Julian writes: -

We are under ant attack.  A convoy of little soldiers marches along the lip of our rusty enamel bath intent upon a destination which will provide some moisture.  But the bathroom is really for them a secondary diversion, if not a tertiary, or whatever comes after that.  Any room will do but the primary target is definitely our dining table.  On previous occasion they feasted upon Ian Linton’s legs, but now they seem determined to run around in a demented manner, hoping to hide under anything that’s placed on the table, especially if there’s any moisture available.  So lift up your glass of juice and a small platoon of ants scatters, rest your arms on the table and our ticklish friends make human exploration their objective.  We seek to repel all borders with the arsenal of weapons available to us.  These are about as much use as the football team with the same name.  (Cheap shot – excuse the pun and apologies to Sam and Andy) We can’t remember the last time it rained, maybe about 3 months ago, and the sandy dust is whipped up by a north wind reminiscent of a well performing sauna.  So the battle with the mad insects is lost and they appear on every surface known to man.  Our only solution?  Beat a retreat to wintry England, where hoping for rain will not need to be high on the agenda.

We return to our “home” in mid-November grateful for so much, understanding so little but with changed hearts.  Massive thanks are due to all of you who have accompanied us on our journey, be it on the blog, or here in beautiful but devastating Angoche.  We could list the projects undertaken and what has been accomplished and think it would impress, but we haven’t been on this journey to make an impression.  Our gratitude for the funds sent, the prayers sent, the people sent, must be recorded here.  However, we can’t stop and say “we’ve arrived, we’ve done what we needed to do”.  We are grateful too for our lack of understanding which is enlightening.  Can we be confident as we nestle into our vulnerabilities?  Can we embrace our uneasiness and discomfort? Can we learn how not to accept the unacceptable?  Can we tell other people how they should live?  We invite you to explore these questions with us, but as we said before, don’t look for answers, but rather responses.

Our challenge – how do we continue a journey, not returning to the path of the very same point we left it at.  Your challenge maybe is the same as ours – not so much where is your journey taking you, but more significantly who is your journey about?

When we arrive we’ll try and unfold some of this stuff with friends and family.  We’ll undoubtedly be asked “Did you have a nice time in Angoche?”  Maybe some obscure answers like “the ants won” will be the best response.

Final words?  Thanks to Annie for more than surviving with me for the last 15 months.  I’ve taken you to some awful places, but you’ve done much more than endure.  Your prayers sown into the sand of the Koti people have born a fruit beyond measure.  You must be mad – thank goodness.

Annie - arrival

500 bags of food (funded by River)

Annie writes:

So how do you sum up so much in a few brief words?  Julian has documented much of our journey here, but I wanted to add my thoughts – perhaps not quite so eloquently, but I’ll give it a go.

I have had to share my testimony (in English and Portuguese) quite a few times over the last 18 months or so, in answer to the question “what are you doing and why are you doing it?”  It has become perhaps a bit of a cliché but I believe the truth is that my story is not just an “Annie-story” but a “God-story” and there is more to come.  I have been able to do some amazing things not because I am amazing – pretty ordinary in fact – but because God is amazing.  And to add to this, I can now say we have met some amazing people here too.  The truth is the same for them – because God found them and has led them on a journey too.  They are pretty remarkable and we both have the utmost admiration for them.  There is no doubt that life is very tough for them here.  If you have read just the odd snippet of this blog you will know what everyday life means for them and what a challenge it is just to survive from day to day. Of course they don’t know what it is like to live in the affluent West, so comparison is neither necessary nor helpful.  This is their “normality”, as your life is for you.  But in this “normality” of real poverty, through being with these great people, we have had a deep richness added to our lives.

We are not entirely clear what we will do with the blog as it is so connected to this part of our journey with the Koti.  We are planning a trip back to Moz next year and our friendships here will continue to draw us to Angoche in the future – even though it appears to be one of the most difficult places to get to on the planet!  If any of you want to join us on that trip, please get in touch.  Who knows?  It could be that in 2, 4, 6 years time, God is asking if you are prepared to come and walk with the Koti.

I think, I hope, we are changed people – but only time will tell how changed we are. The language is confusing but we know there is no way we can “go back”.  We have moved on; others, including those who we are closest to, have moved on too and so at least for a short time our paths have diverged.  The result is we are now in different places.  So how do we physically “go back” to the UK whilst at the same time continue our journey with some sense of forward momentum?  That perhaps is the challenge, both for others to realise and for us to negotiate. Where is home now?  Following two years in Lesotho, we considered we had two homes – there and the UK.  On that basis we now have three.  But we do believe that there are other “places to go, people to see”, as is the old adage, so we doubt it will remain at that number.  How? Where? When? – These questions have yet to be answered.  Our desire is to be shaped by the future so we will hold things loosely as we arrive in Maidenhead shortly, not settling down to “business as usual” but with our focus on the journey forward and the route to it.

I hope this is not too much of a cliché as well, but there is no way we could have done what we have done without you walking with us, too.  Thank you, thank you, and thank you again.  The support we have received through prayer, finances, kindness, interest, visits, emails, phone calls, texts – and more – has been wonderful, overwhelming and reduced us to tears at times.   (Sometimes tears of laughter as well as the other sort!)  Memories? – we have lots of them which we will try not to bore you with too much.  Yes, sufficient photos to produce many “missionary slide shows” time and time again.  You have permission to say “stop!” to us when we have shown you our beautiful sunset shot for the nth time.

