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E8. MOZAMBIQUE AND RIVONI MINISTRIES

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THE DONKEY CART EXPRESS, CHINHACANINE, CERTIFICATES AND ILLNESS

When my fellow workers and I travelled by bicycle from village to village to take the Gospel to the residents, I gained practical experience of the difficulties encountered when using such transport. Your first problem was that you could take along very, very few articles and our travelling evangelist, Titus, had to take spare radios, CD-players and power supplies to replace faulty ones at the outposts he visited. Secondly, he could do with a bit of privacy while ministering at a village. To the locals, huts are just for sleeping and to store your most valuable belongings in, but during the day you live out in the open, either working or sitting in the shade of a tree. The evangelist, however, needs a private quiet place where he can study the Word, pray and prepare his messages for the meetings.

During the preceding months we had also learned a very costly lesson in trying to provide Titus with a motor vehicle but there were several obstacles to overcome. He had tried in vain for months on end to get a drivers licence. Secondly we would have had to pay a rather prohibitive amount on customs duty to import it into Mozambique. There were also other reasons to consider, one of them being that few people in Mozambique had grown up with motor vehicles and if even a small thing was to go wrong out there in the bush, no one would be able to fix it for Titus temporarily, so as to enable him to make it back to Chokwe. That meant that he would be stuck there for some weeks till I could possibly tow him in.

A motorcar trailer was converted into a donkey cart

Gradually I came to the conclusion that a donkey cart would actually suit his need much better, and set about converting my flatbed trailer for this purpose. I also built a frame onto it that would allow him to stand upright inside.

This I covered with a factory-made PVC canopy, covered the floor from side to side with expensive carpet off cuts, equipped it with harnesses for two donkeys, a solar panel, caravan battery, electric light with extension cord, water containers, plastic table, etc., and towed it to Mafada.

There we negotiated to buy two donkeys at an exorbitant price. It took at least three days to try out the different animals offered to us. At one stage the owner was convinced that his two youngest animals would suit us best, but one of them had not been trained. So they roped it in, tied its hind legs together, flipped it over onto its side and tied its right front hoof behind its ear. A wooden peg was cut, disinfected by rubbing it in the donkey’s droppings and then used to pierce the membrane within the animal’s nose, between the two nostrils. A strong rope was threaded through the hole and tied behind its neck, leaving a long piece free with which to control it. When released, the donkey staggered to its feet somewhat dazed but was none the worse for the rough handling and very soon started grazing.

At last we settled on two older, partially trained animals and set out to harness them in front of the cart. The fancy harnesses we had bought, were a mystery to use. They even had a tailpiece, but every time I tried to pull the animal’s tail through it, it would lift up a hind leg and lash out at me for being so insensitive to its sense of decency while its brothers, sisters, father and mother standing nearby, lifted their upper lips exposing huge intimidating teeth, suck in the burning hot air, and then in unison, let rip with long drawn out, mournful, heart-rending brays in support of their afflicted comrade.

The donkey cart express ready for service.

However, we were determined to accomplish our purpose, and finally got the animals into position and set off on a trial run along the narrow track winding through the bush.

It did not go too badly at all and so we paid the owner and set off for Bala Vala, some 20 kilometers distant, for we wanted Titus to be off on his own in order that we might be able to devote our time to other matters before returning home. For the first few kilos the donkey express proceeded at a good pace, but then the so-called dumb animals somehow became aware that they were leaving familiar territory and every fifty yards or so, would just suddenly veer off the road into the veldt and thrust their heads right into a nearby bush. After a lot of coaxing they would then be persuaded to continue on their journey, but after fifty yards or so, having quietly conferred with one another, would change tactics and slow down to a death march pace, with heads hanging and ears drooping.

At this stage Martie decided that our dilemma presented an opportunity for her daily rapid walk, so she put on her running shoes and got going. Very soon she disappeared around the first bend and then the next, while we fought our own battle with the two stubborn animals. After some 10 km, my patience ran out, so I pulled up with the pickup right in front of the procession, hitched a rope to the cart’s draft shaft, got back into the vehicle and set off at about 12 kilometres an hour. This worked excellently. Our reluctant, long-eared co-workers were now trapped between a pulling and a pushing vehicle and moved ever so smoothly. Very soon we entered into Bala Vala causing much mirth amongst the locals.

Titus, however, could not be abandoned to cope on his own and so our other evangelist, Boavida Baloi, graciously agreed to accompany him for a week, travelling from one outpost to the next so as to get the donkeys properly trained and settled into their new routine. On returning to me, he reported that everything was now going “donkey-dory”.

One of the brothers in our congregation, on hearing about the donkey cart, was so impressed by our practical solution that he reimbursed us for the expenses we had in building it. Praise the Lord for these and other similar gifts prompted by God’s love.

(By the way, there are so many small hidden miracles recorded in the Bible. While sweating it out with these creatures, I just got to wonder how the Lord Jesus managed to get onto the back of an untrained donkey and ride uneventfully into Jerusalem with thousands of cheering people all around, running up in front of the animal and laying down their robes for it to walk on. (Matt. 21:2-5) Our two animals would have freaked out in such a situation.)

Just after this episode, the Lord also provided us with another type of vehicle. This happened when, on returning to Phalaborwa, we were unexpectedly requested to attend our Congregation’s Missions weekend in Pretoria. Preparations had to be made in a rush, but we managed to do so and what a blessed time it was. While chatting to our Senior Pastor, he suddenly sensed that the Lord was telling him to donate the Church’s off-road trailer to us and, after consultation with his steering committee, he did so. The next morning we had a tow bar fitted to our little VW Fox and by 3 pm that afternoon, we were back in Phalaborwa.

Our assets were growing and so also our staff numbers. Another African brother joined us. He was computer literate and could speak English, Portuguese and Shangaan. We now had four full-time evangelists which meant that their numbers had quadrupled in nine months. The Rivonis and their assistants were by then serving sixteen outposts. It brought us joy but also caused apprehension because of the increased responsibilities.

Camping with the Rivoni Team on the banks of the Limpopo and praying about a site to establish our headquarters.

On Sunday the 7 January 2007, we were back in Mozambique and spent the next day pitching camp. As from Tuesday, we and our four co-workers met as a group, three times a day. Our theme was: “The Rising Kingdom of God.” Apart from reporting on, and praying for the different fields of service, we ran workshops, simulating the cell meetings at the outposts, gaining valuable ideas on how the Rivonis (many of whom were unable to read or write) could make the meetings more interesting and expand their flocks. After that I sat down with every worker, reading their reports, giving advice and praying for them.

Also on the agenda, was to obtain a site where we could set up some structures to gather for staff meetings. The site where we were camping, was offered to us by a local church. It was in the district of Chinhacanine on the banks of the Limpopo River and offered a breathtaking view of the valley below, but proved to be most painful to the flesh. The sun had not even set on that first evening, when we suffered a massive mosquito attack, similar to the air raids on London during the Second World War. This midget air force thirsted for blood and scored hits accurately and unceasingly. Within minutes our arms, legs, backs and faces were aflame. We could hardly eat our food since both our hands were moving in a flurry to ward off this vicious attack. Conversation froze and all you heard was “whap, whap, whap, whap, whap!” Six pairs of human eyes were focused accusingly on me with two unspoken, burning questions: “Where have you brought us?” and “Are we to endure this for several days?”

Of one thing I had become thoroughly convinced during the years of my pilgrimage, and that was that God always had a way out. So the next day Martie and I pitched our spacious tent, protected by mosquito netting, near to the gazebo and after an early evening meal, we all lined up in front of the tent. At a given moment we opened the zip, piled in hurriedly, closed it tightly, used a can of “Doom” to kill all the infiltrators and then proceeded with a most blessed evening meeting. God always has an answer to every problem. After the meeting Martie and I retired to the back of the pickup where we normally slept, and our co-workers to the one-man mosquito screened tents we had provided for them.

However, the question still remained: “What are you going to do about the site?” Well I passed this question on to the Lord. Two days later, as I visited the pastor who had offered us the “mosquito” site, I saw that there was quite a large piece of ground adjoining his home and on enquiring about it, he said that we could have it. It measured 70 by 40 metres, suited our needs, was well above the Limpopo River flood level and relatively free of mosquitoes. When I took the team to see it, I immediately got a unanimous: “Yes, Yes, Yes, Hallelujah, Praise the Lord! So let it be written, so let it be done.” What remained was completing the paper work with the Government and provide some sort of structure for our use.

The highlight of that tour, probably was the visit to Matitze. Brother Baloi had been a Rovoni there for at least a year before he was appointed as a full-time supervisor of the Mabalane area. During that period he had provided a discipleship course, leading many people through a series of teachings covering the Old Testament. During our previous visit, we had supplied him with a list of 100 questions on those teachings, so formulated that they not only tested the student’s Bible knowledge, but also whether he had indeed accepted our Lord Jesus Christ as Saviour. Brother Baloi and another examiner examined his little flock (an oral exam since almost none of them was able to read and write) and what do you know, fourteen of them passed the test with results ranging from 67% to 91%.

Rivoni’s first group of students to pass a set examn and receive certificates. This was st Matidze under Br Boavida Baloi.

During a little “graduation ceremony” we presented each student with a beautiful certificate. Glory! This is what it was all about: not just the lifting of a hand to indicate a decision for Christ, but the testing of a person’s life over a period of time to determine whether he or she had really entered into the New Life in Christ. Hallelujah! This was the tangible fruit of our supporters’ financial and spiritual investment. Of course there were many more over the hundreds of square kilometres where we were operating that had found the Lord, but these were the first ones to be properly tested and actually to receive certificates.

The success of this Ministry brought joy in heaven but also aroused the chagrin of the devil for he saw that his kingdom was being threatened and decided to attack. The night we got back from Mozambique, I suddenly fell ill with a stomach ailment. Within a short spell of time I was in a kind of coma and afterwards remembered almost nothing about that night except that I had so much pain that I pleaded with the Lord to take me home. Martie sponged me down to keep my temperature down for it was persistently rising to 40˚C. The next morning she enlisted the help of a friend and a local pastor who carried me to a car and got me to hospital. There our wonderful Christian medical doctor managed to overcome the affliction gradually and got me onto the road to recovery. I had lost track of time and of the day of the week. All I remembered was the pain that caused me to crawl all over my bed. Recovery took time during which I could just slowly put one foot ahead of the other and even drove around town at 15 km per hour. Poor Martie also fell ill but by that time the laboratory test had identified the germ responsible for my sickness and so she could receive the correct treatment right from the start and recovered quickly. I thanked Martie for saving my life and we both thanked the Lord for healing yet another of our ailments (Ps 103:3 “Who forgives all your iniquities, Who heals all your diseases.”)

I must admit that my spirit was a bit low after that, the fourth severe blow to my health, and I was sort of waiting for the Lord to send a shining angel down from heaven to uplift me, but then, one morning, the blessed Holy Spirit spoke to me, saying: “The pit of despair has only one escape route and that is the ladder of faith. You either use it, or remain down there in darkness, wading around in the murky water of your own self pity.” I then laid hold of the rungs of praise and worship, looked up to the heavenly light above and started climbing by faith, and very soon I was at least peering over the brim, ready to continue with our ministry.

THANK YOU BLESSED HOLY SPIRIT FOR INFUSING THE FAITH OF OUR LORD JESUS INTO OUR HEARTS!

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E7. MOZAMBIQUE AND RIVONI MINISTRIES

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MORE MOZAMBIQUE TRIPS AND OUR WEST COAST TOUR

Back home we set about preparing new and better equipment for the Rivonis. I wrote 31 messages, covering the old Testament, had them translated and preached in Shangaan by our radio programme preacher, pastor Bila, then copied them onto 70 CDs. Seven sets of equipment were assembled, each set consisting of a rucksack, CD player, shortwave radio, eight flip chart picture books, a power pack consisting of a 12 volt battery and three different protector/transformer units, a pocket for the CD’s and a solar panel to charge the battery.

By 23 May, we had all of these ready and once more set out for Mozambique. We travelled to seven different outposts to deliver the new equipment and train the Rivonis in using it. They were delighted and we were amazed at the ease with which they learned to operate the various items.

We also visited all the outposts that we had been unable to visit during our previous trip because of the heavy rains. Some meetings were held to win the lost and enrich the saved. The listeners were blessed and so were we.

Christians are the most privileged of all salesmen for they have superb products to sell: the glorious Gospel of Salvation. Every “Sales Promotion” is presented with conviction and joy, for we are absolutely convinced that everyone that buys it, will enjoy an unbeatable bargain. “Exchange your old rusty, battered, dirty, smoky, scrap car for a brand new everlasting, all powerful limousine, FREE OF CHARGE.” That is basically what the offer would sound like when applied to physical objects. No losers; only winners.

During this venture into Mozambique, a young lady by the name of Pita Mutuassa joined us in Chokwe and accompanied us wherever we went. She had already completed a three-year Bible School course and apart from being fluent in Shangaan and Portuguese, also spoke English, which to us, was very, very useful since she could interpret for us. She was interested in joining our Mission.

After some three weeks, this trip was concluded and again we were satisfied that it had been a great success and that the work in Mozambique was progressing very well.

Back home, we discovered how tired we were. We had moved from the Dorothea Mission into the founding of Rivoni Ministries without a break and had faced many trials during the previous seven months, so we decided to go on holiday as from the 5th June (2006). It would, however, not only be a holiday, for we intended to develop more sources of income for the rapidly expanding work.

Carefully negotiating our way in the Richtersveldt.

Sunrise at the Orange River in the Richtersveldt.

Spending time with God next to the Orange River in the Richtersveldt.

During the following four weeks we had much more time travelling than resting. Places we visited along the West Coast were the Richtersveld, Alexander Bay, Port Nolloth, Hondeklip Bay, Papendorp, Strandfontein, Doring Bay, Lamberts Bay, Elands Bay, St Helena Bay and Saldanha Bay. In total we covered 6700 km with the pickup and caravan and used up so much of our country’s fuel that the petrol price was raised twice during the course of our tour. (Just joking.) Although we were a bit exhausted at times, we enjoyed every moment, saw the exhilarating beauty of the West Coast, inhaled its clean, crisp air, met wonderful openhearted, friendly, interesting people and experienced our Lord’s presence all the way.

Chatting to the Brown (Coloured) people always lifted our spirits. At Port Nolloth from where marine deposits of diamonds are mined, I spoke to a young man waiting for his father’s fishing boat to return, and remarked: “I will pick up a diamond and not even know what I am holding in my hand.” “Nay masta,” he replied excitedly, “you will know immediately. It’s love at first sight.” Bless the Lord for creating different kinds of people so that we may love and enjoy one another.

The trip was also a success as far as our purpose to secure business was concerned, business that would render funds, both for ourselves and to further the work of the Rivoni Mission,. We sowed seeds both in St. Helena Bay and in Pretoria which, we trusted, would show good returns.

Let me recall two highlights of the tour. The first was in the Richtersveld, a partially mountain desert and the rest a semi-desert, tucked away in the north-western corner of South Africa. There is some diamond mining activity whereby a few people derive an income, but many of the inhabitants are nomadic goatherds.

