The Joys of Travel and Adjustments

For those of you who have not heard, Hillary and I have at length arrived safe and sound in the good ol’ U.S. of A.  Our journey from Nampula, Mozambique to Minneapolis, Minnesota was not, however, without its share of hiccups.

Our flight departed the Nampula airport early, in fact, on Tuesday afternoon for a short hop over to Johannesburg, South Africa (hereafter referred to as “Jo’burg”).  As we flew close to the Jo’burg airport, the pilot informed us that due to a severe thunderstorm, we were not currently able to land, and were put into a holding pattern.  After circling the city a few times, we were notified that we would land at a military base outside the city.  So we landed, but were not allowed to exit the plane as we waited over two hours for permission to return to the airport and for the plane to be re-fueled.

So by the time we arrived in the Jo’burg airport, about a dozen people (ourselves included) had missed our connecting flight.  The airline then re-booked our flights, but the next available flight to London was 24 hours later, the following evening at 7:45.  So we resigned ourselves to some quality time with the various shops and sights of the Jo’burg airport. 

Things got a little more interesting when we made a new friend.  José was a Portuguese gentleman who had been working in Pemba, Mozambique, and was on the same flight as us, traveling back to Portugal to see his family.  He did not speak a word of English, though, and was consequently having a difficult time communicating with the agents at the airline desk.  Hillary and I overheard him trying to use Portuguese to very little success, and Hillary volunteered to help translate for him, as best as she could, since Hillary is fairly good with Spanish, which is quite similar to Portuguese.  So it turned out that, as he was also traveling via London, we took him along with us and helped him get a hotel and navigate through the airport.

As a result of our flights being re-booked, our London to Chicago flight was also delayed half a day, so in the end we did not get home until late Thursday evening.  However, we were quite happy to arrive safely in Minneapolis.

That is, until we stepped outside.

At this point in our adventure, our bodies had gotten used to constant sweating, intense sunlight, and 90-100 degree temperatures (that’s Fahrenheit) every day, so you can imagine our shock to be back in Minnesota/Iowa with portions of the day at or below freezing.

So we could still use your prayers in many ways:

• As Hillary and I begin to process all that we’ve experienced and learned on our trip, pray that we will keep our eyes on God for direction and wisdom on how we will use these lessons, and where we go from here.
• As we return to a vastly different culture from Mozambique, pray that God will help us adjust back to America, and perhaps use some things we’ve learned to be a light and witness here in the United States.
• Pray that we will transition well into our old jobs, schedules, and responsibilities
• Pray that our bodies will transition well, with jet-lag, different diets, and freezing temperatures.

Thank you all for you support!  We hope to still post a couple more blogs detailing some of the things God has taught us as a result of our trip and how we’re doing getting back to life here.

~Mark

Departing with Mixed Emotions

Mark and I are getting packed up right now. We started last night, a little worried that the few breakable gifts that we want to bring home wouldn’t have a comfortable place to rest while making the journey, but somehow we’ve either mysteriously lost stuff while being over here, or we’ve become more efficient packers. We thought we would need hours and hours to pack, but somehow, we find ourselves ready to go at 8:00 in the morning, with four hours left before we need to make the trip to the airport.

I don’t know if my emotions could possibly be more mixed upon leaving Mozambique. Somehow, amid the dust, road congestion, smoldering trash heaps, and perpetual curious stares, Mozambique has wormed its way into my heart.

If I’m honest with myself, I guess I know how: Mozambique has captured me with its brightly colored capulanas; its impossibly gigantic bundles on heads and bikes; its roadside stands selling bananas, coconuts, bread, books, cell phones, sunglasses, clothing, cassava, and so many other things; its giant baobab trees and palm trees.

But most of all (and probably most predictably of all), the people have captured my heart. I love Rapale International School, but even more, I love the teachers and students who fill it with noise and life. I love all of the places I’ve visited, but even more I love the missionaries who have generously shared their lives, homes, and experiences with me. I love the brightly colored capulanas, but even more I love the people, some who have heard about the hope that Jesus gives, but so many who haven’t.

