‘Salibonane-Yebo. Linjani-Sikona. And then a smile. A smile will cover a lot of mistakes!’ So ran our first lesson on the rudiments of African courtesies, taught by Miss Nicolson. We had the pleasure of her company for a week-end at home before we left, and a better introduction to the Mission atmosphere could hardly be imagined.
Then on to the reality. Bulawayo airport at 7 in the evening. Flood-lights blinding your eyes, and the vague impression of a crowd gesticulating on the balcony. We had arrived.
The next day to the native market, and on to Thembiso. Thembiso, in Sindebele meaning promise, is the orphanage referred to on page 63 of the recent Proceedings of Synod. We were amazed at the size of it, and at the advanced stage the complex of buildings had reached. It will probably be in operation, Mr Van Woerden told us, by the end of the year.
On Friday out to Ingwenya, and again it is night when we arrive. We have Saturday to settle in, but the shadow of the first interpreted service is already fairly upon us. Sabbath morning, Haggai 2:5, with Paul Moyo to interpret. A big crowd of young folk from the school, the adults at the back. It is difficult to adjust to this rhythm — will I ever get used to it?
‘Monday at 11.20,’ Miss Graham had said, ‘And you’ll find me in the office.’ And so to a round of the school, including a visit to the kitchen. What huge kind of wells, sunk in the cooking-range, with lids covering African porridge! We are now round at the native hut on the Mission, like a small museum where the African kind of life-style is displayed. But we can’t escape from our duty, for Miss MacKay has caught up with us, and Form 3 are waiting for their period of Scripture. A period and a half it turned out to be. And the questions in the second half demonstrated that I had made the same mistake here as I often make at home — I had underestimated the ability of the children. And at the end another aspect also: here, too, some think it clever to doubt.
Malawi is rather different from the country where our Mission is. The political situation is different, and the stranger gets a little tired of the cockerel whose picture is everywhere. No doubt the bird has its own place, but as representing the morning of independence it seems to have left that place in nature to brood over every aspect of the national life.
The climate is different too, and is probably more varied than that of Rhodesia. A valley behind Zomba Hotel where I spent a night seemed to
me to provide scenes more like Scotland than Africa. But there is nothing Scottish about the low-lying area about the Lake. Here I met a man whose mother’s father was one of the Makololo who came up the Shiré with Livingstone. Talking of Livingstone, it was more than interesting to see an original letter of his, written from the Upper Shiré, in the museum of Blantyre. The year was 1859; he had just discovered the Lake. The tone of the letter was characteristic. He began with an outburst against his correspondent for not writing him, and infers from the absence of letters that, with the missionaries, it is a case of ‘out of sight, out of mind’. A morsel of comfort, one thought, for our own missionaries. If they feel in any way neglected, they share that feeling with the greatest the world has known.
Back then to the Mission, and on to its very frontiers, to Samakatane. This is the focal point for a school and church services, established not so very long ago on the other side of the Shangani River. The communion is held here on the third Sabbath of July, and we arrived in time for the Friday service. A different interpreter, of course, this time — Nathaniel Mpfu who lives nearby. There would have been a contrast anyway between my voice and Nathaniel’s. As I had a cold and could not produce much volume the contrast was even greater. As the congregation was exhorted in the powerful tones of the interpreter’s voice, the impression which was always there was heightened — that the preacher was addressing the interpreter, instead of the congregation. It was the interpreter who preached to the congregation.
The scene at Samakatane was really quite picturesque. The temporary thatched-roof church had sides of thatch, woven together with wire. Also, one side was open, and a thatch wall had been erected at a distance of about 15 yards. The object of this was seen on the Sabbath, when the church could not hold the people. Those who could not get space in the church sat on the ground, between the main building and the off-set wall. There would have been perhaps almost three hundred there. When the time came to serve the Lord’s table two elders brought out the elements of bread and wine, as we do at home. While they were doing so another elder from Mbuma, David Ndlovu, the mission builder, went to the other side of the table and made a passage for the communicants among the children who were there squatting on the ground. It was done so gently, and one noted the absence of that formality which prevails at home.
At the afternoon service Mr Mzamo preached on John 8:36. His exhortation, we felt, was moving: ‘Will the foxes of Samakatane have
A black and white photograph of a traditional thatched-roof church building in a rural setting. A person is standing in the foreground, looking towards the church. The building has a steeply pitched roof and is surrounded by trees and a fence.
