Their Joy and Their Heart's Delight

Have you ever loved someone so much that you hung on every word they said? 

Have you known what it feels like to love God that way? 

I came across these verses in Jeremiah this week during my personal study time. The notation is my reminder to myself of a previous implication thoses verses had for me and a reminder to continue my commitment that I made nearly six years ago to pray these verses for my children. Each time I see it, I pray again, both for them and for myself, that God's Word will be/remain our joy and our hearts' delight.

As an American, I was blessed to be born into a country where God's Word is easily accessible. It is not only available in English, but in several different reading levels so that even young people can read and understand the Bible. Most people in my home country who want a Bible can either easily find an affordable one or a free one. As a result, I think we sometimes take that for granted and we don't truly have the perspective of the Holy Word of God being our heart's delight. I know I'm guilty. 

Not so in other parts of the world. I have a friend who serves with Wycliffe Bible Translators and he has told me that the best estimate on hand is that there are as many as 350 languages spoken in the Democratic Republic of Congo. I asked him how many still have no Bible translation in their mother tongue and he replied "best guesses put the number at 300 yet to be translated." How can God's Word be their joy and their heart's delight if they cannot read it?

Yes, there are scriptures available in French, the official language of DRC, and in Lingala and Swahili, the two most common trade languages, as well as some of the others most commonly spoken. But just for the sake of perspective, my native language is English. I have been taught French and have a French Bible. I actually have two, and one of them is a much simpler version that is supposed to be easier to understand. I am studying Lingala and have a Lingala Bible. I can pick up my French Bible and because I have been taught French, I know how to pronounce the words and even understand most of them. But there are phrases that have nuances unique to native French speakers. There are words I don't know. I miss something in the translation and there is a gap. Even more so when I try to read my Lingala Bible. My tutor spent several minutes yesterday explaining just one verse to me, word by word and phrase by phrase. Even if a Congolese person can somehow afford a Bible, if it is in French or another language other than their mother tongue, there is a gap for them, especially if they have not had an opportunity for good French instruction in their schooling. They cannot fully experience the richness and depth of God's Word. If you had a few years of foreign language courses in school, imagine if the only Bible you could have was in that language and not in your native tongue. 

Did you know that public education in the U.S. colonies was begun in the 1640's in order to train children to be able to read the Bible? Please pray for the people of Congo to have Bibles available in their language, and to have better education opportunities so that they can better understand scripture.  Pray that God's living, life-changing Word will be their joy and their hearts' delight. 

How do you feel about poo?

Every culture has its sayings and proverbs. Sometimes they are wry or silly, which makes them easier to remember, but they often convey a deeper truth. My newest post, "Just a Little Poo," is a reflection on a Congolese proverb and just went up on the MAF blog. Check it out!

Everyone likes a good story!

Thursday, I was invited to share my testimony with the ladies from Nsango na Bomoi, the church that is pastored by our missionary friends Dan and Christine. I have been a little spoiled because each time I have shared my testimony here I have been allowed to do it in English with someone to interpret for me. This time, I was asked to share in French! Yikes! 

I only had a few hours' notice and still had to do school with Daniel so I sort of cheated. I knew I had forgotten a lot of grammar. I also was aware of the fact that when I am nervous, it is even more challenging for me to think in French. I had written my testimony in French during language school so I pulled that out and edited it a bit. Hooray for saving language school homework! 

French is the official language here, but even among the nationals not everyone speaks French. Many have not had enough schooling to be proficient in French. There was a woman in this group who only spoke Lingala so our time together involved a mix of English, French, and Lingala. I gave my testimony in French and Mama Louise interpreted it into Lingala. If she had a question about something I said, she asked Christine, who then asked me in English so that I could rephrase my original sentence back into French. 

Sharing my story with the ladies was a blessing for me not just because I got a review of some vocabulary I had forgotten, but also because it gave me a way to connect with them. As my story progressed, I could see the ladies smiling and nodding. We are very different in culture and background, but all of us had a testimony. Each of us had a story to tell about how we were burdened and empty before Christ had changed our lives. 

Stories are very popular here, so we also talked about the fact that nearly everyone likes a good story and that if a person is able to share the story of what God has done in their life, they have a very powerful tool for sharing the gospel. Then the ladies shared their testimonies, first in Lingala and then Mama Louise translated into French for my sake. Having heard these ladies' stories made me feel like I was getting to know them on a deeper level. They shared of painful experiences, of growing up in churches that did not teach the gospel so they spent years following rituals without having a true relationship with Jesus. 

Cool Lingala Beans!

Lord's Prayer (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I've mentioned in the past that my friend Christine's husband pastors a Congolese church here, and that she leads a Bible study for the women twice a month in her home. She invited me to be part of that long ago and I really enjoy being able to help in whatever way I can, even if it's just serving snacks and answering the door. Most of the women know French but a few do not speak it well. The dominant language is Lingala, so much of the time I sit listening but not comprehending. I have a special place in my heart for the women of this country and I often wish I knew Lingala so I could better communicate with them.

