Africa - Day Fifteen Wednesday

At 4.45am UK time, Jason punched my shoulder.  “Do you want breakfast?”  Full sunlight was streaming in on our right.  The display screen showed we were over Albania, and we would track the dawn.  Jason and Jonny didn’t seem to have tried to sleep, having found it futile coming over.  Darren, my neighbour, had vaulted over our seats and found a better space to sleep.  Sam Strong would be waiting for us, and we had no way of telling him we were running over an hour late. 

Jason filled me in on his and Jonny’s adventures.  “We were in a hotel – for security.   I went to wash my hands and the basin filled with brown water.  I pulled the plug and didn’t notice the sink drain was a make-shift do.  Water went all over the floor.  I wondered what we’d come to.”  The question Wakey and I had been dying to ask was about pit latrines.  The non-existent phone signal in Rwanda had denied us this.  “First night,” Jason continued, “We just lay awake, terrified, listening to every sound.  We talked and prayed.”

He explained that the farm they’d been working on, just outside the town, had been owned by Gregory’s family.  “They have this local thing where when someone dies, they flatten the house.  But his family and the Pastor want to end the superstition.  It’s a substantial place, and the church now uses it for training and stuff.”  He and Jonny had spent one day selecting timber and materials.  Then they’d made some doors and tables.  The local young guys, eager to learn, had soon picked up the skills from Jonny.  “They’ve got very good plans.  When the container arrives, it will be a great set-up.”  “I guess you’ll want to go and see it, then,” I led him.  “I’m sure the Oxford congregation could ‘find’ the price of your tickets.”  He laughed in agreement.  “I don’t want to lose what I’ve learned here.”  He was more serious.

They’d also visited several churches.  Jason had been shocked to see a group of orphans sniffing glue – the only palliative available against the pain of their lives.  Alfred, from Uganda, had expressed something similar.  Members of his church’s congregation are traumatised by 20 years of war and insurgency.  An aim of his kingdom business initiatives is to help people to build a new life by healthy manual work.

Soon enough the PA announced, “The weather in London is 5 degrees...”  The four of us exchanged glances.  I’d packed an extra tee-shirt, and put it on as soon as I could find an airport toilet.  As we shuffled through the Terminal 4 queues, Sam Strong rang.  “I’ve overslept – didn’t set the alarm.”  It was one of his wind-ups.  But for a moment I doubted for arrival back in Sheffield at any kind of sensible time.  We’d ordered a welcome hot flask, and Sam had remembered.  The day felt very cold, but Spring had leapt ahead since we left: blackthorn blossom, hawthorn leaves, and even sticky buds.

I rang Mick to confirm our safe return, as we’d asked for a lot of prayer support through yesterday’s mishaps.  On the train home from Oxford, I had a call from an unknown number.  It was Barclay’s fraud department.  “There’s been a Western Railways transaction...” the voice began.  “Yes, that’s me.  And 1.2M Tanzanian shillings,” I expanded.  “And a cafe purchase,” the voice continued.  They’d been doing a thorough job.

Back in Sheffield, I went straight to the Jesus Centre, where Mary was doing the day’s reception/help desk shift.  I caught up with essential news, checked the state of my desk, and at 3 o’clock went home for an hour’s sleep, so I could recalibrate my body clock.   At seven, I swam up from the deepest sleep I can remember.  It was completely dark, and I was struggling to identify a noise that had now ceased: my phone ringing.   Yesterday’s adventures must have really knocked me out. 

I’ve gradually readjusting from the three-hour time change.  Getting up time has gone: Thursday 4.45am; Friday 5.15am; Saturday 6.15am (when Ps Luvanda texted me); Sunday 6.60am.  James wants me to do a 1,000 word summary of all this, for Jesus Life.  Huw wants me to do my customary report.  “Include a five-year plan,” he added.  Now there’s a challenge.

Africa - Day Fourteen Tuesday

We both slept restlessly.  Wakey’s late lunch ‘vegetable special’ fought with his digestive system.  For once he was up before me.  We packed, and were eager for breakfast.  Rukundo had decided to leave today, too, instead of staying til Thursday.  He reprinted his flight ticket at the hotel cybercafe.  We’d all be flying just after 2.30pm.  Around 10.00am Ps Luvanda arrived.  He accompanied Rukundo and me on a short shopping expedition in the market across Mandela Road for some teabags to take home.  Wakey had filed his conscientious objection to any of it.  He's giving anything consumerist a wide berth.  Rukundo did the ‘Chinese’ speaking and we got several boxes for a local price. 

I was watching the shillings carefully.  I’d planned to pay for our hotel meals this way, to use up the currency.  It would leave just the dollar room charges for the Skaino credit card.  The five of us gathered for final prayer.  I chipped off the check out, and we expected the taxi to arrive within half an hour.

What now follows for the rest of the day would make a stunning screen play for a two-hour action thriller, with Wakey, Rukundo and I being the principle stooges.  The shilling part of the account cleaned me out completely.  Wakey had kept the exact amount for the taxi.  I offered the credit card.  “I’m sorry, we don’t accept Visa,” the receptionist said flatly.  It was the clueless Cat5 cable waver.  I thought I may do better with the day manager, also behind the counter.  “We have no other way to pay,” I replied tightly.  “Then it will have to be cash,” he stated seeming not to grasp our predicament.  I said the only option for that was to go to a bank and draw $600, which time prevented. 

I asked him to send a bill to House of Goodness, and I wrote the details on my Multiply business card.  “No,” he insisted (though payment through account was an option on their billing system).  I looked blankly at the rest of the guys.  Wakey stepped forward to steer me away.  The taxi driver had come early, and we could try to make a dash to the Shoprite mall.  We hit a traffic jam.  We were crushed up against a line of lorries.  I stared gloomily through the open car window into a throbbing 4-inch exhaust pipe.  I knew we’d lost the plot.  Even if we raised the cash, we’d still miss our flights, though Rukundo may be okay.  If too much time passed, we may not even connect with Jonny and Jason and the midnight flight from Nairobi.  We deal with a God who specialises in resurrection.  For this He requires corpses.  Our notions of how the day would run lay slaughtered.

Bank no1 was crowded.  Rukundo pushed me forward firmly at the customer service desk.  “...Not unless you have an account with us.”  Same at Bank no 2.  So we set off from the mall to find a Barclays.  “Not at this branch, but probably our central one,” the manager helpfully suggested.  Wakey had worked at Barclays, and asked her to ring and confirm: she obliged.

The city centre brought more traffic jams.  Our long-suffering taxi driver remained placid.  Wakey had joined me in the realisation that the afternoon flights were a lost cause.  “Greatheart, I’ll ring Iain and get him to do something about it.”  Explaining, his voice was steady, stern and tense.  “Well?” I enquired shortly, from the front seat.  Wakey sighed.  “Our systems.  We’re just not getting it right, are we?  There was a credit card receipt he was supposed to give us.”  This was the Visa problem we’d had first at Heathrow and then in Kigali.  He was on the phone again.  “Oh, no,” he groaned; “Jason and Jonny have broken down 90km outside Nairobi.”

