Fishbones and Candlelight

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Published: Monday, 27 January 2014 07:36

It is a hot and humid evening when we drive through the dark streets of Kinshasa. We are on our way to the guesthouse we are staying this week. It is an hour away from the church we teach during the days. So happy to be accompanied by my Congolese colleague: Pastor Michel. He knows his way around in this mega city of 10 million people!

We are so looking forward to our late dinner and a cold shower! But when we arrive at the house, it becomes clear there is no electricity tonight… We enter the dining area and with some candle light we can just see what is on our plate: a delicious fried fish from the Congolese river. After giving thanks, I am still looking at the thing when my Congolese friend already analyzes the fish with both hands and brings each tiny bit of deboned fish to his mouth. I am thinking hard how to tackle the task ahead… I hate dirty fingers. I decide to get smart. I take my little torch, tie it with a shoelace to the cutlery rack and let it shine right on my plate. I am actually quite proud of myself. I take my fork and knife and start dissecting the fish. After ten minutes my friend is done eating and I am not even half way, but I don’t mind because he now has to go to the tap to wait and see whether this night will have running water coming out of it, while my hands are still clean!! ;-)

During the second week of our visit to this beautiful country, we are teaching our mission’s course to over 190 people! It is a joy to be able to do this! The pastor organizing the seminars has really outdone himself! Weeks before our arrival, he has distributed 1,000 posters throughout the city! The poster shows three faces: that of the pastor, of my colleague Pastor Michel, and my face. Oh my! It is the worst picture I have ever seen of myself! Where did they get it from?! The face shows

a cynical look and has no promise of anything good to come out of my mouth… The face on the poster haunts us everywhere, on shop-windows, walls, trucks… Our car comes to a standstill. The traffic is heavy. A young boy stares at me, he comes closer and then a big grin lights his whole face up. He calls out to his friends, points at me and then at the poster… I feel really awkward, I try to smile and wave. The driver comes to my rescue and moves the car forward, back into the anonymity of the city. I sigh with relieve. For just a minute I was a famous missionary… Mmmm… I think my dream of becoming one has suddenly evaporated…

Our weeks in the Congo fly by. This city is full of smog, sometimes you feel one can barely breath. It is a city with certain specific rules. And it is good to know the rules… this country is very corrupt. Even the police cannot be trusted. They will ask for your documents and they will come up with a story of what you have done wrong. They continue being your friend and will tell you you can get away for a bargain. You can buy your way out of it and get your documents back… Paying the amount is the only way out of your situation. Asking for their superiors is no use, cause at the end of the day they will receive a rather large percentage of what the policeman has asked you to pay…

Having the wrong colour in this country makes one extra vulnerable for these types of assault. My Congolese friends have figured a way out: they ask a befriended soldier to accompany us. They believe the police will keep their distance when they see someone with a military uniform. During these weeks in Kinshasa it has worked well! But also this man will not come along unless I pay him… and so one way or the other… you pay your way into the system, no matter if you don’t want anything to do with the corruption…

The graduation after the Mission’s course is always a joyful event. Everyone wearing a suit or fancy outfit. Sometimes traditional and colorful, but more often Western suit and tie. The students are beaming with pride. I stand there shaking 190 hands, warm sweaty hands and never a firm handshake, cause that would be against the culture. But the smile on their faces, the pride in their eyes is priceless. I am a grateful man, I feel so privileged to have been able to bring God’s Word to these people this week. The message of the gospel and the Great Commission is being heard and my only prayer is: ‘God, be with these precious people of yours and send them where the gospel has not yet been preached, to the tribes in their own country, to the neighboring countries.’ Cause that is my biggest dream and heart’s desire: train missionaries! Seeing this gospel of peace, freedom and salvation brought to every soul who did not yet hear!