I’m so excited to see all the family and friends waiting for us at home. I’m excited to be able to drive myself to the grocery store, and I’m excited to eat ice cream and chocolate chips and drink herbal tea. But I’m also so sad to leave.

We may be leaving beautiful Mozambique, but our prayers will continue to go up on behalf of its missionaries and its people. Please join us in lifting up Mozambique in prayer!

--Hillary

Learning through Teaching

With only three days of teaching left for me at Rapale International School, I guess it’s about time for me to write something about my experiences teaching. You might think from my lack of posts on the subject that I haven’t really enjoyed or thought much about my time teaching, but that is absolutely not the case. I have, in fact, loved every minute (minus a few, I’ll admit) of teaching science at Rapale.

Through teaching I have learned a number of things, both about teaching as a possible profession and about myself. I’d love to share those tidbits of wisdom, or in some cases common sense, with you now. Those of you who are teachers may not agree with the conclusions I’ve drawn over the past few weeks, or you may recognize that I’m only sharing part of the picture. Please speak up! I’d love to soak up the wisdom you’ve gained from experience.

Set guidelines, boundaries, and expectations on your first day of teaching.

I heard this before I started at Rapale, but I didn’t really follow through on it. Part of my reasoning I’ll blame on only having about three days to prepare for school. Another part of it I’ll blame on not knowing what or how much to prepare in the three days available. But a big chunk of it I’ll blame on making assumptions. I assumed that because the students had expectations from their homeroom teachers that those expectations would follow through into my classroom.

Wrong, Hillary, wrong.

I’ve spent a fair bit of time over the last couple of weeks picking up the pieces of what I expect in the classroom and in schoolwork and frantically trying to fit them into their proper places. When a student brings work in late, do I dock points for that or slap them on the wrist? If a student is sick, how do I go about helping them catch up? Some guidelines, boundaries and expectations I had prepared and some could be added as I went along, but there was still more chaos than I liked. And whether students realize it or not, they don’t like the chaos either. They’re much more comfortable with a few boundaries. If I ever get to teach again, I will over plan in this area.

One of my greatest faults is being too nice.

I’ve actually been slowly coming to this realization for a while, but it took being in a classroom to be truly confronted with this. I am uncomfortable with making other people feel uncomfortable, even if it would be good for them. This isn’t great in a peer situation, but it’s devastating in a classroom. A teacher must push her students, must make them uncomfortable. As a teacher, I must be willing and able to confront the student who hands in sloppy work regularly or isn’t putting forth an honest effort. If I can’t do this, I’m no good as a teacher!

I’m happy to say, I think I’ve been improving in this area since I started teaching at Rapale, but I still have much to learn and will have to work hard to overcome this fault.

You can rarely tell how much of an impact you’re having on a high school student. You absolutely can never tell with a junior higher.

Every once in a while, with my high school students at Rapale, I see something I say or something they are learning at school begin to bear fruit. I’ve had the privilege of watching my high school students’ enthusiasm for chemistry grow (even just a tiny bit). And, no, it’s really not just wishful thinking on my part. I hope. And I see them smile more when I say hi to them, when I compliment their work, when I ask about their lives at home. And they tell me just a little bit more. I love getting to see their personalities come out bit by bit.

But my junior high students continue to baffle me. One day they seem excited about what we’re learning. The next they’re all exchanging glances that convey, Oh, woe is us. We are so bored. Why are we being tortured? One day I can talk to them, really talk to them, and the next, I’m the lamest person on earth. I just don’t know with junior highers.

If you ask for questions, make sure you specify what kind of questions and how many.

I wish I had written down all the bizarre questions that I’ve received in the last six weeks alone. Sometimes a student will ask a question and it’s vaguely related to the topic at hand, but not really, and I’ll find myself staring at them with my mouth hanging open.