“Look, there it is. C’mon Greatheart, let’s leave the driver to turn round.”  Wakey jumped out of the back of the car.  In Barclays, we gave our well-worn story again.  “No problem,” smiled the lady.  “What?” Wakey gasped.  Just fill in this form, and...” she nodded in the direction of the cashiers.  Another helpful smile.  “Just enter the pin number, please.”  We waited.  ‘Transaction not authorised.’  This floored me.  I knew the card wasn’t authorised for ATM withdrawals abroad, but also I knew I’d got Euros over the counter from the bank in Germany.  The cashier put our form on one side.

With getting folks at home to pray, and keeping Jacob and Ps Luvanda in the picture while they waited at the hotel, Wakey’s phone battery had died.  Rukundo had run out of credit ages before, being unable to top up with any local service provider.  Wakey grabbed my mobile, announcing, “You stay here; I’m ringing Hilary,” and dashed outside to join Rukundo.  Through the window I watched Ian’s gesticulations and guessed the conversation.  “I think the devil’s angry.”  Rukundo smiled, “but no problem.”  I was blessed by his optimism.  “I will be okay to spend two more nights in Dar es Salaam until the flight on Thursday.”  Wakey and I weren’t quitting 'til he was sorted out for getting home as satisfactorily as we were. 

Office workers returned from their lunch breaks.  We waved an okay to our taxi driver parked by the huge hotel opposite.  Hilary rang.  Wakey summarised our needs: cash, and enough credit limit for flights.  She promised to get onto it.  Time passed.  She rang to confirm it was all cleared, and texted a Barclays number in case of difficulties.

Reassured, we join the queue to the counters.  Just as we shuffle to the front, the lights go out.  A power cut.  “O, no; I just don’t believe this”, I groan.  “Let’s hope the computers are on back-up” Wakey offers.  They were, but not the card readers.  Eventually our cashier brightens up and nods us over.  We repeat our mantra, and swipe the card.  “Not Authorised”  The cashier gives us a sideways look, and firmly places the papers on her 'Done' pile.  We step aside.  

 I ring the Barclays number, dreading the security check questions that I struggle to satisfy even at the office.  “They’ll expect me to know what Skaino’s been buying recently” I mutter vacantly to Wakey.  The helpful lady starts at the top of her sheet.  "Can you confirm an Internet transaction from your latest statement?"  I'm stumped.  She tries twice more.  I explained I’d been out of the country for two weeks.  Apologetically, she switched to other security questions, and finally seemed satisfied.  “Go to the ATM at the branch: it will be okay,” she instructed.  As we strode to the machine I said to Wakey, “Ah: it won’t be dollars.”  “How much do we need in shillings?”  he fired.  I did some quick calculations.  “Oh; about a million.”  Then, “It’ll never give us that.”  I knew the withdrawal limit was $800.  The ATM display told us it wasn’t working.  The power cut...  “The one outside,” Wakey urged.

The 24-hour ATM produced us 400,000 shillings.  Wakey was on the edge.  “That’ll have to do.  We’ve spent enough time.  Back to the hotel.”   We drove past the Diamond Jubilee Hall, the city’s top facility, where Big Guy and his American team would be hosting the pastors on Thursday.  “Rukundo, if the devil’s angry at what we’ve done here, why does he want to keep us longer?”  “So we will be discouraged, and not want to return.”  I thought the likelihood of that was more related to what the brethren at home may decide, but didn’t say so. 

We burst into the hotel.  The manager was nervous.  Wakey laid out before him the 400,000 shillings and some dollars we could muster.  “You will just have to invoice us for the rest,” he insisted.  And, “We’ve already missed our flights, and it could cost £1,000 to rebook.”  “I did not know this would put you to so much trouble,” he mumbled.  The four hours of suspense had done something.  “I have ruined our relationship, and that is a greater loss,” he confessed.  With an invoice stuffed into my sports bag, I was last to the reception exit.  The porter squeezed my hand and smiled broadly.  “Please know you are welcome to return.”  The voice of the common people.  Wakey, with Jacob, made sure our taxi driver was well reimbursed.   We left Ps Luvanda and Jacob with as much warmth as the testing circumstances would permit.  Rukundo had explained to Wakey that their honour would be challenged if we had found their arrangements unsatisfactory.

From the Landmark Hotel, you have a choice of roads to the airport: down two main sides of a triangle, or across a diagonal.  Our driver chose the short cut.  We bumped down mud tracks through neighbourhoods and crowded markets.  We nearly crashed into a stall when the congested road suddenly narrowed and ran out.   The car lurched across a burial ground, complete with grazing flock of goats.  I was beginning to like the colour and life.  We’d felt imprisoned in the hotel, with our only relief being taxis charging the white men half as much again on the normal fare.  Maybe the place wasn’t so bad after all.  In fact, as an alternative to sitting in Nairobi airport, the day's drive had been quite stimulating.

“Brother Rukundo,” I mused, “ I should like us to fly together to Nairobi, but also to make sure you get home safely to Erika.”  He sort of agreed.  Surely, if we could find a route to Kigali, paying flight bookings would be no problem.   Then there was the Jason’s and Jonny’s situation.  They were on the move again after being stranded, and Carlson had been on standby to pick them up.

Once at Julius Neyrere International Airport, we had to use our time wisely.  Rukundo had to see the agency that handled his booking.  Wakey had to find the Kenyan Airways sales desk.  I looked after the two trolleys of luggage.  The best they could offer Rukundo was to pay $50 to revert to flying on Thursday, meaning two nights’ stay.  But where?  And paid how?  “It’ll be $120 per night here,” I cautioned him.  His eyes popped.  These were sums beyond imagination, as were the prices for flights (also in dollars).  He tried Uganda Airways, who could get him to Kampala/Entebbe tonight, but thereafter, a blank.  And they needed cash.  We tried another agency.  No better.

Wakey sped into view.  For some inexplicable reason, he’d first had to secure an airport access pass.  Then, he’d found the sales office a waste of time.  They directed him to Precision Air, the economy partner carrier.   I thought there may be a chance we could book Rukundo on any revised flight to Nairobi.  He protested that Kenyan flights to Rwanda were customarily too expensive.  Wakey appeared, grabbed my e-ticket, and triumphantly reappeared with bookings for 8.00pm that would connect us to our original flight, and Jonny and Jason.  The Precision lady had been massively helpful.  But Wakey’s last cash - $50 – was now gone on the rebooking.  Hilary texted, and sent Agape greetings. 

Now the three of us could focus on a solution for Rukundo.  “If we get him to Nairobi, I can go to a sales desk and pay for the connection on,” I offered.  “But, of course, all the way to Kigali would be better.”   We marched to two nearby ATMs.  We got the 200,000 shillings maximum from each, and I handed the wad to Rukundo.  “That’s worth $250 dollars,” I explained.  “You’re okay for staying, or it may get us a ticket.”  “Brother,” he queried, “How is it that this machine just produces you money?”  We failed to stifle our laughs.  I think he meant how is it that suddenly we can procure the cash, where for four days we had been saying we had no funds.  But I'm not 100% sure.

