Uncertain Times, in God's Hands

We must have looked like the Beverly Hillbillies when we first arrived in Maputo in 1993. We had packed all our earthly belongings, including one German Shepherd dog, into 2 pick-ups plus two small hauling trailers. Dwight’s parents, Arthur and Gladys Lagore, helped us every step of the way despite having serious reservations about our move to Mozambique--a country that had been embroiled in civil war for over 20 years.

1993...moving to Maputo

The trip from Umtata, Transkei (South Africa), to Maputo, Mozambique, took several days. We departed against the backdrop of the anti-apartheid struggle in South Africa, of which Transkei was still a part in most respects. 

We first arrived to serve in South Africa in 1987 during a state of emergency, but by 1993 that had been lifted. 

During our five years in Transkei, South Africa, we had grown somewhat accustomed to political unrest. There was a bloodless coup in December of 1987, the area was known for allegedly housing terrorist training camps, anti-white graffiti in town “kill a white a day” was commonplace, and gunfire rang out in the dark many a night. Our first set date to move was postponed by a week because of unrest following the murder of Chris Hani, former leader of the South African Communist Party (SACP) and Chief of Staff of the armed wing of the African National Congress (ANC). So, we had an extra week living with the senior Lagore’s before our eventual departure to Mozambique. 

We decided to leave on our big move at 4:00 a.m., under cloak of darkness, due to increasing incidents of whites being shot on a nearby stretch of highway. We had barely made it through the dangerous stretch when our pick up’s oil line to the alternator burst and we were forced to stop for repairs at a service station. 

After several hours of waiting idly we continued our trip. Our travel group consisted of Dwight’s parents in their mid 60’s, us in our early 30’s, our kids 4 and 6, and our dog who was rather sedated at the time on recommendation of the vet. 

 I feel I should take a moment to tell you about our dog. We bought him as a pup shortly after our place had been burgled in 1988. He was a pure-bred German Shepherd (named Apollo by the breeders). Our thought was he would provide us with some security in what was an insecure environment. German Shepherds were good guard dogs, or so we were told. He turned out to be a lovely dog who loved people. All people. Anyone and everyone. He was not discriminatory, suspicious, or wary of strangers in any way. We thought his “fight” would emerge as he grew, but no. He did a lot of tail wagging but precious little barking. Thankfully he was a big black dog, so he was perceived to be a threat. So, when we moved from one insecure environment (Transkei) to another one (post-war Mozambique), we felt we should take him as part of our security system. 

 But back to our moving story. We drove all the way to Johannesburg that first day and overnighted with friends. The next morning, we set out to buy some items we would need to set up house in Maputo—a fridge and dining table set. The dining table set we decided on that was the right price, and that would fit on the trailer, was a white plastic one. It would serve the purpose until we could replace it with a proper wooden set. (That “until” turned out to be a 20-year time span!) We then purchased a fridge and grocery supplies. We had very little carrying space for our new items, so I had the amazing idea to pack whatever I could inside the fridge itself for the journey. Among the items I put inside was a refill package of fabric softener called “Sta-soft”. My scent of choice was “Spring Fresh”. 

And so, we set off, east-bound for the Mozambique border and Maputo. To say that trip was overwhelming is an understatement. The border was chaotic, the highways marked by the presence of tired ex-combatants since the recent signing of the peace accord, and the vestiges of war were everywhere.

Bullet pocked walls from the war

Early post war days with heavy UN presence

Some relics remained in place for a very long time as you can tell by Russell's age here (photo c. 2004)

Maputo itself was the most dilapidated city I had ever been in. Streetlights didn’t work, sewage ran in the streets, and rats scurried between heaps of garbage piled wherever each neighborhood deemed the most convenient spot. To create space for more refuse, these heaps were often set alite to burn and smolder for days and weeks on end. This lent an acrid and unforgettable smell to the air. 

It was well after dark when we finally arrived at our rental house. The neighborhood looked sketchy, but that was true of the entire city. Neighborhood kids sat on the wall of the property and watched closely as we opened the rickety gate to drive in. The gate’s hinges were broken so closing the gate again was a matter of propping them, so they leaned together “just so”. We then lashed them together with rope in hopes our dog wouldn’t easily find his way out. We noticed that most of our neighbors had guards for protection from the criminal element; some even armed with AK47’s. Us? We had Apollo… 

As we drove toward the house, our headlights sent cockroaches running back into the gray water/septic tank in the back yard that they’d emerged from. We stepped out, carefully, opened the house and started unpacking our things. I plugged in the new fridge and first removed everything, including the Sta-soft, that didn’t need refrigeration. 

