Tanzania: Conference at Masama Kati, and Rally, 7/8/2009

This mornings I was on bus #2 again, as we drove again to Masama kati church, where the pastor and some of the ladies greet me like an old friend -- I get the double cheeked embrace rather than just a handshake.

Once again we sit around waiting for things to begin, (...This is Africa...) so we take the opportunity to pose for our own team picture.

The local pastors and leaders gather in the church but we wait outside until 'tea' is ready - another meal of hard boiled eggs, bananas, bread, peanuts, and tea. After we eat, I again give my Swahili 'Thank You' speech, and then we go into the church. Jim preaches, and for ministry we form a fire tunnel, so we can pray for each one. The people obediently line up, but are clearly uncertain verging on scared. Clearly this is unfamiliar not only to them, but to their pastors. They sing hymns to give themselves courage, and shuffle ahead until they get to the 'tunnel', where the presence of the Lord is strong. Some of the people fall under the Spirit, and when they fall, they fall hard, in all directions, as we desperately try to keep them from crashing onto the stone floor.

I've got Swahili prayer phrases written on my palm, so I have my cheat sheet handy. It's fine to pray in English, of course, but I want to help orient them as to what is going on, since they seem so uncomfortable. We try to listen to the Holy Spirit to know what to pray for, but I can't tell for sure whether the Lord is speaking, or whether it is just me, until suddenly I find myself inexplicably in tears, and hear the word 'martyrdom'. Everything in me wants to pray for protection, for safety, for a different outcome, but the Holy Spirit tells me to pray that the man would be bold in spreading the Gospel. We've been seeing the fun part of the Gospel this week, but there's a more dangerous side too.

Finally the crowd makes it through the fire tunnel, and we are done, but then we have to wait again for them to serve lunch. I use the time trying to learn a couple of new sentences in Swahili, since the kitchen helpers here have already heard my little 'thank you' speech, and I want to mix it up a little.

Eventually we eat, and then get back onto the bus to go to the rally field. Attendance was sparse initially, but picked up later on. Again we wait (...this is Africa...) until the local pastors arrive. Jim preaches an excellent message and calls for salvation, but no one responds. I'm confused.

Next we start praying for healing, category by category. The deaf. The blind. the lame. Those with tumors. After the first few people are healed, Jim asks again who wants salvation, and hands go up all over. I've read about this in books on missions, but now I understand it. They are afraid to turn to Jesus, because they know that the local spirits have power and they are afraid to make them mad. But after seeing the healings they are convinced that Jesus is stronger than the witch doctors, and they are ready to switch allegiance.



I see a lot of partial healings again, but nothing dramatic (unless you are the person feeling better, of course!): an ear that improves, an eye that goes from dim to clear, a leg that feels better.

A deaf girl clearly got a bit of hearing back. Her mother gestured to her to ask if she could hear, and the girl pointed to the speakers, so at least she was discerning the loud volume. I prayed again, and then as I spoke to her she suddenly turned her head toward the sound of my voice, but her mother said she still not understanding speech. I'm not sure how to explain this from a theological perspective -- if God is healing her, why isn't she all healed? But the mother looks happy, so she is definitely validating that there is an improvement. I just pray that her healing continued later on.

A girl's leg pain disappeared, and she was so happy she ran up to the speaker platform to give her testimony (picture above). And a woman also had her leg pain disappear (picture to the right).

Tanzania: Moshi rally and deliverance, 7/7/2009

Instead of going back to the hotel, some of us took the bus straight on to the prayer rally. This time I was mobbed by little kids who all wanted to hold a hand or a wrist or at least a finger.

Then I moved into the crowd to pray. A few people had headaches, and then a young woman pointed to her chest and stomach. In retrospect, I should have been a bit suspicious that her pain seemed to move around, but at the time I didn't think anything of it. I started praying and she started to sway, then she went limp and I was literally holding her up (luckily she was tiny). What to do? I was afraid she would get trampled if I put her down on the ground.

Suddenly she started manifesting demons -- writhing and contorting, and flailing about. I lost my grip on her, and all the children who were still hanging around me bravely tried to hold her, but it was a losing battle until three of the ushers sailed in -- large women with muscles of iron. They finally got hold of her, but then looked to me for direction, as if to say "you caused this, now fix it." I pointed to the deliverance 'tent' (actually just an area fenced off with black plastic), and followed them as they ran with her in their arms. Once in the tent, I tried praying peace on her, to no avail, and then commanded tthe demon to submit in the name of Jesus.

She instantly went limp again, and they laid her out on the ground, unconscious. I was afraid she was dead. I reached nervously for my money belt hidden under my clothes to make sure my passport was still there, in case I had to make a quick run to the airport. They huddled over her, patting her face to rouse her, and suddenly she was back on her feet, writhing and kicking again. Once again I commanded the demon to submit in the name of Jesus, and she fell down as if she were dead.