Wakey pressed his nose to the Precision window again.  There was a long wait.  The day had been sweltering.  My left arm was red and stinging from sun on the taxi window.  We used $4 to get three Pepsis, the first thing since breakfast over eight hours earlier.  I checked at a nearby bureau what they’d give me in dollars for the £50 common purse float that was our last spare currency: $72.  We had 15 minutes before Wakey and I must check in.

“$590!” Wakey shouted.  “What’s that in shillings?  What can we raise?”  The Precision lady had cracked it.  Rukundo would come with us and go on to arrive home at 2am.  Back to the ATMs: 400,000 shillings more.  Then refused transactions.  I thrust the notes towards Rukundo, his eyes widening.  “That’s $500 in total.  Just don’t get mugged.” 

Rukundo gave Wakey the last of his cash, which we’d somehow need to pay him back to get home.  Wakey gave me the last of his common purse float to exchange.  I found $5 more.  We’d scraped enough together.  Rukundo raised his arms and did his twirl.  We raced to the check-in. 

“No, Rukundo.  Leave the projector in the big suitcase,” I chided.  “I want to take it all as hand luggage,” he protested.  Security caught him.  Wakey had given him all his spare and half-used toiletries to take home.  I looked away as the officer marched to the sin bin with confiscated shampoo and shower gel.  “This is just not a day to be trying to bend the rules.”  I thought, and shuffled to the slightly 'greasy spoon' cafe in the departure area.

Wakey was jumpy.  On our trip, two local flights had left 15 or 20 minutes early after very few announcements, and we could see no departure indicator boards.  He was also thirsty.  I gave Rukundo the final 20 dollars from exchanging our sterling, to repay his shillings.  “How is it you are giving me money for a ticket I should buy?” he quizzed.   “Now we are in a common purse,” I smiled.  “And if Wakey is going to get a drink, it’s going to have to be from this money.”  “Unless they take Visa,” Wakey interrupted, trying to sound hopeful.  He knew that Rukundo eats and sips as sparingly as a sparrow.  The cafe took Visa.  We laughed, had a quick snack, then boarded. 

At Jomo Kenyatta, Nairobi, Wakey was restless.  The airport was busy and Jonny and Jason were ages coming though check-in, security and immigration.  Rukundo leaned towards me.  "Brother, I am confused.  Please explain why you bought this ticket."  "You've been living like a Westener today," I grinned, and continued.  "You see, you laid down your life for us by sticking through our trials, and being prepared to sacrifice more two nights way.  Brotherhood deals with treasure that is more precious than a few dollars.  This is the true wealth."  "Ah," he smiled.  "Then I am happy".  However, he was giving up hope of seeing Jason and Jonny before he had to make for departure.  They emerged from the escalator bearded, sun-burned and travel-stained.  We gathered to pray.  A local guy joined in!  It was farewells to Rukundo, then lining up to board.  A very English voice toned, “There are queues,” as the four of us jostled to stay together.

 

With empty seats sprinkled around the plane, Wakey was calculating how we could sit together.  I slid in between Jason and a guy called Darren who’d just completed some anti-piracy training.  He advised getting pre-paid cash cards in future.  Jason chatted in Swahili to a hostess, who turned out to be a Christian.  The plane taxied out, then back to the terminal.  “Ice,” she confirmed.  This had happened to Iain and me last year, too.  Take-off was delayed nearly two hours.  But, I’d already closed my eyes.

Africa - Day Thirteen Monday

We must be becoming a familiar sight around the place.  This morning I got a smile from the security guard, who sits in his goon box with his high calibre rifle just outside Reception.   Mind you we’d been pacing around in there for over two hours, waiting for the ‘early’ (8.00am) lift to Abundant Blessings.   Let me go back a few hours.  Some time in the night the electricity blacked out.  The hotel generator clanked in to action, but the room air-con died again.  Then heavy rain started.  The sky remained overcast until well past 10am.  The temperature was a subdued 24 degrees, the lowest we’d experienced.  But I wasn’t going to be deceived.

“I think they’ve got nobody coming, and daren’t face us,” Wakey gloomily conjectured.  “Or worse, they’ve run off with the $600.”  I told him to suspect cock-up before conspiracy.  Actually, floods had cut off several roads, and Abundant Blessings was also without power.  By 10.45, when we arrived, not many more than a dozen pastors were seated around the hall.  The sheet that super-deac had hung, with great precision, at the back of the platform was five feet wide and 12 feet tall.  I obviously hadn’t made my requirements unambiguously clear.  'Improvisation’ doesn’t quite carry the measure of what was required now.  Just as Ps Luvanda handed over to me, a microphone popped and we realised that power was back on.  The numbers had swelled to about 40.  The temperature was tracking up too, and now both my trousers and my tee-shirt felt like I’d left them on in the shower.

 Skipping over the slide that showed a 10.00am to 4.00pm programme, I did the Multiply introduction and asked for questions.  Now we were up to 100, and the session was getting healthily interactive.  Even Jacob, translating, was looking relaxed.  Wakey talked about fathering and again hit the right note.  The lunch arrived late, and I could see the afternoon session was going to suffer.  I was dragged away from copying stuff onto USB sticks to join the bishop pastor of the Church.  We had a lot to thank him for – he’d even got a generator brought in.  

Rukundo was supposed to start the afternoon, and I take the second half.   He warmed up in Swahili, cracking jokes and speaking vulnerably about Rwanda’s recent episodes, then drew a comparison with Tanzania's history of stability.  Then he switched to English and shared, part by testimony and part by scripture, his passion for the new man (Ephesians 2).  He told us he'd asked the Lord to live to be 120 so he could see new humanity in pratice.  He skipped, twirled and hallelujahed.  The delegates loved it, and cheered him on.  At 4.15, I rather more soberly summed up. I handed over to Jacob to see that any local announcements got a look-in.

Pastor A thanked Bishop B.  Bishop B praised senior Bishop C, who then introduced ‘big’ Bishop D.  He commended Bishop E, who thanked Pastor A.  When Bishop B got up for a second round, I remembered the sound recording, and switched it off, making a mental note to delete the last 45 torturing minutes.  

Back in the office, all was smiles.  It seems everyone will apply to come to MILC!  Jacob confessed that the last conference they’d held had been a disaster.  People had walked out almost from the start.  Ps Luvanda is a deeply respected man, and we’d not let him down.  Also, I could see how Stephen had come to the conclusion that we could take three days.  Rather than going home, people were milling about outside, petitioning for us to reappear and give them more teaching.  Wakey rang the guys in Kimilili, and we established that Gregory’s target was to get them back to Nairobi by 12 o’clock.

