Pastor Jean-Claude

It was eight in the evening and darkness had settled thickly over the rural community outside Kinshasa. The ever-present noises always seemed more ominous after dark. The young pastor in training was exhausted. Today he had had to walk the eight kilometres to the school of missiology and back. Tomorrow again he would have to at least walk there. He hoped he could find the taxi fare back.

As he sank into his thin foam mattress, his sole comfort, the pillow beckoned. But no; I must thank God for the day and pray for the future first. He forced himself to a sitting position to observe his daily ritual and reflected on God’s goodness. He had provided the funds to study at the school of missiology. He had provided a house with cheap rent in walking distance of the school. He had provided a meal that day, and nutritious, beans and rice. His first church plant had helped him with these things. He thought to the future: three years to graduation. He would have his degree and could continue his work as an evangelist. He knew where; God had called him to a rural community in another part of Kinshasa.

He was a church-planter. He had started the last church, but once it became established he felt he had to move on. He handed off the reins to another pastor and moved on to the school of missiology. He came to this neighbourhood out of necessity; this was a rough neighbourhood. Poverty and hopelessness was strong here. Crime was a huge problem. Traditional animist religion was the only religion in this area. He knew how hard it was to pull people out of the cycle of fear that this religion brought. He had no family in this community; he was a stranger. What could he do here? They would not accept him, or his message of hope. He thought longingly for the time when he would be finished his degree and could move from this place.

He knelt down beside his bed. “Lord Jesus Christ…”

                                                                                           . . .

BANG BANG BANG…

The noise woke him suddenly. It was his door and he heard crying and yelling outside.

He looked at his phone: three in the morning. He rolled over and hoped they would go away. What could they want? His mind went to the worst places. He did not know who the witch-doctor was in this neighbourhood, but he could be certain that he or she knew who he was.

The banging on the door was insistent. He said a quick prayer and went to answer it.

“Pastor, pastor!” the man exclaimed between sobs, “come with me!”

“What do you want?” he replied, as he looked at the man and woman – obviously distraught – standing outside his door. He recognized them as his neighbours.

“It is my daughter! She has died. You must pray for her!”

He paused. Dead? he thought. What do they want me to do?

“Bring her to the morgue if she is dead.”

The woman grabbed his hand and cried into it, “Pastor, you are a man of God! You have power; you must pray for her, bring her back!”

“I have no power. Only Jesus has power.”

“Pray for her; pray for her; pray for her,” the woman repeated into his hands.

His heart broke for them; tears welled up in his eyes. He felt compelled: pray for her. But the voice of reason spoke up: pray for her? How ridiculous. Preposterous! Nothing will happen, I will look like a fool for praying for this dead child, any credibility I had in this community will be gone forever.

The man and the woman demanded again that he come pray for her. Again, he insisted, “Bring her to the morgue.” And the other voice continued: pray for her.

. . .

He walked across the path to his neighbour’s house.

What am I doing? Fear gripped him. His heart was pounding. What if nothing happens?

He entered the house and saw the young girl lying on a bed. She lay limp, lifeless. Neither his past as a preacher or his first few months of missiology school had prepared him for this. Lord Jesus Christ, be with me in this time. Be with this young girl. You have conquered death. I know you have the power to heal this child.

What am I doing? It’s not too late; I can still tell the family that this child is dead; there is nothing I can do, that they must bring her to the morgue. I can still save my pride.

He knelt down beside the child, as the members of her family cried around him. He took her hand; it was cold and unresponsive. “Lord Jesus Christ…”

. . .

A few days later, at six-thirty in the morning, he departed from his house. He looked to his left, down the mountain into the valley below as it was lit up brilliantly by the morning sun. He breathed deeply of the fresh morning air; rainfall during the night had cleared the smog and cooled the tropical climate. He looked across at the mountain on the other side and took notice of the beauty of it, the lush greenness of the trees, the creek winding its way down into the valley, the shadow cast on it from the mountain he was on, as the shadow slowly disappeared as the sun emerged.

He turned and started up the mountain, briefcase in hand, on his way to school. Just ahead he noticed a group of people. He recognized a few, but did not know any of them.

