Rural Evangelistic Outreach in Malawi

We are very thankful for the 10 days of ministry with Larry  and  LaVonna Cockerham and their team of 7 from Cleveland, Tennessee's Living Word Church. Over the past 15 months, George and I have been loving people and meeting needs in two rural unreached villages here in southern Malawi. The time had come to give a clear Gospel witness and an invitation to know the Jesus we have been telling them about.  

On the two nights we showed the Jesus Film, 220 men, women, and children raised their hands, prayed a prayer, then rushed forward to turn in their registration cards - a clear indication that they were making a firm commitment to let Jesus change their lives. Afterward, some of them deeply moved came to us and said, "We never knew these things." 

From the video, they learned that Jesus heals, and a huge crowd stepped forward when we offered prayer for healing. We are certain that these communities will never be the same! God is bringing new hope and changing lives. 

On the night of the showing, we invited those who responded to the call to know Jesus to a Discovery Bible Study on Saturday. Of course, we had no idea how many would come. Over 300 people came to study the Bible! Already, they are asking for Bibles, so we plan for each person who attends regularly to have their own Bible, pen, and notebook. 

George and I feel like parents with a nursery full newborn followers of Jesus. We ask for prayers for us as we teach the men, women and children and ask God to raise up leaders. Pray that the people will experience answers to their prayers and for these new believers to grow strong in their faith and obedience to follow Jesus. 

Dinner Date

It was nearly dark when we sat down to dinner last night at a newly enlarged and remodeled restaurant here in Zomba.  As we glanced around, we realized that the whole staff was preparing for some huge event. Of course, we had no idea what, but we knew it was going to be big.  

From time to time, we saw the owner moving smoothly through all the staging, pointing here and there, orchestrating the event. Then, lights flashed on a huge stereo system, and it began pulsing an African beat. All the while cases and cases of drinks were being loaded in the bars and candles were being lit at each table. 

When dozens of  UNICEF emblazoned SUVs  began pulling into the lot a few minutes later, we saw whose event we were sitting in the middle of. Evidently, this was the opening day of this massive aid agency's conference.  Soon, attendees were feasting on the sumptuous buffet and chatting around  the two open bars. 

George and I were quietly reviewing the day, and taking it all in as we enjoyed our meal, but our eyes popped when the live entertainment started.  As the music pulsed, two midgets took the stage and started dancing like I didn't know was possible. A variety of American rap and Malawian Chichewa music rocked the place while the two midgets grooved on. 

Near the end of our meal, one of the little dancers swooped out of his teeshirt, swirled it about his head, flung it to the side and continued dancing. 

Not to be outdone, the other midget dropped to the floor and began breakdancing and doing one arm handstands. It was certainly not what we expected when we sat down for a quiet dinner for two. 

Lydia's Literacy Class

Wednesday February 12, 2014 

Lydia's Literacy Class

Just before we traveled home for a visit in November, the women of Kainga had asked me to help them with their Chichewa literacy class. I told them that we would love to be involved in their literacy class. Of course, there was a long interval between the time we were asked to help and the beginning of our new sessions of classes in January, and they may have thought we forgot, but that wasn't the case. We wanted whatever we gave them to be practical, versatile and durable. 

We described what we had in mind and gave specific measurements to a young carpenter, Jeremiah, who helped us acquire materials necessary to build two easels which would double as a chart paper stand and a blackboard. There is no Home Depot, so acquiring the materials was not as easy as it may sound. 

First, George drove Jeremiah out to a market in Chinimwale where men were milling logs  by hand into what is locally called  "timbers." It is always fascinating to watch as two men with a long logger's saw cut with precision a large section of tree trunk into long boards.  We found the chalkboard paint, the clear varnish and brushes in a little hardware shop called Mechno's. The chain and hinges to support the easel came from a little booth inside the market, and we found the chalk in at a little copy shop  by the bus depot in downtown Zomba. When all the materials were finally collected, Jeremiah started the  project. 

While the work was in progress, George and and I drove out to Kainga to get a first hand look at the program.  When we arrived, the women were sitting on the bare ground among a cluster of homes just by the mosque. 

