Hello Friends & Family,
I have many exciting things to report, and this is why I am sending this a little earlier then usual. I want to get it down while it is somewhat fresh in my mind, and before new things happen to make me forget. I would have sent it out earlier, but things are very busy here. Please forgive me if it is jumbled, or if my grammar is lacking I am writing very quickly. The month has gone well we actually spent today meeting with a group from the ymca in zambia who brought some snacks to bless the orphans, and went to a regional youth conference where some friends of ours are competing in a singing comp. But most of this e-mail will describe the trip in to congo. If something doesn’t make sense please e-mail me and ask about it. I have added a lot of small rabbit trail details to help you get a feel of what it was like. It will not be concise, not exhaustive, but not concise. Here goes.
Well, the month started out interestingly. Amy, Wil, and I were driving from Chande orphanage to Chande school in Wusakile (a very short distance by the way), and we heard a loud ‘POP’. This pop was the resonating alarm of a burst radiator pipe. This would normally be only a miner setback. Even though parts are hard to come by, we could wait it out. But in this instance we needed the car to pick up a team from America who would be arriving in Lusaka, Zambia’s capital city, the next day. We also would be needing it to get to Pweto Congo in a few short days after that. Long story short we call Juma, our mechanic, and we have a warped head that is creating pressure in the system. i.e. The car will be out for a while having the piece machined. We decide I will take Pastor Chanda’s vehicle, one that was scheduled to stay due to serious need of maintenance (small things, breaks, oil change, etc.). Either way, I get going, things go well. Half-way there I am at a police checkpoint and receive a ten dollar ticket for not having a reflecting triangle in my vehicle (I need to learn Zambian traffic law better). Upon arriving I get the team (Pastor Jason Smith, and Randy Lane from Wyoming) at the airport. We stay the night at the Baptist Seminary in Lusaka, I get to visit with a teacher there whom I highly enjoy, we head off buying my required triangles on the way. About 75 kilometers outside of Lusaka I get pulled over for speeding (A crime that gained me much mockery from my car-mates) My lack of break pads had no trouble slowing me down to receive my $11 ticket. All in all the trip back went well from there, and it wasn’t until we were about 15 kilometers away from Kitwe, where we stay, that a smaller ‘pop’ signaled another blown radiator hose, and brought a rapid stop to our trip. As we are opening the hood and making phone calls an Australian man stops by, and our dialog went something like this,
“Can I help ya out mate”
“We have some people coming, you have any water?”
“Nope…. probably the head, these Pajero’s are awful for blowin heads”
His last sentence followed him into his car and he drove away. In the morning Juma told us that Pastor Chanda’s Pajero had the same problem mine did….. But his was to a much higher degree. God blessed us though, and Juma found a head from some Pajero that was broken down and did automobile surgery in the middle of the night using limited tools and a borrowed l.e.d headlamp and lantern he got from Randy.
Things were seeming to work out for us to leave when we had wanted, but some part we couldn’t find left my vehicle un-operable. There was some frustration because the team had specific plans on what to do and only a short time to do it. By the time we finished we were a day late starting off. We were learning the struggles of trying to mimic God’s perfect patience.
The Zambians (Pastor Chanda, Gibson, Patson, Genius, Leven, & Peter) arrived at the orphanage in the morning, and we packed up. I kissed Amy and William goodbye with a deep twinge of pain in my heart. Having never left William for this long it was hard for me, but I knew he would be in good hands with a great mother like Amy. We started our fourteen hour drive with eager hearts. We hit the border within an hour and a half. We had to cross a small part of Congo that juts into Zambia, and by doing so we cut about 6 hours off of our total drive time, even with all the time spent crossing the border. Crossing the Congo border in a car can be very troublesome for Americans at times. There are some standard fees for visa’s and such, some customs fees, some vehicle fees, some transit fees, some ‘border police want extra money’ fees, and by the time we have argued the price down, and finished the paper work we realize that no short amount of time has been spent.
