Leaves on the Line

Two Jesus Centre meetings to attend on Friday: Finance Group in the morning and Centre Managers' Forum in the afternoon, both conveniently held at Coventry.

I'd been to Kettering by train on Thursday, for our monthly Apostolic Team get-together, and picked up a return ticket for Coventry on my way home.  A bunch of our Eritrean Sunday congregation attenders had prepared tea and invited several friends.  Keith and Kristia were there too, up from London for their daughter's wedding at the weekend. 

Keith aims to retire from doctoring in a couple of years, and is setting up a horticultural project under the Assembly's 'One Planet, One Wales' initiative.  He was keen for advice about cooperative business, sustainability, etc.  Some time it would be nice to tootle over to Haverford to see what they're up to.

Friday morning didn't start well.  A few things were spinning in my head from the A Team meeting.  I had to call into the Jesus Centre to pick up a file of papers.  The handle broke on my briefcase (a mere 20 years old) as I walked to the station.  The journey was fine, including the section from Birmingham New Street to Coventry in a Virgin Pendalino.  They really are swish, with tarty blue cabin light providing an even better decor than an Emirates triple seven (Boeing 777 to non-flyers).

The Finance meeting, too, was fine, although attendance was down and even three of those who came excused themselves early.  JACT has made a lot of effort to improve financial 'sinews'. 

The other guys arrived for the Managers' meeting, and we chatted engagingly about photocopiers, Foodbanks, service promotion and spiritual impact.  We were impressed by Coventry's new programme of Friday night services.  Meanwhile, the sky darkened and the Well Cafe's panoramic view displayed impressive flashes of lightning. 

Our Facilities Manager Kevin had separately travelled from Sheffield, but we walked back to the station together.  The indicator board spelled trouble.  Some departures were flashing incomplete information, and arrivals were well delayed.  Kevin - a total railway buff - tried to find someone to explain.  We decided to take our chance and jump on the first service leaving for New Street.  It was packed and every seat was taken. 

"Hey!  Ian.  Just a minute - Ian Callard." A slightly grizzly baseball-capped guy addressed me.  "You don't know me, do you?"  I didn't.  "Harvest House, 1982...  Joe."  I really was no wiser.  He chatted on happily about folks he'd known, and how Mick had taken over from Noel.  And now?  "Well, life just overtakes you.  I'd like to meet Barney again, though," he added.

"Listen mate," Kevin barged in.  "Don't just say that, do something.  At our morning prayer time I had a word to say that on the way home I'd meet somebody to talk to about God.  He knew about you.  We weren't even supposed to be on the train!"  Joe softened.

We stopped at Birmingham International.  'This service is terminating here owning to a tree fallen on the line,' the PA announced.  (In fact the blockage was between Banbury and Leamington, but New Street station wasn't coping.)  We (three) shuffled across platforms and Kevin spoke to the lady next to him.  "This is the second time," she groaned.  "I was on the train immediately behind the one that got hit by the tree."  The afternoon's thunderstorm had a lot to answer for.

At Birmingham, we waved goodbye to Joe and found a delayed train heading for Sheffield via Derby.  If anybody has a spare hard briefcase, big enough to take two A4 files side-by-side, I'm keen to hear.

Regional Men's Adventure

For many years now, at this point in the annual calendar, we as a church have run a national event for men.  This year we've managed to get Carl Beech (Christian Vision for Men) to agree to come.  But he isn't free until November.  So we opted to run something regional rather than let the Saturday in Spring pass by.  Our ladies have a similar event - Accelerate - in two weeks' time.

Devising something that a mixed-age and mixed-ability group can all enjoy is something of a challenge.  When thinking of adventure, we invariably mean braving the elements and getting muddy somewhere out in the Peak District or Pennines.  Steven asked if something culturally adventurous may qualify.  He pointed out the Sheffield's public museum and art gallery may be just as stimulating as local limestone or gritstone.  In fact a year or so ago, he'd organised a very successful treasure hunt around places of public interest, which we completed on foot around the city centre.

I suggested Creswell Crags.  I - like most others - have never been.  It has varied points of interest, a tea shop, toilets and it isn't long journey.  Even Paul thought it may be tolerable.  It ran out of favour because it's only a small site, and 'some people' need a hike across several miles of forbidding rainlashed countryside to begin to warm up to excitement.  'Geo-caching' muttered the mud plodgers.

When I got back from Africa, the day had been highjacked.  No longer could I invite friends to a known civilised location of reputable worth.  Jack was up at unearthly hours for several mornings burning diesel in his flatbed truck round Upper Derwent.  The OS Explorer Map hasn't moved from his desk, and he's been doing overtime on the laminator.  "How much did you set for a budget?" he threw over his shoulder to me at one point.  "£250, but it got cut to £150.  And there's no money in the Regional Fund anyway."  "Hmmm.  That'll hardly pay for the bacon."  He resumed conspiracy mode.

"If it's Upper Derwent, I'll walk out there."  I announced to Mary on Friday teatime.  It's about 13 miles, and will take three-and-a-half hours.  That means leaving at 7.00am if the other are starting by car at 10.00am"

I was up at quarter to six for a bowl and a half of muesli with hot milk.  The city seemed deserted.  This was strange, because in a week's time when the clocks have changed, everybody will be up.  Ah, chronos time versus kairos time.  The A57 and the footpath to Ladybower Inn were a delight.  At 10.00am I stuck my head round the pub door.  "Any chance of a coffee?"  The lady put down her hoover attachments to get some, while I sat outside in the sunshine.   This was good.

Half an hour later, I was sitting in the sunshine on the wall at the end of the viaduct that leads to the Snake Pass, waiting for our vehicles.  First was Jack's truck, with Titus and Silas on board.  Then Viv drove straight past.  Then the white van.  "Oh, well,"  I thought, I can always make my own way to the carpark and hang around.  Paul rolled up and offered me a lift.  He took me to the wrong starting point.  I never saw the minibus that was supposed to collect me for the more challenging of the two walks on offer.

Eventually we rendezvoused.  It was starting to rain.  We headed up along to Alport Castles.  The group leaders were armed with route directions, some extra teaser instructions that needed to be unravelled to help, a series of puzzles meant to give clues to some (vital to the day!) items hidden away, and a GPS.  However, as time passed it became clear that they hadn't listened at Jack's briefing session.  Stash no 1, found by Mark (who knew about trolls), was a portable stove hidden under a footbridge.  (You see what I mean by vital - no stove = no hot food at the end!)  Stash no 2 was a second stove.  No-one could agree whether the stone cairn we trudged past was the clue.  The stove remains hidden in a pile of rocks as I write. 

We climbed to the top, towards Birchin Hat.  The rain had turned to sleet and the sleet had turned to snow.  The wind had turned up several notches on the Beaufort Scale.  Cloud came down.  Having missed stash 2 some time back, we now spread out, battered by the elements, to try to find it in completely the wrong place.  "It says, 'turn left'".  But a left turn only led over a precipitate edge.