The fragrance of “Spring Fresh Sta-soft” filled the air; a welcome one in the moment because it made that strange place feel more like a home. Little did I know that scent would linger in the fridge for as long as the fridge survived. The smell itself is pleasant enough, but a fridge is a weird place for that type of a scent. And thus, both the smell of burning garbage and Spring Fresh Sta-soft were etched in my smell memory.

During the first week, while Dwight’s parents were with us, his mom would say worriedly, “Oh my, I can hardly bring myself to leave our kids and grandchildren in this place!” We assured her we would be fine. When you’re still young, you have such strong convictions and feel quite invincible. Things tend to change as you get older. 

(Image from later that year when we visited Transkei)

Fast forward to the current day. Much development has happened in our 30+ years here but politically things have always smouldered. Unrest and discontent have often raised their heads, especially around election time, and 2024 elections proved no different. In fact, the current political climate and dynamics are as charged as we have ever experienced. We have go-bags ready in the event we feel the need to evacuate to a safe place, but thankfully so far this has not been necessary. 

The protests since the October elections have seriously disrupted life and security for the entire country. Last week, when things were more peaceful than they had been in a while, we made the hour-long trip to town for supplies. I scanned the shelves for items I should stock up on, not knowing when it would be safe to be on the roads again. 

Lack of supplies due to protests and road blocks at border with South Africa

I haven’t used Sta-soft since forever, but my eyes locked on the shelf holding Sta-soft Spring Fresh refillable pouches. My hand instinctively picked one up and I lifted it to my nose. The smell brought back a flood of memories and mixed emotions. So much has changed since 1993! To say life has been etched by tumultuous and uncertain times is an understatement, but we are still here and our only prayer is that peace can once again return so that the people we came to serve can know a better and more prosperous 2025.

Yesterday's visit by 3 of the many who have come through SAM Ministries' sponsorship program. (Left to right: Dwight, Paulina (Industrial Electrician), Nezi (Welder/Turner&Fitter), Gervasion (Pharmacy tech grad now in 1st year studying medicine.)

Pray with us for Mozambique's youth, and for their tomorrow. We know the Lord has good plans for them!

 How Omicron Stole Christmas

 

We are now into almost 2 years of life with covid and our hopes of things improving have certainly risen and crashed repeatedly like the waves on the seashore. But never have hopes been so dashed as with the announcement of the Omicron variant so close to Christmas.

 

In October, we made plans to return to Canada to deal with several items “home-side” that needed our attention. Africa’s covid case rates were very low, and Dwight and I were immunized, so it seemed this trip home would be easier than the one we had done in February when we had to do hotel and home quarantine for 14 days. So, we confidently booked a flight on Air France out of Johannesburg, South Africa, to Canada on December 9, 2021.

 

The trip put us under a bit of time pressure though because of a heavy workload. The Cessna’s annual maintenance was due in mid-November in South Africa, so this gave little time to return to the mission in Mozambique afterwards to wrap things up so we could be gone for several months. 

 

During our two weeks in South Africa doing the aircraft’s maintenance, Omicron’s discovery (by a South African lab) hit the news. Everyone read in horror about how heavily mutated the new variant was and speculated what implications it could have. A seeming monster had been unearthed and governments around the world immediately imposed travel bans on 7 southern African countries including South Africa and Mozambique…the places we live and work. What has been referred to as a “knee jerk reaction” turned the anticipation and joy of many into a time of grief as travel plans had to be canceled. Couples separated by the miles would not be together for Christmas, sick parents could not be visited, grandparents could not meet grandchildren, job contracts were canceled, people separated by covid for nearly two years would remain separated again.

 

We knew that as Canadian citizens we had the right to return to Canada, but the restrictions they set in place for “their own” were so prohibitive that return became next to impossible. Negative PCR’s from the “red listed” Southern African countries, including South Africa…the very country whose capability and expertise enabled the sequencing of the new variant in the first place, were not accepted. And since there are no direct flights to Canada from the African continent, they required an “in transit” PCR in whichever country citizens or permanent residents were scheduled to transit through. The problem was that most countries with airline service put bans against Southern African passengers in place so quickly that there were almost no options for returning home. A very select few allowed passengers to transit, but they did not have PCR testing capacity in the transit zone. 

 

There were two small glimmers of hope…one was to fly through Germany where in transit PCR’s could be organized at a cost of approx CAD$460 EACH (for relocation cost of lab personnel into the transit area to do the required PCR). One could also fly through Ethiopia, but this entailed leaving the airport to get a PCR, staying overnight, then catching a flight onward the following day. The unsettling part was that Canada had issued a travel advisory due to instability and violence in Ethiopia. So yay, there were a few options. But equally unsettling was the question “what if I test positive in transit?” No one wants a covid positive traveler! 