We waited around the permanent outdoor pulpit the church has built to preach to the local neighbourhood.  Two taxi drivers appeared, then went off in a huff when the brothers wouldn’t let them charge the white men twice the going rate.  “It’s the first time I’ve experienced racial discrimination,” Wakey stated.

Back at the hotel, Wakey and Rukundo dived into their showers while I ordered dinner with the three brothers who’d joined us.   I rehydrated with several cups of chai, the fortunate result of the waiter thinking that four people had ordered some.  We’ve now spent a whole week with Rukundo, and operate as a brilliant team.  We carefully checked with Ps Luvanda that we'd covered all the expenses.  Jacob’s aiming to come and see us tomorrow morning before we leave for the airport.  His wife and family of four are all in Kitwe because of schooling, and I think he likes hanging out with us.

After the air-con had run for five hours, Wakey complained that the bedroom was still too hot to sleep in.

Africa - Day Twelve Sunday

Over breakfast I had a brainwave.  Wakey had been getting a regular mobile signal, so I blagged his phone to connect up my laptop.  I had four futile attempts to email some photos home for the Sunday meetings.  I did get two blogs posted, but felt frustrated.  Today was going to be a challenge.  We were going to be split up, at the mercy of interpreters, and tales had reached us that our churches would keep us in the vestry office until we were called forth to preach.  Rukundo caught my unsettledness, and prayed for me. 

Abundant Blessings Church is up a side track near River Msimbazi.  Recent floods had destroyed 200 nearby homes.  The building is modern and airy, with open lattice replacing windows.  We (Jacob and I) heard the worship before we spotted the building: my sneaky measurement later clocked 81 decibels.  Yes, I was ushered into the office.   I tried to converse with Jacob.  “We met these Americans yesterday,” I offered.  “Uh-huh, I was at their meeting last night.  They’ll be hosting 5,000 pastors from all over the country, paying their travel and accommodation, using two helicopters, and advertising on radio and TV.  It will be well done.  We’ve hosted them all in Dar es Salaam: Bonnke, Cerullo...”  I felt thoroughly lectured to.

In the auditorium, I caught one sentence of English in two full hours.  The cockerels crowing in the nearby homes brought a touch of comfort.  I always associate this with the tropics: balmy and unvarying dawns where you can predict the time by the rising daylight.  The uninsulated metal roof was radiating down the 30+degrees midday sun.  My trousers felt like I'd inadvertently left them on in the shower.  I was drifting.  Suddenly, twenty or so excited ladies mobbed a young woman on the front row, and led her to the platform.  “Some kind of celebration?” I leaned to Jacob. “Yes, an engagement,” he replied, as a young man stepped forward holding out a ring.  She knelt before him as he put it on her hand.  “C’mon, we’re praying for them,” Jacob urged.  The pastor thrust a mic into my hand.  “And I’m going to minister about celibacy, later,” I groaned.

Actually, the preach wasn’t too bad.  Back in the office, a super-deac guy bustled and fussed about, working out how to hang a sheet at the back of the platform to use for our projector tomorrow.  I felt slightly more assured.

Jacob and Luvanda joined us for lunch.  It took ages, but they seemed to be warming up.  Wakey had had a blistering time preaching, prophesying, healing, deliverance, dedicating a baby, and picking up Tsh26,000 for his efforts.  Rukundo was happy with his first sermon in English – his Swahili being the weakest of the five languages he uses.  Jason and Jonny had ‘done good’, too.  Wakey told me off for being absorbed with my phone’s failure to get a signal (and insisted that I mention it).

Afterwards Rukundo quizzed me whether people who fail to allow the cross to deal with their selfishness are really saved.  I had an opening to engage with him about Multiply’s future.  This was the conversation I’d been waiting for.  “We feel we must start to impart something of what we are, not just make nice presentations that testify to the Spirit’s leading and maybe inspire pastors to join the Network.”  He nodded.  I went on, “It will be troublesome.  In Rwanda, real building will mean calling Claud, Aimable and Deogracias to violently enter the Kingdom.”  “I have tried to do this,” he stated.  Wakey explained, “It’s the difference between the pastoral/teaching ministry and the prophetic/apostolic one.”  Rukundo listened patiently.  He was a man at his limits, but not drawing back: “Then, you must press forward courageously with this you have said, as you are telling me that I must in my way, too.”  We’d asked, and he’d told us. 

Night had come.  We prayed together and were quiet for the rest of the evening.  I went down to reception and tried the Wi-Fi.  The smartly dressed but clueless lady waved a Cat5 cable at me.  It wasn’t plugged to anything.  That explains why there’s no connection.  Tomorrow – troublesome ministry about the Two Kingdoms.

Africa - Day Eleven Saturday

The air-con hummed all night; Wakey had pleaded for a low setting.  The ceiling fan that I put on to deter any mosquitoes, blew the cold air through my single sheet.  For the first time we weren’t using nets.  So I wasn’t surprised that I woke early.  I crept out onto the balcony, hoping for a refreshing early morning, as we’d enjoyed in Cuttack last November.   No, it was already hot. 

Over breakfast in the restaurant, Rukundo revealed yet another ministry challenge.  His radio programmes had seen groups coming together over a wide range of Rwanda, Burundi and Congo.  “Brother, I cannot get to see them all; what should I do?” he pleaded.  “They want to know how to be church.”

We kicked around the proposition of launching cell-sized disciple groups at his church.  Once prototyped, this would feed back into better close relationships in the community, and be a model for these wider emerging groups.   Rukundo went off to pray about it. 

The two local guys, Ps Jacob and Luvanda,  arrived.  “How much did Stephen explain about Multiply?” I opened.  “He explained nothing at all.”  “Well, we’d better start by attempting that.”  “No, you must wait until tomorrow.”  Sigh.  I felt like packing up and moving out of town.  We handed over $600 for catering plus contingency, and $100 for phone credit and taxis.  We fixed to meet at 7.00pm, and then 8.30am for church tomorrow, and they left for other appointments. 

Now we had a problem.  To get some currency changed, we’d need to take a taxi or bus, but we had nothing to pay fares with.  Rukundo wandered outside, then beckoned for us.  He’d negotiated a taxi for Tsh5,000, and the driver would wait until we could pay.  The familiar Shoprite sign spread over the entrance to the mall.  “Africa’s favourite supermarket,” I commented.  “The one in Livingstone played praise and worship over the system.”  I changed my common purse float, to preserve our dwindling reserve of dollars.  We bought some apples and bottled water, and sauntered around.

“Hey, you guys.  We saw your cross.  R’you missionaries?”  The big man held out his hand.  At this point I need to try to explain about Wakey and Americans.  He likes them.  Or, until coming here, he did.  We’d even had a bit of ‘an exchange’ about it in some early conversation.  But Joyce Meyer whining on in Carlson’s car (“Radio 318”), hearing first-hand that some US ministries sell bottled water for $35 ‘to solve all your problems’, and witnessing a group being loudly rude at Kigali airport, had dinted his predisposition.  He’d even voiced this on the plane yesterday, only to discover that the four rows in front of us were occupied by Americans. 