"Bardon Moor,"  I muttered to myself as I sank behind a broken stone wall to wrestle underneath my waterproofs for a drink.  Bardon Moor was another - legendary - Jack-inspired expedition in the middle of December some years ago.  "I'm not staying cooked up in this house another blooming Saturday;" he'd exploded one Friday teatime.  ('This house' was Cad Beeston Manor in Leeds.)   With little over three hours of viable daylight to play with, next day a bunch of guys parked up at Bolton Abbey.  We intended to try and find the beautiful walk that he and Harriet had completed on a glorious July afternoon.  We were caught in a merciless blizzard, with no map.  Only by dint of Andrew and I joggling several miles back down pitch black lanes, did we manage to rescue the minibus before the Abbey carpark locked up for the weekend.

Eventually, someone had the bright idea of a small group returning to the disputed stash 2 cairn to try again.  Meanwhile we'd try to find stash 3.  Almost simultaneously Viv arrived back brandishing an orange thermos flask, and Andrzej found a spade near the broken wall on the top.  We headed down a track to the right, grateful to be moving again, backs to the wind.  Only, the instructions said that stash 4 would be found by walking straight ahead.  

I chatted to John, Josh's old housemate.  Half an hour later, through the trees, we saw the white van and Jack erecting a bright blue gazebo.  Home!  And shelter from the rain.  "No that's not it," he muttered of Viv's thermos flask.  "And where's stash 4?"  Jack explained the clue again, patiently.  A woeful team of four heroes went off to recover a buried tin of flapjack (hence the spade).  Only one piece had survived the internment.  Viv was not impressed.

 I squeezed into the back of the van and thawed out.  Barrie had the engine running and the heater going.  After all, this time last week I was in Kenya's sunshine.  Meanwhile, the other 'slow' party fanned out along the shore of the reservoir to find the frying pans and bacon.  They were following a clue about Gadarene swine, for which Jack had given the wrong bible reference.  Andy fell in a stream trying to find another tin of flapjack.  It's still hidden under a waterfall if you have a mind to search it out.

When hot drinks and the freshly cooked bacon, sausage and fried egg breadcakes began to roll off the stoves (minus one), all was forgiven and forgotten (even by our new friend Muhammad).  We put a group of drivers in the van and ferried them back to the parked vehicles.  This way we could all head straight home when the convoy eventually reappeared.

Once back, Jack asked manfully: "Any lessons?"  "Try and get people to listen when you're giving out the instructions," Paul suggested.  This was slightly more moderated than Mark's: "Next year, I'm organising it."  Hmmm.  I thought it was great.  (But when you're no longer responsible, you can.)

Multiply Zambia/Kenya 2014 Day Twenty - Monday

The 777's cabin lights come on at 4.00am UK time.  After watching 'All is Lost' during the meal service, I'd got a couple of hours' sleep.  Farayai had shrouded himself in his blanket hours ago, and stayed that way until the 'Landing' annoucement was made at 5.40am! 

We approached Heathrow along the Thames as London was waking up.  I cleared the arrivals formalities and had reached Euston by Tube by 7.45am.  The London Midland train to Northampton was full.  I chatted to the Jamaican Christian guy next to me until he fall asleep (after doing a night shift).  I watched the early Spring scene pass by: forsythia, redcurrant, cherry, blackthorn, willow, magnolia, etc, have all burst in the past three weeks.

Both Kelly and Viv had independently arrived to collect me.  I felt bad about this, as I hadn't made a definite arrangement.  At Central Office brotherhood, Jimmie and Hannah gave a brief revue of their 'project' experience in Zambia.

I caught up with Mick and Huw, did a bit of admin, then fell asleep as Viv drove us home to Sheffield.  The Sutcliffe children has done a welcome home poster, and I was glad of some tea.  I managed to catch grandson Dean on the phone and wish him a happy 7th birthday.  By 9.00pm I was 'at the end of my lollipop' and went to bed.  I knew I'd be awake before 5.00am come what may, and the early dawn chorus sealed my prediction.

Lasting impressions include both Steven and Gregory emphasising that for average pastors - who really are the target audience - the MILC UK invitations are a huge effort: the real deal is the monthly local get-togethers.  This is pretty much the inverse of how we here apply our priority.  An associated issue is the value of local transport for facilitating on-the-ground events, and the additional difficulty that younger people would face in getting visas to travel to UK.  However, both Steven and Gregory agreed that, "We've come a long way in three years."

 Second: was the value of the three AMEN guys interacting on their home turf and seeing how they work.  We could have comfortably and usefully spent two months as a team touring Kenya, Uganda, Rwanda, Congo, Burundi and revisiting Malawi and Tanzania to get local groups on a firm footing and commissioning properly envisioned leaderships.

Third: Multiply is a vision whose time has come.  We can add value and distinguish ourselves from other (more glitzy) networks by helping to set up income-generating schemes.  We could do worse than aiming for pastors to attend both the IT and English literacy type-projects that we delivered in Kitwe.

We shall have to see how all this may run.

Multiply Zambia/Kenya 2014 Day Nineteen - Sunday

The cockerels in the neigbourhood are in competition.  The one next door cranks up, and I rush to the window to get a recording so I can use it as a phone alarm.  He goes dumb on me.

By 8.00am I've had some breakfast, including a couple of Weetabix the full milk that reminds me of days when food tasted proper.  I've enjoyed my last dose of morning fresh air from the balcony.   I pop downstairs to pay the landlady, and promise I'll be back next year.  The four of us who went to Bangalore shared a similar self-catering apartment, and Sundowner here would be a great choice for a visiting team for 2015. 

George arrives at 9.00am prompt and his younger boy, who's incredibly curious and pokes at everything, tries to bool my smaller case downstairs.  George relates that his car got stuck last night (I'll later find out from Johnstone that Gregory, too, did get stuck on Friday night) and had to be pushed.  But he hadn't got any cash to tip the guys with,  However, they just smiled and waved him goodbye.  Later, he gives this as a testimony in church.

Wakey rings from Brighton at 9.15am and I ask him what he's doing up at such an unearthly time!  Pastor Benard is giving bible teaching about the pharisee and the publican.  The church holds an early service from 8.00am to 10.00am, then has a half hour's worship before continuing seamlessly into the main meeting from 10.30am to some time after 1.00pm.  I'm due to slot in an hour's teaching.  It's turning out to be the sunniest and warmest day Nairobi's delivered.  The church lacks any of the pretentions I witnessed in Dar es Salaam last week - they're a real family.  In the prayer time, they give thanks for the 79 new white plastic chairs, after interceding for the county's president.  As I stand up to speak I'm dismayed to discover that my notes got wet during breakfast and all the scripture references I carefully ordered have disappeared from the piece of paper.