But now things were at an impasse. We could keep doing this all night. Without an interpreter to find out her story, there was no way to really help her. If people have an arrangement with a witch doctor, it doesn't do any good to cast out the demons because they come right back. So I left her under the care of the deliverance team, and asked them to tell me how it turned out.


I went back out to the field and prayed for a woman with a deformed hand. I didn't really see much change in it (although perhaps a bit of swelling went down), but she claimed that her pain was a little better. Then a few more headaches and a backache who all felt some relief, and then the sun was setting and it was time to get back on the bus.

Dinner was good, and you wouldn't even have known that it was my 4th meal of the day.

Later on, I heard what happened to the demonized woman. They finally got a translator to help, and someone discerned that she was wearing jewelry that had been cursed by a witch doctor, so they had the translator ask her if she was willing to give up the jewelry and turn away from the witch doctor, and accept Jesus, and after she said yes they were able to fully deliver her, and all her pain left also.

Tanzania: Massama and Nguni Dairy Coop, 7/7/2009

Breakfast is the same as it is every day: scrambled eggs and fruit (with the option of some rather strange rubbery crepes and hot dogs). I wonder what they feed the chickens here, as the scrambled eggs come out almost white. Just one of those little mysteries.

After breakfast the team split into several groups in different buses. I was on the Massama bus, which was scheduled to drop of people at a school and an orphanage on the way to Massama Kati (which was the church we visited for the early service on Sunday).

Anne, Amy and I were supposed to meet with the widows, but they didn't show up until around 10:30 (...this is Africa...), so first we spent some time talking with the pastor. He was interested to try to understand what our churches were like, and we were interested to hear the story of his church, which is the oldest and largest in the district.

Then we went into the church, where three seats had been set up in front facing the 'congregation' of women (about 30 of them). We felt a little odd and conspicuous sitting in front, but it would have been more conspicuous to be excessively humble and mess up the way they thought it should go.

We each preached briefly, but were keeping it short intentionally so we would have a chance to minister to them personally, but the pastor didn't quite grasp what we had in mind. First he kept trying to help us out by extending the preaching time, and then when Anne said we wanted to pray for them, he loudly started praying up front while all the ladies prayed under their breath. We finally started going around and laying hands on them. I handed out the bookmarks which seemed to please them -- the pastor was astounded that I had managed to bring bookmarks with Swahili bible verses. He would have been even more astounded if he knew that I had gotten them from a believer in Shanghai.

I forgot to say that they fed us breakfast first -- boiled eggs and peanuts again, with bread and bananas, and fried green plantain. Then we got back on the bus to continue on to Nguni.

In Nguni we were dropped off a the church, and then were driven in the back of the pickup truck to the Nguni Ladies dairy cooperative, a deceptively simple building with an incongruously modern refrigeration unit, to chill the milk. The chairwoman introduced us to all the board members, and read an explanation of the coop, translated by the pastor. They collect milk from 700 families, and get a total of 1,200 litres per day. There are 3 collection locations, to make it more feasible for families to be able to bring their milk.

The pickup truck had a high bed, so it was a little awkward getting in and out. I knew that I wasn't in as good a shape as I thought when a little old lady who looked about 90 tried to give me a boost. Getting off was even more embarrassing -- I thought I was gracefully sitting at the edge and sliding off, but apparently adults simply don't do that. All the ladies wanted to make sure I hadn't gotten my backside dusty, and kindly brushed it off for me. I was beginning to feel like my backside was public property, but it was serving as an icebreaker and bonding experience.

Then back up to the church for lunch, a veritable feast of rice, a thin meat stew, a plantain and meat stew, cooked greens, watermelon, and sliced oranges. I ate the hot food and skipped the rest.

After lunch, I made a short speech in Swahili thanking them:

"Asanteni sana. Tunapenda chocula cha hapa sana sana. Ninakubariki katika jina le yesu."

They were so proud of me they cheered aloud. Then they gave us gifts. We felt awkward to receive presents from them, but knew that it would be rude to refuse. It was such a festive time, with dancing and singing as they unwrapped long pieces of cloth, and proceeded to wrap us up in the local garb. They were in the middle of draping me when the pastor suddenly said "you have a phone call".

I was nonplussed. I didn't even know where I was myself. How would anyone else know I was here? Was someone suddenly going to say "Smile, you're on Candid Camera!". He handed me his cell phone, and it was Brittany, calling to tell me that the pickup time had been changed to 4pm. She asked how it was going, and I said "fine, but they are dressing me, so I have to go", which quite surprised her on the other end of the phone.

They sang a song to us, so I sang 'Bwana Awabariki" for them. How amazing that the internet enabled me to find a worship song in Swahili and learn it before my trip!