A “Matjieshut” in the Richterveldt.

They erect shelters called “Matjieshutte” (huts consisting of lattice work covered with grass mats).

The Cloetes dwelling place in the Richtersveldt expanse.

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One day, Martie and I went in search of a typical Richtersveld family. We passed through a little village called “Lekkersing” (Joyful Singing), then headed for the remote areas. After a while we spotted a man herding his “Red headed goats” and tracked him to his dwelling. His name was “Draaier” (Turner) Cloete and he and his wife, who was then doing their washing, welcomed us enthusiastically.

The Cloete family at peace in the shade of their livingroom/bedroom.

The inside of their kitchen/cooking shelter.

While we dished out all the sweets, cool drinks and cookies we had with us, he told us about their lifestyle and children, one of whom was a deaf mute.

The patriarch, Draaier Cloete.

At last we had the opportunity of quietly sharing the Gospel with them. It was clear that they had never heard it before and listened so attentively that I was tempted to ask them to accept the Lord right there, but then felt that it might be better to allow the Holy Spirit more time to prepare their hearts. As we left, I pressed a R50.00 note into his hand. He looked at it and tears coursed all the way down his dusty cheeks as he accompanied us back to our vehicle.

Oh what a blessing it is to be a blessing to others. We drove back home, wiping tears from our own eyes. A holiday was turned into a holy day by our precious, loving Lord. Back home at our Port Nolloth base, we managed to procure a used Bible and a few tracts and posted these to people at an address in Lekkersing, people whom the Cloetes knew, to deliver to Draaier and his wife. We enclosed a stamped envelope and after some time received a letter in Draaier’s scribbled handwriting, thanking us for the gifts. In reply we sent them some more Gospel literature.

Oh the Gospel, the glorious Gospel. On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross where a lonely Man died for lonely men; died that they might be brought into the warmth and comfort of the greatest family that will ever be, the family of the Almighty God. No longer will they need to scale desert mountains and roam about in arid plains to quench their spiritual thirst, for the Father’s Shepherd Son will lead them to lie down in green pastures beside the still waters.

At Vredendal it was our turn to be spoiled. As we passed through the village, I dropped in at an estate agent’s office. Very soon we discovered that we both knew the Lord. In fact, he was pastoring a small congregation and just would not let us continue on our way but insisted that we spend the night with them. Martie’s first reaction was: “Oh, but what will your wife say if you just turn up with a couple of strangers without consulting her?” But this dear brother was not concerned at all, for it was not the first time he had shown hospitality to strangers as Abraham and Lot did. What a glorious evening we had. After a hearty meal, we just remained sitting around the table, giving testimony of how the Lord had saved us, filled us with His Spirit and thrust us forth into his harvest field. Apparently, although he had had very godly parents, he also had totally different ideas of enjoying life and the Lord had a hard time in bringing him to his knees at the cross of Christ. But now both the agent and his wife delighted themselves in Him and knew how to deal tactfully with the wayward ones. We were not even allowed to sleep in our caravan, but slept in one of their bedrooms. The next morning we both went our separate ways until one day we meet again in our communal home in heaven.

Before we went on holiday, we had requested pastor Bila, our radio preacher, to hold a campaign on our behalf in the Mabalane district, so while we were away, he, his wife and Pita Mutuassa, went there and notwithstanding unexpected cold and windy weather, were able to hold campaigns at three villages, namely Fukwe, Tsokati and Chinhequete. Since there were no buildings to gather in, all the meetings including those held at night, were held in the open air. Most of the time their accommodation also, was very basic and they ended up with flu and throat infection. Later on their voices were so hoarse that they could hardly preach, but God worked wonderfully and at each place souls were saved as 100 to 200 grown-ups attended each meeting. They begged pastor Bila to stay longer, but of course he had to move on. However, shortly afterwards we opened an outpost at Tsokati and a little later also one at Chinhequete.

At Mabalane he was invited to preach in the prison to some 800 men. “Although prisoners are often not interested in the Gospel and are noisy during meetings, these people were so quiet, listened attentively and many accepted the Lord,” is what he reported after this outreach. He also held an evening meeting at Mabalane, the major town in that area. People from all the different church denominations gathered and they had a very blessed time. In each of these places there were Christians who expressed their desire to be appointed as Rivonis and be equipped with “Gospel Kits” in order that they might be able to bring the Gospel to their people.

Both pastor Bila and his wife also reported that Pita Mutuassa was a real warrior of the Cross, able to take a stand amongst men in the ministry and that she had remained in the Mabalane area to visit another couple of places on her own. This was good news, for as the opportunities for opening up more outposts arose, the need for well-trained workers increased.

On noticing how this Ministry was blossoming, how it had grown in the space of seven months, I asked myself the question: “Can old people be cloned,” for I realised that Martie and I would need lots of grace to cope with all the new developments, keeping everything going both at the office and equipment workshop in Phalaborwa as well as out there in the field.

During September we undertook another trip into Mozambique to guide and train our co-workers. This was a training session of quite a different kind. It all started when I began to realize that Titus was becoming discouraged since he was working all on his own, under very exacting circumstances, travelling by bicycle from one village to the next.

Since I had not taken over the work in Mozambique from someone else, but pioneered it myself, I had only the Bible as a guideline on how to accomplish my task. As I studied the Word, I was impressed by the way Jesus tackled His task. He and the people He was training to become fishers of men, seem to have taken with them only the clothes they were wearing. They walked through the land, sometimes covering vast distances, preaching the Gospel, healing the sick and often sleeping out in the open. For accommodation and food, they trusted their heavenly Father. His disciples did not complete application forms to join His team, they had never been to a Bible School, they did not even possess Bibles, they had only heard His call: “Follow Me and I will make you fishers of men”. As they walked, He taught them all the principles of the Kingdom. He Himself was their living Bible. He taught both by word of mouth and by example, shaping and forming their characters and, you know what? Within three short years, He left behind eleven of them to evangelize the whole world, while He took up His position next to the throne of the Father to pray for them. What a Bible school! What a challenge!

Since the lifestyle of the people to whom we were ministering in Mozambique, was very similar to that of the rural people in the days of our Lord Jesus, I felt that I would do well to follow the Lord’s example in training workers for the ministry. So I accepted the challenge of leading them in going from village to village, ministering to the people we would meet on the way. The only difference was that we would not be walking but using bicycles because that was the way our Rivonis travelled to reach the more distant classes. There were obstacles: Titus, for one, was unable to walk for more than a few hundred metres due to a deformity of his legs, but could cycle for long distances. Sister Pita again, was unable to cycle at all, but was strong in body and spirit and able to walk. The fourth member of the team was a Rivoni by the name of Boavida Baloi, also strong in body, fluent in English, and always bubbling over with the joy of the Lord.

So we left the pickup at a village called Bala-Vala and set off on our journey on 5 September 2006. For the next ten days we travelled by bicycle to five different villages. We had to plod through thick sand at least fifty percent of the way. One day, sister Pita had to push her bicycle with its heavy load for ten kilometres. How I pitied her. But she plodded on valiantly and reached our destination unassisted. The bicycles, new ones, sometimes broke down. Some of the people with whom we stayed overnight, were so poor that they could only put before us “stywe pap” (porridge) and water. Others added a small dish of beans to dip the porridge in to give it some flavour. At two villages, goats were slaughtered on our behalf and apart from the meat, we were treated to the intestines and especially to the heads of the animals. Water was very scarce, and when obtainable, was procured from marshy areas where the cattle waded deep into the water to drink. Its colour was mostly yellow. I took pills with me to disinfect the drinking water but the other team members were accustomed to it. Once we were presented with mahewu (sour porridge in liquid form). My stomach reacted violently, then accepted the inevitable.

We went as far as the third village but then decided not to go to the last one because of the long distance we would have to travel, that would have been very hard on Pita, because she could not cycle properly and had to push her bicycle most of the way. Baloi and I then cycled back to Bala-Vala to collect the bakkie and returned to pick up the rest of the team. Though we could not complete our journey, we had had a good taste of what our Lord endured for us on His way to the cross.

We learned important lessons during this journey and together devised a plan of action which our travelling evangelists could follow when they would, in their turn, go from village to village to visit our Rivonis. The Lord just planned every day for us. There was of course no cell phone reception in those areas, but we used our phones as alarm clocks to raise us at 5 a.m. We would then have our quiet times individually, wash our faces and brush our teeth, if water was available, and meet as a team at 06:45 for Bible study, worship and prayer. This was a most enjoyable time and we learned much as we studied the life of our Lord Jesus. By 08:15 our hosts would have something ready for us to eat, and after that we would have a morning meeting with the villagers that would last till 10:30.

Then we met with the local Rivoni and the head of the village and would draw a map of the village and its surroundings, divide it into 4 quarters and plot the homes on the map so that proper house visitation could be carried out in future. During lengthy discussions, useful information on the people of the village was obtained. Sometimes some of us would take the bicycles and visit remote spots. Most of the time the people were delighted to see us and we always had the opportunity to share the Gospel.

On our return, in the late afternoons, we were provided with a basin of warm water and would enjoy a nice wash. By that time it would be dark and, if no lantern was available, a bonfire was lit for the evening meeting. Every now and then a group of people would just materialize from the surrounding darkness. Then the meeting would begin with much singing. In the beginning we drew up a program for these meetings, but later on trusted the Holy Spirit to lead each one of us in what to do, be it in preaching, leading, giving a testimony, giving a message for the believers or unbelievers or whatever. Never once was there a duplication or were we in need of someone to fulfil a certain function. The power of the Spirit was always present and we spoke with great liberty and authority and there was always a strong response to the Word. After the meetings we were offered some food and then flopped down onto the sleeping mats. I had the privilege of a sleeping bag and a small tent but paid a heavy price in carrying the additional weight on my bicycle.

We were really going through the country the Jesus way. The Lord daily taught us in a very practical way how to conduct such outreaches and I am delighted at what was accomplished during a very short time. Titus too, was much encouraged and expressed his appreciation again and again.

It was during this journey that I came to the deep conviction that a leader was to lead and train by example and had to spend as much time as possible with his students, both day and night, and I decided henceforth to visit Mozambique every month.

On returning to Chokwe, I picked up evangelist Fred and together with Baloi, set off for Mabalane, following the course of the Limpopo river. I had bought a bottom-of-the range Garmin GPS and we recorded the co-ordinates of all the little villages we passed through. This was done to enable us to map the places where we intended to establish future outposts.

At Mabalane we visited a newly established medium wave radio station, Radio Limpopo, giving the staff twenty radio programs, free of charge, to broadcast as they wished. Then we continued our journey further north and only turned back when darkness stopped us. In that area I was once surrounded by a group of about 100 children and youngsters. Baloi later told me that the reason they stared at me like that was that they had never seen a White man before.

We left Baloi at Mabalane to return to his home at Matitse while Fred and I returned to Chokwe by means of the main road which, as usual, took its toll on the poor pickup. With about 35 kilos to go to get to the tar road, the left torsion bar snapped at its front end and ploughed into the ground, which left us with no suspension on the left front wheel. After some fumbling in the dark I managed to tie the bar to the chassis with pieces of rope. It then took us three to four hours to get to Chokwe. The next morning, I was led to a backyard mechanic who had an angle grinder. After scouting around for some time in the area, he got hold of a cutting disc and cut off the dangling bar. He then cut a piece of angle iron and welded it in between the chassis and the control arm to immobilize the up and down movement of the left front wheel and keep the vehicle in a more or less level position. By God’s grace I managed to travel like that all the way along that bad dirt road through the Limpopo Park, then through the Kruger National Park and finally got safely back home. Of course I was sick again with flu and dysentery, but that was normal for me on returning from the Rivoni outposts and, since the Lord had healed me before, I trusted him to do so again.

The mechanic that normally repaired my vehicles at Phalaborwa, marvelled at the ingenuity of the Mozambican mechanic who had immobilized the broken suspension. However I realised that I would have to think of buying another vehicle for the pickup had by then, for the third time, developed rather serious problems. On three previous occasions I had to have the chassis welded because of cracks in the metal.

People sometimes asked Martie and me why we were doing these things? Adventure? Excitement? Neither. The love of God compelled and impelled us, thrusting us forward: love for our wonderful, glorious Saviour and love for those that live way out there and do not know Him as a personal Friend. How we desired to love Him more and more until all the other things in life become pale, dim and insignificant.

BLESS HIS HOLY NAME!

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E6. MOZAMBIQUE AND RIVONI MINISTRIES

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FIRST TRIP FROM PHALABORWA INTO MOZAMBIQUE

Having established our base at Phalaborwa and forwarded a sufficient supply of radio programs to Trans World Radio, we were now eager to set foot in Mozambique.

At the last moment the Lord miraculously provided for a middle-aged bachelor to stay in our home and look after the animals. This afforded Martie the opportunity of joining the team which then consisted of me, Martie and tannie (auntie) Faith Amos, a woman somewhat older than me. She had been a missionary for most of her lifetime and was fluent in Shangaan. Our pickup groaned under its load of pots, pans, gas bottles, food supplies for 5 people for 14 days, electronic equipment, 160 litres of drinking water, a small tent, folding chairs and 14 bags each of maize meal and sugar which we would give to the Rivonis as a small token of appreciation for the work they were doing,

Giriyondo borderpost

We took the new route through the Phalaborwa gate of the Kruger National Park, up to the Giriyondo border post and from there through Massingir down to Chokwe. There we met with Titus, our Rivoni supervisor and an interpreter ready to accompany us.

The next morning we bought bread and vegetables and set off. After some 30 km we crossed the Limpopo River which was in full flood and quite a sight to see. Soon afterwards, at Chinhacanine, we turned inland in a north-easterly direction. The “road” seemed to be in a fair condition and we were looking forward to an uneventful quiet drive through the African bush, but very soon realized that this was not to be. It had been raining heavily for days, if not weeks on end (February is the rainy season for that area) and the earth was drenched. Over the years, vehicles travelling that way during rainy weather, caused shallow pools of 5 to 20 meters in diameter to develop and above the drone of the engine, all you heard was the continual swish of water as the pickup ploughed through an unending chain of these. But this was not too bad since the soil consisted mostly of sand and there was little risk of getting stuck.

When we reached the road that veered off towards Mafada, one of the outposts we were to visit, the going got tougher. Mozambique is a very flat country and when it rains, the water just settles down where it falls, causing huge swamps to develop. When we encountered the first of these, I took off my shoes, rolled up my trousers and walked through to the other side to determine whether we would make it. We managed to get through and I repeated the routine a couple of times but then we came to lakes of water too deep and unpredictable to risk going through. All we could do was to veer off into the adjoining bush, cut down the underbrush, cast a rope over some obstructing branches, pull them aside for the vehicle to pass through and so we managed to continue on our way.

Tannie Faith Amos aged 70 directing us through a patch of water.

Physically our team was not really suited to such a journey. Martie had been to the doctor two days before with a sprained ankle, Tannie Faith, aged 70, was not specifically designed for physical adventures and Titus had a club foot and hobbled along with a walking stick: not exactly an A team for bundu bashing.

