Down by the River Farming God's Way

Because Lydia, a new believer, is our friend, her community warmly welcomed us, so today was our first opportunity to teach them Farming God's Way vegetable gardening.

Angellah taught them  the importance of living by Farming God's Way principles: to compete their work on time, at high standards, with no waste, and with joy. They learned that living and farming by these principles honors God and God will bless those who honor Him.  We were very pleased that they asked very good, thoughtful questions. 

The first half of the class was instruction. They learned that when properly prepared a local native plant, Blackjack, makes a good pesticide which can safely be used on their vegetables.  

The second half of the class took place by a river some distance away,  in Lydia's prepared field. There, everyone had hands-on opportunities to apply and practice what they had learned.  Raised beds were  measured and prepared. On these, mustard greens, Chinese cabbage, onions, and red beans were planted. 

Everyone participated in clearing, measuring, planting, and watering.  Then, after the field work was completed, Angellah encouraged them to pray that God would bless them. They turned to me and asked me to pray for them, so I prayed in Jesus' name that God would bless them and give them success as they seek to honor Him with their farming. 

They were a great class. The seventeen men and women were very attentive and stayed engaged during the four and a half hour class. At the conclusion of the class, we asked them if they are interested in learning more about Farming God's Way.  They eagerly said they are, so our next class is to take place in June. That class will focus on how to make  fertilizer by using large-scale composting.  

God opened the door for us to teach in this community. We are eager to use this opportunity to share the love of God and to make friends and meet needs in the community. We are believing that God will use us there for the advancement of the Gospel. 

New Shoes for Lydia

Last week, after  searching several shops in the market, we found support shoes for our friend, Lydia, who has some disability in one of her legs, making it difficult for her to walk.  She had a pair of shoes and a brace, but they were so badly worn that they no longer gave her support. We made arrangements with Lydia to take her with her daughter accompanying her to see an orthopedic doctor at the hospital.

But when we arrived there on Friday, we were disappointed to hear that the doctor wasn't there and would not be in all day. The nurse instructed us to come back on Monday. I asked, "Will the doctor definitely be in on Monday? And will Lydia be fitted then?" The nurse answered affirmatively. Assured, we told the nurse that we would be back on Monday.

The anticipated day finally arrived, so, early this morning, George and I drove out to the village and  brought them to the hospital to get Lydia's shiny new shoes fitted with a brace that will help her walk. This was our second long journey with her to the hospital, so we were praying that she would be served today. 

 But, when the double doors to the orthopedic ward flung open, we saw the small room was crowded with about 25 mothers with their physically and mentally disabled children, all seated on the floor, waiting for the children to be taken in one by one for physical therapy.  There was hardly room for the door to close behind me.

The same nurse we saw on Friday met me at the door. After formal greetings, she said, "As you can see that there are many people here today for therapy, and we are very busy. Just sit down and wait." I answered, "No. I am just fine standing here. How soon will the doctor see Lydia?" She responded, "You can leave the shoes with us, then you can call to find out if the shoes are ready. When they are ready, you can come and pick them up."  That didn't seem logical to me, so I said, "How can you fit them if Lydia is not here to be fitted? She needs to be here so the doctor can fit the brace to her."  

One man  (I am guessing one of the therapists) who had been sitting on a motorcycle (don't ask me)  in the corner of the room joined the conversation. He got up, looked sternly at me, and said, "What can we do for you (pause) people?"  "I am not the one with the need," I responded. "Lydia is the one in need. She came here to get her brace fitted,"  

Stretching his hands toward Lydia, he said,  "Let me see the shoes." As he rolled the shoes over in his hands he said, "Many times I see shoes with soft soles, but these are fine shoes. They will do. We will call you when they are ready."  

That was my signal that the therapist intended to do something for Lydia today, and in my heart, I was thanking God for giving us favor. I then turned to Lydia's daughter and said, "You have our phone number, right? Ok. When the shoes are fitted, just call us, and we will come." The arrangement was made. I thanked the nurse and the therapist, and before any further obfuscation, I left. 

After about 3 1/2 hours, the anticipated call finally came, and we drove to the hospital. Just as we rolled to a stop in the parking lot, George saw her at a distance in the rearview mirror, walking toward us. I asked, "Does she have on the new shoes? Is she walking better?' George affirmed, "Yes! Those are the new shoes!"  Then suddenly, she was standing beside the truck. I have never seen her look so happy. Her eyes were sparkling, and her whole face was smiling as she said, "I am now beautiful!"  What an amazing thing to say!  "Yes, you are beautiful," I told her, "But you were beautiful before. I am so happy for you!" 

I realized how much this small kindness meant to her. Although she never said anything about being ashamed of the old, worn shoes and brace, this expression of God's love made her feel beautiful.  Now, how much is that worth? Priceless.

Get Out the Vote

I am now convinced that by comparison, there is nothing very interesting, creative, or exciting about American politics, and compared to political elections in Malawi, American elections are BO-RING!   In the US over time many people become rather cynical and begin to see both the politicians and the process as all same-same. That is probably why many people choose to snooze through Election Day.