Again, they were pleased to get the bookmarks as a small token gift, but we all felt bad that we didn't have anything more significant to give them. Then into the truck to go to the second location. We stood crowded in the back, trying not to trip on the huge bags of rice (which I think they had loaded in specially for us to sit on), but the ladies explained that you got a better view standing, so we joined them. It was exhilarating to ride along as the ladies sang, and proudly pointed out their small homes as we passed.

The second site again had a cooling unit which we had to admire, and then on to the third one, where I told the ladies we needed a lesson in dressing, so they re-draped Anne while we watched. The pastor was enjoying seeing us as learners, so he asked whether we got it. I regaled the women by miming the whole process while counting in Swahili, and they counted along with me and clapped:

Mojo (wrapping around waist), mbili (tying on one hip), tato (tying on the other hip), nne (across shoulders), tano (tossing the endback over shoulder)

It's hard to explain how much fun this day was -- on the schedule it sounded kind of like a dud, but it ended up being a wonderful experience.

Tanzania: Moshi Prayer Rally 7/6/2009

The rally was smaller today, since it is a weekday. Once again, it wasn't on our original schedule, but was initiated by the locals. We're trying to go with the flow. It's critical to empower the local leaders, so there is a foundation to build on when we leave, but sometimes it sure makes things more complicated.

When we arrived, we played with the kids, and I wandered behind the platform, and encountered some of the woman who were organizing things -- I think they were ushers. One by one they greeted me with 'Bwana asifiwe' (praise the Lord), and embraced me. They were excited and joyful when I said 'Bwana asifiwe' back to them, so we shouted this back and forth, to mutual acclaim.

Once again, we are considered honored guests, and seated on the speakers platform. After the preaching there was again a salvation call. Fewer responded than yesterday, although lots raised their hands for re-commitment -- this was a little puzzling, as many of them were children, and presumably too young to have been backslidden believers.

Once the ministry time started, I was happy to have someone come to translate for me, but it was still hard to understand. After almost every prayer, he would discuss the results with the person, and then tell me "He feels fine." It was all very matter of fact, and I was a little suspicious about whether these were really healings, especially since the people didn't crack a single smile. Day by day we learned that that was pretty common. It was confusing to me that the same people who would exuberantly dance and sing and shout during worship (see picture), wouldn't even smile when God healed them.

One boy had an evident eye problem -- it was red and weepy and inflamed. I prayed 5 times and thought that perhaps his eyes were a bit less red, but they still didn't look right to me. The translator claimed that one of the eyes had opened up some, but I wasn't sure. In fact, it was often very hard to understand what was really going on, whether or not there was a translator handy. The chaos and ambiguity was just something I had to learn to live with. But it was mixed with moments of sheer exhilaration, in the cases where I could really tell that God was moving.

As usual, we had to leave as soon as it started to get dark, both for safety reasons, and because the permit to use the fairgrounds only covered daytime use. So once again we climbed back on the bus to go back to the hotel. Of course, I was always afraid the bus would leave without me, since there wasn't a scheduled departure time.

Then back to my room. Lori had given me an avocado she bought at one of the church auctions. It was the best one I ever ate -- creamy and sweet and mild. I had it with a banana (Katrina's auction purchase), a fiber bar, and an ostrim stick, finding it slightly amusing that the most exotic part of the meal was the ostrich sausage that I had brought from home, to turn it into a balanced meal.

Tanzania: Moshi Town, 7/6/2009

Today we have the morning off, and we can go into town to shop, eat, or whatever. But every day is still an opportunity for ministry, so we are given an introduction on how to go on a 'treasure hunt' -- the kind where you get words of knowledge and the Holy Spirit leads you to people to pray for. So as not to keep you in suspense, I'll admit that my 'team' didn't have any supernatural meetings, but some of the other teams had divine appointments.

So after breakfast we took the bus to the Uhuru hotel for the treasure hunt introduction, then the bus back to Sal Salinero, then another bus into town. These two little kids caught my heart. At home, we wouldn't even let kids that young go out by themselves, and here they are working, carrying sugar cane to market.

I bought stuff at the curio shop, since the advance team said that 'mama' was trustworthy, and would even deliver our parcels back to the hotel for us.

Then Richard, Tish,Katrina, Lori and I walked down through town, and ate at the Taj Mahal -- a misnomer if I ever heard one! Indian fast food in a greasy spoon. After a wild goose chase for fabric for Tish and Katrina we were getting increasingly harassed by the vendors trying to sell us stuff, and I was getting nauseated by the smell of the meat hanging unrefrigerated in the butcher shop. I figured that if it was making me sick I might as well get a picture of it. We had been warned not to try to take pictures in town, because people would either be offended or would want money, so I decided that I would pay the guy up front, so I approached the butcher, asked him in Swahili if I could take a picture, and handed him a small amount of money.

