Meeting the Mennonites

A few weeks ago at a little restaurant in Zomba called Tasty Bites, we met a Mennonite Church of God in Christ missionary couple, Joe and Ruth, who pastor two rural churches in the Zomba district. They invited us to attend one of their churches in a distant village. Because our little Mazda couldn’t possibly navigate the rural roads we would be traveling, we decided to park in Zomba and they would take us in their big 4 wheel drive.  We traveled south toward Blantyre on the paved road, a minefield of deep potholes and steep, crumbling shoulders, which is known as the Kamuzu Highway, the namesake of a former President.  

After about 15 km Joe slowed to carefully avoid hitting swarms of pedestrians and bicycle traffic as he pulled into a roadside market.  There we picked up Samuel, their interpreter.  After a brief greeting, he hopped in the back of the truck.  Along the way at clusters of houses near the main road and at junctures with windy dirt trails leading off to villages were little stands, most no more than a rough board laid across two short stacks of bricks, with neatly arranged tomatoes, mangoes, bananas, and avocados.  Some of these were attended by two or three chatting women while others by children as young as 6 or 7.

One market boasted three shelves of enormous oblong fruit, some bigger than watermelons. We were curious to know what these were. Ruth said they grow right out of the sides of a tree and are called jack fruit.  She said it is broken open and the sticky insides, similar in taste and texture to Starburst candy, is shared communally, each one reaching in to grab a handful.  

 Later we passed several men sitting under the shade of a tree just where a smudgy, yellow jerry can sat near the road. Joe said these were men who siphon gas and sell it.  There are no petrol stations along the road to Blantyre, and of course, black market fuel is very expensive. While we were watching, a minibus loaded with passengers parked across the road and the driver ran, 2 liter bottle in hand, to make a purchase.

After another 7 km or so, Joe signaled a turn onto a dirt road.  Before long we were in a forest, with trees planted in straight as an arrow rows, apparently part of a forestry project some years back.   The air cooled and picked up a little breeze as sunlight and shadows danced through the canopy above us.

 As we emerged and the horizon opened, pointing Joe said, “See that mountain range there?  Those mountains are just north of Blantyre.”  There were blue mountains, some whose height was hidden in the clouds, row upon row, shading into a hazy, blue gray in the distance as far as the eyes can see. So very beautiful.

The landscape rolled along in what would on another continent be prime real estate.  Alternately, there were enormous tobacco, tea, and coffee estates with many small villages sprinkled among them.  Every few km we passed huge houses which were secured, gated and surrounded by tall walls. Some had glass shards imbedded in the tops of the walls. Joe pointed to one of the estates and said it belonged to a German man.  

 

Many of these large homes had rows and rows of small houses nearby in what appeared to be houses built for the estate workers and their families. Mentally, I was comparing what I was seeing to the very poor villages outside of Zomba.  Although there was certainly poverty in the villages and estates we were passing, it wasn’t the grinding poverty of makeshift houses, rags, poor and contaminated soil, and weak crops we have seen in some of the villages where we have worked.   

Ahead of us, we saw a river threading its way through a very steep valley and were amazed to see that the road and bridge had been paved. We learned from Ruth that some years ago this was a project of an aid agency concerned about the terrible erosion that was taking place.

A few minutes later, we pulled alongside a small church with stuccoed brick walls, sapling trusses and beams, and a grass roof. As George and I got out of the vehicle, we were instructed to part ways. I was to follow the women in the front door and George was to enter with the men on the side door. Everyone was to take their shoes off as they entered.   Everyone sat on the large grass mats, already in place on the cement floor, the men on the left and the women and children on the right.

Both doors were left open, so a little breeze occasionally fluttered through. We were instructed from II Corinthians 4:16, “So we do not lose heart. Thought our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.” Isaiah 40:29, “He gives power to the faint.” When you work your maize crop, your body may feel weary.  Your body needs energy to keep going. When you stop to take food, your strength is renewed. In the same way, you need spiritual nourishment from God’s word.

We were handed little paperback Chichewa hymnals. Wonderful!  George and I knew all of the old hymns, like How Great Thou Art and Amazing Grace, so we could sing along. There were no instruments, but the singing heartfelt and beautiful.

Afterward, I was handed several babies to love on, and Ruth introduced me to all the women. They smiled warmly and were curious about us, so I told them about our work teaching women out in the villages.  I asked about their source of water and whether the community has a problem with cholera and malaria. I did not ask about typhoid fever, but I learned that several months ago, a typhoid epidemic hit the village. Ruth asked me if I would train her so that she can in turn train the women in the Mennonite churches. I thought that was a wonderful idea.

Before we came to Malawi, we wanted to train and equip trainers who would take the instruction we give and train others. We are thankful that it is beginning to happen. Very soon, I will spend an afternoon with Ruth to prepare her to be one of those trainers who can multiply the work we are doing to keep families healthy and to reach out to the villages with the Gospel.