Congo Mission - it's good to be back!

Tuesday, February 28, 2006

I’ve just returned to Zambia from a nine-day mission to the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

Zambia is poor; crossing the border into the Congo, you realize that the Congo is poorer still. A barely functioning banking system. A postal service that is simply not used because you cannot count on your letter or package arriving. A country strongly rich in natural resources -- hydro-electric power, copper, minerals, but poor in management skills and rich in corrupt officials who siphon off the wealth and leave the people dirt-poor.

I stayed in Kolwezi at a guest house run by Brethren, along with my Congo host the Rev. Mathieu Mufika, and a couple of World Vision types. Guest houses are the African version of an inn, and are often run by Christian churches or missions. Conditions were basic. A toilet that worked, but a water supply that did not. Water was brought in each morning by local women. We heated water in a pail to add to the cold water for bathing. The conditions were much closer to those that you would actually find in the Bible, and it was into this world, and not our world of luxurious convenience, that our Lord Jesus came. It is humbling.

I taught Introduction to the New Testament, and an Introduction to Systematic Theology, over the course of seven days. There were about twenty students, most pastors of local churches, and the most resources any of them probably had was Bible. I was teaching, and my African colleague Rev. Mufika, translated into French. From English, into French, mediated through an African mind. I think the students got most of what I said. Classes were in the afternoon-evening, as everyone had jobs or duties during the day. We generally ran from 4:30 pm. to 7:30 pm.

Most mornings we had a simple breakfast consisting of either cereal (Harvest Crunch brought from Canada) or bread along with peanut butter and honey which I brought in from Zambia. Both the cereal and the peanut butter and honey delighted the Rev. Mufika, who was, I think, suprised that I would share what I had with him.

Most evenings we ate a generous meal at a pastor or elder’s home. Prior to a meal, a basin of warm water is provided, and the hostess pours this water over your hands as you wash them with soap and then rinse. After that, you eat. The women never ate with us; I suppose they ate afterwards, or perhaps, before.

A typical meal consists of some combination of chicken, beef, and small smoked fish. I avoided the fish, but Africa still caught up with me. Along with the meat and fish was a green vegetable dish, spaghetti (!), and the world’s best french fries, at least that’s the way they seemed to me, taken with mayonaise. (French fries were invented by the Belgians, and this is, after all, the former Belgian Congo.)

And, we also ate Nshima at every meal.

Nshima is to the Africans what rice is to the Japanese. It’s made of corn meal and water, and is like American grits or sticky porridge. If an African has eaten a buffalo, but no Nshima, and you ask them, they will say they haven’t eaten. The homiletical point is that Jesus is the nshima of life.

I tried to dress up my guest house room a bit. I went out and bought a power adapter so this western guy could be charging his computer, his iPod, and his rechargeable batteries while running the fan he brought with him from Zambia. At least I think I had as many as three on the go at any one time. I also bought some plastic hangers to replace the tired metal ones sadly hanging in the closet. I put a calendar I had bought up on the wall. I used this as an example to my Congo friend, Rev. Mufika, about how a Christian should try to be a blessing, and leave a “challenged” place like the Brethren guest house, in better condition than he found it. He was, I think, rather amazed at this. But he entered into the spirit of things and went out and bought an inexpensive plastic table cloth to cover the sadly tattered one on the dining room table.


The teaching was done in a classroom rented from the Catholics. There was a blackboard, but no electricity. Once I forgot to charge my laptop, and the Africans volunteered to connect it to two wires coming down a wall. I declined. Another time, the heavens opened, the power failed, and the students scurried around to rearrange themselves to avoid getting wet. I kept right on teaching/preaching over the din of the rain on the metal roof.

I visited the mayor, the burghmaster (which I gather is like the mayor but of a burgh (as in “Pittsburgh”) rather than a city, the security official, the magistrate’s court, a public school Rev. Mufika started, the local copper mines, and the power generation plant (that sells power to Zambia and South Africa, as well as other countries.) Everywhere I went, I was expected to say something, and to pray, which I did.

We also visited Rev. Mufika’s former home, bombed during inter-tribal warfare about 20 years ago. Rev. Mufika had preached against corruption and spent a month in jail. He said his home was one of the first to be destroyed. He still owns it, and hopes to restore it someday.

A major problem, along with official corruption and HIV/AIDS, is child labour. The western countries are fine; it’s the Indians, Pakistanis, and Asians, I was told. Of course it is illegal, but the underpaid police are easily bribed. So children are out “mining”, instead of being is school. They get a taste for money, get status and girls with the money, and before long, many of them have gotten HIV/AIDs.

While in Lubumbashi prior to Kowezi, I did a radio interview and preached a message; the potential radio audience was 400,000. While in Kolwezi, in addition to teaching, and going around everywhere, I preached a 50-minute sermon at a local church (founded by the Rev. Mufika) and also did a radio show on Sunday evening. I was told that the congregation said I preached like an African! High praise indeed!

My departure. We were supposed to be at the airport at 9 am. for a 10 am. flight. At 9 am we were in a prayer session at the Brethren guest house. We left for the airport around twenty after nine. Got to the airport around twenty to ten. And were among the first passagers to arrive. The plane left around ten forty-five for Lubumbashi; from Lubumbashi we took a 75-minute taxi ride to the squalid border town we had entered nine long days prior. We first processed our way out of the Congo, and then processed our way back into Zambia. This took about an hour, but only because Rev. Mufika was there to keep things moving.

Rev. Mufika returned with me to ensure my safety and to spare me the harrassment and delays associated with a border crossing. His plan was to return to Kolwezi after seeing me across the border. But, this time, by an arduous overnight train, rather than the luxury of a no-frills 45-minute plane.

God’s presence, power, and providence was evident during this trip. The people insisted I must return to help them further. This I shall seek to do.