Strangest man in Africa

I stepped outside of the Pemba, Mozambique airport to walk toward the small plane that would take me to Nairobi.  I felt the heat of the day and was thankful I was able to check my heavy backpack.  I stepped onto the plane and felt a strange sensation on my skin.  What was that cool, blissful feeling?  Oh, it was air conditioning!  I realized that I had not felt that sensation in weeks and it was heavenly.

I conversed with a gentleman next to me who lives in Canada and works for Samaritan's Purse.  Then we both sat back and relaxed for the rest of the trip.  We landed in Nairobi and I found myself in line beside a doctor and health advisor from Nigeria who was also trying to navigate his way through customs to catch a flight.  We exchanged contact information and have stayed in touch through LinkedIn.  

Once I got through customs, I found the terminal where my flight would be taking off from but I had several hours to wait.  I bought some water, then found a spot to sit.  I watched people from all over the world move through the international airport.  There were people from nations, religious sects and cultures that I had never seen before.  I could tell from their special attire, head coverings, bodily markings and groups with matching hair/beard styles that there are tribes in this world that I know nothing about.

After reading several pages from Mozambique Mysteries, a book that my bunkmate had left for me when she flew home, I was ready to get up and move a little.  I remember praying for God to show me who He wanted me to encounter while in this airport.  I believe God always has things for us if we are open and stay aware.  I watched as people rushed past me, not even giving me a glance.  I am so curious about people so I am usually observant about those who are around me.  One man passed by me that stood out more than others.  He was a large, white, middle-aged man who wore oversized, frumpy clothes and carried a clear, plastic duty-free bag which looked like it was being used as his suitcase.  I thought to myself "that is probably the strangest man in this airport!"

I made my way down the terminal, stopped to buy some macadamia nuts for a snack and found my gate.  I took a seat and began eating the nuts.  The next thing I know, someone sits down next to me.  Guess who it is...of course, the strangest man in the whole airport!  He chose me!  Well, when I had prayed, I had a different idea about who God would lead me to, but decided I would just "go with it".  He was dirty, had an unshaven beard, messy hair and reminded me of a homeless person just based on appearance.  He asked me my name and made small talk.  I had a very hard time understanding him because he had a unique accent.  Here's what I gathered.

He is from the island of Jersey off the coast of France.  He had just spent some time in Madagascar walking through the trees and watching glow worms which light up at night.  He highly recommended that I take this journey too.  Well, I am not so sure about that, but I thanked him for his input.

I decided to share my snack with him.  I asked him if he wanted some nuts and he gladly accepted.  I poured a bunch in his cupped hands and he proceeded to put them in his shirt pocket.  Throughout our conversation he pulled out 1-2 nuts at a time and munched away happily.  I realized that I had not even asked his name even though he knew mine.  So I said "what is your name?"  Seemed simple enough.  He mumbled something like "I dunno" and asked me what I meant.  He made it seem like this was a much more complex question than I imagined, adding that I could mean his birth name, his hari krishna name, his.... and kept offering various possibilities.  I replied with the one thing that came to mind "What does your mom call you?"  He said "Oh!  Stewart."  Now we were getting somewhere!  We were really connecting:).  lol

Suddenly he stopped talking and looked at me.  He moved his arm up, down and around as if outlining my whole being and said "what is this, who are you, what is your voyage?"  I began to tell him about my background in recruiting and new pursuit of a vision God gave me as a child about serving in Africa.  He was very intrigued and began asking all kinds of questions.  He asked if I was a mystic, a seer, a dream catcher, and a whole bunch of other things I was not clear on.  I stopped him and said that I didn't know about all those things he mentioned, but simply told him that I have a relationship with God, that I was a Christian.  I told him I pray, that is, talk to God and follow the peace He gives me.  Clearly he was on a spiritual journey and was trying to find the source of Light.

As our strange conversation continued, I heard my flight announcement and explained that I needed to leave.  I told him it was a pleasure to meet him and reached out to shake is hand as we departed.  He pulled his hand away and said reverently "I don't want to touch you".  In that same moment, he began to lower himself to the ground, exposing the array of tattoos all over his arms and neck.  He got down on his knees and did some sort of bow.  I stood there in the middle of the airport watching him on the ground and had no idea what to do!  I just told him to take care, wished him well on his journey and I went to catch my flight.  

As I boarded my next flight and contemplated that very odd scene, here is what occurred to me.   The act of giving (or sharing) breaks down barriers. The other men who I had encountered that day, from Canada and Nigeria, seemed much more dignified and accomplished by most standards.  It would have been very easy to ignore Stewart and dismiss him as a scary weirdo.  The most unusual person in the huge international airport came and sat down next to me.  I believe that something happened when I offered him my snack.  Perhaps I was meeting a physical need because he might have truly been hungry.  However, I think our meeting would have been nothing more than a polite exchange if I had not invited him in to join me through a simple gesture.    

I can't begin to understand what led Stewart to the forests of Madagascar to seek the glow worms, but I believe that he, like all of us, are on a journey of discovery.  Everyone, at times, asks the big life questions.  What is this all about?  Is there a higher power?  Everyone is seeking something or someone.  There are people all around us who may need something we have, whether it is a snack or a word of truth.   I pray that God always prompts me to live with eyes to see and a heart to give.  

My last day in Mozambique

My friends suggested we wake up early to watch the sunrise on my last morning in Mozambique.  The sunrises are glorious!  We stayed at the Iris base just across the street from the beach overlooking the Indian Ocean.  Pinch me!

We set our alarms, got up while it was still dark and made our way to the beach where we watched the dramatic scene unfold.





















I packed my bags, said goodbye to these beautiful people who had changed my life and answered their questions about if, and when I would be back.  I knew I could not promise them anything and explained that if it is God's will, I will be back.

Many people in my life gave money in support of my trip to Africa.  I was blown away by their generosity and even more amazed that the amount I received was the exact amount I needed to cover ALL the expenses.  I had overestimated my weekly supply needs (food, water, toilet paper, emergencies) and had spent very little.  I ended up with $300 that I knew I would not need in the remaining weeks.  I prayed about what to do with this money.

I ended up walking to the home of a missionary on the base, Mama Linda.  Linda is a woman in her 60s perhaps, who has given her life to help raise the young boys at Iris.  She is like a Mama to them.  I chose her because so many young men had told me about her influence on their lives.  These were young men, 15-25 years old, who devoted their lives to serving the Lord and the people in the community.  I knew something special was happening as she poured into their lives the Word, worship, prayer and teaching about godly living.  I introduced myself to her and explained that I had been blessed by people in my life and wanted to use the extra amount to bless the ministry for these young boys.  She nearly started crying and explained to me that she had been praying for the funds to help them!  She said that 30 boys had made the decision to be baptized and she needed money to rent a truck, pay for gas, food and supplies to drive them to the river to baptize them.  She said the funds would be sufficient to pay for this.  She prayed over me as I left to continue on my journey.  I walked away with my heart full as I saw the cycle of needs being met.  These 30 boys, the future leaders of the community, were able to be baptized!

