Saturday, September 1, 2012

At the End of the Day


The End of the Day

It’s funny the expressions you pick up along the way. Words that you hadn’t thought of as having any impact or significance begin to grow on you and then, begin to echo through your mind like a haunting refrain. I am thinking of my (African) son Luc. Here is a man filled with a million and one beautiful stories. He is a wordsmith, gifted incredibly with his ability to weave a story that captivates you almost immediately. You are hooked…and the story content is secondary to the way he tells the story. I begin to love the part of his stories when he would say…”and, at the end of the day”…because I knew what was about to follow was of great worth. And, so today I begin with those same words…at the end of the day…we are here to tell our story.

It is early morning and I am sitting in my cool dark room. I have been home for a few days and have longed for the moment when I could stop moving long enough to recall the events of the last several weeks. Lifetime upon lifetime seems to have gone by. I am consumed with thoughts and feelings that reach the core of who I am. They are buried into the crevices of my heart and soul and at times I have to reach deep to pull them to the surface.  And then, without warning I will speak a word and tears will just flow. I look through my journal trying to find the words that can best describe our journey and find that I am at a loss. So I will just forge ahead knowing that I will fall short as I try to write all has happened.

I recall an email that I wrote before I left. Following is a passage from it.

“If you are reading this...then you are near and dear to my heart. I woke up this morning at my usual 4:00 a.m. to walk and pray and at about a mile into it I had to stop. You were ever present on my heart. I just turned around and decided to return home to write you this note this morning. Tom and I had a conversation late last night that stuck in mind. He was telling one of our family members about the trip we are taking in a few days and realized that she knew very little about what we are about to embark on. In the busyness of the last (several) months I realize that you may not know what is going on in our lives and what we will be a part of while in the DRCongo. I want to take a moment and recap this trip with you.

In 2008 we were invited and accepted and invitation to the DRC. We were just going to swing by while on our way to Haiti. We spent about a week there and we have never been the same. Our hearts were burdened to a depth that I can never fully describe. Every fiber of our being was scorched and thus began the process of our return. For us, the easy part would be accumulating the 'supplies' that would assist the physicians in Kafumba and Malela. And, while it was a piece of work acquiring these items, raising the support to ship them, communicating with our partners on the other side of the world, the hardest part was that our hearts would never again be at rest. Burdens can be beautiful things...but never easy. Not a day has gone by that we didn't think, plan, or work on this project. The project began to change...we grew out of our familiar shipping of medical equipment to a community development project. It has stretched us beyond what we ever could have imagined (or wanted!). We have learned so many things...Our timing for our return would have happened on a very different timetable but God's ways are different than ours (and so much better) and so now we are ready to return. In the process of waiting, he has brought along side of us some very special people and circumstances. In the most beautiful way He sent Matt and Charity Johnson who have a love for God and a heart and a desire to serve Him by providing clean water to the peoples of Malela and Kafumba. At great personal sacrifice and hard work they will be traveling with us to lead the water drilling/teaching/sanitation project. No easy task really. Another very special man, Marc Strickland whom God has chosen to assist in this project, will join him. I watch and listen to these men as they ponder over the details to bring clean water to a place that has never had clean or running water...ever. They have never touched the ground they will be drilling on and once they are there they will be left up to their own ingenuity to accomplish this task. They are worthy of your prayers and so I ask that you cover them as they are preparing and as they work.


After years of struggling with the construction component, a talented and dedicated man named Louie Martina came along to spearhead this part of the plan. He has brought a level of knowledge and commitment that could be surpassed by none. How easy it has been to surrender this portion to him and watch as God has grown this into something that is not only life sustaining but also enduring. He will head up the team, which will reconstruct/repair the old maternity hospital built by the Queen of Belgium in the early 1900's. It is the only medical facility for thousands of people. He brings a wonderful team of hard working knowledgeable men to lead this project.

