last Saturday --in an effort to make the clinic a bit more presentable for when the director of the ministry of health comes-- a group of us gathered at the clinic with mop and broom in hand.

We started early by pulling apart each room and cleaning it from top to bottom. So much work was accomplished in such little time that we were able to close up shop by lunch.

But I credit this more to my enthusiastic helpers than any work on my part!

Afterwards as a reward I threw my happy little helpers a party.

Our party consisted of massive amounts of bread pudding, custard, cookies, and pie!

As I brought each new dessert out in thanks, I got enthusiastic applause and freshly cleared plates.

But by the end of the third dessert, their appetites waned. Apparently, teeny-boppers really can saturate on sugar!
    --Who knew?

And naturally when I pulled out my camera, my over-sugared guests immediately morphed into supermodels --posing for shot after endless shot.

This led to massive amounts of laughter which closed down the evening in style. And my giggling guests eventually left with a song on their lips --their happy voices trailing after as they went.
    --What a crazy day! 

Blessing Update

We prayed for favor and God answered.

Yesterday, Roy and I met with the Ministry of Health (MOH). He was welcoming but hurried --not so much looking for information but ready to give it.

He started in Portuguese but once he understood my language skills were limited, he kindly switched to English.

After explaining that they (The MOH) were happy to reopen the clinic in partnership with Maforga Mission, he introduced us to his assistant who will be handling things from now on.

The assistant will be writing on my behalf so I can get my degrees recognized and eventually get my midwifery license to work here legally. This is huge... but still might take a lot of time.
    --Please pray that it goes through quickly.

Also, the MOH assistant was happy to hear the clinic was larger than he expected, and immediately offered to come this morning to do a quick inspection.
    --So excited!

What is more, the main director will be coming to inspect it in two weeks!
    --Yippy!
When Roy and I learned of these visits, both of us shared a long, humored smile. But neither of us said a word.

I don’t know about Roy, but personally all I could do was think of how dusty the clinic had become over the last six months (after the clinic maid was let go).

Had the bats moved in with the termites? I was not sure.

So naturally, my first call once I left the meeting was to see how many helpers we could get to start cleaning it! Ha ha.

Since I had school, I couldn’t come for myself, but I’m told most of the staff at Maforga turned out and ‘got stuck in it’, as Trish was pleased to explain later that night.

Even now as I watch the sun paint a pale pink in the East, I’m eager to go pray over the building and inspect it myself.

Oh Lord... What do you have planned for this? It looks so much bigger than what I expected. So excited. I’m ready to do all that You ask. May Your will be done.

More to come...

                          .... the next day. 

They came. They saw. They appeared to like it.

But after the meeting... I’m not sure what to think. I’m confused.

They seem ready to use the facilities, provide drugs, and offer some nursing staff. But we would then have the responsibility to lodge them, pay all the other facility staff, and maintain the grounds (which would include several renovations according to them).

But what they offered is what is available at the government clinic minus any of the government finances. When I suggested this be a semi-private clinic, they didn’t seem to understand the concept.

When I explained my ideas, they seemed out of their depths but promised to discuss it with the higher-ups and get back to me.

In this country, there are private clinics and there are government clinics. So far as I can tell there are no... how shall I say it... inbetweeners.

If you get sick, you have one of two choices; government or private.

A private clinic might be modern with lots of fancy equipment, but it will cost you 800 mtn (roughly $25 dollars, or over a weeks salary for a day-laborer) for a consultation. Add to that all your medicines and your run-of-the-mill case of malaria might cost you over $40 bucks to treat.

Nevertheless, the benefits of going to a private clinic are many. Not to mention, you get fast, friendly service in air-conditioned rooms.

What’s not to like?

However, the government run clinics are different. By law, they can only charge you 5 mtn (or roughly $1.50) for a consultation. This includes all your medicines which are heavily subsidized by only heaven-knows-who.

The drawback is it might take hours to be seen. And once it is your turn, the overworked staff demands a bribe before he’ll pick up a pen. If you don’t pay, you are not seen.

However even after you’ve waited the hours and paid the bribe, you still might not leave with any medicine. Often the clinics are out of stock (since the government drugs are being sold on the black market).

So in the end, what can a government nurse do for you? She can write you a prescription and send you on your way. It will then be up to you to buy what you need on the black market or at a fancy pharmacy.

No wonder so few people are willing to go.

Some people have told me they would rather die at home than go through the hassle of all this, only to be turned away.

Can you blame them?

Sigh.

What I suggested to the ministry of health is different in scope... but they might have their hand’s tied. I’m not sure if they will or can allow it. But I pray they do.