What starts with a hand raised in need leads to another heart stirred to give.  Those who gave to me and my journey will never fully understand the eternal impact that it is having on lives on the other side of the world.  Thank you for your generosity!  I can't full explain what an impact this trip had on me to be able to witness lives being transformed....forever.

Love and gratitude,
Jen

Goodbye party

The day came when it was time for me to say goodbye to Mozambique.  Many of the friends I had grown closest to had already flown back to their home countries of Austria, Germany and the US.  Some new friends offered to take me out to celebrate my last night, which was music to my ears.  I had experienced moments of loneliness, which can happen when you are traveling by yourself and people you grow close to come and go, leaving you to your own thoughts once again.  So this invitation to celebrate with my new friends was huge for me.  We went to a local restaurant, ate chicken and fries, then played pool against some locals.

I think there was some divine intervention as we kept winning in pool which allowed us to stay on the table.  Turns out, there was a bigger reason we were there celebrating that night.  I looked over and saw my friends praying with some of the local guys at the bar.  They were sharing the gospel message to these guys who had never heard the name of Jesus.  Sometimes if you ask someone if they have heard of Jesus, they ask what village he lives in as they try to recall who we are talking about.  Can you imagine?  We use the name of Jesus in so many ways- sometimes in reverence, sometimes in vain, sometimes loosely with no acknowledgement of how sacred the name is.  Yet there are people all over the world who have literally never heard this name!

My last night in Mozambique became a time of celebration, but not because my friends were showing me a good time.  We celebrated 3 young men whose lives were changed forever.  I couldn't think of a better way to say goodbye to this place that I had come to love than over chicken, fries, pool and sharing the love of Jesus with these new friends.

I considered posting the picture I have of all of us celebrating with these Mozambican men at the pool hall.  However, the more I learn about the persecution that people face when it is discovered that they have become a Christian, I realize that exposing their pictures and names could jeopardize their safety.  People are being shunned, abandoned, kicked out of their homes, beaten or even killed for their faith.  The more I live, the more thankful I become for my freedom.  We are so free and don't even realize it until we see how others throughout this world live.  Thank God for freedom!

Friend me.

Sunday was my favorite day of the week in Mozambique.  I always looked forward to the church services.  I would put on my long wrap skirt, sandals and best t-shirt (recently bucket-washed and line-dried).  As long as my knees were covered, I would be acceptable.  Knees, above all else, MUST be covered in many parts of Africa.  To expose the knees is...well, I can't even say it!  

I made my way down the dirt path to the church and could hear the music from a distance.  I could feel the energy rise as I walked into the building and was greeted with smiles, hugs, waves and a warm welcome by all who were there.  What starts out in small numbers, ends with a massive group of men, women, children and babies from the surrounding villages who come to worship together.  

The service lasts hours and moves freely between singing, dancing, teaching, preaching and praying.  By the end, though we may be sweaty, we stand refreshed and ready to face another day.  

One Sunday I met a woman outside the church who was sitting with her daughter Manueta as they waited for church to begin.  Manueta found me in the service and sat with me.  We danced, sang and worshiped together.  We simply kept smiling at each other since we didn't speak the same language.  She didn't leave my side and would look up at me with beautiful eyes, full of delight in her gaze. After the service, everyone was invited to eat together in the cafeteria.  It is the one day when everyone from the community are welcomed to eat rice and beans with the staff and children who live on the base.

I was eating and talking with my friend Jorge, when a woman came up and squeezed onto the bench where I was seated.  I was suddenly wedged in next to this woman and turned to look at her.  She greeted me with a smile that seemed to say "I sat here with intention".  She began to speak to Jorge and he translated for her.  It turns out this was Julietta, the mother of Manueta, who I had met outside the church.  I acknowledged that I remembered meeting her and she then made an announcement.  Jorge said "she says she is ready to be friends".  I tried to hide my surprise and uncertainty of how to respond.  I said thank you and just kept nodding.  Jorge went on to translate her intentions.  She had seen me care for her daughter and wanted to be friends.  It was not a question, it was a statement and it was clear that the time was now, at least from her perspective.  

I was so surprised by her declaration and wondered what this even meant.  What does friendship look like in Mozambique?  What does she expect of me?  What am I signing up for?  We sat and ate together in relative silence since we did not speak the same language.  Over the next couple of weeks, friendship did become more clear to me.  I sat with her at services and as she waited for the food distribution for the widows.  I would hold her hand, give her a hug, walk with her and sometimes we just sat in silence.  

One day she invited me to her home and my friend Manuel went with me so he could translate and lead me back to the base.  We walked 20-25 minutes as she navigated us through the alleys and dirt paths.  Huts and buildings were on either side as we moved through the village.  When we arrived at her home she invited us inside and began to share with me the story of her life.  Her husband died and she has been caring for her children as a single mom.  She struggles to provide enough food for her family.  She told me that the day before someone broke into her home (not hard to do AT ALL with the huts) and stole the food for the week.  She prays for God to send her a husband to help her.  I listened and then prayed for her, for provision, for the family, her home and her heart.  

The next day she approached me and said that she was happy because she got her food back!  Someone had found out who stole it and they returned the food to her family.  I was so thankful because I knew the returned food was more than provision for the week.  The bags of rice and beans represented hope and faith.

It is very common for people to ask you for things they need.  People can be very direct and bold in this culture.  Julietta never asked me for anything.  What she wanted was friendship.  I learned that friendship is about supporting each other, sharing the weight of a heavy load and locking arms while standing in faith for answered prayers.  Friendship is about sharing hearts.  It can be through a smile, an embrace, or a word of encouragement.  Friendship can be just sitting together in silence, as the sun moves across the sky, holding fast to the promise of provision for another day.

Happiness

During one of the weekends I was in Mozambique, we traveled to a remote village that was so far off the beaten path that we barely made it.  Our team was packed into the back of the big green truck and after a few hours, we turned off of a main road.  The path became very bumpy and the truck slowed way down to keep from throwing us all out of the vehicle as it plowed over huge dips in the dirt road.  Do you remember those monster toy truck commercials where the kid is driving a remote control truck around the huge dirt mounds?  The toy truck kicks up dust as it gets airborne and flies through the yard.  Well, that is probably what we looked like.  At least, that is how it felt.

We finally, and thankfully, made it to our destination.  As we drove through the center of the village and parked the big vehicle, I noticed kids kicking balls around and adults standing in groups.  I imagined they were discussing the day's events and speculating about the visitors that they heard would be coming.  The people from the village were different than the others I had encountered.  This time, instead of kids running up to the truck and screaming with excitement, everyone kept their distance and eyed those of us peering from inside the truck bed.  I wondered what they were thinking as they stood in their small groups and continued to watch our every move.  

We climbed out of the truck and a feeling of uncertainty came over me.  I had heard that sometimes people can react with aggression or anger when people come into their village, even if the team is expected.  I watched the leaders of our group to gauge their level of comfort.  Suddenly, one of the other volunteers walked up to a ball on the ground and kicked it toward a group of kids.  One of the boys shyly cracked a smile and kicked it back, tentatively.  After a minute, the balls were flying all over the place.  I jumped in and began playing soccer with 3 boys.  We kicked back and forth, racing to get the ball before it hit the adults or ran down a hill.  We began smiling, laughing and shouting with excitement as the ball would get accidentally launched across the village gathering place.  The entire atmosphere changed from tense uncertainty to light-hearted fun.

