19 Dashiki Shirts from Lamont CRC

Music rang out from the wooden stick structure called Berean Church of Kitindi, one of several churches planted by Kizombo Sr. The worship leader carefully selected known songs with specific focus – worship, praise, thanksgiving, forgiveness, etc. – as well as led spontaneously created songs that told stories of our visit. The drum and shaker thingy were all that accompanied the beautiful voices. After two hours of worship broken by occasional announcements or other pre-sermon activities, the message began.

After the service, Kizombo Sr. selected 19 boys to receive shirt gifts, though several other children snuck their tiny bodies into the fray. Gift giving is never easy, there’s never enough for every child no matter what the gift.

Sporting their new shirts, the children posed patiently for photos before I explained why they were receiving shirts. I told them about a group of boys at a church in America who love them and pray for them. I told them about the girly dresses and the competition between the boys and girls. They easily guessed who won that competition. In the end, one of the older boys responded with a corporate thanksgiving directed to the boys of Lamont CRC.

The Life in Africa ladies make dashiki shirts for Kitindi boys.

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Kitindi Prayer Walk

Gathered at the church, children and adults alike, we prayed and sang together before departing for our prayer walk journey. Our prayer focus was to be peace in this war-torn country. Children of various shapes and sizes dared hold my hand only for a moment, then to be replaced by yet another. These Congolese children hesitate a great deal more than the children of Uganda, perhaps as a result of the ongoing wars in Congo…which makes me sad…to think about the impact such instability has on the formation of these little lives (sniffle).

Voices rang out in song as we traversed the sandy ground toward our first stop, the hospital. Once there we prayed for the caretakers and the infirm, but also for peace. The truth is that they were praying in French and Kiswahili and sometimes I wasn’t near one of the Kizombos and thus had no translator so I just went on about praying for what the Spirit put in my heart…including peace.

Moving up the center road of the town we made our way to the police station where the flag was just being lowered. The whistle blew and everyone stood perfectly still while that flag came down. We prayed for leadership, justice, and also for peace.

Next we passed by the market, a sight I would have liked to see during business hours. The wooden stands looked incapable of displaying much of anything but apparently this is the only place to go for every need. We prayed for abundance, prosperity, creativity, and also for peace.

Our final prayer time, though we’d hoped to reach several additional destinations before dark, was the school near Kizombo Sr’s home. We prayed for learning, growth, provision, and for…peace.

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Log Bridge

Saturday was log-moving day and the local leaders coordinated work to somehow improve the bridge. Until one man got seriously injured, the work progressed. Once he was taken away, everyone lost heart and the log stayed in its place on the ground about 100 feet from the river gap. This was our problem solving example in the teaching to take place the next week.

Oh how I wish they would have finished the upgrade. This bridge was nerve wracking to cross. Children cross in the water, people with loads cross in the water, helpers are available to walk you across if so desired. I can’t figure out why they don’t just nail up a railing or drag that last log another 100 feet. Perhaps my problem solving exercise should have had a hands-on component J

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Welcome Party

“You take that,” Pastor Mike said as the local pastor handed over welcome gifts from the church. Apparently handling live chickens isn’t his thing. I don’t blame him, remember Maude? I didn’t make an icky face this time though…even when one chicken started pecking at my nail polish.

The warm greeting from the Berean Church of Kitindi and the various pastors preparing to attend the conference was precious. The ladies sang welcome songs – such beautiful harmonious voices – and Pastor prayed for our safe arrival and rest. I have come to cherish these African traditions – formal welcome ceremonies, gift giving, and singing. So rich with culture, so absent in America.

Pr Kizombo Jr., Pr Mike, Leslie

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Traveling to Kitindi (Day 2)

BRIDGES AND OTHER OBSTACLES

Not designed for vehicular traffic, several bridges went “crack”
as we passed over them…hmm…how to return.

We walked ahead without fear, and wondered how exactly
 the hot box would pass the next obstacle…and the next…and the next.

The true jungles of Congo were depleted of their former wildlife
but bamboo blockages remained in abundance.

THE SECOND STUCK

Friday, July 19 at 11:30 am

It was simply too easy to slide off the narrow wet rails left by some passing tractor and to get one end or the other hung up in the muck.

THE THIRD STUCK

Friday, July 19 at 12:00 pm

Notice this stuck was perhaps 5 minutes after we were finally released from the second. A trailer broke down and was left overnight, though it was still there upon our return. Our only option was to go around it, doing so, though, meant filling in a swamp. Of course, the swampy ground was much MUCH softer than anticipated…and there was a tree stump just below the surface. This was just all kinds of stuck that I didn’t even want to watch.

THE FOURTH STUCK

Friday, July 19 at 2:16 pm

Perhaps 5 minutes after the third stuck…we were stuck AGAIN. Notice how slick the clay is and the high spots were deceivingly soft and positioned in all the wrong places.

 We began thinking we might never get unstuck, or at least that we might not reach Kitindi before nightfall, and so sent ahead for three motorcycles. The idea was to send the guests and the muse (mosay or wise, respected man…Kizombo Sr.). An hour from the spot from which we sent the messenger, an hour to return, and an hour back to Kitindi would get at least a few of us to arrive before dark. Off I went on a motorcycle.