At the risk of sounding like an acceptance speech at the Oscars, just one more thank you. This goes to you: Kathy, Christopher, Samuel and Hannah.  Normally it’s the kids who leave home, not the parents.  We hope that some of what we have “invested” in Mozambique will be part of an inheritance amongst the nations of the world that you will connect with, and will benefit from in the future.

Tamoli chidren and maize meal

River crossing

Arrival at Quelelene

Woman at the well

Leaders

Annie with Linda Harding

Hannah and Julian

English language students

Football shirts

 

In the last year or so the simple task of getting a haircut has caused an unerring increase in the rapidity of my heartbeat. When letting someone loose on your mop without a good degree of fluency with their language you have to be pretty philosophical, the bottom line being “it will always grow again”.

Experiences in the last 15 months have included a haircut duet with Chris Jones in Maia shopping mall in Porto, where we thought going in pairs for safety was a good move. In what can only be described as an “express hairdressers” two black clad ladies swooped down, practiced their broken English on us whilst joking with each other in Portuguese and whizzed around with the scissors and clippers. The interesting finale was that they washed our hair afterwards and packed us off in about 15 minutes. Annie and Elaine had gone for a quiet coffee and were disappointed by our early return; I think they were still waiting for the coffees to cool to a drinkable temperature.

Typical Porto Street

A further Portuguese experience involved a very quiet traditional barbers shop on an old street in Porto. By this time 11 weeks of language study had lifted my language skills to almost staggering levels, as long as the conversation followed the pattern “Where do you live? How many children do you have? Why are you in Portugal?”  The young barber wore a classic white singlet with an assortment of suitable implements in the pockets and had greased hair on top of a swarthy thin face with “designer stubble”. The spectacle was watched by an old man in a brown coat who seemed to be there to sweep up the debris. So conversation was enjoined with the young barber repeating to the old man his interpretation of my broken Portuguese. He kindly kept to safe territory so my vocabulary was not embarrassed too much.  When the news broke that tomorrow I was off to Mozambique to try out my language skills on the Africans there was a short period of concerned conversation between my helpers. The barber did an extremely thorough job, removing hair with specialist implements from various orifices with little prior explanation apart from a brief gesture. I came away happy with the result, and pleased with my lengthy Portuguese conversational skills.

Next follows what I would describe as the Missionary Cut. We have some good friends who live close to Nelspruit which is the nearest South African town to Mozambique. Every 3 months we have had to leave Mozambique as we have 90 day multi-entry visas which are valid until December. So after a trip which involves 4 hours in the Landrover to Nampula, a flight down to Beira and then another further south to the capital Maputo we take a double-decker bus across the border on a 5 hour run to down-town Nelspruit. The border crossing is chaotic and confusing and it takes about an hour to get stamped out of Mozambique and stamped into South Africa. Our friend Cathy who works as a home delivery midwife and also works at the Africa School of Missions  picks us up and negotiates her way out of town through all the major roadworks, inspired by the forthcoming 2010 World Cup in South Africa. We arrive at the Mercy Air base where Cathy and her husband Paul live, driving down next to the air-strip to reach a cluster of hangers and houses perched on an outcrop set amongst a beautiful landscape.

Mercy air

Paul flies for Mercy Air and is also an outdoor pursuits expert and we first met them when we lived in Lesotho from 1994 to 96. Their son Matthew is the same age as our son Christopher and they soon became best mates at school.  Cathy used to cut my hair on the veranda of their house in Maseru and having enjoyed cooking in a black plastic dustbin liner I presented her with a pukka hair dressing cape. We’d always have a nice chat and it was a great way to catch up. So the trip to Mercy Air (or is that Mercy Hair?) had to involve the obligatory hair cut under the well travelled hair dressing cape. Comments about how my hair had changed in the last 12 years included “It’s gone quite grey hasn’t it?” and other observations using vocabulary like “receding”.  Anyway I’m very grateful for their friendship, willingness to poke fun at me, and their commitment to Africa serving in such a professional and caring manner.

Cathy and Paul

The last hairdressing experience and obviously most recent involves my first ever haircut by an African. Was this fool-hardy you may be asking yourself, as we are part of a community of 4 white people and have unusually straight hair (from an African perspective). The hairdressers’ is definitely a colonial hang over that looks very out of place in the regular Angoche context. It has two large barbers’ chairs, perched on chrome pedestals and upholstered in marbled red plastic. The foot rest is missing so it’s necessary to rest your feet on the obsolete projecting spokes. The cape comprises a small apron in a bright printed fabric, and the equipment a large pair of drapers’ scissors with tortoise-shell plastic handles, showing a certain amount of corrosion on the blades. My preferred option would have been the clippers but the skilled operator of this equipment has not shown up for the last 3 days, so my young hairdresser insists that the scissor look will look “bonita”.