If you continually reference the volatile nature or combustibility of substances in chemistry, 8^th and 9^th grade boys will think you’re cool.

Truly, this is how I’ve wormed my way into the hearts of my 8^th and 9^th grade boys. Or at least, this is how I keep them alert in my class.

Never underestimate what your students can do. But don’t overestimate either because then you’ll just end up perpetually frustrated when you plan five or six of cool things to do in class and only get to start two.

Almost every week I have over-planned for my 6^th and 7^th grade science class. And it’s so frustrating because I have all these cool things that I want them to do and learn, but more often then not, we don’t get to do everything and they don’t get to learn as thoroughly as they could or should. Again, if I ever get to teach again, this is something I will need to work on!

You’ll never absolutely love your students during the hour-long commutes to and from school, but try to act like it anyway. You don’t want all the younger children on the chapa thinking you’re the mean scary teacher and that it would be better for them if they never graduated to junior high.

The moments where I start to doubt whether I would like to be a teacher come the most frequently when I’m stuck in an 11-passenger van with 20 students. And when they start to sing “We Will Rock You,” I just about lose it. In fact, I have adamantly banned “We Will Rock You” whenever I’m on the chapa. So, any day I do not ride home with them, the whole chapa rocks with victorious refrains of “We Will Rock You.”

Treat your high school girls like young ladies and they’ll act more like young ladies. Treat your junior high girls like young ladies and they’ll still act like they don’t like science and dart furtive glances at each other throughout your lesson.

Are you getting the feeling that I just haven’t clicked with junior high students the way I have with my high school students? If so, you would be getting the right feeling. I just don’t know about those junior highers.

Pray for your students.

Just like I’ll never know the impact I have on my students, I’ll never know how much some of them might need the prayers I send up on account of them. Besides, I started loving my students after about day three with them. But I started loving them more, even the less loveable ones, the moment I started praying for them.

I need to start writing down funny things that students say because I’ll never remember them later.

This blog post would be much more interesting if I could just remember the things that students have said or done to teach me all of the above! Maybe the next time I get to teach…

A Visa Explanation

For those of you who were following the anxious Facebook posts of the last week, you read that Mark and I were unsure whether we would be able to renew our 30-day visas (which expired on Saturday). You may or may not have also seen that our prayers were answered and we are being granted visa renewals! We’re very excited that we don’t have to spend the last week of our trip in South Africa or take a sudden 12-hour trip by car to the Malawi border. God has been very gracious to us!

Let me just take a few minutes to explain what happened.

In the past, it has been acceptable (and standard practice for SIL) for visitors coming to Mozambique for a period shorter than two months to purchase a 30-day visa in the airport upon arrival in Mozambique and then head back to the Immigration office to renew the visa when the 30 days were drawing to a close. So, we purchased our 30-day visa in the airport, and had planned to renew them last week.

Unbeknownst to us, about two weeks ago, a law changed in Mozambique, making the 30-day visa nonrenewable. Now, in order for a short-term visa to be renewable, one must apply for it in one’s home country, before departure to Mozambique.

We, obviously, had not done this, so we were put in a difficult situation. To make matters a little more tricky, the missionaries who normally take care of matters at Immigration for short-term visitors, John and Susan, had to be out of town this week. The missionary Mark has been working most closely with, Edgar, took over helping us renew our visas, before we knew anything of this law change.

We were directed to go to Immigration with a letter requesting new visas, which we did with the help of Edgar and his wife. However, because of the change in the law, and because our letter didn’t specifically address the difficult situation we were in, and because our letter hadn’t passed through the Religious Affairs office first, our letter was rejected. As it turned out later, in the office of Immigration, it’s also a case of who you know, as much as what you know. So, because John and Susan, who are recognized in the Immigration office were out of town, it was less important to the Immigration office to make us and Edgar happy.

