But for now… time to get to and through Mozambique. Today’s the day that Kelton and I began our journey to South Africa so that I could meet with Herbie, the Malawian representative of HIM (Harvester’s International Ministries) and new contact for AIM, to set up my team’s next ministry site. Kelton and I would go to Johannesburg, and the rest of the team would stay in Migowi, Malawi with Damson and Duncan to further to work. In a week’s time, Open Road would meet up again.
So…. what follows is the shortened version of our trip… if I told you every adventure, then you would be reading this blog for the next 8.74 days.
The colors of the sunrise were mixing with the early morning mist, creating an atmosphere of mystery on the road. I was loving every second of it as we neared the Mozambique border… but the epic mood dramatically fizzled upon reaching a roadblock with an officer that forcefully ordered us off the road. Cue Major Challenge Number One:
“Do you have your license?”“Yes.”
“Your insurance?”
“Yes.”
“Your out of country car permission?”
“Yes.”
“How about traffic triangles?”
“…I don’t know what those are…”
“Get out of the car.”
Kelton offered to come with me, but I was peeved enough that if anyone tried anything, I would’ve gone into ninja mode… The officer was totally fishing for something to get us on. I followed him over to the side of the road and dejectedly sat on the bench as he wrote me up a ticket, telling me that I was going to have to appear in court in 2 days for this offense of not having traffic triangles. He kept making comments about how he was in control and that there might be a fiscal way out of this…
But the only way out I was willing to go with was God’s intervention. So I started praying for favor and grace… and right about that time, a white South African man drove up to the roadblock. He looked at me and smiled apologetically, then said something in Chechewa to the officer. The officer’s response did not make him happy, and so he asked me what the problem was.
I told him that I was in trouble for not having triangles and that I had to go to Malawian court in 2 days, but I was on my way to Joburg and didn’t have time to do that… He looked back at the officer and shook his head, firmly saying something about America and motioning towards me. Then he drove past.
A minute later, the officer looked up from his mission of condemning me to court, and said, “I will allow you to travel 5 minutes down the road to the market to buy the triangles. They cost $4.00. But I will keep your driver’s license until you come back and show me that you have bought them.”
So we did. I drove 5 minutes down the road, Kelton got out and bought our dumb triangles for $3.00, and we came back to show the officer and get my license. And then, we proceeded, along the way looking for a place where we could exchange all of our Malawi Kwacha currency to the Mozambique Meticais…
The Mozambique border gave us no problems and we passed right on through. The roads however… are not the most conducive roads to Toyota Tazzes… I wished we were in a Hummer. Within a few hours, I decided it would be a good time to refill our gas tank (my mom used to get soooo mad at me for driving my car to the E… I’ve learned my lesson), so I pulled over to again, find a place to exchange our money. We tried 3 large banks. No one would do it.
So here we are in Mozambique with three problems: 1) We have no money that will work in Mozambique. 2) We are running out of gas because we can’t buy any. 3) These roads are not marked well… the signs we expected to see were not posted. I guess people around here have the spiritual gift of just knowing where to go.
We made it to our planned destination for the night at about 8pm, confirmed by Portuguese signs that said, “Welcome to Caia”, and began looking for a hostel or campsite. We drove up the road, a little surprised at how small the city was. The dot for Caia on the map had been very large… we’d assumed there would be some kind of accommodation there, but alas, that turned out to be untrue.
Tazz, Kelton and I reached the end of the road, only to find a very, very large body of water.
“You’re kidding me…” I thought. “We are at the Indian Ocean…I bet you we are at the dumb Indian Ocean...” (which was no where near where we were supposed to be.) We drove around what looked like a shipyard for about 15 minutes, completely confused as to how we got ourselves to the Indian Ocean. Back up the road a few kilometers there was a sign that clearly said, “Welcome to Caia”, so….. ??
But there was nothing we could do about it now. It was dark and we were in a shipyard. So we hid ourselves and Tazz behind a building and went to sleep in the car, Kelton in the front driver’s seat, and me curled up in the back. Even with my ear plugs in, I could hear the pounding techno music and people laughing and singing at the top of their lungs. I wasn’t scared, I just wished I could shield the windows like the BatMobile.