The details of it will come at a later date. I don’t have the heart to share it right now.

But please know... that if ever there was a time to be praying, it is now.

I need wisdom. I need clear direction. I need continued favor and... well... frankly, I need anything that God deems right.

Also pray that whatever the Ministry of Health recommends next would be in the best interest of the people, and that I would remain flexible in it all.

Thanks.

Blessings Upon Blessings!

This new month brings new joys... and MANY new blessings. There are so many in fact that I just need to brag on my God a bit. I hope you'll indulge me for a few.

Oh, He blesses me so! 

Blessing Number One:

Yesterday, I got the call. The ministry of health is ready to talk.

Even as I write that... I get chills of anticipation. I cannot wait. Of course, the meeting can go in any direction (good, bad, ugly!), but I see God's hand so mightily it's hard not to get excited.

It feels like Christmas. It really does!

In less than an hour, I'll be meeting with them. God alone knows how things will go but I trust Him. May His will be done.

Blessing Number Two: 

Immediately after hearing the meeting was granted, I learned of another great surprise. This particular surprise has been in the making for months, but until yesterday I had no idea of it.

As God would have it several months ago, a group of Australians decided to send Maforga a shipping container of goodies. Our directors expected clothes and household furniture.... and they are getting that.

But what they did not expect was a hospital in a box!

On this container, God has packaged me over 220 boxes of medical equipment, hospital beds, and misc. hospital goodies! It arrives in less than two weeks.

Can you believe His tremendous love? Can you? 

Did I say that it feels like Christmas?

(Happy sigh.)

He is so good. So very good to me. 

Blessing Number Three: 

Anyway... a few hours later I learned that a group of extraordinary kids (and adults, of course!) raised a LOT of money for a chicken project to help fund the clinic.

I have not spoken much of this project in my previous newsletters, but I've been planning and praying about it for months.

Before I left the States, I mentioned it to the children's ministry director at Calvary Chapel Lone Mountain and he instantly got excited. Within no time, we planned to raise money for it during this summer's VBS.

That was last week. 

I'm told that roughly 300 excited children had a blast covering each other in eggs and feathers as they raised money for this project.

What God did in this short week, humbles me and flattens me in praise. I'm overcome! He is so, so very good.

Praise Him! 

Anyway... I thought you'd want to know.

Oh.. and please pray for the meeting today. May His will be done. Amen.

Market Shopping!

Shopping in Mozambique can be much like in the West. There are supermarkets with neatly packaged boxes and over priced cans. And yes, sometimes I shop there.

But when I have a choice, I much prefer the outdoor market.

This is where I find my dried fish, canisters of beans, and bags of potatoes. Plus, veggies and fruits of varying ripeness are piled high for the picking. I like that.



At first sight of all the wonderful beans... the Mexican in me started to drool. I honestly bought enough beans to feed me for three months! Assuming they last that long! (The weevles have found them!)
 

But what I love best about the outdoor market is the price. I can buy a week's worth of fruits and veggies for under $10 dollars.

Now that's what I'm talkin' about!!! 

African Moments: Mixed Berry Yogurt

I was visiting friends in Zimbabwe a week or so back... they have a man who helps them around the house named Sam.

It’s hard to guess Sam’s age just by looking at him. His brown eyes clouded in cataracts tell me he is more on the end of life than the middle of it.

The years have not been kind to him, but you would never know it from his demeanor!

Greying with a slight hunch, he greets all visitors with cheerful (yet broken) English and a huge smile.

Sam loves Jesus and as such, there is kindness and love in all he does.

One day Sam introduced me to the gardener, Louis, by saying, “Dis is Stephanie. She missionary. She loves Jesus. She number one!”

With such a glowing recommendation, I could not help but smile. Louis smiled back and we chatted a bit about Mozambique. Louis is Mozambican by birth but has lived in Zimbabwe for a number of years.

Later that same day, I was enjoying (an overpriced but delightful) mixed berry yogurt I’d found in the supermarket.

As I savored the creamy splendor of ‘home’, I asked Sam if he liked yogurt. He smiled and said he didn’t know.

-- “What do you mean ‘you don’t know’? I asked flatly.
He continued to wash the dishes with his back turned to me, then repeated himself. “I don’t know the taste.”
-- “Here...”, I offered him, putting a glob of it in a small bowl. “Try it. You’ll like it.”
He smiled and took it with joy, but then put it aside until the dishes were done.

And I went back to slurping mine down.

A few minutes later, Louis passed by the half-opened door and Sam eagerly called him over. Happy to share his new treasure, Sam spooned out a generous glob of his portion into Louis’ cupped hand.

