Written and photographed by Joanna Morrison
We loaded the flatbed truck with our suitcases, water for 2 weeks, the generator and speakers, and then added 25 people. Our first drive covered familiar roads until we passed through Blantyre, and then through the central region, to Ncheu. We took a short cut across rough dirt roads through beautiful hills and valleys until we reached a small village perched on two sides of a valley. Setting up the sound system on one side of the valley, we carried our gear to the other side where we would sleep. I set up my tent, though most of the ladies slept in a home graciously offered by the chief. This chief is also a pastor and was deeply blessed by our time in his village.
At this point, I discovered that I had forgotten my flashlight. Thankfully, I did have my cell phone with a small flashlight. The toilet had a very narrow passage way, but once inside, it turned out to be a very clean and well organized pit toilet, complete with a pile of corn cobs for tp, ashes to keep the smell down, and a plunger shaped cover to keep the flies out. Outside was a hand washing station complete with a tippy tap. I was so impressed! We made our way down through the creek bed where it was deliciously cool, and up the other side for a good time of worship and teaching.
That night as I settled down in my tent, I noticed the unfamiliar noises of a village, pigs snuffling, chickens clucking, babies crying, and dogs howling. At about 4 a.m. I woke up to hear a terrible wailing across the valley. I wondered if someone had died and the mourning had begun. As I listened, I thought maybe a mad man was really in trouble. I began to intercede, and prayed until the crying ceased. In the morning, I questioned the women about the crying in the night. They shrugged their shoulders and looked puzzled. Gradually, I saw their eyes light up with understanding, and then they broke into laughter. It turns out I had been interceding for a goat! I wonder if there is a goat in that valley that has suddenly become productive.
I was the source of much laughter on our journey, which I didn’t mind in the least. I had to become like a child very literally. I had to learn how to bathe with a bucket of warm water, perched on stones strategically placed. As the screening was designed for shorter people, I also had to bend to stay hidden. Perch, stay out of sight, keep clothing out of the water, get soap in the right places, and come out clean…it is a lot to ask of a fully grown white woman! I discovered that I don’t mind the taste of nsima if I cut it with a knife and eat it with a spoon. Nsima is like grits but thicker, and is usually rolled in the hand and dipped in the relish. As you can imagine, my hands were not always very clean, and a spoon worked well for me.
One of my treats on the road was a cup of tea in the early evening. I brought my camping kettle, and begged a place on someone’s fire each day. Fire is a daily chore in these villages, requiring someone to collect or purchase firewood. I appreciated the willingness to share such a precious commodity. How carelessly I plug in my kettle at home, unaware of the privilege.
From Ncheu, we travelled to Salima, a fishing district not far from Lake Malawi. We were greeted with laughter and smiles. We spent two days preaching, teaching, and worshipping. The first night, we walked to our host’s home. ‘Not far,’ she said. We walked in the pitch black, unable to see the path ahead of us. We passed through several small villages and still we walked. Our destination was a tiny village of seven mud huts. I ignored my dirty feet and my need for a toilet, and slept. Early in the morning, the village began to wake up. I went looking for the outhouse. This one had an open door pointing away from the village. It was raised up like a western toilet, but clearly it was meant for standing not sitting. I negotiated this new design in the early morning darkness. Later, our hosts told us that herds of wild elephants are an almost daily sight in this village. So, we did not walk at night again!
As we pulled out at 9 a.m on Monday morning, we passed a group of about 20 young men, gathered prematurely to drink the day away. I was struck by the thought that there will not be significant change in this area without significant prayer. Everywhere we went, young men loitered with nothing to do. What would the Lord want for them? Our churches are mostly women. How can we involve these men? What would it take? As we waited in Nkhata Bay, I watched and mourned the loss of a generation, aimless and hopeless, stone drunk at 4 p.m. Our church in Nkhata Bay is small and young. They meet in a primary school. We sat with the women and talked about witchcraft and fear, we shared how God has raised us from death with Christ, and seated us in heavenly places. In Christ, all fear is gone.
Think of the woman at the well, my favourite story to preach in Malawi. She came with fear, she came bound. ‘If you knew,’ says Jesus. ‘You would ask, and HE WOULD GIVE.’ That is the sequence, to know, to ask, to receive. But Jesus sent the woman to call her husband, knowing that she has been married 5 times, and was not married to her present lover. Why does he ask? He calls for truth telling to prepare the way for reception. Who are you really? What is the truth about your life?