Some in the US complain that they dislike the two major candidates and  feel as if they are choosing between bad and worse.  Not having a choice is certainly not an issue here in Malawi.  When I say Malawi is a multiparty democracy, I mean multi-party. I recently read that there are 46 political parties. Most of them are extremely low budget and don't stand a chance of winning an election. Many of their presidential candidates probably would not be recognized by the majority of citizens, and practically no one could tell you the platform for most of these parties. I believe many of these contenders hope to gain enough attention and votes to find a position in the winning party after the election. 

Of all 46 parties, there are only a few well recognized, serious contenders. The ruling People's Party (PP) colors are orange and black, and their symbol is a lock and key. The Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) colors are blue and black, and their symbol is three ears of corn. The United Democratic Front (UDF) colors are yellow and green, and their symbol is a pair of clasped hands. The Malawi Congress Party (MCP) colors are red, black, green, and white, and their symbol is a rooster. 

Malawians only get to vote every 5 years, and virtually everyone counts that as one of their cherished rights.  So, over the past year, and increasingly over the past 6 months or so, Malawi has been buzzing with excitement about the May 20 presidential and parliamentary elections.  

Everyone is talking about it, and displays of party affiliation are everywhere. It is impossible to not notice. Unlike US politics, in which candidates count on outspending one another with billboards and TV ads and most people don't let their political views be publicly known, politics here is propelled primarily by grassroots community activism, and evidence of that is everywhere. Instead of posting yard signs, many people proudly wear their party's colors. 

Each political party prints beautiful, specially designed cloth, usually bearing the candidate's image and their party's logo. In many places, these are used as banners above major roads and intersections. They are also used as flags. Party flags are furled above little shops along rural roads and above stores in the city. Hundreds of them are now hanging from light poles and bamboo poles and  even high in trees along the roads into Zomba.  

Many tailors turn this colorful cloth into beautiful women's skirts, hats, and dresses as well as men's shirts. Along rural roads we often see throngs of women adorned in beautiful political statement clothing. Ahead of our vehicle may be a sea of party affiliated blue, yellow, orange, or some other party color, as people walk long distances to attend rallies, which are usually staged in soccer fields.  There is no need to ask how they plan to vote or even where they are going, because they are proudly wearing their political preference. In addition to all of this display of party affiliation, party teeshirts and hats are also very popular, and candidates often distribute these at these large party rallies. These events include speeches as well as much singing and dancing. 

To take their positions to the people who have no access to printed material, politicians mount huge speakers to their vehicle's roof and cover the hood as well as side and back windows with posters and party banners. Then they drive through rural communities loudly playing popular music, which, of course, attracts a crowd. 

Often, people pour out of their houses and into the road and begin to dance, following along as the vehicle moves forward.  The vehicle stops from time to time to gather a crowd, pass out fliers and make speeches.  We recently saw a candidate standing in the back of a pickup holding up a lightbulb as she moved through Zomba. Evidently, the theme of her campaign for district council is "I have the bright ideas."  

So, this Tuesday, May 20 is Election Day.  Most people take this very seriously, and they have made great efforts to be informed,  as informed as they can be.  Rural people are sometimes persuaded by promises of development: roads, electricity, water, so when rural citizens are notified that a political candidate will be in the area, within reason, they will walk there to hear them speak about these things and to get the freebies, mere trinkets, they are passing out. 

Once every five years, rural people feel as if their leaders are really interested in them, and being heard is very important to Malawians.  So, voters here don't sit out elections. In fact, voter turnout was an amazing 104% in their last presidential election in 2009.  Hmmm??? I am not sure how that compares to recent US elections. 

The Landlord, the Plumber, and the Leaky Geezer

For those who don't know, in March, a major leak occurred at our water heater, or as they call it here, geezer, which is located in our attic. Water poured through and collapsed our bathroom ceiling, streamed down the hallway, and flooded our living room. This occurred just before a team of volunteers was coming to help us with our work. We knew we had to get this problem solved, and soon. 

We called the landlord, and the landlord sent the plumber, who came, looked at the problem and asked for a plastic bag. Well, ok. He turned off the water, drained the tank, and used a strip of the plastic bag to wrap the threads on the leaking water line. That held for a while, but after the team left, we began to notice water again dripping down the bathroom wall. 

 Again, we called the landlord, who this time brought the plumber. Although he didn't tell us his solution, with the blessing and encouragement of the landlord the plumber climbed into the attic, turned down the temperature on the geezer, came down and reported, "We have the problem solved and have stopped the leak."  George and I found out about the temperature reset later, when it was time to take our showers. Brrr! 

Not that they are related, what followed next was a week of flu for each of us. Neither of us felt like seeing the plumber during those days. So, although the water from the geezer went from hot to tepid, the lines continued to slowly leak, and the water continued to drip, drip, drip from the ceiling and drain down the walls. Repairing the leak would have to wait until we were feeling better. 

So, yesterday we called the plumber, and he and the landlord came out this morning. This time, the plumber was certain that he had a sure solution. Seeming rather pleased with himself, he walked us around the house to an alcove near the driveway. Then he said, "I know how to fix your leaking geezer problem. The leaking geezer damages your ceiling, so, I will move it outside, here on this side of the house. When the geezer is outside, the water can go down the drain, so a little leak will be no problem."  I wasn't quite sure how to respond. Incredulous, I answered, "Uh. No. We will not move the geezer outside, and we will not have a leaking problem, not even a little one. Moving the geezer outside is not an option and having a leaky geezer is not an option. Uh, ok?"