SOUTH AFRICA TRAVELOGUE

Thursday August 6
The past week in London went very quickly. For the first time in twenty years, all ten siblings were together to celebrate my mother’s seventy-fifth year on this earth–it was a wonderful celebration. I was the first of mom’s children to break the precious circle as my brother Dale picked me up in the wee hours of the morning so that I could reach the London Heathrow Airport in time for my 0630 flight.

Arriving at 0330, I had plenty time to spare and made a make shift bed on an iron airport bench next to a total stranger (the cushioned seats were taken). I must have awoken about thirty times before making the decision to move to the check in line–it was now 0500 and the desk was scheduled to open at 0530. The agents finally arrived and assumed their stations in choreographed regiment. My elated bubble quickly burst when I was informed that my frequent flier privileges would not be honored, and I would have to pay $1,168.87 for excess baggage. By 0558, it became obvious that my appeals were falling on deaf ears and in the spirit of surrender I pulled out my AmEx card and held my breath to stop my heart from sinking further.... The devil is a liar!

The flight left on time and in about an hour we had landed at the Schiphol International Airport in Amsterdam. I enjoyed a light breakfast in the airline lounge and made my way to the gate where I took my place in the super-extended security line and eventually boarded the flight to Johannesburg. While I pouted over my financial wallop at Heathrow, the Spirit reminded me that I was about His business by placing me next to a Canadian couple who were also on a mission trip. Their organization was in the process of printing one million bibles for Zambia and sponsored health clinics in southern Africa.

After ten elating hours in the air, we finally landed at the Oliver R. Tambo International Airport. Imagine, when I first visited South Africa in 1999, it was the Johannesburg International Airport; and had I braved a trip ten years earlier during the days of oppressive Apartheid, I would have landed in the Jan Smuts International Airport; however, on August 6, 2009, I landed in a liberated airport that bore the name of the famed leader of the African National Congress. There to meet me was my good friend and host, Pastor Vincent Goddard, and one of his elders, Hastings. In less than an hour, we were in the quiet Johannesburg suburb of Lone Hill catching up on old news and sipping Rooibos tea–mmmmm.


Friday August 7
My week in England had helped me to adjust to the time zone (Johannesburg is just one hour ahead of London), so I was not subject to further jet-lag. I did have to adjust to the temperature, however. Southern England was experiencing a warm and balmy summer, but it was winter in Southern Africa. Fortunately, the space heater in my bedroom helped to counter the near freezing temperature that quickly silences all stereotypical presuppositions about African weather.

My day started slow and predictable. After breakfast, Vince’s wife, Joyce, left for a weekend women’s conference in another part of the country. I had a number of preparatory issues that needed taking care of. Not only did I need to finalize the sermon line up, but my monthly column for Spectrum was due. I took my laptop to the patio by the pool–where the temperature had miraculously risen to 70 degrees (though only for a few brief hours)–and my muse visited me with a commentary on gay marriage in light of my African context. As I pressed the send button after a rapid proof-read, I knew that this one was going to generate some strong comments, but God has not given me a spirit of fear....

As the sun went down, we supped sumptiously and felt the sun’s exit as the chilly night made it’s early evening appearance at 1730. As I prepared to attend a youth Bible study, Vince interrupted me with an SOS alert. He had just received a call from a lady in Pretoria whose eight week old grandson was recovering from several operations and was in the Sunninghill hospital. We made our way to the state of the art facility where we met the parents and were afforded the privilege of interceding for young Christian who was on a ventilator (he has since recovered–praise the Lord!).

Following the hospital visit, we made our way to the Sandton Seventh-day Adventist Church where the youth of Sandton and Voice of Hope were engaged in a vigorous discussion on forgiveness. I must say, I was extremely impressed–almost to the point of intimidation! The youth call themselves MAD–an acronym for “Make a Difference.” I could see that these young people would not be satisfied with spiritual milk and cookies–they were ready to chew on some serious food! It was hear that I first heard about a young man named Rugare who was in the hospital and was close to getting a leg amputated–but more about Rugare later.


Saturday August 8
The main meetings for which I went to Johannesburg commenced on Sabbath morning. They were held at the Sheikh’s conference center in Rivonia. The impressive hotel and conference compound is owned and operated by the Maronite Catholic church, headquartered in Lebanon. When I arrived, about 1,000 people had already gathered and song service was taking place. After greeting a few folk, I selected a seat with the congregation and paid attention to the program until I was distracted by several people entering the auditorium. Well, people had been entering all along, but I did not expect to see my classmate, Pastor Edwin Frederick Brown along with his wife Paula. In fact, I should say that Freddy was there with Paula since the occasion that brought them there was a Sampson family mission trip. The entourage was actually led by Elder and Sister Sampson, and included another classmate, their daughter, Sonya, and my friend Luvalle Johnson, a professor of nursing at Oakwood University. It is indeed a small world!

Having been blessed by Sonya’s music ministry from my student days at the Oaks, it did not take long for me to recruit her for the meditational selection before the sermon–man was I blessed! After the soul stirring rendition of “That Name,” I had no choice but to step back so that the Spirit could continue doing His work. The sermon was not new–“Hungry Dogs and Angry Wolves”–but the message accomplished that for which it was purposed. To the glory of God, chains of spiritual bondage were broken, and blessings were received that morning.

After service, we enjoyed a sumptuous meal at the home of Gayle and Victor Masondo. Gayle is a well known singer of “When I Get Home” fame (with Roland Gresham), and Victor is a world renowned jazz guitarist, for whom Yamaha has named a bass guitar. Victor graciously allowed me to experience his studio as I sampled several of the two dozen or so bass guitars that made one feel that he was on a layover to his heavenly destination. I didn’t realize that the time was quickly passing, and was soon whisked away by Errol “Jehu” Nembhard who got us back to the Sheikh center in a time that would have made Grand Prix champion Lewis Hamilton blush.

The evening’s sermon answered the question, “Can Obama Unite the World?” The message detailed my pride in seeing America’s apartheid legacy briefly interrupted with a semblance of progress, but warned that the celebrated leader is a fallible mortal who can only bring about temporary change. What the world needs is an immortal leader whose perfect kingdom has no end. The crowds dispersed for the evening, but my day had not yet ended. My friends Errol and Paulette Nembhard had me lined up to attend a party with Johannesburg’s West Indian community–yes, we’re there too! It was late in the evening, so I didn’t have too much to eat, but the roti and curry I sampled at the home of my Guyanese host was wackad!