A little guy, not unlike Colonel Sanders, stepped forward and, hearing he was from Rwanda, engaged Rukundo in Congolese.  Big Guy enthused about a Jesus thing happening right here in the mall.  Okay, so their genuineness was attractive.  But more to the point, they were here to set up a whole week of conferences for pastors, ending with a free stadium celebration in preparation for some ‘whole city’ evangelism later in the year.  “Tell your guys on Monday,” they pressed.  Hmm.  If any turn up, with this kind of competition.  Wakey sneaked his email address to the young guy in the group.

“Order for me, I’m just ringing home,” Wakey fired, as we headed for the hotel restaurant and a late lunch.  “And let’s have it outside”.  Rukundo and I settled on changu (white snapper) fish for all of us.  Outside, we swatted away flies, and thee scrawny cats wound past our legs.  The waitress appeared with the customary bowl, jug and soap, and we washed our hands.  This routine, that had so freaked the guys in Kenya, is normal.  The plates arrived from the kitchen, wrapped in silver foil.  “What’ve we got?” smiled Wakey, whipping off foil.  “Fish.”  “Hmm, yes, and they’ve left the eyes in.”  A classic African heavily-armoured fish, with teeth bared, glared defiantly off the plate.  “How do we eat this?” Wakey asked Rukundo.   “With your fingers,” I interrupted, recalling vain attempts to get nutritional value any other way in Zambia.  Rukundo beamed, and showed us how it’s really done, crunching through the skull and all.  “You haven’t hardly eaten any,” he nodded at Wakey, who’d announced it had all been delicious.

Now we had a free afternoon.  Rukundo was wisely going to take things easy, his endless normal demands being half a continent away.  Wakey spoke to Jason and Jonny again, then slept over his Kindle.  I knocked out some blogs.  I tried out the cotton Rwandan bottoms that Erika had presented as a parting gift.  Then we had a power cut.  A generator clattered into life.  The air-con didn’t respond to Wakey’s attempts to restart it.  I think he may feel a bit guilty that it’s been on all the time.  For the third time, the wireless connection in reception wasn’t working.  I only got a mobile signal in the taxi last night for long enough to load the 151 unread messages I’d had to skip in Nairobi.  After that: nothing.  And I’d promised Huw some pictures for Heart.

Seven o’clock found us waiting.  Jacob phoned to say he was held up, so we ordered some dinner.  While we waited Pastor Luvanda appeared.  He, too had been busy.  We agreed a few more arrangements for tomorrow’s church and he left.  Jonny and Jason rang to say they’d both been co-opted to take meetings, too.  Dinner took ages, but resulted in all agreeing that we must speak about the Two Kingdoms on Monday.  My chin flopped onto my chest.  Remembering the chastising mental voices in Rwanda, I wondered what we may just stir up here, a country we had no first-hand knowledge about.  So with preparation to do, we all headed to our rooms and got to bed a bit earlier.

Africa - Day Ten Friday

I guess we should have expected some backlash.  I had one last giggling handshake from the children; we packed; said our warm goodbyes to Erika, Claud and the others.  Soon, Wakey, Rukundo and I were at the airport.  “I leave after you, but because I’m flying direct, I’ll get to Dar es Salaam before you.  I’ll wait.  Don’t leave the airport without me,” were Rukundo’s parting words. 

At the check-in desk for Nairobi, they couldn’t find our details.  Then the computer yielded that we’d been booked on a two-hours’ later flight.  “Will we make the same connecting flight?” I asked; “we have people who need to know.”  This was on the premise that once at Jomo Kenyatta,  we’d get a mobile signal, be able to ring Stephen, and see what any emails may say about accommodation and the next day conference.   We had to traipse round security again.  When Wakey checked the boarding passes, we’d been booked on a much later onward flight, with no given arrival time.  Rukundo would have an enormous and undefined wait. 

At Nairobi our phones filled with messages.  “Money has not come, I will not be at D-e-S,” from Stephen. “Please confirm arrival time” from Rukundo, who’d spotted our difficulty at check-in.  “Sorry, I will not get to Tanz - too many things here,” from Gregory.  “Jacob will be waiting (and phone number), when do you arrive?” again, from Stephen.  What few arrangements we had, had sunk.  “The further we go on in the trip, the more it’s like being up the Amazon without a paddle,” I’d commented more than once during the previous weeks.

We fitted in everything we could attempt before being called to Departure.  Wakey confirmed the arrival time.  He rang Huw and Iain, and established that £750 for the conference had gone astray, and Stephen had malaria.  We would have to arrange and run the day and pay accommodation costs with what we could manage to scrape up.  Skaino’s credit card may help – but doesn’t cover cash withdrawals.  I shot off as many (already written) blogs as I could hold a signal for, so folks at home had some news.  Wakey rang Jonny and Jason; then Carlson.  I rang Mary and Rukundo.  We’d managed to scrape together something of a contingency plan.  But we’d arrive very late, with no real time to arrange for Saturday’s programmed day.

“Brother Rukundo,” I’d joked in the car, “There is a story about two ants in the jungle who find the carcass of an elephant.  One starts eating at one end, and the second at the other.  Then they stop, to argue whose elephant it is.  The elephant is Tanzania, and Gregory is at one end and Stephen is at the other.  I have had to see they don’t fall out.  Now you have started to eat the elephant, too, and there are three ants who must agree.”  Only, now he’d be the only ant, and have to eat it all!

On the propeller-driven economy service we got no meal, and instead a steady 70 decibels of engine noise.  We flew scarily close to Kilimanjaro’s snowy summit at exactly the same elevation.  We stopped at Zanzibar to exchange passengers.  The hot damp air of the Indian Ocean coast rushed through the open doors.  The captain announced a pleasant evening of 27degrees (approaching 9.00pm).

Jacob, Stephen’s brother, was indeed waiting.  Rukundo too, who’d been contentedly reading his bible.  “They told me you had a visa problem,” he puzzled.  “No, it was the Visa card used for booking they wanted to see,” Wakey explained.  We got a taxi to the Landmark Hotel.  The reception fans made an inadequate attempt to counter the heat.  After three hours in the plane, they also made it impossible for me to understand the receptionist.  With no time to check the rooms, another local Pastor, Luvanda, joined us.  We dived straight into sorting out the conference situation.  “Stephen was told there was not a budget for the three days he planned, nor for 300 people,” Jacob explained.  “So, we have told people it will be on Monday.”  Well, that's one relief. 

I explained we only had enough to pay catering of five dollars a head for 100 attending, and Jacob looked gloomily doubtful.  We established we’d get the use of Abundant Blessings Church with no up-front cost, and could check it out for facilities on Sunday.  The few dollars we’d have left would have to cover taxis, etc.  I fear we hadn’t made a good first impression.  We let them go with a promise to meet next morning, after which potential attenders would all be contacted.