For the women in the village a micro enterprise project will be started. Given with much love by Nora and Norm Christensen are twelve hand cranked, brand new, Singer sewing machines. Currently there are women in both of these villages who will over see this project. The ability to do something as simple as sewing and eventually selling their finished work will open up a whole new world for them. They are committed to teaching others the art of sewing and Charity and I hope to help them with concepts of sustainability. We will be joined in this endeavor by a group of college students from SW Texas. Eight college students have sacrificed their time, money, and talents to spend the month with us. They are in store for the time of their lives...

Charity and I will also provide basic health care to the women and children of these villages. (We don't exclude men; we just seem to see more women and children.) I am humbled in this place beyond what I can ever say. I am totally inadequate to be working in this way but He is not so I will be obedient and do my part.


And, as a special gift, we will have William Haines, photojournalist (you may recognize him...he went by Bill Haines while he was at the Fresno Bee and numerous other media projects). His gift will be to put in documentary form the entire trip. Our hearts will be forever imprinted with the memories of our time in Congo, but we will now have the ability to share with you some of the details.

On many occasions I have spoken to my father about this project and he has jokingly (I think) said we may end up in the 'stew-pot'. I appreciate his worry and concern for us...we are truly out of our element here. He doesn't want me to 'die' in this place. Well dad, all have to say to that is...I have already died to this place. Not physically of course, but the parts of my life that could have taken a different, perhaps easier, course has. We could have rested a little more during our 'semi-retirement'.  Our preconceived notions about our 'Golden years' have long died. The burden to love and care for people that we never knew before consumes us unrelentlessly. Not a bad thing really, just a hard thing. Would we trade this? Sometimes I wish we could. But, we are in it for the long haul. No, I would not change this. Because, as we humbly serve in this way, we catch a glimpse of our Creator and His goodness to us. We are by far the recipients of far more than we could ever give...

Please, remember us in your prayers...we will depend on them.


We love you so...”


I remember writing this email outlining our agenda. This sticks in my mind because…at the end of the day God had a different plan. He had a different agenda. Beautiful. Hard. But, so perfect.
We began our travels very early Friday morning May 25th. It is always hard to leave home. Finishing up work and all the household details seem endless. Saying goodbye to children and grandchildren is hard for me. Trying to anticipate all the details that you won’t have a chance to address for another month keeps my mind busy for days. When we finally got out the door, I think it was the first time we had sat down for weeks! We found great ease and favor at the airport. We were allowed to take our extra luggage through without additional cost and they agreed to check it all the way through to Kinshasa. We were set. We connected up with our Texas team in Toronto without problem. We flew over to Montreal where we would catch a connecting flight to Belgium and that’s where we hit our first hitch. Not a big problem really, just a slight delay with the plane and so when we got to Belgium we missed our connecting flights.

And, at the end of the day…having to spend a day and night in Belgium really is not a bad thing. The airport put us up at a nice hotel and treated for all of our meals. There was a jazz festival in the piazza and the weather was perfect. It was a lovely layover.


We arrived in Kinshasa and our friends Luc Matumona and Maleghi Lumeya met us at the airport. If you have never traveled outside of the USA, it would be hard to appreciate all that happens as you step off the plane.  It can be intimidating. There are several young men waiting to ‘help’ you with your luggage. With out a word to you they will approach you with a cart and start grabbing your luggage for transport through customs. As this is their livelihood, they are aggressive in getting to you before anyone else has the chance to be your ‘luggage caddy’. You just want to find your bags…they just want to take them for you…this feels like a conflict. Once you reconcile that they are only trying to help you…not take your luggage, this gets easier. There is a small fee for this service. You hope you get the amount right the first time or you get an ‘extended service’. They will wait for additional fees.
We arrived at the seminary compound late in the evening and were eager to get some rest. There is a familiarity here and…at the end of the day it is nice to be in familiar territory.

