A Makua lesson in Nanua

I forgot to tell you the best part of the trip to Nanua (accent on the 'u'). In the afternoon, when we first arrived, I wandered around the village and found Deena sitting next to a Makua woman. they invited me to join them. The seat was an odd contraption -- a low bamboo frame criss-crossed with ropes. The whole thing was about 6 inches off the ground, and sagged in the middle, so that once I sat down, I couldn't get up by myself.

I asked the woman to teach me the names of things in Makua. We interacted in Portuguese, which didn't work very well, since neither of us knew how to speak it. But we both understood a few words. She seemed to enjoy trying to teach me something, but once I took out my little notebook to write it down, a young man came to help. He clearly wanted me to write down HIS words too!! If he said anything and I neglected to write, he made a stern face and pointed at my book, and waited until I wrote something.

He kept trying to say something to Deena, but we couldn't figure out what it was. I heard a word that sounded like carne, and commented to Deena that maybe it meant meat, but we couldn't figure out why he was talking about meat. But eventually we realized he was trying to sell something, and it was indeed some kind of meat. It was like playing charades. How big? sounds like? He made sounds that I thought was a dog, so I tried barking to check if I was right, and he barked back, but then said in Portuguese that it was not a dog, and made a snuffling sound that I thought was maybe a pig, so I tried grunting and he grunted back, and finally he was satisfied that we understood, but alas, we still did not want to purchase pork of dubious origin that had been sitting in the sun on the back of his bicycle.

Finally he said tchao, (goodbye), and I asked him how to say it in Makua. His response was suspiciously long.
Ki auroar owanuach oon oontu tootubue.
I kept trying to repeat it, but he was not satisfied. He got closer and closer and louder and louder, insisting that I speak with t he right emphasis, and drilling me on the word tutoobue until we were nose to nose, shouting in each others' face. Finally I got it right and he was satisfied, showing his pleasure by doing a complex elbow shake with Deena. But the happier he got, the more the woman laughed. I wondered why she had not laughed when I was practicing, but was laughing now that I got it right. I wondered what I was actually saying. I tried saying it again and got the same results: proud elbow bumping by the young man, and laughter by the woman, and by the circle of kids who had gathered.

Eventually he let on that Tutubue was actually the name of his village, and I had been loudly and proudly announcing:
Goodbye! I am now going home to Tutubue!
The laughter was simply because they knew perfectly well that I did not come from Tutubue. It was a great crowd pleaser. I'm sure that no white person had ever said that sentence.

After the Kahua lesson they brought out food. Yikes! I was so torn between the adventure and experience of trying it, and the concern about the germs that I didn't know what to do, but I followed Deena's lead. After all, she's a real missionary (in China). She was clearly planning to eat so I did too. The woman held out a gourd with water, and showed us how to dip our fingers in it, presumably to 'wash' our hands. I could see the dirt flowing off into the water, leaving our hands only slightly less dirty, but soiling the water for everyone else. At times like this it would really be better to never have heard of the germ theory of disease. I tried to sneak my hand sanitizer out of my fanny pack, and pour some into my hands behind my back, but I realize it is hopeless -- we are all reaching our fingers into the same dish.

The first dish was made of ground corn (nakoowoo-oh), patted into a round mound on the plate, sort of like an African version of stiff grits (seema). That was served with a vegetable dish made of some sort of chopped greens similar to collards (matapa). It was pretty tasty, actually. That was followed by a third dish, this one flat beans with chopped tomatoes. That was my favorite, although maybe I was just appreciating the fact that it was hot enough to kill the germs.

Lift me down!

After the welcome service we set up our tents. By now I'm getting used to the audience, and am foolishly pleased at how quickly I get my tent up, before I realize that I cannot possibly get the tent pegs into the rock hard ground. I press as hard as I can, and barely make a little dent. Fortunately, one of the guys comes over and asks if I can help out the pair who had borrowed the tent that Amy and I used on the previous outreach. They clearly don't know how funny that is -- that was the first tent I ever put up in my life -- but I remember how to do it, so I'm relieved to hand over my tent pegs and suggest that he finish my tent while I put up the other one.

I watch out of the corner of my eye. First they try pushing the peg into the ground, then they get a wooden club and try to use it like a battering ram, and finally they find a big stone. In the meanwhile I pop up the other tent. It has an unusual design which is really easy when you know how, but is not intuitive. In the meanwhile, the villagers stand around sympathetically watching us crawl into our little tents, while they look with satisfaction at their mud huts.