As I kicked and ran around in my long wrap skirt and sandals, I couldn't contain the happiness I felt inside.  What a gift!  What pure joy to be connecting with these beautiful kids through a game of soccer.  The feeling just welled up inside of me so strongly.  After a short time, the game came to a lull and I wanted to find out the names of these children who had filled my heart.  I knew enough Macua to ask them.  The oldest boy responded "Alegria".  

My jaw dropped.  The world stopped around me as I realized the magnitude of the gift I had just been given.  I had just been playing soccer with a boy whose name means "happiness" or "joy".  Alegria would never know the significance of his name and how he impacted me that day.

Joy.  Happiness.  Alegria.

Alegria is the tall boy with the tan shirt in the middle.  You can see another boy holding a ball.  The kids there don't have real soccer balls, but they will not be stopped.  They are creative enough to use what they have.  They take a ton of plastic bags, scrunch them up into a round ball and tie string around them.  This is how they make their own and they work just fine.

The Mozambican Huddle

One day while I was in one of the very rural villages, our group had some downtime in between outreach activities.  I had spent the morning walking from hut to hut with a couple other volunteers and a translator.  I have another story about that, but I will save it:).

The sun was hot and the only sounds were an occasional chicken pecking around in the dirt or a bird chirping in the air.  My friend Sabine and I sought shade under the straw overhang of one of the mud huts which was open for us to relax in and around.  We took refuge from the heat of the day and sat looking at the beauty of the land.  After a few minutes, a couple of young boys came by.  They made their way over to see if there was anything interesting to occupy their time.  I was afraid we were going to disappoint them terribly, but I was wrong.  We began speaking to them with the very few words we knew in Macua.  We ran out of words very quickly.

Pretty soon, we were completely surrounded by nearly all the boys in the village.  Some of the braver boys spoke to us, but we did not understand what they were trying to tell us.  Sabine and I looked at each other with delight and desperation.  We wanted to engage with the boys but it was challenging without the vocabulary.  Sabine began to sing a song.  She and I sang in English and the faces of those little ones just hung on every syllable.  They were mesmerized.  We tried to get them to sing a song in their language, but our gestures must not have been clear enough.  Some did, however, sing along with us as they quickly tuned in to the phrases we sang over and over.  Every now and then, one of them would reach out their little hand to gently touch our arm or hair as their curiosity got the best of them.  Our white skin and blonde hair was foreign to them.  "Are they real?  What do they feel like?"  I can only imagine what was going through their minds.

The boys tried to speak Macua to us and when we didn't understand, they would say the same phrase louder and louder, emphasizing the exact same words but with greater volume.  They persevered as if, eventually, we would come to understand their language as their volume increased.  We just laughed and kept saying the only words we knew in Macua.

Finally, one of the boys broke through the crowd and presented a deck of cards to us.  We played card games and they would all laugh and yell out when someone uncovered a match.  I am still not sure what we were playing.

After a very long time of playing, singing, sitting, staring and being with these little ones, the crowd began to disperse.  They all moved away from the circle they had formed around us and I could see it was actually still daylight.  Those little guys were packed in so close to us that it had become dark in our little huddle.

Then Thomas, another visitor from the States began engaging the kids and encouraging them to sit on the ground in a big circle.  In no time, he taught them how to play Duck Duck Goose.  They would each take a turn to get up, slowly pat each kid on the head with a hand and a verbal "duck", choose their victim, and smack the victim's head saying "GOOOOOSE!" (or some form of these English words) and then squeal as they ran for safety.  It was so much fun to watch and the kids roared with laughter as they chased each other around the circle.

There were so many moments like this where I learned how easy it is to engage with people beyond verbal language.  Before going on this trip, I felt limited in how I could interact with people who didn't speak the same language as me.  Now I realize it takes very little to welcome people into your world.  Whether you end up singing, dancing, playing cards, giving a hug or sitting quietly together under an overhang to hide from the scorching sun, almost every interpersonal engagement starts with one very simple thing- a smile.

Smiling.  It is so powerful.  I encourage you to smile at strangers you encounter as you move through the day.  See what happens, what kind of reactions you get and how you feel.  A smile is the same in every language.

Simple obedience

My first night in the bush was peaceful.  I shared a large tent with two women from Austria, only one of whom knew English.  Oh how I love languages!  I wish I knew all of them so I could speak with anyone in the world.  There we were in Mozambique, each speaking a different language, yet brought together by God.  I heard Macua, English, German and Portuguese being spoken as people settled in for the night in their tents.  Then the snoring came, but fortunately I had brought earplugs with me so I blocked out the world for a few hours and drifted off to sleep.

We woke up to the low hum of people chattering around the village and hot water boiling over a fire in preparation for our breakfast- a roll and tea or coffee.  This was one of the treats of being on outreach because tea and coffee are not served on the base.  I never truly knew what to expect each day and was at the mercy of those in charge.  I remember being thrilled to know there was actually something to eat and drink.  Suddenly, people began moving toward the truck.  I finally heard the leader say it was time for baptisms.  What!?  My first thought was, "what about breakfast?".  Fortunately, I have a filter and didn't say this out loud.  Some thoughts you just keep to yourself, especially in a country where people go without water to drink, much less a cup of Joe.

So we all piled in the truck with those who had accepted Jesus the night before and wanted to be baptized.  We pulled over on the side of the road and everyone got out.  A man began chopping a trail down the embankment using a machete.  The Mozambicans moved without concern through the reeds and into the murky water.  The rest of us sheepishly made our way down the hill to the tiny pond.  I watched intently, prayed for protection for everyone against snakes and disease and marveled at the demonstration of faith in front of me.  The pastors did the baptisms and we formed a line to pray over the people who had just made this powerful declaration that would transform them eternally.

I was amazed to watch these men, women and children as they took such bold steps of faith.  The atmosphere was calm, yet there was an underlying sense of joy and hope.  It was surprisingly simple and yet perfectly biblical.  I think we tend to overcomplicate things that were meant to be pure and literal.  That weekend the gospel was shared, people responded and water baptism followed.  

In order to have a lasting impact and provide long term support to the villages, Iris identifies men who want to become pastors in each of these villages.  They leave everything behind for 3 months at a time and are trained in the Bible School in Pemba.  Churches are established, pastors are trained and people are discipled in villages all across the nation as a result of these weekend outreaches.  

One thing that we were not able to do was provide Bibles to the people.  There is an urgent need to get the Bible translated into Macua.  I had the privilege of meeting a woman this summer whose family is moving to Mozambique to do just that, through Wycliffe Bible Translators.  Click here to find out their story: The Richards'

I want to keep my life and my theology as simple as it was intended to be.  We are called to love.  Love God.  Love people.  Simple obedience.

Babies don't cry

There are babies all over the villages in Mozambique.  They are beautiful, vibrant and curious.  One thing that struck me is that even though babies and small children are all around, I rarely heard any crying.  I began to pay attention.  The babies were always with a loved one.  They were carried along wherever their mother went or were being cared for by a sibling.  The babies would be swaddled in a wrap and tied closely against their guardian's back.  Sometimes they would sit on a lap or play in the dirt, but there was always a care giver close by.  The babies were engaged, alert and observing who and what was around them.  However, there were very few tears.