We had several meetings planned while in the Capitol. We set out two weeks before the rest of our team to prepare and purchase supplies for the well drilling and construction teams. No easy task really. They have never even heard of Lowe’s here in Kinshasa…
The container that was shipped in December had arrived to Kikwit two weeks before we did. Ultimately, what we intended to do was to purchase all the additional supplies needed for the projects, load/ transport /unload the container and deliver the goods to both Kafumba and Malela. We would then wait for the second part of our team to arrive. On paper this seemed pretty straightforward. In DRCongo, this can be a logistical nightmare. We had at our disposal  people who were willing to help us. Since the rainy season had just ended there were several opinions as to the condition of the roads. We heard everything from ‘no way we were going to get in’ to ‘everything would be perfect’. With eleven tons of equipment and trucks filled with gravel, cement, and well drilling supplies we wanted to make the right choice. Suffice to say…at the end of the day we had a plan. We would catch the local bus to Kikwit (12 hour ride during the night), purchased the additional supply while we were there, unload the container, transport it to both villages along with our newly purchased supplies and just wait for the rest of the team.

Tom often describes his time in Viet Nam as several hours of down time followed by sheer terror. Often times we felt like this...as if our wheels were spinning and we were making no progress. We realize, that as Americans we move at a different pace than our partners in the DRC. We are used to doing business and having at our disposal all the necessary information needed to make decisions of this magnitude. We also had a language barrier. Although I like to think I can speak a little French…I cannot conduct business here! We relied heavily upon our friend (son) Luc to interpret for us. We would crawl along and then suddenly, we had mere moments to complete everything and move on rather quickly. I could go on forever about the logistical detail. At the end of the day, all I can say is that it was hard. And, if you know me you know what I have to say about hard things. There not bad things…just hard things.

We finally arrived in Kikwit at about 4:00 a.m. after a twelve-hour bus ride. When you catch the local bus you pay for your luggage by the kilogram and place it on the top of the bus along with everyone else’s. You are never quite sure when they will unload the bus as the driver needs to rest after the drive. We opted to pay a ‘seat fare’ for our luggage and keep it on the bus with us. In theory this worked out well but the reality was that we were jammed pack into the bus, our luggage stuffed around us and we held on for dear life. I had to appreciate this glimpse of reality though. For the fortunate Congolese this was luxurious travel. On our ride back from Kikwit, I remembered seeing people walking the same road, hundreds of miles, and thinking that they would give anything to have my seat on the bus…

The events that unfolded after our arrival in Kikwit are harder to write about. Without any hesitation most of us could easily remember that we are twelve years into the twenty-first century. That even in our culture with its ethnic struggles, most of us haven’t had the opportunity to live through the actual complexities that permeate the rest of the world. In DRCongo and Rwanda they have struggled with the battles of tribal superiority between the tribes of the Hutu and the Watusisi. In central Congo they call this ‘hootsie - tootsie’ (that’s a phonetic spelling) and it refers to the mindset of the tribal conflict. We were not expecting this sort of thing so when we were caught up in the middle of it we were caught a little off guard. Suffice to say; at the end of the day, we are here to talk about it.

I think we first had glimpse of these issues at the bus ‘terminal’ when we got off the bus. We had heard in Kinshasa that there had been some changes in the DKM (Diyoto Kafumba-Malela) leadership. DKM is the acronym used for the project we have been working on for the last four years in DRCongo. It was formulated between MMI (us), the Lumeya International Ministries, the Mennonite Brethren Church of the DRCongo, and the villages of Kafumba and Malela. Diyoto meaning the ‘coming together to work together’ in the local language. Up until four years ago no one in the Congo or the USA would have appreciated or known the power of those words until the completion of the first phase of this project. Now we see the depth of what God had intended. It is beautiful and was  borne of great cost.

We knew that there had been some issues regarding the physicians we had worked with in the past. The essence of it was that there had been some confusion as to who would be the recipients of the medical supplies. Our intentions were that it would be for the community with the local DKM overseeing the goods. Somewhere along the way one of the physicians thought that he was the recipient of these supplies and changes were made. He was no longer a part of the local DKM and this caused him much grief. He had grown up in Kafumba and still had family in the area. It was very hard for him to be relieved of his position there. He met us at the bus terminal very early in the morning to ask for support in his reinstatement. This was very hard for us as we did not have all the details and would not be in country to follow up on any personnel issues. It was very clear that something was going on but we were unaware of the depth of these issues. We spoke briefly and then went into Kikwit to get settled in and continue our business. We were beset with many meetings and formalities but soon caught wind of the strife that was ensuing. Whispers about conflicts, betrayal, tribal superiority, and ambush began to surround us. At one point we had heard of a letter that had arrived detailing a proposed ambush of our convoy, as we would travel to Kafumba. It was later revealed that the physician who had been ousted initiated this so he could come to our rescue and ‘save us’ thereby regaining a good standing before the DKM. We realized that we were out in the bush and very vulnerable. We prayed fervently and we worked through these issues with the help of our interpreter Luc, our contact in the government Mulaghi Lumeya (member of parliament), the local church and DKM. At the end of the day, the governor of the region and the state police escorted us into Kafumba.