Without any fuss, we transition to the leaders' workshop I'm due to take.  Oscar sets up the projector and a couple of mics.  After about 20 minutes, they concede they would be better with translation into Swahili.  Thereafter the whole event carries obvious engagement and vigour.  The 30 folks who've gathered include some invitees from other churches.  They all enjoy my description of the one-man-band, with the boom-boom, ching-ching, ting-ting which needs no translation.

I explain to George that I'll need my cases to do a bit of repacking.  He replies that it's no problem - we'll do it at his home, as they've arranged tea there before heading off to JKIA.  They're a really warm-hearted family, and for grace George gives thanks for the privilege and blessing of having a visitor to give hospitality in their home. 

Soon we're on our way to JKIA, and the boys have fallen asleep in the car.  At one roundabout and Toyota saloon piles straight into the side of a mutatu tow vehicles in front of us.  I'm glad that George didn't give way to impatience.

After checking in, I sit in the departure area and doze for an hour-and-a-half.  I'm about the last to board the plane, which seems fully booked.  I have an eastern side window seat and the next seat is empty.  To my complete surprise and delight Farayi appears and sits there!  He'd been trying to get to UK from Lusaka since Thursday, and this was the one available slot.

We chat happily about the conference in Tanzania and his father's birthday.  I hear first-hand how he an Jimmie had to hitch-hike to Ndola after their bus from Lusaka broke down.   He's even managed to get his chief's chair accepted as hold luggage.  We take of half an hour late at 20 past midnight, and I doze off again while waiting for the final African meal.

Multiply Zambia/Kenya 2014 Day Eighteen - Saturday

It's cold and grey again.  The cockerel next door definitely lacks conviction, sounding half-hearted and giving up after a few bursts.  I sort out an inexpert omelette for breakfast.  I've got no washing-up liquid, etc, so use shower gel and my nail brush.  The kitchen smells delightful.  I prepare for Sunday's church teaching, and ring home. 

Now comes the big test of the on-line access as I try to book a replacement rail ticket to Northampton through thetrainline.com, and to cancel the Sheffield one.  Thanks to a stored password for my account, it works just fine.  Next I reply to a bunch of JACT Exec Forum postings: success again.  Finally I download three weeks' worth of Together bulletins and agape study sheets to read offline.  I'm being wary with the data bundle: the Orange Roaming package costs £125 for 250MB, and excess usage charges are astronomic.  By 12.30pm, I go offline, and notice that the day outside has considerably brightened up while I've been hunched in the lounge.

The Zion reading is good, and I feel some connection with the scenes back home.  I've just finished eating a quick lunch when at 2.00pm Bishop Joseph arrives.  He's clutching a bag containing two complete chicken and rice takeaway meals, eight bananas and four eggs.  I'm profusely thankful and similarly apologetic that I've already eaten lunch.  He leaves me one of the takeaways and half the bananas, and he sets off to plodge through the mud to where he's had to leave his car.  If it's like this first thing tomorrow, he's promised, there'll be a bunch of guys coming to act as luggage porters.  I'm very touched.

The air outside on the balcony is warm, so I settle down to read the last couple of years' worth of personal journal entries.  There are some stirring quotes from the notes in the Geneva Bible that I was reading in 2012.  Approaching 5.00pm the doorbell rings again, and it's George come to invite me to his house for tea.  This I can't refuse, so I tell him I'll bring Joseph's takeaway and bananas.  His Toyota 'dances' (his description) through the chocolate puddle pudding and we discuss tactics for tomorrow's early pick-up and confirm my times for flying later. 

 He lives in an eight-apartment block similar to mine, and I meet his wife, Joyce, with her broad smile, and their two young boys.  George has a PhD in nutrition and food, and lectures at the University of Nairobi.   Joyce is completing a Masters.  They are long-standing members of Gregory's church, as the photo of their wedding on the wall testifies.  He's been to Europe a couple of times on work-related courses.  We have an interesting conversation trying to define the difference between the United Kingdom and Great Britain, and why England hasn't got its own Parliamentary Assembly.

The boys compete to lead singing grace.  My takeaway resurfaces as part of the spread for tea: the boys demolish the chips.  A little after 7.00pm, George suggests we head back before he has to travel in total darkness.   As the full moon rises, the evening seems clear and we hope the rain holds off.  In Nairobi, they talk as much about the weather as we do at home!

I abandon reading my journal in early 2013's entries, tidy the kitchen and do some packing.  For once, there's no patter of rain as I go to bed.

Multiply Zambia/Kenya 2014 Day Seventeen - Friday

First thing, I text Gregory to say, "Suggest you leave coming here 'til lunchtime."  It's a grey day, and the mud roads will be impossible.  In Nairobi I've taken to wearing both a tee-shirt and shirt.  The locals are going around wrapped in a blankets and sporting wellington boots.

A couple of hours on the computer quickly pass by.  I phone home and explain my revised arrangement for Monday to Mary.  Gregory arrives at 11.30am, and we spend another two hours sharing about future possibilities for Multiply.  He's very clear thinking, and realistic, too.  He explains that - unaware of commercial realities - some MILC invitees may expect to come back with their pockets stuffed full of preaching fees.  It seems that it would be sensible for us to download the High Commission visa application forms to see exactly what hurdles delegates face, then produce an information sheet that will help them to successfully apply.

Gregory also suggests we should draft a 'Setting up Multiply in another country' guidelines.  There's clearly been differences between his approach in Uganda, Rukundo's in Congo, and Steven's in Malawi, plus where we've got to in Tanzania and also what I know of Bangalore.  "The real thing for Multiply is the local networks," he observes, "UK conference are great, but not what we should focus on for most pastors."  He goes on to make some good suggestions about pilot/scalable income earning projects starting with just four lap-tops and one person training.  I guess this is all something I shall need to initiate between getting home and MILC in mid-May.  Later he adds that a minibus would be a versatile resource for each of the three main guys here in East Africa.  "Doing some outreach mission is close to leaders'hearts, because it grows their churches."

We head to JMB's again, and Gregory presents me with a huge pile of chips for what was just meant to be a light lunch.  We sit outside, and if we'd collected the flies we were plagued with, we'd have doubled our meat portions.  Today Joseph is busy with a legal case involving the division of 'Four Square' and disputes about property ownership.  All told it's been running 15 years, and he just wants to see an end to it.  We move on to Gregory's home, and another George drops by.  He's very keen to come to UK, and a good prospect for being Gregory's Timothy in Multiply matters.  As we discuss MILC, there's another thunderstorm.

Gregory has to be in Kimusu over Saturday and Sunday for the ordination of one of his leaders there.  He's desperately trying to get someone to share the driving, but may end up having to go solo by bus.  Kenya has banned some night-driving because of the accident rates, and they've halved as a result.  Joseph will keep an eye on me tomorrow, and then George will pick me up at 8.30am for local church.  Meanwhile Gregory's set up a four-hour leadership training workshop for me there, starting at 2.00pm on Sunday afternoon. 