But the Fifth Member of our team, or should I say the First, was the Lord, and He saw us through.

At last, through the marshes and arriving at Mafada

With Mafada at last in sight, we encountered a final obstacle, a river from which I had to remove a couple of tree stumps that blocked our way, but then we were through and, with the pickup dripping with muddy water, we drove triumphantly into the little settlement of Mafada.

Within half an hour, the whole village had gathered, including the chief, who informed me that they were now ready to hear the Word of God. Like a good housewife with a pantry stocked with all sorts of edibles, I was able to scramble together a meal from the fruit of my Bible studies and feed the hungry hearts.

The next day we wanted to get to another outpost called Gumbane. To get there we had to backtrack most of the way for the direct tracks were inaccessible. Having travelled a considerable distance, the road just disappeared into a lake. Titus consulted with some people living nearby and they said that there was a footpath circumventing the marsh land which we could try. And so we did, driving astride the footpath (to protect the sump) with both wheels ploughing through long grass and underbrush. We carried on for many kilometres until we eventually reached the tracks leading to Gumbane (the Lord keeping His hands over our tyres).

The following morning we faced the worst section: from Gumbane to Bala-Vala. Titus and I felt that we just could not return along the way we had come, more so because our petrol supply was running low and so we decided to take the direct road. The catch however was that there was a river ahead which we would not be able to cross, or so we were told. After consulting with one another, we decided to go up to the river, see what it was like and if it proved to be impossible to cross, then take the roundabout route. And so we went. Now we encountered true marsh lands. The Portuguese Government had built a road through the marshes by lifting it about a metre above the surrounding area, but since they had fled the country, the double track road had collapsed so that the rear wheels of our vehicle every now and then slipped sideways off the road. Where the road had completely washed away, we had to find our way through dongas.

Having travelled some distance, we encountered a couple of women wading through knee deep water and asked them whether they had seen any other vehicle passing that way. “Only a tractor,” they replied. We carried on and on, realizing that we would no longer be able to turn back and still there was no sign of the river. By that time, both Titus and I had become very quiet. Martie and Faith, of course, were in the back of the pickup. Martie was taking video pictures through a small rear window and Faith was singing a chorus: “He’ll see us through, He’ll see us through.” The marshland got worse and worse, but still no river. I prayed “Lord You moved a million Jews through the Red Sea and more of them through the Jordan that was overflowing its banks, You will know how to get us through this sea.” With water sometimes reaching up to the bonnet and the river we had been cautioned about supposedly still ahead, I wondered whether He was going to divide the waters, or just pick us up and drop us on the other side.

Then, when we were on the point of despair, the bottom underneath the sea of water seemed to lift, gradually at first, then more rapidly and the next moment we rolled into the little village of Bala-Vala. And the river? It seems that the people that had cautioned us about it, had seen the masses of water flowing in one direction, and, for a lack of vocabulary, described it to us as a river. But it was not what we would call a river with steep banks on both sides, and we had actually for quite some distance been crossing through the bed of this “river.” Titus’s face beamed, white teeth flashing and I heaved a long sigh of relief. What happened to the tractor? We do not know, but it never arrived at Bala-Vala. There are many more stories to be told about the hazards of this journey, but let me rather say something about the work done by the Rivonis.

Many meeting were held at night. Sometimes a bonfire would be the only means of providing light.

As we visited one outpost after another, we had mixed feelings in this regard. At some places the work had partially or even totally collapsed, one of the main reasons being the breakdown of the equipment. The cranking handles of the dynamo operated radios tended to snap very easily and the electronics of the cassette players somehow just failed. For a Rivoni to get a message through to Titus who might be out in the bush on his itinerary, might take anything from three to seven weeks. He would then have to let me know and I would order the equipment and have to find someone going down that way to take it to Chokwe, since the postal service was undependable. Titus would then, on his return to Chokwe, have to find a way of sending the item to the outpost where it was required. It might therefore take two to six months to replace faulty equipment. In the meantime some of the Rivonis borrowed tape recorders and radios from neighbours and bought batteries using their own money, just to be able to continue with the work.

The Rivonis themselves, also sometimes underperformed for various reasons. At Gumbane we found that the Rivoni had taken his wife to Johannesburg (in South Africa) two months earlier for an operation. The operation had been successful but the husband then had to take up temporary employment there to earn some money to pay for their return journey. His assistant was taking care of the work in the meantime but was not coping very well. The prolonged drought (preceding the devastating rains) resulted in famine which caused another Rivoni to leave his home and take up employment in South Africa. In one or two cases, the Rivonis had just lost their motivation and were no longer giving of their best.

The huge trees provided ample shade for sizeable meetings.

But there also was an up side. At places like Bala-Vala, 7de Abril, Tomanini, Chinhacanine, Ndonga and Matitze, we found strong groups of Christians gathering two to three times per week to listen to the tapes and radio messages and to worship and pray together. A certain Rivoni called Carlotti, used her own money to hire somebody to till her field of maize, to allow her more freedom to reach out to her people. She also enquired whether we would be willing to buy her a bicycle so that she could cycle to the more distant villages. Yes, there were those that had a burning zeal to uplift the Name of our Lord Jesus Christ and did it at great personal sacrifice.

Our visit meant a great deal, both to the Rivonis and to the residents, for it proved to them that they were not alone but that there were people outside of their secluded world, praying and caring for them. Time and again people told us: “You are the only White people who ever come out here to visit us. The others just go to the cities and towns.” Wherever we went, we sat down with the Rivonis in their mud plastered houses or in the shade of those beautiful trees, listening to their joys and sorrows, encouraging them and giving practical advice.

Our intention actually was to minister only to them, the Rivonis, to uplift them, but we ended up holding at least one general meeting at every place we visited, for the local people just accepted that that was what we were there for. Sometimes they only arrived at 8.30 pm since they had been working in their fields all day, then had to wash, cook, eat and dress before coming to the meeting. Attendances varied from fifteen to a hundred grown-ups. In one or two places we encountered a very hard and irreverent spirit, but then again, like at Gumbane, 7de Abril and Ndonga, there was a mighty working of the Holy Spirit and people just fell down on their knees to seek God’s forgiveness and salvation.

At Chinhacanine, after holding a night-time meeting, I was so discouraged when no-one responded to the invitation to accept the Lord, that I walked away into the surrounding darkness to pray. There I found large groups of people that had been standing all around, unseen, listening to the message. The next morning several people came to me of their own accord, telling me what impact the message had had upon them. God does not always allow us to see the fruit. At Gumbane we prayed for a saved woman who was continually afflicted by demons. The next morning she testified that she had, for the first time in many years, been able to sleep peacefully.

Praying for the sick.

After every meeting we prayed for the sick and for those having other afflictions. Many of the children had problems with their hearing and eyesight. Then, of course, malaria was forever taking its toll.

The malarial parasite had built up a strong resistance against the pills provided by local clinics. More effective medicine was required, as well as measures to counteract the breeding of the mosquitos.

In total we travelled only 1290 km during that tour but, considering the roads and weather conditions, we had accomplished much.

We also had our share of physical afflictions. Martie continually suffered from her painful sprained ankle, then got sores on her lower lip that were so bad that she could hardly eat, and finally she had diarrhoea. Faith also developed a problem right at the outset and was planning to try and get back to South Africa when the Lord touched her and she recovered.

At our last stop, a beautiful village called Hoyo-Hoyo (which means “Welcome – Welcome”) it was my turn to suffer. Having counselled the Rivoni and local people during the day, Martie and I went to an enclosure to wash ourselves and get ready for the evening meeting. While doing this, I suddenly started feeling cold and even shivered though it was a hot day. Since the enclosure had no roof I thought my discomfort was due to the light breeze. Another two hours went by before the people from the distant villages had arrived and we could hold the meeting. By that time I really felt terrible, with a splitting headache, a high fever, yet shivering from time to time. Since I had already committed myself to bringing the Lord’s message to that community, I could not withdraw and let Titus take over. It had probably been the very first time for a White preacher to visit that village and it would have been a terrible disappointment to the people if I had failed to preach. Somehow I managed to do my duty. The Lord honoured my effort and blessed my words, but at the end of the meeting I just crawled into the back of the bakkie and came to the conclusion that this was it, this was malaria. The only medicine we had with us, were some Disprins.

The community had slaughtered a goat to celebrate the great occasion of our visit and close to midnight, there was a knock on the door of the pickup and there stood the chief as well as the local pastor with beaming faces, inviting me to the feast. It broke my heart to turn down their invitation but my head was spinning and I felt as if I would never see daylight again. This was my first encounter with malaria.

We were now hundreds of kilometres from civilisation and I was very concerned as to how we would get back there, for I just could not let Martie drive the vehicle along those terrible roads and there was no one else to do so. I sent her to caution the rest of the team to be up very early the next morning so that I could try to drive back home before I would be totally overcome by the malaria. Martie and I then bedded down in the back of the pickup.

At daybreak the next morning we set off for Chokwe where, by God’s grace, we found a non- practising medical doctor that provided me with anti-malaria pills and then we made a beeline for home. Somehow I managed to drive back the rest of the way and to bring us all safely back home, a distance of some 417km from Hoyo-Hoyo where I had been brought down by malaria the previous night.

While walking around in our flat on tiled floors, switching on electric lights, a microwave oven, “pure” running water, standing under a shower, I asked: “Lord what were your reasons for causing me to be part of this privileged community while others are having such a hard time over there in Mozambique?” I never received an answer to that question but one thing I knew: if I did not use some of my blessings to bless those across the border, I certainly could not claim to have the heart of Christ.

The pickup had also taken a hammering during our trip and had to go in for repairs. Both the starter and alternator had packed up because of the ongoing baptism in the muddy waters of Mozambique. I was also concerned that water might have penetrated the gearbox and differential.

Reflecting on our experiences in Mozambique, we realised that while we had been in Pretoria, we had underestimated the effort required to make disciples of the people out there in the remote corners of the country. God had known this and caused us to move closer to our field of ministry, so as to be able to work more effectively. We also realised that we would not be able to reach out to new areas as soon as we had hoped to, but would first have to place the present work on a firmer footing.

Spare equipment would have to be ordered and kept at Chokwe to speed up the process of replacing faulty items. Better, more robust equipment would have to be built to limit the breakdown of equipment to a minimum. Titus would have to be provided with some sort of a vehicle to enable him to move around faster and get to the places where he was needed. More training seminars would have to be held for the Rivonis and more than one Rivoni would have to be trained for each outpost so that, if one dropped out, the other could take over. Lastly, in future we would try not to go to Mozambique during the rainy season!

However, under all these pressures we could sing along with sister Faith: “He’ll take us through, He’ll take us through, He’ll take us through!

BLESSED BE THE NAME OF THE LORD!

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E5. MOZAMBIQUE AND RIVONI MINISTRIES

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SETTING UP NEW INFRASTRUCTURE

Our furniture was loaded on Wednesday the 7^th of December and we left the Dorothea Mission premises soon after the truck had left. Martie drove the VW Fox and had the two cages with birds with her. I drove the heavily laden Nissan 4×4, and also towing the caravan in which the two dogs were caged up. We went as far as the Ultra City near Belfast where we parked the vehicles on the premises and slept in the caravan.

The next morning we got up at four and were underway by five. It was a very enjoyable drive with beautiful scenery as we travelled through Dullstroom, Lydenburg and Mica. Arriving at Phalaborwa at 8.30, we found the truck with our furniture parked in the centre of town where it had a broken down, about one km from our new home. We had to while away time till 5.30 pm before our furniture could be offloaded, so we drove around, criss-crossing the streets to get to know our new home town.

Phalaborwa is actually a beautiful medium-sized town with ample shops stocking all the normal household requisites. It had just recently won the prize for being the cleanest town in the RSA. I located the municipal offices, bought an electricity voucher, then returned home and, with the assistance of a neighbour, managed to charge the prepaid electricity meter and eventually got it to admit that we now had 865 units to be used with discretion. Needless to say, Phalaborwa gave us a “warm” welcome of just below 40°C.

The home we managed to obtain, was actually very comfortable and spacious, built within a complex of approximately twenty houses, and called Bataleur Flats. Ours was no 13, this number possibly being the reason why the rent was slightly lower than what could be expected for that area! It was a three-bedroomed house of which two bedrooms would be used for the ministry. How we thanked the Lord for a very lovely home where Martie would be relatively safe, when I went off to Mozambique on my own, leaving her behind.

I sometimes heard people saying that, on moving into a new home, it took them six months to unpack and get settled. Not so with us: we had to settle in within a week or two so as to be able to attend to the ministry. The first audio recording was scheduled for the 3^rd of January. As soon as our furniture was offloaded, we set about ordering our new world. Having moved the heavier pieces of furniture more or less into the right places, I left the unpacking of the boxes mostly to Martie, only helping her to move the heavier ones.

One’s first responsibility is usually to see that the pets are well cared for. To keep our dogs from getting run over by passing vehicles or getting involved with the multitude of similar barking, howling creatures surrounding us, I had to weld extra rods into the full length of the palisade at the rear of our premises.

Having taken care of that, my next priorities were to set up an office, a recording studio and a workshop. We used one bedroom as an office, the second as a studio and the third one as our bedroom. To set up the office was fairly simple, for we had only two desks and a few other items. What took more time, was to open a filing system and put in place all the other paraphernalia that goes with an office, like a telephone, data link, website, etc.

Setting up an audio studio was a different kettle of fish. The two main requirements were that it had to be soundproof and that the internal echo had to be dampened as much as possible. With one loud clap of your hands, you can get a good idea of the extent of internal echo. Since we were only renting the building, and not knowing how long we would be there, we had to come up with very innovative ideas because we had to be careful not to damage the structure and, secondly, we had to use materials that could be removed without much effort for re-use at another location.

So, what we did was to fill the window recess with a couple of layers of soft-board to make the room fairly soundproof. Fortunately we were located in a very quiet area with few noisy vehicles driving by and an occasional small aircraft flying overhead. By closing all the doors and Martie keeping watch over the dogs, the cockatiel and budgies, we experienced just about no disturbance from external sources.

To dampen the echo, we bought a stack of cheap blankets, draped them over the doors of the built-in cupboards and hung them on the walls. The floors were covered with as many carpets as we could lay our hands on. All the pillows and other soft materials we owned, were stored on the bunker bed that was part of our studio’s furniture, but all of these were still insufficient. Since our African radio speakers loved to use the voices the Lord gave them at full volume, the sound still bounced off the hard surfaces of our converted bedroom like a ping-pong ball struck by a cricket bat, resulting in an unacceptably high level of echo. So I built a collapsible desktop cubicle with all its side panels askew to deflect the sound waves and lessen the reverberation effect. Martie upholstered it on the inside with seven layers of carpet underfelt. We then tested the studio and found the quality of the recordings to have improved considerably.

However, with the windows and door tightly shut, ventilation was a nightmare, for we could not even use a fan; it created too much noise. After each recording we had to open the door for a while and ventilate the room properly by means of a powerful fan which we placed in the passage in front of the door opening. When we started recording later on, the Lord made up for the poor structures, by favouring us with a double portion of anointing by his Holy Spirit, so that we had glorious times in that makeshift, bedroom studio.