If we could say that this was the hardest part of the trip it would have been an easy trip. The details of what happened next can only be understood if you are able to see it on a different level. In the spiritual realm we could see so many things happening that were meant to set us back. Our trusted friend and bodyguard betrayed us, we were cheated on our purchased goods, realizing that when they were delivered into the villages, tons of gravel cement and supplies where gone. We unloaded, reloaded and packed the container three times over before we could get it on the road. Hired transport would come and then renege on their contracts with us forcing us to unload the eleven tons of equipment and put it back into storage for yet another attempt to move it. We hired a Land Rover to transport the water drilling rig to the villages and just before we were to leave the driver declared that his vehicle was unfit for this kind of hauling and travel. We had gotten up at 4:00 a.m. that morning to do the final loading and were ready to take off when he informed us of this change in the plans. We scurried to find another vehicle and this proved to be very difficult. We were in a remote area where there were very few choices. I will never forget when a dump truck pulled up late in the afternoon and they began to load the rig unto the back of the truck.I never thought it would make it. They wheeled it on the back of the truck with 2 x 4’s as the truck rested in a little enclave. When it was nearly at the top they had to deflate the tires to get it through the opening on the back of the truck. I thought of how much love, money, and prayer had gone into that rig and all the things it represented to the people of Kafumba and Malela. It was painful to watch as they shoved the rig into the back of the dump truck and threw the medical equipment around it. It was just as painful when they dumped it onto the roadside, refusing to bring it the last twelve kilometers.

We did get everything loaded and began our transport very late that night. As we drove out of Kikwit and into Malela, I began to get excited. Although, these bush areas are very remote and primitive, I love these villages and felt myself beginning to get excited as we drove closer. I found beauty and delight in the dark as we drove through the tall bush grass. I will always remember the sound of the bush as it slapped against our vehicle. These sounds began to comfort me. These are the roads I remember, the villages I have lived in, and home to people I have come to love. It almost felt like going home.

As we got closer, the villagers in the surrounding areas were waiting on the roadside. Our arrival was expected although no one knew when…just that we would be coming at some point. As there is not much travel on these roads, a lone vehicle with its headlights on can be seen miles and hours away. It is both beautiful and so very humbling as we drive up and hear the greetings of welcome to us. Children run along side of our jeep with small, homemade shovels in the event we get stuck in the soft dirt and they need to dig us out. We have traveled these roads before so they know us…”Papa Tom, Maman Nancy”…I weep as I hear these words and see their faces.
Our arrival into Malela is always beautiful. Contrary to their meager lifestyle they are a very generous and welcoming village. They are waiting for us and we are now a part of their formal welcome. The entire village is up. It is dark at our arrival but soon they will turn on the only generator and light the area. Everyone has gathered and every village chair is waiting for us.


The chief greets us, the children surround us, and the women all have their musical instruments ready.These women love to sing and dance and I love being a part of this with them! I always weep when I recall this welcome. While I cannot remember all of their names their faces are imprinted on my heart.
I remember them as if it had just been a moment since I had last seen them. They are a part of me…woven into my very soul. The women bring me their babies to hold…I sing to them the local songs and pray sweet words over them.

We are given gifts of raw peanuts and boiled sweet potatoes. The village watches every bite we take to ensure we have had enough and that we are enjoying these gifts. I feel as if I were created for this moment alone. To be here comforts my heart and soul and I am thanking my God for this moment. Whatever may have happened prior to this moment is now irrelevant to me. At the end of the day, I am here in this familiar place…

We traveled into Kafumba very late that night. The outline of the old Mennonite church was silhouetted by the moonlight. I’ll never forget the image of this church and it’s long history in this area. In it’s day, this was the missionary ‘hub’ for Congo and has impacted the life of so many people through out the world. We are greeted by our friends here and quickly hurry off to bed.




