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November 24, 2000
Dear Friends,
Anna Lena, Isaiah, Diane, and I just returned this afternoon
from a week-and-a-half 1200-mile round-trip adventure to the small
city of Chimoio (pronounce Shi-moy-o) up north, and we are pretty
tired. Jonah stayed behind to attend school
Thank you for your wonderful prayers!
Every day was an adventure in our Land Rover "Defender"
(which we have shortened to Rover). Roads were treacherous in
places, with deep potholes, and sometimes the highway (the only
one going north) was half washed out. There was no forewarning
given.
In the forested hills halfway to Chimoio we stopped twice to
watch troops of baboons along the road. I didn’t know they
got that big. Unlike the baboons at Kruger Game Park, these ran
away from us. No doubt they never were fed french fries from an
SUV.
At one point on our return trip, during a hard rain, a bus came
barreling down a hill and crowded Rover into a deep, jagged rut,
causing a blowout. All things work together for good. We got out
to find a big gash in the tire and a dent in the rim, but we were
thankful to be safe—e had cleared a severe drop-off from
the edge of the pavement by only a few inches.
Several men and boys from the area near the village of Quissico
suddenly gathered around. They directed me as I slowly backed
the vehicle off the road and parked it next to an abandoned boxcar.
We were not able to get the tire off and couldn't find the "thingamijig"
to fit on the fifth "key nut." The nearest service station
or telephone was about two hours away in Xai-Xai.
One elderly man of good humor could speak a little English.
So could another dear man, a Catholic, who told us he loved God.
(He lived in the boxcar.) Two umbrellas were shared by all. One
teen shivered, his hands clenched at his side, but wanted to be
part of the excitement. Diane began to share what food we had
with these dear people who were standing in the rain wanting to
help. Diane passed out lichees, mangoes, and crackers. After a
couple hours of camaraderie, hymn singing, (Diane will report
on this in more detail), and vain attempts to remove the tire,
we decided to try to get to Xai-Xai before nightfall. Diane packed
sunscreen, insect spray, a bottle of water, and underwear into
a bag.
No buses came by, and our new friends finally flagged down the
driver they knew of a pickup truck. We bargained him down to 500,000
metecals to chauffeur us to Xai-Xai. Alfui, the boxcar dweller,
agreed to guard Rover for the night.
We helped the children into the cab, and Diane and I climbed
into the back with another passenger. We wrapped up in a sleeping
bag and appreciated a raincoat given to us to use, but the pelting
rain was soaking through. It was dark by the time we came to Xai-Xai.
We found lodging in the old vintage Xai-Xai Hotel, renovated since
the flood. No electricity due to the storm, but we were glad to
be in a dry place with a hot shower. We found our way around by
candlelight and kerosene lamp. Downstairs, a restaurant was open
and lit with electricity, probably by generator. We were grateful
for the hot bowls of the "sopa de dia," a potato and
carrot soup.
Mozambique has public telephone facilities where an attendant
connects your call. The next morning I finally found one on the
outskirts of town and called the Land Rover office in Maputo.
The lady there explained that the elusive thingamijig was in a
compartment under the driver’s seat (which we didn’t
even know came apart and takes just a little know-how to disassemble.)
I returned to the hotel to tell Diane, and she and the children
walked me to the bus station. A bus was just leaving north, and
I paid 30,000 metecals (about $1.80) for a ticket.
It’s unbelievable how many sardines can be fit into a can!
But again, Mozambican friendliness drew me into a good conversation.
I got off at Quissico, about three-quarters of a mile from Rover.
A truck driver gave me a lift and I was relieved to see Rover
safe and secure.
About half a dozen guys were waiting anxiously for my return.
It took five seconds to find the thingamijig, and when I cried,
"Hallelujah!" there was an echo of joy and laughter.
They didn’t want me to do anything. In little time they had
the spare on and were standing around to see how much I would
pay them. Fortunately, I had a lot of small bills to hand out.
I headed back to Xai-Xai with high hopes of making Maputo before
nightfall. I could just stop and pick up the family, and go. I
saw an oncoming trucker hauling logs motioning to me about something
ahead of me. I slowed down, maybe there was an accident. In about
a mile I came to an elderly lady, holding the hands of two little
children. She refused to budge from her stance on the road. (A
pretty effective way to stop a ride.) I thought, "Oh, that’s
what the trucker meant."
Once inside Rover, the woman and her grandchildren were joined
by two of her daughters who appeared out of nowhere, with baggage
besides. By the time I got them all loaded I was really wanting
to make time. My foot got a little heavy.