It is a stark contrast between Zambian border control and Congolese. We have friendly talks with the Zambian police, inquire on the work of the local churches in the area (things well known by most of the police and soldiers), and pass by after signing only a few papers. The 100 meter span of “no man’s land” brings us to something different on the Congolese side. Pastor Chanda and Gibson Lukoshi were fierce negotiators to lower the unsubstantiated tariffs we were charged. The Zambians got through easy. It was the Americans and vehicles (two things that when seen in Africa are often associated with tremendous wealth) that created problems. I got through alright by waving my Zambian work permit, and saying things like “Je suis un Zambian, regarde” (I found I could understand a lot more French then I thought I could, and I had the ability communicate in some settings rather well[yet still quite broken], particularly in dealing with police and buying things at the market. My work permit was also a tremendous blessing, often) but as I said before we were with some talented negotiators, and if God has a plan there is nothing anyone can do to stop it.
We got through and drove one hour on not a dirt, but a ‘dust road’(great for e-brake turns, but I had no occasion). We reached the exit border, negotiated and passed; whilst in “no man’s land” randy couldn’t miss the opportunity to get a photo with an AK-47 yielding bridge sentry, and so we did. We were back in Zambia and on route to Pweto when we stopped in Mansa to get some bread for our trip. A rather small, inebriated man came to greet the three Americans and was continuously saying in a peculiar shrill voice “DAY VEED BEK HUM”. It took a while before we realized he was saying “David Beckam”. To this day that man thinks he saw a famous soccer player, and I am sure that for some time to come I will hear “DAY VEED BEK HUM” being shouted to get my attention, as it has been ever since.
I was driving late into the night with snores and car noises being the only things that broke the dark silence, when I saw something beautiful. The horizon had become a dim red-orange color and small flakes started hitting the windshield. First it was only a few, and then it was a flood. It reminded me of the placid winter nights in Wyoming when powder snow would fall and quickly cover the earth with tiny shimmering ice crystals; reflecting the light over and over again from the snow on the ground to the snow in the sky, and effectively stopping darkness from wrapping the horizon, but this wasn’t that. Soon the smell of smoke consumed the car, and the horizon had gotten closer. I realized it was ash hitting my windshield. We could now see dancing flames darting about on the side of the road; tall plumes trying to climb the trees, and small waves making short work of the dry Zambian grass. It was a bushfire that farmers start to clear the land for sowing, and was only one of the many we would see. A sight during the day, but something far beyond at night.
We made it to the next Congo border, found a guest house, and stayed there. We all awoke after some quick rest and found two men butchering a goat in front of the guest house. I wanted to buy some for randy but he declined. We crossed the border again and where in Pweto in a very short time. We arrived at the partially built church of pastor Kabumba (he left around 1999 or 2000 due to the wars and by the time he came back someone else had his church) , and found twenty to thirty screaming people very excited for our arrival. Pastor Kabumba’s wife is very lively, and greeted us all with two kisses on each side of our neck (Congo has more of a French influence.) They Fed us an amazing meal. In Congo they eat more spicy food, and their nshima is made of cassava and not corn.
We left for Kokanona a small village outside of Pweto. Our original intention was to camp there, and do some evangelism in some of the villages farther out, but we found pastor Kabumba had different plans prepared for us. These villages are not reachable by cars, and are inhabited often by people who fought in the war. These soldiers would carry juju (magic charms made by witch doctors, to keep people safe and help effectiveness of killing), and eat fallen enemy soldiers in a superstitious hope of gaining advantage. This was the practice not more then five years ago, but when we arrived they were perceptive to the gospel. Last year in Oct. Pastor Chanda and a group of Zambians planted a church there in Kokanona that is doing quite well. To me they seem somewhat like the church in Thessalonica, but I will discuss that later.
We went to encourage the church, and I preached a message. We had to leave quickly and as we were leaving the entire congregation followed accept one boy who liked my message so much he fell asleep (Jason Smith has a good picture of him on facebook). We left feeling blessed by this new church, but there was two problems. The pastor was a polygamist, and a man was very sick. Pastor Chanda confronted the pastor, and planned follow up, and randy the “man who is never caught unprepared” gave some medicine to the man and we prayed for him(we found later that he improved greatly. Thanks Randy and particularly God).
The plans pastor Kabumba had for us were to do an evangelism “crusade” in Pweto with open air preaching every night on a large pedestal made of bamboo and scrap lumber parts. That Evening Jason preached a great message with pastor Kabila from Lumbumbashi (a very faithful man who has been quite a blessing in ministry, and whom I am sure will be as long as he is alive. A man who speaks English, French, Swahili, Bemba, and many other African languages with remarkable fluency) translating, we all partially fell through the floor of the pedestal a few times, and then we went to a guest house and fell asleep. The crowd of about 150 people were very cautious, and somewhat hostile to the Gospel so Jason planned a little harder sermon for the next night(a sermon he wouldn’t end up preaching until the last night).