He took the money, so I quickly took the shot, and sure enough, was immediately surrounded by guys demanding payment. I brushed them off, insisting that I had already paid him, and then they gave up.

Finally we caught the bus back to the hotel, with just a few minutes to spare to put bug spray on and drop off our knapsacks before getting the bus to the rally ground.

[Private 'life lesson' for the women: Don't bother trying to shave your legs if there is no hot water. You will slice off every little goosebump, and then they really sting when you apply bug spray. Trust me on this one.]

Tanzania: Moshi Prayer Rally 7/5/2009

We were barely back at the hotel when we heard that a prayer rally was going on at the fairgrounds in Moshi. We were expecting to have meetings there later in the week, but the locals decided to start today. Apparently Lee is going to preach, so several of us jump into the van to go along as the prayer team. Wow, we arrive at the grounds and are surprised to find a crowd of 1000 already gathered. Thank goodness for cell phones -- Lee quickly calls back to the hotel to ask the team there to round up anyone they can, since we will need more people to pray.

It turns out that there are seats for us up on the speaker platform. I perch uncomfortably, worried that someone more important will come along who is supposed to have this seat. Lee preaches, and then gives a salvation call. The crowd has swelled by now to several thousand, and hundreds and hundreds of hands go up. I've never seen anything like this.

Then it is time for healing ministry. I wade into the crowd, filled with a combination of faith and fear, of excitement and uncertainty. A woman named Elizabeth comes forward and gestures at her eyes. I'm frustrated at not knowing enough Swahili to ask her more specifics. Clearly she is getting around, so she is not blind, so I'm not sure what the problem is. Fortunately, one of the local pastors comes over to interpret, and explains that she can see to get around, but cannot see to read. As I stand there with my own trifocal lenses, my faith shrinks -- if I knew how to heal this, would I be wearing glasses? But I start to pray anyway. I pray for a while, and then ask the pastor to ask her if she is better.

He explains that she can't tell if she is better until she tries to read, so he whips out his Bible and holds it in front of her. She shakes her head and points to the inch-high letters showing the title of the book. I pray some more. He holds the Bible out again. She shakes her head again. He tries to negotiate a compromise, and points to the word BWANA, (Swahili for Lord), written in larger type. She shakes her head again and points to the inch high letters. I start praying again, and feel a sudden moment of panic. Will I be here all night with this one woman? I pray a third time, and nod to the pastor. He holds out the Bible, but this time the woman pauses, and takes it into her hands, adjusts it a moment as if to focus, and then with great dignity starts reading aloud, the word of God in Swahili.

For a moment, I was oblivious to the crowd around me, I was just in awe of what I had just seen God do in front of my eyes.

Elizabeth was so pleased she went up to the platform to share her testimony with the crowd -- that's her dressed in pink, with the microphone.

God healed so many people I lost count -- mainly headaches and leg pain.

However there was also one memorable prayer failure. A young woman carrying a baby in a sling, gestured that she had a pain in her lower back. I prayed and tried to ask her in Swahili if she was better (the translator had disappeared). She grabbed my hand and placed it on her back again. I prayed a second time. Anything? No. Clearly frustrated with me, she grabbed my hand again and thrust it higher on her back, under the moist heat of the baby's butt. No healing for her, and warm baby pee for me.

Tanzania: Service, healings and auction in Nguni 7/5/2009

Today the team will split up into much smaller groups to visit many local churches. The day starts early --each bus went to a different district. Our bus left at 5:45 in the morning to drop a bunch of us at 3 different churches in Massama.

First we stopped at Uhuru to pick up a few more people, then had to double back to pick up a aman who had been left behind, only to find that he wasn't going with us after all. (...This is Africa...). Then we went on to church #1 to drop off the first pair, only to find that there wasn't a 7am service after all. So on to the 2nd church to dropp off 4 more people, plus the original 2, who would worhsip at church #2 for the early service, and then get a ride from the pastor back to church #1.

Then we find that church #3 also doesn't have a 7am service (repeat after me:...This is Africa...), so we all stay at church #2 and hear Paul preach.

Then Brittany and I finally go to church #3, in N'guni, where we are welcomed by the pastor, and treated to breakfast of a hardboiled egg, roasted peanuts and tea. I'm especially grateful for the tea, because it is really cold here. I didn't realize that this church is almost in a different climate, due to being at a higher elevation. We are dressed in skirts and blouses, and the people around us are wrapped in shawls and jackets. You could see your breath.

In the few minutes before church, we visit the children, who form a big circle around us and sing. Then we each speak a few words to them, and go in to the service.