Coming down the next hill I saw a radar tripod set up on the
highway and a patrolman surrounded by other police. I re-thought,
"Oh, that’s what the trucker meant."
At the last stop before leaving Chimoio a missionary friend
told us that the 80 on the back of our vehicle meant "do
not exceed 80 km". (about 50 mph). It seemed quite low, because
often the posted speed limit is 120 kilometers (about 75 mph).
We were also told that another missionary had been stopped twice
last week for exceeding 80 and had to pay a million metecal fine
each time. We should have heeded the warning!
I was going 98 kilometers per hour, as the well-groomed policeman
pointed out on the radar screen. He wanted my driver’s license.
I couldn’t find it, and tried to explain that it must be
back in my hotel room. He asked for vehicle registration papers.
Trying to explain my situation, I told him that I’d taken
them out the day before because I didn’t want them stolen
out of the stranded Land Rover. He told me that I could be taken
prisoner and the vehicle impounded.
What flashed through my mind was, "Hello dear, I got the
tire on. But I’m calling from jail and…." He asked
for my residency permit (or "dire"), but our application
for the dire was still in process, and the copy of the application
was with the registration papers. All I had to show was a certified
copy of my passport. He saw my grin on the photo and suddenly
laughed, looking down at it and trying to pronounce my name, "Wawn-nen-burk."
The surrounding police also laughed.
We have noticed that it is very difficult for a Mozambican officer
to keep a serious expression on his face for any length of time.
The usual expression is happy, and it’s hard to break some
habits.
This man was solid-looking, handsome, trying his best to do
a good job. I was surprised by how well he spoke English, and
carefully. He said, "I will give you favor. You go to town,
bring back documents and a million metecals [about $65] for the
speeding ticket and a half million as a fine for not having registration
papers in the vehicle." I said, "All right, I understand
the speeding fine, but it’s a lot for not having registration
papers with me—I was acting in an emergency. And how do I
make it to the bank to make a withdrawal before closing time,
without speeding?" He just laughed. And the police next to
him. And my passengers began to laugh, too.
When I returned to Xai-Xai, some 25 miles away, I dropped off
the giggling passengers and found Diane and the children in the
hotel lounge. She was typing a report on the laptop as electricity
had been restored, and she was able to recharge it.
Diane found my driver’s license—it had fallen out
of my billfold, which we had placed in the bag before hitching
to town. We gathered the registration papers, the copies of dire
applications, and made tracks to the bank, ten minutes before
closing.
We jumped in Rover and headed north to look for the patrolman,
but he was not stationed in the same place. We had to go a long
way to find him. When we did, he seemed happy to see me. He gave
me a big grin—he apparently had lost his ability to keep
a serious face. Once he saw the registration papers he decided
just to take the money for the speeding fine. As we were leaving,
he and his colleagues waved and smiled so much that you would
think we were family being sent off on a trip (which, come to
think of it, may be true!).
Approaching Xai-Xai, we talked over what we should do. It was
late and would be dark in about an hour and a half. We were told
not to travel at night and had heard of carjackings in Maputo
and the assassination there the night before of a journalist while
he was driving. We were tired and had not slept well (no mosquito
nets in the hotel, and when we heard mosquitoes in the middle
of the night, we got up to re-spray ourselves and the children,
then found it hard to get back to sleep). We wanted to get back
to Maputo, but decided it best to find Xai-Xai Hotel.
So today we made it back.
In January, after the move up to Chimoio, Anna and Isaiah will
be enrolled in an English-speaking international school. We pray
Jonah be accepted by Hillcrest Boarding School over the border
in Zimbabwe, some 75 miles away. We are happy to have found a
good house to move into in Chimoio, and want to continue to upbuild
the Presbyterian new-church start there and do evangelism. Chimoio
is in a beautiful setting, surrounded by hills with massive outcroppings
of granite. It never gets too hot there—it’s great
fruit-bearing country. Chimoio is proud of its claim as "the
cleanest city in Mozambique." May God bless Rev. Mandlate,
our host, who added with a chuckle, "But maybe the dirtiest
city in America!"
Micah should arrive for Christmas vacation from Germany a month
from yesterday. We look forward during his eight-day stay to a
tour of Kruger Park, biggest big game park in the southern hemisphere,
across the border in South Africa.
God bless.
Charles Wonnenberg
The 2001 Mission Yearbook for Prayer& Study, p. 44
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