“Pastor, Pastor!” the group shouted and came to him as he walked towards them.

“We have heard that you raised a girl from the dead! Please, heal us with your power!”

He had not expected this, but reflecting on the circumstances of the momentous night a few days past, he was not surprised.

“I have no power. It is only through Jesus, it is not me.”

“Then pray to Jesus for me, I know you can heal me!” cried one of them, and the others agreed.

“I am going to school now, I must hurry. Come back tonight and I will pray for you.”

“No, no! Pray for us now, just lay your hands on us, it doesn’t have to be long, we know you can heal us.”

“It is Jesus who heals, not I,” he repeated thoughtfully. Again, his heart broke for this group. He remembered back to the night. He had been as amazed as any when the young girl opened her eyes and stood up. He waited with her for hours, until he had to leave, worried that she would just fall over dead again. But she did not die. In fact, she could not have been healthier.

He looked around, saw in these people faith to be healed. Maybe Jesus will heal them. He relented: he prayed aloud, “Lord Jesus Christ, please heal these people today.” He went around, laying his hand on each of them: “In the name of Jesus, be healed.” He did not feel any power in himself. Again, he felt a bit ridiculous.

But as he finished laying his hands on the last of them, the first began to rejoice. Praising God, the man exclaimed, “thank you Jesus! I am healed!”

. . .

There were seven of us; the five “trekkers” – John, Mark, Deanna, Marina and Monica – and two of our friends, Sathoud and Jeffrey. Jeffrey would help translate at the church, from English to French, and there would be another translator from French to Lingala. We took two taxis to UPN, where we met our pastor and host, Jean-Baptiste, at the large outdoor market. The highway runs through UPN, but after this it is all dirt roads. We walked through the market, noticing an unusual lack of vendors; the police have been going through the markets recently, evicting all the outdoor “illegal” vendors. Still, there are thousands of people here, occupying some of the wooden, makeshift stalls.

We hurry down the path, to the area where we can take a taxi to the church. Ten of us pile into the old Land Rover. It takes us down an increasingly narrow road, and we witness the amazing erosion that can happen so quickly on the dirt roads that have no drainage built in. Twenty feet above us there are little tin shacks, home to families, on the edge of a precipice. We drive over sand bags and little concrete paths that will hopefully stop the erosion. The path is ridiculously steep; we are amazed that we are actually going down this road, but the driver knows his route and the Land Rover handles the sand, the steep, and the bumps just fine.

We arrive at the taxi stop and embark on the final leg of the journey, another kilometre down a path to the church. There are some concrete houses here, but the majority are small tin shacks. The poverty in Kinshasa is always remarkable, heart-breaking.  As we walk down the path, the faint rhythmic beating of the drums, the tam-tams, begin to arise. I gaze down the mountainside into the valley below, to the mountain on the other side, the tin roofs speckled across it, and the trees that dominate it. I wonder if there is any infrastructure there, what the inhabitants do for water, if they have to climb all the way up this mountain to get food and supplies. I cannot see any roads to it, and certainly there are no vehicle-worthy roads coming from this side of the mountain. I look around and notice the beauty of the mountainside. I am amazed how this soil that just looks like sand and will erode so quickly, devastatingly can sprout up such greenery, be so fertile.

As we come nearer to the church, the drum beats grow louder, the beautiful singing emerges, and we see the church. It is a lean-to type structure; the tin roof covers maybe 2000 square feet, with no walls. It has a fence made from tarps woven together, a wind-break against the sands.

The pastor greets us warmly, “My name is Pastor Jean-Claude, welcome!” He turns to Jean-Baptiste, embraces him and laughs. “He is my teacher! I am his last student,” he says, still smiling. Pastor Jean-Baptiste is a professor at the school of missiology, and Pastor Jean-Claude has studied there for the last three years, just having graduated in the last couple months.

We walk into the sanctuary as the congregation sings and dances. It is incredible, powerful, and beautiful. I am struck by the diversity of the congregation. Often in the rural churches we have been to, or even in some of the bigger churches in Kinshasa, there are far more women than men, and more older than young. But here, there is a wide range, from young to old, men and women. Everyone is clapping and dancing and singing.