A woman named Lydia, the teacher, sat with a semicircle of about a dozen women clustered closely around her.  She was teaching them the names of vowels and their sounds. Some of the women had scraps of pages from an old notepad, and others had small paperback booklets, each with about 10 pages. Some of the women had no materials at all, and I watched as other women in the group tore their notebooks in half to share with their friends. Their pencils were all just well worn stubs. 

Lydia had cut the top and bottom out of a large tin can, old and brown with rust. Then she cut down the length one side to make a flat writing surface. She laid it in the circle of women and was using a piece of charred wood to write the vowels for her students to copy. 

One of the women proudly showed me a page of vowels in her notebook, saying, "This is my first writing," and of course, I commended  her for her work. Obviously, these women were making a great effort to be resourceful, although they had almost no resources. 

As I was observing this class, my mind went back to some of the well furnished classrooms in which I have taught over the years. I thought about how readily available materials for teaching and learning are in the developed world and how they are generally taken completely for granted.

Our visit to this class made it very clear that any help we could give would be valued and very much appreciated. George and I knew that we wanted to do more to encourage the women to continue learning. So, on our very next visit, we gave each woman a notebook and pen. 

I am happy to say the easels are finally built, and today Jeremiah primed and  varnished them. He will come back tomorrow to apply the blackboard paint, and after they dry, they will be ready! We are really looking forward to presenting Lydia with the easel, chalk, and chart paper when we return to the village on Saturday. 

Our desire is to bless these women and encourage them to continue learning and that God will use these gifts to help us build closer relationships in the community as He prepares them to receive the Gospel. 

Baby Obed of Muima

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

We were scheduled to conduct a Changu Changu Moto cookstove workshop this afternoon in the village of Muima.  When she heard our truck coming, Chief Bernadette came out to the road to let us know that many of the women in my class were gone to a funeral in a neighboring village, so it would probably be best to reschedule. We agreed and set up a date two weeks from today.

On our last visit, Chief Bernadette's infant son, Obed, had malaria and was sick with a fever. So, today I asked her if his health had improved. She said it had not.  When we asked if she had taken him to the clinic, she said she had, but the Bimbi clinic, about 1 km from her village, didn't have any infant malaria medicine. 

Then, she walked on to another clinic, one much farther away, but they didn't have the medication either. So,she explained, the child has been sick with malaria for weeks. When I observed more closely, it was obvious that his skin was covered in rash, and his eyes looked weak, and even more seriously, he had not been growing. How tragic that the child was failing to thrive and could have died for lack of a medication that costs under $1.00 US. 

George and I caught each other's eye, and it was clear to both of us what we were supposed to do. "Would you like for us to take you and Obed to a private clinic?" Her eyes brightened as she said yes.

She quickly walked the short distance to her house to retrieve a bag of baby necessities, and soon we were on our way. Little Obed fretted some as the truck rocked and jolted down the road, but after the road smoothed a bit, Bernadette was able to nurse him, and  he was comforted enough to rest. 

I noticed that every few minutes a deep, rattling cough shook Bernadette, so I asked if she had any medical concerns for herself. She told us she was concerned about the cough. 

Although there were several people in the waiting room when we arrived,  the receptionist took Bernadette and the baby's information quickly and put them in the cue to see the doctor. Within 15 minutes or so, Bernadette was called to the examination room. In short order, we could hear little Obed crying in pain. As we learned later, he needed three shots to get him caught up on childhood immunizations. When they emerged from the exam room, Bernadette was holding two bulging bags of prescriptions, including the baby's malaria medications. 

When we returned Bernadette to her village,  many women were there to receive her and very happy for her safe return. Bernadette thanked us, and several women rushed to shake our hands and express their gratitude for our caring for their chief. 

When George paid the bill for all the medical care and  prescriptions, the  total was 3700 kwacha or $8.85 US for both of them. The goodwill we are now experiencing in Muima and other villages, however,  is priceless. We pray that God will use it to open many hearts to receive His kingdom.

   

Asiya

Asiya  

Asiya has always been so happy to see us, always smiling and reaching to me for a hug, but this day was different. As I was taking attendance in Kainga women's class this morning, Asiya approached me, eyes and head  lowered, looking down to the side. There was no smile so I knew something was terribly wrong. 

