Spies like us...

 ...Or Our Cover Was Nearly Blown, or International Incidents and Divine Appointments II

 Beth had proposed that we (the guys and us) go to town, have some lunch, see the river and port, maybe do a little shopping.  Just get away from the house for a few hours and hopefully see a different side of Garoua.  Things are still a little uncomfortable around here, and we thought everyone could use the break.  Before we went though, Beth and Rebecca went for a hair appointment and a little shopping of their own.  When they returned the moto driver spilled his bike in front of the house with them on it and Beth's leg was burned on the exhaust pipe.  Nothing requiring treatment, but very painful, so Beth decided she wouldn't go with us.  As we were trying to decide our course of action, Beth was able to wrap the leg in gauze and realized she would be no more comfortable here, so figured she would rather be a part of the group.  (It was her idea to begin with...)

There is a fairly large river running past the town, and though it is shallow there is enough water during the rainy season (Which we've discovered is also bug season, and lizard mating season.) for barges to be used for transport, and there is a small port for them.  That's where we initially headed, for lunch and to walk around.  There's really not much there, another small hodge-podge market and several fish 'restaraunts':  A row of ladies selling grilled fish with a few tables and benches with woven grass mats separating the 'restaraunts'.  After lunch we walked to the river's edge at the foot of the bridge which is part of the main highway which runs through the country.  Turns out that that area is also the men's bathing area where many of the locals come to bathe, swim, wash their motorcycles, and do their laundry.  I don't bathe with my clothes on, and neither do they, so a white woman carrying a camera doesn't really fit in well, and a few were saying things, but most actually ignored us or looked at us curiously.

Of course we wanted to go up on the bridge, to see the panoramas, take more pictures, we had no real agenda, and were in no hurry to be anywhere.  We lingered several minutes about midway across then Beth decided we might as well go the rest of the way before heading back to town.  (Note:  One of our class topics this week was personalities which helped us to understand several things about ourselves and each other.  Decisiveness is not one of the characteristics of most of this group.)  By the time we got to the south end of the bridge, Beth and I were on one side looking east, and the rest of the group was on the other side basically following along.  The rains have done a great deal to clean the air, and the view from where we were was nice, reminding me of some of northern Colorado and southern Wyoming.  As I turned around I faced three men half dressed in military uniforms coming at us with their large machine guns (bigger than AK-47's or M-16's, not sure what they were) leveled in our direction, hollering and gesturing.  I got Beth's attention, and we quickly understood that they were ordering us to come with them.

We crossed back over the road where they directed us to a steep set of steel stairs leading down to the foot of the bridge.  We were joined by Abel, Stephan, and Sampson which surprised the soldiers, but the guys explained that we were together as a group.  (When he saw what was happening Oliver quickly escaped back across the bridge and caught a moto home.)  The soldiers angrily directed us to some large rocks and had us sit (I didn't).  We had the river several yards away on one side of us, and several women in their lean-to's on the other.  Cooking, selling things and going about their business.  There were several men present as well, and since the stairs ended at a path leading to a nearby village there was constant foot traffic.  The soldiers had already taken the camera, told us we couldn't call anyone, and through their shouted questions determined that Abel is Congolese, we are American, and S and S are Cameroonian, and took their ID cards.  Even though we tried to answer their questions they didn't seem interested in the responses and seemed more interested in shouting.  One spoke a little English, but he was the same way; asking questions and making statements, but uninterested in what we had to say.  Since we knew this was being blown way out of proportion we weren't too concerned and used the time to pray and whisper to one another.  The leader, who was the angriest, would shout something, go off to make a phone call, or try to figure out the camera, but rebuffed my offers to help.  Each time he would return he would be a little more put together, eventually becoming fully dressed complete with his bayonet in its scabbard on his hip.  At one point three of them were lacing their boots at the same time, but I only saw one other in a complete uniform, and he never approached us directly, but would talk to the others instead.  This went on for nearly an hour, then we were ordered back up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs were several men in civilian clothes in and around a nice, late model, crew cab Toyota Tacoma pickup*  There was one who was obviously in charge, and he ordered us to get in.  Though Beth was refusing at first, and the rest of us protesting that we wouldn't go without knowing where we were being taken or allowed to call Jonas, with threats, shouts, pushing, and grabbing we were convinced to go.  Abel, Beth, and I were in the cab, and S and S were in the back with the leader of the soldiers and several other men.  We crossed back over the bridge and headed through town, and as we did Beth saw Jonas passing by toward the bridge on the back of a moto.  (Oliver had made it through to reinforcements!)  The man in charge and and the driver were arguing about where we were going, and there were several course changes and u-turns along the way.  As we approached a familiar area fairly close to 'home' I thought that's where they were taking us, and even tapped the leader and gestured to keep going as they were making another u-turn.  But I was wrong, he had just missed the driveway of a ministry of defense building, and that's where they took us.  Upon arrival we were all directed to take seats by the man in charge while he and the leader discussed the situation and made some phone calls.  (You could tell he was in charge because of the stencilled logo on his polo shirt for some bar and cigar club.  The things on people's clothing here made to make them look western are a blog topic of their own.)  We used the time on the porch as another opportunity to pray together for God's will to be done in all of this.

