Malawian Prophets and a Warning to Us All

Malawi has a proliferation of prophets, some of whom are wealthy, highly regarded as being true, and have an international following. Some of the wealthy and powerful ones are imports from Zambia, Kenya, and, especially, Nigeria.  Most people here respect spiritual leaders, so they take the messages of these prophets very seriously. Also, because Malawi is very poor, the fourth poorest nation on earth, many people here are drawn to these leaders by the allure of power and prosperity. 

In May of this year, in the weeks and months leading up to the election,  newspapers articles documented the fact that several politicians sought out private council with these prophets, hoping for a blessing on their campaign, or even an endorsement. 

Huge mega-churches based in Nigeria are broadcasting their programs  into Malawi and have a network of satellite churches here.  From time to time we have been in a restaurant, a clinic or a hospital lobby where these programs are being viewed.

How does one describe them? They are more like a Jerry Springer type, reveal-all reality show, but in a church setting. For example, sometimes, there are lengthy conversations between the prophet and demons. 

On one occasion, we saw part of a program in which a large family was called out of the audience in front of a massive crowd somewhere in Nigeria. Then, with everyone watching, the prophet pointed his finger at one of them and said, "You! You are having an affair with this one." On another occasion, we heard him accuse one person of plotting the murder of another one in the audience. These programs can get quite bizarre. 

I heard about one of these prophets who has created and now markets a special formula for soap, which the prophet say washes away desire for persistent sin and drives away demons. 

Once, a group of prophets showed up without warning at a local church. They approached  the officiating leaders and asked for an opportunity to speak, so the pastor invited them to the pulpit. Afterward,  the men invited the congregants to come forward to receive a miracle. But, this was not an ordinary prayer service. The prophecies would be offered for a fee of 5,000 kwacha each.  

At that point some people began to mumble their objection, "But, prayer should be free, " they said. "No," the prophets answered. "Just look around you. Nothing in this world is free. Even salvation isn't free. And our fuel to come here certainly wasn't free! Keep in mind, the bigger your gift, the bigger the miracle you can expect!"  Convinced, many people came forward for prayer. After the last ones were prayed for, the men made for the door, smiling, with their pockets bulging with kwacha. 

Recently, a woman here in Zomba told me about a young prophet of the  homegrown, wanna-be variety who came into her apartment complex, going door to door, announcing that he was offering prayers and prophecy to anyone who was willing to let him in. Many people in the complex opened their doors and welcomed him into their homes. This woman determined to receive the prophecy, then wait and see if it would come to pass. Perhaps he would say something that would give her insight into her future. 

So, the man prophesied over all the other members of her household, but when it was her turn, he told the woman he would prophecy over her at another time. Then, he made an appointment for her to come later to his house to receive what he said God told him about her.  

So, she went at the scheduled time, singing a Gospel song along the way.  He welcomed her in, and after exchanging greetings, he appeared to be ready to prophecy. He looked at her for a long moment then said, "Your phone, is it bluetooth?" She answered, "Yes it is." Then, he said, "God told me you are to give me all the songs on your phone."

Jeremiah 14:14 "The Lord said to me, The prophets are prophesying lies in my name.  I did not send them nor did I command them nor speak to them. They are prophesying to you a lying vision, worthless divination, and the deceit of their own hearts." 

Matthew 24 "Tell us, when will these things be, and what will be the sign of your coming and the end of the age?"  And Jesus answered them, "See that no one leads you astray." 

A warning to us all.

Missing Granny Annie

Over the past several months we had noticed that Granny Annie had been steadily losing weight, and on our last visit her frail body seemed more fragile than usual. 

When she heard us driving into her neighborhood, she came out to greet me as usual, smiling up at me, she said, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."   I took her hand as we walked together to Discovery Bible class. 

Along the way, she said what I hadn't allowed myself to think. "I know that I will soon be gone," she said, " and I do not have long in this world."  I didn't want to believe it and my heart sank, but as soon as she spoke it, I knew that it was true. I thought of her faithfulness to come to every Discovery Bible class since we began in March.  

I remembered the day she received her own Bible and how happy she was. Some of the women thought it humorous because Granny Annie couldn't read. I thought of the  humor and wit she brought to the class. 

Then, I thought of her destination and wanted to assure her and myself that she was at peace with God.   "Do you love Jesus?" I said, "Everyone who loves Jesus and puts their trust in Him will meet again one day on the other side. If you go before me, I know I will see you again. I will be there with Jesus, and so will you. We will be there together in heaven with Him." Granny Annie smiled and took comfort in that thought.

I knew several days would pass before we would visit her village and I would see her again, but I have often thought of her. Then, as we were working in a village medical clinic this week, an elder from her village bicycled to find us and to let us know that Granny Annie had died and that she had been buried on Tuesday. 

My heart aches and it saddens me to think that I will never in this world see her again. From time to time tears suddenly flow as I cherish the memories and grieve my loss. I am missing her so, but I know I will see Granny Annie again. On that day, she will no longer have a weak and frail body. She will no longer suffer from emphysema. She will no longer be poor or suffer need. The next time I see her, she will be with Jesus and all will be well.   

Earbuds

As we were leaving the medical clinic a couple of days ago, ahead of us we spotted a pair of earbuds lying in what would be our tire tracks in the unpaved lot. People were coming and going, so we had no idea who they belonged to.  