The 'salon'

After being sprayed with water from an old window cleaning fluid bottle, a small white plastic comb is employed with the scissors to produce what can be described as a “single step effect”. This is achieved with a very slow “sniiiiiip” following a line just above the ears. Negotiation around the ears proves to be problematic with such a large pair of scissors and amusement turns to trepidation as my left ear suffers injury, only arrested by a yelp of pain. This is all taken in young Giselle’s stride as she produces cotton wool and bright orange Savlon antiseptic fluid to clean the wound, allowing me to assist by holding the bottle whilst she dabs away saying “sorri, sorri”. All of this might not seem too wayward, but there is another factor you have to be aware of.  The hairdressers’ has a large front window and is located in one of the busier streets of Angoche. The exceptional sight of a “branco” having his hair cut in the large chair close to the front window attracts undue interest in the populace. In quick succession three of my friends appear at the open door and seem to find the whole episode extremely entertaining. They exchange some concerned frowns and converse with Giselle in a certain degree of amusement. As the event draws to a close they kindly wait outside for a chat, and when it comes to pay I have to nip out to ask Pimo for some change to my 100 meticais note. As I shake off the redundant hair Giselle stands back to admire her handiwork waving her scissors and proclaims a satisfied “bonita”. My cap proves to be particularly useful today as I walk home for Annie’s verdict.

Giselle

So maybe you’d like to know how much these haircuts cost?

• Portuguese barbershop -  the best cut and cost £8 including all orifices
• Mercy Hair – a bottle of South African red wine, shared over dinner
• Giselle – 30 pence and a sore ear

Latest news! The local American Peace Corp have offered to come to the rescue. Our two friends Erin and Alexi have inspected the damage and the Iowa and Chicago Joint Venture are confident they can make some swift and adept modifications which will derive some improvement, so watch this space.

Bad haircut 1

Bad haircut 2

In Moçambique, one of the largest countries in Africa, there is a small town in Distrito de Angoche called Luaze. It sits on the main road between the larger towns of Nametil and Nametoria and every Saturday there is a market in the centre of town. You can buy fruit and vegetables which are in season, household goods, second-hand clothes, locally made furniture, meat and even bicycles!

This story is about a small goat called Borrão who grew up in a village outside Luaze called Napacala. As he grew up his father, a wise old goat, noticed that he was different from the other young goats. It wasn’t his colour, or his size, it was his character. Normally young goats are quite excitable and “jumpy” seeming to have springs in their feet. They are also very unreliable. If they hear a sudden loud noise they will bound off in an unexpected direction, sometimes straight towards the danger. If they are supposed to be cleaning themselves they will be found poking around in a pile of rubbish, looking for something to chew upon.

But this particular goat was not like the others. He was a very trustworthy animal and not easily frightened. All his friends would jump first and think second, but he seemed to be more thoughtful and would consider his options first. Also he was not at all frightened of humans; in fact he became good friends with his owner. As he was growing up he could often be found standing close to his owner and when he came out of his hut in the morning Borrão would try to accompany him wherever he went.  He even went to school some days. The teacher wouldn’t allow him in the classroom, but he would creep in anyway and hide under a desk where he could catch a glimpse of the blackboard. As a consequence of this unusual behaviour Borrão learnt many things about humans. For one thing he realised they were quite silly, thinking that goats couldn’t understand what they said. One day this proved to be extremely useful. His owner was asked the question by his wife “What would you like for supper this evening?”  To Borrão’s horror his owner replied in a somewhat casual manner “I think it’s about time we had some young goat!”  This didn’t come as a complete surprise to our small friend. He’d noticed that his older cousins had disappeared before they became very old. A small bag recently appeared being carried by his owner’s wife, made from what looked like his second cousin. He used to have a very distinctive white splodge on his back. The new bag had the very same splodge.

He realised after some careful thought that one day he might end up in the cooking pot! But how could he stay out of danger? The only thing the owner seemed to care about was his old black shiny bicycle. He would clean it every day, buy oil for the chain and always keep it locked up safely. This made our little goat think ……… and then an idea came to him!

The next day his owner got his bicycle out our Borrão climbed up and sat on the saddle. This made the owner laugh and he said to Borrão “OK so do you want to come with me?”  He was not really expecting an answer but to his amazement he thought he saw the goat smile and then give a small nod! So the goat sat on the crossbar, with his hooves on the handlebars and off they went. Unfortunately the bike was old and the brakes were worn out, but when he needed to slow down to his increasing amazement Borrão put his hooves on the rim to help! They soon became a regular feature on the track to Luaze. Borrão had particularly good eyesight so if there was danger ahead like a large hole in the road he would let out a warning bleat. When overtaking other bicycles the goat would nod politely and when they arrived at the market he would carefully guard the bicycle, to stop people stealing anything from it. The owner began to enjoy the goat’s company on his bicycle rides and they soon became quite renowned throughout Distrito de Angoche.

temporary photo until Julian snaps the genuine article!

So the goat managed to survive to an old age, when he became too tough to eat. His owner grew a small grey beard called a “goatee” so they looked like a pair of goats on a bicycle. Maybe if you get the chance to visit Luaze one day you’ll see them and Borrão will undoubtedly give you a polite nod as you pass by.

What is the moral of this story? Maybe it’s simply “don’t just go with the crowd, you may end up in a cooking pot!” and it also maybe worth being a little more careful about what you say in front of goats and other small animals, they may well understand what you are saying.

(You might like to read Luke 13 v 22 – 30 in The Message)

This last weekend has seen a rash of “Festas” – the Portuguese word for party. The reasons to party have been quite diverse and unconnected but we enjoyed what all the different occasions had to offer.