It was quickly determined that we were in the wrong place, so it was back to the truck.  We made it to the end of the driveway, about 20 yards, when one of the men in back gestured he wanted out, as he must have decided this was as close as the truck would take him to his destination.  He took a tool box and a large pipe wrench and began walking north, as we headed south back to town.
By now it was raining heavily, but we didn't have far to go before we were on the national guard base, our next destination, and no one got too wet.  After some discussion between the leader and the driver we pulled up to a long building and again were taken to the porch.  This time Abel, Beth, and I were directed to a bench while S and S were kept separate at the other end.  They were again being harassed and shamed, but seemed to be holding up well.  Jonas also showed up there, but was only allowed to say who he was, but not contribute anything else.  He also asked us where our passports were so he could have Rebecca bring them.  After about a half hour there we were told to get back in the truck.  This time Jonas rode with us, so it was crowded like a taxi, but since we only drove about 200 yards we didn't get the full effect.  Again we were directed onto another porch, but quickly learned we were in the wrong place.  Instead of getting back into the truck, though, we walked across the road to the correct building.

At the next building we were welcomed by the 'chief' and a few other men and escorted into a large office which housed the chief's (cluttered) desk, as well as another empty desk and a small table and bench and a few chairs.  Abel, Beth, the two leaders, and I were invited to sit while S and S were made to stand.  There was a man in handcuffs sitting on the floor between the desks, and a woman sitting at the table, and loud American country western music was playing from a player on the chief's desk.  The leaders handed over the camera and the ID cards and told their story to the chief.  I showed the chief how to the view the pictures, which he did with the other leaders looking on.  He also asked S and S several questions then had them escorted out to (we later found out) be placed in a dark, filthy jail cell.  He then began hand writing on a plain piece of notebook paper his report.  Once he had finished, he asked the leaders to sign it, and then dismissed them.  This wasn't satisfactory to the military leader, who again began telling his story of how he'd caught us taking sensitive pictures, and how I'd tried to get Beth to hide the camera, and whatever else he thought would enhance the dire gravity of the situation.  But eventually they departed, and we were left sitting in the office.  At some point during all of this Rebecca showed up with our passports.  She had  a plastic bag on her head to protect her new hairdo (remember how Beth and her started the day), and explained that the roads around the house were like rivers, no motos would bring her, but that she'd eventually been able to flag down a car.

