Here we are in Nelspruit, South Africa again, after a week in Swaziland for a debrief and some teachings. It’s been a long journey, having driven over 2000km to get back. There is a lot to update everyone on, since we’ve been so far from internet access, so what I’m going to do is start at the beginning. I’ll hopefully post a series of blogs over the next week that will all be backdated to give you the whole scoop on the Mozambique experience and everything God is doing in Mutarara. So, here’s the first one:
After a five day journey from South Africa (driving stick shift on the wrong side of the car on the wrong side of the road!), we’ve arrived in Mutarara, Mozambique. The journey took us over every type of road from washed out dirt track to smooth highways, and even through a mine field or two; most of the journey was just harrowingly filled with foot-deep potholes you had to dodge and weave through for hours. During one of our stops on the way up I even had the privilege of being spat up onto the beach on my head by the Indian Ocean (it had some big waves). 
After three days we stopped in a place called Beira to pick up our translator and (blind) guide, Peter, along with a flat bed truck loaded with our own water (picture us with two shopping carts bulging with individual bottles of water, since that’s the biggest size they sell them in, trying to maneuver into the checkout aisle), plus food and mosquito nets for the orphanage. Bags of rice are heavy. We became a caravan of a pickup, a trailer, and a flat bed truck, with people riding in the backs of both trucks, and began our final stretch of driving that entailed an 11 hour drive to Sena, a town on the south side of the Zambezi river, directly across from Mutarara.
We arrived at sunset and were greeted with the news that the converted train bridge to Mutarara was under repair and cars could not cross. The ferry was beached. And the only other way into Mutarara by car was a two day journey through Malawi. The only way to cross is on the foot path along the side of the bridge, which means the biggest vehicle that can make the journey is a moto or a bicycle. Peter arranged a place for us to park the car where it would be secure during our stay and then shows he has more belief in what we’re capable of than we do by saying ‘Now we will get our things and walk across the bridge to Mutarara.’
Even just with a bare minimum of what we need for the night, we have a big backpack to carry with tents and bedding, food for the next 24 hours, and anything we can use to cook with, plus drinking water. The sun has set, and I’m staring at our blind guide realizing he doesn’t really care whether it’s light or dark out, it’s the same to him, which could mean some difficulties for us. The best part is when I ask him how far it is: “Oh, it’s not far,” he says. Beside me Cameron whispers “The guide book says the bridge alone is 5km long!” With a sneaking suspicion about the relativity of what constitutes as ‘Far’ to Peter and Mozambicans in general, I ask if the bridge is really 5km long. “Yes, that is true. Not a far walk at all,” is his reply.
…Right then….
Well, not much else for it, we load up some what we need for the night onto the backs of bicycles which are used to cart goods back and forth over the river and carry the rest on our backs. Feeling a little bewildered, uncertain of our ability to make this journey tired as we are, I silently pray for energy and a clear mind, since I’m feeling like a deer in the headlights. And then we were off, unknowingly about to be amazed by God and His beauty. As we set out across the bridge, the night sky is lit up with thousands of stars never visible when you’re within 100 miles of a city. I could find constellations, but with difficulty because where there are normally 5 stars alone making a shape there are hundres of stars, with 5 brighter ones making a shape amongst the rest. Below us, in the marshes leading up to the river, millions of lightning bugs made the reeds beside the waters sparkle with light patterns that would start at one end of where we could see and just move all the way down and under the bridge where we’d lose sight of the pattern, after which it just started again at the other end, repeating every second or two over and over again. And after 45 minutes of walking, if the rest wasn’t already enough, a giant orange moon started rising over Mutarara, welcoming us to our new home.
And that was the theme for our time in Mutarara – when things looked bad or insurmountable, and we felt like there was no way we could go on, something would push us just that extra bit. Somehow we would step out onto the bridge, uncertain of our ability to make it, and there God would be, saying, ‘That step was all I needed from you. I’ve given you the energy/wisdom/discernment/provisions you need to see it through now. So just enjoy the view – I made it extra awesome just for you.’