I prayed, “Lord… seriously… this is nuts. We don’t have Mozambique currency, don’t know why we are at the Indian Ocean, there’s no campsite, and when I blog about this I might get in trouble for it… so maybe I shouldn’t blog about it… But I need Your help here. I’m asking for Your favor. I trust You. Please work a miracle…”
Back through the shipyard we followed him, around old shacks with bottles scattered in front of them, over bumps of the dirt road, until we saw a long line of semi trucks facing the body of water. The man waved us through them, and we wove our way through to the front of the line. He had us park, and as we rolled down our window to thank him, I glanced up and saw a large sign that said “Caia Toll”, with prices listed underneath.
The first ferry would start at 8am (African time). So…. at about 9:30am, we were on the ferry, crossing the Zambezi. Right on the other side, we filled up at a gas station with as much as we could. And then we drove, and drove, and drove some more… Four hours later, it was time for more gas… but we were in the middle of nowhere... with no cell phone reception, and no promise of a filling station any time soon. Gongorosa was the next big town we were looking for…
Cue Major Challenge Number Three
The gas tank was on E… Who knows where Gongorosa was… Who knows if they even have fuel there… But no need for worry. I’d asked God to expand and multiply our fuel tank, like the fish and the loaves. We’d make it. Somehow.
So you can imagine my excitement when we approached Gongorosa… and how even more excited I was when we saw the filling station (a small store-like building with buckets of fuel inside). I pulled up to the building, and with a smile on my face, asked to see the prices for fuel. 20 liters would be 800 metacias ($33)… I asked if they would take Malawi kwacha…
But why would they? Really now, Kim…. why would they? Obviously no one likes Malawi kwacha…
The attendant pointed me down the hill to a restaurant that might exchange some, but upon arriving there, they told me no. I tried a few other places there, and no one would. A woman who spoke fluent English came to me and asked what the trouble was, and I told her: no gas, no metacais, no ATM… She said that our only option would be to leave Tazz here, hitchhike to the next town 200 kilometers away to find the ATM, get metcais, hitchhike back, buy gas, and move on.
It was now 1:00pm. By the time we got there, and back, assuming we could immediately find a ride, it would be dark. And Tazz would be all alone. But at that point, I didn’t know what other option I had. I’d pleaded with people to exchange money, and no one would. So here we were. Stranded.
On my way back up the hill to meet Kelton and Tazz, I said to God, “I still trust You… You’ve never failed me yet, so I don’t think You’ll fail me now… I’ve got to tell You, though, this thing is looking pretty bleak. You’re going to swoop in and save the day at the last possible second, aren’t You? …It seems to me that you’ve set us up for a faith journey here… where we have to trust You, because we obviously have no where else to turn.”
I could feel Him smiling.
I got up the hill, and sat in the front seat. “No such luck, KP,” I said.
“Okay, let me try.”
I gave him some kwacha and led us in prayer before he went out. We hadn’t prayed before I went on my metacais venture.
So Kelton went off, and I stayed in the car interceding. For an hour. Around then, I began to think, “Maybe I should just get some things ready to pawn off… maybe I’m supposed to let go of more of my entitlements… like my camera…”
I started setting up shop in the back of the car, deciding that I didn’t need those shoes, or that sweater, or my camera… At least it would get us enough money for gas. I was just making my peace with the whole thing when I saw Kelton walking towards me. I searched his face for some kind of emotion, but he didn’t show any (a very Kelton-isque thing to do). “How did it go?“, I asked.
He smiled and gave me the thumbs up, “Good! I got some metacais!”
Yeah… so I got kind of mushy, and my eyes welled up with tears, thanking God with vigor. We were going to be okay. And I could keep my camera.
Kelton told me that they guy he traded with was really nice, so I asked if he could get some more metacais… otherwise we’d just make it to the next town and have the very same problem. So as he left, the gas station man filled up our tank. I sat there smiling, listening to the sweet chug chug chug sound of the gas…..