Then I noticed the pain in her eyes as she slowly pulled her hand from under a ragged cloth. One of her fingers was swollen double its normal size and the fingertip was an angry pink and red mottled white and oozing infection. I asked if I could pray for her. She immediately dropped to her knees.  I joined her there, asking God to bring healing and for Him to reveal His love to her. 

Before I continued my lesson, I promised her that after our work was finished in the villages, we would come by to take her to a private hospital near Machinga. We learned that her mother also has an infection on her hand, but she was not willing to go with us and would not accept medical treatment. Prayer and medical treatment was the best offer we had, so although we wanted to help her, we let the decision rest with her mother.  

About an hour and a half later we pulled into a yard near Asiya's house and learned that she was at home resting. Her neighbor, Chrissy,  and I went to get her and walked her to the truck. Chrissy asked if she could accompany her.  We told her to jump in, and we were on our way.

Especially this time of year, during the rainy season, the roads are a series of deep ruts and deep, mud-filled potholes interspersed with craggy rocks. So, as the truck jolted and swayed, Asiya lifted her wounded hand in the air to minimize the impact to her throbbing finger. 

We would have under no circumstances taken her to a public clinic or hospital, and the doctor George and I see at a private clinic here  in Zomba is not in his office on weekends. So, we were happy that Samuel knew of a private clinic, one sponsored by the Anglican Church, which he could recommend. It was some distance away, near Machinga, but we were committed to the best care we could get for Asiya because she was running a fever and it was obvious that her infection was very serious. 

When we arrived, the hospital campus was dark and looked deserted, so we sent Samuel ahead of us to find admissions. He came back in a few minutes and led us to the women's ward. One ward lined with beds was labeled Chronic Infections. At least a dozen women were there, but there was no one, however, at the front desk. So we waited. 

Eventually, a nurse came and leafed through Asiya's medical book.  She had not seen a doctor since 2008. The nurse told us to sit down and wait because the doctor had been paged and was with another patient at the time. 

Asiya was walked to a room with an examination table, and soon, an intern came by with a pain killer and gave her a shot in the hip. This took some of the edge off the pain,  enough for her to close her eyes and rest a bit.

Then, we sat and waited. We walked the campus and waited. Eventually, a robust looking young Malawian dressed in tan cargo shorts, sandals, and a red Emirates soccer team shirt, entered, greeted us briefly in passing, then went directly to Asiya's examination room. He lifted his hands and grabbed the bar that held the curtain, and leaned toward the bed to ask her a few questions. Who could this be? It was the doctor. He came with a small entourage of attendants and interns.  I followed them in to be with her during the procedure. 

The doctor must have skipped hand washing class in medical school,  because he swiped on a pair of latex gloves and proceeded to examine Asiya's finger. 

First, he wet swabbed her entire hand with mercurochrome and gave her a shot in that finger. She winced a little when the doctor began to poke and prod at it a bit, so he gave her another shot in her finger.

 Without so much as a small interval, he slid a bowl under her hand, took a lance from a small paper package, lanced her finger, and began to squeeze. He extracted some of the poison, but evidently not enough. He made a bigger incision, then again squeezed. As her brow tightened and the pain overwhelmed her, the brimming pools beneath her eyelids overflowed and poured down her face. 

Although she did not make so much as a small whimper,  she was obviously in deep pain, so I quickly crossed the room and took her other hand in mine and held her. She leaned in, placing her head on my shoulder. By this time, tears were  flowing down my cheeks as well. Within minutes, the surgery was over, and the doctor was tying on a strip of gauze bandage.  The doctor unrolled another strip of gauze, wrapped it around her neck and wrist to create a sort of sling to help immobilize her hand. 

We were asked to wait again at the nurse's station for the accountant to arrive so we could pay the hospital bill. Within 20 minutes or so, he arrived, looked over the doctor's notes in Asiya's medical book and asked us to follow him to his office. There he banged out a few numbers on a calculator. Totaling the charges, including medications, doctor's consultation, surgery, and prescriptions for both Asiya and her mother, the bill came to a grand total of 4700 kwacha, which is $11.24 US. 