When John and Susan came back to work on Thursday, the situation looked a little hopeless. John and Susan drove Mark to the airport to see if we could jump on a flight to South Africa on Friday. The flight was full, and the next flight to South Africa wasn’t until Monday. We would have had to pay a fine of $100 per visa per day to stay in the country after Friday, so other arrangements had to be made. Another option would have been to make the 12-hour drive to the Malawi border on Saturday, stay the night, and come back on Sunday under a new visa, but no one was keen on that idea.

So, upon discovering that the Friday flight to South Africa was full, Susan went back to Immigration one last time to see if anything could be done. Lo and behold, something could be done.

Susan found out that if she re-wrote our letter, making it more specific to our sticky situation and if it was approved by the Religious Affairs office on Friday morning, she could bring it back to Immigration and it would probably be accepted.

And that’s what happened. So, we have papers saying that we are ‘in the process’ of getting our visas renewed, and by early this week we should be officially legal again. Thank you for all your prayers on our account! We are very happy to still be legal visitors to Mozambique!

--Hillary

A Comedy of Errors (and a 5-Star Prayer Request)

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So last night (Wednesday) was just one of those nights…  when things seem to all go wrong at once, and by the end, it gets to the point where you just have to laugh.  After a long day at school, Hillary’s day is enhanced with some automobile trouble, in which she has the privilege of pushing the truck.  For those of you who know her, just take a moment and picture in your mind: Hillary - and - a truck.  Now make her push it.

…

In reality, she did have a little help, but I hope I made my point.  So she’s tired, I’ve had a busy day, and we’re finishing up with supper.  We have a lot on our minds- our visa renewal had been rejected, which meant, if we didn’t get it sorted out soon, we had to be out of the country on Saturday.  More on this later.

Spreading her many textbooks and notebooks out on our dining room table, Hillary rolls up her sleeves and gets to work preparing for another day at Rapale International School.  She needs some brownies as a reward for the students in a Biology-Jeopardy game, so I set to work whipping up some cake-brownie batter.  All was going well, until somehow I managed to slosh a quarter-cup of milk down the front of my pants.  Nicely done, Mark.  Oh well.

So the batter’s ready to go, and I prepare myself for a battle with the oven.  Our oven, since we have been here, has had two minor malfunctions which have made it temperamental, but still serviceable.  The dial to adjust oven temperature now pops off the face of the oven whenever it fancies while you are turning it, so you have to get it in just the right spot to keep it on (which also keeps the gas going.  Otherwise the oven shuts off.)  The “right spot” is never the same thing twice, either, so it’s complete guesswork.  Also, the ignite button has resigned its duties, so we now must use a match or lighter to manually light it the old-fashioned way.  Life is so hard sometimes.

Anyway, so I get in position to light the oven with one hand and wrestle and/or catch the spring-loaded oven dial with the other, and I turn the dial.  No gas.  Interesting.  I know that our tank has plenty of gas, and our stove’s getting gas, but now the dial and the ignition button have succeeded in rallying the rest of the inner workings of the oven to join their coup, and I have no working oven.  Great.

No matter though, I can call one of the other missionaries and bring my brownie batter over to their oven.  I dial my colleague Edgar’s number, and… random beeps that I don’t know how to interpret.  I try his wife, and… nothing.  I know I’ve been having some issues with my phone, so I try Hillary’s.   “Network support failed”.  Hmm.  So our phones aren’t working, that’s not the end of the world (and not the first time its happened here).

At least I can text, so I text Edgar, and he graciously lets us use his oven.  After our brownies are happily baking away, I head back to our house for a couple minutes to make a dent in the mountain of dishes we have piled by the sink.  As I enter the house, Hillary informs me that our internet, which she was using for school work, has stopped working again.   Sigh.  I stride purposefully over to start the dishes, and discover that we no longer have water.

It was at this point that the whole situation just started to seem funny.  In the end, we got to sample some brownies, and later on we even got our water and the internet back.  All was well.  We are learning much about how privileged we are to have these things, and how we often take them for granted.