Mark preaches a sermon on Ephesians, translated to two different languages, and he receives much applause, whistles and shouts of “amen” throughout. The five “trekkers” sing, accompanied by guitar, with much applause also. After the service everyone greets us and thanks us for coming.

We sit in the shade of a tree and are served peanuts and “banyay” (like a fritter) – appetizers before the meal. I am always amazed at the hospitality the churches show us. The meal would be served in the house later, a smorgasbord: two kinds of fish, chicken, pondu (made from the leaves of the cassava plant), foo foo (made from the roots of the cassava plant), beans, and rice.

Sitting under the shade of the tree, enjoying the appetizers, the pastor tells us the story that I related above. I am struck by his humility; he takes no credit for the miracles, and is frank about his own doubts at the time of the event. Looking around at the church, the congregation, I am amazed at what God has done here. Pastor Jean-Claude had no intention of evangelizing in this community. He did not see hope this place, with its traditional animist religion, witchcraft, and high crime. But God had other plans, and because he listened to God on that dark night three years ago, this congregation has sprung up and grown, beginning with that one family and those few people that were healed a few days later, and cultivated by our Lord Jesus Christ into a thriving church.

Last weekend our team had our “midterm retreat” (with only two months left in our 7 months out of the country, it was a little late, but that’s ok).  It was an amazing time; it was refreshing both physically and spiritually. We went to Zongo Falls, an incredibly beautiful falls. The resort is right on the falls, just behind it, and we could hike around to the front and just get soaked by the incredibly powerful spray coming off the falls, even though we were around 200 feet above. It was more powerful than the most torrential downpour with gusting winds I have ever been in.

The best part was that we came on a Sunday night; we literally had the place to ourselves. We were the only group that stayed there that night.  Here we were, at this resort, surrounded by rainforest, with a huge falls right in front of it, and no crowds of people to spoil it. So we spent a relaxing day hiking through the rainforest, being soaked by the falls, swimming in the pool, and then spent time as a team praying for Congo, for our next two months, and worshiping God. The next day I spent a few hours in the morning praying and reading the Bible, and I really feel that I have a clear direction coming out of this time.

I have come to realize how much of a gift this opportunity is from God, and I feel the weight of that responsibility. I don’t want this to be an episode in my life that I lived and look back upon with fond memories. I want to, and I feel God leading me, to stay involved with the people here.  Practically, this means that in the immediate future I will work to make the English class sustainable. Many of our students are very passionate about learning English; already we have had some students take initiative to set up study times outside of planned teaching times. We know a couple of ex-pats – Adam and Sarah – who are willing to continue the advanced English class, and Mark and I are in the process of finding a few students who are able to continue the beginner’s English class. When I come back to Canada, I will stay in contact with them and either raise money for more English supplies or find some English supplies to send to them for more course material.

I also want to connect my church family with Congo; to be able to have a continued partnership with the Congolese church that connects to my church back home is a dream of mine. But more than that, the experience here, the time I have spent praying, reading the Bible and learning what it means to be a disciple of Jesus has woken in me a desire to be much more involved in my home church. I have gone to Yarrow Alliance Church for over 20 years now, and I desire to be more intentional to build relationships in the church and serve in the church.

Looking to the last two months here, I will continue to build up the relationships with some of the people from my advanced English class. One conversation I had recently with a student named Esperant was really encouraging. He told Mark and I very frankly about some of his sin struggles, some of his spiritual doubts, and some of the ways that Jesus has been working in his life. We were able to talk about the Bible, tell about our experiences, and encourage him to seek an answer from God. Then I asked how his time reading the Bible has been, and he told us that he has never had a Bible! We had the privilege to give him his first Bible, and it was incredible to see how excited he was to receive it. I can’t wait for the next time I see him, to ask about how his reading has been going. (On a side note, he is 34 years old, and has been a Christian his whole life).