Are you bored yet?  Well by now so were we, but there we sat.  The chief made a phone call, and with my limited understanding of French I could hear him explaining that there was nothing of importance on the camera; pictures of kids, animals, people eating, scenery, and etc.  After he hung up he did more paperwork, carried on conversations with people coming and going, paid a kid for more phone credit, and what appeared to be busy work.  Eventually he brought S and S back in, asked them more questions and let them sit in chairs.  At one point he pulled some cologne (more like perfume, to me) out of a drawer and told them they stank, and to put some on.  And we waited some more.  We also knew by now that this wasn't going much further, so Beth asked if we could get a picture with the chief, to which he agreed.  She had the woman who was still sitting at the table snap a couple of pictures.  Eventually an older man in traditional clothes appeared, took the report and asked to see the pictures, so I turned on and returned the camera to the chief so he could show them.  Once satisfied, he returned the camera, took the report and went to another room with Jonas.  And we sat.

After some time during this waiting a man came in with three women and greeted the chief and another officer in sweat pants and a t-shirt who had been there for most of the time, carrying on conversations with the woman at the table and others who came and went.  Beth convinced me to offer my chair to one of the women, and when I did the man they had come with said no, and Stephan told me 'no, they are prisoners'.  I told him Jesus loved prisoners, too, and that one of them could have my seat (not really a sacrifice, I have yet to find a comfortable chair in Cameroon), and Abel followed suit.  This must have got the man's attention, because he began asking Rebecca and S and S some questions. He then explained to us in English that he knew about YWAM, was the spiritual son of one of it's African leaders, and was going to get involved with YWAM locally.  He then went off to find Jonas to exchange information.  The ladies who had come with him were eventually taken somewhere else as well.  And we waited.

S and S went into the next room to watch a world cup match, while Beth, Rebecca, the woman at the table, and I sat.  The chief continued to write on different reports and forms, and the other man came and went.  The woman at the table was looking miserable, so Beth asked if she was okay, which she wasn't.  After Beth gave her some ibuprofen her and Rebecca began speaking with her. Her name is Muriel, she was also in custody, accused by her aunt of adultery with her uncle, and awaiting disposition.  Beth and Rebecca spent a lot of time praying with, and encouraging and comforting her.
 
Then, at 8:15 Jonas walked in and said:  "Let's go, we're finished"  And, apparently,  the ordeal which had begun around two o'clock was over.  We weren't taken by Boco Horam, and, due to the thorough work of many, it was determined we weren't working with them to blow the bridge either.
(Now it's Monday, and we've just returned from a different police building where we went to prove that there really is a YWAM base and school in Garoua, and that we are in fact students.  But, even though we were there about an hour, first standing on another porch, then sitting in an office, we never met with anyone.  Jonas met with someone in a different office, and the ultimate outcome was that someone from the government will certify something tomorrow that he has been trying to get them to do for almost three years.  Also, afterward we ran into the Tacoma driver in the market, and he was a much different person; friendly, apologetic, and warm.  Another reminder that sometimes people are just doing their jobs, which I appreciated throughout this experience.)
I know that this is a long post, even without several other details, but I want every one to know that we are safe here, and they take any threats to security very seriously.  If you want to do damage here you will be challenged by several levels of jurisdiction before being allowed to do so.  Also, you should probably consider doing your deeds before 1 pm or after 4 pm, because they like their naps, and are pretty cranky if they are interrupted.

Waiting for our delicious lunch...

of fish and plantain, before setting off...

for our true mission:  Casing the strategic bridge.

It seemed like a perfect cover story, a couple of naive western missionaries taking advantage of a rare day off.

Luckily, our cover wasn't blown, because of the thorough investigative work (or ignorance) of this man, the 'chief'.  (Blurry because the photographer was a fellow prisoner probably quaking with fear.)

*One of the first things I noticed was the Texas inspection sticker on the windshield, and what good condition the truck was in.  It had obviously been recently been given a lousy military green paint job,  but was otherwise like new.  The driver didn't seem familiar with it, the odometer showed less than 7000 miles, and it still had the dealer license plate brackets front and back bearing the name 'Tejas Toyota' from a border town which slips my mind right now.  I would bet a lot of money that the truck was stolen near the border, taken into Mexico, then shipped to Cameroon.  If you recently 'lost' a nice white Tacoma pickup, I think I might know where it is.