“Uh, so, Kim, we have a problem. How quickly do you think you could get in the car, and start the engine? We, uh, have to make a run for it” he said, knowing that the big guys could not understand our English conversation.
With just as tranquil a tone and an equally calm facial expression I replied, “Okay… Well, the gas tank is still filling up, so it will take about 2 more minutes. What seems to be the problem?”
“This big guy right here in the very long t-shirt is pretty angry… he wants more money for the exchange rate than I gave him before. He changed his mind about the rate… He has been following back ever since I told him no. So… uh… what should we do?”
Good question… very good question. The guy was visibly angry… and I didn’t want Kelton to get hit. That looked like a possibility. It was just money. And its all God’s money anyway. We can always get more of it, but we can never get another Kelton.
We both tried to reason with the guy a bit more, then I told Kelton to just give him a little bit more money. The vein on the side of his neck was beginning to pulsate… Though he still wasn’t happy, God miraculously provided a way to the door through the crowd that had formed around Kelton and Tazz. We locked the doors, and headed out, the mob still standing behind us shaking their fists.
I couldn’t be mad at them. But Kelton was silently raging for about 30 minutes after we left Gongorosa. As we talked about it, all I kept sensing from the Lord was “bless those who curse you“. So we prayed that God’s blessing would rest on that town, and that He would forgive us for not seeing them through Kingdom eyes but instead being frustrated with them. Good lesson to learn.
Miles down the highway, we came to a fork in the road, and decided that we needed to go to Beira, which is one of the biggest cities in Mozambique (therefore it would have banks, ATMs, and gas). Hopefully, surely, somewhere in Beira, they would exchange our Malawi kwacha.
At about 3pm, within 30 minutes of being on that road, our squad leader Rusty called me.
“Hey girl, where you at?”
“On our way to Beira… a few things went wrong on the trip so far, and we need to get to a big city.”
“Beira? You know that’s where Mama Rita lives, right?”
“What? No, I didn’t know! I thought she lived further south!”
“Well this is the Lord’s hand, because I was just calling you to talk about storyboarding for the video you’re making for them. Here’s their number… call.”
(Okay, let me explain… a few days before Kelton and I left, I got a call from Rusty and Seth asking if I had my camera with me in Malawi (which I didn’t because I had thought we’d be in Zimbabwe). There is a woman named Mama Rita in Mozambique who has been laboring for the Lord for years. Last year, her husband Ezekial was martyred by a Muslim group as he was planting a church. Before he passed, he told Mama Rita and Peter, who is Ezekial’s blind cousin, to continue the work. So together, they have. They run an orphanage and LABOR to advance the Kingdom every day, living in horrible rat infested conditions. Two of our WR teams have spent a month with Mama Rita so far, and have come back changed. The woman has so much love, and so much peace and joy… even in the midst of heavy financial struggles, and the loss of her husband one year ago. So, I’d told Seth that I would love to go film their story to help them raise money for a new orphanage building.)
I called Peter, and we arranged to stay with him that night, and then meet Mama Rita and the orphans the next morning.
In the meantime, Kelton and I went all around Beira trying to exchange our kwacha. Surprise, surprise, no one would do it. So we ATM-ed it and got what we needed, got some peanut butter and jelly, crackers, and water, and headed to meet Peter.
“Hello! This is Peter,” Peter said. His glasses were kind of Matrix-like, which I thought was really cool. He was being led by another man, and both had something distinctly different about them. They hopped in the backseat and we began driving towards Peter’s house. Peter knew just when to turn… which is amazing… because he is blind.
We entered his home, and before we did anything, he said, “Let us pray and praise the Lord.” There was one candle on the middle of the unbalanced wooden table that shed light onto faded mud walls, two small doorways with sheets for doors, a tall cup with 3 fake flowers in it, and an old, antique looking picture of an Israeli Jesus… which I appreciated right away because I’m tired of seeing white- blue-eyed-white-cloaked-Jesus in pictures. Peter led us in a prayer, and then began singing.