That night at the guest house after taking my shower (a bucket of cold water and a cup in a small mud block room), I met the man running the Guest house. I had a conversation with him in what little French I could use, and what little English he could. All in all we could speak pretty well. This man was a Jehovah’s witness, and we reasoned together using a French bible we had brought from the Gideons. His religion is one well known for perverting the truth. The false view he had been taught about God and Jesus is one that smothers a soul that is crying for life. We where talking when he was called away by his duties. I still pray for that man, and that his eyes would be opened to the true gospel. I walked over to talk with some of the men and as I was sitting with them I heard Jason say “ba Chanda I need some help there is something in my room”, with ba Chanda replied “you’ll be fine”. There was some thing in his room that made a very loud growling noise, and we didn’t find out it was a frog until days later. I am sure it was a hard night of sleep wondering what he might have been sleeping with.
As I was sitting with the men I looked out in the distance at something they call the city. It is only visible at night. As you look it seems as if there is a city on the horizon, thousand of lights all gathered together, but in the morning when it is light you look in that direction and all you see is a lake that could be easily mistaken as an ocean. The illumination was thousands of fishermen that use little lamps to lure fish into their nets. Another view from our trip that struck me with its beauty
In the morning we planned to all cross the river, visit two newly planted churches, and be back in time for the crusade. We were very excited to encourage these young(5 month old) churches, who had been started because of the grace of God flowing through the work done in Pweto by our teams who had been there in the past. When we got to the river we saw our ferry; it was three canoes with a wooden platform connecting them, on which we drove the car to go across (you should receive a picture of it.) There was some delay because the landmine removal agency who owned the ferry “M.A.G.” was not working on Saturday in contrast to what we had agreed with them earlier. I drove to the M.A.G. head quarters to retrieve the engine, of which, they said was all that was needed to cross, but they didn’t have a vehicle to bring it to the crossing. Upon arriving the engine wouldn’t fit in my pajero, so they brought one of their land cruiser trucks (huh!) and grabbed it to take it to the crossing. We followed but had to stop to get water on the way. On the route back along the river there are many tanks and armored vehicles abandoned and stripped, strewn about from the war so recently fought there (these were common sights on many of our routes.) I had hoped to see Ba Chanda’s pajero already across by the time we got there, but it was still on our side of the river. They had brought the ferry engine, but had left the ferry driver. It was getting late and we had to be back in pweto to preach that evening(this delay would prove to be quite a blessing because of or bad estimation of travel time), so we had to make some choices. We reflected that we could have crossed on a canoe and hitched a ride with the U.N. vehicle we saw on the other side, but we decided that a group would go to the villages and camp in the bush overnight and one would stay to preach in pweto, and re-visit kokanona in the morning. We loaded up supplies and I took my (small) pajero with two Americans, two Zambians (genius and peter), three Congolese, (the pastor of the first church, and two members of the second), and myself. 8 men were in a small suv along with a large quantity of supplies (Tight fit!). We made it across on the ferry just fine (it worked surprisingly well despite the fact they had to bale out buckets of water in order to keep it from sinking under the vehicles weight). I still call Peter the “bravest kiondi” because he was the only one out of the four men in our group who came from the kiondi tribe(Gibson, Patson, Leven, and peter), who wasn’t afraid of the river.