Ergonomic incorrectness

We're back in Garoua after another 40+ hour travel oddesssy

One of the children who took up temporary residence in the aisle...Difficult to see are the winged insects in each hand that his mother grabbed for him.  He was having a great time holding one of four wings on each bug, and letting the others buzz.

P

Prior to departure.  It will look much different soon enough.

We pass dozens of these homes, compounds, villages when travelling by bus or train.

which began before five a.m. Saturdaydand ended here late Sunday night.  It's the 'rainy season' here which means cooler temperatures, and rain and mud, and things growing.  That's what they say.  Reality is; it's hot, a little more humid, and there are weeds where there was previously bare earth.  Actually they haven't had the normal rainfall, and they're worried.  There has been just enough rain to get the weeds to grow, but that's about all.  It actually does feel a little cooler than before, and the last two nights have become comfortable by early morning.  Has the affects of global warming, oh I'm sorry, climate change, reached Garoua?

Not to beat the dead horse about transportation, but there were some differences in our experiences on the return trip.  First of all I figured out that part of the misery of the taxis (19 or 30 place vans), and the buses is the design of the seats.  They are not ergonomically correct.  On the vans there is no contour to the seats, the backs are nearly upright, and there is very little padding.  On the 70 passenger bus there is some contour to the seats, and even a little padding, but not much leg or shoulder room.  And, on both the vans and the bus the seats are too low, you're sitting below a natural seated position.  The result is all your weight rests on one spot, and on this skinny white guy it's where my leg bones meet my hip bones in my buttocks.  Which means great pain there, a loss of circulation in the legs, and constant attempts to find a better position.  Realizing it hasn't helped, it just made me focus on it more, and the ride longer.   In the bus the lower seat position also affects the view out as it places the beam dividing the upper and lower parts of the windows right at eye level.
We rode in second class on the train this time.  What that meant was that at the origin of the trip, Yaounde, we purchased tickets to the destination, Ngaoundere, giving us assigned seats in the second class car.  The cars are new, having been put into service between our southbound and northbound journeys.  Even with assigned seats though, when they allow boarding there is a mad scramble to get aboard.  That's because there is limited space for bags in the overhead racks and under the seats which people are trying to get.  When we arrived at the car the porter and another man were in ongoing argument with the man not being allowed to board due to the size of his bag.  Meanwhile others were boarding around them, but when it came my turn my bag was too big as well.  Stephan tried to intervene in French, to no avail, so there I stood.  The argument between the two was often heated with the man several times trying to force his way past which resulted in two policemen showing up and arguing with him as well.  Then Jonas showed up to try to plead my case using soft words and nice gestures.  The other man eventually wrestled his past the policeman and the porter amidst much shouting and went aboard.  Finally, I don't know what was said, but I was also allowed to board.  This was around 5:40 pm for a scheduled 7:10 departure.  Once everyone has their seats and their bags stowed they come and go until the actual time of departure; that night 8:50 pm.
Stepping aboard the new 88 person car was impressive, clean with rows of four contoured seats around a small table on both sides.  They were close together and didn't recline, but hey with it this nice who needs first class?   After the delay for unknown reasons, and with everyone settled into their seats, including the two folddown jumpseats in the end of the car the journey began.  That's when the also unlocked the bathroom door revealing a clean little unit, even stocked with TP.  At the first of many stops, more people boarded finding places wherever they could mostly in the spaces at the end of the cars and between them.  This is repeated at every stop throughout the trip and eventually there are people wherever space allows, standing, sitting, or laying in the aisles with their possessions scattered about.  (Including the chicken in the bag generally under the seat in front of us, but moving about as much as space and limited mobility allowed.)  Occasionally people would get off, but it seemed more were boarding at each stop than ever got off.  At around three am a mother and her three small children boarded and Beth gestured that there was a little space in the aisle next to us which they filled.  They were some who actually got off at a stop around daybreak, but others quickly filled the space.  Throughout the entire trip there are people passing the train selling things including; drinks, snacks, books, toothbrushes and toothpaste, sacks, and other items.  After each round trip they return again with some new item(s), stepping on, and over people and their possessions each time.  The lights are never turned off, and yet most people are able to sleep through it all.  (Except for the old man sitting a few seats away who got very angry when we tried to get a picture of it all, even asking the soldier in a seat nearby to make sure there were no pictures of it on the camera.)  You can imagine what the car and that neat little bathroom looked like at the end of the journey... I don't know if those people getting on along the way are considered second class or something else, but it sure didn't seem like a good way of doing things to me.
One other thing about the train ride:  At every stop along the way there are people who come along side trying to sell things.  Water, bananas, avacados, batons de manioc, watches, palm oil, and etc.  They are competing with one another, elbowing and shouting in the hopes of parting with a few of the items piled on the bowls or trays atop their heads, and making a few hundred francs in the process.  But people do buy, in large quantities (hence the sale of the sacks) because many of the things aren't available in the north, or are very expensive due to the climate.  Imagine waiting along side the train tracks at three or four in the morning in order to bring home probably less than one dollar.  Also at every stop, and in every village you pass people line up to wave like the daily train is some new phenomenon.  Finally, I spent the last two hours standing to allow another young mother to sit with two of her children, one of whom slept with her head in Beth's lap most of the way.  Turns out they were going to the hospital in Ngaoundere because one of the kids was sick.
(That was how I spent my birthday.)
We began class again this morning, less one person than what we started with.  Jean-Marc left Kribi a few days before the rest of us, in spite of being warned against it.  He was one of those Jonas was planning to send home, but with him gone so are many of the 'problems', so the others were allowed to stay.   It's not the same, there are still some tensions, but we're hoping to get back on track, and that the remainder of the time goes well...

