Africa–Part Two: Giving and Losing it All

This title may come across as sacrificial and spiritual, but that’s not totally the case. It is, however, a good way to sum up my first two days in Tanzania.

I’ll start with the flight, though, since it figures into the events, and my attitude, that followed. It lasted over 28 hours, counting layovers in Minneapolis and Amsterdam. When we landed at Kilimanjaro International Airport Friday evening (Tanzania time), I had yet to rack up even 28 seconds of sleep. I had a sermon to preach Sunday morning, so I was really looking forward to some heavy shut-eye Friday and Saturday nights.  

In less than 36 hours I would be standing behind the pulpit of an African Mennonite Church. Every part of that name made me nervous, even though I would be delivering one of my best campground church sermons.

When I volunteered to preach in Africa, our leader advised removing all Americanisms from our sermons. After I did, my 30-minute sermon became 20 minutes. He also advised against jokes. There went another five. And something else to consider: Would what I had left translate well into Swahili? I couldn’t cut any more because I was already 45 minutes under the recommended sermon time. At least the translator would probably add another 15 minutes.

Second was the Mennonite part. (I didn’t know until after I got to Africa that I would be preaching to this denomination.) I knew little about Mennonites, but what I did know was positive. I remember Grandpa bragging about their honesty. He had a lumber company in northeastern Ohio and did a lot of business with the Mennonites and Amish. Deals worth thousands of dollars were made with nothing but handshakes. Their word was golden. If I made any promises at their church, I’d better keep them.

Finally, there was the Church part. I didn’t know how many people I would preach to, but I was sure it would be more than the five or ten that come to the camper church services. My material is very basic because I’m just a lay preacher. (I do text-to-type on my iPad when I write my blogs. When I dictated lay preacher it got translated “little preacher.” Fair enough.) I hoped the people at the church weren’t expecting a Billy Graham. 

I was glad my friend Brian would go with me to the Mennonite church. He would be giving his testimony and performing a newly-learned magic trick to illustrate a gospel lesson. I wished I had some magic up my own sleeve.

I got settled into my room Friday about 11:00 p.m. and didn’t have to get up till 7:00 for breakfast. That was great—until I found out my body was still on northern Kentucky time. It was only 4:00 in the afternoon back home. I didn’t get to sleep until 6:00 a.m. Tanzania time. 

Saturday had been designated a fun, restful day for the team to get over jet lag and experience some of the culture—especially the markets—of Arusha, the city where our lodge was located.

First, we stopped at a bank to convert some money. A hundred dollar bill got me 230,000 shillings. This should last me a long time! Next, our bus pulled into the lot of a phone store. Samwel, one of our guides, collected our phones to trade out SIM cards for our time in Africa. Even though we weren’t at the market yet, folks showed up selling their wares outside the bus windows that were open. Luckily for them, mine was one of them.

One man held a safari hat six inches from me. Before I knew it, it was mine for 30,000 shillings. It was a hat you’d see in a souvenir shop for a dollar or two; I had given the gentleman about $13. Suddenly there were at least five people around my window. I closed it and turned away. I wanted some money left for the market, though I was quickly learning that the entire city was one big market. Out of curiosity, I turned around a few minutes later. The crowd had grown to a dozen. All I could see were hurt looks. How could I be so rude?

I opened the window back up to relieve my guilt, and a plethora of items came through. The merchants were experts in getting their wares into your hands. I found out that holding it means you bought it. Before I got the window closed back up again, I had gone through almost half my shillings.

These traveling merchants were able to speak some English, but something curious happened when I spoke back. They couldn’t pick up on my counteroffers whatsoever. Thankfully, we moved on to the actual market before I was broke.