Sunday August 9
Late to bed, but still early to rise. We had lots to do on Sunday. First stop was a men’s prayer group. I thought I was going to a youth breakfast meeting, but pastor had volunteered me! I’m glad I attended, because the Holy Spirit revealed something to me about answered prayer that I had never encountered before. After a great time with the men, I slipped out to the youth breakfast meeting and discovered that the breakfast came after the meeting. The organizers asked me to address the topic of relationships, and boy was it a hot one! The questions came fast and furious and spirited debate made us all forget about the food–until I remembered I was hungry and called for the last round of questions. Then we ate, and yes Nqobani, your pancakes were good!

I thought about the evening’s program, but there was no time to rest. Maybe a couple hours for preparation, but the youth leader, Bongani, and his wife, had already made plans for our dinner. We arrived at the same time as a man who wore the distinctive red hat, scarf and shirt of the Manchester United Football Club. It wasn’t until I got inside that I realized that Man U was playing Chelsea for the Charity Cup; I also realized that almost everyone in South Africa is a Man U supporter, and I? Well I support Chelsea. It was too painful to watch Man U take the lead so quickly, and I really wanted to be in the right frame of mind for the sermon that evening, so I decided to eat my elaborate meal in the dining room.

The time for the evening program was drawing closer, and I left for the Sheikh’s center to the chorus of playful taunts about my near defeated team. But you know the saying–“It ain’t over till it’s over”? By the time I arrived at my destination, Chelsea had not only equalized the match, but had won it in the penalty shoot out. I had no time to bask, brag or boast, my mind needed to be focused on the topic for the evening: “Give Him Your Machine Gun.” This was a message to the men, and the title was a play on the popular Umkhonto we Siswe (ANC military wing) resistance song, “Bring Me My Machine Gun.” The men were reminded about the true meaning of manhood and many responded to the call to be better husbands, fathers and mentors. Some even courageously made a public stand to remain chaste until marriage. Let’s remember them all in prayer.

Monday August 10
Upon waking Monday morning, I inquired about options for exercise. I had slacked a little in London and wanted to re-enliven my cardiovascular rhythm. Joyce and Vince gladly introduced me to their daily routine of three tall glasses of fresh warm lemon juice (unsweetened!), followed by a brisk walk interspersed with subtle stretching and invigorating calisthenics. Upon returning to the gated community, we engaged in conversation with Victor, the security guard. Victor was feeling down–he had just failed a van driving test. This may not sound like much, but passing the test would have meant a radical change for Victor’s future.

Victor is far from his home in Venda where his wife and children live, and works only R120 ($15.00) a day in a city where the cost of living is similar to an American town. He has no vehicle of his own, and driving lessons are R150 ($19.00) an hour. He had already spent over R5000 on his quest, and this latest episode seriously challenged his faith. I later learned that Victor’s quest to follow Christ had been wrought with challenges–just last year he had been severely beaten in the Diepsloot township when men who he knew attacked him for the firearm provided by his security firm. Hearing his story, I was moved to select Victor as the first recipient of some of the funds raised for this trip. He immediately sent the R1175 ($150) to the testing center and is scheduled to retake his test on October 6, 2009. Please keep him in your prayers.

After shower and breakfast, Vince and I made our way to the hospital to visit Rugare Chidembo. Rugare was the young man I had heard about on Friday evening. His good friend Rumbi had asked if we could pray with him. An undeniable sanguine, Rugare’s vivacious personality was felt before we even entered the room. After filling the room with occasions for laughter, Rugare admitted that the it was not his physical pain that bothered him, but the mental pain of being confined in a room. Nonetheless, he was determined to keep his eyes on the only One who could get him out of there. I read and briefly expounded on Psalm 103 and Vince prayed for him. Upon leaving the room, I learned more about his symptoms, and although the prognosis had not been made I could only think about my dearly departed friend and brother, Dr. Ken Mulzac–his situation was the same. I wondered what the outcome would be.

Following our visit with Rugare, we made our way to the apartment of Trevor and Rejoice. Trevor is the youth leader in the Voice of Hope Church. Rejoice and her cousin Bonita had prepared a delicious meal, complete with cake and custard. The fellowship ended too quickly, but we had to prepare for the evening’s program. On Sunday evening, I had focused on men, but Monday was a public holiday on which South Africans celebrate their women (in fact, the entire month of August is dedicated to women’s issues). The topic for the evening was “Baby Mama.” The numbers were not as great as the weekend, but the few hundred faithful would bless the audience each evening. Recording artist, Shana, would officially be anointed and appointed as my appeal singer, and the Spirit used her melodious interpretation of “Fill My Cup” to draw scores of women to the altar where spiritual and emotional healing was powerfully manifest. Lord, strengthen our women, and forgive and transform those men who have caused them pain.

Tuesday August 11
Tuesday was a slow day. After exercising and preparing for the evening, we headed to the home of Tshepho Kgadima, a successful businessman who is also the first elder for the Sandton Church. Tshepho’s wife, Filadia, was close to delivering their third daughter so he considerately decided to take us out to eat. We went to Mandela Square where his corporate offices are located, and dined at a fine Thai restaurant. As we were being seated, a young lady at an adjacent table greeted Mr. Kgadima. He politely introduced his guests to her and revealed that we all had something in common–the beautiful island of Jamaica! Yes–we are everywhere! This revelation only opened up the conversation, and I soon discovered that the young lady sitting next to me was the sister of my long time assistant when at Oakwood University, Andrew Loiten. I don’t believe for a minute that the meeting was serendipitous.