Our next stop was Chilumba, right on Lake Malawi. We drove through mountains inhabited by baboons. We suddenly saw the lake stretched out below us, glorious in the sun. As soon as I jumped down from the truck, the children swarmed around me. Some touched my arms and ran away squealing. Some fought for the chance to hold my hand. Older children sat on the outskirts watching. I caught the eye of one 10 year old boy, and he smiled. It was as if God highlighted him in my heart. I watched for him when we came to worship. He was accused of stealing a water bottle, and scuffled with a senior pastor, and won. He would not let go. I prayed for him several times, and he warmed to me. On our last morning, just as we loaded into the truck, he came and I put my arm around him. I asked about his life. His mute father had died. His mother had refused to care for him. He lives with an uncle who drinks. As he told me his story, big tears rolled down his dirty cheeks. His name is Jonas. I loved him, and hugged him, and introduced him to the pastor, who turned out to be his cousin. I was able to leave a bit of money so that Jonas could buy books for school and soap to bathe.
While our team did laundry by Lake Malawi I managed to lose my glasses, so my vision was limited as we continued. I had my prescription sunglasses at least, but I could only see ‘through a glass darkly.’ It seems God had some things to teach me about seeing, a theme that recurs in my life. We stopped in Karonga for a quick service, and then stayed in a run down motel.
Surrounded by gorgeous mountains on the border of Tanzania, in the very north of Malawi, lies Chitipa. Many languages can be heard in this region, and not primarily Chichewa. It was like starting again, playing games with the children, teaching them songs, when I couldn’t understand a word they said. The wind whipped around us, and almost pulled my tent out of the hard ground. People gathered to watch the Jesus movie in Tumbuka. In the morning, I preached in Chichewa, translated into Chinyanja. I spent the in between times with some lovely girls, sharing songs, and laughing together.
And then we turned southward, and inched our way homeward. Overnight in Mzuzu, and then on to Mchinji, a small town on the Zambian border. Our baby church here began to meet in June. The women admitted that they all continue to practice witchcraft. The men stumbled around our meetings, drunk and enjoying the dancing. Sadness mingled with hope, as I thought about the seeds we planted, and the baby church held securely by the Father.
In the middle of Lilongwe is a very rural community and here we met with several churches who had waited all day to receive us. We were delayed on the journey, and the road we had intended to take was closed, so we arrived in the dark. After a quick bite of the now familiar rice and goat, our team set up the sound system and we gathered for worship. When we eventually lined up to sleep on our bamboo mat, we laughed like little girls about our circuitous journey.
With two more stops to go, I began to long for my bed and my family. We drove out to Dedza, and stayed in a pastor’s home. We managed to unload and settle in before dark, and I found my way to bed before the service was over. In the morning, I chatted with some old women gathered around a small fire of brush they had swept together. They complained of sore knees and backs. I encouraged them, and reminded them that Jesus is where they go. I prayed for them, and enjoyed their company. These are the small touches of grace.
Our final stop took us to Mpemba, Lilongwe, where we met up with many churches. Five women stood out. In fact, they shone. These are the women who have attended our Bible school. Sometimes I wonder about the fruitfulness of the Bible school, but these women bear testimony to its value. Their families are different. Their marriages are marked with grace, and intimacy. Their smiles are radiant. I was so encouraged. We stayed in a family home. The yard was home to goats, pigs, cows, and chickens, as well as several scruffy dogs. I had my own room, just big enough for a bed. With the last of my ipod battery, I found some quiet to pray and worship.
God blessed me abundantly when he opened the door for me to go on this outreach. I needed to step back from daily life on the base, and catch a broader view of the ministry. I needed to see differently, to listen and really hear. I saw bold leaders who are standing for Kingdom life in their marriages and family life. I saw generous giving, as those with very little gave for their leaders. I saw my friends, the wives of the commissioners and two overseers, gently guide me through life in a village. I saw my failure to really listen. I saw the harshness of my western need for independence. I saw the Kingdom through African eyes, not completely, but through a glass darkly.