Now…before I tell you this next part…I must say something as a pre-defense of what is to come. I grew up on motorcycles. Dad had one, boyfriend had one, I had one. I’ve ridden boda-bodas more than 10,000 times in traffic and on roads that were pretty dangerous in and around Kampala. I’ve even driven myself in the outskirts areas. What happens not 50 feet from where we began? I got dumped. Yep, the motorcycle slid off a high spot and we bit the dust. Kizombo Sr. then demanded I get back in the truck. Good thing I love him so much…or I’da argued in fierce protection of my pride. (Sorry, I was too busy falling to take a picture.)

The hot box and the motorcycles kept time together and finally a walking bridge (two logs sprawled across a deep river gap) presented itself before us. Wobbling our way across that bridge and up, up, up to Kizombo Sr’s home, the neighborhood children greeted us from afar. This journey wore us all down, but…wait till you hear about the return trip.

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Traveling to Kitindi (Day 1)

(Yes…Day 1)

The voluptuous Chain of Mitumba mountain range allowed intrusive driving paths to wind around its hills and valleys. The sometimes rocky roads would make for an easy propellant…over cliff edges. The 10 hour trip was broken by our first stop under that mango tree next to the lonely church. Encouraged by the roads thus far, though rough and dusty – the dust piles up in inches like snow and children kick through that fine powder as if it were snow – the remainder of our journey can only be described in pictures.

A SIGN OF THINGS TO COME

Someone else's stuck truck.

Don't slide off the edge.

This guy came around the corner and had the choice of either
hitting us head on or over correcting for the curve.
He over corrected and wiped out on the gravel...into the water.

THE FIRST STUCK

Thursday, July 18 at 12:38 pm

Not-so-affectionately referred to as “The Pit,” several trucks lined up behind us waiting to get their turn. Bottomed out and hung up, the driver immediately behind us refused to help. The next driver lent his cable, which snapped twice. People gathered and instructed and finally a shovel replaced our machete as the digging tool. After some talk about the competency of the driver – who could do little other than play bumper cars in this pit – the giant Mercedes truck also got stuck. This “stuck” lasted for about an hour and a half.

Look carefully at the ridge to the left...below that lies The Pit!

After about 1.5 hours we were unstuck and it was the next truck's turn to get stuck.

NYAMIBUNGU HOSPITAL

Thursday, July 18 at 6:19 pm

Delayed starts and The First Stuck resulted in the decision to put up at Nyamibungu Hospital for the night. The hospital looked deserted, but Kizombo Jr. was familiar with its grounds and its caretakers. Apparently this isn’t the first time the 10 hour trip turned into a two day trip. The caretakers graciously put us up for the night as the rain and the darkness set in (oh…the roads). The journey thus far was described as…the easy part.

Here, however, is where we were scheduled to take motorcycles to the end destination, an estimated six hours. Though, having heard that a truck made the entire journey in 10 hours just the week before, we’d already decided to complete the entire journey with the truck.

Now...go back to the top and look at the pictures again. Though we spent lots of time stuck, I also stood in awe of the majesty that surrounded us. Lush green hillsides filled the landscape at our various stucks. The scenery was breathtaking! I thank God for the reminder of his ever presence amidst every circumstance!

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The Hot Box

The Hot Box, driven by François (Frank), was to be loaded and on the road by 5:00 am thus allowing us to reach our 300 km (186 m) destination in about 10 hours. As is seemingly an all-Africa tradition, various delays resulted in setting out at 8:00 am. Given the estimated duration, we ought to reach Kitindi by 6:00 pm…just before dark sets in…ought to.

The Hot Box was loaded both inside and out, with Kizombo Sr. insisting that the most luxurious seat be taken by me, though at last he relented and took that spot himself after about four hours of jostling and jolting. We were finally ready to go.

Pr Mike, Kizombo Jr., and I were ready to go at 5:00 am.

Pepito, Pr. Mike, Simone, Kizombo Sr., Leslie, Julianne, Kizombo Jr., Pr Norbert

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Dollies for Pasquale and Mapendo from Krissy

A lonely church building stands atop a hill overlooking the picturesque Chain of Mitumba mountains in eastern Congo. The mountains are part of the East African Rift and rise to 3,308 m (10,853 ft) – about halfway between the heights of the Great Smokey Mountains and the Rocky Mountains.

Under the shade of its barren mango tree, two children looked on as seven Congolese and two American faces spilled out of the hot box onto the dust-laden grass. These were not the first children I found in Congo, but they were the first on the journey to our end destination. That they happened to be a boy and a girl, as the first sponsor for Congolese dollies had intended, was no coincidence. This place was not packed with children clamoring for food or money, let alone ANY other people. Pasquale and Mapendo stood quietly alone…watching. That is how I knew.

Pulling the boy and girl dollies out of my overstuffed bag, they could finally take a deep breath. I approached the children cautiously as many children run away because stories of white people masquerading as officials led to abductions and hangings. Pasquale and Mapendo accepted their gift with some observable caution as Kizombo Jr. translated my short message about the love of Jesus. They allowed me a short squeeze before we released them to return to their duties. 

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