Mozambique: bush outreach day 3

We wake up after our second night in the bush, and get dressed. Amy and I huddle in the doorway of the tent with out legs sticking out, to apply our bug repellent. Apparently, this is the most fascinating I've ever been at 6am, because the feat attracts an audience of about 15 kids. They crowd in a semicircle around our feet, and watch, entranced, as we rub the lotion in. We wonder whether they are suspecting that the white lotion is the cause of our light skin tone.

Next we make our way to the bathroom. It shouldn't be hard to find again, but we are both directionally challenged. We walk through the village and notice two women sweeping in front of their hut. We think the hole is behind it, but we are not sure. Amy and I say hello in Portuguese. The women respond in Makua. We respond and then aren't sure what to do. So far the conversation has gone like this:
Bon dia. Bon dia.
Salama.
Salama.
Salama.
Salama.
Now the conversation has stalled out. The women pause, waiting for us to do something. Finally we walk behind the hut, and there it is, the famous hole. Amy holds up the kapulana for me, and I do the same for her. On the bright side, my knee has mysteriously gotten better. I think God has healed it, maybe just for this moment. Perhaps not something I can stand up in church and testify too, but I'm very grateful nevertheless.

Later in the morning, we are ecstatic to find that the exposed hole in the ground is not our only option. There is another hole with a bamboo wall. I find myself looking at it with a silly grin on my face, and realize that 30 hours has been enough to alter my perspective. Yesterday I thought a hole was a challenge. Today I'm happy if it has a wall around it.

We join the congregation for church, in Portuguese and Makua of course. Testimonies, songs and preaching. This time there are no wicker chairs. We find an empty patch of dirt only to be told we are on the men's side. This is the kind of thing I wish they told us before. We move to the other side, where we see another empty patch of dirt. After 10-15 minutes the woman on the left stands up and squeezes her way out the door. We fill in the empty space, and 10 minutes later the next woman gets up. I figure that it is just too hot and stuffy for them. Eventually we realize they are sitting on an ant hill. Now we REALLY wish they had told us before. I'm feeling more and more that I need to learn some Makua before my next outreach!

Finally we hear a children's choir, and then an adult choir, and suddenly the translator says in English, "and now they would like to hear the visitors sing". We look at each other in a panic -- we don't even know each others' names yet, much less what kind of music we all sing. I whisper to Travis "what about victory chant? It's just an echo so everyone can join in."

The next thing I know, I'm standing in front of a Makuan congregation, leading Victory chant. The Americans joined in, but we didn't get much participation by the Makuans. After the eager kids in the first village, I hoped that an echo song would work, but this village is more reserved. Victory chant ends, and Travis is looking for another song. I suggest 'Alleluia', since I've heard them saying this word in both Portuguese and Makua. And it works! Suddenly the entire congregation is singing along. I can't believe I'm standing in a mud hut in an African village, leading congregational worship.

After a few verses of 'Alleluia', Travis jumps in with a verse of 'Obrigado' (thank you in Portuguese)and 'kihoshukuroo' (thank you in Makua). We come from different continents and different languages and different denominations, but we are all worshipping together. This was truly the outreach highlight for me.

Video of church service.

After church we loaded up the trucks and set off for 'home'. In addition to the tents and backpacks we also have a box with some live chickens. I'm not sure what they are for, but I suspect they will not come to a good end. Suddenly we stop by the side of the road, near a row of yellow plastic containers. Apparently, we are almost out of gas, and this is the gas station. First the driver has to do some sort of chemical experiment, to make sure the fuel is not adulterated. Finally they start pouring it in the tank. But then we are informed that the driver has no gas money, and we need to come up with the cash. 43 liters times 700 meticais. Some people take out their calculators, and others take out their wallets. Meanwhile, I'm doing a rough currency conversion in my head, and I stop them.
"Wait a minute you guys, this number is wrong, it is off by at least a factor of 10."
"No, it has to be right, we multiplied it on the calculator."
"Something is still wrong -- this converts to over $1000 dollars!"

Finally I convinced the missionary leader to talk to the Mozambican leader who talked to the driver who talked to the fuel guy, who finally admitted that the real price was 75 mets per litre, rather than 700. And after that announcement, the price went down again. Finally the cost ended up at around $90, rather than the $1200 that he originally quoted. I'm not surprised that he tried to con us, but I am surprised that none of the Mozambicans caught it. Looking on the bright side, this was the one time on the trip that I workplace skill ended up relevant! Who would have known that the ability to do a sanity check on a currency conversion would save us over a thousand dollars?