To give you a little idea of the range, at one end of the spectrum we ate charcoal grilled chicken and chips followed by crème caramel, all washed down with a can of genuine Sprite! The other end? You really want to know? The staple rice and beans accompanied by the intestines of an unfortunate goat and a splodge of guewy “shema” which is eaten without the aid of cutlery and is dipped in an oily sauce of dubious origin. This was accompanied by a traditional glass bottle of Fanta orange, opened with the aid of someone’s teeth.

The first event was a “Welcome to Angoche” celebration for the father of one of the American teachers based here with the Peace Corps in town. Some traditional singing from an all male group batting small pieces of wood together for rhythm opened the entertainment. They wore light blue shirts and dark blue trousers – maybe handed down by a failed chain of exhaust centres? The two lead “singers” would ascend to unreachable notes that were slightly different from each other and then the rest of the chorus would seek to repeat the attempt.

If one singer wasn’t playing his part properly then the leader would march up to him and tick him off! This was followed by an admittedly more endearing ladies choir dressed traditionally in bright capalanas and accompanied by a range of drums. They even got Annie out there dancing with them with a big smile on her face so they must have been good! This was followed by a small drama performed by students of the local secondary school. The young people started by disappearing into the undergrowth to locate suitable props and then performed a short history of Mozambique. This was a distillation of colonial rule, slavery, the fight for freedom and then a celebration of democracy. It was a challenging mix of amateur dramatics, self-conscious laughter and a poignant message, especially sitting there watching as a Brit from one of the big colonial “powers” in Africa. I felt a weird mixture of ashamed of the story and amused at the histrionics – all at the same time.

The next Festa to celebrate some of the young girls in Tarikhi Ya Haakhi coming of age coincided with the annual Angoche 50cc motorbike race. In traditional culture this “coming of age” event often includes what can only be described as some very unpleasant practices. So the parents of TYH wanted a celebration in a whole different vein which acts as a rite of passage for their daughters. The whole thing worked to Africa time as the motor bike race seemed to take precedent with what seemed all of Angoche gathering in the main street outside the TYH centre to watch the racers. Any vantage point was taken, including the rooftops of the flats which line the road. The main drag down into town was really quite suitable for the 50 racers as it’s as wide as a dual carriageway and is about 1 km long. At the bottom the route turned off past the Police Station and then down to the Naval Station to rejoin the main drag right next to the sea. Key changes in direction were marked by haphazard white spray paint.

Literally thousands of people gathered to enjoy the spectacle. First prize was a new motorbike accompanied by a large gold plastic cup with two silver plastic footballers positioned each side. It was soon clear that some of the bikes had seen better days, but their riders used the slower pace to demonstrate some creative riding positions to entertain the spectators. The leaders laid on their bikes in a horizontal prone position to minimise wind resistance looking like surf boards on wheels. The two local mechanics came first and second and we think only one serious accident occurred when “they thought it was all over” and the crowd started to cross the road. We know one lady was taken to hospital but we don’t know the outcome. 

Crowd at the bike race

Bike crowd with Ali waving

So the delayed “coming of age” Festa kicked into gear and for me the high-light had to be a drama performed by some of the lads. Kabila and Jose took the part of somewhat errant young ladies, dressed in drag using coconut shells for the obvious components, covered by a couple of dresses we recognised as being second-hand apparel from the UK. Very fetching and worryingly realistic! Loi staggered in as an old man with a walking stick, trying to admonish his wayward children. His specialty seems to be drunks and old men with quivering limbs which he performs exceptionally well. Alito having donned my fake Ray Bans performed the role of the miscreant young man trying to lure the ladies into disaster. I’m not completely sure who was leading who and into what, but it was all very amusing until the tragic death of the leading lady, verified by a white clad “doctor” using a computer mouse as a stethoscope.

The regular beans and rice meal was provided on bendy plastic plates for maybe 100 people, all from a charcoal fire arranged at the back of the building.

The final Festa? A celebration of the celebration with the supporting cast and leading actors from last night at the proms. This was a thank-you laid on by Xavier to those who had helped make the previous days’ event happen. A 15 minute ride in the back of an old Nissan pick-up took us out to part of the sprawl of shacks that form what is known as Cellula 5. Some mats were laid out under mango trees between two huts, water was brought for hand washing and a Fanta lunch provided. As the meal finished the thespians started some singing and soon a crowd formed, following the rhythm, picking up the words and laughing at one anothers’ antics.  A short drama followed, this time the leading light had everything a man could want (this comprised a number of mobile phones and two wallets) but did not help the poor man who came for assistance. Both characters suffered a demise but apparently went to different destinatios. However this wasn’t the most significant part of the day as far as I was concerned.

Alex drama

As we had sat down on our mats before lunch a mum in her mid-thirties brought out her daughter (about 8 years old) and arranged a mat for her to sit on, under one of the nearby mango trees. She then tied her daughters ankle to a rope made from dirty black cloth which was attached to one of the tree roots. She gave her some cassava (a root vegetable) to chew on and an aluminium cup of water. Nilsa subsequently took her a plate of beans and rice and Sergio a bottle of Fanta which evoked large smiles in our direction. This disconcerting arrangement prompted some questions and we ascertained that the girl had recently succumbed to cerebral malaria. This has left her disoriented so that she keeps wandering off and not returning. The door to her hut was a simple cloth and whilst Mum was going about the normal struggle for life, fetching water, lighting a fire or washing clothes then her daughter had to be restrained. The girl would fiddle with the cloth knot but only with one hand on not in any earnest attempt to free herself. I found myself asking the question “What does the future hold for her?” as it is unlikely a medical cure will be a possibility for this young girl. We gathered around and prayed for her in a way that was both forceful and peaceful. We expect that others will return to pray again and we hope for a God answer to her predicament.