In my life I have seen children cry, whine, wail, meltdown, fuss and weep.  I have certainly been one of those kids myself.  I was surprised that I didn't see this with these little ones in Mozambique.  Why were these babies so content?  Were they content?

A thought crossed my mind.  I wonder if tears get them anything.  For example, a child cries because he or she needs or wants something.  They make their desire known and plead their case through an outpouring of emotions.  Many times this display will go on and on until they are satisfied with getting what they wanted.

In a country with so much poverty, there is very little to actually give to a child.  There is not a faucet of running water, a fridge with food and drinks, a toy chest to choose from, teethers or fuzzy blankets.  The babies I saw did not even have diapers.  I learned this the hard way as I held babies without anything to catch their "business".  Perhaps these babies have cried and received only a tighter hug, some limited breast milk and a coddle.

I don't have the answer as to why the babies shed so few tears.  However, I did wonder if these children, some only months old, had already learned to be content with what they had-the warmth of their mother's body and a little rice or breast milk to get them by.  No matter, these children are as beautiful and priceless as our own.

Bush bush outreach

A question you will hear often around the Iris base is "Are you going on bush bush?"  This means that the person wants to know if you'll be going with them to the remote villages to share the gospel with people.  Each weekend a group of young men from the Bible School at Iris Ministries, along with some of the leaders, will choose a village in the outskirts of Mozambique to spend the weekend sharing the love of Jesus.  The visitors, like me, are given the chance to participate.  It all sounded very mysterious to me, but I had met people who had gone and survived to tell about it, so I decided I would, once again, put fear aside and go.

We had a quick orientation for those who had never gone before.  There were guidelines and protocols designed to keep everyone safe while fulfilling the purpose of the outreach.  I learned that this was a team effort and that if I was asked to help in any way, I needed to be ready.  I learned that Mozambicans have a culture of sharing.  For example, if you buy something from a vendor during the journey, there is an expectation that you will share with everyone.  Really?!  This was a new concept for me and I wondered exactly how many people would be in our group.  When I heard there may be 40 people, I tried to imagine how many Cokes one would have to buy, or how small a sip each person would have to take in order to share with everyone!  This was the beginning of my lesson on generosity that changed my life:).

After getting a general idea of what to expect and how to behave, we packed a minimal bag for the journey, grabbed a tent, sleeping bag and pad from the visitor storage unit and walked to the meeting area.  We followed instructions by climbing into the back of a big truck bed, piling our gear into a big mound and shuffling around to find a suitable spot on the floor to sit for the long journey.  The Mozambicans were incredibly gracious, giving us visitors/newbies the best seats with a backrest or sleeping bag to sit on.  People continued to pile in, more and more and my eyes must have been huge because I couldn't believe we would all fit.  We did fit, which meant no one was comfortable except the driver and passenger in the cab of the truck.  And we were off!

Over the course of the trip, I learned who was with me on this journey.  I was sitting among Louie, Nawali, Pascual, Egas, Jose, Antonio, Abraham, Jorge, Amis and others.  These are young African men who love the Lord and have given their lives to serve Him.  I tried to speak with them, but the language barrier proved very challenging.  Louie understood a bit of my Spanish efforts, but fortunately Jorge spoke very good English and could help clarify when we were lost in translation.  Jorge spent part of the trip writing words and phrases in Macua for me to study.  It turned out to be a HUGE help because when we arrived, I could say a greeting, ask people their names, tell them my name and say things like "Jesus loves you" and "thank you".  You can imagine, every effort to speak their tribal language was immensely appreciated!

When we arrived at the village, it was dark.  We set up our tents and prepared to show the Jesus film. This is a film about the life of Jesus and the gospel message.  Nearly the entire village, which was maybe 200-300 people came to watch.  For some, this was the first movie they had ever seen and many have never heard the name of Jesus spoken.  After the movie, someone preached and gave people an opportunity to receive Jesus as their Savior.  The people became so excited and pushed their way forward.  The needs of these people are so great and they eagerly cry out to our Savior for help.  The moment came when we were asked to step in to pray, so we did.  We prayed for people to be healed and many were.  It was amazingly simple, yet powerful.

I remember feeling a sense of inadequacy as I was asked to pray over the people.  After all, I have never been trained, ordained or been given a certificate of authorization to pray for people!  I nervously stepped forward with the other volunteers/visitors and asked God to equip me for what was needed.   A translator would describe the need, then I would reach out to touch each person and pray simple words of faith, healing, provision and deliverance.  I prayed the Word of God, knowing that we were fully dependent on Him because without His power, we really had nothing to offer.  Just like in my own life, a positive word spoken without the power of the Almighty behind it will not meet the desperate needs of these people.  What a privilege to pray and what a humbling experience that was.

What I realized through more conversations with the young leaders of the outreach is that most of the Mozambican men who were on that truck (Louie, Nawali, Abraham, Jose, Amis, Antonio...) had experienced an encounter with Jesus.  Many times this encounter had come during one of the bush bush outreaches and as a result, they gave their lives to serving Him.  This showed me that the impact of each outreach is much more than a moment of hope.  Lives are changed, communities are transformed and leaders emerge to carry on the life giving message of Jesus Christ.

Although my role during bush bush was small, I was so honored to be a part of something so significant.    My eyes were opened to the simplicity of the gospel.  My heart was expanding as I prayed for these strangers.  As I processed the events of the evening, I realized I was taking away so much more than I had given out.  Isn't that the way it always works?

I shudder to think about all I would have missed out on if I had remained in the potentially paralyzing position of fear.



One of the guys helping to fix a tent pole that was splintered.  In our "throw away" culture, I was watching intently to see him attempt to repair it so we could use it on our trip.

A roadside vendor.  The bananas were tiny but so delicious!

Our ride to bush bush.

 Our campsite for the weekend.

Nawali holding a baby from the village. 

 Beautiful Rosa and her baby.  She was the first person I met in the village.  Her smile radiated love.

The crowd of people from the village.

Feed a village

Iris Ministries does not just take care of the orphans and widows in the community, but they also take care of the village children.  Every day hundreds of children from the surrounding villages are welcomed into the Iris base.  These are kids who live outside the walls of the orphanage, but are very aware of what is happening in and through Iris.  The doors of the church are opened and the little ones stream in, anticipating a fun afternoon.  There is an entire program designed for these children...EVERY day.

From what I could tell, the program is run entirely by young Mozambican men who volunteer their afternoons each day to help.  As the children rush into the wide open space inside the church, these young men guide them to the place where they can sit on the cement floor.  They are divided into two large groups. The boys sit on one side and the girls on the other side, with benches to separate them.  This allows them to keep some order and when the time comes, they gather them by gender to line up and prepare to receive their meal.  Each day they alternate who goes first, the girls or the boys.  The children play together and take in the entertainment.  That's right, entertainment!  These young men get on the raised platform to welcome the kids, lead them in games, music, dancing and singing.  