Guilty pleasures

We're getting the break we've been looking forward to.  Two nights away from the group to celebrate our 30 years of marriage.  Our anniversary is actually on the 23d, but since we'll be leaving Kribi at the end of the end of the week for the return to Garoua, we wanted to take advantage of the setting.  It's been a wonderful respite, in a nice hotel, on a nice beach, no agenda, and relaxation.  And privacy, for four months we've been in people's homes and places where there just hasn't been an opportunity to have real privacy.
The hotel is nice, not a Sandals or one of the other nicer Caribbean resorts, and very expensive by Cameroonian standards.   It's apparently built and owned by Europeans and caters to them as well, but since the European 'holidays' haven't really started it's not crowded.  In fact, of the six couples that I know to be staying here now, two are older Europeans, three are from the U.S., us and two young couples, and the last is young french speaking girl with her African boyfriend.  The restaraunt is expensive, too, especially since we've been trying to live like the locals.  Olive Garden prices are outrageous here, but I'd say that's about what we're paying.  So we're 'splurging', probably to the chagrin of many, and enjoying every minute.
The outreach phase of training is all but over.  Really, we are here in Kribi more for the radio project than for our training, but Jonas tried to integrate the two.  He actually hasn't been very successful, as the radio project has consumed much more of his time and energy than he, or anyone else had anticipated.  It has affected our entire outreach, and unfortunately the lack of leadership wasn't something most of the 'boys' were ready for.  All of us, including Jonas, have been frustrated, and his absence has resulted in (my opinion) too much freedom.  With that, their lack of initiative, and disrespect for Sampson, things have not gone well the last few weeks.  So, unless something changes in the next few days, the end result is that some of the 'boys' won't be completing the training.  According to what we've been told, upon arrival in Yaounde, they'll be informed that for them the training is over and they won't be continuing to Garoua.  We have mixed feelings, but hope there is a change of heart before then.  Please pray for the situation.