I also will make an effort to continue to find people that are working for change here in Congo. We have met many people who are working effectively in different areas to bring change. Some are businessmen that promote micro-loans or entrepreneurial activity, others are doctors that set up clinics in areas with no medical care, and we have met some politicians who are working to create change in the government. One man we talked to had an inspiring attitude. Charles is a doctor (a radiologist I think) here, and he talked about a city, Kikwit, in the interior that has no x-ray machine (it is a major city in Congo too). He has purchased two x-ray machines, and is working to get it up and running there. He needs to buy an industrial generator and find an operator for the machine, and he is optimistic that it will be functioning by June, even if he needs to spend time there and train the operator himself. The impressive part was when we asked him if he was receiving funding from MBMission, he replied, “No, I talked to them, but the funding was going to take too long to come in, so I am just going to get it done myself.”

We have met so many people here that are looking for a handout, whose project is stalled until they find the funding they need. It was incredibly refreshing to see someone that is taking initiative, working to better Congo on his own. As Murray, a man who works with MBMission here in Congo, said, these are the kind of people we need, people who are working on their own to promote change. And we must search for them, because otherwise we will just be overwhelmed by people looking for handouts.

One example of this is a church I visited recently. The church is situated on a large amount of land. The pastor is hoping to start a much needed clinic there. But all he is doing to work towards this is asking around at different NGO’s. He won’t even try to raise the funds through his own church, which is a relatively wealthy church in the area. Meanwhile, the land sits unused, when it could at least be used as farm land. But he says that he couldn’t find anyone to farm it. So I hope to see more of the people who are actively seeking change on their own, and build those people up, people like my friend Charles.

And, coming back to the time I spent at Zongo Falls in prayer, I will continue to commit my life to God, to developing my relationship with Jesus. I will continue to spend time with Jesus in prayer and reading the Bible. I will continue to grow in devoting my life to Jesus, every aspect of my life seeking to glorify God. I will continue to develop discipline, daily dying to myself and carrying my cross.

A Wonderful Day in Kinshasa!

A couple weeks ago a spent an awesome evening at a local university campus here in Kinshasa, IBTP. IBTP is a technical university here, teaching trades from the field of engineering. Many of my English students come from this school. One of my students, Marina, is the leader of the women’s student group on IBTP and since it was International Women’s Day on March 8 (which they celebrate for the entire month here) she planned a conference, which is what brought me to IBTP on March 24.

The Conference was on women in engineering and had three guest speakers, one woman who is an architect, one a professor, and another woman from the field of engineering (I never understood completely what she did). The whole conference was in French of course, so I only got the gist of what they were saying. From what I did pick up, it was really interesting to see the perceptions of people, especially in the question and answer period.

The Congolese culture is a culture with well-defined roles for women and men. For example, a walk through the market here will show you that men mostly sell phone cards or electronic things, work at a photocopier, or exchange money. Sometimes women do these things also, but you never see a man at a produce stall or a bread stall. Women or children only are seen hauling water or foodstuffs through the streets (balanced precariously on their head usually, very amazing).  It was especially interesting to see this at play in the conference. In Canada, universities are typically the most liberal, but in the question/answer period, this group of students asked things like, “how will women fulfill their duties at home if they are in the engineering field?” or “are women really capable of working to the same capacity as men?” (I paraphrased from French of course). I will come back to gender conflict later on in this post.

So after the conference was finished, they had entertainment planned. I was really pleasantly surprised at the presentation of everything, it was very professionally done. They had some traditional Congolese dancing, which was amazing, with traditional drumming and singing. There was a fashion show, choreographed by local fashion students. Next was some drama and poems. I really didn’t understand the poems, but they got good reactions from the crowds, and the dramas were hilarious or intense, again with students from a local arts university. One drama depicted a group of young women as much better students than the group of young men, who got drunk or fooled around, got in fights and didn’t study. Another drama, more serious, showed a young woman forced into a marriage she didn’t want by her father, with the man she married abandoning her after a few years and leaving her with no means but to go back to her father and beg him to stay at home again. They also fed us cake and gyros (in that order). They also had a karate demonstration, a couple black belts breaking staffs over each other’s arms, and a brief wrestling match, WWE style. It was pretty awesome, and… unexpected.