Our room was fine, and the air-conditioning was working.  Rukundo had a room just down the corridor.  We’d hardly eaten all day, but not by choice, like the rest of the church.  Wakey phoned for some fried beef and chips.  I signed the chit with no notion whether the exchange rate made the meal expensive or what.  The three of us held a post-mortem on the day.  We still had no idea why the flights got changed, though I’d also had this happen in India. 

Then Rukundo began to unpack some of the community issues he’d alluded to the day before.  “Claud needs healing and strengthening in his soul and character, not more pressure to perform in Christian leading,” we explained.  (Rukundo had asked about him doing an intern period with us.)  This is something the fast-growing churches that Multiply meets haven’t developed.  Although late by the clock, because we’d had another hour’s time zone shift, we weren’t totally knocked out.  But getting up tomorrow would be more of a challenge.

Africa - Day Nine Thursday

After last night’s warm interaction, I got up early to see the children leaving for school.  Blessing, with her cropped hair and shorts, was barely distinguishable from her three brothers.  I was glad I hadn’t stumbled in to confusing her with Joshua, next to her in the family.  Toddler Grace just screams and screams whenever we appear, and baby Benjamin’s usually asleep, tied round somebody’s back.

At breakfast, Rukundo was anxious.  He was planning to stay on at Dar es Salaam after we depart.  He had two radio programmes to get recorded; had promised to take us to the second community house today; and urgently had to meet with a group of Congolese brothers while they were still around.  We were going to have to do his evening bible study at the church.  The number of delegates meant the conference expenses had been well above his budget.  “Please can you get me some more dollars?”  He very reasonably requested.  But we couldn’t contact the Multiply office and – with an unknown situation in Tanzania ahead – had only limited spending money with us.  In addition to Rukundo’s immediate burdens, I would just have been content if he’d make some phone contact about Dar es Salaam.  But he was preoccupied.

Walking down to the taxi rank, he opened up; “There are many things I need to ask you about our community.  We have another family who want to join, but we have no room, and cannot afford to rent.  I know from our conversation yesterday that I need to find someone to pastor things, and I need a good administrator.  But we have no resources.  The brothers cannot get jobs.  We have tried a business with the sisters selling second hand clothes, and some food at a table in the market.  But we cannot afford to buy in things.  What can I do?”  Later, I tried to explain about our Multiply Trust.  He had made an application, but heard nothing back.  I knew our administration needs to improve.

“Now we take a taxi.” Rukundo beamed.  By this he meant a Tigo motorbike, the normal transport in Kigali.  Wakey looked doubtful as his driver passed him the passenger crash helmet, and he sighed, “Oh Greatheart, I don’t think I’m going to cope with this.”  I climbed on my machine, with my knees sticking out, and we roared round into a U turn to catch up with Rukundo.  On the smooth road I thought it was worth trying to catch a photo on my phone.  At this point, Wakey confessed he’d been hanging on like grim death.  He thought I was mad when he figured out my intention.  Rukundo, meanwhile, was sitting back relaxed.  When we all dismounted, we simply burst into laughter.   The three drivers were mad with Rukundo for fixing a local low price, which denied them the premium they charge for tourists.  They were arguing in ‘Chinese’.

Threading up the mud track past hillside chickens and banana palms, Rukundo explained that Claud was disapproved by his family for moving into New Humanity.  For extended families, wealth is corporately owned, and to give your income to non-relatives amounts to betrayal.  We reached the second common purse community house.  It was just a small affair, but a dozen or more adults and children streamed out for introductions.  The small living room we squeezed into reminded me of the Slovakian Romanies’ homes.  And in similar manner, an extravagant lunch soon arrived, and random numbers of children hovered around to obverse.  Wakey palmed me off with half his liver (and my subsequent tummy rumbles suggest it was a cute move).

Rukundo translated my description of our community’s per person per week budgeting, and probationary membership arrangements.  “What happens when my children get married?  Do I give them back the share of what I gave to the community?”  “We have the son of a friend who is part of our family and he isn’t Christian: what do we do?”  “Why do you allow for people to take out money when they leave: isn’t that lack of faith that they will stay true?”  Rukundo looked pained at the mention of budgets.  I patiently explained that for the scene to grow, people, resources and organisation must all develop in step, or else things topple over.  The huge black void of not knowing what step to take is Rukundo’s trial of faith.  He needs everyone to own and embrace it, else they will only be over-dependent. 

Wakey had slipped outside with a couple of the guys hanging around, Fabrice and Obed.  They laughed animatedly, trying to overcome the difficulties of communication.  Rukundo was impressed how easily they’d engaged.  It gave him a perspective on taking people to your heart.

We walked down to the church in bright sunshine.  The case with our kit hadn’t come from home, and we were going to have to fire from the hip.  Chatting around, I started “Jesus, we are here”, then “Jesus, nous sommes ici”.   Claud spontaneously translated into Rwandan, and everyone clapped and sang with delight.  “We’ll teach this to Pastor,” they agreed.  

Left to run the evening meeting, Wakey and I decided it was time to get practical.  I explained about congregation Sharings (or Needs and Givings).  Claud went round all the 40 or so folks writing down their responses.  The atmosphere was gripping.    On the other “I have time to do some cooking”.  Claud frowned, “The Needs are more than the Givings.”  “Don’t worry,” I reassured, “It’s always like that.”  We'd moved the church forward in 'Jesus economics'.

Rukundo gathered his Congolese brothers together while I watched the lizards running across the concrete ceiling in the very dim illumination.

On the way home I wondered why this leg of our trip had been so absorbing: you’ll see it in the length of the day-by-day reports.  First, we were staying in the community, which created much more interaction with Rukundo, etc.  Second, it was my first time in Rwanda, whereas I’ve been to Kenya before.  Third, it’s been very special.  We’ve sensed we’ve engaged with the spiritual atmosphere.  In Kenya, it was more with the saints (or bishops) and their ways. 

Here it’s been like the strong spirit of humanitarian progress has been challenged by the only real answer- God’s Kingdom. I've heard it in the back of my mind: "How dare you speak of this Lord Jesus, with His new humanity.  We have all the solution they need."

The evening ended with a special farewell meal of beans, fish, sweet potatoes and ugali (maize meal), followed by fresh papaya.  I've noted you don't see any tubby Rwandans.

Africa - Day Eight Wednesday

I must tell you about the traffic lights in Kigali’s city centre.  Both those controlling the road traffic, and the pedestrian crossings, have a big digital display.  It gives you a second-by-second countdown to the next change.  It’s a wonderful system.  Red: 72, 71, 70, etc.  Then Green 72, 71, 70... And the roundabouts and speed bumps have regular clusters of LED lights mark out the road edge.  I guess this may partly compensate for the patchy street lighting, so you can weave round unlit vehicles and bikes, and meandering pedestrians.