The third requirement for our ministry, was a workshop where we could build the audio equipment required by the Light Bearers. We used the single garage for this purpose although it was already stuffed to capacity since we had to cram the contents of our previous three garages into it. What we did, was to place two old kitchen tables against one of the walls where we then stacked the plastic boxes with electrical and electronic components. I was to spend many days and weeks in this workshop, soldering together PC boards and components.

With the garage thus occupied, our two vehicles had to be parked in the backyard under a small tree to protect them from the sizzling hot rays of the sun, for Phalaborwa is nearer to that burning celestial body than what scientific calculations reckon it to be!

Circumstances were not ideal, but at least we had reached an Elim where we could encamp for awhile. We were very enthusiastic about our new ministry and praised the Lord for enabling us to get the most important pieces of infrastructure in place by the end of that month, December 2005.

Another encouraging development was that the new border gate into Mozambique had opened just the day before we arrived. God’s timing is always perfect. Phalaborwa was within walking distance of the Kruger National Park’s nearest border and approximately 90 km. from the new border gate called Giriyondo that gave access to Mozambique. From there it was a further distance of 127 km to Chokwe, the centre from where we would mostly operate when reaching out to the remote areas where our Rivonis (Light Bearers) were evangelizing their neighbourhoods.

Probably one of the most important matters we also attended to before taking a Christmas break, was to compile and send out our first Rivoni Ministries newsletter, on 19 December, to a list of people we thought might be interested to pray for us and support us financially. We were so delighted when a number of them returned good wishes for Christmas day and promised their support for this new venture.

One of these was a man called … (let’s call him David). While we were still ministering in the Hatfield Christian Church as shepherds, we had a home cell under our care with him as the leader, so we knew him quite well, although we had not had contact with him during the two years we had been with the Dorothea Mission. A couple of days after Martie and I had come to the firm decision to establish Rivoni Ministries, I was sitting on a chair in the furniture department of a certain departmental store, when he happened to walk by. I got up, greeted him and, since my heart was overflowing with thoughts about our new calling, it just came naturally to share this with him. He did not seem to be all that excited about our new venture, but nevertheless gave me his email address and requested to be kept informed of our progress. The Lord must have spoken to him afterwards and through our newsletters, because he became one of our very first financial supporters and has been supporting us ever since. By now he must have contributed a few hundred thousand Rand to Rivoni Ministries. How wonderful are the ways of God: what He calls into life, He also supports.

PRAISE THE NAME OF OUR FATHER, GOD, SAVIOUR, SUPPLIER AND FRIEND!

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E4. MOZAMBIQUE AND RIVONI MINISTRIES

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FOUNDING OF RIVONI MINISTRIES

One day, as I was driving back from Mozambique, my heart was so filled with the joy of the Lord, that I sang out loud and worshipped and praised Him for about an hour and a half. Then I sensed that He wanted to speak to me and so I kept quiet and waited on Him. His presence became very real and He spoke into my heart and said: “Ben you have been ministering to the Tsonga people for quite some time. You have seen their spiritual need. Will you, from now on, give your life that they may be saved?” I drew a deep breath and replied “Lord I am not a brave man, but I am willing to go a very long way for their sake and I will trust You to give me the boldness to pay whatever it may cost.” Peace flooded my soul and I knew that my imperfect offer was accepted by Him, the Shepherd of my soul. When I got back to Pretoria, I shared my experience with Martie and, having prayed about it, she confirmed this new calling which the Lord had for us.

We then approached our mission society, sharing this vision with them. They, however preferred that the status quo continue, which entailed that we remain in Pretoria, continue with the country-wide radio and cassette ministry and see the Mozambique outreach as a sub-division of that ministry. We understood the Mission’s standpoint since it was operating in six different countries in Africa and could not channel so much of its resources into one specific ministry.

But there were other pointers indicating that the Lord was opening the way for us to devote all our attention to Mozambique. One of these was that a new border post was being established on the eastern border of the Kruger National Park, roughly opposite the town of Phalaborwa which adjoins the western border of the Park. This would provide a short cut into Mozambique and was expected to open shortly.

During a short holiday we visited Phalaborwa to do some reconnaissance and to pray that the Lord may reveal His will to us. We actually spoke to the Kruger Park officials, went to see how the border post project was progressing and returned home, even more convinced than before, that the Lord wanted us to carry out the vision He had given us.

The question was how to do this without the support of the Mission? We would, right from the start, also have to take over the expenses in regard to the Light Bearer ministry. Yes, we had some cash in the bank, paid out to me in a lump sum when I resigned from the College, but we had no pension fund and this cash was to see us through till the Lord would take us to the Country where money was no longer needed.

Health wise, working in Mozambique was also quite a risk because of malaria, cholera and other diseases, especially at our age – I was 65 and Martie 4 years younger. These were just two of the challenges facing us, should we decide to launch out on our own, but if the Bible was the truth and nothing but the truth (which we knew to be an indisputable fact), God would, in answer to obedience, faith and prayer, provide every cent we needed for ourselves as well as for the ministry into which He was calling us. How, and through whom, He would provide the funding, was His secret. We would issue a newsletter regularly to inform interested people about our progress and leave it to Him to call some of them to support the work financially and to pray for us. We would also, right from the outset, be praying for younger people to take over as soon as the work was properly established.

Having made up our minds, we then approached the Director of the Mission, requesting him to release us in order that we might launch out into this ministry where the Lord was calling us. He was sorry to lose us, but respected our vision and accepted our resignation. Our last working day with the Mission was to be the 31^st of October 2005.

As a practical measure, it was decided that we continue to handle the compiling of the Shangaan radio program, for we would be in a better position to do so than the Dorothea Mission. They gave us some recording equipment for this purpose. In the short time at my disposal, I trained a member of their staff, the person in charge of the printing press, to handle the remaining Chichewa program and one of the women to take over the cassette ministry from Martie. In so doing, we could tidy up everything before leaving and it was such a joy and comfort to us that we could leave the Mission, not under a cloud as the previous time, but with the Mission’s blessing and with relationships intact.

The flat in the Bataleur complex at Phalaborwa.

Soon afterwards we obtained a lovely spacious flat in Phalaborwa we had seen during our visit, then got a pantechnicon to transport our furniture, while we travelled by car.

On the 1^st of November 2005, this new Mission to the Shangaans of Mozambique, Rivoni Ministries, was founded. (“Rivoni” is the Shangaan word for “Light”.)

The Shangaan people living within Mozambique total about 3 million and live mostly in the three southern provinces of Mozambique, namely Gaza, Inhambane and Maputu. Our vision was to cover these three provinces with as many Rivonis (Light Bearers) as possible, providing them with suitable equipment, thorough training and continual supervision and assistance for them to turn the Shangaan nation into disciples of our Lord Jesus Christ. Better equipment and visual materials would be researched and provided and we ourselves would spend most of our time in their midst.

Not many people believed that we would succeed. Members of our church, friends and even close relatives asked us questions such as: “Do you know what you are doing?” “Have you heard correctly from the Lord?” “This is what yóu want to do, but what does Gód say?” I was even accused of heartlessness, taking my wife into such harsh circumstances, just to satisfy my own desires. The Spirit of the Lord countered all these arguments and accusations by reminding me that whosoever followed the Lord wholeheartedly would be persecuted. Another incident which came to mind, was when the Lord Jesus was accused by his own brothers of “wanting to be on everybody’s lips” while He was only doing what his Father had sent Him to do. Martie too, knew better and supported me all the way, even when the going got really tough. My response to these prophets of doom was simply to answer them in the words of Nehemiah when he set out to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem: “The God of heaven will give us success; therefore we His servants will arise and build ………”(Neh 2:20)

MORE ABOUT MOZAMBIQUE

Before continuing with our story, let me first share some interesting facts concerning Mozambique with you.

(Information gained from the Mozambique website, Patrick Johnston’s book Operation World and Peter Hammond’s book Killing Fields of Mozambique)

GEOGRAPHY

• Capital city, Maputo, 2,2 million people.
• Urbanites: 28%.
• Total area: 799 380 sq. km.
• Maputo province: 23 576 sq. km. Provincial capital Maputo.
• Gaza province: 75 450sq. km. Provincial capital Xai-Xai.
• Inhambane province: 61 615 sq. km. Provincial capital Inhambane, where the Portuguese established a permanent settlement and trading post in 1534, making it one of the oldest settlements in Southern Africa.
• From North to South the distance is 2800 km. with 25 rivers, including the Zambezi and Limpopo, to cross, making travelling very difficult.

POPULATION

• Total: 22 898 m.
• Maputo province: 1 037 344, that is 44 inhabitants per sq. km.
• Gaza province: 1 207 200, that is 16 inhabitants per sq km.
• Inhambane province: 1 170 685, that is 19 inhabitants per sq km.
• Literacy: 40% official; 20% functional.

ECONOMY

Unsound economic policies and thirty years of intensive guerrilla warfare as well as natural disasters such as cyclones, floods and droughts, have impoverished the population. Up till 1995 when peace came, this was one of the poorest countries in the world but at the time we got involved in its spiritual welfare, it had become one of the fastest growing economies in Africa. It will, however, take a long time before the rural people that live off the land, benefit by the change.

POLITICS

It was a Portuguese colony for 470 years before it became independent in 1975 as a Marxist-Leninist state. A guerrilla war ensued till 1995, when the two opposing parties came to an agreement and instituted a multi-party democracy and market based economy.

RELIGION

• As in the rest of Africa, ancestral worship is the basic religion of the population.
• As regards Christianity, under Portuguese rule Roman Catholicism prevailed and Protestant ministries were restricted or forbidden.
• It is said that during certain periods, many Christians, and especially pastors, were martyred because they would not deny the Lord Jesus Christ as Saviour and Lord.
• This suffering created a spiritual hunger and, at present, Mozambique shows a very fast church growth in some provinces. Yet there are many tribes and vast areas that desperately need the preaching of the Gospel and training of believers and pastors to become worthy disciples of the Lord.

In 1995 when we launched Rivoni Ministries, we felt that Mozambique was crying out to the Christian world: “Darkness has enveloped us for so many, many decades, now bring us the true light that we may have the joy of walking in it.”

BLESS THE LORD FOR HAVING GIVEN US THE OPPORTUNITY OF MAKING A DIFFERENCE TO ONE SECTOR OF THAT POPULATION!

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E3. MOZAMBIQUE AND RIVONI MINISTRIES

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THE LIGHT BEARERS

Soon afterwards, we spent our December holidays in Namibia. While driving towards Swakopmund on the coast, we picked up a local Christian radio station broadcasting mostly in Afrikaans. The programs really appealed to us and we later on discovered that it was having a great impact on the local population. During our stay in Mile 4 caravan camp, just north of Swakopmund, I located their temporary holiday studio in one of the malls and chatted to a member of staff. He introduced me to their director who requested an interview with me to air over their transmitters. I was in a holiday mood and agreed to sit down and chat to him without having prepared myself for the occasion. We both enjoyed the talk during which I spoke about our work back home and recalled a couple of interesting experiences we had had in Mozambique. When the interview was over, he muted the microphone and switched over to music. On asking him when the interview would be broadcast, I was shocked when he smilingly replied: “You were on the air, live!” They had a very informal style of presenting their programs which greatly appealed to their listeners. It was a real “people’s radio.” I was enthralled by the wonderful work they were doing.

The next few days I spent many hours on my knees, beseeching the Lord to show me a more effective way of taking the Gospel to our remote areas in Mozambique. I had seen the impact which the media could have upon a country when used in an innovative way, but we could not just make a rubber stamp of that ministry and use it in Mozambique. They were broadcasting to a more densely populated area where just about every home had its radio, some powered by main line electricity and the rest by batteries which were relatively cheap and readibly available. None of these conditions applied to our area. We had, by that time made up our minds not to reach out to the people dwelling in the cities where there were at least a couple of pastors proclaiming the Gospel, but rather to those living in small villages in the hinterland. There, not that many people had radios and batteries were really hard to come by. So, yes, we would also appropriate the power of the media, but would have to adapt our strategy to local circumstances to achieve success.

So what we decided to do was to combine the principle of home cell groups and the use of media devices. As “cell leaders” we would use every Christian that was truly born-again as well as capable and motivated to play this role. These we would equip with radios and cassette players and to overcome the problem of running out of batteries, we would build units comprised of large long-life batteries normally used in security systems, and these would be charged by solar panels, for in Mozambique there was always plenty of sunshine. Brother Fred assured us that there would be quite a number of Christians who would be eager to participate in such an endeavour, for they were motivated to reach out to their neighbours but lacked in knowledge of the Word. Some of them had indeed travelled long distances to the cities to receive some Bible instruction, but were by and large not equipped to be teachers of the Word. These devices would therefore be of great assistance.

We decided to put our vision to the test by supplying some equipment to one of the Christians and see how he would do. We equipped him with a radio, a good number of cassettes and sufficient batteries for eight weeks and set him to work. At the end of the trial run, I went down to see how it had gone.

Titus servicing his bicycle. Though physically impaired, he travelled up to 70km over bad bush roads to take the Gospel by means of cassette players to people in remote areas

Would the radio still be working? In what condition would the cassettes be? His name was Titus, and he was a crippled man, using a walking stick to get around but had diligently evangelized his neighbouring villages. On inspecting his equipment, I was, however, dismayed to discover that there was just about no paint left on the four round corners of the radio cassette player, but decided not to mention it immediately and was later on grateful for not having done so, for in the course of listening to his account of what he had done, I discovered that he had often borrowed a bicycle and cycled up to 70 km, sometimes through deep sand, to reach souls. It was the movement of the radio cassette player inside the rucksack that had gradually worn away the paint as if it had been rubbed with a cloth for a long period of time. On hearing the account of his journeying by bicycle, tears flooded my eyes and I said: “Titus how could you do this while being so handicapped?” He looked down at the ground and replied: “Jesus saved my soul; this is the least I can do for Him.” My heart overflowed with joy and I was inspired to extend the ministry as soon as possible .

Martie soldering the connections of the equipment we supplied to the Light Bearers

We immediately set about procuring radios, tape decks, solar panels, power supplies, flipcharts, books with pictures and rucksacks in which these could be carried over long distances, both when walking or travelling by bicycle. The power supplies had to be built according to specifications and Martie and I spent many days in soldering together the components. When, at last, we had some ten sets ready, we set off for Mozambique, where we picked up our brother Fred, then proceeded to a little village called Ndonga, where we had invited 10 or 12 Christians to be trained in using the equipment and to act as group leaders which we decided to call “Rivonis” (light bearers).

The training session went quite well. Brother Fred arranged for some of the local people to bring their large pots and cook for us on an open fire just next to the building where the training was conducted. We tried to cram in as much as possible during the couple of days we had at our disposal, instructing them on subjects such as salvation by faith, new birth, fruit of the Spirit, the Christian family, expanding on the role of the husband and wife, as well as the upbringing of children. Brother Fred was a great help in guiding us as to the topics on which we were to speak and he also did some of the teaching himself. Notes were printed and supplied so they would have something to take home to refresh their memories We used a power generator to supply electricity since we were also having meetings in the evenings. Martie and I slept with African people in a nearby home. This was our first training session of many to be presented in the years to come. It was a real success and all of those Christians who had attended, men as well as women, went home inspired, each to win his neighbourhood for Christ.