With receipt in hand,  we were directed to the dispensary in an adjacent building. He assured us that the pharmacist would be coming, then snap, click, he locked his door and left. From the accountants office we could see that the dispensary door was gated and padlocked, so we asked Samuel ( thank God for Samuel) to go to the nurses station again and ask her to send for the pharmacist. In a short while, he returned with the news that the pharmacist was at home and was gone for the day. That answer was not acceptable  because the sun was already low in the sky, and we knew that there was no possibility of getting the needed medications that evening in Zomba. We also knew we were not willing to take her home without the pain medication and the antibiotic. We asked again, and the nurse said she would call the pharmacist back to work. Chrissy and I sat with Asiya, weary from lack of sleep and food as well as all the trauma she had been through in the past hours, sat on a wooden bench outside the dispensary and waited. And waited. Half an hour later, George went to check the status and learned that the pharmacist had arrived and was on his way.  We know that "on his way" is a relative term, but within five minutes we had what we came for and were on our way back to the village.  

We only stopped long enough to purchase food for us all. John ran with 1000 kwacha and came back with a bag of yeast rolls and bags of salted peanuts for us all. We were hoping to get our friends back to Kainga to get Asiya settled in and us back to the paved road before dark. We knew that might be a challenge because we only had about 45 minutes before  the sun was completely down when it began to rain. At a dip in the road where rainwater streamed across, the truck's back tires began to slide toward a flooded ditch and some young girls standing nearby. George, being the skilled driver he is, was able to right it and to avoid what would have been a disaster.  

With about 20 minutes of daylight to spare, we pulled into Kainga. What a sight!  Many of the women and children lined road at the entrance to the village, smiling and waving. They were so happy and sincerely expressed their grateful hearts. 

Asiya and her village know we love them and care about their needs. I once told them that the love I feel for them is so much bigger than me. In fact, the love is so big that it floods me and must overflow, so I am certain that it must be God's love. 

That morning, I had been praying that God would use us to show His love.  Well, on this wonderful day devoted to serving the lowest, this is the way He chose to do it. 

A Visit to Kainga Women's Literacy Class

Tuesday January 21

We visited Kainga today to observe their women's literacy class. When we arrived, a few women were seated on the ground in a shady spot under the sprawling branches of a tree. The teacher had not yet arrived. 

The women told me they were preparing food and directed me to a nearby kitchen, three walls of mud brick and a straw roof.  I sat on a low bench by an older woman seated on a small rock and leaning down with her face nearly touching the jumble of twigs underneath her blackened clay cooking pot. Smoke from the damp wood billowed around her head as she puffed a few breaths toward a little flame. POOF!  The smoke stirred then wafted through small gaps in the straw roof. Soon the little twigs crackled as the fire leapt to life, encircling her pot,  blackened from countless uses over open flames. 

I watched as the woman dipped her fingers in a pot of water, then reached into a large tub just by it. With her fingers she scooped a small handful of the batter and patted it flat with her palms.The shallow well of cooking oil sizzled and popped as she dropped in each little round cake. With the eye of an expert, she turned and adjusted each. When she saw one that was crisp and golden brown, with a fork she gingerly lifted it from the boiling oil and placed it into an enamel bowl.  I asked what the cakes were made of, and I was told maize flour, sugar, yeast, and water. 

I was happy when I was invited to help. I had been watching for several minutes, and it looked easy.  So, I was ready to begin with confidence. By now several children were squatting near us inside the little kitchen, and a little cluster of five or so women were standing  just at the entrance, peering in to take in the action. 

I dipped my fingers in the pot of water, just as I had seen my teacher do. Then, I reached into the batter and pulled up about a half cup portion of the dough and began to shape it. Looking good! I could tell the women behind me approved my first efforts. I leaned forward on my stool to drop the patty into the oil sizzling in the bottom of the pot, careful to not get my fingers too close to the boiling oil and not so far away that I would cause the oil to splatter. 

That proved to be harder than it looked. So, my strategy was to lower my hands very near the oil and let the patty sort of roll off. In the seconds It took for me to think this through, the woman had already flipped and turned a few patties and formed another one. I knew I had better get cracking and do some productive work! I lowered my hands toward the pot and carefully let the dough fall, but what landed looked more like the state of Tennessee than a patty. The woman gave a little chuckle as she lifted a few golden brown ones into the bowl. 

