Johnny Who?

Today is a special day as Rochelle has given me permission to post on her blog. It's incredible how protective she is of this site. Each day I get down on my knees and plead, "Please, please, Rochelle, may I leave a note on your blog for my mom, dad, brother and my two friends?" But do you think she cares? Nope. So cruel. So inhumane. So domineering.

For those of you asking, "Who's this Johnny guy?", don't worry, Rochelle will be back soon. Besides, a bit of a break from the whole "world peace/love your neighbours/giraffes are people too" agenda never hurt anyone... I think.

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Oh, no! Chikonohono

My recent trip to Chikonohono messed me up real good. I went to this small settlement on the outskirts of Chinhoyi with a group of young people from my corps. We went there to support the official opening of their corps and to participate in the weekend festivities. I don't think they see too many white people (murungus) in Chikonohono since everywhere I walked or drove, people stopped in their tracks to stare at me. At one point, a group of 30 kids ran up to me pointing and shouting, "Iwe, murungu!" They then proceeded to follow me around for the day. It's very strange being stared at constantly. But quite tiring over the course of many days. You always try to smile and be cheerful, but sometimes you just want to chill and hide from the peering eyes.

I was asked to give my testimony and surprised the congregation by speaking the first seven sentences in Shona. This isn't to say that my Shona has improved, but I'm certainly becoming more confident. And it helps that I don't mind making mistakes (ie looking foolish).

On the Sunday, most of our group became quite ill. Throughout the three services, they kept rushing out of the church to the toilets outside with diarrhea and to throw up. It was quite horrible for them as the "toilets" consisted of one hole in the ground for the men and one hole in the ground for the women. Out of our group of 27, only four of us didn't get sick. It turns out that Chikonohono has some serious issues with water contamination so whatever we ate or drank that weekend must have made the group ill.

Thankful to God for sparing me, I got into the bus for the journey home. After about 20 minutes on the road, the sickness hit me. And hit me hard. Every few minutes the bus had to stop so that I could rush into the bushes and suffer. (Never go anywhere in Zimbabwe without bringing toilet paper with you.) On my last "washroom" stop, I ran quite a distance from the bus and deep into the bushes. As I squatted in the tall grass, I heard some rustling nearby. "Oh, no," I thought, "please don't let that be a lion." What a horrible way to die. But thankfully, I made it back to the bus relatively unscathed. What a great bonding experience. It would have been sad not to share it with my friends.

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Territorial School of Music and Gospel Arts

Last week I attended music and gospel arts camp. It was held at a boarding school (Mazowe High) that kept having power and water cuts. I can handle the power cuts, but I like to have water. And I'll never get used to washing from a bucket of water. Too Western, I guess.

The music and gospel arts camp was different than I expected. I was under the impression that I was helping out with the gospel arts stream and leading some creative writing and poetry workshops and teaching some media (photography, design, powerpoint, etc) electives. However, I ended up leading the A Band. I've learned to just go with the flow here in Zimbabwe. While I try to plan ahead, I'm always prepared for things to be completely different than expected. And that's usually the way it works out.

I also had to play a solo at the Wednesday concert. For someone who hasn't played in years, it was a bit too much, too soon. But people seemed to enjoy it. The vocal director even recorded me on his cell phone. I also led brass workshops in the morning before rehearsals. I'm glad I took the conducting elective many years ago at National Music Camp or I would have had no clue. My baton was a mechanical pencil, but you make do with what you have. Our major selection was To God Be the Glory... I think. The kids seemed to have fun, and I had my picture taken with them after the final concert with their certificates.

While up at the camp, I went running through the countryside in the mornings. About two or three kilometres from the school is a farm prison where inmates live and work shortly before being released. It looked more like a concentration camp. It had wire fencing surrounding corrugated iron shacks where the prisoners sleep. The corrugated iron walls and roofs mean that the shacks are freezing in winter and like ovens in the summer. The men were dressed in dirty, ripped clothing. It was quite humbling to pass by there each morning, but a good opportunity to pray more intentionally for prisoners in Zimbabwe.

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Angels in the Streets  

Last night I led a prayer meeting at Warren Park Corps, which is on the outskirts of Harare. I only found out I was leading the meeting earlier in the afternoon when I received a message informing me that I would be picked up at the gate of my compound at 5:30 pm. Go with the flow... At 6:10 I gave up waiting at my gate and went home. After I had changed out of my work clothes a man arrived to pick me up. So I quickly changed back into my clothes and we raced there. It took us 20 minutes to make the 45 minute journey (it certainly helped me get into the spirit of prayer) and then arrived to find that the congregation had been waiting from 6 pm for me to arrive. At any rate, it was great to send them out into their community to pray through the streets of their neighbourhood. I went out walking with the corps officer to see how they were doing, and it really blessed me to see the congregation praying in groups in front of homes, singing prayer choruses on dark street corners and praying for people on the street. The corps officer wants to continue the prayer walks once a week. And he's arranging a 24/7 prayer week next month.

On the ride home (a bit slower) the corps officers came with us so that they could visit an ill member of their congregation in a private hospital near my neigbourhood. They invited me to accompany them and we were given two minutes to pray for the woman at her bedside (it was well past visiting hours). She looked very weak and was struggling to breathe. She couldn't speak and could barely move her hand but she could see us. The corps officer took her hand as we prayed over her. This morning the corps officer visited me to let me know that the woman died a few hours after we left.

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Almost Famous

A few weeks ago I was interviewed over the phone by Doug Field for the Canadian Salvation Army's podcast. I haven't heard it yet, but I'm told that it has been posted on their website (www.salvationarmy.ca). I hate talking on phones (let alone for a taped interview), but I think it went reasonably okay. I think I even managed to avoid discussing politics. So, mom, check it out.

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Farmer John

For those interested, in the past week we have enjoyed some luscious strawberries from our garden. I know you're all jealous. So I won't mention our lettuce, eggplant, tomatoes, carrots, onions, green peppers, basil, etc, etc. However, you probably don't have calloused hands or aching legs. It's so incredible to eat food that you've grown in your own backyard.