A typical day on the mission campus in Congo

Many have asked what a typical day in Congo is like. Although each day is somewhat predictable, events can occur that are so spontaneous they cancel any plans that might have been in place.

For instance, a severe tropical storm can come out of the blue, sending everyone to retreat to their homes or the nearest shelter, not to be seen again until all is calm.

Other "interruptions" come our way. Sometimes they are from the hand of God; sometimes they are from the enemy.

Yesterday, we should have left the house at 7:30 a.m. to go to the Women's Literacy Center at Mbila. However, a surprise trip to Bulungu, the local government center, was required to present our case in defense of our ownership of Nkara-Ewa. This meant that several lunches had to be packed for the men going, including Jim, and thinking through of all that may be needed for the trip, such as legal documents, water, shovel, and money. Than two students made their pleas to go as well, one to repair a bike, the other to go as far as Bulungu and then on to the hospital at Vanga for a large hernia that could not longer be ignored.

After seeing the group off with prayer, we headed out for Mbila. No one was waiting for us there, which isn't really unusual in Congo according to Congo time. Things simply start when they start. But an usually long delay eventually proved that a 3-year-old toddler we had seen being carried on the road 2 days previously--her limp body hanging in the arms of her father--had died. He and his reltives were half walking/half running to get the child to the nearest clinic some miles away. She died this morning, probably of malaria.

The lack of attendance was explained. In Congo, if someone dies from your village, in your village, or wherever they might be at the time, especially if they belong to your family, you become a suspect of the cause of death if you do not present yourself to grieve with them.

After waiting more than an hour, a large crowd did gather of groups A, B, and C, and we had classes.

Before leaving Mbila, Marie, the Director of the Lit Center and the professors visited the family and spoke on the meaning of death and the hope of seeing Jesus again.

We then returned to Nkara and telephoned the travellers to Bulungu. They had made it safely, having crossed the hippo and crock infested waters of the Kwilu River on the barge and were passing through various government offices.

I took a short break and then walked the mile and a half round trip to Laban Bible Institute to teach Malachi that same afternoon. Congo's scorching tropical sun beat down on me, and I was relieved to arrive in the cool shelter of the building.

After reviewing the introduction, themes, outline, and first 6 verses of Malachi, I returned home, changed clothes, and climbed aerobic hill to call Jim. I met Pastor Kilasi and Pastor Richard visiting from Iwungu, who said they had tried calling the group several times to no avail.

My mind was on heading towards the airstrip for a prayer walk, which I love doing in the cool of the afternoon. The strip is 3400 feet long and usually a caressing breeze makes it a very pleasant place to pray.

But, as I started of, the pastors and Aza of our work staff warned me not to go. "Madame, the son of Lumenga (a former member of our work staff) recently lost his mind. He's doing crazy things like undressing himself and sleeping in the dirt. Just this morning he went down to the mission and threw rocks at Pastor Mboma's windows."

As he was about to enter university in Kikwit the previous fall, he became very concerned about his ability to make it and get good grades, so he started attending sessions with magicians and witch doctors to insure good grades and success in school. Now his life is apparently in shambles, and he has the spirit of demons, even endangering people's lives if he can get close enough to them.

He became so distracted with demonic seduction that he never completed even a trimester of studies and has returned home to his heartsick parents, but they cannot contain him.

Ironically, just this moment as I am writing this blog, a voice is heard in our front yard. It is the voice of the young man I am describing chanting in nonsensical language, waving his arms in the air with a bow in his possession.

One never knows what a day holds here in Congo. We are staying put until someone apprehends him.

The most typical thing about a typical day in Congo is that you can count on the unexpected!