 

Within days of the announced bans, South Africa’s president and the WHO spoke out strongly against them. In response, restrictions and travel advice changed by the minute. Embassies and consulates sent email updates to their citizens overseas, but the details were often inconsistent with the information on their own websites. One wasn’t sure where to turn to find out what rules applied to the current situation. Travels agents were at a loss as well, and that was even more concerning. But difficult times draw people together, and there were some “covid travel groups” on Facebook and WhatsApp that I joined which proved to be very helpful. My phone buzzed and dinged incessantly as panicked group members posted questions and shared what they learned in an effort to help each other. 

 

Initially, we decided that if this plan to return wasn’t going to work out we would just stay put. But we felt we should at least try and if there was an open door, we’d rebook. Once the first week of worldwide chaos was past, our travel agent said she could reschedule us on December 12^th on Luftansa through Frankfurt--the only viable route for returning Canadians. The in-transit PCR requirement was still a concern so we didn’t respond immediately. 

 

There happened to be a Canadian girl’s field hockey team in South Africa when all this transpired. In light of the Omicron scare, their tournament was cancelled and they needed to get home. In short order, Canada issued a surprise exemption that saved the day for the many Canadian citizens and Permanent Residents who were otherwise stranded. The exemption did away with the mandatory in-transit PCR, so long as people routed through Germany (Frankfurt specifically). They also decided to accept PCR’s done by accredited labs in 2 major cities in South Africa. This exemption was to be in effect only from November 30th to December 13^th. The new date and route proposed by our travel agent fit perfectly with this exemption so we finalized the booking. There was still a catch, because there’s always a catch, and that is that the narrow window of time for the PCR test which was exactly 48h from collection to flight departure time out of Frankfurt to Canada. So, you had to count your hours carefully. Thankfully, South Africa’s labs are very efficient getting results in less than 24 and if you go private and pay a bit more, you can get rapid PCR in as little as 2 hours. 

 

We breathed a sigh of relief at that exemption! Also, by this stage we felt our bodies were pretty covid-savvy. We had already had covid (in January, 2021) and through an unusual unfolding of events, had received 3 doses of the vaccine (mainly to facilitate international travel since that defines our lives and work). When we originally booked our trip home we thought it would be smooth sailing. But Omicron threw that all out of whack. Not only did we need to do the required PCR testing to return, but Canada also required PCR and mandatory hotel quarantine on arrival regardless of vaccination status. The hotel quarantine was required while awaiting the arrival PCR result. If it was negative and you had a place to isolate safely, you could carry on to that location to complete a total of 14 days quarantine. 

 

Somewhere amid this chaos, and before we even left Africa, cases of Omicron were discovered in Europe, USA, Japan and even Canada. We had done one 14 day quarantine in February when we were home and were not excited at the prospect of doing it again—especially for a variant that had beat us home. 

 

The paperwork we had to prepare for this trip was mind boggling. It was recommended we have hard copies of our ArriveCan app registration number, PCR results (both to enter South Africa from Mozambique and to leave south Africa for Germany), flight itineraries, tickets for all 3 flights, proof of vaccination, authorization to leave Mozambique for more than 3 months, and a South African exit health statement. We practically needed a binder to hold all the pages!

 

The days leading up to our departure were long, hot, and sweaty in the Mozambican bush as we squirreled around tackling our many final tasks. Finally, we managed to wrap things up and were off, although we were thoroughly exhausted. That was partially from the business but also from the stress of dealing with chaos, uncertainty, and forever changing requirements.

 

Our flights all went well and we were surprised by how jam packed they were. We had joined a WhatsApp group primarily for South Africans who had become Canadian citizens or were permanent residents because we were all fighting for a way to get back “home” together. We had organized sub-groups based on departure dates from South Africa to Frankfurt so knew even when we left for Canada that many were on the same flights as we were, even if we didn’t know their faces.