Next they had the “BOOM.” (Can you guess what that is?) The group moved outside, where they had a large patio, a sound system, DJ, and tables on the sides. My teammates Mark, Marina, Monica and Deanna all had to go before 5 pm for various reasons (meeting people, being sick, other things to do), but there was no way I was going to miss this (even though I also had malaria at the time, and possibly still do). So I stayed there on my own, with some of my English students. It was a really awesome time, and interesting cultural experience. They had more entertainment, local singers (one of them was even a Christian singer), a dance crew (performing some amazing hip-hop dancing), and more dramas. Around 8pm they opened up the dance floor and everyone danced. It was crazy, it seemed like every song had a specific dance to it, and everyone knew it. If you ask me nicely when I get back, I might show you a few! The best part of the night, though, was when some guy ran up and grabbed my arm, pulled me onto the patio and pulled me into one of the dances. Everyone was in a line, following the person in front of them, and doing the same dance move. I said to myself, “I can’t believe it, here I am, in Congo, in a Congo line.” It was hilarious, now I understand why they call it a Congo line.

It was an awesome night; I got to connect with some of the English students that I see every week on a different level, just having fun with them in their setting. It was also interesting being incredibly conspicuous; not only the only white person there, but also the only person who is not Congolese. In Canada, you may be an overwhelming minority, but at least there are many other minorities. I was the only person not from the Congolese culture there, and it was a strange feeling.

Since the conference, I have had more opportunity to speak with Marina, the young woman who organized the whole thing. She has a really amazing story; she has had many obstacles she has had to overcome in her life. Even with this conference, in the past the Women’s day celebrations were small, just a couple speeches lasting maybe an hour, but she wanted to organize the large conference, with the entertainment after. When she presented her plans to the dean, he said it wouldn’t be possible; in Marina’s words, he said, “you are a woman and young, what can you do?” But she was determined and she obtained his approval. Then she began organizing it, and even the other young woman in the university wouldn’t cooperate with her. They said the conference was going to fail, and they wouldn’t help with the dance or the drama or the fashion show.

And this is where Marina’s story becomes really inspirational to me. From the beginning, she was praying to Jesus, that He would provide the means to make it a successful conference. She said it was very stressful, but she never became discouraged. She trusted in God, and things began to come together. The young woman began to get excited about it and work with her; she found some women who have worked in the field to speak at the conference; she obtained sponsorship for the sound system, DJ, drinks and tables; she had the arts students sign up to help with the dancing, modeling and dramas; and through it all, she gives the glory to God, recognizing that it is only through his providence that all this happened.

This is really striking every time I speak with her. She doesn’t take for granted the things she has in her life; she thanks God for everything. She always has a story to tell about how God has provided or been there for her in her life.

I asked her one time how God has instilled such confidence in Him in her. She had many stories, but probably the most remarkable is when she was living in eastern Congo. Her family moved from Kinshasa to Goma, a border city to Rwanda. Then the war in ’94 broke out. The rebels came into Goma and were killing many people. There were many times when her entire family could have been killed by the rebels but were miraculously saved. Once, her family was hiding in a house when some soldiers came by. The door was locked, and they pounded on it for a few minutes. Then they left, and after a few hours of prayer, her father went outside to see if they were really gone. He walked around a corner, and they were sitting there in the shade of a tree. They saw him, and started laughing at him. He ran back into the house, and they began to pray again. The soldiers stayed for a while, but never actually tried to break down the door or enter by force. Eventually they just got bored and left.

Later, when they were trying to make their way back to their own house, they were captured along with a large group of people. The soldiers told them to lay face down on the ground, and said that they were going to kill them. Her mother was the only person who did not lay down, and she said to the leader that she wanted to face her death. After, her mother told her that she was praying the whole time. The leader and the other soldiers began to laugh and say “who does this woman think she is?” But after a few minutes of talking about her, they just said that today they would let the people live, as long as they promised not to steal or fight against them.

Knowing what kind of wholesale slaughter happened in that region, at that time, makes these stories even more amazing. Ask me some time about some of Marina’s stories and I will tell you, she has countless stories of God working in her life, and it is from the example of her mother and seeing God work firsthand that she has built up her faith.