Johnstone and Oscar join us in the car for the slippery drive back to the apartment.  Driving is really on the limit.  Eventually arriving, all the lights are out: there's a power cut.  The caretaker presents me with an LED lamp and I grope my way round the kitchen and bedroom.  Judith's thoughtfully packed me up some of their evening meal in an insulated container.  I've opted to eat it here so we don't leave negotiating the mud roads til they're totally impassable. 

Within and hour the power comes back on.  An hour after that, Gregory texts to say they've arrived back safely!  There's been no air circulating around the apartment, and the bedroom is stuffy.  I drift off to sleep with rain falling all night.  Crumbs, will I make it out of here?  I came wanting to experience and understand local life better, but the final 48 hours may hold more challenge than I bargained for!

Multiply Zambia/Kenya 2014 Day Sixteen - Thursday

The cockerel in the maize plot right outside my window wins.  The shower's nice and warm, and I salvage a teabag from my case and fathom how to boil a pan of water on the stove.   I'm ready when Gregory arrives: he's slithered along the road, which by now has the consistency of chocolate puddle pudding.  He suggests we check the Methodist Guest House further into town, as more rain is forecast.

Meanwhile we head for breakfast at 'JBM's Restaurant', and Bishop Joseph joins us.   We go round the corner to his Four Square Mission church.   He's added a couple of corrugated iron huts and his wife is now running a school of 50 children with three teachers. 

The mid-morning sun has dried out the rally circuit.  Back at Sundowner, I hastily throw stuff into my cases in anticipation that one way or another I'll be sleeping somewhere else tonight.  I pay the lady KS2,000 (£15) which is a bargain, really.

We head to the Methodist Guest House in the well-heeled suburbs.  Since 2011 they've built a whole posh new second facility next door.  Last time I stayed here a single room was KS3,600.  Now the price is KS5,900.  Gregory's upset at this.  We intend to head further in to town, where there are other Christian-based Guest facilities.  Gregory's also keen to get me to a bookshop so I can pick up a field-guide that will tell me what at least a few of the trees and birds are named.

We pass the Central Baptist Church, and head round the back to the African Inland Mission centre.  They only do full board.  Next door is Daystar University, where Gregory lectures, so we go for a wander round.  Mainly, the students are girls.  Gregory settles that he and I will travel on from here by bus, while Joseph takes his car back home and checks out a couple of other possibilities for a room. 

We rattle and bang along - knees jammed behind the seats, music blaring, until we reach the city centre.  It's marginally more civilised travel than a mutatu.  We pass a small promotional marquee offering sterile male circumcision - reducing the risk of HIV by 70%.  Gregory steers me to the main bookshop, but it's closed 1.00pm - 2.00pm for lunch.  We seek out a place for a bite ourselves at 'Papaya', until the shop reopens.

Mick rings, having missed my earlier call.  There's a good case for me to call in at Central Offices on Monday instead of heading straight from Heathrow to Sheffield.  Viv's down in Northampton on the day and confirms that he can run me home.  I just have to work out how to cancel my existing ticket and book another online, and explain things to Mary.

We head back to Uthiru by bus, KS40 (about 28 pence) each.  On the right is Westlands Mall.  Joseph has had a little success with other accommodation options.   He loves the book on birds, and swiftly identifies species that - as a child - he used to snare and cook in a stew.

George, another guy in Gregory's leadership team, is going to drive us.  The CHAK (Christian Health Association of Kenya) hostel and conference centre has good office facilities, but it is fully booked.  We've come full circle.   Gregory and I go supermarket shopping so I don't starve.  There are large tubs of whole-milk fruit yogurt for little more than 50 pence (KS75); we get a dozen eggs for £1 and eight bananas for KS40, too.

Back at Sundowner, room 'Kigali', I make a drink.  Then we notice it's 5.30pm.  Gregory has his home group tonight - all in Swahili, and I'm fretting to get on the laptop.  In the lounge, I get in a full four-hour session, punctuated only by boiling a couple of eggs.  Then I settle into the bedroom to square with another night of unequal unarmed combat with any mozzis that wriggle round the curtains or emerge from under the bed or other hiding places.  Mary texts to say, "It's house family meal tonight - we'll miss you."  Meanwhile, in Kiambu County, Nairobi, we have another overnight thunderstorm.

Multiply Zambia 2014 Day Fifteen - Wednesday

Marriotti Hotel has been a good location for us.  Our flight out is at 14.55, so we have a good chunk of time to occupy ourselves.  Len want to get some 'ethnic' shirts for his boys in Brighton, so it's time to head for the markets.   Dar es Salaam has a long trading history - at one time disreputably for slaves.  Of all the cities I've visited here in Africa it most feels like India.  But then, Mumbai is the next place to the east.    

As ever, Jacob knows where to go, and we park right in the middle of Kariako market.  In the bright sun this bustling colourful district is a picture.  We weave in and out of the stalls and note the keen prices.  Shopping done, Jacob tries to back out the car.  The lady traffic attendant is joined by several traders determined not to have to move their carefully laid-out wares.  Once we're on the move, we notice it's just a crawl.  Steven advises it's best to head out of town to make sure we get to check-in in good time. 

We stop for a stroll around another cluster of shops, then unload in the Airport carpark  There's a TS20,000 fine if you straddle the white lines.  JNIA has the air of a run-down East Midlands railway station.  I ask Rukundo a question that's been on my mind for two years: whether he'd ever seen getting currency from an ATM.  He gives me an ambiguous answer, suggesting it was the sheer amount of cash (TS1.3M or thereabouts) that startled him.

We give big hugs all round to Steven, Jacob and Ps Luvanda.  I feel a certain contentment that we've made some good progress for the Kingdom of God. 

It's just an hour to Nairobi, and the plane isn't even half full.  In classic African aviation style, they leave when they're ready, not when scheduled; in this case a good ten minutes early.  We're wondering if Gregory and I will get a chance to see the Kitwe party - arriving about the same - in the Transfer lounge.  But we're separated onto different shuttle buses and have to say our farewells to Rukundo and Len on the airstrip.

Our lift is waiting, so I quickly change £50 for Kenya shillings and we head for Nairobi's evening rush-hour crawl.  They've been smartening the place up.  Even the un-made-up road passing Gregory's house in Uthiru, part of Kabete, is due to be tarmac'd.  Judith's glad to see Gregory home, and I'm introduced to the rest of the household.  There's Oscar, their 17-year-old son, whom I didn't recognise from two years ago.  Then Macleen and her two girls Annabelle and Brianna, and finally Helen.  Clearly, there's not enough space for me, too, but we're going to eat before I need to worry about this.  

Citizen television is giving a lot of coverage to the University Lecturers' strike, and it's nice not to be beseiged with Nigerian soaps that dominate elsewhere, and seem entirely to consist of husbands and wives falling out even though they go to church.  I test out my phone tethering, and it's just about workable.