 When we landed at the Calgary airport, we were swiftly ushered into a side room reserved for southern African travelers where we submitted our quarantine plans, answered questions, did our arrival PCR swabs and received instructions. Dwight and I thought we had a fail-safe plan to head straight for home quarantine from the airport. We had booked a rental car that we would drive to a basement suite for isolation. The Canadian govt website had indicated we could use public transport to get to the car rental place, but that turned out to be just one more of many pieces of misinformation that had marked the past few weeks. The health officer at the airport said our plan was solid but only IF the rental agency could provide “contactless delivery” of the vehicle. Our hearts sunk a little. We called about 20 numbers until we finally had the right line only to hear that our request wasn’t possible. We had to go in person to the counter to pick up our booked vehicle. We had just been sitting elbow to elbow with hundreds of people crammed on the arriving flight, most of whom did not have to comply with this “enhanced screening” process we were subject to, but suddenly we weren’t allowed to approach a car rental desk for one last “transaction” before quarantine? It really didn’t make much sense. But that didn’t matter.

 

Our plan was turned down and we, along with our little group of southern Africans, were ushered outside into the winter cold. We boarded a school bus which took us to the Calgary Airport Westin Hotel--our new home while we awaited our PCR results. When we got on the bus, the driver instructed us to maintain distance from each other. “Leave empty seats  between you”. We did. 

 

When we arrived at the hotel we entered the humungous lobby. It was elegant but empty and void, only reminiscent of what must have been beautiful and bustling with busy travelers. Once inside were instructed again, sternly, to stand far away from each other. I wanted to say, “Do you realize we just flew two 10-hour flights with barely 4” between our shoulders?” But I didn’t. The weather wasn’t the only thing offering us all a cold reception.

 

One of the hallways that lead to the hotel’s “covid branch” was completely lined in white plastic—floors, walls, and ceiling. At the entrance to this hallway was a sign-in desk where they took down our details, handed us a bundle of paperwork with phone numbers, instructions on what we were and were not permitted to do, and so on. Then, one by one, and with more than adequate distance between us, we were marched down the white plastic hallway to the elevator. My mind immediately labeled this “the walk of shame.” Clearly, we were “unclean”. From the elevator to our room’s door, we walked on more plastic. I wondered what they thought we were going to do to their carpets. It seemed extreme, and surreal--like a weird dream. Outside each room was a plastic box that contained disposable gloves, a bottle of disinfectant, cleaning cloths, and extra toilet paper. We were not to leave the room, and we were to always wear a mask when opening the door for any reason. Since we didn’t go out ever, we only ever opened it to retrieve the food delivered three times a day and to set our garbage bags outside for pick up.

 

Our hotel room itself was very nice. It’s the Westin, after all. Some of the helpful items had been removed though, like the ironing board and iron, blow drier, and microwave. I guess they’re fire hazards but I’m not sure why that was specific to us. Maybe there were other reasons. The bed had been untidily made but seemed clean. From our WhatsApp group we’d heard horror stories of people being given dirty rooms with unwashed bed linen in Toronto, so we were thankful not to experience that. Our food for the most part was fine and usually warm enough to be palatable. Others had received cold food and some, who clearly had blow driers in their rooms, used them to warm their food up before eating. If we wanted to go outside (not that we did in -20C and no one came knocking), we would have needed a guard to accompany us and would have been allowed a 15 min break twice a day. Some hotels had cordoned off areas for this where travellers were not allowed to walk beyond. 

 

Considering the fact that we had only 48 hours from PCR test time in Johannesburg to boarding our Canada bound flight in Frankfurt, we were shocked to learn that it can take 72 hours or more to just receive results of our arrival PCR’s in Canada! At least our samples were collected at the airport. Others have had to go to their quarantine hotel and wait more than a day to even have the PCR done. We are supposed to be reporting our symptoms each day on the ArriveCan app, but the app is broken. We had entered our information several times but it only retained my record…on Dwight’s phone! It certainly doesn’t instill a sense of confidence in the system.

View from our window out the Calgary Airport Westin

 As I write this we are on day 3 of our quarantine and finally received our negative PCR results...58 hours later! This should mean we are good to proceed to our home quarantine, but we apparently need a release letter from the health agency. We are told it could take up to another 3 days for this to happen as well, but when it does, we can take public transportation to get to where we need to go. But we mustn’t stop anywhere or talk to anyone on our way to our home quarantine. And that’s not inconsistent at all…

 

One of the biggest questions that boggles my mind is, what is the whole point of quarantine to keep Omicron out if during these few weeks, it has already grown and spread considerably before we even arrived? Here in Alberta, as a vaccinated person, if I am exposed to someone with omicron covid I don’t need to isolate. But as someone who has flown in from a southern African country who is potentially exposed, I need to isolate for a full 14 days? Isn’t this the same bug??