The first day I helped with this, I walked into the church and found most of the kids laughing and playing.  I walked toward them and little toddlers began to jump on me.  They are quite clever, athletic and just plain starving for attention.  I welcomed the first boy into my arms and held him tight.  Then I realized there were many others pulling on me, eagerly waiting for their embrace.  I thought, "oh my, I shouldn't show favoritism!"  I began to lower the boy and reach for the next child, but I realized, this little one had used his limbs to suction himself to me.  He was glued to me and was not moving!  He was bound and determined to stay in my arms.  Clearly he had experience with this tactic.  I could not pry him off and since this was my first day, I gave in and let him sit with me for a long time.   There was one boy who really caught my eye.  He must have been 2 years old or younger.  His little eyelids kept closing and he would rock back and forth doing a little head bob as he tried his best to stay awake during all the excitement.  He was so little and so tired.  One of the young men, Jorge, who helps feed the kids every day reached for him and sat him up so he wouldn't fall over.  Jorge explained that he was fatigued since he hadn't eaten that day.  The poor little guy just needed some food!

Finally, it was time for the boys to line up, wash their hands in the water being poured from a bucket and stand to wait for their turn to receive their meal of rice and beans.  I let the boy who had glued himself to me go and moved over to the girls.  Several girls raced up to me and were investigating everything on me- my bracelets, my watch, my hair.  Even though I couldn't communicate with them verbally, we played a game.  You know when girls stand facing each other and begin to smack their hands together in all kinds of rhythms?  We played this over and over.  Each girl would stand waiting for her turn to try this particular rhythm I had shown them.  Some would get it right away and others would struggle.  We couldn't help but giggle and smile as we slapped hands faster and faster.  

Once the boys made it through the serving line, the girls washed their hands and lined up for their turn. I moved over to watch and help serve food.  There are these enormous pots that are filled with steaming rice and beans.  A huge stack of colorful plastic plates are ready to be filled up, one for each child.  There are also two other pots that are filled with water to use for washing and rinsing the plates right away.  There are more kids than there are plates so as the children eat their meal, we would gather their empty plates, wash them, fill them back up with rice and beans and offer it to the next group of kids waiting patiently for their serving.  Some kids brought metal containers to take their portion back home to feed the rest of their family.  Sharing what they are given is a way of life and a way of survival.

I watched as older siblings (8-10 years old) would corral the little ones they were in charge of and make sure they moved through the line to get their portion.  Girls would carry babies on their backs, strapped on by using a large cloth that swaddled them tightly like a human backpack.  

One particular girl caught my attention.  She was carrying a baby on her back and shepherding 3 little ones in front of her.  The younger ones were so tiny and couldn't quite carry a plate full of food in their unskilled hands.  This older sister held out her one free hand to receive the plates in her palm.  She tried to balance the 5 meals, as she does every day, I am sure.  In the excitement, one of the kids ran into her and the top plate fell, crashing to the cement floor.  She appeared angry and her face scowled.  She put everything down and began feverishly scraping up the food from the ground and placing it back in the colorful plate.  Suddenly, someone offered her a brand new plate full of food.  She again balanced all the food and gathered the family to move out to the front of the church where they would join the other kids eating their meals.  As she walked away from the stressful ordeal, although she appeared expressionless, tears began to stream down her cheeks.  My heart ached for that little girl and I shared my own tears with hers.  

This girl carried not only the weight of that baby on her back and the kids in tow, but the weight of responsibility for these little lives.  She was in charge.  She had to be sure those kids got their meal each day because that was their portion, their daily bread.  

I helped to serve these children as much as I could while I was in Pemba.  I loved being a part of something so life giving.  Not only are these beautiful children given nourishment for their bodies, but so much of what was happening was the filling up of their spirits.  I was so thankful for this part of the ministry and amazed by the daily sacrifice of these young men to help care for the kids in the community.  I mean, think about it.  How many 20-25 year old men (or women) around you are giving 2-3 hours every afternoon to serve people?  This is a messy task.  You leave there with bean juice all over your clothes, your sandals and feet covered with smashed beans and you've held kids who are dressed in rags and don't bathe.  I imagined if it were me, I would probably be eager to help in the beginning (as I was).  However, after weeks and months and years, I would begin to see this task as tedious, time consuming, a burden and really getting in the way of the other "commitments" in my life.  We would complain, wouldn't we?  Not these guys.  They serve with joy, with gratitude and with love.

 

I spoke to these young men to find out how they got involved, how often they help, and why they do this.  I just had to know.  Many of them said they prayed about being a part of something.  They love to help the children.  They see it a privilege to serve.  

One of the most amazing people I met was Manuel.  He is 20 years old, full of joy, energy and life.  He recently lost both his mom and his dad to illness.  He serves at Iris in many ways.  There was a particular day when I could tell he was stressed.  I asked him what was wrong.  He explained that the food was not ready.  It had not been delivered.  He showed his frustration as he said "they know we need the food here by 2:00 every day".  His pained face and words showed me just how much he cared.  He said, "These kids... they haven't eaten today... they need to eat.  They must have food."  I realized in that moment that this wasn't just a good deed to him.  This was the heart of Jesus for these precious children.

As I thought about how these 500-600 children come everyday to the church, it reminded me of childlike faith.  They know that if they come, they will receive and be filled up.  It reminds me of my own revelation of getting filled up.  God showed me that there is a deeper significance to His "daily bread".  Matthew 6:11 says "Give us this day our daily bread."  Just as these kids expected to receive a plate that is piled full of rice and beans every day, we can receive our daily bread from our Father.  Yes, He provides food abundantly for us every day, but He also fills our hearts, our spirits and our lives with everything we need.  All we have to do is ask.

Some may look at the feeding program as an unsustainable model of handouts.  Believe me, I considered this myself and realize that nothing is perfect about how we do ministry.  I have heard over and over the quote in the last few months from so many people- "Give a man a fish and you will feed him for a day.  Teach a man to fish and you will feed him for for a lifetime."  I thought this might be in the Bible, but after researching it, realize it is a Chinese Proverb.  It is so clear to me that God's hand is all over the nation of Mozambique.  You can see it in the spirits of the people.  You can see it in the smiles of the little children.  I know that giving food and resources away every day may not be a lifetime solution.  However, when I bend down and look into the eyes of one of God's children who hasn't eaten since the previous day's "handout", nothing seems more right than serving them a plate full of food.

Where does giving begin and end?  Will there ever truly be enough?  I wrestled with these questions while in Mozambique and since then.  I found peace about this through the Holy Spirit and researching how Jesus lived.  When I see a need, I pray and ask the Holy Spirit to guide me.  If I follow that peace, I almost always rest well in my decisions.  As Heidi Baker says, when we see the overwhelming needs around us, we can feel hopeless.  However, God doesn't ask us to meet every need.  He asks us to stop for the *one* in front of us.  God will supply as we stop for the one. 

This is Manuel...with my sunglasses on:).  Below he is translating while a group of young women do a skit during the widow's ministry.  The last photo is Manuel leading the kids and keeping them in line.