Next we pile into the camions for a short trip to the location where we'll show the Jesus film. I naively ask if anyone will be watching the tents with out knapsacks in them, and the leader nods, then pauses and points to the sky. Oh. I guess that's why they said not to bring anything we can't afford to lose.

The truck sets up in a big field. The pre-movie DVD plays, with songs in the local language. The mood is festive as the people dance. Once it is fully dark and the crowd has gathered, we start showing the Jesus film. As soon as the movie starts, we slip out to the other truck, to go back and eat dinner. As usual, we get the bush dinner of spaghetti with tuna. Then it's back to the outreach location for the end of the film.

Tom preaches. It is so much easier on us when we know what is going on. In the previous villages everything was just in Portuguese and Makua. However it is a little harder on the crowd this way, since everything has to be translated twice. A preacher really needs to learn to speak in short sentences. Tom has clearly done this before, and knows how to get a rhythm going so that the translators know when to jump in. He also knows how to get the crowd involved, basically by preaching with such intensity that he ends up with laryngitis for two days. This time we understand when the people are coming up for healing, and we are ready. Tom has also instructed them to point to the area of their body that they need prayer for, and after the prayer to give a thumbs up or a thumbs down depending on whether they feel better or not. This is a great technique! With a few gestures we can communicate.

I stand right in front of the truck (not wanting to get swept away in the crowd) and lay hands on everyone I can reach. I'm actually disappointed to not have anyone who is blind or deaf. Most people have headaches (probably malaria) or stomachaches (maybe parasites). One boy who had pointed to his head turned to go after I finished praying, then did a double take and turned back to me, flashing a huge grin and a thumbs up.

We don't fully understand the timing, but suddenly the word comes through the team that it is time to go. We walk down the hill to the 2nd camion (since there is not enough rooom on the one with the sound equipment), but are disconcerted to see that it is crammed full of villagers. We aren't clear on whether they are playing, or have hijacked it, or what, but eventually we watch it roll away, without us. We go back to the other truck and somehow squeeze on. It is dangerously crowded, but the ride is short.

Everybody jumps off, and I'm about to go find my tent, when I notice that Justin is trying to rearrange the sound equipment in the dark, so I try to shine my tiny keychain flashlight to help him. He asks me if I can guard the equipment while he gets something to eat (since he was running the film while the rest of us snuck out to have dinner). I say yes and climb in the truck, but quickly realize maybe it wasn't too smart. All the other team members are in the tent area -- within yelling distance perhaps, but not within sight, and I'm sitting in the dark in the open back of a truck with thousands of dollars of sound equipment.

Soon little heads start appearing around the edge of the truck bed, and then the kids start to climb up the sides. I really don't want them climbing into the truck, because I can't physically protect all the equipment if they swarm the truck, so I try warning them off in Portuguese:

Nao, Nao, Nao (no, no, no!). Inevitably, they respond with contradictory glee: Sim, Sim Sim! (yes, yes, yes!). I realize that I'm starring in a badly written sitcom, but feel helpless to change the script:
Nao, nao, no!
sim, sim sim!
I have to laugh at the choreography. With each "sim" the heads bob up a few inches higher, until the kids are in the truck.

Luckily, Justin returns before I'm entirely invaded, and ferries the equipment to some other more secure location. finally I climb down, and hear a plaintive child's voice, in English, pleading:
Lift me down!
It would take a heart of stone to ignore this plea, so I reach out an lift him down, where upon the next child reaches out his arms, and the next, and the next... It takes me a while to realize that it is actually a game. The children get bigger and bigger, and are actually too heavy for me to lift, so my 'helping' them down is sort of a controlled fall. They think it is hysterical, and I suddenly realize that these kids can all jump down by themselves without a problem, but they are simply having fun. I also realize that I have lifted more kids than there were in the truck -- they are running around the other side and climbing back in for me to lift them again. I'm exhausted, but can't help laughing.

Finally it is bedtime. This time I had a thin sleeping pad, but the earth still felt rock hard. Luckily no one had yet told us that on an outreach the previous year banditos had come during the night and cut upen the tents with knives, to steal stuff. That story would definitely have made sleep more difficult, as would the fact that they had killed a cobra just as we arrived in the village. Sometimes ignorance is indeed bliss.