 

Also highly concerning is the great cost of all this to our country. These hotels cost $300-$500/night normally. Add to that the cost of security, food services, shuttles, and support staff and you’re looking at a cool $1000/night/room. And let’s not forget the cost to those who had to rebook tickets, pay for additional PCR’s and hotel rooms, and productivity lost to sitting for hours, days and weeks in isolation awaiting the “all clear” from yet another variant. All of this quickly adds up to hundreds of thousands of dollars in costs to isolate people, currently for no good reason other than simply because they came from a certain geographical location. Period. The practicality and science of dealing with covid has, at a breathtaking pace, been buried by politics, policy making, virtue signaling, and mandate enforcing.

Many have held these same concerns and more, and have gone public with them in any way they can. I will post a few links here of videos and articles that are worth a look. 

Good report introducing those who set up WhatsApp groups and refers to Ethiopia transit

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7i63CcUM66Y

Kamil--a traveler, like us, "stuck in South Africa"

https://www.ctvnews.ca/video?clipId=2333108

Personal news reports about prolonged hotel stays:

https://www.cbc.ca/news/business/south-africa-travel-omicron-1.6279085

 

One can only hope that the world learn from this experience, and that our health authorities begin to understand the costly psychological and financial implications of their decisions on countless innocent Canadians who do travel for important reasons!

 

 

 

 

Borders, cows and such

Border Hopping

Today was the day our visitors visas for South Africa expired. They were the usual 3 month visas we have normally been issued with on border crossings over the past 25 years. If we returned shortly before the visa expiry, they’d usually issue a new one. No questions asked.  

But this time was different. We were mistakenly suspected of “border hopping”. That’s where people cross borders while they are (or are not) trying to process proper residence or work visas in one of the countries they hopping between. Border hopping is a common thing here, especially of late since the legal processes for organizations and visa processing have become incredibly complex and much more expensive. 

But that wasn’t our case. We have Mozambican residence permits so clearly didnt need to “hop” anywhere. But the immigration official who stamped our passports made a mistake. Long story short and a trip to his supervisor later, we were no further ahead. We were told we had to exit and re-enter South Africa through a border somewhere half way through our current business trip (annual aircraft maintenance). 

Today was our visa expiry date, so we headed to the  nearest border to us: Bulembu, Swaziland. Note the zigzagging road on the map? It didn’t lie...

What we drove through was rocky, steep hillside after rocky, steep hillside nestled so closely together one would think whoever placed them there hadn’t planned ahead very well! 

The hillsides were so steep and yet there were tree plantations. We wondered how you’d harvest on such steep slopes. Apparently getting stuff rolling down was no issue, but stopping it at some point must have been. The road was littered with pine branches and rocks that rolled off cliffs at whim. We also wondered if animals could possibly be farmed there. Turns out, yes, cows. Don’t ask me how an animal as stiff and awkward as a cow can walk those steep slopes without rolling down like the branches and rocks do, but they do. 

At the border, we engaged the gate officer in idle conversation for a few minutes before going inside to deal with the more stressful issue at hand. We talked about the steep rocky hills and the cows. He said sheep lived there too. That wasn’t as surprising to me as the awkward cow scenario. I asked him if there were wild animals up there too? “No. None. Just cows and sheep.” 

Inside, the immigration officer scrutinized our passports and noted our visa expiry date was today. “So I see you are crossing the border the day your visa expires. You will be returning today again I take it?” His look said “border hoppers!” We explained our predicament and what the airport immigration officer had said (as Moz residents we can enter for 30 days for sure and should have been granted that last week. Except for the mistake.). He responded with a drawn out “Hmmmmm, I don’t....know....how many days I can give you on your return here later....Maybe 7 days...” There was no justification for only 7 days but hey, he’s the boss here. 

On the Swazi side of the border, the officials were friendly. An official portrait of the king of Swaziland, dressed in his tribal attire, hung on the wall.  It looked to me like he just hung there smiling on everything that transpired there. 

We carried on into the little old settlement of Bulembu. It was nestled in those steep, rocky hills and clearly had been established during the colonial era. We found the Bulembu Lodge restaurant. I think it’s the only one in town, and the dining hall was empty. The waiter welcomed us and ushered us to the table of our choosing. I selected the one with the best view of those steep, rocky hills. We ordered our lunch and ate it while the waiter, in formal style, stood nearby watching us, hands folded behind his back, ever at the ready. The door to the kitchen was to his immediate left. There was a ton of chatter and laughter behind those doors and periodically he would duck inside for a few moments reprieve from watching us eat. Then he would reappear and resume his watch. Dwight read the hot sauce bottle label which declared that there was “chilli’s and no other nonsense inside”. The waiter chuckled along with us. It was heartwarming but also a bit awkward. And that made me think of the cows on the hills. 

