Amazing grace

"Toto, I think we are not in Kansas anymore" a wonderful line from The Wizard of Oz has become my oft quoted paraphrase, Frère Smith, I think we are not in Kansas anymore. (Remember Dorothy's last name is Gale-my maiden name- after all).

It has been an eventful week, some good and some challenging, but mostly good. Indulge me in a little prefacing. We recounted in great detail Mark's encounter with the police concerning a stop sign that was not visible and how upsetting it was for both of us even though I was not in the truck at the time. Well guess what? The sign has been replaced and now faces the traffic lane. The police have been there each day and traffic seems to flow a little better. I was feeling I might not be able to endure this endless tension of fearing possible harassment by the police as well as bad guys. Getting up and getting going was getting hard as was sleeping.

My concerns felt like Elder Quentin L. Cook's phrase he used in a Conference talk, "I hope ya know we had a hard time". I prayed mightily explaining to Heavenly Father that this fear was making it impossible for me to function and I couldn't see myself surviving for eighteen months. I also asked that my answer not be another trial to see if I could handle it, but just some indication that I might be shown something to help. Monday when we left the office around 5:00 PM we drove to the "dreaded intersection" and stopped well before the stop sign and one of the officers waved us forward, then motioned us to pull over to the right side of the road. Oh no - not more of what I was dreading. Mark rolled down the window and the officer said something to him in French and Mark yelled, "Oh NO".

Well, that is enough to make one's heart stop. He turned to me and said the officer informed him that his back left tire was FLAT, I mean FLAT. The officer stopped the rest of the traffic going the same direction, made a space for Mark to pull off the road and we were surrounded by four police and several other bystanders. I don't know if they asked if they could help and I didn't understand or if they all left their "duties" and started to change the tire. They would not let me do anything, anyway what do I know about changing a tire on a car let alone on a Toyota truck? Mark called the mission office to talk to someone about where to find the spare tire and how were we to get it on. No one answered, so he called Frère Didier, our "boss". Mark handed his phone to one of the policeman (something we have been told not to do) and Didier explained how to get the tire off, where to find the jack, etc., etc. All these police and bystanders pitched in and changed the tire, not an easy task anywhere but really not easy here. They would not allow Mark to help, no they said, they would take care of it. A half hour later we were back on the road again with police help getting back into the flow of traffic. As one of the bystanders completed the tightening of the bolts, another policeman wearing a different uniform who had stood by and watched most of the time, checked to make sure they were tight. We got out all our Congolese francs and willingly paid each one a little something, and believe me it was little.

It appears that the man that did the most work, lying down in the road, checking all steps taken came out of a shop that serviced heavy equipment. By the time the flat tire was replaced, Mark had learned all the names of the policemen and policewoman. As we drove away, I started to cry, which startled Mark a bit. When I was able to talk, I explained to him what I had prayed for that very morning and as I watched them rally to our aid, I knew that it was an answer to my prayer, a peace I have not felt since arriving here. I am not naive enough to believe that nothing challenging will happen the next 17 months, but I think my anxiety level has been reduced measurably. It even looks and feels different now.

Now how can we get someone to mount the repaired tire back under the bed of the truck?

We have had a busy week in the office with new loans to process, a partition built for Frère Didier to have some privacy to interview applicants, a party to celebrate our 100% contacting loan recipients that are behind on their payments, and one of our volunteers - Boris - getting a job with USAID (the office that occupies the first three floors of the building where we live). 

Mark is becoming acquainted with a lot of this city as he drives Frère Didier to banks, the Temporal Affairs office, schools to pay tuition for our PEF applicants, and more banks.

I finished some sewing and altering. There is a Singer sewing machine that passes around the mission couples, works well, but it is not my Bernina. I had to take in Mark's pants; he is losing some weight. I hesitated, because we are finding ways to add variety to our diet. We buy eggs from a member and they deliver them to the mission office where we pick them up. We found some Quaker Old Fashioned Oats today, so we can get a little more fiber. We purchased dry beans from the public outdoor market where the vendors go to get stuff to sell in their little shops or on the street. Elder and Sister Moon are humanitarian missionaries and go out near this public market and can buy stuff, but it is in bulk. They buy 100 pounds of flour ground to their own specifications and are willing to sell us some of that. We used this flour to make tortillas. We asked them if they could buy peanuts there and they said yes, so we should have some of those soon.

We are sending some money with the Bybees, who "have to go" to South Africa for a meeting of the Public Affairs Missionaries from our region. We want them to buy some nuts like walnuts, pecans, hazelnuts and almonds. Mark had some problems with an infection, but now with the help of Sister Bybee's essential oils, he is much better. 

Mark's task today, Saturday P-day, was to clean the floors - first sweeping then wet mopping. 

The water as it comes out of the tap. Mark's Crocs are floating awaiting cleaning.

We fill the tub with water because it is the only hot water in the place. The pictures tell an interesting story, the first is what it looks like straight from the tap and what it looks like after scrubbing the floor. The first is scary enough, but the floors are seldom free from the fine dirt that seems to get inside no matter that the windows and doors are shut all the time. 

The water after mopping the floor.