The church in the fishing village, woman on my right is the pastor.

Part of the reason for the delay of our 'anniversary celebration' were some things we were requested to participate in.  We were given the option to say no, but feel that our part on the team is still the first priority, and especially in light of what I just wrote about, want to set an example.  The host church had a women's retreat last week and Beth and I were each asked to 'preach' a message, and I was asked to 'preach' in another church on Sunday.  Also there were some things we were asked to say regarding the radio project, including dispelling the rumor of the rich white couple from the rich church in the U.S. who were funding the project.  We felt that was important, as, in order for it to succeed the project will require investment and ownership of those running it.  All of the messages seemed to have gone well.  The church I spoke in on Sunday was in a small room in a small fishing village a ways up the coast from Kribi itself.  Fourteen or fifteen people including Jonas, Rebecca, Beth and me, but for me one of the best services I've been in yet.  I'd been feeling burned out and frustated with church here, ten services in fourteen days with, from my perspective little result, but this group had a sincerity and enthusiasm which reenergized me.  Since we had other obligations we had to leave almost immediately after church, otherwise I would like to have explored the fishing village some.
Again, we'll leave here for the return to Garoua at the end of the week.  Beth will probably leave Thursday with Rebecca in order to visit Paolo and Claire, and the rest will leave on Friday.  Four or five hours to Yaounde by bus, then the 24 or so back to Garoua.  We'll ride the train again, due to safety and security concerns.  Again, we've never felt unsafe, but because of the instability in the region, travel isn't easy.  In fact we're told that as Americans we'll not be able to go many places we'd hoped to, including certain roads, and the national parks.  I guess it's just not meant to be.  We met a girl here at the hotel who is with the Peace Corps, and they've completely pulled out of the north parts of Cameroon.  I guess we'll just have to come back later in order to see more...

Beth's turn to preach, w/Stephan as interpreter.

In the fishing village after church

The 'falls' near our hotel from across a small bay

Irony

Here's some irony:  Since our arrival we have never really felt clean,  clean is another of those relative things I previously wrote about.  To us, clean here really means less sweaty, less gritty, less dirty, but not really clean.  We've also found ourselves in some very unsanitary environments, especially while on outreach.  It's nothing to slosh through nasty water, use gross showers and toilets, touch and hold soiled children, and who knows how many opportunities for germ exposure.  But it comes with the territory and it hasn't really bothered us.  We've trusted in God's protection that so many are praying for, and we've had it.  Save for the expected occasional stomach disorder and the colds we each had in Yaounde, we've remained healthy.  Last week after the swim in the ocean, I told Beth it was as clean as I've felt in four months.  I may have felt clean, but because of it I've got ear infections in both ears.

(At least that's what I suspected when finally going to the hospital today to have it checked out.  That's what the doctor there diagnosed as well, after asking a few questions about the pain, and pulling on the earlobe of the ear which I can still hear out of, barely.  A nurse checked my blood pressure, too, which is good I'm happy to say.  I now may have an idea about Obamacare, or nationalized medicine.  There seemed to be a lot of people waiting to be seen, so we went to where we were directed to check in, I think.  Since the people at that desk didn't speak english, they called someone who did.  I was directed to go buy my medical record booklet, then followed the english speaking man to his office.  Turns out he was the doctor who made the diagnosis and wrote the prescription for the meds I'm to take.  I'm pretty sure I was placed ahead of every one else who was waiting (white, english speaking, probably?),  but it was pretty quick if that's any consolation.  Record book; 500f,  consultation; 2000f, medicine at the pharmacy: 6500f.  I'm into this medical program for about $18.50.  What's not to like about nationalized medicine?)
Beth and I will celebrate our 30th anniversary this month, so we've decided to treat ourselves to a few nights in one of the local hotels next weekend.  We've walked to a few (we do a lot of walking), and today we rode a motorbike to a few others outside of town (One of the few times we've felt ripped off, the moto driver charged too much.  One of those keep it in perspective things, though.).  During our walk on Saturday I had seen a bus go by with 'westerners'.  When we later saw it parked at a hotel we went in and checked it out.  Turns out it was a group of students from a college in Pennsylvania in Cameroon for summer studies.  Our ten minute conversation was the first we've had with native English speakers since arriving, and it was very refreshing.  The first time carrying on a conversation that didn't feel like things were lost in translation, or misunderstanding.  Another thing we've seen for the first time in four months in those hotels is toilet seats, those might take some getting used to again.