I smiled widely as I watch Louis lick the yogurt tentatively from his hand while heading back to work. His eyes brightened with the taste.

Shortly afterward, Sam took his first bite and smiled widely.

They agreed it was delicious.

Sigh.

Do you remember your first bite of mixed berry yogurt?

Name that fruit?

 

The other day I bought a mystery fruit in the market. Roughly the size of a potato with smooth, waxy skin covered in spikes, this fruit immediately caught my eye.

I like trying new fruit. Heck... let’s face it. I like trying new things. Period.

So... naturally, I picked up a couple to taste.

Cutting them open reminded me of a squash with only seeds. But instead of pulpy flesh, I was welcomed with a refreshing, grassy, slime that tasted a lot like jello.

Green jello to be precise. Except this green jello had a bit more texture.

I have to say, I’d happily buy it again. But next time, I’d put it in the fridge before I serve it.

Warm, crunchy, green jello just doesn’t sit quite right.

If jello needs to be crunchy... it best be cold.
       --Just sayin’.

Question: Anyone have any idea what this fruit is named? I seriously don’t know where to start looking? My dictionary is woefully lacking in the spiky, fruit department.

Labor of Love: June 2013

   Labor of Love June 2013 by Stephanie Williams

In the News: Strike hurts Mozambique hospitals

Strike hurts Mozambique hospitals: A Mozambique medical strike now in its third week has paralysed all but essential services at some of the country's busiest hospitals.

In the News: Gunmen attack vehicles on Moz highway

Gunmen attack vehicles on Moz highway: Gunmen have ambushed two vehicles driving along Mozambique’s main north-south highway, a report says, just days after ex-rebels had vowed to block main transport routes.

Visa-dventures!

This week it was time to renew my visa for Mozambique which meant I’d have to leave the country for a day. But instead of getting another tourist visa, I was going to attempt to get a long-term missionary visa.

This required a lot more work... and expense. But it had to be at least attempted.

--Why do I keep using the word ‘attempt’?

Good question. Very good question. Let me explain.

Within days of arriving last month, I learned that my American police clearance had expired.

Yes. Expired.

Since it was the first one to come through in my police clearance furkunckle last year, it was naturally the first to expire. (To read more about these furkunckles check out these previous posts. Police Clearance: Part One and Police Clearance: Part Two.)

But silly me... it never occurred to me that it would expire.

--Why?

Because there was no place on the blasted document that said it did!

Nevertheless our government liaison and master diplomat, Manuel, had the unhappy task of informing me this might be a problem.

As he explained, I twisted my mouth in disappointment while my heart sank.

Sigh.

Only time would tell if I had to return to the States... or make a special trip to Maputo (Mozambique’s capital) to sort it out.

When tempted to worry, I turned it over to God and prayed. Each time He lifted my heart assuring me everything would be fine.

So I stopped worrying but kept on praying --and praying hard!

As you might remember, I also asked you to pray!

Our first answer to prayer was when the office in Chimoio said they’d overlook the expiration date. They too thought it unnecessary to have my fly back to the States.

But what would the consulate in Matare think? We’d have to wait and pray.

Matare is in Zimbabwe, the nearest border to Maforga, and is where the local consulate is located.

So naturally when it came time to get my long-term missionary visa worked out, I had to come to Zimbabwe.

Again... I kept covering it in prayer.

Tuesday morning started early since we had a few hours drive and a questionably long wait at the border.

We arrived by 10:30 am and got stamped out of Mozambique. Then stood in line to buy a visa into Zimbabwe.

The line wasn’t a problem... but getting change back from the government official was. Since when did government offices stop breaking hundreds? I mean, come on!

Frankly, he seemed offended I would use such a large bill. And I was offended he’d not break it.

Lessons in Africa: Travel with small bills in Africa. They NEVER like giving change. Ha!

Once we were through, Roy dropped me off at the consulate directly.

Intimidated that no one was going to come with me (as they had to drop visitors off at an airport) I hummed and hawed a bit before saying goodbye.

-- “Where do I go,” I asked sheepishly. “What do I do?”

Roy pointed to a guarded metal gate then explained how to get home by myself. They were in a hurry so they only told me once and got back in the truck to leave.

Confused and intimidated, I lingered longer than I should have to say my goodbyes.

Almost as an afterthought Trish interjected, “Oh yeah... remember to ask for Senor ____. He is our friend here. It might help you.

-- “Senor ____?” I repeated a few times to myself, then quickly wrote it on my hand. I needed all the help I could get.

-- “Yes. He knows us well. Tell him you work with us,” she said in a hurry. And then they were off.

Roy was all business that morning... and understandably so. Their friends had a flight to catch!