Earlier, I had enquired about a barber, and Tshepho promised to take me to his. True to his word, after lunching he escorted me to a salon in the upscale mall. I must say–I have never had a haircut like that in my life. I’m not talking about the cut, but the treatment! Usually, I sit in the barber’s chair, then after he has finished I am brushed off and disinfected with that distinctive barber scent cologne. This time, after a very meticulous haircut (a little too meticulous for a slightly balding middle ager), I was led to another section of the salon where an attendant thoroughly washed and massaged my hair and head. The dream continued as the hair was dried and the barber continued the massage with exotic oils, taking the time to snip every wayward strand. The relaxing euphoria was soon interrupted by some premature stress as I anticipated the bill for this exuberant luxury. However, it was short lived as I was informed that Mr. Kgadima had settled the account. Hmmm, I feel a sermon coming on....

That evening at the Sheikh’s center, you could have heard a pin drop. All ears were attuned to the provocative message, “Sex and the City.” I knew I was in a society where homosexual marriage and polygamy are legal, but God has called me to be a watchman on the walls of Zion. I really did not know if I was breaking any laws, but was more concerned about adhering to God’s word as I provided biblical instructions relating to three categories of sexual addiction: homosexuality, autosexuality, and hypersexuality. In this age of sexual pervasiveness, I pray that the seed fell on fertile ground.

Wednesday August 12
Even before I landed in South Africa, I had anxiously anticipated my encounter with the inmates at the Leeuwkop Correctional Centre. Located in Sandton, Leeuwkop is a prison camp that houses four prisons: two medium security, one maximum security and one juvenile. The plan was for me to run a revival at the juvenile prison for the entire week, but circumstances dictated that I start on Wednesday. Vince introduced me to Jordan, the senior Chaplain who graciously briefed me about prison life and the population I was to share my ministry with. We eventually arrived at the juvenile facility and had the opportunity to spend some time and pray with Daniel, the warden.

Although it is not compulsory for inmates to attend religious services, about 700 gathered under the open pavilion to receive a word. I later found out that some of the young men were deceived by my shades and sports jacket, and thought I was a rap star! Whatever their reason for coming, the young men sat in rapt attention as I spoke to them about manhood through my interpreter, “Mr. T.” These young men ranged in age from fifteen to twenty-one and were guilty of committing crimes from burglary to aggravated rape to murder. Some were even serving life sentences and were preparing to be transferred to the maximum block on their twenty-second birthday. Nonetheless, as the Spirit moved in that place, they grabbed unto the words of life that gave them hope in their dismal reality.

We could not leave immediately after the presentation because scores of young men surrounded us with questions and affirming testimonies. I will never forget Rashid, an obvious leader who had concluded that God had allowed him to come to prison to prepare him for a greater role in community transformation. He believed that his responsibility had already started and together with his disciples was spreading seeds of positivity in his environs. Although a Muslim, he had read several Christian books and recommended them highly. He wanted to start a positive values class for inmates, and requested that I appeal to the warden on his behalf. The only condition I gave was that he use my book The Faith Factor as the study tool. I had brought copies for them (not enough for each inmate to have a personal copy), and know that the empowering messages on those pages could mean the difference between life and death for some of them. By God’s grace, the warden agreed to Rashid’s request, and if all goes as planned, they should be using the book even as you read this travelogue.

Leaving the prison, we went to have lunch with Nqobani Hlomula. I had befriended Nqobani during breakfast on Sunday after he commended his pancakes to me–not bad! He had worked for years in the feature film industry and is the first assistant director in the 2009 movie “Killing of Wendy.” However, he was conflicted between his Christian values and the ones promoted by Hollywood, and recently decided to leave a very promising and lucrative career. His plan is to use his God given skills and talents to create entertainment that gives glory to God and pulls people to Christ. I can’t share the details of our conversation, but I do believe you need to look out for that name–Nqobani. In fact, there were three other people I met who held significant positions in entertainment media, and if they follow through with the Spirit’s plan, they would definitely be a force to be reckoned with. Please keep Nqobani and other Christians in entertainment in prayer.

A smaller crowd showed up for the message, “When I Get That Feeling.” The evening was advertised as one for people struggling with addictions. The grace-filled message provided hope and empowerment as the audience was reminded that God always provides a way of escape. When the call was extended, the brave ventured to the altar in confession and submission with the hope of a new start in Jesus Christ.

Thursday August 13
Thursday was a quiet day. I was supposed to go back to the prison, but the prison staff were occupied with an emergency meeting and the chaplain had to cancel. This provided me with an opportunity to catch up on some pressing items and finalize plans for the weekend. Due to a scheduling conflict, the Thursday and Friday evening meetings were moved to the church. The church was much smaller than the hall and quickly filled to capacity. Bongani led the audience in rousing song, and the air was electric throughout the delivery of “What Is Your Name?” During the call, members of the audience were provided with the opportunity to resist the pressure of societal conformity and embrace the liberating choice of allowing Christ to define them. May God be praised for the decisions made this evening.


Friday August 14
Thursday’s calm was a preparation for the stormy Friday that awaited me. I awoke to the news of Rugare’s death. As I suspected, he too had fallen victim to osteo-sarcoma. As the pastor answered a flurry of phone calls, we made our way to the Sheikh’s Center to meet the man who had carried the portable baptismal pool from the conference office. Sabbath promised to be a high day and we needed to ensure that everything was in place. After a five minute crash course on baptismal pool assembling, the five who had gathered completed the task in record time. As we worked, I had my eyes fixed on my watch as I reminded Vince of our appointment at Leeuwkop.

We left two men to oversee the filling of the pool and rushed to the prison. In addition to speaking to the youth, I had arranged to leave copies of The Faith Factor in each dormitory, and planned to donate copies of The Blessing of Africa for the prison library. Additionally, the chaplain mentioned that two-hundred prisoners needed Bibles, so I was moved to donate R1500 ($190) from the Life Heritage mission fund to cover the cost of one-hundred Bibles, while the sponsoring churches provided the funds for the rest. Although we arrived late and it was already lunch time, the inmates eagerly took their place as “Mr. T” led them in an invigorating round of Zulu singing. As the men sang heartily, I could see why the prison choir has won national awards.

My interpreter for the day was one who bore the moniker “R. Kelly.” He stood tall and was obviously serious about life. I spoke to the men about resisting peer pressure and getting in touch with their God fortified inner strength. For a moment, I thought I lost them when a troublesome murmuring challenged the presence of the Spirit. I found out later that the young men were agitated by the fact that the public relations department had sent a team to take photographs of the occasion. I knew that the photographers were coming and they had informed me that no face would be shown without the inmate’s consent, but the inmates apparently were not aware. After the brief distraction, the men reconnected and confirmed their willingness to receive the word by enthusiastically participating in the call and response section of my peroration. When the appeal was made, at least one-hundred young men indicated a desire to accept Christ as Lord of their lives. God is great!