I risked a shower: bracing isn't quite an adequate description.  Breakfast usually includes fresh fruit: papaya, etc, and today we had passion fruit.  I leaned over to Rukundo and asked him to be gracious to Claud over last night’s mishap.  “We couldn’t tell how hard on him you were, because you spoke in Rwandan.”  “That was Chinese,” he joked.  “We use it when we don’t want English speakers to understand us.”  The tension eased.  Thereafter ’Chinese’ became a description of Rwandan, Congolese, Swahili, or whatever.

Now Rukundo was speeding around getting ready for the conference.  It reinforced the need for him to set up a local Multiply team, not to try to keep all his activities under his personal control.  We told him!  I asked, “Who have you got to do registration?”  Though very conscientious, he isn’t an administrator.   There was no sign of presentation handouts, even though first thing yesterday we’d given him them to get copied.  Then I suggested how he may wish to give out – or hang on to – the pack of resources we’d brought. 

Claud did a great job of hanging a sheet for a screen and setting up a place for our projector.   Gratifyingly, since we had no Jonny now, everything fired up first time.  After more simple worship, Wakey did the official Multiply presentation, and we took a short break.  The already good number of delegates swelled to over 120.  We were short of chairs.  Rukundo was pulling more from dark corners to extend the rows right to the back.  I started the next main session on the Two Kingdoms.  I kept a careful eye on the time, trying to recall what we’d agreed at breakfast, as there was no printed programme.

Every so often, Rukundo would dart forward with his phone to his ear and whisper, “The lunch isn’t ready”.  We collected questions to answer.  Rukundo grabbed the mic and danced around laughing with delight over the morning’s teaching.  I switched off the session audio recording at 2 hours 16 minutes.  We extended the questions and answers.  Nobody seemed to be getting restless. 

Before we’d left home, I’d seen Erika and the girls peeling a large pan of carrots.  Now I had visions of her struggling to stretch the dinner, and of the logistics of trying to serve everyone.  I was giving up hope of rescuing anything of the afternoon programme.  Then suddenly take-away packs of steaming food arrived and everyone got a bottle of pop.  (Coke, Sprite or Fanta – the monopoly brands in East Africa.)  The meal was quietly despatched and the empties cleared away.  It was 3.00pm.

We finished the official presentations.  Like a benign Father Xmas, Rukundo announced there were resources on the front table.  We were deluged, and afterwards he commented, “I saw one brother I know can’t read going with this book (Fire in our Hearts).”  He’s just passionate and generous to a fault.  About a third of the delegates stayed around chatting in small groups.  Bibles were open.  One bishop confessed he couldn’t ever remember reading about celibacy from Matthew 19.  I’d put Wakey up to offering to pray for anyone wishing to receive the gift.  A young man had responded, and others said they were going home to digest the teaching. 

Just before 7.00pm Rukundo shimmered into view, hustled us into a car, and we headed for Radio Amazing Grace’s offices.  Without any formalities, we went straight into the studio.  Rukundo and Wakey were fitted with headphones; I pulled out the video camera.  The Hallelujah Chorus announced the 40 minute live broadcast was on the air.  Wakey spoke about fathering a generation of young men.  Afterwards, Rukundo confided, “Brother, I love this.  Many times I ask where was the church? (meaning in the genocide) and how should we be now?”

We bumped into Aimable on the way home.  He’s an IT techie, and puts in long hours at work.  "Tell me," I quizzed him, "What's happened to this telecommunications revolution that's supposed to put Rwanda ahead in East Africa?  We can't get a signal."  "Come back in two years' time," he laughed.  The government has laid out a national vision of progress through to 2020.  They have succeeded remarkably in engaging average Rwandans.  Exceptional circumstances require exceptional commitment.  It bears a parallel for the church, too.  I wondered if this is why we’ve met an unprecedented appetite for sacrifices such as community and celibacy.  There will be points of conflict where the growth of the kingdom of God and the plans of the Adamic government can’t have it both ways.

As we rocked and jolted up to the house, we joked about being sent to bed without any tea again.  After dinner, Wakey tried an impersonation of Rukundo dancing with delight.  I managed to get in a quick call to Mary on Aimable’s phone.  “Yes, I guessed you were out of mobile service.  Jonny and Jason have rung the Farm.”  I apologised that there was no report for Together. 

The four school aged children had complained, “When do we get any time with our visitors?”  So they’d been allowed to stay up a little longer, snuggling up to us on the large easy chairs.  Elisha rubbed my fingers vigorously to see if the white would come off.  Wakey’s final words were, “Oh dear, I fear that I’m going to leave part of my heart here.”

Africa - Day Seven Tuesday

While it was still dark, I vaguely heard children being organised for the day.  Rukundo and Erika have six children, and in good Christian family manner, the boys are named after strong biblical characters (Samuel, Joshua, Elisha and Benjamin) and the girls, Blessing and Grace, represent strong biblical virtues.  One of the benefits of an eastward time zone change is finding you’re earlier than you calculated.  So, I was sitting on the outside terrace at 7.00am when Claud returned from taking the older children to the school bus.  He has been in the community since it started 14 years ago.  Add another brother, Aimable, and three sisters, and the New Humanity house family is complete.

Over breakfast, Rukundo explained the three ministries that he oversees: community, church and group of churches.  We hadn’t grasped that the “One Heart and Mind” network already includes churches in Burundi and Congo.  Delegates would be arriving today, and Rukundo had arranged for them to stay in church members’ homes.  “I hadn’t fully appreciated these links,” I apologised.  “We’d imagined that you may have been over-optimistic about the likely attendance at the conference.  We’ve probably limited the budget more than we should.”   I'd skipped having a shower, because I wasn't sure how the demand for the bathroom would work out.  Wakey had found the early morning cold water a shock to his system.

Erika’s brother, Bonheur, arrived in Deogracia’s posh  car, and we planned the day.  They were keen to take us all round Kigali.  Almost all the buildings are low-rise and set in small cultivated hillside plots.  So the city has the feel of a series of villages; very human-sized.  The roads are excellent, the footpaths swept, and the shops properly built.  This is very different from Nairobi.  Rwandans can justifiably be proud of their developing modern capital.

The day was hazy, and Rukundo was disappointed that we weren’t getting the best views as we wound round the city’s several hills.  Soon we arrived at the Genocide Memorial site.  It’s tucked away on the edge of a hillside and looks little different from a normal upmarket residential plot.  We declined to hire the kit for a portable audio guide.  I didn’t want a full blow-by-blow hour and a half account.  Anyway, Rukundo and Bonheur could fill in personally. 

Of course, these things defy adequate description.  I went to Dachau concentration camp as a teenager, in 1961, a similar period after the events it commemorates.  “I think we’ll find this a bit grim,” I commented to Wakey.  In the compact Memorial grounds are buried 259,000 victims.  A modest inscribed wall provides their only identification.   The indoor section is a permanent display describing the events before and after the fateful 100 days in 1994.  Persecution, massacre, genocide.   Displacement, mutilation and HIV.   