I felt like I should take off my shoes. I was standing on holy ground. This small mud house was a sanctuary of the Holy Spirit, and carried just as much awe and mysticism as an ancient cathedral.
We sat down around his table and talked, shared a meal, and then went to bed. Someone had given up their room for me to sleep in, which was behind one of those doorways covered by a sheet. Two people slept in our Tazz, while Kelton slept on a mat out in the main room. I was exhausted from a very, very long day, but wanted to stay up just to soak in the peace of this place. I prayed to be a sponge while I slept…
I sometimes have trouble sleeping. Combine minor scoliosis with a very active mind, and you have a perfect equation for it. But when I woke up the next morning, I was immediately struck by how rested I felt… more than just my body. My mind and my spirit felt so at peace, and I smiled. The wind gently blew through the mud framed window right above me, and the thin, torn curtain moved with it.
We prayed around the table, packed up, and headed over to Mama Rita’s house. I had heard so much about her from the other teams that I felt like I knew her already. And when I met her, it felt the same.
She embraced me like a long-lost daughter. Peter, Mama Rita, Kelton and I, some of the orphans, and some older women entered her house and stood in a circle in the front room. Peter prayed and thanked the Lord for their visitors, and Mama Rita began singing a traditional Africa chorus, which everyone joined in on and made those beautiful, unforgettable harmonies. Again, I felt like I should take off my shoes.
Mama Rita doesn’t speak any English, but Peter does very well, so he translated for us as we got to know each other. She had prepared a breakfast; we sat to eat eggs, bread, and tea together. I was surprised at how easily we clicked, how much love this woman has… and how quickly my heart got attached. She shared her story, I shared some of mine, and then I told her about the vision of the video, and why we wanted to make it. Both she and Peter loved the idea, and so I told them that I would be back in about 2 weeks.
What seemed like 30 minutes was really 3 hours, and it was time to get back on the road. Mama Rita and I laughed uncontrollably for no good reason; it was just the joy of the Lord. We kissed and I started the car to drive away. And I felt like I might just explode because of all the love that was swirling around inside of me. I smiled for hours after leaving Beira, and prayed for blessings all over them, and for God’s creative vision for the video (which I’m currently working on it. Stay tuned).
You can’t walk away from pure, true love and not be changed. I spent 14 hours with Peter and Mama Rita, and I walked away bursting at the seams with love. It really is the greatest of all things…
I drove as long as I could, but I had a problem.
Staying at Peter’s house was a threat to my face. I made sure to cover up every part of me to protect from the mosquitoes… except my face and my left hand. So when I woke up, I had 39 bites just on my face, 5 on my left eyelid, and 19 on my left hand. That’s got to be some kind of World Race record. Anyway, because of the bites on my eyelid, and because of gravity and other scientific laws, it swelled up to the point that I couldn’t see out of it. (I sure do wish I had a picture of it to show you…) So Kelton and I switched seats.
Today was the day that we met the cops. Not once, not twice, but three times we got pulled over, each time managing to get out of fines by the grace and humor of God. The cops were corrupt and were just trying to get money out of us, but Kelton brilliantly avoided his tickets by saying, “Come on guys… we’re just tourists passing through. In fact, we’re really poor tourists. Look at how dirty my pants are. I don’t even have money to wash them…” And yes, after that, the guy let us go.
At night, we stopped for a bit in Maputo to find another ATM. And while Kelton was out getting money at the machine, I sat in the car and stared down the dark alley as two guys were beating up another guy. He was begging for mercy, and the two other guys didn’t care one bit… nor did any of the other 50 people that were walking right by him. No one helped him. And I felt sick… I wanted to go over there to help, but wisdom whispered otherwise. So I prayed instead. Eventually, they stopped kicking him and left him alone.
We reached the border of South Africa… driving though ridiculous fog so thick that we couldn’t see 4 feet in front of us. We left Mozambique, and stopped at an exchange office to try, once again, to rid ourselves of Malawi kwacha.
But… nope. It was clinging to us like mold.