Now I am getting an opportunity to help Christine more, be involved with many of the same women that come to her Bible study group, AND learn Lingala! Some of the women wanted to learn English so Christine is teaching them and invited me to come. I can help them with pronunciation and since I speak French, I can also help the ladies by explaining to them what some of their strange new English words mean in French or by giving them the English word when they give me a French word. They in turn teach me the Lingala words and correct my pronunciation.

Lingala (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

(Over ten million people speak Lingala as either their primary or secondary language. Lingala is spoken in Democratic Republic of Congo, the Congo Republic, Angola, and Central African Republic.





I don't know how long it will take me to learn Lingala on a proficient level, nor where it might take me in the future or how God might use it. I do know I am excited about this opportunity to learn the language and to build relationships with these women and help them reach their goal to learn English.

Dirty Jobs: Kinshasa

crosstown traffic (Photo credit: FredR)

People in Kinshasa make their living in varied and resourceful ways. By far one of the toughest jobs I see people doing on a daily basis is the job of the pus pus. If Mike Rowe came to Kinshasa to film an episode of “Dirty Jobs,” he might very well spend a day with a pus pus. In Lingala, “kopusa” means, “to push”, and a “pus pus” (poos poos) is a cart with two wheels and handles on both ends. For a fee, a man with a pus pus will come and transport items for you from one place to another. If it fits in the cart or can be tied to it, they will haul it. It’s a hot, hard, dirty, and dangerous job. Nine months out of the year the temperature averages upper nineties by midday. There are a lot of hills in Kinshasa, and very few sidewalks, so these guys are forced to push their carts in the streets. They can’t go very quickly and traffic is terrible. I have seen one get hit by a car and the driver just kept on going.

What sorts of things ride around town in a pus pus? Some cargo we have seen:

Garbage
Scrap iron
Pieces of a car
Tires
Lumber
Firewood
Bags of cement
Gravel
Furniture
Plants/flowers
Jugs of water
Sheets of tin
Live chickens and goats
A live adult cow (our favorite thus far)

The pus pus is a vital service in a city with a poor infrastructure. I have never seen a U-Haul or a moving van here. You can pay a neighborhood company for basic trash service. The company in our new neighborhood is called VDT or Vie Décente pour Tous (Decent Life for All). For ten dollars, they will give me eight flimsy garbage sacks. If your trash won’t fit into their bags, they won’t take it. Each week they send a tiny flat bed truck which is kind of like a modified three wheeler to collect everyone’s full bags. Where it goes, nobody knows, but if you can't burn it or bury it, that's your only option for trash removal. There are city trash receptacles, but they are few and far between and when the trash gets hauled from them in the big trucks, no one I have asked knows where it goes. There is a small river near my house, lined on both sides with garbage. There are mounds of garbage at the bottom of my hill. Mounds of garbage line the river banks we pass as we drive through the city. I am always hoping that none of that garbage is mine.

Remember this? That was our back porch the day we moved in. There was also stuff about the yard like shower stalls, plumbing parts, and old garbage from the previous tenants. I remember being tired and overwhelmed already with the unpacking, not having water pumped into the house yet, not being able to use a stove, and the work on the house we still had to do and then I saw this and just wanted to cry.

As of this week, my porch looks like this!
(Kudos to my amazing husband who came home exhausted every day and then worked on the big plumbing leak, the outlet with 400 volts, and ran new plumbing and wiring so I could have my washer and dryer close at hand!)

Where did all our garbage go? 

I would bet that even this gentleman doesn't know its final destination. We had to hire him to bring his pus pus cart and haul the big stuff away. I’m sure he thought I was crazy when I went out to shake his hand and say hello, and crazier still when I asked if I could take his picture. It was probably a good thing that I stopped myself short of calling him my hero. 

We paid someone to take the yuck from our home and make it clean. Today I am thankful for a Savior who takes my sin as far as the east is from the west and cleanses my heart. Please say a prayer for all the men and boys in Congo who push the pus pus carts, for their safety and for them to come to know the One who can take their “garbage” and sin away and give them clean hearts.

Mundele, moi!

I’ve been visiting the orphanage for over a year, and I think that FINALLY, some of the kids have learned my name. Every time I go, the kids ask me my name and I tell them “Maman Nancy.” They always call me “mundele,” which sounds kind of like “moon-deh-lay.” Depending on the tone used, it can simply mean “foreigner,” or “white person,” or it can be derogatory. Friday, Daniel and I went to the orphanage and took our friend Roz along. I made a batch of bubbles and took them with us to entertain the kids. After a while, I stopped blowing bubbles and let the kids take turns blowing.