A few of the clinic staff, apparently on break, were seated on the lawn maybe  50 meters from our truck. They all turned to watch as Angellah got out of the truck to examine their condition, then pick them up. We reasoned that everyone at the clinic knows us and  that if the earbuds belonged to a staff member, someone there would let us know.  Because the cord had already been run over, we weren't even sure if they still worked. As we were pulling out of the lot, Angellah tested them with her phone and said they still worked.

We were maybe half way to the village when George received a call from someone we had never met. "Hello, George. This is Roy. I understand you have my earbuds." George told him that we found them in the clinic parking lot and that we would be happy to take them to the clinic where he could pick them up in a couple of hours. 

After our village run, we left them with the receptionist at the clinic and then thought nothing more about the matter. We had done our part. We kept them from being smashed in the parking lot and and returned them to the rightful owner. 

Then, this morning Roy again called George, "Hello George. You gave me the wrong earbuds! These are not mine. Where are my earbuds? I want MINE. What did you do with my earbuds?" George said, "Well, ok. All I can tell you is these are the ones I found in the parking lot. 

Tea for Two

I was sliding my tablet out of the way to reach my fresh cup of hot tea when in one fell swoop the tablet skidded and overturned my cup, rippled over my Bible study notes, splashed my tablet and doused my keyboard. 

A wave of hot fluid was streaming across half the dining table and would soon reach George's computer and paperwork. Quick! Think fast on your feet! I shook the liquid from the keyboard and passed it to George. 

He sprinted outside to wave it in the wind. I grabbed a nearby handful of dinner napkins to divert the spill away from George's computer. Zip, I swooped to the kitchen and back with a towel. Then, a quick mopping of my tablet's screen and the back of George's computer case made everything on the dining table right. 

One minute after the event, no one would have guessed the great spill had taken place, except George and I both felt we had done half an hour of aerobics. 

Little Talandila

We hadn't worked in that village long enough to know who everyone was, so when one of the women who attended Phyllis' workshops would be gone for two or more weeks at a time, we were hardly aware of the fact. Her husband would sometimes be gone for a week or more as well. It was only one Saturday afternoon, a few months ago, when he asked us for a ride to Zomba Central Hospital that we learned their small son was very ill, and being treated there.

We were relieved to see them a couple weeks later, and to find out he was doing much better. However, when we were out there this Monday, and saw he was lying on a blanket in their yard, and with great muscle pain in his legs, and other parts of his body also, we began to inquire a little deeper. They explained that this was a recurring problem since shortly after he was born, but that the doctors at the hospital couldn't discover what was wrong.

We offered to take him to a local private clinic to at least get him some relief for the pain and swelling, but also to see if they could diagnose the problem. The doctor massaged his legs with some sort of ligament oil, and gave him pain medication. I asked him to prescribe some calcium also, as a deficiency could cause his legs to cramp. Off we went, nowhere closer to a diagnosis than when we had walked in. When we arrived back in the village, still not satisfied, I offered to take him to Phyllis' and my doctor on Thursday, which was to be our next free day. His mother was quite grateful for the offer.

So, yesterday morning, we picked up little Talandila, and his father in hopes of getting to the root of this chronic condition. Within less than two hours, and after a number of blood and other tests, we had a diagnosis. It was Sickle Cell Disease, a very serious, but treatable genetic blood disorder. By early afternoon, they had given him a vitamin injection, and placed him on an IV drip, as he was both anemic, and quite dehydrated. He was to be kept at least overnight.

By this time his mother was with him, as his father needed to get to his job as a night watchman at a roadside lumber dealer. We returned home to prepare them both dinner as none of the hospitals, either government or private, provide meals. We had Angellah, Phyllis assistant prepare a traditional Malawian meal to make them feel more at home. By that time Talandila was quite tired, and settling in well, as he had lost much sleep from all the pain over the previous several days.

I spent several hours last night researching online, whatever I could about its prognosis and treatments. I was encouraged to learn there was much we could do nutritionally, along with some tips on controlling his environment, such as keeping him warm, and getting him a mosquito net. When we sat in the doctor's office as Talandila was being released today, we shared notes with one another. He appeared to be quite surprised we had learned so much overnight. I am reminded what an amazing tool this internet is for either good or evil.

Before taking them back to their village this afternoon, we stopped by town to purchase him a bed net, a heavy wool blanket, some shoes, a jacket, and a couple other items, all to help him stay warm and healthy. We'll be ordering some specific vitamins, and other supplements our team of volunteers can bring with them when they arrive in three weeks. These were. recommended through the research I was able to do last night.

All this in less than thirty six hours! Thank you Jesus for your compassion, and your great wisdom.

Winter's Chill

Although overnight temperatures had dropped into the 40s and piercing wind gusts were sweeping through the village, undeterred, 56 women gathered for our Saturday morning Discovery Bible Study. It was the coldest day of this winter season.  

The women had no coats or jackets to brace themselves against the chill, and almost without exception, they were barefoot. Each woman had only a ntenja, a  two meter length of cotton cloth covering her outer garments or draped over her head. Mothers with young children wrapped them inside this garment with only their faces peering out. No one was complaining.

Before the children's class began, a group of them, barefoot and dressed in tattered summer shorts and shirts, were huddling around a small fire of maize stalks along the edge of an open field, trying to get warm. In a class of about 45 children, none of them were wearing shoes. 

So much need, and so many opportunities to show the love of Jesus.

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?"