The day was not yet over. We hardly had time to freshen up before running to our next appointment–a lunch date with Hastings. This was supposed to have been a time for us to relax for a couple of hours, but as we made our way to the restaurant, Vince received a call reminding him that I was scheduled to conduct a Bible study with an interfaith Christian group at the University of the Witwatersrand. Hastings suggested that we ask the waitress to box the meal–which made me wish that I had not ordered a salad (have you ever tried to eat a salad in a fast moving car?).

We arrived at the University about an hour late, but the faithful remnant gladly received us. Lulu had invited me to answer questions the group had about the seventh-day Sabbath. The mostly business students were serious about the Word and obviously had a desire to walk closer with Christ. Sensing their sincerity, I provided an overview of Sabbath from a biblical, historical and liberation perspective–particularly it’s role as an anti-colonial symbol that unapologetically smacks the face of imperialism. The discussion could have continued until the wee hours of the morning, but I had a message to preach in a far flung suburb!

Fortunately, the rush hour traffic into Sandton was unusually light, and I made it home in time to shower and change. The audience was even bigger on this night as chairs were placed outside the sanctuary in the chilly open square. The Spirit showed up again as the scheduled sermon (“Truth and Reconciliation”) was replaced with “Straight Eyes for the Queer Guy.” Throughout the week, young people had spoken of the challenges they had to live holy lives in an unholy world, and the Spirit compelled me to give a word of hope. As people responded to the call, the power of God demonstrated itself in irrefutable ways as souls were publically delivered. One woman who wanted to respond was involved in a visible struggle with the enemy. Try as she may, she just could not move her feet–it was as if they were glued to the ground. The agony was evident in her face as the saints began to pray. When deliverance finally came and she was able to run to the altar, shrieks of jubilation filled the air–Hallelujah!!!!!


Saturday August 15
Although tired from a week of seemingly non stop activity, I rose on Sabbath with renewed energy. The revival was coming to a close and souls were being buried in the gravel-less grave before being birthed through the watery womb. From those who had taken a stand during the week, four had decided to join the four who had already made up their mind before the revival started. Upon arrival, it became evident that there was not enough space in the auditorium to accommodate the audience. The management quickly dispatched a team to adjust the removable walls and add a couple hundred extra seats.

Although we were running late, the elder in charge reminded us to slow down and allow the Holy Spirit to control the agenda. The prayer for healing was a high point in the service. People took their sick to the altar and stood in the gap for impaired relatives as fervent prayers were audibly uttered. I believe that somebody has a testimony as a result of God’s intervention. By the time the sermon was ready to be delivered, the Lord had already spoken in powerful ways. I prayed earnestly for the Spirit to tarry with God’s servant as I reminded the congregation of what happens “When God Has Faith in You.” When the appeal was made, twenty-five additional souls responded to the call for baptism! Hallelujah!

After a full morning program, our time was very limited, but we lunched in style with the Nembhards before returning to the Sheikh’s Center for the grand finale. The rapturous singing was breathtaking as the people assembled to witness the new births into the kingdom of God. Following the baptism, I conned my way into the band and exercised my fingers very briefly on the bass guitar before readying for the final message: “When Hell Breaks Loose.” Many in the audience had been fending of the fiery darts of the deceiver, but as we studied the story of Job, we came to the realization that the gates of hell will never prevail against those who have established their hope in the kingdom of God. The honest appeal song, “I Just Can’t Give Up Now,” ushered scores of people to the altar as they laid their concerns before the feet of Jesus.

The final moments of the evening were spent at Rugare’s house. The outpouring of support was impressive. I had met Rugare’s parents a few days earlier when I visited him at the hospital. His father, also named Rugare, shared his sanguine personality. He had us believing that he was Rugare’s brother! Although the characteristic smile was unalterably stamped on Mr. Chidembo’s face, his deep sorrow was obvious. The men surrounded him as he shared his heart. Twenty-eight year old Rugare was his first begotten child. Born during a turbulent time in Zimbabwean political life, his name was Shona for “peace.” Rugare, Sr. lamented that his peace had been taken away. May the God of Shalom comfort him even now as we remember his pain.

Sunday August 16
As I mourned with the family last night, Vince informed me that I was responsible for delivering the eulogy. Although I had only met Rugare once, I had been interacting with some of his friends for the week and feel a genuine bond to his father. The sermon was lifted from the book of Ecclesiastes as we tried to come to terms with God’s timing. The mourners were reminded that the uncertainties of life are counterbalanced with the assurance of a blessed hope. The experience of the moment is a temporary interruption to our tranquility that will not even be remembered when the Recreator makes all things new!

On the night preceding Rugare’s death, I was blessed to experience the music ministry of Jonathan Hamilton and Tshedza. I learned that they were involved in a ministry with a children’s home in Johannesburg. On talking with the group members, I was told of a way in which Life Heritage Ministries could provide tangible support to the home. After the funeral service, Jonathon, Joyce and I accompanied other group members to the Rainbow Children’s Village in a tough section of Johannesburg. Inspired by Joy Mann assisted by sister Ellen, Rainbow Chidlren’s Village is a home for children who are underprivileged, abused, abandoned and orphaned by AIDS.

I was not prepared for the outpouring of love that overwhelmed me when I walked into the home. The children hugged me as if I were a long lost uncle. The one I had mainly come to see was not in the welcoming line. She is a little shy and had to be gently summoned–her name is Melanie. Melanie had just been granted a scholarship to attend an Adventist high school, but needed assistance for uniform and books. When I heard her story, I knew that Life Heritage Ministries could fill the gap and was overjoyed to present her care-giver with R3,000 ($380). Melanie wants to be a physician and with your help and prayers, her dream will become reality. Please add Rainbow Children’s Village to your prayer scroll.

