The next day we planned to over to the Bible school in Katungulu where Miranda and I have a couple pastor friends. To get there you have to cross a portion of Lake Victoria by ferry. Amos, the principle of the school, heard that we were visiting and called me and arranged to take us across in a taxi so we didn’t have to ride the bus. We are just people visiting the school, but out here the Africans treat you like a king. They roll out the red carpet wherever we go. It was very gracious of them. So we rode the ferry, which is a most relaxing and beautiful 40 minutes. Pictures never capture the beauty and experiences of traveling abroad, so we frequently resign to the phrase, “Well, that was just for us.” No one else can or will ever know, and even if we share, they’ll never be able to understand the situation.
Then a 30 minute taxi ride down a broken dirt road. It’s always a relief just to make it to your destination because the roads out here are unforgiving on vehicles.
Arriving in Katungulu is like arriving in a different time. Everything is slower, even for Africa. People are out working in their lush green fields. Cows are grazing in the watery marsh. Fishermen paddle by on wooden boats with makeshift sails.
We turn off the main road and onto a walking trail, still driving the small sedan taxi. As bounce down the trail to the family housing, Samweli, possibly my best friend in Africa aside from Peter, sees us from a distance. He drops everything and begins speed walking up to the car. Samweli, Samuel in English, is grinning from ear to ear and laughing. I’ve never seen him laughing so awkwardly and long. He just doesn’t stop laughing. We hug for a long time and I hold back tears. But he continues to laugh even as we greet others and sit at the table. I can see he’s laughing to counteract his body’s desire to cry. It’s not that they aren’t willing or able to cry, I just think they are so hardened from young children after seeing all the death and hurt. Life is just just tough, I imagine that they are just cried out by the time they are adolescents. Anyway, it was probably the single best moment of the trip. We are brothers.
Anna, his wife is pregnant with their sixth child. He’s a poor student and his very first question for me is, “Should we be done having children?” I had to laugh, he’s left me with the decision for them to continue to create little lives or be done. Wow. I tried to divert the question by saying it’s between him and God, but he wouldn’t let up. He said times are hard and he can’t afford more kids, plus moving and becoming a pastor is not exactly lucrative. I told him that it’s ok for him to be done if that’s what he and Anna want. Relief fell over his and Anna’s face. It was humorously and humbly unforgettable.
The children from all over were all around. They just run around and play. So content and happy with what we would consider nothing. If African’s in the village are considered poor, what are married college students with six children considered?
Samweli’s friends from all over campus joined us and we ate and had a great time conversing with my broken Swahili and their broken English. It was so deeply satisfying being a part of the lives of such humble and wonderful people.
At one point, I kept trying to say a word in Swahili. I asked in different ways and to different people. I even resorted to Kilangi with Anna, because she is fluent in Busi’s local language. But still no one knew. Finally, one of the students said, “In English.” I said, “That!” The student said, “Like that chair?” We all busted out laughing because they all knew the English word and I had been trying to say it in Swahili.
Eric and I spent so much of this trip laughing together. Like one time in Mwanza, we decided to eat at a Western restaurant, which is still worked and run by Africans. Eric was trying to order a salad with his meal. There were a couple salads on the menu, so he asked the waitress for the smallest, the Garden Salad. I told him that there all the same—just lettuce on a plate. On another table there was a salad and he pointed and asked if it was like that. She nodded. While he was ordering his entree, she asked, “What type of dressing would you like with your side salad?” He clarified that he already ordered the Garden Salad. She replied, “But all entrees come with a side salad.” Palm hits face. Thinking why didn’t you say that while I was deciding on a salad, he replied, “Ok, just bring that with white dressing and cancel my Garden Salad. After she left, we chuckled together…ok we laughed hysterically. When the food arrived, Eric looks down at the salad frustrated and asks, “Is this the Garden or the side salad?” I burst out laughing, “THEY’RE ALL THE SAME!! LETTUCE ON A PLATE!!” I guess you had to be there.
Anyway. Being at the school was a highlight. They took us out fishing. They tie a little fishing string on a stick with a tiny hook. Eric tried to get them to use a frog for bait but they just laughed. They used little fibers from plants and one person dug up a little worm, but it was just too windy to catch anything. Samweli Jr. dug a hole in the marsh and caught a small bullhead with his hands, but that was our only take. A couple of the boys gave up fishing and stripped down and took a swim.
After that they took us on a tour of the school. I’ve seen it a bunch, but it was great for Eric to experience an African Bible school. We ended up sleeping at the principal’s house after a long fiasco with our sleeping arrangements. We were willing to sleep anywhere, but they probably were trying to find “suitable” beds. It all worked out in the end.
The next day we rode motorcycles to the ferry and began our journey to Sumve.
We never met up with Peter, which was great, because both parties needed the rest.