The Church at Samakatane
their holes, and the birds of Samakatane have their nests, and will the Son of Man not have where to lay his head here? Where does He wish to dwell but in your heart? Not in your mouth only, nor in your mind. The Son of Man must have the best place to dwell in. He must dwell in your heart and in your inmost soul.’
The service on Monday began at 8 a.m. As we were getting near the place we saw groups of children in the forest, making their way to the school. We stopped once or twice to pick them up until there was no more room. And when they began to sing as we bumped along, it was as if the ones who had got a lift felt duty-bound to increase the volume on behalf of those who had been passed by. And when we came away for the last time, the women who climbed in the back did the same. One woman who was vocally endowed seemed to act as precentor, announcing the Psalms and enthusiastically striking up the tunes. Nor did it blunt their zeal when a stranger took the wheel.
Then we were back to Mbuma, and with the communion over we had time to look around. A visit to the hospital by night was quite an experience. Startled eyes blinking at the sudden light. Crowds of people sleeping on the floor. The x-ray room and the theatre of course were not pressed into service for accommodation. We could take our time to look at these, and could not but be impressed.
A black and white photograph of two men standing outdoors in front of a thatched-roof building. The man on the left is a white man with light-colored hair, wearing a dark suit, white shirt, and tie, holding a book. The man on the right is a Black man, also wearing a dark suit, white shirt, and tie, holding a book. They are standing on a dirt ground with a thatched-roof structure in the background.
Revs. P. Mzamo and J. Tallach outside the Samakatane Church
On Wednesday out with Mr Mzamo to Lutsha school. The children crowded into a classroom with glass-less windows. Singing for all they were worth. Outside, the men stood to speak with Mr Mzamo. The old one talked of the past. He remembered the days when there was no mission in the whole area. He remembered John Tallach coming here with James Fraser, when the latter was on holiday from Hope Fountain. Where did they stay when they came? ‘They camped under that very tree you see over there.’
It was about 7.30 a.m. when we left Mbuma. Not an early start for Africa, and in any case we had to reach Zenka by 9. What an impressive crowd of children, lined up in groups at the entrance to the church! And then the big metal gong affair was struck with a slow rhythm, and they all filed into church. Almost 600 of them, the smallest sitting on the floor at the front of the large building. The others crammed on to benches, the end ones having to fight to retain their hold. Here and there the figure of
a teacher appeared, an adult island rising up out of a sea of children. Again, at the back, were the adults.
Outside we met old Magaya. (He is the one with the bicycle, pictured as a younger man in ‘James Fraser’). He spoke and spoke as if we had the gift of tongues, our interpreter doing his best to keep pace with him in English. He seemed a cheerful old man, one who could not conceal a heart love to the gospel. He reminded us of the late Robert Watt from Inverness.
When Livingstone discovered the Falls over a century ago, he was travelling slowly and taking everything in. It seemed sacrilegious to charge there along a broad tarred highway just to take one look. But that was all we could do, and rush away. If we wanted to get into Wankie Game Reserve we would have to be there by the middle of the afternoon. We saw no lion, nor giraffe, no zebra, but a herd of elephants did their best to make up for that. A few of them had crossed the road before we came along. The rest were making noises in the forest off-stage to our left. Trumpetings and the crash of falling timber. In their own time they gradually emerged and sauntered off after the others. One, more with a mind for the stage than the others, paused in the middle of the road with a leafy branch in his trunk and proceeded to dust himself with it.
Back to Bulawayo on the Saturday morning, and our last week-end. Two services in town, the interpreter Mazvabo. Apparently his native language is Shona, so both Sindebele and English are foreign to him. And on to finish our visit at Ingwenya, where it began as far as the Mission is concerned. The English service in the evening, and I am as lost without an interpreter now as I was with one at the start. You can get used to anything.
And so, with that unforgettable singing ringing in our ears, we part. What can we say, as the mission in all its aspects fades from view? What can we sing, as we wish them all the blessing of the Lord?
Therefore I wish that peace may still
Within thy walls remain,
And ever may thy palaces
prosperity retain.
Now, for my friends’ and brethren’s sakes,
Peace be in thee, I’ll say.
And for the house of God our Lord,
I’ll seek thy good alway.
J.T.