My mind was still at the children’s home as we transitioned to our next engagement. Abby (pronounced aybe), the first elder at Voice of Hope had prepared a feast to feed an army (or should I have given the credit to his wife Pinky?)! There were several other guests in attendance, and the discussion was culturally enriching. I heard some amusing stories about how families manipulate the dowry payment during marriage negotiations, and also learned more about the injustices Blacks had to suffer under Apartheid. Imagine, family names were permanently altered by half-educated bigots who could not spell but were too proud to accept the corrected spelling from the ones who were supposed to be intellectually inferior.

The evening before, I had taken the liberty to invite Maggie to the feast (with Abby’s permission). Maggie is a genuine Lemba. This may not mean much to some, but the Lemba are an African tribe who are directly descended from Israel. I first learned of them about twenty years ago through the work of Tudor Parfitt of the School of Oriental and African Studies at the University of London. Since his seminal studies, the genetic authenticity of the Lemba has been confirmed by Dr. David Goldstein (formerly of University College London and now at Duke University). Upon migrating to southern Africa, the Lemba assimilated among the larger Venda nation.

Maggie informs me that one of the main differences between the Lemba and the Venda concerns food restrictions. The Lemba are careful not to eat pork, and if a Venda neighbor has cooked pork, Lemba children are forbidden to play with their children until the food is finished. Although many of the Lemba who have been researched also have an awareness of Sabbath sacredness, Maggie’s clan did not keep the Sabbath. This is probably due to the fact that Apartheid laws kept men away from the homes for most of the week, and Saturday was the only day they could spend with the family before leaving for the cities again on Sunday.

Monday August 17
We woke up very early this morning. After a heavy week of multi-faceted ministry, we needed a break from the big city. Our destination? Kruger National Park. We managed to stay ahead of the traffic as we covered the first stretch of our 400 kilometer journey to Nelspruit, the capital of Mpulalanga province. The astoundingly scenic journey culminated at noon when we finally arrived in Nelspruit and lunched at an American themed restaurant with Johann Jounker. Johann was the district pastor for three churches in Mpulalanga. He had recently entered ministry after living a riotous life, and was on fire for the Lord. Having lived in the area for a number of years, he knew the “wow” spots to visit, and after settling in our hotel, we piled into his BMW and allowed him to guide.

We stopped briefly at a health food store operated by one of Johann’s members, then made our way to the botanical gardens. The flora and fauna were beautiful, but Johann had a couple surprises planned for us. We crossed a “do not enter” zone where our adventurous guide had spotted a hippopotamus on several occasions. Unfortunately, the hippo did not know we were coming and was nowhere to be found. It’s a good thing I had my walking boots on, because Johann loves to hike. Our next “off the beaten path” stop was the summit of a mountain from where we could view pristine falls emptying into the Crocodile River. We were not allowed to soak in the environment for too long because my new friend had an even higher mountain he wanted to show us. We left the park and ascended the altitudes for about sixty kilometers before alighting in the sleepy village of Kaapsehoop.

Kaapsehoop has an interesting landscape and boasts having the oldest rock formation in the world. The scattered SUV size boulders took me back to my visit to Matopos in neighboring Zimbabwe a decade earlier. But this was not time for sight seeing or reminiscing, Johann intended for us to aspire to higher elevations as we took the two kilometer hike to the summit. We were joined by a sausage dog who attached himself to us as if we were old time friends. Johann had predicted that we would see some wild horses–descendants of horses abandoned by Boer settlers who had hoped to make their fortune in gold, hence the name Kaapsehoop (Cape Hope). We were again disappointed when the horses chose to leave us with the occasional pile of evidence that they were around, but refused to make a personal appearance. Nonetheless, the view from the top was absolutely beautiful.

We made our way back to the vehicle and stopped by a guest house that Pastor Jounker often uses for his youth retreats and family getaways. There we met Margaret, a delightful lady whose poodle chased away our canine companion. She offered us a drink and a place to rest our weary feet, and we learned of her current misfortune. Most of her clients had come from a travel agent who had been murdered in his home by burglars, and the person who replaced him had decided to use his own people. The future of the business she had spent many years building was uncertain. As I sympathized with her plight, I couldn’t help but marvel at the fact that even in the midst of her difficulties, she could extend such generous hospitality to total strangers. Please remember Margaret in your prayers.

Tuesday August 18
Sleep came easy last night after all the walking yesterday. Johann had a full day planned for us and showed up soon after breakfast. The destination was God’s Window in Drakensburg. We took a detour through a rural township so that we could make arrangements for our safari at Kruger. While not hot, the weather in that region was warmer than Johannesburg and the land amazingly fertile. I have never before seen cabbages that large and was bemused by the fact that the same climate that nurtured the growth of apples and pears would also bountifully nourish oranges, mangoes, bananas and sugar cane. Africa is truly a blessed land.

After making arrangements for lodging in the park, we continued our trek to God’s Window. We took a brief stop at a rest stop overlooking a deep gorge where Johann dared me to bungee jump. I agreed to do so vicariously through a young lady who fearlessly took the leap for the first time (thankfully not her last!). God’s Window was not too far away and we parked in the parking lot and followed the other tourists up the steep stairs that led to several look out points. What can I say? Well, from our heightened vantage point, there was a steep vertical descent of 3,000 feet that provided an unhindered view of the rich green forestry and plains of the Lowveld. The experience was made even more spectacular by the unique formation of heavy dark rain clouds that encircled a wide area of crystal clear blue sky and created the appearance of a giant spotlight shining from heaven. Thank you Lord!

Intent on heightening our cultural experience, Johann exposed us to Afrikaner culture by taking us to a pancake restaurant for an early dinner. Yes, pancakes for dinner! These weren’t your stacked fluffy American pancakes that need a side of eggs, sausages and facon (I need to copyright this word!) to complete them, they were pancakes stuffed with all the ingredients of a main meal. Once the stuffing of the pancake had been tenderly committed to our stomachs, we stopped at an establishment where many of the products were made on site. The African Silk Factory operates under a business plan in which 80% of the profits go back to the community from which the workers originate. Their products have gained a reputation for being of a high quality, and are even sold at Harrods of London. After the personal tour by one of the managers, my hand involuntarily reached for my credit card as I purchased some fine African silks for my wife and daughter.