Manuel gives his time, energy and love to people every day.  I watched how attentive he was to the children and looked for ways he could jump in to help anyone in the community.  He stopped to carry a heavy wheelbarrow for an older man.  He stopped to help a man balance a bag of grain on his bicycle as it nearly slid off onto the ground.  He spends hours translating between English, Portuguese and Macua during services and outreach.  His eyes were tuned in to people and it was a beautiful, very natural thing for him.  He is a clear example of what it means to "stop for the one".

Running errands in Mozambique

As I considered what to share next about my adventure in Africa, I looked back at my journal to relive the experience myself and see what actually happened next.  How quickly we forget!

This is why journaling can be such a rewarding practice.  In fact, just the other night I was wrestling with some emotions and opened my journals from the last several years to remind myself of the answered prayers, the victories in my journey thus far, and to find courage once again.

The next entry in my journal was from day 3 in Mozambique and involved what should have been a very simply task, buying t.p.  Yes, getting toilet paper!  As I read through the journal entry, my mind went right back to the moment I was sitting in a broken down truck in unknown territory in Pemba, wondering when we'd get home.  So I'll share it with you.

Every Tuesday around 9:00 or 10:00 a.m., someone from the Iris base will take the visitors to "town" to get supplies.  I needed very little by way of supplies, but I was not about to miss the one weekly trip to buy water and toilet paper.  Upon my initial arrival to Iris, I was given a box of water, which contained probably 12 bottles at 24 oz each or so, and 1 role of toilet paper.  After this, I was informed that I would be on my own for any essentials.  I drink a LOT of water and wanted to be sure I had some on hand at all times.

I showed up at the designated area for the "town trip" with everything I thought I would need.

1. Notarized copy of my US passport
2. Notarized copy of my visa for Mozambique
3. US currency in bills higher than $20s, crisp/not folded and later than 2005 to exchange for Mozambican currency (sounds picky but they are particular about what they'll circulate in the country)
4. And finally, a brave face

Several visitors arrived and it was determined that one of the young men from Iris would drive us to the center of Pemba to the shopping area.  We piled into a big army-looking truck with a green tarp covering the back.  There were no seats so we balanced on the metal rails or sat on the floor.  Two other Mozambican men jumped in at the last minute, so it appeared they would be joining us.  As we pulled out of the base, someone yelled, "hang on!".  We moved through huge potholes and dips in the dirt roads that caused us to go flying around in the back of that big vehicle.  It was quite fun unless you land on your tailbone or hit your head on a metal rod overhead.  Over the weeks I learned the "art" of riding in those trucks.

I was previously warned about taking photos outside the base because if a police officer sees you, he could take your camera. Well, that seemed very rude to me!  However, it was enough to make me keep my camera hidden on the "outside" until I could learn more about the landscape.  I was also told that the police could literally take my passport or visa at any time, which is why notarized copies are suggested.  THIS is why I needed to bring number 4 on the list...a brave face.  I wasn't exactly sure how this trip would go.

Here is my brave face:).  
These stoic looking Mozambican men on either side of me are Nawali and Louie, and would turn out to become friends during my adventure.

As we drove through the streets, I looked wide-eyed out through the open frame in the rear of that truck.  I saw the Indian Ocean, one glamorous hotel, people walking along the dusty road and finally, a series of shops.  Wherever we stopped, people would approach the back of the truck with arms full of things for sale including eggs, bananas, chickens, bread and other items.  I remember one of the most unique displays on the side of the road was a web of strings tied together to display shoes, which would hang off.  It was like a series of clothes lines making a grid.  I wish I had gotten a picture of that, as it was very effective in showing the merchandise, but alas, I wanted to keep my camera so I did not.

We exchanged our money in a convenient store, found a grocery market and everyone bought what they needed.  I was very happy with my toilet paper and case of water.  Finally, I could relax and take a deep breath.  On the way home, we noticed that the truck slowed down as we went up a hill.  The engine began to chug and we couldn't get moving again.  I stayed calm and prayed that we would get home safely.  Several minutes went by and no one in the truck who spoke English was saying much, just sitting quietly and hoping that no one decided to steal our precious water and t.p.  Well maybe no one else thought that, but that is what I was thinking!  Traveling alone can be tough in situations like this.  When you travel with a partner, friend or colleague, this would be the time when you say to each other "Oh, I am sure everything is just fine.  We'll get moving in no time.  We are safe, don't worry." (insert very calm and reassuring voice here).

Actually the group of visitors all knew each other very well so they all seemed fine.  The other Mozambicans in the back of the truck who had come along for the ride didn't seem concerned.  I watched them closely to read their expressions in order to gauge how I should be feeling.  If they panicked, that would be my cue to panic also!  I am not sure what I would have done, but I would just follow their lead (run, SCREAM, hit the deck- lol)

We waited in that truck for about 45 minutes until suddenly, someone showed up with a tool from somewhere.  They fixed the broken part of the truck and we were off again.  I still don't know exactly what the problem had been, but I was back at the base, safe and sound with H2O and t.p.  Ahhhh...

A view from inside the truck on another day.  Sabine from Austria, pictured here, would become a dear friend during my journey.

After that first trip, going to town weekly to get supplies was much less stressful since I knew what to expect.  Running errands in Mozambique becomes very strategic, very quickly because it is not as easy as hopping in the Prius and driving to the local organic market for an avocado to add to my salad.  Oh, sorry, I just had a Seattle flashback...

Widows

My first morning in Pemba, I attended what is called the "widows' ministry".  I was eager to learn how Iris helps the widows in this community.  I walked with several other visitors to the church and someone pointed out that we must wear long skirts inside.  A couple of us hurried back to our rooms and my bunkmate let me borrow one that she had until I could purchase one at the sewing shop onsite.  I wrapped the beautiful handmade skirt around me, tied it at the side and slowly became very comfortable wearing this culturally acceptable garment.

We approached the church and there were women and babies gathered around the entrance sitting in the shade and waiting for the service to start.  I was greeted by some of the women and was encouraged through the wave of a hand and a pat on the ground to come sit.  So I did.  I looked into the eyes of these women, noticed their dark skin, their colorful garments and at times, a heaviness of their spirits.  I couldn't speak their language so I just smiled, nodded, shook their hands and held their babies.

We made our way into the large open building.  There were benches, a slightly raised platform made of stone in the front, open windows on all four walls and a stone floor.  The space was large but we all gathered toward the front where the platform was.  Many of the women took off their sandals and made their way not towards the benches, but for the ground.  A few sat on the seats, but most chose the floor.  I joined the women on the floor and just looked around at the sea of dark faces and brightly colored skirts, shirts and headdresses.

A woman named Rose gave the sermon at this particular service.  She is from Australia, spent the last years serving the aboriginals there, and she and her family had just arrived in Pemba as missionaries.  She and her husband have 4 children under 10 and this is one of the most beautiful families I have ever seen.  They have so much joy, life and their spirits seem to just sing somehow.  Rose shared a message with the women through 2 translators. This is common in Africa.  As I mentioned in a previous post, the national language of Mozambique is Portuguese, but this is only learned in schools and many have not had this opportunity to learn.  Most people speak only their tribal language, in this case Macua.  So Rose would speak in English (super helpful for me!) and then it would be translated into Portuguese and then Macua.  It is an interesting rhythm and dance that can occur through this method of speaking and translating.  These 3 women fell into a beautiful rhythm that day.