When lunch was over, we left the aged little town with its nostalgic and aging structures behind. We now had to face the formidable South African immigration official again. First, though, came the Swazi border with its friendly staff. They love guests from Canada, they said. The portrait of the king smiled down on us as we said goodbye. 

When we arrived at the South African side we took a deep breath and went inside. Like, “Whatever. We will take what comes.” What else, right? To our surprise, the same official who had given us the gears granted us a full 30 day visa back into South Africa. We were relieved and anxious to get back to where we are staying. 

On our way back through those steep, rocky hills, we came across baboons. Huge troops of them scampering away from our curious eyes. So there was wildlife in them there hills after-all! Seeing them reminded us of the orphaned “bad-boon” (as used to call him because there seemed no limit to the mischief he could get up to) that we raised from infant hood until 7 months of age. He was actually a welcome gift to our daughter in law who was visiting Africa for the first time. When she and Russ left, I became his mommy. It was uncanny how human like and adorable he could be, but he could also a real character and could be downright bad! At the right time, we were able to release him into a wildlife reserve just north of the mission. For that trip, there were no border crossings, no suspicions of border hopping, and no portraits of kings smiling on us. It’s actually illegal to transport a wild animal so we had to hide him under a blanket to get him past highway police undetected. It was quite the ordeal but it was the right thing to do. 

There’s a whole lot more to it than that but that’s a story for another day.

The start of 2014

Before I post anything about 2014, I should really close 2013 with a few photos of November/December. We spent a considerable amount of the time traveling between Mozambique and South Africa as well as quite a bit of time being in South Africa on business. We also got hung up for awhile checking up on health issues. I hadn't been feeling well for several weeks and my Dr. wasn't happy with the results of some routine tests, so I was sent for not-so-routine tests/procedures to rule out anything terribly nasty. Preliminary results seem to indicate nothing too nasty, likely "just" a respiratory virus. Just a virus that made me sick for about 2 months--right through our annual holiday and Christmas--nasty enough for me.

One of our stops on one of our trips between SA and Moz was at Messina just south of Zimbabwe. We "climbed" a rock. As you can see, I did it in flip flops so probably can't officially be classified as climbing. It's a unique part of the country and is full of Baobabs and rock outcrops. It's also HOT there.

 

   We received a container of mostly medical supplies from Sweden, among the items were some wonderful cupboards. Here the health workers and Tome deliver a cupboard to the one health post. I don't know about them, but I smile when I see this picture because I know it meant we could finally take health records/forms/etc. out of the paper boxes we've used for years and put them in a cupboard. Talk about civilized! 

 

One of the big items to tend to in South Africa (at Mercy Air) was the Cessna's annual maintenance. This doesn't mean just checking under the hood and changing the oil--it  means pulling just about every moving part of the plane off, or open, and looking inside its cavities, examining the wiring, testing this, testing that. I don't even know what all they do but it's a pretty big job. It is absolutely essential though since it's fairly impossible to take a pit stop if something goes wrong when you're 7000 something feet in the air over dense bush.

When the maintenance is done, the plane has to do a test flight or two to make sure everything's working well. Officials from Moz also came through to check the facility and do an aircraft inspection since the Cessna is now Mozambique registered. It was a busy time for the guys, and we were very thankful that everything worked out so we could fly home in time for Christmas.

We stick to as many Christmas traditions as possible out here where there is no snow or other things that are normal signals (for us) that it's Christmas time. And every year, I dutifully pull out one of my old puzzles that I've done and redone many times. This particular scene is a snowy church scene of some place in Germany. Doing this puzzle helped me pass quite a few hours of not-feeling-so-great-but-don't-want to-waste-time-in-bed. But apparently what you define as "bed" depends on whether you're a human or a cat.

To add to our Christmas and New Year's celebrations, we also celebrated the first landing of the Cessna on the mission airstrip. This was the culmination of quite a few years of hard work, money spent, document processing, inspection passing, and so on. So it was truly a joyous event! The plane has already made several "work flights" from this airstrip, one being to take essential supplies to pastors in a remote region north of us.

Moving along here. 2014 so far has been pretty busy and we're not at the end of January yet. There's been gearing up for the beginning of school for the over 300 students in our sponsorship program, making progress on construction projects, preparing budgets for the new year, reports for our AGM in February, etc. And then there's been addressing the crises that seem to pop up regularly.