It was getting late, and we were supposed to check into our accommodations at Kruger by 1800 before they closed the gates to the park. We had less than two hours to drive 120 kilometers back to the hotel so that we could get in Vince’s car and drive another 70 kilometers to the Numbi gate. If we did not get there on time, we would lose our reservations. O, I forgot to mention, it was getting close to rush hour. Needless to say, I haven’t prayed so hard in a long time. I’m not sure which had more motion–the car or my heart! We arrived at the Numbi gate at 1755, however it would take another 20 kilometers to get to our rooms at the Pretoriuskop restcamp, and at that time of night we were not supposed to be in the park without a guide. To cut a not so long story short, we eventually checked in without incident or the extra expense that should have been levied for a personal guide.

Talking about expense–we wondered why the accommodations at the lodge where we stayed were so reasonable. We had stayed at a four star hotel the night before, and they charged us a fraction of the cost. We found out why when we opened the door to our neat circular huts–this was basic living! The sheets and towels were fresh and clean and the walls, floors and wash basin were immaculately scoured; but if one needed to shower or relieve oneself, well the community bathroom was across the way (and remember, we were in the middle of a safari park–there was a high fence around the compound–but this was still the wild!). Fortunately, I had a wide rimmed bottle–a hem....

Wednesday August 19
This was to be the big day. I was so excited. All night I thought about my last safari at the Hwange National Park in Zimbabwe. That’s the first time I heard about the “big five” and I had seen them all: lion, elephant, rhinoceros, buffalo and leopard. Kruger was a larger park with many more animals, and I just knew that my cup would be running over. We planned to awake around 0430 so that we could be a part of a guided safari in an all terrain rugged jeep. Dressed and armed with cameras and nourishment, we drove to the meeting point and waited and waited. Then it dawned on us, we probably should have made the reservation the day before. Ah well, we might as well go and get some more sleep. Then it happened! In the stillness of the night Vince and I saw a large cat like creature running at top speed through the middle of the camp–right next to our huts. After this experience, I’m not sure why we didn’t stay in the car until daylight, but the enticement of a couple more hours in comfortable beds outweighed the fear of being attacked by a large cat who may have still been in the camp–what people do to catch a little sleep!

Actually, it wasn’t a little sleep. I was awakened by Vince’s pounding on my door about 0730. It was already late. Animals in the wild customarily assemble at the water holes at dusk and dawn and any chance we had of seeing the big five was slipping away as the sun got higher and they retreated to their domiciles. We drove carefully down the paved road and were easily excited by everything that moved. The problem was, for the first half hour or so the only external life forms that were moving were the trees being disturbed by the wind. I am not exaggerating when I say that we didn’t even see a fly! Just as I pinched myself to check if I were really in Kruger Park or if I was daydreaming in Central Park, I saw a lone kudu–but they are never really alone, the herd was not too far behind. As we got deeper in the park the impala, nyala and bushbucks began to appear. Then came the zebra, vervet monkeys, chacma baboons, warthogs, crocodiles, hippos, giraffes and even a few elephants. But what is a safari if you don’t see a lion? We stopped other cars to ask about sightings, and were really disappointed when a man lamented that he had been in the park for over a week and had not seen a lion. We began to wonder if they were on strike.

As we drove towards Lower Sabie en route to our exit at Crocodile Bridge, we noticed a couple dozen cars seemingly stalled in the road. What could it be? It must be a lion. Sure enough, towards the left of us about a kilometer away a black maned lion gently strutted in a circle. We learned that if we had been there a little earlier, we would have witnessed two male lions bringing down an aged buffalo. This in itself would have been a treat since it’s the females who usually do the hunting. Nonetheless, I had a legitimate reason to check the “lion” box in the back of my safari book.

Time was getting late and we needed to head back to Johannesburg. We snaked on down to Crocodile Bridge and began the long drive up the N4 toll road making a couple of stops for refreshments and souvenirs. The night had already started to thicken when we crossed into the province of Gauteng, but our time had been well spent and memories forever etched in the albums of our minds. Even as I write I am forced to assent with the psalmist, “O LORD our God, how excellent are your works throughout the created universe!”

Thursday August 20
When we saw the lone lion at Kruger yesterday, I so wished my “cheapest in the shop” digital camera had a real zoom lense. My yearning awakened a painful memory of an incident from the beginning of the trip when I was still in London with my daughter. On the way to the airport, I had purchased a decent, but inexpensive, Kodak camera with a 36-432mm Schneider lens. Unfortunately, the camera–which was in a case clipped to my belt–mysteriously disappeared two days later when my daughter and I shared an umbrella as we walked to my parents home during a typical English shower. Electronic goods are much more expensive in London, so rather than replace my loss with a comparable camera I chose one that I thought could “do the job.” If you’ve looked at my pictures, you probably noticed that it didn’t always “do the job”; but who’s complaining? The devil is a liar!

So where was I? Camera...? Lion...? O yeah, that’s what I was going to say. I didn’t get a good view of a lion on safari, but my friend Paulette Nembhard had something in store that would absolutely blow my mind! The day started with a hearty breakfast at “Mug and Beans” with Errol, Paulette, Vince and Joyce (Rudy stopped in briefly). We then made our way to the Johannesburg Lion Park. What can I say? After being admitted, we drove into an inner enclosure which housed five separate lion camps. As we entered the first, I was enthralled by the sight of an attendant surrounded by six white lions. His obvious ease in their presence led me to voice my desire to request an opportunity to take a photo with him and his feline companions. Before I could shout my request, Paulette gave me the abbreviated account of some Chinese tourists who had the same brilliant idea two years ago–that was the last photo opportunity they ever had!

Shocked into sanity, I decided to enjoy God’s magnificent feline creatures from the comfort of a metallic counterfeit of their cousin–Paulette’s Jaguar XJS. Words cannot contain the thrill I felt at coming within ten feet of full grown lions, and even lowering the car window all the way to get the occasional un-smudged shot. The high point of the day occurred after we ventured through each camp. The Lion Park has a section in which cubs are nurtured by humans before being assimilated with the pride. At this stage in their development, humans are allowed to interact with them–at their own risk! I was willing to take this risk. I’ve been bitten by a dog before and live to tell the tale, and–although way much bigger than a full grown cat–these cubs weren’t as big as Dobermans or Rottweilers. The cubs were quietly resting and I asked for permission to hold one. The attendant explained to me that since many have been dropped, they don’t allow visitors to pick them up. However, I noticed some attendants in the adjacent cage who were sitting while tending to some larger cubs and I was able to persuade her to allow me to handle a couple while sitting–that was exhilarating!