As honored guests, we are expected to sit up on the platform. I try to not shiver visibly. The service is an intriguing comnbination of formal mixed with rustic, of traditional Lutheran mixed with African. The pastor wears a white robe over his black suit with priestly collar, whle the congregation wears colorful African garb. Some of the service is in Swahili, and some is in Chagga (the local tribal language). None of it is in English. We hear the doxology in Swahili.

Our guide/interpreter is working so thoughtfully to show me where we are in the prayer book that I try to join in on the responses and songs. Gregorian chant in Swahili (or Chagga?) is a Kafka-esque experience. And it is performed slooooooowly, which does make it easier to follow along, but gives one time to wonder why they do this.

A translator helps out as Brittany preaches about the kingdom of God, and the ability of all Christians to pray for the sick and to do signs and wonders. She tells them that they do not need to wait for a white person to visit. (They giggle nervously). She adds that they do not need to wait for someone who sits up on the platform. (They giggle nervously). I suspect that this wouldn't go over too well in most Lutheran churches at home, but I sneak a look at the pastor, and he is nodding. I'm really impressed with him -- he has trusted us enough to turn over his pulpit to a 20 year old female stranger, who is saying strange things, and he is hanging in there.

After she spoke, Brittany told the pastor we wanted to pray for the sick, and asked if we should do that now, or at the end. He was clearly puzzled, but told her to go ahead. She had the interpreter tell the congregation to come up front if they were sick or needed healing of some sort, and that she and I would pray for them. I experienced a moment of panic. What if everyone on her line got healed, and no one on my line did?

The pastor translated for me, which was great, because he really pressed them about whether they felt improved after the prayer. If so, he made them say 'bwana asifiwe' (Praise the Lord). If they felt all better, he made them say it multiple times. I prayed for people with the following conditions:

Demons(2); leg problems (2); chest pain (2); back pain (2); diabetes (2); headaches (4+); eyes (1); ears (1); multiple problems (1). Most of the people claimed some level of healing. One of the ladies with the leg problem was bending and straightening it with glee. It was kind of funny, because this is a culture where women do not display her legs, but she didn't care, she was kicking it out and pulling it back, with a big smile on her face.

An interesting but confusing part of the service was the offering. There were 3 offerings in fact, and we never figured out why there were 3, or what they were for. there were 8 wooden boxes up front, and the congregation placed their offerings in different boxes according to some mysterious choice. I randomly chose a box to contribute to. Non-monetary offerings were carried behind the altar -- a huge bunch of bananas, an armload of greens, and some small black plastic bags with hidden contents.

After the closing announcements, the pastor publicly thanked us for coming, and complimented us on how well we sing in Chagga. Pride goeth before a fall. Just as I was mentally congratulating myself I realized that the recessional had started, and I was expected to march out while singing without anyone standing next to me carrying the tune. My pride dropped faster than a leaking balloon.

Out in the yard we stood with the pastor while the congregation filed out and formed a circle around us. This was the auction -- they sold off the produce that had been donated, as well as a live chicken. A woman carefully marked each amount on the church ledger. The pastor asked if we did this at home. I said no. He looked at me for a moment and then said: "It works very well."

Then it was time for lunch. I was grateful that they let us serve ourselves -- the food was not too bad (rice with a bony and gritty meat stew) but there was no way I was going to manage a huge plate. After lunch, I gave some of the Swahili bookmarks I had brought to the ladies who cooked the lunch.

Before we left, we wanted to go to the bathroom, and were directed to the hole-in-the-floor facilities.

Then back on the bus, to church #2, where they had not yet eaten lunch. It would have been rude for them to leave, so we then went back to church #1, and then back again to #2, and finally back to the hotel. Brittany was the bus captain, and was phenomenal, giving instructions to the local who was guiding us, and then making sure that he explained/translated the itinerary to the driver.

Tanzania: Orientation - Moshi 7/4/2009

Today is the first official day of the trip. I'm eager for the good stuff to start.

After breakfast we take the team bus over to Uhuru (the other hotel) for orientation. Addie greets me with a big hug again. This is comforting, because I am coming to realize that almost everyone on the trip is part of a group, and I'm feeling a little alone.

At orientation, Leif introduces all the leaders, including the local bishop. We will come to realize that this is part of the culture of alignment and honor, which is one of Leif's themes. During the week as we visit numerous churches, I also come to understand the favor that came to us as a result -- once the local bishop blessed our coming, all the local churches were happy to have us visit.

After the introductions, we worship and take communion together. Leif preaches on kingdom alignment and honor. This means that we need to make sure that Jesus is honored in everything. He assures us that we will also receive and have fun -- it is not contradictory.

It is all about worship. Everything else is temporary. Worship is the only thing we'll do for eternity.

There are actually four additional leaders on the trip, as we will be covering four ministry locations, in order to make it easier for the local people to attend. Each of the leaders speaks briefly.