As I formed a few more, little by little, my technique improved, and my friends seemed pleased with my efforts. After about eight were made and still quite hot, they were broken into small chunks and distributed to all. Now that I had learned a recipe from them, they asked if I would teach them one of my recipes. 

George and I  have now been working in that village ,for one year. We have always felt welcome, but a shift is definitely taking place in this village, one we have prayed and believed God for.  

Now, when I go visit,  it is not just as their teacher, but as their friend.  I realized that the women are now welcoming us, not just into their village, but into their lives. It is both a great responsibility and a great joy that God would call us to give His love to these precious people. 

We are believing that God is opening hearts and preparing them to receive God's ultimate gift of love, His Son. Today, as we were preparing to leave the village, a woman came to me with her eyes moist with tears and said, "Thank you for the way you love us."  

Salani Church of Christ

Sunday January 19, 2014

At the invitation of one of the deacons, we visited the Salani Church of Christ for the first time on Sunday. We drive by there from time to time, then several months ago, we saw that the tin roof had torn apart. Some of it had collapsed into the building, and some of it was lying in a twisted heap along the side. A huge rain and wind storm had blown through the community the night before, destroying some thatched roofs as well. 

As we walked around the lot surveying the damage, God began to put it in George's heart to help with the repair as an outreach to the community for the sake of the Gospel. 

Eventually, as we were working in a nearby village, a deacon from that church approached George, asking if we could possibly help. This was the contact we had been waiting for. 

The roof became a cooperative effort: the men of the church would provide the labor, and we would provide the beams, nails, and sheet metal. 

Weeks passed, then a few days ago, George received a request to come and address the congregation. So, this Sunday, George and I were warmly greeted with handshakes and singing as we entered and were seated with our interpreters on a cement bench behind the pulpit.  

The music was a combination of praise songs and hymns complimented by the rich African rhythms of a multi sized variety of goatskin covered drums and a well worn wood-framed tambourine.  After the music, the pastor turned to us smiling and announced, "We would like our visitors to know that our church loves to celebrate." 

 When George was invited to the pulpit, he read from Ephesians 4:1-7, where Paul instructs the church to care for one another and to encourage one another.  George told them how happy we were to see the fine work of repair that was done on their church, and that they now have a strong sturdy building to worship God in. "But, he said, " You as believers spend most of your time outside of this building. Many people have never experienced God's love and peace. When you leave this building, you ARE the church in this community. You can take His love and peace into your homes, into the markets, and into your fields. When two believers are working in the field together, you can give praise to God, have fellowship with one another, care for one another's needs, and pray for one another." The message was very well received. 

People were invited to the front of the sanctuary for prayer. One of the people who came forward was a Muslim woman. She said she has been  having family problems and that she was at the end of all she knows to do. Then she said, " I want Jesus Christ." George had the honor of praying with her to give her life and all her concerns to Jesus. It was beautiful.

The pastor then prepared the elements for distribution: two small plastic dishes for the bread and two small plastic cups for the juice.  Everyone would share a common cup. The bread was torn pieces of fried flatbread, and I am not certain what type of juice. But, at that sacred time as we were examining our hearts,  none of those details mattered. This was our first communion in Malawi.

My words are not adequate to describe the simple beauty of that service.  

Basket Cookers Save Fuel

It is hard to believe that Pahuwa, a very poor village, is so deforested that the women  have to BUY their firewood. On Saturday, we were there to teach the women how to make and use a basket cooker. They were amazed that they can save an incredible 80% on their firewood consumption when a basket cooker is used in conjunction with their new fuel efficient cookstoves. The cookstove alone saves 2/3 of the fuel typically used, and using the basket cooker saves another 40%. This results in the consumption of only 20% of the firewood a typical household would use. 

These cookers are made from a sturdy basket and dry banana leaves for insulation, and for a lid, a "pillow" made from a burlap bag, also stuffed with banana leaves. All of these are readily available local materials. 

First, for demonstration, we fired up the changu changu moto cookstove and put on a pot of rice to boil for only 10 minutes. Then we pulled the pot off the stove and put it in the insulated basket cooker.

While I taught the lesson, the pot of rice continued to cook, and after 20 minutes in the cooker, the rice was hot and ready to serve. That is exactly what we did. Everyone got a serving of rice.