I remember waking up early the next morning and feeling compelled to visit the hospital. I find this place…hauntingly beautiful. The hospital rooms are dirty…the floors are broken cement and dirt. The walls have graffiti on them and have huge cracks that run throughout them. The hospital was built in the 1940’s and very beautiful in it’s day. During the 1970’s when the Belgium Congo became Zaire, this hospital was abandoned and has not been cared for since that time.  It is in complete disarray. And yet, babies are born here, surgeries performed, and the sick and infirmed cared for. I remember the first time I was present at a birth in the ‘delivery’ area. It was dark, almost cave like, and a very young woman delivered her first child on a bed made of wood slats. I will never forget when I saw the Doctor insert a pair of scissors into her and ruptured her bag of waters. I could not move…I could not speak…I cannot forget what I had seen.  Hauntingly beautiful…and new life at the end of the day.


This morning I arrive to deliver another baby ‘Nancy’. She is the fourth in Kafumba. There are no words to describe how it feels to hold new life, to feel the warm wet flesh of a small infant in your arms. Her mother does not say a word but I weep at the sheer beauty of it all. I return later in the morning to recheck her and to get her photo. Maman Jeanine (the midwife) and Stanley (the nurse) are very good at their jobs and I find it an honor to be in their presence. At the end of our stay…there will be another baby Nancy, a baby Tom, and a baby Charity. Beautiful.
The reconstruction of the hospital proved to be a beautiful transformation. Our construction supervisor Louie Martina is a miracle worker. At the end of the day the cracks had been repaired, there was a new cement floor, there were lights in three of the four rooms, and the walls had been painted white.

I hardly recognized the place! I find that myself walking around the place just to look at renovations, in awe of the changes. The birthing room actually has a bed in it now…












The water well project proved to be very challenging. It was very demanding and the drillers worked very hard. Each day they needed about 500 gallons of water to run the machinery and the village children would run down to the water source and fill empty water bottles with water to put into the mud pit.

 They started school early so they could come and help with the project. The water source was about a mile away and down a hill. The men and women of the village would help by carrying five-gallon containers and having tried this once I must say that it was extremely difficult. The mud pump broke and another had to be purchased. The very next day the new pump broke and after some pretty creative restoration…flip-flop seals…they were both working. The drill shaft broke…this was quite significant really. Each day it seemed something big would go wrong and…by the end of the day God prevailed and we would move onward. When I think of these things and how God showed such great favor I am in awe of everything that happened. And while it was intensely hard it was also incredibly beautiful. And in retrospect, it was as it should be. The project leader said to me afterwards that he was caught off guard by the difficulty of the drilling. Of all the things that could be hard, this, he thought would be the easiest. He is an expert in his field and I know this was very humbling for him to have struggled like he did. But, therein lies the beauty.

The one thing you think you know turns out to be the thing you need help in the most. This is the thing that humbles you, breaks you and reminds you how much you need God. When it is the last thing we expected it to be it tends to leaves the greatest impressions upon our hearts. I will never forget my time in Kafumba and Malela in which I held the medical clinics. I had read and prepared myself for ‘all the tropical illnesses’ I could think of. I feel somewhat adequate in my place of employment here in the USA and with the extra studying I had done my medical skills were the least of my worries. I laugh when write these words now. I have never felt so inadequate in my entire life. I longed for the days to be over so I could go to my bed and weep to God. “What am I doing here? I am in over my head…I am so inadequate”.  HIS reply to me…Yes, you are inadequate but I AM not. You are to obey and do what I have called you to do…to love and care in My name.
I felt so dependent upon God in those moments. And, I think that is why I always yearn to come back. Of all the things I hold dear in my travels, the moments in which I am desperately dependent upon God for my each and every breath, every action I take, every thought I have and every step I take are of the greatest value to me. In my own mind and abilities I am able to do small things. But, with God, the impossible is doable. At the end of each day God would reveal his sovereignty to us and a new day would begin.  The medical components of the trip went well for me this time…I was expecting it to be hard. What caught me off guard was the sewing machine project…