Leif: "I know who Iam, and whose I am. My papa is well pleased with me."

Paul: "As long as we act as orphans we can't function in the Kingdom. It is in the pattern of a son that the Holy Spirit is patterning us into. We are being conformed to the image of the son".

Jack: "God's grace IS enough. He is strong when we are weak, i.e. the opposite of strength."

Tom: "relationship leads to greater anointing. "

We take a 15 minute break, and I run over to the internet cafe, since my own hotel doesn't have one. The internet is incredibly slow, and the keyboard doesn't work very well, but I manage to send out a quick email to let everyone at home know that I got here safely.

The break ends up lasting an hour (this is Africa...) and I'm frustrated, because I don't want to get gypped out of the prayer and impartation time at the end. We have only 45 minutes left before the bus is supposed to leave to take us back to our hotel, and there are 2 more speakers before the prayer time starts. I didn't really need to worry -- I expressed my concern to one of the trip administrators and she reassured me: The bus will wait until everyone gets prayed for. In retrospect, that was an example of an event driven culture rather than a time driven culture.

Then we heard from Tom: "If you are praying deliverance over someone, make sure they are treated with dignity. Before praying to cast out the demons, first make sure they are born again and that they want to get free. " [Many of my friends at home were offended when I told them this advice. The problem here is that if the person chooses to remain under the control of a witch doctor, you can cast out the demons as often as you want, and they will return. You have not accomplished anything until the person chooses to switch allegiance]

Then we had the prayer and impartation time. What a great way to begin our trip! And it makes sense -- fill us up, and then send us out.

Tanzania: Amsterdam to Moshi, 7/2/2009

Although I was grateful for my nice big first class airplane seat (that I did not pay for, Yay God!), 2-1/2 hours was a shorter doze than I hoped for, but the gentle clink of breakfast china rouses me. Soon we land in Amsterdam, with another 3 hours to wait before the next plane.

At the gate, I'm excited to see some purple wristbands -- these are the people I'll be spending the next two weeks with. I introduce myself, and Addy gives me a big hug -- what a welcoming heart.

The next flight is uneventful, the best kind, and we arrive safely at the Kilimanjaro airport, where the GMA team is waiting for us.

Another 1-1/2 hour delay while everyone clears customs -- apparently some of the people who are carrying donations are stopped-- and finally we get on the bus and get to the hotel.

We drop off our luggage and go for a late dinner. The food is better than I expect, with a nice cream of carrot soup, spiced with ginger.

I go back to my room where I finally meet my roommate. My room is lovely, also better than I expected, but after being exhausted all day during the travel, I'm suddenly wakeful even though it has been about 45 hours since I've been in a bed, I try taking a melantonin tab to reset my body clock, and finally I drop off.

I came a day early to allow for jetlag, so the first day is just preparation and down time. I enjoy breakfast -- scrambled eggs and fruit. Once again I am pleasantly surprised, although by the end of the trip this identical breakfast is seeming a bit less interesting. I ask the advance team if the fruit is safe to eat (since the rule in 3rd world countries is to eat only food that is hot, or that you washed and peeled yourself). They confidently reassure me that it is fine. Later on I find that Lee already had amoeba and parasites, and Leila had parasites, and my roommate is sick with something diagnosed. The reassurances sound a little hollow with that news.

After breakfast we take the bus to the other hotel, where we get a pre-orientation and hear an overview of deliverance by Tom. This is really helpful, since deliverance is a big part of the ministry here, and he is very experienced, and is able to give us some good tips which came in very handy! The demons I've encountered in the U.S. are more subtle -- still destructive, but it's simply not that common to see people convulsing under demonic activity, which was rampant in Tanzania.

Then back to the hotel, and off to town to exchange money and go to lunch. We go to Deli chez, an Indian, Chinese, Japanese restaurant, where I order the chicken in a ginger sauce. It takes a peculiarly long time for the food to come, but we remind ourselves to be patient -- This is Africa.

The water dispensary is closed, so we go back to the hotel. I hang out in Laurie's room, because my roommate is sick, and I want to leave her in peace and quiet.

At dinner, I'm pleased to find that they have passion-fruit soda. Yum. Too bad we can't get that at home, although I don't know why -- I'm exasperated to find that it is bottled by Coca Cola.

Tanzania! Travel day - 7/1/2009 (belated news of my Tanzania trip)

Sitting in my airplane seat, I can't help but chuckle. It has been a day of incongruities. The biggest incongruity, of course, is the fact that I'm on my way to Africa. I remember lying in bed in college, and praying. "Oh God, I'll do anything...just don't send me to Africa." And now, I'm on my way. The fear of years gone by has been replaced by excitement and anticipation. I'll be joining a team from Global Mission Awareness, led by Leif Hetland, and I'm eager to see the Kingdom of God at work.

