the family tree

Vannana uJesu Vannana, Vannana uJesu Vannana!

The sound of drums and a small crowd singing with all their might drones through the unplastered walls. Outside, three confused dogs scramble for peace upon a heap of straw next to the corrugated roof sheeting that cordon off the vegetable garden.

It is late in the evening on this Saturday, but we are having church. We have fasted for the whole day in preparation for the few days we will be living as part of this household. The cocks’ crowing of this morning will not be heard again. Only one of the six chickens is still in this life while the other five will provide dinner for the small congregation after the service.

Fredrick, our mission leader preaches about John 15 and the gas lamp hisses on evenly. I sit right at the back against the wall and watch the black faces as the message is translated into a home-made Shona-Portugese dialect.

“We are not slaves any longer, but we are family members of Jesus Christ. We are all part of the same tree.”

Indeed, this is my family who live here in the hills of Manica*. Who cook under the grass roof among the banana trees and sugarcane fields.

Sunday brings more church services - a whole bunch of them after one another. The most gripping moment occurs during the harvest-offering. Two tin plates on a grass matt anticipate wrinkled Meticais (local currency) – earned at a very high price in manual labor in their small fields―given back to God as a testimony of a dependant community who exist out of His sheer grace. A few coins sound on the floor and then the dusty bags of dry corn are brought forth. A month’s worth of food for this specific family is offered. The congregation will sell it at the local market and will deposit the money in the church’s bank account.

Voices sing louder and louder and faces shine radiantly as the humble contributions increase―so much joy amidst so much need. My family here understands “having enough to give away.” White Westerners look upon this moment through tears. If we could only expose more of our fellow believers to this! It is too indescribable to convey in photos or words.

Monday through Thursday fly by too quickly. We paint and mix concrete outside the building while little children learn more about reading the Bible on the inside. We have to rush cooking dinner to have enough time for packing the off-road vehicles. We hurry across treacherous terrains to reach the wild locations in order to set up the equipment before sunset. The savannah begins to tremble from eager feet that carry bodies to watch the Jesus film. Without flashlights or candles, following barefoot for miles over sharp winter grass they respond. Following after the sound of Jesus’ translated invitation to come and drink form the Living Water.

In awe, they wait patiently while we exchange the heavy rolls of film in the darkness. Do they wonder if Jesus understands the flavors of bananas and sugar cane?

Just before bedtime, I discreetly visit the newly painted cubicles around the long-drops, headlamp securely fastened around my head and toilet roll under the arm. Tired and covered in dust sticking to my Peaceful Sleep, I climb into my K-Way sleeping bag. The local pastor loaned me his blanket all week because I was so cold on the first night.

We thought we came to mean something to them, but then they showed us what unconditional caring and sharing looks like.

Hannana uJesu Hannana, Hannana uJesu Hannana!!
(we are all children of Jesus)

*The rural town of Manica is situated in central Mozambique a few miles East of the Zimbabwean border