Wish I had a camera. . .

Cameras are forbidden on the streets of Congo as a rule unless they go undetected, of course. Yesterday, we did some serious shopping for the upcoming reunion we are praying to be able to have from March 14 through March 21. One of the delectable dishes is makayabu (mock ah yaboo). Makayabu is a mild fish to begin with, but for the sake of preservation, it is heavily salted to the point of brine so that it can remain eatable without refrigeration. You can smell it a mile away. Bones are still intact, and it is as stiff as a cutting board. After soaking or boiling the salted fish for a good length of time, it tenderizes and is delicious with beans, rich, and palm fat. I can't remember if palm fat is currently not good for you or it is now okay to consume. The rules keep changing.

At any rate, on Monday we priced the prized catch in downtown Kinshasa (known as Kin), and yesterday while at another market far from downtown, we noted a much better sale. Changes in prices take place momentarily depending on who is buying, how poor or affluent they are, and what skin color they wear. We drew a lot of attention as we purchased two 100 lb. sacks of dried beans, 20 kilos (2.2 lb. to a kilogram), and about 50 lb. of onions. In fact, with windows rolled down but the space filled with bodies and faces and thus no air circulation, the temperature inside Augi's little car mounted. Swarms of Congolese quickly surrounded us, hoping to make a quick sale of everything from brooms, to flashlights, to gaudy colored bras, to aprons, to butcher knives. . . you get the idea!

As we began to look for vegetable oil, two men appeared out of the woodwork; and, voila, they opened cartons of huge pieces of the smelley commodity we needed. Then the fun began. In Congo, I learned the hard way to always weigh products being sold on the streets that claim a certain weight on the package. In the past when purchasing makayabu, the stated weight of 9 kg. has fallen far short when I failed to do this at the time of purchase and later had to weigh the product so it could be transported on the MAF plane to go up country to our mission campus.

After an hour of weighing 10 boxes of the nauseating salt brine and fish smell, with half of my body out of back seat window and persperation dripping down my face, constantly reminding them to take their hands off the carton as they weighed the fish, we successfully validated our 9 kg. per carton x 10, piled them all in the trunk, and sat back to enjoy the breeze that we were afforded because of the disappearance of vendors, and made our way home.

Jim decided to go with me yesterday, and we both wished we could have shot that scene with my little camera.

Today was more of the same. In order to cook, have hot water, and refrigerate and freeze food, we must use propane tanks. For the last 3 years, however, propane has not been available in Kinshasa. That means men have to risk their lives going across the crocodile-infested waters, avoiding whirlpools which took the life a former beloved MK several years ago, and carry those 100 lb tanks in a canoe, purchasing them in Brazzaville. So you know what that means--the price has doubled.
Since eating raw meat is not an option, we choose to pay the high price. That meant spending an hour and a half in the back seat of Augi's car in temps of nearly 90 while the men weighed the tanks, filled the tanks that were underweight, called a delivery truck, loaded the tanks on the delivery truck, and then we all drove out to the MAF hangar, had to get special permission from MAF to put them in the hangar, drive through a gated entry, and hire a few men to unload the tanks and put them in a secure place.

It is a different world out here. The good difference is that as people are standing around--in particular a policman yesterday who calmed the crowd and kept it from total bedlam because of their desperation to sell something so they can buy food for supper that night--the Gospel can be freely shared, welcomed, and actually embraced without any looks from the recipient that make you think he thinks you are not operating with a full deck, or that you might be a finatic, or you are emotionally deranged.

And that is what makes it so worth it to be here. People are desperate for God, and THEY KNOW THEY ARE DESPERATE FOR GOD. In America, we are desperate for God, but we don't know that we are or how desperate we are. Most actually want to hear. Most are teachable. Most embrace the Godpel. Many crave actually owning a Bible. They take a tract as if it were a newly discovered treasure.

The most disappointing thing about the last 3 days is that sweating boat loads does not necessarily equate to losing weight! Makes me so bummed.

We can't wait to get up country as they call it here or into the interior. It so brings us back to basics. It is so satisfying to watch people light up when given the smallest token of appreciation for what they are doing. To see how much the Word of God is treasured here, validated, and held soaringly high. To sit down with people who never make you feel rushed or as if they have more important things to be tending to. To gather with those who will set aside what they are doing at the drop of a hat to gather for prayer and take those requests home with them to lift them to God day after day until the answers come. What a privilege to walk with them. They teach us soooo much.

Your prayers are being felt. Can't thank you enough for interceding. God treasures your prayer thoughts so much he keeps them in a bottle and writes them in a book. Serious stuff. Makes us recheck our priorities. I love Congo. I love being here despite the difficulties. It makes me fiercely God dependent. No fluff here. Genuine warfare. In His strength, we are going to see victory after victory. Lord, strengthen what you have wrought for us! You are AWESOME.