The second incongruity is that my trip has just started, and I'm already sweaty and dirty. In an unfortunate coincidence, the water system in my coop was turned off today, so I couldn't take a shower before I left.

The third incongruity is more fun, and reminds me that I have a whole team of people praying for my trip [thank you! You know who you are]. Traveling to Africa is physically difficult. The sheer length of the trip, compounded by the jetlag, is strenuous. I'll be flying overnight from JFK to Amsterdam, then have about a 3 hour layover, and then another flight from Amsterdam to Kilimanjaro. If you add the trips to and from the airport, it ends up being over 24 hours. A couple of days ago, I got a tantalizing email from the airline, promising that you could upgrade to business class for 1 frequent-flyer mile, by using the online check-in, or the airport kiosk. Needless to say I try both, and can't find any way of doing this free upgrade.

When I got to the gate, I suddenly had a 'feeling' that I should ask at the gate (even though the email had specified that the upgrade must be requested online). While the gentleman at the gate was perfectly courteous, he reasonably explained that no such promotion existed, because every customer would want it, and there are not enough business class seats on the plane. I pleasantly agreed, and walked away, but I suddenly sensed God telling me to not sit down, but rather to stand in sight of the desk. A few minutes later, the gate agent came over to where I was standing and asked my name and seat number, and a few minutes after that a woman came out and said "here is your boarding pass". Seat 1E. Busines class. There in JFK I literally praised God for the travel present he had just given me.

And I also thanked God for all the wonderful people who are praying for me. Your prayers are already working, and I'm not even there yet.

Re-entry

At home, I carry my suitcase through my apartment and out onto the terrace, then pull my clothes out and carry them directly into the washing machine. Anything that's not washable (such as my passport) I put in a ziplock baggie and put in the freezer -- I'm not suddenly getting eccentric, I just figure that if there are any bugs the cold will kill them. And then I put myself in the shower. YAAAAYYYYYYY!!!!!

The next day is weird. By 9 o'clock in the morning I realize I'm in a different world.

• Hot shower!
• Clean clothes
• Sleeping in a room by myself
• Taking the train, and traveling in a seat rather than sitting on the floor
• Stopping for a smoothie on the way to work, and being almost paralyzed at having to choose between 31 varieties
• Opening the bag with my smoothie and finding that they gave me 6 napkins. 6!
• Throwing the trash in a trash basket
• I'm in public wearing pants instead of a long skirt.
• Walking by thousands of people, but no one greets me. So one says 'Bon dia', or 'Salama Mama'. No one smiles. No one runs up and holds my hand.
• I get to work, and enjoy the amenities of the ladies room -- hot and cold running water, and flush toilets, and abundant toilet paper.

I'm experiencing culture shock, and I still have to make it through the rest of the day.

Leaving Day

Today we are supposed to finish cleaning the visitors' area, and then it is time to give our last minute donations to the orphanage. I've decided to donate the little suitcase that had the bug repellent spilled in it, and so I need to also donate enough of my clothes and stuff to get everything else in my remaining suitcase. We are encouraged to leave anything we don't need, and to not feel embarrassed to give something that is old or dirty. They can make use of almost anything. For example, they said that they like to give each child a suitcase, so they can use it instead of a dresser drawer. Thus, it doesn't matter if the wheels don't turn nicely anymore, ore if it has a bit of a rip.

Since we cleaned the gazebo last night, I actually have some free time. I go to the prayer gazebo where Joseph is playing some worship songs. It is a good time to jsut sit and listen.

A girl comes to sit by me -- maybe 11 years old. She is eager to be loved and tries different ways of draping herself on me. She is fascinated by my fanny pack, and really wants to open the zippers. I watch to make sure she isn't taking anything, and try teaching her the words 'close' and 'open', then ask her to close it. Then she tries to open my camera case, and even says the word 'open?' back to me. So I try saying the word 'close', and she closes it. I'm happy she learned the words, but I'm even happier that the zips are now closed!

She asks my name, then borrows my pen to write it on her hand. No one walks around with paper here, so you either draw with a stick in the dirt, or draw on yourself. I ask her what her own name is, and she is touched almost to tears when I reciprocate by writing it on my hand. Later on, in the airplane I can still see it faintly. A connection across the miles that will fade by tomorrow.

Some little boys come pestering -- they want to chase her off so they can have my attention, but the girls are always outnumbered by the boys, and I've hardly had a conversation with one, so I don't want her to be pushed out. I try placating one of the boys by pouring some of my drink into his bottle when he asks, but it backfires, as all his friends start fighting over the bottle, and want more and more.