Instructing a number of Light Bearers in the use of the cassette players.

Soon afterwards we trained and equipped more Christians till we had sixteen Rivonis covering a vast area with the Gospel of our Lord and leading many people to Him. We also equipped Titus with a bicycle of his own and appointed him as supervisor of these Rivonis. He was to travel from the one to the other, spending two days with each and assisting them in their ministries. We also provided him with pro-forma returns to be filled in for himself as well as for the people he visited and submit to me on my successive visits to Mozambique. A vision from God gives is sure to succeed.

To enhance the radio programs, we decided to travel extensively throughout the area and record Gospel songs in Shangaan by church and other choirs. This would also afford Fred and me the opportunity of establishing more intimate relationships with these mini home churches and their “pastors.” They in turn would develop a greater interest in the radio broadcasts for they would be contributing to them and would actually hear themselves singing over the radio. This created a great interest amongst one and all and they put in a lot of practice to produce their very best and actually dressed up for the occasions though, of course, the microphones were unable to “see” them.

To do such recordings in the bush, was easier said than done. One was to make absolutely sure that, before leaving home and travelling the 800 to 1000 km from Pretoria, you had every piece of needed equipment as well as all kinds of spares with you, for there was no way of obtaining these in those areas. You had to pack everything meticulously, also when moving from one venue to the next. Nevertheless, the unforeseen often happened as when a brand-new top-class car battery just failed the very first time I used it, with the result that I had to work from our pickup’s battery which sometimes went flat in the process, so we had to push the vehicle in that heavy sand to get the vehicle started again.

We always preferred to record in a building having clay walls and a thatched roof with very little echo, unlike a room with brick walls and a corrugated iron roof that reflect the sound back to the microphone causing much unwanted echo and rendering the recording unfit to be used. These huts were very dark inside for they had only small openings in the walls to serve as windows. The dusty floors were very bad for our equipment, especially for the sliders of the audio mixer. The mixing desk was a wobbly folding table and I usually sat perched on an equally insecure folding chair.

While the recordings went on hour after hour, some four men had to act as security guards outside of the building, to silence the many inquisitive children, women shouting to one another, mooing cattle, bleating sheep, crowing cocks and even some kinds of birds with shrill cries; noises you could not erase from the recording once they were embedded in it. The choir itself had to be trained over and over, to be absolutely still for at least two seconds before starting with a song and, what was more difficult, to remain absolutely quiet for a further two seconds at the end of the recording, for the moment the song finished they would be exuberant with joy, shouting at the tops of their voices with glee and slapping one another on the back.

However, these small irritations and frustrations from our artists, we endured in love, for these people were very musical: this could not be denied, and we recorded one good batch of recordings after another. Whenever possible, we would also try to set aside an hour or so to preach to the choir members, and even to the rest of the community, to further inspire them to tune in to the broadcasts. We travelled hundreds of kilometres and recorded at scores of places during this tour with great success. It was well worth the time and funds invested.

On getting back to Pretoria, I had to have all these songs translated into English, then typed and bound into a song book so as to be able to choose an appropriate song or songs for every program I compiled. Very few associated broadcasters of programs in African languages were willing to go to such lengths to improve the impact of the programs on their listeners. The recorded songs were of course also used in compiling audio cassettes.

The radio programs resulted in some interesting conversions to Christ, as in the case of Eduardo Mondlane. He had been a soldier in the war between the two opposing parties, Frelimo and Renamo. One day he was badly wounded and when he regained consciousness, was horrified to discover that he had lost the use of his legs. In a country where even fit and able-bodied men found it almost impossible to find a job to support themselves and their families, he would henceforth be an absolute burden to his relatives.

As he sat on his sleeping mat under a tree, pondering the hopelessness of his situation, an aeroplane flew overhead and dropped pamphlets. One of these landed near him, so he crawled over, picked it up and read it. It was distributed by the Dorothea Mission and told of a radio program being broadcast on shortwave twice a week; a program they claimed would transform anyone’s life. What did he have to lose?

He borrowed a radio and started tuning in. The preacher spoke in Shangaan, his own language, and told of the one and only God who created heaven, earth and mankind and Who sent His own beloved Son to die on a wooden cross to pay for the sins of man. Up till that moment, Eduardo had known only one saviour and that was the AK 47 he carried wherever he went. That saviour, however, had been unable to save him. Would this God be able to do something for him? The weeks sped by as he regularly tuned in and listened keenly to every word of this kind, but unknown speaker. Then came the day when Eduardo responded to the invitation to give his life to Christ, met the unknown Saviour by faith and was created anew by the Spirit of God.

His very lameness now became an attribute, because he had time to sit and chat to everyone passing by. His interest in their wellbeing caused them to open their hearts to tell him of their grief, pain and the loss they had suffered during the war and of their despair of the future. Eduardo’s gloom had vanished and as he shared with them the new life and hope he had found in his Lord and Friend, Jesus Christ, many responded and gave their lives to his God.

When I went to see him, sitting under a huge tree in front of his home, he was not only a married man with two children but also a pastor of a sizable congregation God had raised up through his ministry. Some fifty yards from his home, they had erected a neat little church, one of the very few properly constructed church buildings in those remote areas of Mozambique.

Testimonies such as these confirmed that we were heading in the right direction and resulted in more initiatives to develop this ministry. We increasingly felt that there was a need for more variety in our programs, such as testimonies of people who were saved or otherwise blessed by the programs. We also wished to provide group discussions on a variety of topics to stimulate our listeners to meditate deeply on the truths to be found in the Word of God. In a more developed society it would normally be quite easy to find people, Christians, to come into the studio, sit around a table and discuss a given topic. In Mozambique one first had to train such speakers over a long period, before they would be capable and at ease to participate in such group discussions.

For this reason, brother Fred invited Christians and Christian pastors from all over Chokwe to radio workshops I then presented in his home. During such a workshop, I would spend 50% of the time on theory while the other 50% was invested in practical training which everybody enjoyed and found very helpful.

So, slowly but surely, we were making headway and brother Fred himself was much pleased and testified that wherever he travelled in Mozambique, people who recognised his voice came up to him, thanking him for the blessings they were receiving through this program. (By the way, the program was called Nyiko ya Xikwembu, which, translated, means: “Gift of God.”)

Brother Fred also told us of the impact the program was having on government officials. It is not that they were only saved or blessed by listening to the programs, but they got to know the Mission and what it stood for, opening many doors that would have been closed to him and to the Mission. The Lord was really using this Ministry in an ever-increasing way and our hearts were rejoicing.

BLESSED BE HIS HOLY NAME!

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E2. MOZAMBIQUE AND RIVONI MINISTRIES

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BACK WITH THE DOROTHEA MISSION

I cast myself wholeheartedly into this ministry, so happy and grateful to be able to do something for the Kingdom of God once more. Since we had parted with the Mission more than 20 years earlier, it had moved to new premises where a number of fine buildings were erected. One of them was a near professional standard audio studio, planned by my successor. It really was a pleasure for me, for the first time in my life, to use such a well designed and fully equipped facility.

I managed to contact an African pastor that had previously been involved with the Shangaan program, and he agreed to come regularly for the recording of new programs. Within a short while, we were back on the air with fresh, Holy Spirit anointed programs in Shangaan especially directed at the Mozambiquan Shangaan population.

Two months later, I resigned from my administrative post with our church after having served in it for five years, and from then on divided my time between our nursery of indigenous trees, where the stock had risen to some 20,000 plants and the radio program work.

By that time both Mr and Mrs von Staden had passed away and a new director was now in charge. After some four months, I sensed the Lord leading me to apply to the Mission to be admitted on a full-time basis. Martie and I hesitated to respond to this call for quite some time, for we realised that it would be very difficult for us as convinced and practising Charismatics, to become part of such an ultra conservative, anti-Charismatic ministry. In the end we obeyed but, in our hearts, knew that it would just be for a limited period of time. I enlisted with the Mission on the first of April, 2003.

Though we were accepted as full-time members of the Mission, our agreement was that Martie would be allowed to continue with the cleaning services contract we had with our church and I had the freedom to attend to our nursery. Nineteen months later, we transferred the cleaning services contract to someone else and two months after that, also managed to sell our smallholding and the nursery, for we wanted to be completely free to devote ourselves to the work of God. We were actually offered and received more for the property than what we had anticipated, which was an indication from the Lord that we were heading in the right direction.

The Mission treated us very well, even restoring our pension benefits in accordance with the number of years we had served during our first term of involvement. For three months or so, someone (possibly the director himself) gave as a monthly financial contribution to help us along during the transition period. Many of the other Mission workers, the older ones who knew us from previous years, were delighted to have us back, so we felt very welcome and at home.

On closing Media Mission, we had transferred our complete audio cassette ministry to the Dorothea Mission. In the meantime, my successor added many more master recordings so that, on our return, we had a sizeable library at our disposal which we put to good use to set up an effective ministry of which Martie took care, handling all the orders that were received.

I also revived the Chichewa radio program that was being aired to Malawi and so the audio media department of the Mission was again beginning to function as a well oiled machine. Since the cost of having radio programs aired by the transmitters of Trans World Radio had escalated, we decided not to add programs in other languages to our schedule, but rather to improve the existing ones. Since the Mission had a number of workers in Malawi that were very enthusiastic about the Chichewa program, it was agreed that they would take care of promoting it in Malawi and of following up the response to it.

To do the same for the Shangaan program aired to Mozambique was left to me. The Mission’s worker stationed at Chokwe in Mozambique, also supported this program wholeheartedly and in fact participated by coming in to the studio for recording messages that could be used in these programs. We then decided to have the Mission press print 4000 calendars for us in Shangaan, added 4000 Gospel tracts, and were ready to go to Mozambique to promote this program. Our elder son offered his 4×4 Pajero to us for this outreach. Martie and I hitched our smallish caravan to it and early one morning, set off for the Komatipoort border post where we were met by our Mozambican colleague.

As could be expected, we were pressed by the Mozambican officials to pay customs duty on the calendars, but after a lengthy debate, they accepted that we would be distributing them free of charge and did not tax us. This was our first brush with Mozambican immigration and customs officials, but many more were to come.

Much relieved at having passed unscathed through the border, we continued happily on our way, but within the next few kilometres a police officer with white shirt, gloves and navy blue cap and trousers, motioned us to pull off the road, which I did without fear, for I was pretty sure that both our vehicles were in good order. The officer did not speak to me, but took a measuring tape from his pocket and started measuring both our Pajero and the caravan. My mouth literally dropped open. In all my years of having been stopped by traffic inspectors, I had never experienced anything like this. I just sat there, puzzled by what he was doing, waiting for him to finish and tell me what he had discovered.

At last he appeared at my window and told me that the width of the caravan exceeded that of the vehicle and since I did not have a blue triangle sticker on the front of my vehicle to warn oncoming traffic, I was gravely endangering the lives of the people of Mozambique. I was flabbergasted for I had towed caravans all over South Africa without ever having my vehicles measured and found wanting like that. However he assured me that the matter could be amicably resolved by me tying a red triangle to the front bulbar and paying him 2000 Meticais. All this of course came to me through my Mozambique colleague, for the officer was addressing me in Portuguese. Two thousand Meticais, impossible! Yes, and if I wanted a receipt for it, the amount would double. After much quibbling I think we got away with paying some 1000 Meticais, skipping the receipt issue. We also securely tied the red triangle to the vehicle and were ready for the next challenge.

We got to Maputo after dark and it was somewhat of a nightmare to negotiate the car and caravan through an endless tunnel of chattering human beings who all wanted to share that narrow strip of tarred road with the bumper to bumper motor traffic. Even after leaving Maputo behind us, the going was slow all the way to Chokwe, for every now and then we passed through a little village where the speed limit of 60 km/h was strictly enforced. The traffic officials had no equipment to measure the speed of the vehicle, they just guessed it and you had to accept their good judgement and pay up, or be escorted to a police station where you would possibly have to pay double the amount, or get locked up indefinitely.

In Mozambique, parked in a backyard facing an overflowing sewerage.

On arriving at our brother’s home in Chokwe, it took some careful manoeuvring to park the caravan in his back yard, unfortunately some 3 m from where the sewer was overflowing. Very tired, but happy to have completed the first stage of our journey successfully, we sat down with him for a well deserved meal, his wife serving.

The next morning we set off to distribute the calendars and tracts, that is, Martie and I, the Mission’s evangelist (let us call him Fred) and a Christian friend of his. The caravan was left behind. The calendars were in two sizes: the larger ones were of A3 format to be distributed to government offices, shops and the like for display on their notice boards or windows. The smaller A5 size we intended to hand out to individuals. Those who were Christians, could keep them in their Bibles. On the front of both sizes was an advertisement of our radio programmes, displaying information such as its name, frequencies and times of broadcast. On the back we had a description of the Way of Salvation printed.

Our first stop was the office of the mayor of Chokwe, the largest town of the Gaza province. His face just lighted up on seeing the calendar for, as far as we know, this had been the very first calendar to be printed in the Shangaan language. (I made the mistake of taking a photo of him looking at the calendar, without first asking for permission to do so. Brother Fred anxiously motioned to me to put away the camera, but the picture had been captured! My dear brother had a hard time during that, and successive visits to Mozambique to teach me the local do’s and don’ts which I often challenged.) However, this first visit went very well and we left the Mayor’s office with his blessing and an invitation to return any time we wanted to. (In Mozambique it was very important to introduce yourself to the government officials and local chiefs of whichever town or area you entered, or else you might easily be suspected of being involved in some or other subversive activity.)

From Chokwe we retraced the route we had come the previous evening up to Macia on the coast and then headed northwards to a major, well-known coastal town called Xai-Xai, where we spent the night with some of our Brother’s scores of Christian friends who catered for us very well. The next day we travelled inland in a north westerly direction up to Chibuto, then to Mandlakaze and proceeded to Mawayela, where we spent the night, before returning to Chokwe the next day. This had actually been easy going for we were driving on tarred roads most of the way with petrol freely available up to Xai-Xai. It was only the dirt road from Mandlakaze to Mawayela and back, that gave us a foretaste of what the Mozambican roads were really like. That night, sleeping in our caravan was to be the last taste of civilisation and luxury for some days.

The next morning we filled up three 20 L cans with petrol and set off in a westerly direction, passing two small villages called Manjangue and Macarretane, then crossed the Limpopo River by means of the barrage where we bade farewell to the tar road. Just up the incline on the other side of the river, there was a small marketplace called Bangla-Desh and adjoining that, the village of Chinhacanine of which much will be said later on. That was where civilisation with its amenities such as electricity and cell phone towers came to an end as we travelled northwards through places like Bala-Vala, Nalazi, Ndindiza, Chigubo, etc.