Once on the other side I paid the ferry operator his due twenty dollars and we started our journey. Our plan was to greet the churches on our way out, stay the night in the last village (75 kilometers away) and do church services with them each on our way back. That was our plan. When we started the roads were ruff, but we made it alright to the first church. We were greeted warmly. We walked inside and they were playing music in the same style that all the churches we had visited there did. There is a large drum section composed of an old car wheel played with bolts, and several hollowed out logs that would make different degrees of bass sounds depending on the circumference. These instruments are played in such a furious way that at first listen you would think that it was a jumble of arrhythmic noise, but upon listening to it you find a rhythm that is incredibly complex and varied (something my five years experience of concert drumming could never recreate), and the dancers never miss a beat. The choir consists of mostly women, for most the men in the church are playing the drums. The church insisted on a message, and genius gave one in bemba because most of this village spoke bemba. I didn’t understand but the people there appreciated it. Our plan was a little off course, but we could still do as we intended if we left right then. They insisted on feeding us and we were very blessed by their sacrificial giving. It was an hour until sunset (it is winter there now and sunset is very early) when we finally went on our way, but we figured we would make it quickly to the next village, mutabe (now only about 55km away). When we started off we told the church that we would not have time to do another service in the morning, but would greet them on our way out. The road from there on out was terrible. If you like off-road driving, or “jeeping” as a friend of mine affectionately calls it, then you would really appreciate this road. I give two thumbs up to Mitsubishi and my mechanic Juma because we took that pajero through places where other vehicles would have scampered away crying. I am very proud of that little suv. The trip took several hours. We would ask often how much longer it would be, and get responses like “very near”, “around the next turn”, “over the next hill”, and “just a half an hour away” every half hour. This later was very amusing for all of us, and I still get these responses when I ask Genius or peter directions. By this time all of us had given up on “the plan”.
When we arrived (around 10pm ish) we expected to set up our tents and go to sleep. Mutabe was very quiet. It is a beautiful village, and we were excited to meet everyone in the morning. We pulled up to where the church is, in this remote little village and as we got closer we started to hear a beat in claps. No one was in sight until we turned to park and our headlights illuminated 100-150 congolese who immediately started singing songs of praise to the Lord. It sounds simple, but there are not many experiences in my life where I have felt more blessed then I did right then. After greeting those who were there we went to where they told us we would be sleeping. Another crowd of about fifty people were there singing and dancing. We started to unload our tents when some men brought us chairs and told us to sit. We sat as the people sang to us. I was overwhelmed with thanksgiving for what God was doing in Congo, and the great grace that He had, and has, on me. As we sat women prepared a small village house for us to stay in, and brought us in for a meal. The churches were so thankful for our arrival. I was humbled by their generosity, and in turn, felt deep gratitude toward God. While we were eating randy inquired of what type of meat we had been served, and peter quickly responded by saying “meh-eh-eh” in a vibrato voice. Randy put the goat meat back in the pot, and we used this incident to make fun of him for the rest of the trip.
That night there was a powerful dust-storm. Many of us shared the fear that the entire grass roof was going to fly away. It didn’t. We woke up well-rested with plenty of dust in our teeth, and went to church. In Mutabe they don’t speak bemba or English, they speak luba, Swahili and French. This put us in kind of a tight spot because the villagers spoke about as much French as I did(not much), and none of us knew luba or Swahili. God intervened and helped us though. Many in mutabe understood deep kiondi a language Peter could speak, and in turn he could understand much of what they said in luba. We found out these languages are very close. We went to church where Jason would preach, peter would translate into Kiondi, and Jean Claude would translate into Swahili. As they were playing music a well dressed man came asking for us. Genius and I went with him because we wanted to leave peter to translate for jason. He represented the Congolese government (everywhere we went these sort of people monitored us. There is a fear that people come in under the guise of missionaries, but are actually mercenaries or men of this sort. We had to meet the chief, and governor upon arrival in pweto; we had to give our passport info to the man running the guest house every night so he could report to the guv, and we even had some trouble for not reporting that we had left pweto to go to mutabe when we were arriving back in pweto. This is something I thought we would lose by going out into the bush, but it found us), and took us to an old Methodist complex that had been abandoned during the war and apparently re-inhabited by G men. We did the usual registering of our whole team: names, passport #’s, destination, purpose, etc. After this the man (falsely) told us that there was a twenty dollar fee per person, (all in French and broken Bemba, so it took a while and genius and I struggled with communication but it worked out alright) so we argued that we didn’t have that much money (which was very true) and he told us “ok give me all the money you have and that will be ok, because maybe someday you will even minister to me” We were not satisfied with this answer either (knowing these fees were unfounded), but to be arrested in some village in congo didn’t sound pleasant. I ended up paying him $10 and 20,000 kwacha (= $4-5), as well as giving him my phone number so he could visit me in Kitwe if he comes that way (and if this day comes I will charge him for the visit. Ha Ha.). This was satisfactory for him. As he pocketed the “government fees” we invited him to church, an offer he quickly declined, and we left ourselves expecting church to be over (we were gone an hour and a half). When we arrived they were still playing music waiting for us. Randy was still rattling from the drums the whole trip back. The church (five months old and in a village in the bush) sported over three hundred members who were lively and eager to hear the Word of God. Jason gave a great sermon on Naaman, and the church responded well. We left very late leaving French bibles with the leaders of the church, and commissioning them to read aloud to the village, just as we had done in the earlier village.