Now for the visas.

Ready your prayer mats and grab some coffee- our attempts to renew our visas have so far been unfruitful.  And all of our navigating the mazes of government offices haven’t turned up anything either.  To make a long story short, apparently a law was changed just two weeks ago that has rendered us incapable of staying the full six weeks that we were planning on.  So, this afternoon, I was actually headed to the airport with our missionary friends to see if we could last minute change our flights and hop on a flight out of Mozambique tomorrow.  Tomorrow being Friday.  Well, it turns out that’s impossible, and the next available flight would be Monday, which means we’d be shelling out some major American dollars in fees for overstaying our visas, not to mention the changes in flight plans. 

Our only other option is a 12 hour drive to the Malawi border to see if we could gain a visa on re-entry.  However, this option is not feasible, as it seems people around here aren’t fond of those roads- it tends to destroy vehicles.  And nobody is hopping on over to Malawi, at least that we know of.

But hold on to your hats, folks! The director of SIL is going to try one last time to get us  some renewed visas- we think we might have just the right documentation to make a good case with the Immigration higher-ups.  We’ll be making the attempt tomorrow morning, and, God-willing, we might just do it!

So we need your prayers tonight for us and our visas!  Again, we thank you so much for the support you’ve given us thus far in our adventure- God has certainly been good to us.  We’ll hopefully have an update soon!

Mark

Church in a Mud Building

The day has finally cooled off, so I’m enjoying a nice cup of homemade hot chocolate as I type this blog. (In all honesty, it’s still warm enough that we have a fan blowing away over our heads, but I can really drink hot drinks no matter the weather.) Both Mark and I have enjoyed fantastically good health since arriving in Nampula, so it’s a bit of a change to have Mark listlessly lying on the couch next to me, nursing an upset stomach. I feel so bad for him! Upset stomachs are no fun.

Last Sunday, while Mark was in Mocuba and I was staying with John and Susan, I had the opportunity to go with John about 100 km out of Nampula to a small town called Liupo. That morning I woke up early, excited, I think, and nervous that I might somehow miss our 6:00 a.m. departure. About 15 minutes into my morning cup of tea, I began to feel nauseous, like my stomach was a jug of volatile effervescent reactions. All of my energy was focused on keeping those effervescent reactions from being jostled and inspired to further fizzing. After a roll of dry bread, however, I began to feel a little better, enough so that I felt confident that I could handle the bouncing to and from Liupo.

John, David, a representative from Wycliffe Associates, and Louis, a member of the church we were visiting, set off together. The 100 kilometers flew by. Even though we were bounced and jolted, I so enjoyed seeing all of the people, the houses, and the rolling Mozambican countryside. At one point, shortly before we reached Liupo, John pulled off to the side of the road so we could all relieve ourselves before we arrived in town. The ladies’ room was the bush on one side of the road and the men’s room was the bush on the other.

As John was climbing out of the car, he turned to me and said, pointing to his thumb, “Oh, if you see any beans about this big, do not touch them! They’re monkey beans and they’ll make you itch forever.”

Okay then. I took a deep breath and stepped into the grass. It crackled under my flip flops. I picked my way through, walking in the grass that was ankle high, trying to find a particularly thick patch of chest high grass to crouch behind. No monkey beans, I prayed. And no snakes. As I was walking back to the car, after having accomplished my mission, I felt pretty bush savvy. I can do this. I’m not scared by any ol’ African bush!

We arrived at the church in Liupo shortly before 9:30 a.m. The church service was well underway, and I could hear the congregation singing. As we climbed out of the jeep, we were greeted by the six or seven pastors who were all present at the church to kick off the week-long conference that would be taking place there.

The church building was made of mud bricks and a grass-thatched roof. Inside, the church was semi-dark. The only light came through regularly spaced holes in the brick and the two doorways. Strings sporting thin strips of paper were hung from rafters to walls and fluttered in the slight breeze that made its way into the church.