Gregory has booked me into a new fully-furnished Sundowner apartment block reasonably nearby, down a bumpy un-made-up road.  One of a block of eight, it's got a lounge, kitchen and two bedrooms.  I could have made my own breakfast!  Ruefully, I notice there's no mozzi net and no way I could hang one from the concrete block ceiling.  I struggle to sleep, trying to keep my head inside my repellant-impregnated sleeping bag liner.  I get up several times to work out if I can get a decent climate without opening windows - meanwhile it rains heavily.

Multiply Zambia 2014 Day Fourteen - Tuesday

I take an early cup of tea into the thatched disco-come-restaurant at the back of the hotel, where live music had been playing to goodness-knows-what time on Saturday and Sunday night.  Seeing my bed empty, Rukundo thinks I'm in the en-suite bathroom, and hovers around for half an hour before plucking up courage to stick his head round the door.  I'm determined to pack as much as possible into today.

There are more delegates, and the attentiveness and engagement is much better.  The weather seems a little cooler, too (29C rather than 32C).  The groups go well and we've ploughed through some good stuff. first on money and then on leadership.

Last night, before Rukundo and I resumed our deep conversation, Steven and I had reviewed the trip's finances.  He's done really well to keep in line with budgets, but, if anything, has been let down by local folks not gripping the catering arrangements and costs.  In the overall balance, it's not a show-stopper.  And both Rukundo and Gregory have benefitted from seeing Steven's different way of running the conferences. 

Bishop Bartholomew is translating for Len.  They chat together as the groups work on stuff, and Len finds him very receptive.  Bishop Mwasota, gives thanks for the lunch, which is even later than yesterday.   This has been a significant couple of days.  We're through by 5.00pm, and folks have gone home happily clutching handouts Steven has arranged.  I've transferred a lot of stuff onto USB sticks, too.  Len and I chat to the young guys who've been doing the techie work.  They've been amused by the ukulele.

"Same place as last night?" Steven suggested; "Although, I'd like to look for somewhere new."  He really is a restless man, and I admire this in him.  We're all agreed, except for the prospect of being jammed in the Previa for another Turkish Bath and spine-jolting endurance test on Dar es Salaam's many un-made-up roads.  "Straight there!" is the chorus.  It's been hot, even for the Africans.  Len has goat meat and chapatis again, and we celebrate with Stoney, the ginger beer pop. 

Steven plans to cut short his stay-over and go back to Kitwe on Thursday.  The flight change cost $50, but Gladys and all will be pleased to see him.  I wonder about our future activities here.  Jacob is a resourceful guy, but his wife and family are still back in Zambia.  Ps Luvanda is a lovely guy, and well occupied in what he's presently administering.  John Said and Bartholomew have been very drawn to us.  As Rukundo and I are packing, John Said appears to say 'goodbye'.  Today he'd been tendering to run some English language training for the business they have set up, and had missed the sessions.

Something's going to take shape.

Multiply Zambia 2014 Day Thirteen - Monday

Steven has promised a prompt start on this first day of the conference: 9.00am for 9.30am.  A bunch of bishops will visit us at some stage, probably in time for or after lunch.  Everyone seems to think different topics should be priority.  We settle on the customary first session being on the Multiply network, and to follow in the afternoon on fathering.  We'll all have a part in the presentations - there's no point in having Rukundo and Gregory here and ignoring them!

At ten, we're still in the hotel lobby.  We've passed the time taking Gregory to task for turning up in open-toed sandals, when Steven is struggling in suit and tie because there's a convention about what's appropriate for platform appearance.  Steven is making his umpteenth phone call, and I decide there's time to start making some calls to my own to UK.  Steven splutters, "They've got the car at the church but won't collect us until everything perfect for our arrival."  We all groan: we'd much prefer to get stuck in with set up, saying 'hello' to folks and creating a brotherly atmosphere.  The epithet applies with which Rukundo chastened me for my excessive comments about yesterday's 'bessings' palaver: "You have to go with their foundation - you can't build something else unless you've laid a different one."

The church is in the middle of some building work, and a vast area of missing roof gable is letting in bright sunlight.  Nevertheless, it's 11.15am and we must get going.  The Pastor, John Said, welcomes Bishop David.  The picture from the projector is useless.  After 10 minutes, we call a break and swing everything round 90 degrees so we're peering into the comparative gloom under the balcony. 

No sign of the lunch, so we press on.  We really are struggling to keep attention.  Rain hammers down on the corrugated iron roof, and I begin to appreciate where 90 decibels of PA could come in useful.  The food comes at 2.00pm, not 12.30pm.  After we re-start, Len's groups go better than the morning. 

The hotel is just a short drive back.  Len has established that the hotel WiFi is out of action and Steven suggests we make the most of the evening by cracking off to a fast-food eatery he knows.  It's called The Place, and acts as a take away, too.  Ferocious charcoal braziers stand at the entrance, and you can have char-grilled more-or-less anything from goat to bananas.  (So that's what Len chooses.)  It's still hot and sweaty as we climb back into the Previa.  When Jacob stops for petrol, Len dashes out and blows his 'blessing' money on a round of ice creams. 

By now, Rukundo and I have got into some deep conversations, mainly about his community set-up.  We stay awake chatting long after I'd planned to get some sleep.  This whole thing of having three of our apostolic men together has been very valuable.  (Over breakfast on Tuesday, Gregory says, "Thank you for inviting me to this.")  Rukundo's final challenge to me is, "Are you discouraged?"  He relates how he felt a prompting to invite pastors with over forty years of ministry to come on his radio programme and encourage younger leaders that the long haul is blessed with joy and fruitfulness.  Of ten to twelve he invited, only three felt able to speak.  And they each said it was a poor return when they saw how people make a lot of money in successful ministry today.  That's something to digest.

Multiply Zambia 2014 Day Twelve - Sunday

Hello, hello, we've got a muezzin again - 5.20am.  Of course I could miss breakfast to fit in preparation for church this morning, now that I know the score.  But we've agreed we'll all convene back at the hotel at 1.00pm and then go to the beach for lunch, so I'd prefer to have started the day with something inside me.

It seems unreal that with the three hours time difference, we'll have got our 7.45am-10.15am service over before folks in UK are thinking of getting up.  Rukundo and I are at Bishop David's Nabioth Church.  He's General Secretary of the Tanzanian equivalent of UK Evangelical Alliance.   He's a portly and affable brother.  As we'll discover - today's his birthday. 