The sewing machine project would appear to be pretty cut and dry. Six sewing machines were given to each village. The challenge was to meet the needs of the community with only these machines. Certainly a God project! Each night I would pray for a Godly direction and each morning a beautiful day would enfold. I can never thank Luc enough for his endless hours of help in these translations. A lesser person would have quit early on! We met for several hours each day, sometimes 2-3 times a day to discuss the machines and a business plan. They Lord had put it on my heart that the sewing project would be more than teaching the women to sew or even manage a small business. In the depth of the night God would lay out the plans that would encompass the concepts of mentoring and legacy. And, at the end of the day… the women would begin to mentor and teach each other the gift of sewing, operating a small business and teaching the illiterate women to read. It really was a beautiful thing to watch enfold.

Each time I left our home I found myself being approached by the women who wanted a sewing machine. These were lovely women who would have valued from such a gift. There was no way to decide who would get a machine and who would not. So, I had the women chose amongst themselves a leader that I would work with directly. As this was their choice there would not be the appearance of favoritism. They chose Maman Adrienne because of her character. What I found most interesting in their choice was that Maman could not sew. There would be no ulterior motive in this for her, as she would not in any way benefit from this position. I also wanted the women to come up with a plan themselves so it would live and prosper long after I had left. In order for it to work for them it had to be theirs. It was incredibly hard and intensely beautiful to work through this with the women. Hour after hour, day after day we labored. Maman Leotine compared it to the birthing process. Hard work followed by beauty and great joy! At the end of the day, the plan was to open a small sewing school and teach the women to sew. The cost would be 100f ($1.00) for a three-month course. Two teachers were found who would work for 10 cents each per student for the entire course. This was not a moneymaker for them so the women who were chosen would be women who could not only see the potential of the project but also who had a heart for the other women. This is when I met Maman Emilen. I will always remember the way she conducted herself with such poise and respect for others. These were women who could be trusted. They also possessed a quality that is not always apparent in these areas. In a setting where survival is key the power of position/knowledge or a skill sets you apart from others. This can be hard to share. But these women embraced this challenge and are committed to sharing this knowledge with the other women.

The profits would go into a fund which would eventually purchase more machines, cover the cost of supplies and repair, and for the purchase of fabric. I remember when we discussed ‘marketable commodities’. I wanted the women to think of a product that other women would be willing to purchase. Every woman would want a new dress but only a few could actually afford to purchase one. There would be no market for that at this time. I urged them to think of the one area that almost every woman would be willing to spend their meager savings on and they agreed it would be for their children. At the end of the day they decided to make school uniforms for the children with the full knowledge that every woman would want this for their child and it would also save them the expense of traveling into Kitwit for these items. We discussed buying fabric in bulk for a discount, using a pattern and being frugal with the fabric, what to do with the profits and how to eventually expand their business. We spoke for hours upon hours, day after day and at the end of the day the ladies had a solid plan and were committed to it’s success.

For me the most poignant moment was being with these women and beginning to know them by heart. I spoke to them of legacy…sharing with them the things a mother passes on to her children and then asking them to begin to think and pray for the other women as they would think and pray of their own daughters. At the end of the day they came to me with the most beautiful plan. Some of the proceeds would go toward setting up a small cantina for the women to gather. This would be a place where they would teach the illiterate women to read. By the time I left, a building had been found and a teacher committed to the project. I cannot express how I felt at that moment when they read me their declaration of intention. I could not have been more moved…it was intensely hard…but so incredibly beautiful at the end of the day.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of my beloved Congo. Some days are filled with gut wrenching thoughts while others fill me with a love I cannot ever adequately express. It is woven into my life like the threads in a beautiful piece of tapestry and has become a part of the fibers of my very being. It is a part of my testimony from now to eternity and I am in awe of it and so very thankful. I am not the same person who left the month before. I never will be and for that I am eternally grateful.

1 comment:

Carol said...

Hi Nancy! Love your pictures and stories!