Rose's message to these women was on Jesus, the faithful Provider and Husband.  These women have lost their earthly husbands through death or, in some cases abandonment.  They are trying to survive each day, to provide food and water for their children and to care for the needs of each other.  I watched the women as they listened.  Their faces showed little expression even though the listened intently, but by the end they were laying with their faces to the ground, eagerly seeking for their Provider to come to their aid once again.  The visitors and missionaries went to each woman and we prayed for their hearts to be healed and all the needs to be met.  It was a powerful display of desperation, faith, thirst and hope.

That message was not only for those women that day, but it was also for me.  Tears streamed down my face as I remembered the pain of my own loss, the loss of my husband, not through death but through his decision.  I embraced the message of healing, of provision, of unconditional love and of comfort from my Redeemer.  I felt a connection in my heart to these women.  I admire their strength, their faith, and their choice to try to live another day to provide for their children and their community.

I was forever changed by that experience...and this was only day 2 in Pemba!

Iris provides physical, emotional and spiritual help for the widows every week.  Food is provided, healthcare is given, sewing and jewelry making classes are offered and prayer is constant.

Just yesterday I had a simple, but amazing revelation as I was sitting in my grandmother's living room visiting with her.  I was sharing what I had experienced during my trip to my "homeland" Norway (just returned 2 days ago) and she was catching me up on what had happened in her life since I had been away.  There was a specific moment as she was talking that I realized she is a widow.  I know that sounds strange, but to me, she is just Grandma.  I saw the similarities between those women and my own flesh and blood.  I was spending time with her in a similar way that I had spent time with a few of the widows in Mozambique.  I felt so grateful for the ease of this conversation since we spoke the same language!  I used our time together to ask her if there was anything she needed, anything I could pray for and just listened to hear what was on her heart.  There are "widows" all around us, people with needs and sometimes it takes very little to make a difference.


Below are some pictures of the church, the beautiful women and the distribution of food.  You can see the food is being collected in large garments which are tied and then lifted to be carried on their heads.

What's for lunch?

Many people have asked me what I ate while in Africa.  People who know me well, know that I have been following a specific diet for several years.  Doctors have recommended a diet free of gluten and dairy for me, which has worked quite well for my body, although it does create a challenge in finding things to eat sometimes.  I was relieved to know that the diet in Africa was perfect for me- rice, beans, veggies, yes please!  At the Iris base in Pemba, there is a cafeteria where all meals are served.  As you approach the dining hall, someone is sitting on the steps with a large bucket filled with water.  Each person stands in a line outside the building and as they approach the "water bearer", they hold out their cupped hands to receive the water as the person pours it into your palms.  You then rub your hands together to wash them and allow the water to drip to the side onto the ground.  I had heard there is a tiny bit of bleach in the water to help disinfect which seems helpful considering the potential spread of disease.

As you walk into the building, you see the rows of tables and benches similar to picnic tables.  Everyone stands in a single file line waiting to approach the counter.  Behind the counter is the kitchen and it is always bustling with kitchen staff standing over these huge pots, stirring and serving into plastic dishes.  The food is cooked in bulk and always consists of rice and... something.  Lunch is always rice and beans.  We used to joke as we'd pass people on their way out of the cafeteria saying "what's for lunch today?"  It was such a silly question because it was always rice and beans, but sometimes we'd say "beans and rice!" in an effort to make it seem different that day.  Dinner consisted of rice and either cabbage, potatoes, spinach, a small (and I do mean small) piece of fish or chicken and an occasional banana or apple slice.  The staff would be sweating from the hot kitchen, the heat coming from those huge pots and the steaming food.

Mozambicans eat with their hands.  There is no silverware.  They stir the steaming rice and beans with their fingers, pulling their hand away every few seconds until the temperature was cool enough for them to hold the food without it burning.  They would use their fingers to create a ball of food and then scoop it into their mouths.  I watched people do this with precision and skill.  I always brought my spoon with me to use because I know that bacteria is easily spread through hands and didn't want to risk it.

I always felt full and grateful for the food, no matter what it was.  I would sit with the kids and other visitors or missionaries on staff.  We would work to communicate.  Most of the kids speak the tribal language, Macua (also spelled Makua sometimes).  Some people speak Portuguese, the official language and if kids go to school they learn Portuguese and English.  All the kids on the base go to the school run by Iris.  There are also kids from the village who attend the Iris School.  In these cases, kids are familiar with multiple languages.  However, in the more rural areas, most people only know their tribal language.

Sometimes mealtime was full of laughter and fun.  It was a time for socializing and finding out how everyone's day was going.  Other times it felt like middle school for me.  I was traveling alone so I was always looking for people to sit with and hoping someone would invite me to their table (or at least not cringe if I sat at their table!).  I wanted to spend time with the Mozambicans, but like in most new situations, this requires courage, humility and patience.  Sitting with Americans or those from other countries who spoke English would be easier in a lot of ways.   Trying to communicate in a different language and working through cultural differences is much harder.  There were these awkward silences when there was a communication barrier or someone was not in the mood to converse.  Also, there are cultural considerations.  For example, it is inappropriate, or could be misconstrued, if a woman were to sit too close to a man.  I was always trying to figure out if I was breaching some cultural norm.

People come and go through the Iris base so frequently that some people don't always seem interested in putting forth effort to build relationships.  "You'll be gone soon" could be a thought that goes through the mind of a child.  I tried hard to learn enough words to communicate and press through the discomfort.  It was always worth it.

For the most part though, people were eager to talk, to learn about me, to demonstrate their English language skills and teach me words in their language.

This photo is taken inside the cafeteria from one of the tables.  You can see the line of people waiting to get their portion for the day.

 This is a picture looking outside the cafeteria at a "Tia" or Auntie who takes care of the babies.  She is hanging clothes on the line to dry.  The windows of the cafeteria are open, besides the security bars, to allow a wonderful breeze to come through often.

 These are two boys who live at Iris.  The one on the left wore a Superman shirt most days.  The food is served in colorful plastic plates.

Arriving in Pemba

I flew into Pemba and was ready to see this place I knew so little about.  I got off the plane and walked into the very tiny airport.  We all crowded around the luggage conveyor belt and I realized how much I stood out.  I was guarded and kept a close watch on my things because of all the warnings I had heard. I prayed that the couple who helped coordinate my visit to Iris would be there waiting for me.  I gathered my huge backpack from the belt, tried to move through the crowd and walked outside to see a sea of people waiting for others who had just flown in.  I saw a white woman and figured that may be my ride.  It was!  John and Cindy are missionaries and they help with visitors who come to serve at Iris.  I was so happy to see them.  There was another young man named Nick who had just arrived the day before.  We put my luggage in their truck and piled in.  Nick and I spent so much time talking in the truck that I barely looked out the window to see the landscape.  When I did, I saw the ocean and people walking everywhere.  I saw mud huts and people congregated in various spots.  I wondered what they were up to, how safe it was and what I would be experiencing in the weeks ahead.