I sheepishly walked through the metal gate to find two official looking guards and a round faced woman with a clip board.

She greeted me warmly but with a flicker of surprise at my accent.

-- “How are you doing today?” I asked.
-- “Oh.. well. So well. But it’s cold,” she responded. “And how are you?
I responded with a large smile and some quip about doing fabulous, and she reply quite openly. “Yes. You are. I can see that.”

It surprised me to hear and I smiled deeper as I handed her my passport and signed in.

Once at the consulate counter, I was please to see there were no lines. I unpacked my papers and again greeted the sir behind the inch-thick, tinted window with my sincerest smile.

I could barely see him but surmised he was smiling back. I explained who I was and what I was there for, handing him my translated documents. Then I remembered to ask... “Is Senor ___ here today?”

-- “You know Senor ___?” he asked with surprise.
-- “No. But I work with Roy and Trish Perkins at Maforga. And they wanted me to say hello,” I explained. “Is he in?”
-- “Yes. yes. He is in. Let me call him.”
Surprised, I smiled again feeling a bit guilty to be name dropping but all the while remembering that this is how it is done in Africa.

The official looked over my expired papers and asked me to fill out a form while we waited for Senor ___ to arrive.

I filled it out wrong and he was helping me correct it when Senor __ arrived. He too was hard to see because of the tinted glass, but I greeted him warmly on the part of Maforga and we talked briefly.

I cannot remember what was said... only that the official was pleased to know my bosses knew his boss and that my papers looked great.

He had me pay the fees, but again couldn’t give me change. In the end, the change was  so slight I didn’t fuss and encouraged him to keep it. (See previous note on Lessons in Africa. Ha ha!)

Roy had warned me that it might take a few days to get my visa, so I asked him when I should return to pick it up.

--- “So,” I asked the official behind the glass, “Should I come tomorrow or the next day.”
-- “No. Just wait here,” he said. “Oh...  and give me your passport.”

I waited in the lobby not sure what would happen next. There was a couple sitting next to me speaking in broken English. He was most definitely Muslim and was teaching her about Islam. She on the other hand was feigning interest almost to the point of flattery. I tried not to listen.

Instead I prayed for an opportunity to share Christ and started reading my Bible.

An hour went by.

I think I might have drifted off to sleep at one point; all the early traveling cut into my coffee time. I seriously needed a pick me up.

As lunch time drew near, my tummy grumbled as if on cue and I wondered if I’d have to wait through lunch.

Fortunately a well dressed man in a shiny red tie came in the room and broke up the monotony.

First he spoke to the Arab and his Zimbabwean friend, asking them the nature of their business. They were traders working with import and export stuff. The conversation was brief and stilted as the Arabic man seemed closed-mouthed.

So instead he turned to me. When I explained that I was a missionary here to open a clinic, he peppered me with questions.

He was pleased to tell me of all the places he had visited in America as the Mozambican ambassador and it dawned on me that this was not a low-level office worker... his shoes and tie was evidence enough... but still.

Each question he asked led to more questions and soon we were well engrossed in a discussion on how to help orphans and possible project that could be done to raise funds for them.

Within no time, he was giving me contact numbers for various pastors and government officials and taking my information. He was pleased to learn that Maforga had been around for so long and ensured I got his email and business card.

It was a strange conversation (for me at least) but one that felt so natural.

Years ago, one of my friends explained why Africans tend to exchange information so quickly. I can still remember the words he shared. He said, “In Africa, a person’s most valuable asset is his connections. It is more important than money, talent, or intelligence.”

“Without connections,” he added “nothing lasting can be accomplished here.”

His words surprised me at the time (because of the worldview shift). But since then, they have opened my mind to another way of seeing things... and doing things.

So now when someone wants to connect with me, I do not hesitate. I enjoy the encounter and pray for an opportunity to share Christ.

This encounter felt very providential... and I did not hesitate to enjoy it.

With time, the ambassador left for lunch and I sat down again. The couple sitting on the other side of the room looked at me curiously but didn’t say a word.

Not long after, we both got our visas back and we left together.

Thank you so so much for praying! Not only did God blind them to the expired documents, but I was able to get my visa in a matter of hours --not days!

Plus, I’m even more encouraged by the enthusiasm of the ambassador I met.

Praise the Lord!

Just know... your prayers are heard. Please continue to lift up this work.

Next please pray for
-- my DIRI (or long-term resident paperwork) to be quickly processed.
-- my language classes to go smoothly. I start on Monday.
-- a trustworthy vehicle to purchase.
-- favor at my upcoming meeting with the Ministry of Health in the next week or so.