Another time, I asked her what her plans were for the future. Again I was impressed by the way she answered. I was expecting something along the lines of, find a job, do this or that, but her response was to continue living and growing in reliance on God. To continue to recognize that Jesus is the best friend she can have, and that he gives perfect gifts. To continue to give glory to God for all that He has done in her life. I don’t think I ever have a conversation with her where God is not mentioned. It has become so natural for her to recognize God moving in her life, so natural to praise Him for it, that she is a constant witness to those around her. From her other Christian friends, to Muslim’s in her university, Jesus comes into all her conversations, telling others about His power and providence. She is always building up other Christians, talking about the teachings of the Bible, trying to live by the example of Jesus.

This is an example for me. I have been trying to focus on this for the last year of my life, to trust in God and give God the glory, to glorify God through my life and actions. To come here as a missionary, trying to build up the local church, and seeing Marina and others who live with such faith, trusting God with everything, has been really humbling for me. And again, I feel like I am the one being blessed.

The Key to Making Language Learning Easier: Teach Everyone Your Language!

As I have been working here in Kinshasa, DR Congo, the idea of sustainability or at least a lasting impact has always been on my mind. How will my actions here have the greatest impact? What can I do that might actually be able to change someone’s life? Am I working towards something that is actually what the people here want? Will the program continue after I have left, or will the Congolese say, “okay, that crazy Canadian is gone, we don’t have to do this anymore.”

In this spirit, our team talked to Jean-Baptiste, our host here in Congo, and asked what he hoped we could do. One thing he mentioned was that his desire for Congo is to build up the next generation, to have a strong group of young leaders coming up in the church, willing to bring about change, in the church and in society. He has a large group of students that he meets with. One piece of this puzzle that he wants to develop is the ability to speak English. Foreign investment from English speaking countries has increased in Congo, from African countries like Nigeria and South Africa, to Western countries, and learning English can change a person’s life in Congo.

Jean-Baptiste told me a story of a man who was a farmer, came into contact with a NGO that was 

developing farming. He picked up a little bit of English, and so after the NGO left, he applied for a job with a foreign importer. He worked with the importer for 10 years, built up his English skills and learned the import business. After the 10 years, the importer pulled out of Congo, but this man stayed in the business, starting small with the little bit of capital he had saved up. He is now a successful business man here in Congo, and this is due only to his having picked up a small amount of English working with an NGO.

So with this in mind, Mark and I have started an English course. We teach English to over 100 students, 70 or so in our evening class (Tuesdays and Thursdays), 25 or so in our morning class (Mondays and Wednesdays), and an advanced class of 15 students Wednesday evenings. We are teaching basic conversation, trying to build up a foundation of verbs, nouns and basic syntax that they can use in real conversation. The advanced class is learning grammar, some idioms, and more complex syntax; how to better express themselves in English. We have started a Bible study with the advanced students, which has been very rewarding.

One thing that always encourages me is how some of the students will come up to me after every class and express thanks that we are teaching English. One student comes up to me and says, “Mr. John, I am so happy that you are teaching English, I want so much to learn English, thank you.” Some of them are so eager to learn English, several of our advanced students go to the beginner class as well, just for the practice, to improve pronunciation and pick up a little bit more vocab.

In the last week, a team from Canada came on a visionary trip, representing MB Mission. They came to visit different organizations, churches and people that MB Mission has supported or is involved with. This visit has evolved how I perceive my time here or how I evaluate what my goals for my time here in Kinshasa are.  Talking with Phil Serez and Murray Nickel, the leaders of the trip, I have come to realize how important the relationships I build here can be. Rather than just looking at how my actions will be lasting, which is still important, I have begun to look at how the relationships I build can be lasting. If I spend time with someone, build a strong relationship and learn what the persons hopes and dreams are for their country, then when I come back to Canada, I can stay in contact; see how their vision is playing out; connect them to churches and organizations back in Canada; encourage the vision and give direction; and maybe some time in the future come back to Kinshasa. Who knows where God can lead with a relationship!