Arriving at ten to eight, a lady in a pale green two-piece is already getting the crowds warmed up on the dance floor in front of the expansive platform. I can't help noticing that two thirds of the congregation appears to be women.  She is followed by a little guy in a jacket and bright red shirt who boogies and hops theatrically, gyrating on the heels of his obligatory black winkle-pickers.  (I could write a whole blog about preachers' shoes.)  Bishop beams generously.  Next comes a lady in a frothy dark red outfit.  I'm beginning to relax about the fact that I only intend to talk for 15-20 minutes, although Bishop has proposed 50 minutes will be available before the prompt 10.00am finish.  We still have to fit in the offertories, the children's talk, testimony time and introductions.   

What happens next catches me out.  Red lady begins to shimmy towards the Bishop.  A crowd of ladies follow her, with five guys in tow holding cameras aloft.  "Happy Birthday," I can make out through the 80+ decibels.  The Bishop's beam broadens.  He stands at the platform front with his wife, while 'blessings' are pressed into his hands by a queue of affectionate members.  As we move on to the children's talk, an usher discreetly removes the pile of crumpled notes from in front of the lectern, and Mrs Bishop counts them into a neat bundle at the dignatories' side table where we're sitting.

Rukundo asides to me during the testimony time as we've been going an hour and a half and there hasn't been a break from Swahili.  As the Bishop prays for them we're pushing 90 decibels.  Later I find that the worship leaders also receive a 'blessing' for their ministry.  Rukundo follows me at twenty to ten and we deliver on time.  Afterwards, in the Bishop's office, we enjoy a cup of coffee, each made with four sachets of full cream powdered milk, and bread and runny honey applied with a spoon.  I must try that again some time. 

Rukundo and I slip down to the hotel restaurant and enjoy a mango juice.  1.00pm passes and eventually Len and Gregory arrive.  Their 10.00am meeting finished at 1.00pm, and Len has been given a 'blessing' equivalent to £10.  Time goes by and I try to ring Steven.  My phone has alternately connected - with Internet - to both Airtel and Zantel, but only through the latter can I ring out.  "Samahani," the nice lady keeps saying as I repeatedly fail to connect.  He arrives at quarter to three, hot and apologetic.  He didn't get to begin his preach until 1.00pm (but his 'blessing' was $25).

We pile into Jacob's Toyota Previa, and head of for rest and adventure.  We drive past the Landmark Hotel of 2012's visit fame, and the central Barclay Bank branch, too.  We pull off the road into the Atrium, an Arabic-style restaurant with tables set out under palm trees.  Eventually we order, and an hour passes with no sign of a meal arriving.  We're filling in the time with an animated conversation about how Multiply could do better at facilitating the visa process for UK conference invitees, and how to get Rukundo kitted out with a minibus.  He's just been given a 23-year-old-car, which is somewhat inadequate for the community of 18 adults and 28 children.

Another hour passes.  In half an hour the light will begin to fade, and lunch will turn into an evening meal.  Our table represents half the customers.  The trip to the beach has been sabotaged, and after we've finally eaten we drive round the waterfront struggling to make out any significant features.  We arrive back at the hotel glad of the aircon.  Manchester City versus Wigan blares from two large TV screens.  Steven suggests a drink of tea all round.  Another impossibly long wait follows.   I take a cup up to the room and collapse into bed.

Multiply Zambia 2014 Day Eleven - Saturday

I had a restless night.  During the power cuts our fan had stopped, and the room was hot and stuffy.  Although we'll be on-the-go until past 10.0pm tonight, I cut my losses and had a shower and got on with packing.   Ali had rung to say they'd hit a few problems in Kitwe.  There'd been a mix-up about who was looking after the children, and meals had been missed and one kiddy was poorly - probably malaria.  The set-up desperately needs the house parents to be on-site that the church had first planned for.  Ali and Hannah were running out of money, too, so I sent some with Farayi who'll be seeing Jimmie.  We said goodbye to Calla Lily Lodge - it's been a good choice. 

On the way to the Airport I rang Rukundo - as I had Gregory yesterday - to ensure he's all sorted out for our rendezvous en route to Dar es Salaam.  Our flight from Kamazu Airport to Nairobi was very smooth, once we'd located Steven.  He'd gone to an Airtel counter to see if he could send some urgent SMS messages. 

At JKIA, Nairobi, I got an Internet connection on my phone, but couldn't manage to tether to my laptop in time to make much use before we were called to get ready for moving to Gate 04.  Gregory was keeping us waiting, but finally made it onto the plane in time.  This was an Embraer 190, and from Len's window seat he got a clear view of Kilimanjaro an the summit poked through through the cloud cover.

We collected our bags at Julius Nyerere Airport and started to hunt for Rukundo.  Steven spotted him on the staircase and we soon headed for our hotel by taxi through the thick and dusty traffic.  Marriotti Hotel lies just off the main Mandela Road highway.  We decided to mix-and-match the room sharing: I'm with Rukundo, Gregory and Len are together, and Steven - who is most unconventional - is in a single room. 

We quickly gather downstairs to eat with Pastor Luvanda and Steven's brother Jacob.  My memory of Tanzanian food was the delicious beef stew and fearsome Changu fish.  Both are available!  Steven overplays his hand in Swahili, and asking for fish with boiled potatoes wrongly juxtaposes the adjectives and nouns.  As he's presented with a dish of boiled fish, Gregory laughs hugely.

We plan out the next day's church visits (Rukundo and I get a 8.00am start), and the two days of the conference.  My only worry is that the topics lean heavily towards what I've introduced so far.  It going to be a squeeze to give the other guys a fair slice of the action.

I find the air-con is set to 16C, which is ridiculous, but it doesn't seem to moderate its icy blast when to set the temperature higher.  My night's sleep is restless again- this time I'm too cold!

Multiply Zambia 2014 Day Ten - Friday

A leisurely day ahead.  Bishop Stanford picked us up at 9.30am in a nine-seater twin-rear-wheel taxi-minibus, with Harold and Grace already on board.  Len was determined to get down to the local market area to buy a few gifty things.   First we had to do some more black-market money changing so Steven could pay the Lodge bill.

 We opted to head straight off to Senga on Lake Malawi, via Salima (92 kilometers).  The half-decent road is lined all along with plantations and small plots, mainly of maize, but also tobacco and rice.   Goats wander along the roadside, and bicycles carrying passengers on the back add to the driving hazard.  Nevertheless our driver got his foot down, hand on horn, and we were topping 100k/h at times.  My left hearing aid had died again, and I wasn't able to join in the buzz of conversation.  Deafness is a very isolating experience. 

Lake Malawi is part of the Rift Valley Great Lakes system.  There are impressive and rather unexpected mountains around, and the land is very fertile because of tectonic subduction and volcanic activity.  At Bishop S's direction, we bounced down an un-make-up track to Kambiri Lodge.  The beach was like any you'd see in a hot country, with thatched sun shades.   Directly across the lake at this point is still Malawi, but just a little further north is Mozambique, then on to Tanzania. 

Further along the beach to the south, a herd of cows had been driven for watering, and beyond that fishing boats were drawn up on the shore.  Bishop S assured us the water is free from crocodiles, and most folks went for a paddle or something more adventurous.  I was happy to retreat to the shade of a large mango tree.