We watched the movie “Forrest Gump” on our lap top on Sunday night and his mothers words “Forrest, all we have to do is to do the best with what God gives us” still ring in my ears. The little girl’s quiet smile and bright eyes will stay with me, hopefully as a beacon which demands that I “do the best” with what God has so generously given me. She doesn’t deserve or demand any less.

We have enjoyed the delights of what I believe to be the world’s first self-tanning shower. The rusty red water has not only stained our vintage enamel bath but has also left us a slightly unusual orangey colour. Well this was the position last year but now some work has been undertaken by the water authority and it’s lost the colour but now has taken on a slightly oily sheen, maybe this is a moisturising lotion?

Would we recommend drinking this stuff? As a local yes, but only after boiling, as a lilly-livered Brit it needs a little more treatment. So what’s the solution? There follows a simple step-by-step guide to safe drinking water in Angoche.

One
First collect water from a nearby well (they use a tatty rope and a yellow vegetable oil container to collect the “água” from the depths. This is transported in an oversized pink 20 litre bucket on Assane’s head. Five bucket loads cost 25 pence.

Two
Transfer the 5 bucket loads into a large grey water butt located in our kitchen which has a drainage tap located at the bottom. Let the water settle and then…….

Three
Light a small charcoal “fogo” outside the back door using cardboard recycled from packaging, decant some water from the butt and boil for about 5 minutes in a large stainless steel pan. Allow to cool and then ……..

Four
Transfer into a smaller yellow 10 litre bucket, allowing the sediment and grit to settle then…..

Five
Filter using a ceramic filter to ensure that the grit doesn’t get consumed.

Variations on the above would be to filter and then boil and also to add some bleach. Not adopted by us yet!

Other alternatives……. you can buy bottled spring water but the helpful Portuguese doctor in Nampula during one of our attempts to seek medical assistance shook her head from side to side in a “little children should know better” manner whilst making a clucking chicken noise when we made this suggestion.

Water is such a vital resource in Angoche and many of the inhabited islands do not have potable water available. Islands like Jovane rely on a 45 minute boat trip for their drinking water. Some island well water is available from a shallow pit, dug as deep as possible down to an underlying rock strata. The water is salty and is not clean looking, but gets used for washing.

From first hand experience we know that clean water is fundamental to good health and in such hot conditions keeping properly hydrated is a massive challenge. So during the hotter months a regular string of people will call in asking “água faz favor”. All of this makes some of the biblical accounts come to life, moaning Israelites in the wilderness being provided water from a large rock, and encounters with Jesus at the well which lead to discussion about living waters.

It’s sobering to note that so many people died here last year due to cholera, a water-borne disease that can be mitigated by the provision of clean water. We received first-hand reports of hundreds of people dying each week. Even with the best resources available finding good water in some of these locations is impossible, so education and employment are such important factors which can contribute to good health. Being here we’ve been able to make a small dent in addressing these issues, but maybe more significantly we now have such a better understanding of what it means to be without fresh water.

And maybe there is a spiritual lesson that can be drawn from this – we do need to draw from a pure source every day, and also help those who do not have access to clean supply to find living water that will transform their lives. This means that, using the words of Jesus “Anyone who drinks the water I give will never thirst—not ever.”

We were sitting in our front room on our uncomfortable wicker chains with squishy cushions that need constant rearrangement to provide any degree of padding. As we have both lost weight we can’t rely on the traditional layers of blubber. So we are chatting through some practical stuff with one of the leaders called Inacio when I hear a squeak at the door.

It wasn’t a rusty hinge (I use vegetable oil on those – OK because that’s what’s in the cupboard and available) and it wasn’t a rodent of any description. On this occasion a thin little girl about 0.75m tall was perched on the first step up to our front porch. She had a lovely shy smile on her face, a podgy baby on her back and a piece of school exercise paper in her hand.

I welcomed her into the shade of our porch, and got her a drink of water. This little girl was impressive, the first thing she did was to give the baby some water, having slid him into an accessible position on her hip. She then gulped down the rest of the water whilst we read the note.

Now here’s the story. This little girl was the grand-daughter of Mama Rosa, a crippled lady who gets pushed around town on a modified tricycle frame with a hand-powered pedal arrangement intended to drive the front wheel. This doesn’t work for a couple of reasons: firstly there is no chain and secondly the front tyre is completely worn out and is held on by pieces strategically placed blue polypropylene rope (probably recovered from an old fishing net). Rosa lives on the track out to Praia Nova about 15 minutes walk from us. She hasn’t got the use of her legs so when she decants from the tricycle she shuffles along on the ground. I find this particular sight too painful to watch, but she’ll shout a greeting so I have to look at her plight and respond in a friendly unashamed manner. Rosa’s partner is no longer on the scene (I don’t know the story behind that one) and she looks after four of her smaller children. Last week her daughter died, leaving a further four children to be cared for by Rosa. The note asked for food as the children were crying due to hunger. Our friends Ian and Liz from the UK have met Rosa, they helped put electricity in her house, and the photo tries to capture some of the new installation which wouldn’t pass IEE wiring regulations in England. This made a real difference in her ability to look after the children and saves her money each month as electricity is cheaper than the traditional alternatives. But it seems like three steps forward and one back!