At lunchtime one day last week, we heard a huge BOOM in the distance. We weren't sure what it was but in short order received a phone call saying there had been an accident between two big trucks on the highway right in front of the mission property. Could we please come quickly! The scene didn't look good, but surprisingly there was only one casualty and he was alive. The health workers who live and work nearby had already made it to the scene and bandaged up the guy's head and checked him over. As quickly as we could, we got him loaded into the mission vehicle (which we have also nicknamed our local ambulance) and took him to hospital.

I'll try to wind things up with one last photo that everyone will be fine with. But this is your heads up that the ones to follow are the "bug section" which I always try to put at the end of my posts so the more sensitive readers can stop scrolling down in time :)

We currently have a group of students from Prairie who are spending a few weeks at the mission ministering to needs and relating cross culturally. Last Sunday after an animated church service, we were all invited to the pastor's home (above) to enjoy a lunch of Massa & Caril (stiff maize porridge that you dip into a stewed chicken sauce). This is served hot off the stove and eaten with the fingers. We north Americans know how to eat with our fingers, but handling piping hot food that way takes a bit of practice and a very light touch. It was delicious though!

BUG SECTION:
It's summer here which means it's very hot, humid and rainy. This weather summons creatures of all varieties and sizes out from hiding (or wherever they were) and into our house. I'm sure they go other places too, but I especially notice the ones that come inside. Especially when they're oversized.

 This first one is a huge centipede. These guys pack a nasty sting, though I've never been on the receiving end. Thank goodness!

 The fork's sole purpose here is for comparison. Just clarifying.

Next is a cute chameleon. This one didn't come inside because they hate being inside, but we often find them in our yard busy hunting and eating insects. Good! :)

The one below came inside and even went so far as to crawl up and get  all snuggled into a fold in our mosquito net.  A scorpion in one's mosquito net is not a nice visual to wake up to. Thankfully he didn't decide to come snuggle in our sheets instead.

 He's semi-lifeless here. I have since discovered 2 others in the house :O

The stick on the wall below is actually a stick bug. It is rather disconcerting to spot a live and moving stick on the wall outside one's bathroom! Although they don't bite people, obviously they can bite and eat their prey (smaller insects...good!). I think this is the largest stick bug we've seen to date. This is a KAOS radio station pen from Fort McMurray, btw, where it's -28C right now.

And then there's the tarantula type spider. Actually, we've spotted several of these, one of which was crawling up a big window in our front room.  I should have taken a photo of it but I was too distracted at the time.

And to everyone's great relief, that's all I will post for now. All the best to you this 2014!

PS: There's lots more news at samministries.org.

Stepping over cracks

 

When we were kids and walking along a sidewalk, one of us would invariably pipe up with, "Step on a crack, break your mother's back; step on a nail, put your father in jail." At this, we would adjust our stride and nimbly step over any pavement cracks or nail heads in boardwalks, all the while keeping a beady eye on the steps of others lest they slip up. If you did accidentally step on a crack, a chorus would rise, "Aha! You broke your mother's back!" or "You put your father in jail!" It was fierce but fun competition, and anyway, we were looking out for our parents' welfare! Thankfully, even though I probably slipped up many times in the game, neither calamity came upon my parents :-)

The cracked pavement above, which I think is actually quite pretty, is one of many on the veranda floor of the getaway beach spot we are at for just over a week. We have been coming here once a year for about 10 years, and each visit is unique in itself. One year, we arrived to discover that the wind had eroded the sand to the point where several thatched installations had collapsed and their reconstruction in a new location was underway. Another year, it was so stiflingly hot we could hardly bear the heat. The next year it was so unseasonably cold and windy we could hardly enjoy the hammocks on the veranda. Then there were the years where we had to deal with rat infestations, and the year where an arsonist almost burned the entire place to the ground. Yes, there are many stories to be told!

I wish I could say that this year's story is just about sand erosion, rats, or the weather. But it's not. This year's uniqueness has to do with recent political turmoil that has disrupted life in some way for just about everyone living in Mozambique. There have been many repercussions for us too. One of these was that we needed to take an alternate route south for this trip rather than take the in-country main highway where the military convoy has been the target of recent attacks. 

We took the convoy less than 2 months ago while on a business trip to South Africa. It was safe then, but things have since deteriorated and shootings and attacks are common. So we made the decision to get to our southern Mozambican destination via our neighbouring countries Zimbabwe and South Africa. Talk about taking the long way though. It was a 3 day trip as opposed to a 9 or 10 hour drive.

It has been a long time since we have been to Zimbabwe, and after paying $75/person for single entry visas, not counting other border costs, it's no wonder. There are now also several toll charges of USD $1 each to drive the main road south.