A couple of hours drifted by.  I watched the fishermen return up the beach with their catch.  "I take you to the island in my boat - with motor?" proposed one well-built guy.  I realised that the Simon Peter that Jesus called would similarly smell of his recent catch, and be wheeler-dealer opportunist.   Harold had haggled for some freshly caught fish - chambos and catfish.  Steven was scandalised that they cost more than in Lilongwe.  Our driver hung them on the wipers on the front of the bus (where they stayed for the whole journey home!).

I chatted with Bishop S, whose wife is in Blantyre until August upgrading her nursing qualifications.  Then Grace came over and told me about her sister living in Scotland.  She rang her so I could pass on details of the MILC conference!  She also explained that Harold was a part-time estate agent to help his income, and that she'd like to run an agricultural project on some 37 acres of land they have use of.   Both Bishop S and Grace made reference to the discovery of oil in the northern part of the Lake.  Tanzania lay claim to the land, but the Malawians lay claim to their Lake.  "The are eating our fish," Grace complained in a way that surprised me.  But the problem is the British, who in the late 1800's, drew a line down the middle of the Lake to create the respective countries' boundaries.   For sure any development will have to leave the bio-ecology intact, as it supplies vital food resources.  Len appeared, having turned a lurid pink.  Bishop S had thoughtfully put bottles of pop in the boot; they were noticeably warm.

We crossed back over the River Mpasanjoka, where a bunch of boys were splashing in the shallow water.  I dozed off with my left arm propped on the open window and got a sunburned elbow for my pains.  Back in Lilongwe we headed for the main market where Grace thought Len would find some things to take home.  But this is the regular shopping area.  So, even though pressing through the narrow alleys between stall was quite an experience, we came away empty-handed.  The Post Office market is the place for gifty things.  Here, under the trees, we were besieged by vendors offering wonderful carved craftwork and other local traditional stuff.  Farayi bought an amazing 'chief's chair', and we've got no idea how he'll get it home! 

Back at the Lodge we had a series of power cuts.  So after our meal, we all settled for an early night.  Tomorrow it's Tanzania, except for Farayi who revisits the aid project then flies back to stay with his brother in Lusaka.  My bed is 80 inches by 80 inches.

Multiply Zambia 2014 Day Nine - Thursday

Another early morning quiet time on the porch.  It's a simple pleasure I always value on these tropical trips.  Insects buzzed round the bottle brush plant.  I haven't heard any cock-crow here yet, though.

Bishop Stanford rang in to say the car's brakes had failed, so our life was late.  As I set up, I noticed the lovely singing, unaccompanied and in rich harmonies.  It's more like worship I heard in Rwanda, and a sharp contrast with the 80+ decibels singing and insistent keyboard lead they seem to find obligatory in Kenya and Zambia.  I was sorry that fiddling to get the projection right meant I couldn't take a recording. 

Having lost time, we cracked on with the main teaching on kingdom finances.  The sharing in groups got more and more animated.  I'm always wary of this, as it often means people are loudly justifying themselves, or some big-mouth is hogging the show.  I was told, "No, they're genuinely discussing things."  Lunch was rather more modest.  It left me time for a wander in the sunshine down to the nearby bridge.  I watched swallows flying over the river, some a gorgeous blue, some with rusty heads and rumps (lesser striped swallows).

Len led a long Q&A session and did very well.   After I'd talked about fathering, Farayi shared too.  Altogether a nice bit of teamwork.  I wonder what it will be like when we have Gregory and Rukundo, too, in Dar es Salaam: I should have an easy life! 

Steven dashed off to another church meeting.  At Grace's insistence we went to the central hospital Bwaila maternity unit where she works.  We passed the main row of central stalls - first the coffins, then the ironwork, then the soft furnishings.  I must confess that three UK dads poking their noses around the labour ward and all seemed a bit strange.  It didn't seem proper to take photos.  Mums waiting for delivery were in cramped wards of ten or twelve beds, where the mosquito nets suggested six should be the capacity.  They were sleeping in the corridors, too.  Some mums hang around for a month before they're due.  Without ante-natal clinics, they don't have a 'date', and anyway the hospital provides three free meals a day.  They do ten or more deliveries per shift, where the facility was designed for two.  Grace showed us prem baby unit, the ward for mums with blood pressure, the HDU and ward for children having suffered from other complications.  There are no incubators on the general wards - mums are given their babies straight into their arms to look after.

After dropping our bags at the Lodge, Len, Farayi and I travelled to a Pizza Inn, as Bishop S was inviting us for a meal together.   I had this iced drink called Slush which gave me brain freeze behind my right eye.  When we got home, the WiFi was on go-slow (we have some Japanese visitors here), so I had the earliest night so far.  Farayi was in his customary pose, reading under his mozzi net.

Multiply Zambia 2014 Day Eight - Wednesday

I found I woke up fresh and early.  My body clock has adjusted!  I sat outside on the porch that leads to the Lodge reception, and assembled my thoughts and notes for the day's conference presentations.  The birdsong was noisy and raucous (pied crows) rather than tuneful.  Bishop Stanford arrived on time to take us to the PCM Central Church.  The temperature according to my phone weather widget was 24C; so far Malawi seems a few degrees sunnier than Zambia all round.

Walking through the door, rather unsociably focussed on set-up, I found that their projection arrangement was two projectors suspended from the ceiling lighting two very high and quite small screens.  To make this work I'd need to run the Powerpoints from a USB stick plugged into a computer in the techie room at the back of the hall: far from ideal.  Moses, the techie assistant trying to help apologised that no-one was around who could operate this, so we'd have to fire our own projector at one of the screens.  Mercifully there was a six feet high stand lurking at the back of the hall - obviously designed for the previous generation of equipment - and that worked fine (although precariously).  Moses also did most of the interpreting - a resourceful guy.

The sessions went well, and Len took the whole afternoon leading the delegates through group work on servant leadership.  Lunch was a generous spread of rice, nsima, beef, fish and chicken, followed with bananas.  I managed to ring Mary, who said yesterday's hospital appointment had gone okay.  I got through to Hannah, too, who'd come up with an allergic reaction to an insect bite and had been for a couple of injections.  I also exchanged texts with Jimmie about his impending trip to Livingstone and Victoria Falls.  I couldn't resist one last call to Mary's brother, Tony, who'd been here in November with Gail visiting an aid project that his church in Bath regularly partners. 

Later, Harold introduced his wife, Grace.  There were few ladies there, which I understand is a carry-over from years of a seriously oppressive regime here.  Driving us home, Bishop S made a couple of very astute observations about the teaching.  He'd obviously been listening carefully.