The going was slow for we stopped wherever we found people walking along the way, also in every village and at every water pump where scores of women were waiting their turn to fill up their water containers. What we did, was to drive slowly and wave the calendars, shouting: “Amacalendia.” Out there in the bush where something strange very seldom happened, it would immediately attract the attention of everyone within hearing distance, causing them to flock towards us, surround the vehicle, shouting and stretching out their hands to receive the unknown treasures they hoped we might be carrying. They were delighted to receive these calendars free of charge, then stood around or sat down under the trees to study the contents, laughing and pointing at the dates, for some of them were somewhat literate. Once order was restored, our two Shangaan speaking brothers would explain to them what it was all about, answering their questions on how to tune in to the indicated frequencies. When getting to a village, we would go to the leaders, such as the chiefs and of course to the pastors of the multitude of small churches, introduce ourselves and hand out the calendars and tracts. Doing this hour after hour was very tiring, as we were driving with open windows and no air conditioner in temperatures varying from 38 to 45°C.

Our son, Frans, lent us his Pajero or we would never have made this hazardous trip. Here we are seen stopping along the way, Martie serving us with much appreciated food.

At last the first day of our ordeal drew to an end and we left the double track road, parking alongside a number of huts where more of brother Fred’s friends lived. This was to be our first night in the hinterland of Mozambique, coming into close contact with country people living according to their age-old customs. Since they had been evangelized by brother Fred, they were born-again Christians.

Putting the Lord first, the leader called everybody together, then offered up a prayer, thanking the Lord for His goodness and for having brought us there safely. Chairs (some supplied by neighbours) were placed under the nearest massive shady tree where everybody normally gathered. We as visitors were then invited to sit down. After a while the people of the kraal joined us, the men sitting on the chairs and the women on sleeping mats (canzis). We were all introduced to one another and then had to recount everything we had seen and all the conversations we had had with people along the way, for they had no newspapers nor radio or TV coverage of what was going on. Travellers like us constituted their local newspaper, keeping them up to date with what was happening in their area and further afield. This they greatly appreciated. We were then offered tea, warm bottled cold drinks they had bought from a stall a couple of kilometres from there and bread called “Pao,” in appearance like bread rolls, but much larger and without butter, margarine or any other kind of spread.

By then a pot of water that had been boiled on the nearby open fire, was poured into a plastic basin. First Martie and then I, were lead to an enclosure constructed of wooden poles, grass and pieces of plastic bags or sheeting, whatever was available. We were also handed a towel and soap so we could wash ourselves. (Some of these “ablusions” (washing places) were not all that pleasant to use. The ground on which one stood was often very wet and unhygienic for these enclosures were also used for urinating. We later on learned to wear plastic sandals while washing ourselves.)

In the meantime, the evening meal was being prepared, consisting mainly of rice or porridge supplemented by something tasty, if available. Since we were very important visitors, it was imperative for us to be served with meat, though they themselves would seldom be able to afford such luxury. The best they could do, was to slaughter a chicken for us. While having our bath, we heard the terrified bird screaming at the top of its voice while being chased all over the premises by the children until they finally cornered it, brought it to their mother who summarily cut its head off with a sharp knife, plucked the feathers, removed the intestines and put it into a pot to be cooked.

This being a more well-to-do family, they had a table, tablecloth, some china ware, spoons and even knives and forks which they reserved for such occasions. Once the table was nicely laid, we were invited to sit down while only the head of the kraal and two of the other grown men joined us. The senior lady of the kraal and her daughters stood around to serve the guests.

She offered a prayer for the food, then brought a basin, a jug with hot water and a towel for everybody to wash their hands. Starting with the most important guest, she held the basin below the person’s hands while one of her daughters poured the hot water onto them, then offered him or her the towel to dry them.

Once this ritual was completed, the lids of the serving dishes were opened and everybody helped themselves. There was plenty of rice, porridge, and salads consisting of lettuce and tomato, but sharing one of those extremely skinny, lightweight, athletic chickens among up to 10 people, meant that each one was to receive only a spoonful of watery gravy and perhaps a morsel of meat. But oh, how we appreciated the meal so graciously and joyfully provided for us by those dear people that could hardly afford food for themselves. (My experience of life is that poor people are normally very generous; the stingy are more often to be found in the ranks of the rich. Forgive me: both groups have their exceptions!)

May I also add that the rice in Mozambique is prepared with cooking oil in the Portuguese way, and is really tasty. Only when we had all had our fill and moved away to sit around the fire, did the women and children sit down near to the table to enjoy the leftovers. To speak out against this deeply ingrained cultural habit, suggesting that we all eat together, would be to seriously offend the kraal and its people.

Once the dishes had been taken care of, the ladies and children joined us around the fire, sitting on sleeping mats. When all was ready, we stood for a lengthy period to worship the Lord in songs of praise, the different voices harmonising with one another and accompanied by clapping of hands and bodies swaying rhythmically. Then we all sat down. This now, was my turn as visiting “pastor” to feed them with the Bread of Life, and how I enjoyed doing so. Being unable to speak Shangaan, all I said had to be interpreted by my brother Fred. This stretched the meeting to twice its intended duration for I suspect that he often added to my words when I said things that were unfamiliar to them or which he thought might be a bit out of place, necessitating a few thoughts of his own. When I sat down, he took over imploring the unsaved ones to accept the Lord Jesus as Saviour, for scores of people, also younger people from the nearby kraals, had joined us after we had had our meal. A number of them got up to express their desire to get to know their Creator and Fred led them in prayer to do so. At last, when our eyes were red as the coals of the fire at which we were fixedly staring and our heads spinning with fatigue, the meeting was adjourned and everybody headed home.

Martie and I said we would sleep in a little tent for two we brought along for that purpose, but they would have none of that and offered us the head of the kraal’s well-worn and rather shaky double bed to rest our weary bodies on. As we lay on our backs for a couple of minutes, reflecting on the happenings of the day that had finally come to an end, we noticed that the thatching of the roof had parted in places and that two or three of the crystal clear stars were twinkling down on these two out-of-place creatures.

Out there, time and activity is dictated by the sun as it journeys overhead, and everybody rises at dawn. This suited us very well and after an early breakfast consisting of porridge, “pao” and tea, we set off on the next lap of our African safari.

This really was a gruelling journey for the uneven road caused the Pajero to lurch forward and backwards like a child’s rocking horse while, at the same time, rolling from side to side like a small boat on a stormy sea. One’s body was therefore buffeted all the time and by midday one was already overcome by fatigue and yearned for half an hour’s respite to spread a sleeping mat in the deep shade of those massive trees and take a short nap. However, time did not allow for this, so, after stopping for a quick bite, we were on the move again. The double track road twisted and turned endlessly through the bush and very soon Martie and I had no idea of direction or of where we were. It felt as if we had travelled thousands of kilometres up into the heart of Africa and would never ever find our way back to civilisation. The country was just about perfectly level and there were no landmarks to go by. We really felt utterly lost and I was so concerned for Martie and quietly blamed myself for bringing her along. I recall that at a certain stage we were travelling parallel to an oil pipe line from the coast and that we had to keep well clear of it, for during the internal war, landmines had been planted alongside it, most of which had not yet been detected and removed.

But we kept on doggedly northwards, then turned left as we rounded the Banhine National Park where the only animals we saw, were three forlorn ostriches. After continuing like this for a day or two, we reached Machaile, the birthplace of our brother Fred. It was quite dark when he left us on an open piece of ground, near to a hut, saying that he and his friend had some duties to attend to but would be back in due course. Martie and I sat in the Pajero for some time, but since we were very hungry by that time and had no way of contacting him, not knowing where he was, and apprehensive of moving around a place we had never been before, decided to make ourselves some sort of a meal. I got out two folding tables, placed them right in front of the car, put the trunk on one of them and opened the lid.

The sight that met our eyes was too terrible for words. The groceries were all in a mess for they had been shaken violently all day as one would do with a tin of paint you wanted to mix thoroughly. Worst of all was that the container with margarine had split open, overturned and was sprayed like a layer of custard over everything. Ever since we were married I had hardly ever seen Martie getting really flustered or upset and crying, but after such a terrible day, this was just too much for her, so I tried to calm her, suggesting that she stand aside for awhile, allowing me to try and clean up the mess. I started off by wiping the remaining apples with toilet paper and then proceeded to clean the tins of canned food, last of all attending to the packets of sugar and maize penetrated by the margarine. To add to our grief, a thick cloud of gnats surrounded the torchlight with the result that we could hardly see what we were doing. At last we managed to swallow some food. I made quite sure that the margarine was properly sealed and placed at the bottom of the trunk, then closed the lid and put it back into the vehicle.

Shortly afterwards, someone arrived with a basin of hot water from a small fire we could see at a distance. She unlocked the nearby hut, directing us to enter and wash ourselves. Since we had soap and our own towels with us, we proceeded to do so. I closed the door but had to keep the torch switched off most of the time for there were so many gaps in the walls of the hut that, had I left it on, anybody standing outside would have seen us on the inside. Having washed, we put on our pyjamas and lay down on the bed, presuming that we were intended to sleep there. I had, however, hardly done so, when there was a knock on the door and when I opened it, there was my brother Fred, asking me to come along with him, for, the people from the area had now gathered and were ready to hear the Word.

This floored me for I had not been told that there would be a meeting and had had no time whatsoever to prepare a message. I mumbled that I would come, then stumbled around over the things scattered on the floor in an attempt to find the flashlight, then my clothes, and last of all my Bible which was still stuffed somewhere in a bag. While thus engaged, I said a short prayer to the Lord to help me to say something that might, in some way or other, come from Him and not from my own afflicted soul.

When I got outside, and shone the light around, I saw at least two hundred people gathered, sitting quietly some distance from our hut, waiting for me to arrive. My dear brother had a real heart for God and for his people, but somehow missed out on the gift of planning ahead. He had not provided for any light at all, nor had he even lit a campfire as we normally did later on in such situations. Holding my Bible in one hand and the torch in the other, just vaguely distinguishing the dark blotches of my audience, I began preaching the Word, my unseen interpreter standing next to me. Whether the people received any spiritual enlightenment that dark night, I cannot say. When I had finished, I was asked to sit down on a chair brought for this purpose in order that they might serve my meal. No longer caring whom I offended, I told them that I had already eaten and would not have a second meal that time of night and that they were to hold it over for the next morning, then returned to our hut.

On getting back inside, I found Martie still lying in bed but very upset for, while I was away, she had heard something next to her on my pillow, scratching as if it had claws. Not knowing what it was and not having any sort of light with her, she struck out blindly in the dark and hit it so hard that she heard it falling some distance from the bed. What a day! By then we were so tired that we just committed ourselves as well as that unknown creature to the Lord and blissfully fell asleep.

On leaving the hut the next morning, our surroundings seemed much less threatening and we discovered that we were within a village with houses scattered at some distance around us. Some of the people of the nearby kraal were then brought and introduced to us. They also made us a fine breakfast, including the chicken presented to me the previous night. This had been split wide open till it was quite flat, then roasted on both sides, and was really delicious to eat.

Brother Fred wanted us to proceed further northwards to a place called Massengena, but we were running short of petrol and so we decided to return home, passing the Banhine Nature Reserve on its western side, then proceeding to Mapai and from there down to Chokwe. All the way we were of course still handing out tracts and calendars and exhausted our stock before reaching our destination.

As I was driving, I was experiencing some discomfort because of, what I thought to be mosquitoes, biting me on my neck and upper body. When we got back to our caravan and undressed, we discovered that these were lice that had been feasting on us and so we just bundled up our clothes, stuck them into a bucket of water, washed our bodies and hair and hoped for the best. The Lord came to our assistance and somehow or other, our caravan and car never got infested by these creatures.

From Chokwe we returned home with our Pajero and caravan along the same route we had come, and got back home all in one piece.

Although this had been a very trying journey, we had learned a lot and knew for certain that God had guided us all along the way. First of all, we gained some insight into the lives of the people we wanted to serve. We began to understand something of their way of living and thinking and had seen their tremendous spiritual need. At that stage, those areas were considered to be some of the least evangelised parts of Africa. We were also happy to have discovered many people, wherever we went, that were actually tuning in to our programs and were confident that many more would henceforth be tuning in as a result of having received the calendars bearing the broadcasting schedules. This gave us new impetus to raise the level of our programs and also to look for other ways to provide greater spiritual input to those areas. God was beginning to stir up a deep love for these dear neglected people in us and we returned home, knowing for certain that He had a great job for us to do before taking us home to be with Him.

BLESSED BE HIS HOLY NAME!

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E1 .MOZAMBIQUE AND RIVONI MINISTRIES

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IN THE POTTER’S HOUSE

This is a difficult chapter of our lives to commit to paper, for the life stories of God’s people are not like Hollywood fairy tales, but often rather resemble the life of David: the ups and downs, the incidents of glittering success and glory, but also of dark failure and despair. Yet, overriding all of this, is the rainbow of God’s mercy and power, reaching down into the pit of man’s hopelessness, lifting him out and setting his feet upon a rock.

After having somewhat wasted my life for a few years after matriculation, my true nature, that of a strong sense of responsibility and of being somewhat of a perfectionist, returned and developed as the years went by, and though I had many other flaws in my makeup, my employers never ever had to reprimand me for not doing my job properly. (In that respect I resembled my dear mum. We three men, my dad, my brother and I, had to watch our step in our spick and span home!) As we all know, living with such people can be rather strenuous at times.

Being meticulous in secular work, meant that I would be more so in doing the spiritual work of God’s kingdom. For this reason, over a period of time, it continually upset me to note how lax most of the Shepherds were in regard to the duties assigned to them to assist their cell leaders. They often would not visit or have contact with them for weeks on end, be unaware of stressful situations they were experiencing, or of the fact that they in turn were neglecting the people in their home cells. New members that joined our church, were not visited to make them feel welcome and to see what assistance they needed to build their faith. To me, this was like the negligent shepherds spoken of in the book of Jeremiah that did not care for the sick and crippled sheep in the flock. They enjoyed the glamour of the positions, but did not shoulder the responsibilities. This, to me, was not only displaying a lack of love for their flock, but sinning against the Great Shepherd Himself.

Perhaps I judged them too harshly for they had their secular occupations and considered these spiritual duties almost as favours towards the Church and towards God. I just could not come to terms with this attitude for I clearly recalled how I had, during all of the years that I had been doing secular work, never used it as an excuse for not performing my spiritual duties in a responsible way. I once or twice complained to our two senior pastors about this lack of enthusiasm, but they did not seem to take it seriously. So what I did, was to call for a meeting with my Shepherds, telling them exactly how I felt and saying that they would do better to resign, than to do the work of God in such a sloppy way.

And this is exactly what they did: they all resigned, all five of them, if I recall correctly. This of course was a shock to our pastors who then came to see us at our home. At that stage I got the impression that the more senior of them supported me in the stand I had taken, but it was left to the junior pastor to speak to the Shepherds and then get back to me. I also offered to resign as Overseeing Shepherd to defuse the crisis, and did so the next day.

Probably because they had spoken to them, the Shepherds came to me one by one after a couple of days, apologising for their reaction and so we forgave one another and resolved the issue on a personal level.