Meanwhile, Aysha is happy to just sit by me, as close as she possibly can, leaning over into my lap. Our quiet time together is interrupted by a mischievous little boy who quietly sneaks close, and then paradoxically makes a little noise to get my attention. He is grinning with enjoyment, and I simply smile back, not getting the joke, so then he makes makes exaggerated gestures with his eyes, and succeeds in getting me to look down at his hands, which are busy trying to put a huge bug in my pocket. I jump and scream, and now his joy is complete -- exactly the effect he was looking for!

I go back to help sort the donations. I had brought a brand new sweatshirt that I only wore one evening on the last outreach, but I figure that I don't really need it, so I put it in the pile, not realizing that it was smelling pretty funky from a combination of the cooking fire and my bug repellent. The other people sorting the donations are handing it around sniffing it and trying to figure out the smell. I'm too embarrassed to tell them it's mine, or explain why it is so stinky. After sorting through the clothes, some people go over to the washing sinks to wash the clothes (including the infamous sweatshirt). I go help at the donation closet. I reach in with some rolls of tissue paper, and the missionary exclaims "are those American toilet paper? that is like gold here!"

And finally it is time to jump into the back of the trucks one more time. It is easier this time, as we can finally do away with the capulanas, the long wraparound skirts. Wearing pants makes it much easier to climb over the high tailgate. I hear people around me saying that they are glad to be going home, but I'm surprised to find that I feel different. I'm actually not ready to go. I'm finally acclimated. I still have things I'd like to do here.

As the truck starts up, I suddenly remember my Makhua lesson, and realize that if I substitute 'New York' for 'Tutubue' I can say "goodbye, I'm now leaving to go home to New York". I shout it out, and some of the local Bible students clap at my effort, then wave as we pull out of the gate.

Our last day in Mozambique

[Thanks to Ray who encouraged me to finish the story!]
It's amazing how quickly one's perspective changes. At first the orphanage seemed primitive and uncomfortable, but after returning from an outreach to bush village, the orphanage is a bastion of amenities. Sleeping in a bunk bed is positively luxurious after sleeping on the ground. Being able get dressed while standing up is way easier than the contortions inside my tent. And the fact that the water is out is disappointing, but not shocking.

We are suddenly faced with a contrast so abrupt it is almost ludicrous -- our whole group ventures down the road for a luxurious breakfast at a nearby hotel. We were impressed by everything: not just the abundant buffet, but the green lawn, the white tablecloths, and of course ... the bathrooms! Hot and cold running water! toilets that flush! Toilets you are allowed to throw toilet paper into! This is great! We wash our hands over and over, just because we can.

The breakfast is beautiful, but I can't eat much, as my stomach is upset. How ironic, that I can't really take advantage of the one fine meal on the entire trip. But I can't complain too much, as I've been generally healthy. After breakfast, I joined a couple of women to walk back to the orphanage, but then I get a little bit antsy at the amount of shopping they want to do first. I'm just not a normal tourist, I guess.

And finally I'm back in the orphanage, in the worship center, on a dirty mat on the floor, wearing a wraparound skirt on top of my capris. I haven't had a shower since Tuesday (it's now Friday), and my skin has layers of dirt, glued together with sunscreen and bug repellent. And yet even in this we are not living a totally authentic 3rd world experience -- the sunscreen and bug repellent are luxuries, as are the baby wipes that have been substituting for the shower.

This morning, Barbara is speaking. She ministers inner healing and deliverance. Today she preaches on 2 Peter 1. The message is that negative emotions are a signal that one needs more time with Jesus.

I spend the rest of the day not doing too much. My stomach cramps get severe, and I'm worried about how I will manage the flight home, so I finally give in and take the Cipro. Usually I would wait a couple of days to see if it gets better on it's own, but I'm doubled over in pain, and can't imagine flying from Mozambique to South Africa, to Amsterdam, to New York. Between the pills and the prayer, I'm ok by the time I need to travel.

I skip lunch and dinner, and try to help with the final cleanup. We sweep the bedrooms, again and again. I'm not sure if the problem is that the brooms are such poor quality or what, but we keep sweeping out piles of dirt, literally. Again and again. My team is supposed to clean the visitor's gazebo. I'm at a loss for how to deal with the kitchen. The light has been burned out for days, so we're cleaning by flashlight, and the plumbing is still not working, so we have a limited number of buckets of rather slimy dirty water that Scott hauled from the cistern. The refrigerator is truly disgusting. I decide to sacrifice our carefully hoarded paper towels to try to sop up the inch of smelly goo in the bottom, but there is too much goo, so we use a dirty dish towel. I'm realizing how hard it is to clean when you don't have the right cleaning supplies. I never knew that cleanliness was a luxury.

While I'm busy in the kitchen with another helper, the rest of the team is trying to mop the gazebo floor. The finally develop a method where they dump a bucket of muddy water, and then scrub with the push broom, and then squeegee it with big squeegees. I never knew that you could use mud as a cleaning fluid, as long as you squeegee it!