I was expecting an American-type flea market, but it wasn’t. The merchants weren’t sitting in their booths looking at their cell phones. They were in the narrow aisles, guiding you into their enclosures when you tried to pass. I learned that when they got you into theirs, you might as well start digging for your wallet. If you merely looked at something, it ended up in your hands—thus making it yours. And always for their asking price. Again my counteroffers fell on deaf ears. I managed to talk only one merchant down one dollar. Learning to haggle would be a long—and expensive— process. 

Please don’t misread me. I’m not belittling any of the merchants. They were making a living, a very meager one from what I heard. I probably turned over at least a week’s salary to a few. Good for them! 

We went on to the cultural center and took a nice walk through the history and society of Tanzania. The gift shop had prices that were fixed. That was good, but the Tanzanite jewelry was way above my mission trip budget. Next was an American-type mall with fixed prices as well. After shopping for some practical things we needed, most of the team got ice cream and Tanzanian coffee. Delicious!

We arrived back at the lodge early. After relaxing and eating supper, we had a team meeting. I was in bed by 10:00, ready to get some serious sleep. My roommate Brian had the same idea.

Our lodge was nice, but the A/C wasn’t working in our room that night.  We opened the windows despite the absence of screens. We hadn’t encountered any mosquitoes around the lodge yet. The first time I fell asleep was about three o’clock, but I soon awoke to buzzing in my ears. A few other times I started to fall asleep and the same thing happened. I got a couple bites. For the first time, I was glad I was taking malaria medicine.

At 4:00 I dozed off again, until Brian got a phone call. He answered it, thinking it might be important. It turned out to be a Medicare sales pitch from the states. Brian was reasonably polite. I guess he realized that in just a few hours he would be before a congregation explaining how God wants Christians to act.

Brian and I were picked up early and taken to the Mennonite church. On the way there, out of necessity, I made some attitude adjustments. Gone was any chance I could do this on my own. I was giving it all to the Lord. I remembered that at camper church some of my most sleep-deprived sermons turned out to be some of my most well-received. If any good came out of this, it wouldn’t be coming from me.

We met the preacher and the translator beforehand, and were happy to see they had a great sense of humor and a way of putting us at ease. Then for two and a half hours we sat and listened to a Swahili service. There were maybe 100 people there. Different members came up and addressed the congregation. A gentleman led several responsive readings. The singers danced in a choreographed way. It was amazing. Look out Tanzania‘s Got Talent!

When it was time for the offering, Brian and I were glad to contribute. After that, Brian gave his testimony, and then used a rope trick to illustrate the gospel message. Despite his best attempt, it failed. One thing that crosses cultures, though, is that people can be very kind and sympathetic when someone goofs up. The lesson got across, maybe more so because mistakes show we’re just human.

My sermon turned out to be 20-25 minutes, even with a translator. Everybody looked surprised when it was over so soon. (I guess surprise is better than relief.) Obviously they were used to much longer preaching. They had another hour’s worth of activities up their sleeves, though. One way or another, their service was going to last four hours.

The worship leader called the singers back up. After they sang several more songs, he announced they were taking an offering for uniforms for the group. (Everything was in Swahili, but our host whispered occasionally to me in English to keep me in the loop.) Later a family came up, their plight was explained, and another offering was taken. And then a fourth. I decided if I was in this situation again, I would pace myself on the offerings. And maybe preach a bit longer. 

Don’t get me wrong. It was wonderful. You could feel the Holy Spirit in a mighty way. This church felt alive, and it was an honor to be invited. They directed Brian and me to the door after the service, and we got fist bumps from a hundred smiling people as they left. I hope that meant they were blessed by what we had for them, or maybe, like we’d been finding out very quickly, Africans are just very gracious hosts.

I relaxed the rest of the day. I was excited about the upcoming week. Monday and Tuesday would be a safari, and Wednesday we would actually begin building a church!

I was getting into the flow of this trip. I was learning not to cling too tightly to my money or my pride. Give it all to God. The only thing to lose is regret.

Except, of course, when you go to the market.

Feature photo courtesy of Ben Moore