Nick was in a similar season of life in that he had a great job in New York City, but felt God calling him to something different.  He and his family are close friends with Heidi Baker, the founder and director of Iris, so he realized that a short visit to serve in Pemba would be a good way to continue to seek the Lord.  I was thrilled to know there were others that God was calling to this same place.

When I arrived at the base, I tried to take it all in.  However, the way my brain works, I really need time to process.  I can't look around, see everything and take it all in within seconds.  I did notice the guards at the entrance, the gates around the Iris "base" and the red dirt.  It wasn't until I got a tour of the base that I was able to begin digesting it all.  John and Cindy gave Nick and me an orientation about Iris, what to expect, how to stay safe, the rules, and opportunities to serve.  We then walked around the base to familiarize ourselves with everything.  We made our way to the "baby house" where the littlest children live.  Suddenly, a stout little boy with short legs raced toward us and threw himself in my arms.  It was beautiful!  I loved it.  What a welcome!  Later Nick was laughing and told me how disappointed he was because he thought the little guy was racing for him.  I guess he likes the ladies:).

This is a picture of the Iris base.

After getting settled into my room a bit, two young women arrived with backpacks, long skirts on and looked exhausted.  It was my bunkmates Sarah and Sandra who had just arrived back from the "bush outreach".  This was a four day outreach to some villages in the Nampula province to share the gospel. They hadn't showered in that time and were quite eager to bathe and get some clean clothes on.

In the meantime, I met a group of 7 from the YWAM organization (Youth With a Mission).  They asked where I was from and I said NC, but had been living in Seattle the last 6 years.  One guy yelled something loud and favorable, although I can't remember what.  He was from Washington and stoked to find another lover of the northwest!  His name was Forrest and he has the most amazing energy and love for life.  That was the first of many outbursts that I heard from Forrest, which still makes me smile.  So there I was in Pemba, getting to know some of the other visitors from around the world and eagerly anticipating what was next.

Below is a picture of one of the huts on the base.  This one was used as a place for people to pray and worship.

For Pete's sake!

After spending the afternoon with the amazing family in Johannesburg, I had one more evening before flying out.  Michelle, the woman who I met on the shuttle from the airport to the hotel, the one who advised I keep my wits about me, had shared breakfast with me.  We both had plans to spend the day with friends, but no dinner plans, so we agreed to meet each other in the lobby of the hotel to dine together.  Once again, I was relieved to have company and yet something else to look forward to.

We met in the lobby as planned and found a table in the hotel restaurant.  We talked about how fun our afternoons were as we visited friends.  Although I had eaten a full African meal for lunch, we both decided the buffet just made sense.  My theory is that clever restaurant owners set the food prices on the actual menus relative to the cost of the buffet in such a way that you will pay just a bit more than you really wanted to, in order to have the MASSIVE amount of options. It worked!

Michelle and I had a rich discussion about NGOs, women's empowerment in communities through leadership and economic development, water and climate issues, Kony 2012, her kids, the United States and Africa.  She is South African but is currently living in the US.  She and her husband spent 14 years in Malawi raising their 3 kids and working for an NGO.  I asked her how she feels about having raised her kids in Malawi, now that she can look back on the experience.  Hindsight and all.  I expected her to share the horrors of it all.  She immediately answered "it was the best thing I've ever done".  She loved having her kids socialized with people from all over the world, experiencing life in a real community and not in front of a screen playing video games.  Her kids got to see the realities of life, poverty for example, and went to school with kids from over 40 nationalities because of all the families with parents in the embassies, NGOs, etc.   I gave her my contact information and a few Melatonin pills and we both went back to our rooms for sleep before flying out the next day.  Don't worry!  Melatonin is just a natural sleep aid that I travel with for emergencies and her lack of sleep the night before falls into the emergency category.

So why the title for this post?  Okay, that is the crazy part of this story.  I was scheduled to fly from Johannesburg to Pemba the next day, but we touched down in Maputo for a short layover before boarding the same plane for the flight to Pemba.  I got off the plane in Maputo, the capital of Mozambique in the southern part of the country, and waited in the small airport until it was time to board again.  I was given an oversized plastic yellow card to indicate that I am supposed to get back on the plane, at least I think that is what it meant.  At first I thought it meant "foreigner!" but then everyone had one, so I didn't take offense;).  The whole time I was traveling to Mozambique, I was wondering if anyone around me was going there for the same reason as me.   I mean, why else would people be flying there?  I love talking to people and often strike up conversations with strangers.  I was just certain that the white woman sitting across from me must be on her way to serve with Iris Ministries.  I asked her if she was going to Pemba, but alas, she was not.  She was South African and going to meet her husband somewhere, as he works in another country.  Imagine that!  That cannot be an easy relationship.

It seems there are other reasons that people travel to Pemba besides going to volunteer at the orphanage.  One very affectionate couple had just gotten married and were flying to some islands off the coast of Mozambique for their honeymoon.  Apparently this is a popular destination for South Africans.  Another young man was from Pakistan and traveling to Pemba on business as he is in the used auto parts industry.  He was a really nice guy with captivating green eyes.  He was surprised to learn I used to recruit technical candidates from Pakistan and that I had hired many professionals from there to work in the US.  I told him how impressed I was with the students I hired from Pakistan.  They were so smart, hard working, talented and a pleasure to work with.

Finally the time came to board, which I only realized because the people also holding the plastic yellow cards began to get up and walk away.  Wait for me!  I got up and followed the crowd, which often works out as a good decision, though not always.  This time, it was the right choice.  I walked past the one gift shop in the airport and saw this man standing outside of it, as if he was browsing the store.  In that split second before I could even think, I just blurted out "Pete!?!"  The man turned to see who was calling his name and sure enough, it was Pete!  Pete and I worked together at PATH.  He was a leader in the information technology part of the organization and we worked together as he was building his team.  I was Pete's recruiting partner and remember how much I enjoyed working with him.  He was passionate, smart, driven, creative, unique and made decisions quickly.  One day while working at PATH we were trying to figure out a solution to a problem that was arising which impacted so many parts of the organization- new hires, information technology, human resources, hiring teams in countries around the world, etc.  We talked through the issue, the roadblocks, potential solutions and a game plan.  Pete jumped to his feet during our conversation, grabbed a dry erase marker and began writing all over the door of the conference room by outlining the parameters, workflow and process to give a visual to our discussion.  Fortunately, these doors had windows that were designed for writing on them.  I loved the way he began white-boarding the ideas and solutions to propel our discussion.  I know this isn't unique as many professionals could white board and do, but you don't always see this happen between IT and HR partners.  I felt there was mutual respect as we sought the right solution for the organization and all involved.  He is also a very talented musician.  Very cool guy.

Pete was in Mozambique on business.  It was so crazy to run into someone I actually knew in the tiny Maputo airport.  We exchanged a quick "hello and what the heck are you doing here?!" and then I caught my flight.  I loved that moment.  It made the world seem very small and gave me a small connection to home that felt good.  Pete sent me an email shortly after that and said he was excited for me as I move into this new journey.  Isn't life fun?  I just think life is so exciting and fun...or at least it CAN be.

Keep your eyes open for connections.  They are all around and can bring energy and a sweetness to life.