Louis melted into the congregation. David, John, and I, however, were ushered up onto the platform where the other pastors were sitting. I’m finding this is a fairly common reception when white people visit a church that is usually all- or mostly-black African. We’re seen as guests, and whether we deserve it or not, as honored guests. I appreciate the thought, I really do, but after receiving so much attention for being one of few white people in the area, being made that much more the center of attention usually just serves to give me a headache and make me sweat. A lot. So, we sat up on the platform in our comfortable plastic chairs while the congregation as a whole sat on the low cement benches that serve as pews in the church.

I wish I could describe the singing in the church. It was beautiful and vibrant and exuberant. I took videos with John’s camera, so if I can manage to borrow the camera and download the videos, I’ll make sure to share at least one when I get back to the States. Once the singing ended and the pastor and John began preaching, I started getting sleepy. I enjoyed listening to the Portuguese and seeing what I could pick out from my limited understanding of the language and its similarities to Spanish. I also enjoyed listening to the Makua translation. I couldn’t understand a word of the Makua.

After the service, the plastic chairs we had been sitting on were carried outside and placed under a shady tree so we could sit and chat and enjoy the cool breeze. I wanted to go and sit with the other ladies (and their adorable babies), but I couldn’t muscle up enough courage. I kept thinking, Oh, I don’t know enough Portuguese. I won’t know what to say. They’ll be uncomfortable if I just wander over. Maybe they would have been, but in retrospect, I wish I had chanced it.

I learned a new Portuguese word while we were there, one that I don’t think I’ll forget soon: latrina. Obviously, as is to be expected, there was no running water in the village. People do their business in latrinas, which are holes in the ground surrounded by a thick grass wall. I decided that either the women living in the village are more coordinated than I am or just less private. While one uses the latrina, one must keep track of three things: balancing oneself, holding one’s skirt, and holding the flapping fabric curtain in place over the latrina doorway. I’ll never take a bathroom door for granted again!

In the late afternoon, we walked through the village to the yard of one of the church members. There, supper lunch was made for everyone present. By the time we ate, it was about 4:00 in the afternoon, and my stomach had given up and quit reminding me that I had missed lunch. When the meal was prepared, one table was brought out and covered with a capulana cloth. Plates, cups, and spoons were set out for eight, and a pitcher of water was set in the middle of the table. As the bowls of food were brought to the table, John, David, and I, and about five of the pastors of the church were invited to come sit at the table.

I asked John, “Isn’t everyone else going to eat too?” The rest of the church was lounging around on the ground, chatting and glancing at us every once in a while. John replied, “Sooner or later. There’s a hierarchy here, and like it or not, you’re at the top.”

I’m not sure I liked it, but I’ve learned about the Makua people that their culture has a strong sense of hierarchy. They’ve lived that way their whole lives and it’s not strange or limiting to them. In fact, most Makua people are more comfortable when meeting new people when they know exactly where in the hierarchy they fall in relation to their new acquaintance.

So. We were at the top, and we got to eat at a table with a tablecloth and we had options. In front of me and John, on our side of the table, was a big bowl of spaghetti noodles, pieces of potato, and chicken. The noodles were flavored with the chicken gravy and were quite good. If I bit down on sand grit once in a while, it was all part of the experience. In front of David, on the other side of the table, was shima, a polenta-like cornmeal mush, and more chicken with gravy.

Shortly after we finished eating, we started saying our good-byes. Most people in the church were still getting their food, but those who knew John personally or had personally interacted with me or David got up to say good-bye.

Earlier in the afternoon, I had had the opportunity to practice my Portuguese by asking a group of women, Ha uma latrina cerca? The women had kindly ushered me to the nearest latrina, and after that, they kept looking over and smiling at me. Apparently that had broken the ice somewhat, because these were the women who got up to say good-bye to me. At that moment, I really wished I had been a little more outgoing and gone and sat with them earlier!