So, we got on a dala-dala toward Kisesa where Peter lives. He met us at the stop and we gathered 3 motorcycle drivers, which was difficult because they were on a strike. They day before, a driver had been killed because of foul play. It’s quite a little drive back to his house on trails and through people’s yards.
Meeting Peter and his wife Ruthie was precious. They are wonderful people and we love their whole family very much. By the time we reached Peter’s it was afternoon and apparently, unknown to me, we were sleeping there. But hey, we roll with it.
Ruthie is running a kindergarten now. She has tons of students. It just started by her teaching her and he neighbor kids. They learned so well and were reading before primary school, so other people wanted their children to attend. Then she needed to get licensed and did. Then she got an assistant, and now it’s a real thing. There are pictures of it and a video of the students greeting in my pictures.
Speaking of not going according to plan. Sumve was fantastic.
The idea was to have seminars at the local church and they invite other churches to be apart of it. We’d mainly teach the leaders, and the congregation. But we found out that they had advertised it and set up for a crusade. Out here crusades are still popular. In fact, the night at Peter’s house there was a crusade going on nearby. And in the middle of our “crusade”, the house on the other side of the church began their own crusade, sound system and everything!
Peter had three friends from Nairobi come to help with the ministry. Two stayed the whole time, David Mwangi and Makokha (Mah-ko-ha), Susan left abruptly sometime.
All the men slept on the other side of the village in an unoccupied guesthouse. So, we had some good manly bonding times hanging out and getting ready. Its great to just do life with people of other cultures. It was a lot of late nights. Fortunately, we were able to sleep until 8am each day, so it wasn’t completely tiring. Last time, I had to get up at 6 everyday and just sit around. Funny thing, it was the Nairobian’s that pushed for the late wake up time. They already knew we’d be going late every evening and were preparing.
Also, for many of the meals they served us samaki (fish) from Lake Victoria. It is my favorite and they know it. It’s kind of a big deal. It’s soooo good. Eric was hesitant to try because it looks disgusting, like you just cut up a fish, head and guts and all, and threw it in a pot. But really it’s so delicious, and Eric agreed. That is definitely a highlight for me. I longed for it the whole time I’ve been in America, and it did not disappoint!
While we were in Sumve, Samweli texted and told me that Anna had their baby! It was a boy. I jokingly suggested they name it Matthew, but they really did. Now there’s a cute little African baby on the other side of the world named after me.
Eric and I spoke our teaching messages between choirs and delivered them more as sermons. Same content, just a little more vigor. Peter and David took turns translating for us. The congregation grew and shrunk during our time, nothing was consistent. Once I was told to end before 1pm and didn’t even start preaching until almost 3! Then someone preached after me and there were more choirs! Friday ended at a reasonable time and we had lunch in the middle of the day around 2pm. But Saturday AND Sunday went until 4 and 5pm with no breaks! We were outside and depending on the tarps overhead, we were more or less hot and sweaty.
Physically it was miserable and draining, but it was rewarding to be preaching and teaching the gospel to hungry people.
I spoke on topics like discipleship, what is worship, and eldership and the qualifications. Eric’s topics were what is the gospel, the priority of Scripture, and widows.
People responded very positively and the leadership loved it despite our lack of compliance to the “crusade” model of church. We definitely went against the culture of entertainment and loud boisterous preaching. David gave two altar calls, and despite our indifference to them, it was cool to see people responding to the gospel. Even many members of the choir were among those professing Christ. They were all ushered inside the church for exchange of information for proper follow up. Some even stayed for an extended time of counseling, although that’s up the Lord, because we have no idea what they are being told.
Each night we showed various Christian movies for the public. Every night several hundred people came. So the gospel was shared in multiple ways.
All in all, it was a success because we radically and boldly and blatantly preached the pure Gospel to hundreds of people.
The whole time I likened the trip to the Amazing Race with checkpoints we needed to reach. This is the last one, getting to the airport. Our wives emphasized our need to get home a million times. They watched over our families for 16 days while we were gone. They are the real heros in this story.
So, we prepared ahead of time that after church on Sunday we’d head straight out so we could get to Mwanza the night before and then wake up and head to the airport. Especially, because the dala-dalas quit driving at around 6pm. Little did we expect that the service would go until 4:30pm!! Of course everyone would want to shake hands and greet and hang out and then eat dinner. They had a hard time accepting that we needed to head out. So, we arranged a bunch of motorcycles, which turned into a fiasco because everyone wanted to help. But we ended up packing up and getting to the dala-dala on time. We had one last horribly packed crazy dala ride back to the main road, since Sumve is over an hour from the tar road.
Anyway, we said goodbye to all the people that we love and made it back to Mwanza. Eric stepped on a scorpion in the shower and we caught it and killed it.
Then we made it to the airport with no hitches and caught all four of our flights home! Yes, it was an incredibly long trip home.
What a beautiful relief it was to get off that last plane and see our smiling wives and eight jumping children there to greet us. Those were some good hugs.