The kids do not take turns well. Pushing and shoving commenced, along with cries of “mundele moi!” That loosely translates to “hey white lady, pick me!” If I didn’t respond quickly enough, a couple of the kids in particular would yell it louder and slap or pinch my arm. Finally I got tired of that and I turned to one of them and said “pas mundele! Maman Nancy.”  It took them a few tries to get the pronunciation, but pretty soon about 15 kids were loudly and repeatedly chanting “Maman Nancy!” They were having so much fun with their chant that they forgot about shoving each other around so I went with it. The whole thing was pretty amusing.

My car overheated on the way home from the orphanage and blew a hole in the plastic water reservoir, so long distance driving is out for the time being. Between that and the fact that we have to be out of this house by the end of the month and still haven’t found a place to live, I am not sure when I can get back to the orphanage. I’m going to have to step up the packing and house hunting, but the realtor says he has no more places to show us within our price range. Please pray for our search for a home and for our search for what we need to repair the car. Also a matter of prayer, I suspect our cable is burnt again because once again we are without power while everyone around the corner from us who is on the same power line does have power. We just paid for repairs on that cable and the new electricity lasted about a week. 

Sometimes when a lot seems to go wrong at once, I want to act like the orphans and yell to God, “Hey, pick me! Pick me for your blessings!” I know He has blessed me, in amazing ways and in abundance. Sometimes, though, I am impatient like those kids and I want Him to answer my prayers in my timing, meaning immediately, instead of his timing. 

Nsango Na Bomoi, part 3

This post is the final part of a three part story.  For the whole story, see Nsango Na Bomoi, part 1 and Nsango Na Bomoi, part 2. 

After church, we decided to visit one of the members, Mosengo.  Mosengo and his wife had a baby a few weeks ago -- a perfect excuse for a visit in any culture.  He lives very close to the church, which was nice, because we couldn't have driven to his home.  

First we had to cross the creek behind the church.  This is accomplished by walking across on a two by four that is supported in the center by a large rock.  This is a classic example of the service driven economy here.  People needed to cross the creek, so a man bought a board and made a "bridge." Now people pay him to let them cross the creek on his bridge.  He lets people cross for free to go to church, though.

photo courtesy of Christine Grings

I mentioned in part 1 of this story that this neighborhood has not had city water in over a month. Because of that, people take water from this creek, which is not healthy.  If you click on this photo and enlarge it you can see the trash that is literally everywhere.  Also the creek is downhill from sewage and a cemetery.  Some well-meaning visitors from America came once and saw all the trash all over and decided that people just needed trash cans.  So they provided some, but there was no service in the city to remove garbage. When the cans filled up, people just dumped them on the ground nearby and started filling them again.  

photo courtesy of Christine Grings

After we crossed the creek, we had to walk down this road.  This is one of the nicer, wider sections.  There were rocks, puddles, chickens and pigs to watch out for.  Usually when you see one of these umbrellas, the person attending it is selling some kind of food or supplies.

photo courtesy of Christine Grings

This yard is about the size of my living room and is shared by Mosengo's family and two others.  This is where all the kids play, where the families work, cook and eat, and where they hang laundry.  I wish I had taken a photo of the front of the "house" for you but my camera batteries were dying.

Each building has three front doors.  Each door represents one apartment and consists of two rooms, each about the size of a large bathroom in the U.S.  There are few windows, if any, for light or ventilation.  They are wired for electricity but seldom have any.  There is no indoor plumbing.  The families share a community outhouse.  This is pretty typical of the housing for most of Kinshasa's families.  Mosengo was overjoyed that we paid a visit and told us so repeatedly. In Congo one in every ten babies does not live to its fifth birthday and this family has already lost two infants.

photo courtesy of Christine Grings

Now for the creepy part of my post.  To get to Nsango Na Bomoi church, we had to navigate a crazy road that borders a very old, very large, and very overcrowded cemetery.  Years of rainy seasons have taken their toll on the road and the land around it, causing a lot of erosion.  On the way in to the church we were discussing all  this and Christine said she was surprised that no bones had ever washed out with the rains.  On the way out, we spotted a bone!  Christine took this photo from the car window!  Now we wonder how long it will be before bones are found laying in the road after each storm.









Last but not least, I have a little treat for you.  It took several hours but I managed to upload a video of one of the songs from the church service so you can hear a little bit of Lingala and see a little bit of what it was like.  I had to cut the song so it's just a portion but it's about putting on the full armor of God.  Here are the lyrics and the translation too so you can even learn the song for yourself!

Pesa satana millimetre, (Give Satan a millimeter,)

akojua kilometre (he will get a kilometer.) 2x

Keba! (Watch out!)

Senjela! (Be vigilant!)

Bondela! (Pray!)

Lata (Put on...)

bilato na bitumba ya satana. (the armor of war against Satan.)

Yango nde Ephesiens 6. (This is Ephesians 6.)

The end.