The new pay-as-you-go meter and light

The hallway

We sent the small girl home, bouncing baby on the back with a papaya and some peanuts in a plastic bag. I then went up to the market in the Landrover and bought a 50kg bag of maize meal for £10 and with our friend Assane carrying the large bag on his head from the vehicle we delivered it into her house.  Rosa lives halfway up a hill, not exactly ideal, but scrambled down to shout her thanks with a grateful smile on her face.

All this helps me put my complicated life into context. Dr Luke records the words of Jesus to his followers “don’t worry about tomorrow, today has got enough cares of it’s own”  but I think that I shouldn’t even be worrying about today. So again gratitude breaks into our hearts for what we have and for people like Rosa who live in greater pain and simplicity than we will ever endure but do it with a faith, dignity, patience and grace that is difficult to equal.

I hope the image of that small girl, baby on her back, note in hand and shy smile on her face will endure in my memory and influence my choices and thinking. But maybe that’s just a pipe dream and the challenges of life back in the UK will wash away some of the dirt that has stuck to me here in Angoche, but I hope not.

Rosa cooking peanuts and cabbage

Annie and the Rosa tribe

1. INTRODUCTION

This brief report summarises

• what was accomplished in the 2008/9 season
• what has been arranged for the 2009/10 season
• what is planned for 2010/2011

2. WHAT WAS ACCOMPLISHED IN 2009

2.1 Finances

The project received donations from New Zealand, Japan and the United Kingdom. The overall sum received as at the end of August 2009 was £7,494.40.

The actual expenditure in the 2008/9 season totalled £3,494.30 against a budget of £4,141.58. Funds available as at 1^st September for the 2009/10 season are £4,000.10

2.2 Machamba Lessons Learnt

We held a Lessons Learnt meeting with representatives from the Machamba and TYH leadership. In the light of these lessons we have introduced the following improvements for 2009/10:

• We will purchase one more roll of plastic for the roofs and it will be from a thicker material
• Houses will be surveyed and brought back into good order
• Liwe will act as manager/co-ordinator and will remain on site until the 2010 harvest is completed. We have met with him and agreed his roles and responsibilities. He will keep weekly records including weather data, workers on site, what has been undertaken during the week and any problems.
• A weekly meeting will be held on site to pray and worship and to share any good news or problems from the week
• Liwe will meet with the “Secretario” for the land every day
• Security will be introduced from the start of the next phase of the project
• Cleaning the land will be done in September, in advance of the first rains
• A 2009/10 start-up meeting was held with all the workers to communicate to everyone project policy and plans. We made it very clear that the project will have to be self-sufficient in 2010/11.

Elaine Jones and some of the Machamba team	The first bag of rice back in Angoche
Maize during the growing season in May '09	The team prepare to leave having completed the harvest

Generally there has been good feedback from the first year, and useful lessons have been learnt. 27 out of the 30 available plots were cultivated and yielded about 140 x 50kg of rice, maize and beans with a sales value of about £1,500. The produce was distributed amongst families in 5 Koti villages, with a tenth given away to needy families not involved with the project.

3. WHAT IS ARRANGED FOR 2009/2010

• We anticipate a bigger harvest in 2010/11 as we will be planting earlier and hope to catch some good rainfall.
• The team of workers will remain the same, except that 3 further families will take up the 3 spare plots not cultivated last year.
• Better records will be kept on site and security will be improved.
• Clearing will be undertaken in September and planting in October (subject to the rains)
• Harvest of the maize crop will be between March and May 2010 based upon a 5 month growing period.
• Peanuts will be harvested after 6 months
• Rice will be planted in February and harvested in June.
• A Machamba account has been opened at the BIM in Angoche and will be administered by TYH leadership.
• Some of the receipts from sales will be re-invested into the project to buy seeds and provide transport for 2010/11
• A tenth of all the produce will be distributed to needy families
• Workers will be responsible for the ongoing maintenance of their houses.

4. WHAT IS PLANNED FOR 2010/11

It is anticipated that the 2009/10 harvest will produce sufficient funds to increase the number of families based on site. There should be a balance of funds available from the original funding, but otherwise the project will need to be self-supporting.

In addition we would like to secure a vegetable growing plot near a water-course closer to Angoche. We would then install a drip-feed irrigation system to produce year-round produce. Land needs to be identified, a budget put together and funds secured for this to happen.

Julian Bullen

Angoche, Mozambique – September 2009

julian@bullens365.co.uk

A few people have made an amazing investment into the lives of the Koti people. Their contributions have been essential to the retention and development of Koti culture. One vital ingredient is language, and for about 12 years Chris and Ada Lyndon gave themselves to the task of putting the Koti language down on paper. Their anthropological and linguistic skills put alongside a tremendous love for the Koti people resulted in more than just the first ever Koti dictionary, written grammar, literacy manual and books of the Bible: lives were transformed, and a people group proudly proclaimed the arrival of their own literature. For the first time they could write to each other in Koti, make a list of things they needed to buy and read in their own language.

