Back in front of the netball field I had assumed the love of the game would out-win my pigment, but this was not the case. The Lord again urged me to respond and so I heeded and smiled while staying my eyes to theirs. I attempted to greet them in the traditional Chichewa way — ‘Muli bwangi…ehhh, ndili buino….kaya inu?’. They laughed, I laughed and the six of us sat on the firm ground. I reverted to an eight year old and we started playing hand games — me teaching my mad handgame skills. ‘Miss Suzie had a steamboat, the steamboat had a bell *ding,ding*’…they often bursted in roaring laughter at their friend’s mistakes. I requested that they teach me the African way. The kids obliged a bit hesitantly after a young mother translated for me. Thirty seconds in we had drawn a crowd of about 20 others to watch the azungu eat humble pie from the ‘African-child’s-game platter’. Oh sure, I messed up but then we got to share in the laughter I suppose. 🙂 They became more than thrilled that they had agreed to give lessons.
Now around 30 people had gathered encircling me from every side of Steph, myself and our new translating friend. Miss Suzie and her steamboat lost some steam so we transitioned sheepishly into song. First we tried to remember the hymn we had learned just recently from our Malawian contact, but with failing recollection we made up a chorus. It wasn’t long after that that a whim of courage came over me. I began singing solo a song our group sang in Mozambique. ‘Canimambo Yesu, Canimambo Yesu, Canimambo Yesu, alleluyah, amen’, and it then praises ‘thank you Jesus alleluyah amen’ in Portuguese and English. But this time I ended with Chichewa, the native tongue to many in Malawi, ‘Zicom Yesu’ meaning yes, thank you Jesus.
No laughter. Our young mother and translator friend said, ‘They want to hear more singing, more song. In English.’ I thought, come again? For all of you who knew me prior to this trip, my name wasn’t often associated with Fitzgerald, or really anything musical. So the fact that Africans wanted to hear ME sing was something close to a miracle in itself. Apparently it hasn’t been just my walk with Christ that was being transformed but my vocal chords as well. I could hit notes now that came out no better than breathy before. Shortly after the request of the 30 some congregated, I sang with eyes shut the first verse of Amazing Grace, half-bluesy because of my half-nervousness.
Thankful that I saw smiles and heard minimal laughter, I thanked the Lord for three monumental things that happened on that grassy knoll: 1. I heard the Lord and obeyed. 2. I initiated interaction with kids which I don’t really do. This makes me sound like a horrible person, but my propensity is conversation with older ages. 3. I let my voice be heard in song and somehow He drew people through the soul instead of natural understanding/language — ’cause other than ‘Zicom Yesu’ I didn’t sing in their language.
God always prepares me with hard times or good times, continuously giving guidance and instruction through His Spirit, in order to be obedient when the time comes to do so. I was convicted only two days prior while praying that He wanted to hear my voice more. I thought, ‘how’s that? Where? I speak when I think it necessary.’ I then heard a worship song in my head and understood. Then two days later the opportunity arises out of being obedient to His voice. The voice from my mouth became His and His mine. Does this sound outrageous to you? Our God is living, why would we be surprised? Right before we left at 5:30pm that evening I invited the group of around 30 to 40 spectators to the Jesus Film at 7:00pm. Nearly all agreed to come.
Our story is not quite finished. The screen, generator, projector and all the fringes were set up in an open field where many gathered, some that we spoke with and some drawn by intrigue. I recognized many who appeared earlier and could hardly contain my excitement when I greeted them.
But the set-up process is carried out in African time; usually done in a movie’s time before the actual movie presents itself. And sometimes excitement wears as the night draws on — having to sit through a film you’ve seen several times before doesn’t ignite energy even from the most caffeinated individual. And frankly I wondered if they noticed that Jesus’ hair was four limbs away from cat hide, Peter’s helmet hair, John the Baptist’s caveman resemblance or how Mary Magdalene could have been of viking descent. But I was convicted of my judgments when it was clear almost everyone thought it was the best thing since canned ham. I began to see that it was a useful tool. In addition to that, if I’m going to invite others to ministry events, I ought to see what is good about it and trust that the Lord.
Over 50 people publicly expressed their decision to live for the Lord that night. Considering this area is where Islam entered Malawi and is still heavily Islamic, it’s a profound demonstration for someone. It speaks loudly from the people a desire for life and hope; something real that they don’t have to earn with their own efforts. They have to harvest rice fields, rear their seven child families and tend to frequent illnesses all on their own strength. The people here know the need for rest in something outside of themselves and this world — something eternal and that has authority.
It was a good day.