On searching my own heart, I never felt guilty for having reproved those leaders, for they thoroughly deserved it, but I knew very well that I had done wrong by reproving them without our pastor’s approval. He, not I, was God’s appointed leader of that congregation and it was his responsibility, not mine, to take whatever steps he deemed necessary to raise their level of commitment. This is what dawned on me after a while and I apologised to him, both verbally and in writing, which apology he accepted. I then waited for him to come back to me. In the meantime, I still continued with my duties as a Shepherd over a few cells.

During this period, I went through terrible turmoil of my spirit. How true is the saying: “When you laugh, the world laughs with you, but when you cry, you cry alone.” One of the other pastors, a long-standing friend of ours, made an attempt at restoring our peace, but after one visit, left us to stew in our own juice, and this we did. My whole world had come apart and I was plunged into a dark pit of despair. Suddenly I questioned everything I had ever done in my life and it all seemed to have been in vain. I saw only the dark side of my existence, the failures and supposed failures, the efforts I had made to provide for our living but that had not succeeded, my resignation from the Department of Justice, our leaving the Dorothea Mission, our baptism and joining of the Hatfield Christian Church that had resulted in the closing down of Media Mission; all of these things came down upon me like a ton of bricks.

I even looked at some of our relatives that did not know the Lord but were prospering financially and I coveted their success. I never even thought of the fact that we too had made some good profits on stands we had bought at Saldanha Bay and two others at Pretoria. All the souls that were saved through our successive ministries over the years and the many Christians that were blessed and built up by our examples and inputs into their lives; all of these counted for nothing to me. I saw myself as an utter failure, even as a disgrace to my family. Oh, the deep, deep, pain I went through. Some nights I hardly slept for an hour or two. I would wake up with such pain in my chest that I thought it would be the end of me. Then, on the next day, I still had to get up and return to my administrative duties at Church, facing everybody as if nothing had ever happened.

Gradually a measure of peace and joy returned to my soul, but together with that, I had a deep inner conviction that my ministry with the Church had come to an end and so I also resigned as a Shepherd of the remaining home cells over which Martie and I had charge. The sense of God’s calling which I received some 30 years or more before, however, never diminished; it was as strong as the first day He had spoken to me. I just knew that there was nothing else for me to do, but to be engaged in full-time ministry until the day He would take me to heaven. At that stage, I was 63 years of age.

From then on I spent hours on my knees, day by day, beseeching the Lord to open up a way for me to accomplish something worthy of His Name, before taking me to be with Him. At that time I also realised what a tremendous privilege and honour it was to be in His full-time ministry, the King of kings and the Lord of lords. I literally often wept as I beseeched Him to use me, such an unworthy servant, in some or other way.

The Lord saw my tears and heard my cries and opened a new way for me through the wilderness, although not as I would have planned it for myself. He led me to get in touch with the Dorothea Mission once more and as I did so, I discovered that the Shangaan radio programme which I had started some 28 years before, was still on the air, but badly neglected. The same programs were being aired over and over again due to a lack of new recordings. There was just no one to attend to this work and so I offered to do it on a part time basis, that is, in the evenings and over weekends. Tears flooded my eyes when, at last, I received a phone call from the Mission, informing me that my offer had been accepted and that I could commence with the work at my earliest convenience.

OH, THE GRACE OF OUR LOVING HEAVENLY FATHER!

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D8. VARIOUS MINISTRIES AND OCCUPATIONS

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TAKING OFF TIME TO PLAY

Lest I have been sinning by depicting us as super spirituals, let us take a breather while I draw the curtain on another side of our lives.

Once our eldest son, Frans, had completed his matric and one year of training at the Police College, he was happy to come and stay with us for he was, of course, still unmarried and was not earning much of a salary. Since he was without a motorcar and I would not allow him to use mine, he bought himself a racing cycle to be somewhat mobile. At that stage Martie and I had been physically, or should I say sports wise, very inactive for we had to discontinue our weekly tennis game since her back was giving her some discomfort. When Frans came home one day with his beautiful, sleek, fairly lightweight bicycle, I was sufficiently interested to buy my own. What I bought was a second-hand, oversized Hansom road cycle which I found at a swop shop.

On getting home I pushed it out of the gate, into the street and hesitatingly heaved myself into the saddle for I had not cycled for scores of years and was wondering whether I would still be able to do so. I went slowly around the block, then once more and finally decided that I had not lost this ability. On the first weekend, accompanied by Frans, I cycled for about 3 km and was very proud to make it back home all in one go. A couple of weeks later, Frans and I tackled a 35 km circular route, accompanied by Martie, driving our car. We stopped every 5 km, laid the cycles aside and sat down in the car for a rest. After many such pit stops, we finally made it back home. I was now convinced that this could become a very interesting and enjoyable sport which indeed it did.

Though Frans did not continue to accompany me, I cycled two to three times every week, doing 20 to 30 km on Saturdays. Gradually I became fit and sometimes took part in fun rides of up to 105 km, once a month. Though I never excelled, I always managed to complete the races within the allowed time and gradually gathered a stack of medals that are still draped on a coat hanger in my wardrobe.

Then, when Jaco, our younger son, left school, he also bought himself a road racing bike and we sometimes cycled together.

On 12 March 1995, Jaco and I did the Cape Argus race around the Cape Peninsula. We were well prepared, Jaco especially so. He had had sufficient time to practise and was developing into a very strong rider. I, on the other hand, had my doubts as to whether I would be able to finish the race within the allotted time. Because of the large number of competitors, we were divided into several groups and set off at five or ten minute intervals. (Nowadays there are some 30- to 32,000 entries but in that year there probably were about 24,000.) My nerves were all uptight when the shot sounded, but we both got off to a good start and Jaco shot ahead like an arrow from a bow, leaving me well behind right from the beginning. He was hoping to do the race in a very good time. I just plodded along but gradually gained confidence, picked up speed and actually enjoyed the race very much. I completed the approximately 109 km in 3 hours 45 minutes; an average of 29,23 km/h, which I felt was not too bad for a man of 54.

I was expecting to find Jaco waiting for me at the winning post, but he was not there and looking around all over, I could find no trace of him, so I waited and waited until, some 45 minutes later, he came steaming over the finish line! I just could not believe my eyes. On enquiring what had happened, he told me that the brand new stem of his bicycle to which his handlebars were clamped, snapped and the next moment he sat on the saddle, helpless, holding the disconnected handlebars up before him, with no brakes and with his feet clamped to the pedals. By God’s grace this did not happen at full speed downhill, but right at the crest of a hill where he was going at a moderate speed. A number of spectators, noticing his predicament, charged towards him, grabbed hold of the cycle and helped him to dismount, but what now? “Fortunately” there happened to be a stall at that exact spot to assist riders with small repairs to their cycles. They managed to strap the handlebars back onto the stem in some or other way, enabling Jaco to complete the race, for which I really admired him. The question was: between the two of us: who won the race, him or me? Well, as someone said: “If you want to know who won the match, look at the scoreboard,” and, looking at the scoreboard, the father aged 54 beat the son aged 20 in the 1995 Cape Argus cycle race! That was great fun.

On 31 October 1995, I bought myself a better used road cycle, though this one was a bit under-sized and a month later I managed to do 153 km all in one go. On 26 December that year, Jaco and I set off on a cycle tour through North–Western Transvaal. Martie and Jaco’s girlfriend, Debbie, accompanied us in a light truck towing our caravan. In order for the ladies also to have something to enjoy during the tour, we stayed over at holiday resorts every second day. In total we covered 643 km at an average of 28 km/h. The longest distance we did, was between the Ben Alberts nature reserve, outside Thabazimbi and Vaalwater, some 135 km. There were many challenges along the way such as when we found a promised caravan park to be nothing but abandoned pig sties way out on a farm. On returning to Vaalwater, the local butchery had run out of meat and when we wanted to continue on our journey to Nylstroom, we were told that the bridge across the Sand River had washed away so that we had to make a detour along a dirt road, with Jaco and Debbie tucked away in the caravan.

How Jaco and I appreciated the showers of the Hennie de Witt resort where we could at last, after all that drama, rinse off the sweat and salt that had accumulated on our bodies during our 135 km ride to Vaalwater. But that was not the end of our challenges, for on our next stage, from Nylstroom to Warmbaths, I had five consecutive punctures before I discovered that they were caused by a small slit in the tyre where a piece of glass had cut it. Every time, as I sat in the grass along the way attending to my damaged tyre, Martie and Debbie looked down aloofly upon me from the height of the truck’s cab. The next day, between Warmbaths and Pretoria, it was Jaco’s turn for punctures but we got home all in one piece. Such mishaps, though not enjoyable when occurring, make for good memories when recalling them afterwards.

However, my real test came for me at the age of 57, when we decided to do a tour from Pretoria through the eastern Transvaal and down to Pennington, south of Durban. This time we were not accompanied by a vehicle and had to carry everything we needed in small rucksacks on our backs. We could see that Martie and Debbie were very concerned when dropping us just outside Pretoria on the road to Trichardt, but men have this itch within their bones and have to do something abnormal from time to time to remain normal and cope with the challenges of life. Our first stage of 133,7 km as well as the next stage of 81,1 km to Ermelo, were very enjoyable and without any mishaps.

On leaving Ermelo on the third morning, however, we found that the temperature had dropped considerably for, unknown to us, a cold front was moving across the country and within the next kilometre, sleet started coming down. We were not prepared for this at all, riding in cycling shorts and short-sleeved shirts. That day’s journey turned into a nightmare for the temperature kept dropping and showers of rain poured down on us. Every now and then a large truck would pass, showering us with a sheet of water. Jaco’s hands got so numb that they once slipped off the handlebars and he almost got run down by a truck. About half-way to our destination, we stopped under the cover of a bridge and, while jogging on one spot to keep our legs and bodies from freezing, we ate some sandwiches to replenish our strength. When, after 110 km we arrived at Piet Retief, we were a sight for sore eyes and the servant girl at the home of our relatives where we were to stay over for the night, got such a fright when looking at us through the window that she would not open the door at first. When we finally gained entrance, we made a beeline for the bathrooms and soaked our bodies in the delightfully hot water. By that time we were not blue, but actually white with cold. Our riding gear was of course soaked with water and mud, but we managed to borrow some clothes and then sat down to a hearty hot meal.

The question now was whether to continue on our journey having done three stages but with four more left. It would have been a great disappointment to turn back, so, before going to bed that night, Jaco and I prayed and prayed, trusting the Lord to make a way for us. At about three the next morning I got up, went outside and as I looked up into the sky, saw a small opening in the thick layer of clouds. This gave me hope that the Lord would indeed do a miracle on our behalf.

The next day broke with dark clouds still covering the sky and intermittent rain, but by 11 a.m. it somehow cleared up a bit and we decided to tackle the next stage of 101,4 km to Vryheid. We had also managed to buy ourselves some sweaters though they were not of much help. By then the mountain ranges and landscape all around us were covered with snow and lead grey clouds stretched from horizon to horizon – a very depressing atmosphere indeed. The up side of it was that it did not rain, so we did not experience as much cold as the day before.

What I did not tell Jaco, was that I had been unable to contact the lady at whose place we were due to stay over that night and would have to scout around for accommodation once we arrived at Vryheid. I silently prayed as far as we went. Some ten km before reaching our destination, a car passed us, then stopped on the wayside and a lady got out and motioned for us to stop. When we got to her, she enquired whether I was “Pastor Ben”. When I said I was, she introduced herself and explained that it was arranged for us to stay over with her for that night, but that her cell phone had been defective for a day or two so she did not know whether we had been trying to make contact and did not have my phone number either. She then gave us her address and said that she would go ahead and prepare our bedroom.

Oh, the wonderful grace of our God. He never slumbers nor sleeps, His telephone line never is engaged or His mobile phone disabled by having a flat battery or out of airtime. His eye is continually upon us and He watches over us as a mother watches over her little toddler. Blessed be His holy Name! We enjoyed such wonderful hospitality that night and that from a complete stranger. She even gave us her car to drive around in which I appreciated very much for I had been at school at Vryheid and wanted to show Jaco where we had lived and the school I had attended.

The next morning we were off to Melmoth, a very tiring stretch of 128,8 km, during which we had to climb the formidable Drakensberg range. On reaching our destination, I was exhausted; not so with Jaco for he was a young man of 23, getting fitter by the day as we journeyed along, compared to my 57 years on planet Earth.

We had been unable to prearrange accommodation and Jaco was not happy to stay over in the only available hotel. So, what were we to do? As we stood in front of the ABSA bank discussing this issue, a lady stepped out of the building onto the pavement for a smoke break. I asked her whether there was any guesthouse where we could spend the night. She promised to find out and get back to us. Some time passed and just when we were beginning to despair, she returned, saying that the only guesthouse which could accommodate only one person was fully booked, but that she had spoken to her husband and that they were happy to take us. As she was speaking, he stopped next to us in his police van, got out, looked us over for a few moments, possibly deciding whether he could believe our story of having cycled down all the way from Pretoria, then broke into a broad smile, stretched out his hand and welcomed us. He was quite an interesting character, in appearance and conduct very much like a Wild Western sheriff. Though worldly people, they were a very friendly couple and treated us to an excellent meal. After having washed our riding clothes (for we had only one set) Jaco and I bedded down in a double bed in the spare room.

Just after daybreak the next morning, we were off to Umhlali, a small town on the eastern coast, north of Durban, a distance of 143,5 km but not all that exacting because we were going downhill on the eastern slopes of the Drakensberg most of the way. What discomfort we did, however experience in full measure, was the hurting of our bottoms, for they had by then been punished on those hard racing bike saddles for some 555 kilometres. Every morning, the first 2 to 3 km was pure torture. The muscles of our upper legs too, were quite painful, but these were small discomforts and we were thoroughly enjoying ourselves.

That night we found accommodation at a small hotel. Our bodies had been working very hard and our hunger knew no bounds. We ordered one meat dish after another until the wide-eyed waitress whispered that she had no more meat left in her fridge. However, she made us some delicious sandwiches for the next day. We then went to bed but that was not to be the end of Jaco’s experiences for the day, for his bed broke during the night, causing his body to remain in a jack-knife position till the next morning.

Then we were off on the last stage of our journey. We travelled very well, stopping over at the Durban beach to eat our sandwiches and then continued down to Pennington. What an exhilaration we experienced when, at last, the little town’s sign-post stood right there in front of us. We had covered a distance of 826,8 km in 33,57 hours at an average speed of 24,35 km/h, doing some 118,11 km on average per day. What a privilege for a father and son to be able to share such experiences and, in so doing, cementing their relationship with one another.

Arrival at Pennington!

After visiting with our relatives for a day or two, we returned to Pretoria by train where Martie and Debbie warmly welcomed us, much relieved that we had returned home safely.

Although Martie sometimes went cycling with me and Debbie once accompanied Jaco on a tandem bicycle in a cycling race, neither of them really took to cycling but both, especially Martie, would be game for a hiking tour. We did two of those, the first in the vicinity of Waterval-Boven: a two day hike during which we were accommodated in railway carriages. The scenery was fine, but the route was not very challenging.