Regrets aside, my day in Liupo was lovely and enlightening. Since I’ve already practically written a book on the subject, I’ll conclude quickly. I can see you all anxiously scrolling, wondering how much longer I can go on about an experience that lasted less than 24 hours. All in all, visiting Liupo was a wonderful experience!

--Hillary

Capulana Shopping

While Mark was off adventuring in Mocuba, I stayed back, mostly in Nampula, but I had some adventures of my own!

Due to a complicated set of reasons, while Mark was in Mocuba, I moved in with the SIL director and his wife. I had been feeling a little nervous about living on my own for five days. I was maybe a little bit worried for security reasons. I was especially worried about what I would eat while Mark was gone. While I've been busy planning, preparing, and teaching lessons and surviving the two hours of commuting time to and from school, Mark has been cooking and cleaning and in general doing everything in his power to streamline my time away from school so I can plan all my lessons and possibly still have a little bit of time for some personal recreational activity. So, all in all, although my diet and my free time were no one's main concern in moving me in with another couple during Mark's absence, the situation worked out to my benefit.

I moved in with John and Susan on Thursday after I got home from school and right away felt the full benefit of their hospitality. Susan, like myself, is someone who can drink hot tea just about anytime. She and her husband start their daily hot beverage intake by brewing tea at 5:00am daily. Then (as far as I can tell) Susan often has another cup of tea upon arriving home from work and then possibly another after supper. The tea is brewed from loose leaves in a beautiful little metal pot. I've already told Mark multiple times that I want to get a little pot like that and brew tea in the same way when we go home.

Thursday to Friday was also an adventure because John and Susan were without running water in their house at that time. They know that this happens, so they always have a full barrel of water parked in the kitchen and another one parked in the bathroom. When one needs to flush the toilet, one fills a smaller bucket partway and dumps it in the toilet. In the kitchen, water is dipped out of the barrel for dishes and drinking. I learned a lot of tricks for saving water during that time! Dirty dishes are rinsed in a small amount of water, which (if not too full of food) becomes toilet flushing water. Rinsed dishes are washed in one small tub of water and rinsed in another small tub of water. Altogether, the dishes get clean but by using only a fraction of the water I would use at home in Iowa!

Although the barrels made it possible to live comfortably without water for a day, on Friday morning I woke up fervently hoping that water would be flowing again. I crept out into the kitchen and found John sipping tea and running a hose from the kitchen sink into the kitchen barrel. In the case of water shortages in Nampula, it's not a case of if but when, so the storage barrels must be refilled at the first opportunity.

During my long rides to and from the school, I've had ample opportunities to observe the dress of women in Nampula. One woman could possibly be wearing more than five capulanas at a time. One is wrapped around the large bundle balanced on her head. Another is wrapped around her head in a decorative fashion. A third is wrapped around the baby on her back. The fouth and fifth are wrapped around her waist. And she may have other ones handy to wrap around further bundles or to lay out on the ground for the baby. If a husband is a good husband, he will keep his wife happy with frequent gifts of capulanas. If he goes on a trip, he will come back with a capulana for his wife. If he sees that his wife has acquired a new capulana in his absence, he can be fairly confident that his wife is entertaining another beau in his absence. Women in Nampula are capulanistas, according to another missionary friend-- they are crazy about capulanas!

All this observing capulanas has made me interested in purchasing a few of my own. So, on Saturday morning, Susan and I walked down into the town center to shop for capulana material. Walking through town feels a little chaotic-- so many people and goods jumbled together, and the capulana shops are no different. We visited three or four, most of which were small shops. The front opens off of the shop, leaving it open to the street. Capulana material hangs down from the ceiling, from the doors, and covers the walls. A man or two stand behind the counter ready to pull some fabric off of display and open it up for further observation.

There were soooooo many options! Susan is pretty crafty, so she was looking for fabric of her own to make a dress out of. She gave me lots of ideas for things I could do with my capulana material, so I was feeling pretty inspired by the time we had looked through a couple shops. I finally settled on a design and color scheme I liked, but I feel pretty confident that I will be going back for more capulana material before we leave.