The Lyndon Family (click for fullsize image)

When we first arrived in Angoche last November the first Bible books had been published and were being dedicated at ceremonies in Angoche and on the islands. Chris was able to travel back to Angoche for these events with his children Stephen and Rebekah but unfortunately Ada was not able to come as she battled with cancer in England. It was with great sadness we received news last week that Ada had lost her particular battle with an aggressive cancer. We wish to record here our profound gratitude for the Lyndon family. I only met them once in Sutton Coldfield during July 2009 prior to the illness and wish we could have had the opportunity to know Ada better. Maybe you can determine a person’s character by their friends? If so then we can be assured that this was an amazing woman of love, integrity and academic accomplishment and she will be sorely missed. We are privileged to walk in her footsteps, along the same dusty streets, and take the same boats across to the beautiful islands. They generously helped us set up home here in Angoche, allowing us to take the benefit of some of the bare essentials like a water drum, gas ring and twin tub. Since April we have been using their Landrover to make our monthly 3 hour shopping runs to Nampula.

We are humbled by the investment that they made amongst the Koti people and know that it will be more profound then they can ever imagine.

Elaine with the ladies from the Machamba project Shocks/Challenges/Worst Moments:

The end of July saw the arrival of our wonderful friends, Chris and Elaine. Their visit was awaited with some fear and trepidation on both sides.  Over the last 6 or 7 years, we have spent many holidays together (they are very long-suffering!) with our many children and a few add-ons, so it was not the thought of being in very close proximity for the next 3 weeks that was the anxiety factor – well, no more than usual.  The reason was that they have never been to Africa before – indeed any two-thirds world context – let alone one as remote and poor as Angoche.  When we were arranging the trip, our little town appeared to us to be the hottest place on the planet (of course it wasn’t) and we were aware that Elaine was not fond of much sun and heat!  The journey to get there is somewhat lengthy and “bitty”.  All in all, probably not the most endearing of places to someone who once said – and I quote

“I did not want to go anywhere close to the equator, to Africa at all, and nowhere where it’s hot, there’s poor sanitation and dusty roads, or ridden with insects – I hated the idea of that.” (More of that quote from Chris later on….)

A quick stop on the road to Angoche

In fact by the time of their visit, the weather was much more pleasant – even a little chilly for us as we have adapted to the climate, but poor sanitation, dusty roads, insects – we can tick those boxes all the year round.   Chris and Elaine finally arrived at the airport just as the sun was setting: they had to wait a further 48 hours for their luggage to join them. We bundled them into the Land Rover and drove off into the dimness of the poorly-lit, busy streets of Nampula.  Security is an issue in the city (not so much out in Angoche) so as we approached a multitude of locals milling around the edges of the road – and into it as well – Julian instructed us to lock our doors.  This is relatively familiar territory to us, but for Chris and Elaine, who in the darkness had no idea that this was just people buying their veg on the way home from work from the many stalls at the side of the road, it was a challenging induction into life here as they thought we were driving into the centre of a riot.

Their 3 week trip consisted of 1 night on an aeroplane, 4 nights at the Wycliffe base in Nampula, 5 nights in Angoche, 1 night in Maputo, 2 nights at Mercy Air in White River, 8 nights in Hazyview and 1 final night in Johannesburg – the second half of the time being our holiday and also fulfilling our visa requirements of exiting Mozambique every 90 days.

Towards the end of the time we talked about how they had found the trip – highlights, lowlights, amusing anecdotes etc.    So below is some of the feedback:

C and E:  Coming out of the airport in the dark on the first night.

C:  The snapshot pictures captured in my brain of beggars and poor people in the street – the questions of how to deal with them and then live with whatever response I made or didn’t make

E:  Hearing of the alleged moral corruption in the schools, no roof on the primary school, 150 kids per class in a small tin roofed shack currently part of a secondary school.

C: Realising not just how poor people are but how “rich” we are in comparison, and yet how much we waste – I didn’t realise how much stuff I had that I didn’t really need  until I had to live without our luggage for 2 days – all I really needed was a pair of sandals, shirts and shorts. (Editor’s comment – what about underwear?) Losing the luggage was not really a problem, more just a part of the adventure.

E:  The kids on Tamole (island-type community) in the middle of their winter wearing just thin, ragged clothes – if they had any on at all.

C:  Rubbish at the end of the street. (In Nampula particularly there are piles of rubbish at the end of many streets.)

E:  The constant stream of people arriving at our (J&A’s) door – appreciating the difficulties for us of having people coming to the door asking for money, food etc  – my thoughts/western cynicism that they’re on the take etc.  The challenge to us as to whether we really give without wanting anything back.  How can we develop a generous spirit?

E:  The apparently random chaos of crossing the border between Moz and SA on the road from Maputo to Nelspruit

Funniest Moment:

E:  Annie’s question at one meal time in South Africa:  “Julian, why don’t you have a “Ladies Rump?”

Julian trying to get some coconuts

Highlights:

C: I enjoyed being with really poor people, why?  I don’t know, but I did.

E: Helping Julian with preparing some of the scripture work sheets for Luke, being able to contribute a little bit and maybe being able to pick that up at home.  (Chris said: – I hated that!  I was terrible at that!)

C:  Fixing Ali’s crutches and giving Silva his tee shirt (thanks Alex, Rob and Sharon), meeting the ladies from the Machamba, going to Tamole, praying with the people of Tamole, laughing with the leaders at the training meeting whilst taking their photos.

E: Felt at home and comfortable in Angoche, (but less secure in Nampula and Joburg).

C: In South Africa I loved the animals, the elephants, meeting the elephants, the golf – gutted that I didn’t improve massively.  I found Creation connecting me to God in a new and different way.