Still floating on cloud nine, we left for our next appointment. Tshepo picked us up at Vince’s house and we went to meet Nolan at BodiCare. Nolan had planned for me to eat a good Indian meal with his family that evening, but his uncle had died so he offered to give us a tour of the facilities where he worked. BodiCare is a rapidly growing business specializing in health food and traditional remedies. The founder and chairman is a Zulu entrepreneur who donates a significant amount of company profits to evangelistic endeavors. Nolan gave me a thorough tour of the plant, and even shocked me by “introducing” me to one of my former Oakwood University students who currently lives in South Africa.

After a tasty and nutritious vegan meal at the BodiCare restaurant, we headed to the Apartheid Museum. There’s not much I feel like saying about my visit. It’s something you have to experience for yourself. It’s a lesson about exploitation, subjugation, devastation, abjection, condescension, manipulation, perdition, suppression, oppression, degradation–all manner of evil manifest through humans’ inhumanity towards other humans. The callous, notorious and vicious Apartheid era that inflicted a mortal wound on both oppressed and oppressor still manifests scars that will take a lifetime–or a Divine miracle–to heal. One needs at least a day to experience the museum, and although we tried our best to move through each exhibit with meaningful speed, our journey was abruptly halted by the closing signal. I didn’t even have an opportunity to view the exhibits that celebrated the fall of the Apartheid era.

Tshepho had sent a driver to pick us up, Mike Nkosi. Mike was extremely pleasant and impressively knowledgeable. His family had just started a limousine business and he had the demeanor and customer sensitivity that makes me believe that they are going to do very well. We were supposed to dine with Victor and Gayle, but Vince felt that since we were so close to Soweto we needed to make a stop that we should have made earlier that day. The destination was the Steinhoff Extended Family home in the Embdeni section of Soweto–a group home for child headed families whose parents were deceased. We arrived late evening and the children were enjoying some down time. The housemothers quickly called an assembly, and we were blessed with a chorale presentation from the children, after which Vince and I shared words of encouragement. I then inquired about the needs in the home and the housemothers provided a “wish list.” I guess I’ll be shopping tomorrow!

We spent longer than we had intended at the children’s home and had to disappoint Victor and Gayle (I was really looking forward to Victor’s fresh fried fish!). Nonetheless, the ride back to Sandton proved to be extremely fruitful. I discovered that Mike was Swazi (Ngwane), one of the three tribal nations included among the Nguni along with the Zulu and Xhosa. I did not know anything about Swazi traditional religion so I put on my research hat and pulled out my recorder. What I was to discover was absolutely fascinating. Mike was a member of the Dutch Reformed Church, but was still very much aware of cultural traditions. I asked him about any religious taboos relating to diet. He informed me that the pig was especially reprehensible to all Nguni people. As a rule, they don’t “eat anything that eats anything.” In fact, as Mike recalls from his tradition, although the Dutch Reformed Church allows the consumption of pork, many of the Nguni were attracted to the teachings of the Bible because of the Levitical injunctions against certain meats.

I also inquired about the names for the week days. The Nguni have always had a seven day week, and with the exception of the first and seventh day the days are named by number (e.g. third day, fourth day). The first day is called Isonto which means “week” or “church.” Given the assonance to “Sunday,” I suspect that this is probably transliterated from a name imposed by western missionaries. However, uMgqibelo, the name for the seventh day is unquestionably Nguni and means “finish,” “complete” or (according to Webster’s online translation dictionary) “Sabbath.” Some of you know that I’m the director for the Sabbath in Africa Study Group which has been researching Sabbath consciousness on the African continent for the past two decades. Needless to say, this discovery was music to my ears! Thank you Lord for putting people in my path who have the informational scratch to soothe my inquisitorial itch!

Friday August 21
I woke up with mixed feelings. My time in South Africa was running out, but this also meant that in a few short days I would see my family (I wish they were here). After breakfast I spent some time packing and catching up on e-mail. After noon, Vince took me to the mall so that I could fulfill my promise to the children’s home in Embdeni. I wish I could have fulfilled all the requests, but I was only working with R3,000. After shopping around for quality goods at the best prices, the Life Heritage donations were used to purchase one DVD player, ten sets of bath towels and wash cloths, forty mugs with spoons, three kettles, twelve stoneware dinner plates, twelve stoneware bowls, twelve sets of silverware, six tablecloths, three brooms, three mops, and a few bags of assorted candy.

In light of my imminent departure, I was not sure when I would have the time to deliver the items to the children’s home. Vince suggested that I make a public presentation to the member who informed us about the home in church tomorrow and have her make the delivery. However, God had other plans. We weren’t home for thirty minutes when Bongani called with the request that I preach at his home church in Soweto. Of course I consented! In fact, before I left for South Africa I confided to my wife that I would love to have an opportunity to preach in Soweto. Ten years ago I had preached at two churches in the Tembisa township and the experience was absolutely wonderful. Somehow townships exude an aura of resilience and resistance, and tomorrow I would have another opportunity to participate in the ongoing task of African liberation as I personally deliver the items to the children’s home and preach at the Dube Seventh-day Adventist Church.

Morning would have to come before I could return to Soweto, and I still had an appointment for the evening. After my prayer breakfast with the youth on the first Sunday after my arrival, I was asked to conduct another one the following week, but Rugare’s death altered the plans. Trevor, the youth leader at Voice of Hope, contact me and asked if I could convene a rap session on Christian entertainment with the youth. This was especially meaningful since several of the members actually work in the entertainment industry. During the discussion it quickly became evident that the youth also had questions about acceptable worship, and we had an opportunity to analyze the effects of colonialism on dominant perceptions of what comprises acceptable Christian practices. All in all, we had a productive time together as participants were challenged to analyze their entertainment choices in light of God’s word. May the God of culture guide us all as we seek entertainment that builds us up and does not tear us down.