After our long, drawn out trip, we were weary and very happy to arrive at our destination! As I write this, we are concerned for Mozambique and her people. After 20 years of peace and development, the country has recently been plagued with hot spots of  civil unrest, fighting, and increasing violent crime.  There is a serious breakdown in communication and goodwill between the ruling and opposition parties, and much like our childhood's crack in the pavement, it is bringing calamity and pain to people. The country, especially youth, agonizes over events as they unfold. Just when things were going so well! Municipal elections are being held in less than 2 weeks and this does little to ease tensions, of course. We are keeping abreast as possible of the situation and so far in our area, things have been quiet and life goes on as usual. We do trust that once elections are over, things will settle for everyone and that this December will be one in tune with the season--that of renewed peace and hope.

Otherwise, for me, life has been a blur with the busyness of things. A key staff member left to pursue his career further north recently and it landed a heap of student photo taking and data collecting in my lap. I am training one of the health workers to take on most of this, but first he has to learn to type. So yes, there is much learning to be done yet! All in all, about 400 records needed to be updated (current student info, photo, and letter), but we have now completed that so we are rejoicing. I am so thankful for the enthusiasm of all those who work alongside us. 

This is what my desk and life have been occupied with primarily for the last few months. Reading the students' letters to their sponsors has been heart warming though.I love the attention and detail they put into their artwork...what a great avenue for creativity and expression it is. Like the mirror of one's heart. 

                       "Me taking pictures of students taking pictures of me." Fair's fair. 

For now though, let me sign off. There is a break I must enjoy :) 

Take care, and keep Mozambique in your thoughts and prayers.

A boy, a mouse burrow, and a snake

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Last night, right after supper, I got a call. It was one of the health workers. Someone had come to his home and asked if he would give a 9 year old child with a snakebite an injection.  The bite was 3 days old and the first shot had been administered at a hospital. Knowing he lived too far to come back each day for subsequent shots, they sent the vial home with instructions to find a health person to administer them. He hadn't received yesterday's shot and had cried from pain all the previous night, so they were desperate. Since health workers aren't trained to give injections, they called me. 

It was dark already so I picked up one of our guards to accompany me along with the health worker who received the call. We drove along a wide dirt path that wound through the huts in the local community. After taking several left, then right, then left again turns along the path, and where the trail by then was very narrow, we stopped.  From there we walked to the home where the child was. The guys with me used their cell phones to light their way. I had brought my MAG light and in a community that has no electricity and is very dark at night, I was the brightest beacon for miles around.

When we reached the child's home we found the family in the yard huddled around a small fire. This is customary here. The fire in one's yard is central to all evening activity since it provides both heat and light. This is where food is prepared, then eaten, and where evening socializing occurs until bedtime. 

We greeted the adults then called for the child with the snakebite. He got up from amid the group and walked slowly toward us. All eyes were on us from the darkness as we worked in the beam of my bright light.

The boy's hand was very swollen from the wrist to the fingertips and he had a draining gash on the bitten finger. Apparently he had been out hunting field mice so he could have some meat in his stew. (Meat is an absolute luxury in these parts.)  He found a mouse's burrow but when he put his hand in to grab the mouse, discovered a snake instead (which was probably there because it had eaten the mouse).  

 I asked why his finger had a gash instead of puncture holes from a snake. I was told that per tradition, the puncture site had been cut open to remove possible fangs left behind by the snake. I know about this tradition, actually. So I launched into my usual explanation that the chance of a fang being left behind is very, very low while the chance of the wound becoming infected is very, very high. Rather just leave it alone. But I know letting go of long-held traditions and beliefs is difficult. I have some myself. We all do. And even though my explanation is received with subtle skepticism, I give it anyway. I am convinced that things can change over time if we are patient yet consistent.

Anyway, to wrap things up... We decided on the best course of treatment, gave him medicine to help bring the inflammation down, and prayed for him. Today, the boy and his uncle stopped by for a check up. The boy reportedly had slept soundly and his hand was visibly less swollen. He was in much better spirits and chattered away with me while I cleaned and bandaged his finger. 

We'll closely follow his recovery and trust we can keep damage to a minimum. When they left, I told him that next time he's out mouse hunting for meat for his "caril" (stew), rather probe the holes with a stick than his hand. And I couldn't help but restate the part about not cutting a snakebite open to search for fangs. He's young, and impressionable, and I hope he remembers. I also hope that when he tells his friends his story, he includes that and the part about using a stick to probe the burrow instead. Maybe we can save someone else needless injury and pain.

A hand is far too high a price to pay for a bit meat.