One person that I have met here is Sathoud (pronounced “satoo”). He is someone that Jean-Baptiste has high hopes for. He has been a great friend to us; we have him over at our house once a week. He is in our advanced English class. He is the leader of the student union for the students from the Republic of Congo (across the river) studying in the Democratic Republic of Congo; this is a huge responsibility, as there are tens of thousands of students that he answers to. He is passionate about God; he always makes sure we pray when he visits our house, and he always has something to say at our Bible studies. He is passionate about change in Congo; he made a song and a music video with a group of students, singing against corruption in Congo. If politics comes up, he can talk for hours about it. My point with this description is that Sathoud is a man with the passion, vision, and leadership qualities to bring about change in this place. If I can stay in contact with him, build him up, help him any way I can, help his vision, then I can help him to make a way bigger difference in Congo than I could ever hope to achieve by myself!

I started writing this a few weeks ago, but because it took me a while to write and internet is down periodically, I haven’t posted it yet; but without further ado...

I have been in Congo for three weeks now. It has been a very interesting time, gaining a different perspective on life. How something simple, like running water and electricity, when absent complicates so much of the rest of my life. I knew these luxuries would change things when not available, but I guess I hadn’t really thought it through completely. For example, how am I supposed to wash my clothes by hand, when we are rationed to 100 litres (sounds like a lot, but when you have to cook, clean, shower, and flush toilets with this water, it goes fast) of water a day? And 100 litres is if someone comes to fill up our water jugs. The vast majority of Congolese have to do this, but I cannot manage to wash my clothes with the little water we have and not have them still smell like soap afterwards. Maybe I should have gone to boy scouts when I was a kid…

The place we moved into here in Kinshasa has no running water; the neighbourhood has been without for 7 months. A pipe has burst, and because the government will not pay the workers anything up front, they will not fix it. Rolling blackouts, usually at the peak hours of the day, you know, those times when you want to cook, hit fairly often, and we have had to move our pots and pans outside to the charcoal fire many times.

I hope I don’t sound to much like I am complaining, it is really not that bad once we adjusted, just a bit unsanitary with having to ration water to flush with (it takes a surprising amount of water to really flush a toilet). It was a huge adjustment at first though, how much all the time added up with extra cooking time, extra washing time, longer showering time, everything takes way longer.

The situation has made me think though. I have known many Congolese, and Burundians, who have a deep understanding of what God does in their life. They sincerely thank God for what they have. This attitude of realizing that everything they have is from God and thanking him for it has really impacted me.

Living in Canada it has been really easy to take for granted the gifts that God has given me. Things like clean, running water, an education, a job, a vehicle, or even a washing machine and stove. I endeavour to not take these things for granted anymore, but come before God with a grateful heart. But more than that, I think that gaining a deeper understanding of the blessings God has given me should change the way I live my life.

If I am truly living the life Christ set forth with his example and – as Paul said – consider my life worth nothing except for the sake of the gospel, then I should use the blessings and gifts God has given me to bless others. With all the conveniences in Canadian culture, I think one of the greatest blessings we have is time. In Canada, I don’t have to spend 6 hours a week doing laundry, or 2 hours to cook one meal.

What do I do with all my extra time? I spend it on myself. There are so many things that kept me occupied. There are movies, TV, video games, concerts. Even if the diversions aren’t “unconstructive” – for example going to the gym or doing a hobby – I still was not using the blessings God has given for his glory.

I am not saying that there is anything wrong with movies and TV or other such things, but since I have been reflecting on how the Congolese are thankful to God for what they have, I have desired to focus more on God with the blessings that I have, particularly my time, and not to squander his gifts on things that I use purely for myself, with no growth. With God’s guidance, I hope to live a life that is more outward focussed, on God first, and others second.

Nuns and More

So it has been a few weeks since I last updated. A lot has happened…

My team and I have finished our French classes. We don’t have very much opportunity to practice outside of class (since most people either don’t speak much French themselves, or speak English almost as well as they speak French), but it is cool to be able to have basic conversations in French.