By midday, as we emerged from the subdued inside lighting, the sunshine was brilliant.   “Did you have any of your family affected?” I quietly asked Rukundo.  “Yes, I lost 78 relatives from my grandfather’s place”.  On the way to lunch he added, “Now you have seen what we are like on the outside, and on the inside.”   Suddenly the prospect of leading the evening bible study, and then the whole day at the conference seemed an impossible task.”  I recalled the words of the baker whose life was spared when Maximillian Kolbe died in his place during World War Two: “I got on with living to the full; it’s what he would have wanted me to do”.  I resolved to give it my best shot taking these meetings.

We drove home via the many government ministerial buildings that sit on top of the city’s central hills.  Wakey had a rest and I caught up with some preparation.  The lack of any phone signal and internet service was beginning to tell.  We’d exchanged no news from home, from Jason and Jonny, and from Stephen regarding Tanzania, and they wouldn’t know why.  Wakey made a quick call to the Farm on a borrowed phone. 

Down at the Disciples of Jesus Church, we enjoyed the spontaneous Rwandan singing.  Voices were only accompanied by a drum, and what looked like a biscuit tin of lead shot that sounded like an oversized maraca.  The universal language here is Kinyarwanda.  Both bibles and songbooks are used in this language, adding to believers' depth of devotion.  Three Congolese brothers introduced themselves (so now we were translating into three languages).  “I had no money and didn’t know how I was going to travel here,” said one.  “But on Sunday night I said goodbye to my wife in faith, and here I am.”  Wakey gulped.  “Hmm, and we’ve come here to tell them how to do it.” I added, assuming he hadn’t walked from Goma.  After the bible study, and many warm greetings, two brothers unpacked a new amp-and-speaker combo from its box.  This would be our PA for the conference – arriving just in time, after the church’s previous equipment was stolen.

Rukundo had to take the Congolese brothers to their accommodation.  So, with Claud and a couple of other brothers, we set off to walk home, intending to be picked up half way.  Somewhere we lost Claud.  As we walked on in the cooling evening, we realised we’d missed the right road.  We retraced our steps, and soon found Claud frantically waving to us across the road.  For once his ever-bright eyes were clouded by concern.  Deogracia’s car arrived, and we joked that we’d be sent to bed without any tea for being naughty.  In his anxiety, Rukundo had informed the Police.  I think we’ll be kept on a tight lead from now on.

Africa - Day Six Monday

“Do you want to use the shower first?” I mumbled to Jason.  This was the day we were finally going our separate ways.  He and Jonny were due to start the journey up country to Kimilili a couple hours before Wakey and I headed for the airport and Rwanda.  Breakfast over, I paid up our accommodation with Faith.  Then the tedious mechanics of packing.  Wet things and what may leak isolated into plastic bags;, a perfunctionary attempt to keep shirts tidily folded; and padding out any breakables (including the Marmite jar) with a towel or something similar.  I should have taught Jason this routine to offset the earlier results of his glue canisters splitting.

Gregory hummed his way into the lounge.  We were nowhere near ready.  Jaon was in the shower (and forgot his gell, which I then enjoyed for the rest of the trip).  Finally the Kimilili contingent all climbed into the car about 10 o’clock.  Wakey settled back with his Kindle, while I made a rough job of trimming my beard.  Then I realised that one of my plastic case handles was split and likely to rip somebody’s hand.  So out again came the contents, while I patched up the handle with parcel tape.  The day wasn’t going too well.  I rang Rukundo to confirm our arrival time in Kigali.  Then I got to speak to Mary.  My final words: “I’ll give you a quick ring when we’ve landed, to let you know we’re okay.”

When our lift was 15 minutes overdue, Wakey muttered, “I’ll give Carlson a ring; I’ve already texted him.”  “Let’s get the stuff down to the car-park,” I tried to sound relaxed.  Carlson arrived distressed and apologetic.  He’d knocked a cyclist off his bike, and broken a wing mirror in the process.  His agitation didn’t subside on the journey, but we blessed him as we parted.  Jonny texted us to say, “Haven’t left Nairobi yet, but Jason had found a shop.”  Boarding at Jomo Kenyatta was uneventful, and Wakey got a window seat.  The plane taxied out early, with all the safety checks done in Swahili.  The captain announced an hour and twenty minute flight, but not to Kigali.  And our scheduled fight time was over two hours.  I anxiously quizzed a steward, who explained there was a flight stopover at Bujumbura. 

Wakey and I chatted animatedly about the perils and joys of senior leadership.  We didn’t know what awaited us in Rukundo’s community, and we wrestled with what may put fire back into ours.  “I’ve changed,” Wakey confided.  “Before we came I’d have been straight into those airport gift shops, but not now”.  He’d been kindly slipped some personal spending money, and was now embarrassed by the thought of treating himself.  “Even wanting to be generous to Carlson, I realised all I’ve got is Western consumer goods.”  I pointed out that the values of economising, and deferring spending, that I'd grown up with, are completely absent in his generation.  As a result, community struggles to take hold.  The same with sexualisation and celibacy.  Wakey would like to bring the whole Farm out here.

For reference, Bujumbura is the capital Burundi.  Under an hour after our exchange of passengers, we were banking over the northern shore of Lake Tanganyika and heading for Kigali.  We waited outside the modern airport frontage.  And waited.  “Kigali’s rated as one of the top telecoms centres,” I confirmed.  But neither of us could get a mobile signal - to contact Rukundo, or find out how Jason and Jonny were doing.  So we waited.  Rukundo did turn up, with apologies and Pastor Godfrey.  Soon we were swaying and bumping along the rutted mud road that winds round the local residences.  Standing in the lounge, we were introduced to the house family and various others who’d turned up to greet us.  “Welcome home to the Multiply team” was posted on our bedroom door.  This was a much-anticipated visit, and Ian and I were humbled.

I was left a little confused by some names, as most were French in origin.  Rwanda only made English the official language in the last three years.  They drive on the right, too.  Erika served our meal: sweet potatoes, avocado, cooked banana and beef stew.  Godfrey and I were pursuing a criticism that had genuinely pained him.  “English church leaders say that unless we stop speaking against the law that is being proposed here for gay marriages, we’ve got closed minds.  Brother, I’ve preached the gospel for 25 years, I have planted churches, I have run an orphanage, and trained leaders.  I am troubled that I should have a closed mind.”  Godfrey also advises government officials, businessmen and church leaders on what constitutes healthy social life based on biblical principles like servant leadership.  We found agreement that the gospel is transformational, but education is reformational.  He was offended, too, that our government should be insisting developing nations introduce liberal-agenda civil rights policies as a precondition to any aid or trade agreements.

Yet again, I’m apologising for what comes from the Christian West that developing nations’ church leaders must not accept uncritically.  “Ah, in the West,” He continued, “You have schedules and programmes.  But here in Africa we say ‘God will provide’.”  It was a shrewd two-edged observation that Gregory had also voiced. 

We’d gone through an hour’s time zone change, and I was noticeably tired when Rukundo outlined where he would like us to help his community.  “Brother, there is plenty of time”, he smiled, topping up my glass with home-made fruit squash.  Clearly there was also plenty to do!