Saturday August 22
With an impromptu sermon to prepare, I set my alarm to 0500. Bongani picked us up at 0800 and we headed for the children’s home in Embdeni. When we arrived, I noticed a small white tent and a large crowd outside a neighboring house. Bongani informed me that the tent indicated that a funeral was taking place. I asked a few young men to help unload the vehicle, but was soon distracted by the funeral procession. I heard the harmonious singing and ran to the gate with my camcorder. I had just missed the choir of older women in white garments running rhythmically before the hearse, but managed to get some video footage. When we finally entered the children’s home, we encountered another charitable group assembling gift bags for each child. We decided to join forces and some of the items from Life Heritage were placed in the bags. The house mothers called an assembly, and we enjoyed a brief worship service with the children before leaving for church.

Our journey to the church was lengthened by two important stops. The first was to Bongani’s childhood home in Soweto. The modest 200 square feet building that housed his parents and their six children was a stark contrast to the palatial four-car-garage structure that he now calls home. The government constructed townships were designed to limit economic development among the African natives. Imagine, the residents had to pay good money for the modest homes, but the laws ensured that they would always belong to the Apartheid government. When the ANC came into power, they righted this wrong by ensuring that those all qualified residents receive the full title deed. This reversal has encouraged many to add extra rooms to the fixed structures–an indication that the townships now belong to the people.

After the visit to Bongani’s home, we briefly visited the historic Orlando West Seventh-day Adventist Church before settling at the Dube Seventh-day Adventist Church. Heaters were blazing in the sanctuary as the members sang heartily in Zulu and English–I could feel the Spirit getting ready to do something spectacular! It was Community Guest Day, and the theme centered around God's amazing grace. I was led to deliver a message on God's repeated acts of benevolence towards his rebellious children. When the call was made, eighteen people responded to the invitation for salvation.

Still riding on a spiritual cloud, we left Dube and headed to Houghton where we enjoyed an elaborate lunch with Mimi. Both food and fellowship were fantastic, but we had to pull away to get back to Sandton where I was scheduled to present a seminar on the African roots of Christianity. We arrived late, but the patient audience received the presentation well and understood when I could not take any questions as I rushed to my next appointment for the evening!

Vince and I jumped into Tshepho’s car and were whisked to a quiet suburb where we joined about thirty people who had gathered at the home of some incredible people who were dear friends of Victor and Gayle Masondo. The occasion of a multi-ethnic audience in prayer, song and praise contrasted the setting of the grandiose reception room the week before when the home owners and other family members were tied up and held at gun point by home invaders. Vince and I were to discover that we were the only two people present who had not been victims of gun crime. During the delightful reception that followed, I was especially impressed by the testimony of an older white women (originally from England), whose spiritual connection with the Father allowed her to endure her ordeal without an ounce of fear. In fact, she shared with me the hope she felt at the moment when she thought her life was about to be taken as she looked to the heavens like Stephen and committed her spirit to God. Lord, please grant me a relentless faith so that I too can face violent death with the placid determination of your daughter.

With soaring spirits and fatigued flesh we left the gathering and ventured to our next appointment at the Voice of Hope Church where a special service of prayer and healing was taking place. As a part of the Women’s Month celebration, Vince’s wife Joyce was asked to coordinate an entire day program dealing with the theme of abuse. I listened to emotional testimonies and was intrigued by the spirited debate where women spoke with unfettered voices as one poor chauvinist tried to defend the patriarchal order that has dominated too many societies in our world that so desperately needs to heed God’s egalitarian dictate. Although the conversation was engaging, we discreetly exited the hall and prepared for our final appointment.

Victor dropped us by Vince’s and we quickly donned casual attire and headed to Bongani’s. Upon arrival, it was obvious that I was not expected and was politely asked to take a comfortable seat in the reception area. After a few moments, I was ushered in to the main entertainment area and was greeted by a thundering chorus of “Surprise!” This explained the scores of cars that were parked outside. The party had been arranged by the youth from the Sandton and Voice of Hope churches who humbled me with words of praise and unsuccessfully tried to coerce me into doing a reggae rap. Even without the rap, the evening was fun filled and I did take the opportunity to let my hair down (what’s left of it!), as I led several energetic rounds of “Cookie Jar.” Tired, spent and worn, we left the party early morning and headed home for much anticipated rest. I’m going to miss those youth–but not as much as I miss my youth!

Sunday August 23
Wow! It was hard to imagine that my time in South Africa had come to an end. The past seventeen days had been absolutely wonderful! My first order of business for the day was packing. My load was much lighter than when I had come, but the gifts I had acquired meant that I may still be in weight trouble when I checked in that evening. Nonetheless, there was no time to be overly concerned–we had an afternoon appointment on the other side of town. We left the house about 1130 and headed to Mey Xoma’s home where Milton and Senseyni would renew their vows between God and witnesses. It was a wonderful and personable service followed by a refreshingly filling and delightfully delectable lunch. I was given a crash course into the preliminary grammatical rules of the Zulu language–I wish I had received this on my first day! Before wearing out our welcome, we thanked our hosts and headed back to Vince’s.

The final moments transpired rather rapidly. Tshepho, Kurt and Dana stopped by with parting gifts and words of blessing and encouragement. As the hour drew near, I conducted a final inspection of my sleeping quarters before hauling my bags to the hall and accepting Vince’s assistance to place them in his car. The ride to the airport was numbingly quiet as we wished that the adventure could have been protracted–but isn’t this how a good movie is supposed to end? If there were a sense of finality, would this be a memory worth holding on to?

We followed the signs to the departure terminal at the Oliver Tambo airport, and sighting the KLM logo we alighted at the designated spot and Vince assisted in taking my luggage to check in. After a brief hiccup in the check-in process, Vince and I warmly embraced and uttered our final farewells. The immigration process was efficient, and moments later I was in the airline lounge sipping on bitter lemon while prematurely reminiscing and impatiently anticipating–my exciting and eventful mission in South Africa had come to an end, but in just a few days I would be able to share my adventures with my loved ones at home (I so wished they could have been here to experience it with me. Lord, thanks so much for the loved ones in my life whose very existence enhances the value of my experiences.