--Hillary

Being Blessed in Mocuba

Thank you all very much for your prayers for us while I was gone!  God was very good to us on our trip to Mocuba, and it was a huge blessing for me.  I apologize that I haven’t gotten this up sooner, but we've had a couple computer issues since I got back on Monday that have now been resolved.  I’ll try and give you a summary of all that happened:

We left Thursday morning at 6 a.m. and drove five and a half hours through the beautiful Mozambican countryside.  The trip was fairly smooth, and actually most of the road was nicely paved because we were on one of the main highways through Mozambique.

A view of the countryside

When we arrived in Mocuba, we unpacked all our gear at Trans World Radio, a local radio station that broadcasts evangelical messages throughout the region.  We then ate lunch, found our living arrangements, and met the Chuwabu translation team.  The Chuwabu is a people group located near Mocuba on the coast of Mozambique who do not have any scripture in their language, written or otherwise.  

We got to work recording the Gospel of Mark at the radio station right away.  The recording process was quite interesting.  One member of the team would read the script of the Gospel of Mark while the rest of us would follow along and check that every word was said correctly.  The team would actually make changes as we went along, small grammatical corrections or words that seemed fine in written form but didn’t really fit with the way the Chuwabu people would use in conversation.  They are an oral culture, so to them, the spoken word is much more powerful than the written word.  I’m not even sure if they have a definitive written language yet, or if they do, if very many of them can read.

Edgar in the foreground, the Chuwabu team, and a technician from the radio station standing

After the whole gospel was recorded, we listened to the whole thing over again and double-checked the recording.  The work was very tiring, as we were concentrating hard the whole time.  They were long days (i.e. Friday we worked from 7:30 am to 10 pm with short breaks to stand up and stretch and for meals), but it was still a blessing to be a part of that work.

On Saturday, we said good-bye to the Chuwabu team and prepared the studio for a local church choir that was coming to do some recording.  We used this recording process as training for the technicians at the radio station.  It was quite a blessing to be a part of this as well, for the choir sang some very beautiful music and was just a great group of young people.

The choir practicing outside the studio in the shade

We recorded with them most of Saturday and Sunday, and then Sunday evening started recording with their instrumentalists.  Unfortunately, the power in the radio station went out (which isn’t an uncommon occurrence) so we were not able to finish anything with the instrumentalists.  Edgar was tired, so he went back to the guest house, but I stayed back and hung out with the instrumentalists for a while.  We ended up playing and singing worship music (in the dark with a cell-phone as a light source), but that was just a great spontaneous worship session that I’ll never forget.  Truly it was a blessing to praise God with these amazing people who lead totally different lives from me in a completely different culture than my own, and to connect as brothers and sisters in Christ, all praising our Heavenly Father.

One more blessing that I’d like to mention was an experience with the host of the guest-house we stayed at.  One thing I’m learning here in Africa is that many African cultures are much more sensitive to the things that go on around us in the spiritual realms than U.S. culture in general.   Our host not only ran the guest-house, but was a missionary and pastor of a church in Mocuba as well.  At one point there was a young family from his congregation with him, and we were introduced.  The wife asked the pastor (our host) to pray for her, as she was having many troubling dreams and also some difficulty with her speech.  The pastor then related to her that it was likely spiritual forces at work, and Edgar and I were able to witness some intense prayer and spiritual battle take place.

It was a powerful experience for me.  It turns out that our host has had countless experiences like this throughout his time as a missionary, and has written a small book documenting his experiences of spiritual forces throughout Mozambique.  Much of the book is comprised of testimonies from former witch doctors who were converted to Christianity after having their demons and magic defeated by Christ and His blood.  Such an amazing God we serve!

Thank you once again for your prayers!  Now I’m settling back into life in Nampula with Hillary, and hope to have more to share with you soon!

~Mark