Our second hike was at Magoebaskloof in the Eastern Transvaal (now Mpumalanga). This was a very challenging five day trail of 80 to 90 km. The landscape was mountainous, the climate, rainy and foggy. (I recently surfed the Net to check whether my facts regarding this trail were correct, but it seems as if the original trail as we walked it at that time, no longer exists.) Martie and I were very hesitant to undertake it for both of us were in our 50’s and not so sure whether we would make it. Once we had committed ourselves, we prepared for the long walk by loading our rucksacks with three or four bricks each and then going on shorter hikes in the Pretoria area.

Having a meal on top of black mountain

So eventually, we made a booking, got a date and set off; that is Martie, Jaco, Debbie and I. This indeed was a very taxing hike but we managed to keep going and, though suffering hour by hour, absolutely enjoyed the experience. (What I mostly appreciate about such long hikes is that by the third day, all memories of civilisation just fade away, and you get caught up in that atmosphere of peace that nature exudes.) The overnight accommodation was primitive, but the scenery was superb and the panoramic views from up top of those mountains left us breathless.

I think it was on the third day that we came to a split in the trail where we had to choose between an easier route along the base of Black Mountain and a very taxing route crossing the mountain itself. Martie and I opted for the latter, but for Debbie it was a difficult choice for her knees were giving her some trouble. In the end, we all decided on the High Trail. Scaling that mountainside drained from us every bit of energy and the women had to rest frequently, so I decided to go ahead and get some food prepared for us. On the way up, I passed through huge rock formations, so majestic and awesome to behold, that I felt I was on holy ground with my faith rising up within me to a level where I felt capable of walking on the water as Jesus did.

Time however, was slipping by, and I proceeded to the top of the mountain where I found some level rock formations where we could sit down to rest and have a bite. By then we had run out of water but there were puddles of crystal clear rainwater caught up in the hollows of the rocks for our use. I lit our little camping gas burner, filled a pot with water and had it boiling when the other three members of the team arrived. (On such hikes I always found great enjoyment in preparing some hot food when out there in the bundu.) After a hasty meal we continued on our way, for by then it was midday and we still had a long distance to go.

On reaching the building where we were to spend the night, the women were totally exhausted and Martie was quite certain that she would never be able to get up and continue the next day. Jaco and I left the two of them to wash and refresh themselves, while we went to some huts where African people taking care of the building and surroundings lived, to see if we could perhaps buy some maize- meal from them for we felt like having some traditional “pap” and roasted meat.

On our return I walked a little distance up the hill, away from the building, and came across a troop of wild horses. We had read about these in a brochure. Their ancestors apparently belonged to prospectors that had, many, many years before, been searching for gold at Pilgrims’ Rest in the valley down below. On leaving the area, they turned their horses loose which then roamed freely all over, multiplying as time went by. As I stood watching them, the magnificent leading stallion, came towards me, prancing at every step, the herd cautiously following for they were as inquisitive as I was and then, when he apparently felt he was taking a bit of a risk, spun around in one blur of movement and raced off across the plateau with the whole troop following at his heels, hooves thundering on the damp earth and manes and tails flying in the wind. Oh, to be transported back in time and to have a glimpse in the Garden of Eden of the animals as God originally created them.

Wonder upon wonder, the next morning, Martie was able to get up as usual and so we continued on our way. The route also led us through the historical little town of Pilgrim’s Rest where we spent a couple of hours, then trudged off again, up and up to the crest of the mountains and in the end, down to the spectacular potholes at Burke’s Luck where I managed to get a lift back to the starting point to collect our car so that we could return home. What a privilege we had to share those experiences with our son and with Debbie, who later on became our daughter-in-law.

The Lord is so gracious to allow his children, even those in the ministry, so much scope to enjoy themselves on condition that they never put their pleasure above Him, for then it becomes an idol that disgraces Him and undermines the relationship. One has to be very sensitive to the guidance of the Holy Spirit as to the use of one’s time, funds, energy and other resources. Once one has these priorities properly in place, one’s sport becomes very enjoyable and a means to glorify Him and causes one’s faith to grow as one trusts Him in all the challenges you experience. Our bodies were designed for an amount of physical exercise and having sat on a chair, staring at a computer screen, 6 to 8 hours per day, I find it very relaxing to go for a spin on my bike. It also releases stress and tension that build up while attending to one’s responsibilities. While out there on the open road, even when participating in a race, my heart is often so filled with joy, that it just overflows into praise and I cannot but sing unto Him in my heart, or even out loud.

But I say again: sport must never become an idol. Some three months ago I was to participate in a 108km road race at Bloemfontein that I had been training for for many months. Then, on the night before the race, as we were in a guest house and I was preparing my requisites for the next day’s race, I sensed the Lord whispering so very softly to me: “Ben, you have been training very hard for this race, if I were to ask you now to abandon it and return home, what would your answer be?” Overwhelming emotion surged up in my heart, tears came to my eyes and I replied: “Lord, why are You asking me this question? You know that I will not hesitate for a moment but will immediately pack up and return home without a trace of regret. You are way, way above these worldly pleasures.” Needless to say, the Lord then released and blessed me to participate in the race and even do very well (according to my standards.) Oh, the grace of God that, as time goes by, manages to remove the heart of stone, the heart of a person even like me, and replace it with a heart that loves Him and is, after many years of rebellion, able to have joy in pleasing Him.

THE JOY OF THE LORD IS OUR STRENGTH!

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D7. VARIOUS MINISTRIES AND OCCUPATIONS

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SPIRITUAL MINISTRY WITHIN HCCN

The emphasis of our whole existence however, was still the salvation of souls and the building up of the people of God, especially so for me. As I said earlier, at a certain time we were supervising some fifteen home cells, totalling more than 150 members, so we attended a different cell or visited different cell leaders just about every night of the week, giving guidance as to how to conduct their cells and of course also counselling and encouraging them. We also assisted them by counselling members of their cells for the cell leaders were of course not on the level of trained pastors and did not have answers to all the questions they were facing. We thoroughly enjoyed this work and by the wonderful grace of God, we saw some good things happening in most of the cells and saw them multiplying as new leaders emerged from their ranks.

It was there that I realised the importance of developing leaders within every group of people to whom one is ministering. If one does not do that, one’s ministry will stagnate and one will be ministering to the same group of people, over and over, for the rest of one’s life, which is not what God wants us to do. In the natural run of life, a man marries a woman and they have children, who in turn marry and have children and so it continues up to the day when the original husband and wife may become great-great grandparents and then pass on into glory. That is what a fruitful couple does. In the Spirit we should do likewise and are able to accomplish a hundred or a thousand times more.

In the course of our ministry we learned these valuable lessons which stood us in good stead later in life. During our earlier ministry as evangelists doing outreaches, we had ministered to people, as it were, from a distance. We presented the Gospel to them, led them to the Lord and then handed them over to local pastors to nurture them in the Lord, but now we had made a very personal contact with all sorts of people and were amazed at the depth of corruption of human nature, but also of the terrible pain and anguish Christians went through while going around with a smiles on their faces.

I was always under the impression that professional people, because of their studies and the responsibilities they were bearing in the course of their professions, would be lifted to a level where they would recoil from using physical violence within their marriages. My perception was that it was just below their dignity to do so. Now that we got to know such couples personally, I was astonished when they confessed to hitting one another with their fists and wrestling on the carpet till one got the upper hand and held the other down on the floor! Goodness me! I could have believed that tensions arose within such marriages causing them ultimately to divorce, but physical violence! I had to keep a straight face and just contemplate texts like Jeremiah 17:9: “Corrupt is the heart above all things; who can know it?” (How important it is for the Lord’s counsellors to have large ears and very small, tight-lipped mouths so as to be found reliable to be entrusted with such embarrassing, inside information, not giving way to temptation to spill the beans.) On listening to such a confession one had to ask the Lord for a special anointing of grace and humility to serve these dear struggling children of God as a servant, from the bottom upwards and not from the top downwards. One had to be quiet for a couple of minutes, reflect on the secrets of one’s own heart, which God, by grace, did not reveal to others and then, with eyes filled with tears, counsel them as led by the Holy Spirit.

On counselling couples who were going through marriage related struggles, we repeatedly discovered that the root of the problem usually was a poor relationship with God. One also had to be very careful not to have a one-sided approach. The judicial rule of: “Audi alterem partem,” (hear the other side) applies equally to Christian counselling. When discord erupts within a marriage, the wife is normally the first to approach her Christian leader in tears, telling how she suffered under this brutal husband. Men, especially Christian men, normally tend to feel compassionate towards the weaker sex and are easily moved by their tears and sobs. I am no exception and often made the mistake of then being biased in favour of the wife when setting out to counsel the couple. My unfavourable attitude towards the husband would be strengthened by the fact that he might tend to be sulky and uncooperative because of the fact that he resented his wife revealing confidential matters. The Lord, however taught me and I gradually developed a more balanced approach and would, from the outset, tell the husband that I appreciated the fact that he might feel offended by his wife bringing their problem to us, but that I thought some good might come of it by us bringing the whole situation before the Lord and would therefore appreciate to hear his side of the story. What also helped was the fact that Martie always, but always, accompanied me when counselling a woman. Though I would lead such a session, she would have ample opportunity to give input and often came up with very valuable insights. As I said, we normally discovered that the root of the problem was a poor relationship with God and we would spend most of our time counselling them on how to put this right and if they were unwilling to do so, we would refrain from any further marriage counselling for it would be in vain. There were of course cases with one of the partners at least 90% at fault in which case, after having spoken to the “guilty” partner, we could only encourage and pray for the other one. Our congregation also did much by way of premarital courses and counselling and marriage seminars to build healthy spiritual homes.

Finances was another area of Christian living that caused stress, shame and, when not dealt with, could land a marriage on the rocks. Our congregation very seldom rendered financial assistance to non-members, but when it came to long-standing members who ended up in some sort of financial quagmire, we went a long way in assisting them to recover. In the beginning we would, for instance, buy them groceries and pay as many of their bills as possible. Should their predicament continue for a longer period, we would insist on their submission to financial counselling by some of our experienced businessmen or other people equipped to do so. They would be required to submit a detailed report concerning their debts as well as their monthly income and expenditure. We would then assist them financially for a longer period on condition that they stick to our monthly recovery plan. Some benefited in this way but there were those that stumbled from one ditch into the next and sometimes left our congregation to join up with some other where they were unknown and would be helped all over again. They just never learned the lesson that you cannot spend what you are not earning. They somehow believed that if you were a Christian, the Lord would not only provide in your needs, but also gratify all of your greeds. A number of businessmen also allowed their imaginations to soar way above reality and would not be counselled by those that had walked the long, demanding, sacrificial road to well-earned success and material affluence.

Some members, whom God had blessed with much material wealth, gave liberally to the work of God but unfortunately there were also those that were very tight-fisted, fearful of giving away too much and being reduced to poverty – so they lacked in faith. There were also those that just loved to see their bank accounts and other assets multiply day by day and month by month. Greed is a deep-rooted vice that is very difficult to be eradicated from the one that has nursed it for a lifetime. Such a person, when being baptised to signify the death of his old nature in Christ, spiritually speaking, raises one hand in which his purse is clenched, well above water level! My view in this matter has always been that there is no sin in putting in all one’s effort to make as much money as one can, on condition that one wisely invests one’s profits in the Kingdom of God, retaining just enough for a decent living and enjoying some pleasures as led by the Holy Spirit.

In guiding Christians to spiritual victory, we have continually been amazed at God’s incredible patience with His children. There were those that had deeply ingrained problems (sins) which, notwithstanding all our counselling and prayers, were not resolved. These “problematic” children of God would, however, continue attending a home group as well as congregational meetings and when we met them many years later, they had changed remarkably for the good. One would then see the love and joy of the Lord in them. Oh, the persistent grace of God that never gives up on us.

During those years of ministry we also saw the value of home groups (cell/life groups) in effecting spiritual growth in members of the Body. Under the guidance of a well-trained and somewhat matured cell leader couple, every member receives individual care, learns to pray and speak his thoughts in public, gets the opportunity to minister to others and learns from other’s strong and weak points. The New Testament churches were in fact mostly such smallish groups of Christians that gathered in homes, not in large public buildings. The Lord Jesus very often met with small groups of people. Congregational meetings where thousands of people gather to worship the Lord and receive teaching and other ministry have their unique place in the building up of God’s people and so have the smaller house meetings.

Probably one of the areas where God taught us most, was not in our ministry to man, but in our ministry to God. Pastor Ed Roebert, the founder of the Hatfield Christian Church, laid much emphasis on praising and worshipping God in the course of meetings and imparted this precious spiritual understanding to all of us. Our own congregation, Hatfield Christian Church North, followed his example and we would normally stand up and spend about three-quarters of an hour in praising and worshipping God. Some of us would raise our hands, even sway our bodies when the Holy Spirit came upon us and flooded our hearts with joy. Then again tears would course down our cheeks as we were humbled in His presence. Such times of intense praising and worshipping of God, laid the foundation for the subsequent effective ministering of His Word.

If someone would ask me what the greatest thing was that I learned in the course of my association with the charismatic movement and especially with the Hatfield Christian Church, I would without hesitation reply: “Not the preaching, nor the ministering of the gifts of the Spirit, but the praising and worshipping of the living God.” That is the basis of all Christian ministry. First of all, learn to minister to your Creator, God, Father, Deliverer, Councillor and Friend, and then be led out by the Holy Spirit to minister unto man or to pray for your own daily needs. Martie and I are still doing it daily. Apart from having our, let’s say one and a half hour, of quiet time every morning, we spend a half to three-quarters of an hour together to praise and worship the Lord in song, and in speech which the Holy Spirit lays in our minds or makes us quote from His Word.

A church that does not practise intensive, Holy Spirit led praise and worship, misses the heart of interaction with God, and its members will always be aware of an unquenched thirst deep within their spirits. In the Old Testament, sacrifices of animals and of sweet smelling incense were brought to God, which was fitting for that time, but think of it: what can our God do with an animal? But our praise and worship rise up through the atmospheric heaven, through the starry heaven, into the dwelling place of God and reaches and pleases Him immensely where He is sitting on His throne. It is no wonder that once we have so blessed Him in a way that is acceptable to Him, He then pours down blessings of all kinds upon us, filling our cup with good things, providing for all our needs and using us to minister effectively to the people around us. May our dear Lord, by His Spirit inspire us more and more to become real worshippers that will, in these last days when his Name is abused by the world, uplift Him higher and higher by our praises.

Flowing from and going hand in hand with praise and worship, were the “soaking meetings” we had. During such times, we refrained from ministering to one another from the Word of God or by means of the Gifts of the Spirit. All we did was to praise and worship God for awhile, then sit quite still for some time, sometimes on the carpet with our backs against the wall, waiting on the Spirit to work within our hearts and bring to us a perception of the nearness of Christ, also working within us humility and a submission to the Holy Spirit. These were some very precious times during which we felt as near to God as the disciples did on the mount of transfiguration.

Oh, there is so much more to experience of our living God, but in our modern society we are in so much of a hurry, going nowhere, that we often ride roughshod over the promptings of the gentle Spirit of God, rather than to be quiet, sit still and allow Him to minister to us.

“BE STILL AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD.”

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