So for the next week we will continue to practice French, volunteer at the Mother Teresa Mission in Bujumbura, and say goodbye to all the amazing people we have met as we prepare to leave for the Congo.

The Nun’s of Mother Teresa’s Mission in Bujumbura are an amazing group of women. They have given their life to service, swearing a lifelong vow. They serve everyday at one of the two missions’ they have in the city. One is an orphanage; they have over a hundred abandoned babies as well as 40 or so elderly that have been either been abandoned to beg because their families were to poor to provide for them, or they lost their family in the genocides.

The other mission is medical; they serve the local poor and homeless that are sick and unable to pay for medical care. For the poor of Bujumbura, Burundi a broken leg can be a life sentence to begging. They are unable to access medical care, and the person with broken leg becomes dead-weight to the family. They are abandoned to the streets because an untreated broken leg means they will never work again. The mission provides basic health care like setting the bone and putting a cast on it, rescuing the recipient destitution greater than they are already exposed to.

I do not mean to portray families in Burundi as callous and unfeeling, discarding those who are useless to them. They are far from it. This is a portrait of the poverty; they are so poor that those unable to work to provide are just another mouth that won’t be able to be fed. It is a fact of life that they will not be able to provide for them.

We have been fortunate enough to volunteer with Mother Teresa’s Mission. Another of their ministries is providing food for over 150 destitute families. Every two weeks, they give them a portion of rice, beans and sugar. For Christmas, the Nuns give the rice, beans and sugar, plus soap, cooking oil and some treats. We helped to pack the food for the families.

Team Burundi/Congo with the food we packaged for the families. It was hot and sweaty in the room.

I cannot express the respect I have for these women (but I will try). The Nuns have devoted their entire life to service. They will never live a life of their own; to marry and make a family or pursue a career. They have forsaken many basic comforts that I take for granted. They receive no reward.  And they have done this for the benefit of others, to be the miracle to a sick person, to be the mother to countless orphans, to provide nourishment to the starving. I have much to learn about sacrifice and service from the Nuns of Mother Teresa’s Mission.

I know I said lots has happened, and then I only wrote about two things, but this is a long post already. More to come!

A Trip to Morambia

Wednesday, my team went on a little trip outside of the capital city of Bujumbura to the district of Morambia. We went with a volunteer, Jake, from a local organization called “Harvest For Christ.” The ministry in Morambia is for the Batwa people, that the reader may know as pygmy people. In Burundhi, one of the 5 poorest countries in the world, the Batwa are the most marginalized people. The Batwa are the poorest of the poor.

HFC’s ministry is, basically, to help the Batwa become a self-sufficient people. The HFC worker in Marambia, Vaneust, has been there for about 2 years. HFC has 4 hectares of property, on which they have built a school and conference centre, and are currently building a clinic. They have given the Batwa plots of land, on which HFC is working to build small houses for them. The Batwa are farming the majority of the property, with some of the property set aside as communal land.

The Batwa have been a nomadic people, but with urbanization and land being bought and developed, they have lost their way of life. They had no land before HFC provided this plot for them, and the children in grades 1 and 2 are the first Batwa ever to be educated. The children are learning all the basics, math, history etc., plus 4 languages: English, French, Swahili, and Qirundhi. The older Batwa are learning to farm, how to plant and rotate crops, as well as how to build a house, forming and laying bricks, building the roof.

To put into context how poor the Batwa are, the houses that they currently have are about 4 feet high, and 4 feet across and the roof and walls are made of banana leaves. The lunch the children receive at school is often the only meal they receive for the day. Most of them have never received pay for work in their life; if they get work it is only in exchange for food.

The school is a community school, and as such it serves the local Hutus and Tutsis as well. This has been amazing progress for the community, because it is the first time the Batwa have been able to interact with the other people in the community. Before this, the Batwa were looked down upon, almost as animals. This school has brought the community together.

Please pray for this project. There is another tribe of Batwa not to far away that have nothing, and HFC is hoping to reproduce this project, buying more land. Pray for the Harvest for Christ workers, and that they will be able to find more people to help with the work.

I was hoping to add some pictures but the connection is reeeeally slow. Hopefully next time!