Farayi had spent the afternoon visiting the project that Kings Church is undertaking in September.  He described, at dinnertime, how he'd witnesses a group of eight- and nine-year-old lads stoning a dog round the back of the church premises.  I got an hour updating teaching material on 'contributory culture' as church business have featured in the questions from the delegates.  I hope the event doesn't turn into one long blag for funding, borne of a victim mentality.  40% of Malawi's gross domestic income comes from overseas aid.  The whole point of teaching about self-sufficiency from 1 Thessalonians 4 is to infuse the church with a different mindset.  And there's been a public outcry about corruption in Joyce Banda's administration.  In fact the hot topic of conversation is the elections coming up in May. 

We're scratching where it itches with our input.

Multiply Zambia 2014 Day Seven - Tuesday

The muezzin kicks in at 5.07am.  He must be on Mecca sunrise time.  I shower, pack and grab a couple of cups of coffee and pieces of toast and Marmite for breakfast.  We're loading the car at 8.00am.  Steven seems a bit reluctant, as he maintains, "Lusaka Airport isn't Heathrow".  But it is three-quarters of an hour's drive away, and we have to pick up Harriet on the way.  The Departures indicator board doesn't even tell us which check-in desk to go to: there's only one!  I gather that there's now no direct flight from London to Lusaka; but Ethiopian Airways run a Dreamliner service to Shanghai.  What does that tell you?

Our flight left an hour late, as they'd had to do an unscheduled refuelling.  The terminal computers had gone down, leaving the ground crew unable to do the billing.  Once airborne, I briefly dozed off.  But then I watched the landscape pass beneath us and the gorgeous clouds stretch into the distance.  Everywhere seems well cultivated - but this is the end of the rainy season.

Lilongwe Airport is picturesque, with tended landscaping, and trees in the car park were in full bloom.  Bishop Stanford met us an a mini-MPV he'd hired for our stay, and drove us to Calla Lily Lodge.  We pass very rural African roadside scenes: a knot of boys looking after a small herd of cattle; thatched homesteads.  A far cry from the thriving - and messy - Zambia that lies not many miles away. 

The Lodge is in Area 47 Sector 3, according to the city's Milton Keynes type naming system.  We poked our noses into all the vacant rooms and made our choice: Farayi and I are sharing this time.  We decide there's just time to dash into the centre and change some currency.  I still have 900 Zambia Kwacha (about £95), and there was no conversion rate at the Airport.  "Hmm," the Bishop confirms.  "You won't get that changed in any of the banks, but I know someone..."  We've just landed, and now we're black-market money changing at the well-scrubbed bishop's initiation.

We find the one mall in the centre and soon I turn round from the front seat to find what I'd have taken as  Jamaican guy sitting in the back seat peeling notes from thick wads he's dug from a rucksack.  He's offering a good rate on Sterling: 670 Malawian Kwacha to the pound, but only 50 for Zambian, where the right rate should be nearer 70.  I'll send the money back to Kitwe with Farayi, where he'll get at least £90 from any outlet.

Back at the Lodge, Steven approaches me hesitantly.  "We feel it would be better to hold the conference tomorrow and Thursday rather than Thursday and Friday."  He offers no explanation, but follows, "We can do our planning now, and on Friday we can go out, maybe to Lake Malawi."  I can't think of an objection.  So we go down to the dining room for a welcome cup of tea and chat about the programme.  Rev Harold, from the Presbyterian Church we'll us, joins us.  He came to the Kitwe conference three years ago, and I remember his ready smile from the video of the march.

Bishop S is softly spoken, very particular and deliberate in his ways.  We soon have things sorted.  Translation will be into Chichewa.  Steven lets Reception know when we'll eat, and we get unpacking .  I chat about the family to Farayi - he's a very similar age to Gav.  We've all ordered local pan-fried Chambo fish.  (Lake Malawi boasts 800 difference species of fish according to National Geographic.)   It's bony and tasty, but we're pestered by mosquitoes that seem to make Farayi a particular target.

I just manage to catch up with some emails before the WiFi network slows to an impossible crawl.  I have a huge double bed that seems wider than it's long and it's crowned with a kingfisher blue mosquito net.   As I drift off to sleep, Farayi has retreated inside his net and is lying reading.

I'm liking Malawi.

Multiply Zambia 2014 Day Six - Monday

The muezzin overslept, so no 5am interruptions.  My washed shirts don't seem to have dried one iota, and my left hearing aid's developed the dysfunctional repetitive clicking that it did in India.  I put it in the fridge for half an hour, in case the electronics had overheated, and it only temporarily worked again properly.  This means that all day I was withdrawing socially.

We got down to the building housing Pastor David's church and found the whole neighbourhood choked with parked cars.  I jumped out and set up for presentations. The sessions went well, and we weren't translating - I was expecting Nyanja.  At the lunch-break interval there was no sign of the food.

Because the host church we holding its own lunchtime fellowship our delegates were left wandering around a bit aimlessly.  We regathered having not eaten, and then took a second break.  The sunshine outside was hot and bright.  The food was set up in an open concourse available for the just such purpose for premises users.  It was a huge spread and I wished we could have done the whole arrangement more justice!

When we finished, we similarly had to vacate in a hurry to make way for another fellowship group.  They can't be accused of under-utilising the premises.  Listening in the the lunchtime preaching, I heard again that some quick-fix nugget of revelation was going to release us into a season of blessing and breakthrough.  I don't think this constant one-sided anointing emphasis squares with the New Testament's teaching on the flesh being our enemy and the need for a process of sanctification.  I'll ask Steven.

We were caught in rush-hour traffic on hour way back at the Villa Lodge (opposite the Salvation Army Centre).  Zambia seems to have skipped over the customary economic progress route from bicycle to motorbike to car, and 4x4s abound.  The WiFi's fixed at last, and 204 emails flood my Inbox.  I manage to get up to date on posting blogs.

We were due to eat at Robbie and Harriet's new home on the massive eastern side development at 7.30pm.  We set off at 9.00pm.  They're the couple who had arranged our lift from the coach station and sorted us out with the use of a car.  I wasn't feeling like engaging - a big late lunch, unable to participate in conversation, and anxious about our early start tomorrow for the 11.15am flight to Malawi.  We bumped and splashed along an un-made-up road with new detached and floodlit walled-and-gated houses on both sides.  The owners have boreholes for their water supply, as properties are going up faster than the city can extend utilities.

Another huge and tasty spread.  The home is spacious and well appointed, but as ever, the build quality is lousy.  Our own accommodation has ill-fitting doors and tacky furniture.   Robbie is a commercial lawyer (trained in Birmingham) for the near-monopoly Zesco utilities company.  Harriet works with refugee issues in the Home office.  Robbie's ten mile daily commute, starting at 6.00am, takes an hour-and three-quarters.   At 11.00pm we make our farewells, and Len comments, "There's a real opening for a quality building firm round here."  I'm not sure what he has in mind.

We're back home in half an hour and I set my alarm for 6.00am, a bit earlier than usual.