When we arrived at the river crossing we were several hours later then we had anticipated, and were afraid that the ferry might not be there, but it was. The operator jumped on shore and his greeting to us was “you gave me a bad twenty”. We were thankful that it had worked out this way because it insured that he would return to pick us up. I showed him my other twenty which was also unacceptable in his eyes (African money changers are very precautious, and often won’t change money if it is wrinkled or dyed, or printed before 2000.) I was out of money at this point, but randy produced a pristine $50 bill, thinking that it was worth the $10 dollar loss to get on our way. This also was rejected on account of a crease that was almost not there. Finally Jason found two decent $20 bills, and we left. Maybe that man is wondering why he talked himself out of $10, I don’t know.
That night Jason preached for the crusade with layers of dust from our adventure still falling off of him. I was impressed by his steadfastness. As we were driving to the church, a small group of children started chasing the car. They were beautiful. Poverty had taken its toll on them. It was not the lack of clothing, or ring worm spotted heads that we noticed though, but children who were excited and full of life, and quite ready to hear some good news. The churches of the city had all joined together for this, the last night of the crusade. Even the Catholics joined in and brought a choir to sing. As all the different churches had their choirs sing, crowds of people came from the streets came to investigate. At one point there was well over 700 people crowded around the small creaking pedestal Pastor Kabumba made for the event. Men women and children were all gathered together singing and dancing. When the music stopped some went away. Just like in American churches some were only interested in the music, but some wanted to hear the word of God , and these stayed. The preaching was powerful, and many people came to repentance publicly that night.
As we were leaving I met a man, he was a pastor from Goma (a war torn city on the border of Congo and Rwanda), who had come all the way there on a motorcycle because he had heard of our crusade. He had traveled a very long way to meet with us, and I am blessed to have his contact info. We plan to move north toward Goma, and east across Congo planting churches all the while.
Halfway through Jason’s preaching, pastor Chanda arrived from his visit to Kokanona, and we were very encouraged by what he told us later that night. When confronted with scripture the polygamist pastor resigned his office (conviction like the Thessalonians had), and a new pastor was established. We also heard that this church was already reaching the un-reached places we intended to go (setting an example like the Thessalonians). We were very blessed by this report.
In the morning we met with the leaders of several of the churches that had been planted in the area. We encouraged them, counseled them, and left them with bibles. Bibles are still needed in French, bemba, Swahili, and luba if we can find it. We are looking into it. We left later that day.
The drive home was uneventful. We stayed at Mansa because the border was closed. I didn’t see my little friend, but there was a black mamba outside the door of my guest room in the morning; a door that had a two inch gap at the bottom, and led into a room where I was sleeping on the floor. The black mamba met a quick end at the hands of a worker at the guest house.
The next day we arrived home. I was overwhelmed with joy to see my family. William had grown in the short time I was gone, and had learned how to do things like clap. I was so proud of him. Amy was beautiful, I was so blessed to see her again. The other Americans had sometime yet before they saw their families, and they were equally eager. We took them to Lusaka and sent them on their way the next day. It was a bitter sweet departure. We will miss their fellowship, but we are glad for the work that will be done in Wyoming.
In summary we were extremely blessed. We planned many things, but God changed our plans, which later proved to be so so so much better. There is great need for laborers in this harvest, so pray to the Lord of the harvest to send laborers. These churches are lively and active, they just need discipleship, and guidance. They need to learn sound doctrine, and we need teachers to teach them. If you are praying please continue; if you are giving please continue; if you are coming and working please continue, and if you are not I encourage you to seek the Lords guidance and follow whole heartedly. Thank you all for your support and your time for reading this very long e-mail. It has told much of this trip, but there was so much more, and God willing much more to come, soon. May God’s grace be with you.
`The Kountz Family
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