Next, I shared  some very practical uses for this cooker. I said, "Suppose you get up early to go the fields. Before you go, you can prepare your meal on your cookstove for just a short time, then put it in the basket cooker to finish cooking. Your meal will stay hot for hours, and when you return from the field, your meal will be cooked and ready to serve.  You can also prepare a meal in the morning, put it in a basket cooker. You can go about doing your other chores, then when your children come home from school hungry, their food will be hot and ready to eat. "  The women all thought this was a great idea and wanted to try it.

At the conclusion of the lesson, I told the women that I was very happy to share these ideas with them because it is always our desire to bless them in practical ways that will save them time, labor, and money. 

Dignity Life Skills Graduation in Kainga and Pahuwa

Saturday, September 7, 2013

Saturday was graduation day for the adolescent girls in the villages of Kainga and Pahuwa to celebrate their completion of the  Dignity Life Skills Course. In this 10 week course, they learned skills that will help prepare them for a good future. 

Over the course they learned that a healthy future -mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically -will not happen accidentally.  To have the positive future she wants,  each girl must develop her character to give herself resilience in times of adversity. "Everyone, even the most  successful person you know, goes through difficult times and faces adversity,  just like a tree in a strong wind," I said, "but a well developed character helps one to stay strong and  to bounce back  when the winds of trouble come. When adversity comes, those with strong character  and hope in God may be tossed by the wind,  but they won't break. They will remain standing strong. " I told them to seek out the council of good role models in their community, people whose lives are worthy of respect and who care about their future.  

Developing a strong character starts with knowing they were made in the image of God and that their lives are not accidental, random or meaningless, but they were made by God with a purpose. It also starts with embracing as their own what God said about them in Jeremiah 29:11 , "I know the plans I have for you, says The Lord, plans to bless you and not to harm you, plans to give you a future full of hope."

The girls learned that strength of character is not something they were born with, but a good strong character can be developed. They performed many skits and role plays designed to give them opportunities to experience what it feels like to  resist peer pressure, to  display self respect, assertiveness,  confidence, and a commitment to abstinence. 

Part of the course was designed to help the girls understand the risks of the AIDS virus and to avoid high risk behaviors that can lead to contracting the disease.  There are Life Skills courses taught in public schools here, but they gives the girls very little information other than,  "Be sure to use a condom." 

Our Dignity Life Skills course gave the girls much information, facts and myths, about AIDS, how it is spread and how it destroys one's immune system, but beyond that, it pointed them to to the fact that the best strategies for the prevention for AIDS is abstinence until marriage, being sure one's potential marriage partner has been tested for the virus, and then both partners being committed to a  faithful,  monogamous marriage relationship.  They learned that when a girl is abstinent until marriage, she is showing self-respect, resistance to peer pressure,  good decision making skills, and that she has plans for a healthy future. 

I cannot tell you how proud I was of all of these girls on graduation day.

Cookstove Surveys in Pahuwa

We visited the village of Pahuwa on Tuesday morning. Over a period of several months now, we have been encouraging the women to make their 30 bricks and collect mud for the time we will teach them how to build their own fuel efficient, two burner cookstoves. Well, the time has finally come to survey homes and to start building!  As we walked the trails throughout the community surveying each household, we learned that some women are completely ready, some are nearly ready, and a few haven't started.  It's ok. Some ideas take time to take root. 

As we walked about the village, we asked them to show us their materials and  to show us their kitchens. Many women did not have a kitchen, with kitchen being defined as a place outside the house with shelter from the rains.

Then we came to the home of one of my hygiene and sanitation students, an elderly, frail woman we affectionately call Grandma.  She told us that she is unable to made bricks for her stove. She can barely manage to collect enough wood each day to prepare meals. George has already talked to the men in the village about giving special assistance to widows and the elderly. George will enlist them to build her a lean-to porch to shelter her new stove.

These stoves save fuel and burn cleaner,  but it isn't just about the environment. We care about deforestation and lung disease, but our primary focus is much more than that.  It is about the  people Jesus came to die for.   We want  to be expressions of the love of Jesus with each one.

Grandma will soon get her cookstove, but while she is enjoying it, we want her to know that the gift was motivated by God's big love for her.