E:  Being with you guys (we’re paying her later)

C:  Swanning about in posh hotels in Maputo, being together and having a laugh – eating and drinking and sharing the life.  Good, regular poos!  (I’m reticent to add that comment, but it’s what the man said and such things are what all good missionaries seem to spend most of their time talking about….)

Silva with his new shirt (shame about the team!)

The final words are from Chris:

(This is the full quote that I began earlier):

I used to say “I do not want to go anywhere close to the equator, to Africa at all, and nowhere where it’s hot, there’s poor sanitation and dusty roads, or ridden with insects – I hated the idea of that. And unfortunately, I was only 100% wrong!  I enjoyed being in Moz with nothing.

I would say to anybody, whatever you think, it’s possible you could have your view changed 180 degrees; you could be totally missing out……

To Chris and Elaine:
Thank you for taking this step of faith to come and be a part of our Koti Journey.  As we are back in Nampula today, we seem to rattle a little more around our house at SIL (the first one), the numerous car part shops have gone back to being boring, and there is no one here at 5pm to remind us to take the malaria prophylactics.  We miss you.  Thanks again…..

On the way to the meeting on Tamole island (Sun 6.30am)

Vitor's boat on Tamole island

When I went to school a very long time ago in the last century the “3 R’s” were all the thing, buy hey they certainly couldn’t spell ….. Reading, Writing and Arithmetic? I loved school and did no work, but I think with that comes another R which is regret …. The classic report commented “could do better!” (sorry Mum).

Here in Angoche I’ve been thinking about a different “3 R’s” ……………….

Reflections
We’ve seen some beautiful reflections here in Angoche like the reflection of the sun transforming the channel between the islands into a shimmering silver carpet that is so bright you can’t really look at it directly. At the main beach the expanse of water as it slides up the flat beach creates a mirror effect so that you can see the clouds overhead reflected in the glass-like water.

The cooking team at Mahula

Other reflections are of a less esoteric nature, not so obscure and much more in your face. People living here face different challenges which seem to draw out at times the best and others the worst. We have seen people endure much pain and suffering, whilst living in conditions which evoke more questions than answers. In such a tough climate that ranges from 24 hour cyclones to blistering heat and humidity the accommodation is so inappropriately fragile. Even our robust Portuguese built house betrays an inability to be impervious to the elements. In the nearby Bairro of Puli you can see many vacant plots of land which were until last February’s cyclone occupied by timber and mud shacks.

The main secondary school which was completely refurbished earlier in the year remains vacant, sitting in pristine condition like a proud and beautiful lady trying to delay the attrition which future years will bring. Hundreds of children having been walking to a temporary school 3 km out of town, packed into classes of up to 150 where teaching becomes crowd management and excellence is measured not by marks in a book but by pure staying power.

Secondary School

The hospital provides an over-run resource seeking to meet all the medical needs of a local population of 65,000 souls. Prescribed medicines are very often not available and treatment options’ being described as “limited” is what we might describe as understatement. The figures tell their own story, with 50% of children not living beyond 5 years old and life expectancy not exceeding 40 years by most available estimates. The following brief account encapsulates so much of this tragedy.

One of our new friends was due to be married this weekend, and his wife-to-be was expecting a child last week. During the previous year our friends 29 year daughter died from malaria leaving two grandchildren behind, another child drowned in the sea, and a new born baby died after only a couple of hours. Whilst taking a break in Pemba to see Hannah we heard that the latest child had been born, but again only lived a few hours. How do you survive such an avalanche of pain?

Reactions
So my reactions to the story are difficult to describe. Am I angry, well yes. Am I critical, painfully so. Am I sad, my heart aches. Am I ashamed, unashamedly. Am I determined, yep. Do I believe in God less, no. Am I both humbled and confused, undoubtedly! I find myself unusually unable to come to conclusions and somehow find this refreshingly and disconcertingly healthy. In a letter to The Times newspaper I’d have to sign myself “Confused of Maidenhead”.

Morning in Puli

Responses
I beginning to think that maybe it’s not so much about answers, but more about responses. Our rationale often is to seek for the conclusive answer to the mysteries which surround us. But busying ourselves looking or waiting for the definitive “answer” can somehow delay the appropriate response. So my response has been this….. let’s try and do some stuff, let’s stand with these people, let’s pray with them, mourn with them, laugh with them, and even at times be disappointed by them. Let’s try to bring to the story what we have been blessed with, in a fresh unselfishness. I often ask myself “Why are we here?” with a different emphasis on each of those individual words depending upon my mood. My response, which isn’t a nicely sewn up answer, is to stay here with Annie and walk this Koti Journey with more hopelessness but more hope. We talked again this morning about this stuff, and realised again what a tough place this is to be, but in this season and this time….what a privilege. Is it “our Koti Journey”?… …..I don’t think so any more, it’s all of ours and that includes you.

This story about the Koti Journey is dedicated to my friend Pimo, his toothless smile, his texts about the football scores, his joys and his sorrows, and his new heart which he says “is much more important Juliano than a new shirt for the wedding ceremony”, which is now postponed until the end of August.

Pimo time

Blog Note:
This is a polygamous society, however many of those who have become part of the Family of Faith known as Tarikhi ya Haakhi (The True Way) have decided they wish to publically commit themselves to one partner. This is a counter-cultural step which puts a new value on family and faithfulness – and this is a step which Pimo and his wife are seeking to take together.