Also... I’ve learned that the hospitals in Mozambique are in complete disarray right now. The staff is on strike for higher wages.  Some are asking for a 300% increase in pay! As a result many are suffering longer waits and deaths.

Thank you for praying!

Wintering in

Winter is starting here and I’m kicking myself for not bringing warmer clothes. I foolishly thought I’d be fine with just a few light jackets.
    --What was I thinking?

It’s been rainy and cold --gusty and damp-- but at least the trees are still green, right? Soon winter will wither the grasses and strip the trees and this magical land of cool lushness will fade into browns, charcoal grays, and black.
   --Sigh. I’m not looking forward to that.

Interior view of my cottage

The small cottage I call home lets in the draft but up until last week my heater was working just fine. However, it is now wonky... so I’m back to lots of layers and warm slippers for my feet.

It is hard to imagine how those without windows keep out the cold.

Anyway... this past month I’ve spent quite a lot of time organizing my house and furnishing it --tables, curtains, kitchen pots, towels.

View from my back door. Beautiful!

It’s surprising all it takes to make a four walls a "home".
 
   --But I’m happy to. So happy!

This is the first time in 7 years I’ve had the privilege of hanging pictures and arranging flowers. I dreamed of this day for so long!

   --What a blessing!

My cottage is a one bedroom en suite with a living room and kitchen. It’s cramped for entertaining... but certainly ideal for just me! I love it!

There are a number of things I still have to work out of course --hot water heater, electrical shorts in the wiring, more furniture, flooring, kitchen sink, etc.

Nevertheless, I feel blessed to call it home.

Kapulana Store!

 

The other day we went shopping for curtains. This brought us to the kapulana store.

Kapulanas are the colorful wraps worn by Mozambicans. They are called by other names in other countries, of course, but the idea is the same. And each country has its own colors, designs, and quality of material.

Some are worn tied up over one shoulder --like in South Sudan. Some are sown in a circle and climbed into before you wrap them around you --like in the Philippines. But here, they are flat, square cloths worn over pants or leggings.

And they are very useful at that!

I couldn't help it and bought a green and brown pattern for a skirt. It was just too lovely.

... but I was not able to find anything I liked well enough for curtains. Maybe I'm just not African enough yet! Ha!

Video: Mozambican Vision

Video: Clinic & Chicken Project

Video: Maforga's Orphans

Video: Life in Mozambique

Video: Compound and Missionaries

Video: Church in Moz

Children’s Church!

The church at Maforga is made up of missionaries and orphans. Several workers and local residents come as well, but it’s predominantly orphans. As such, it is more like children’s church thank anything else.

We typically start at 10 am to allow everyone time to come. Brightly colored children who just hours before were hauling water from the nearby pump, are now clean and pressed and ready to sing.

And oh do they sing!

The first hour or two is spent doing just that. Forget about singing just one or two songs! No. Here they clap and dance and sway to their tiny heart’s desire. And often anyone is allowed to pick the next song.

Once one praise song is over, another happy, warbling soprano from the back of the room pipes up. I often turn to see who this tiny voice belongs to, only to discover a pint sized orphan in braids. 

She sings the first line of the song in a strained high-pitched melody, then the rest of the room booms in a raucous echo. A new song has begun.

Mostly they sing in Portuguese, but sometimes they belt out praise in Shona (or Chitewe... I’m not sure yet). Every now and again, they’ll switch to English.

And when they do... familiar songs rattle about my ears with surprising freshness. It’s startling to find the song reinterpreted with African rhythms. I like it.



After the singing comes the testimonies and prayer. This is when anyone with a burden on their heart stands before the church to share what God has done for them this week... or informs the church about important prayers.

One week little Carolina (a girl of about 7 or 8) stood before us saying, “I was very sick last week with malaria. We almost had to send me to Zimbabwe. But you prayed and I am now well. Thank you Jesus!” Then she sang a song of praise in a haunting voice that stirred our hearts and silenced the room.

Wow.

After the testimonies the tithe is taken by placing a grass woven basket in the front of the room. Those who have a heart to give, do so with joy.

Last week, instead of money one of the local women offered a large sac of ground millet as her offering. It was so heavy she hefted it up slowly to bring it forward, then propped it next to the basket as we sang.

Once the offering has been taken, someone preaches. So far it has been one of three different men --all of whom speak fluent Portuguese. Nevertheless, there is always an English translator for visitors like me.

We are typically finished by around 1 pm. We say our goodbyes, then head off in our various directions for lunch.

After one service, there was such a joyous Spirit that no one wanted to go home. Many stayed to dance and sing some more. I caught a little of it on video. Enjoy!

(Note: video to come shortly if I can get youtube to work.)