100 year old barn?  Nah, four year old church.  The main one...

Where the fishermen come in with their catch everyday.

Then the fish are put in piles by type on these slabs and sold.  Some auctioned, some sold by the fish or weight.

Joel Osteen look out...

Cause I've got them hooked.

Our program here hasn't been much of a program at all.  Jonas has been preoccupied with the radio project and family matters, so hasn't been here much of the time, or dealing with those things when he has been.  The church is supposedly arranging appointments for us to meet with individuals and families, but we've yet to have one.  We've been told several times to wait at the house where we're staying, someone will come to get us.  We've waited, no one's come.  This morning we were told we need to ask the woman of the house, she has several lined up.  Africa time, I'm not sure, but communication breakdown for sure.
Another example of how communication is working for us:  Our last week here is to participate in a conference put on by the man from France who is donating the radio equipment and programming.  So part of what we're supposed to do is look for opportunity to promote the conference, including in churches.  Last week Beth and I were told we would visit several churches on Sunday (yesterday) to speak about it.  By the end of the week that had changed several times, but that was still plan A.  Plan B was that I would be preaching in the church which is hosting us.  Plan C was we'd still visit other churches, but I might be preaching in one of them, if not I would still preach in this church.  Plan D was that there was already a speaker with a program concluding in this church, but 'the apostle' would still bring us to the other churches, or I would preach in one of his other (small) churches.  That was how it was on Friday afternoon when Jonas left for Yaounde to take care of more radio business, with the promise of returning Saturday to finalize the plan.  On Saturday night we asked Sampson (our staff member in training who is having to carry too much responsibility) when Jonas would return to which the response was "Monday night, or Tuesday".  When I asked if I was still to preach on Sunday, he knew nothing about it, so he called Jonas.  Yes, I was still to preach, "'the apostle' will take you in the morning".  I said:  "Okay, we'll be ready at 8:30, but now Stephan will have to go with us to translate".
Sunday morning we had finished breakfast a little after eight and were headed back to 'the apostle's' house to get ready.  As we were leaving his 11 year old son arrived and said something which was translated to us as something like 'they are wondering where you are'.  We told Stephan we would be ready at 8:30, meet us at the house.  We got ready, Stephan showed up at 8:45 and asked 'what is the program?'  We told him we'd been ready, but hadn't seen 'the apostle', but had heard him coughing.  Stephan asked his wife where 'the apostle' was, but was told he was very sick, and  wouldn't be going anywhere.  So we returned to the church thinking that plan E, no plan, was in place and we would attend church there.  No, 'the apostle's' son was waiting to walk with us to the other church, and we were late, so off we went.  Me, Beth, Stephan, 'the apostle's' son, one of his friends, and then a 15 year girl we met on the way.
After a brisk 20 minute walk we arrived to find the church, a small house in muddy compound of several others, locked.  A neighbor let us in, and after a few minutes the six of us started 'church'.  I decided I wouldn't 'preach' the message I'd prepared (my idea of preaching and theirs are not the same), but rather we'd just have a discussion group.  A few minutes before ten, just after we'd arranged ourselves into the discussion group another man showed up and explained that church there didn't start until ten, Sunday school started at nine.  Soon another man showed up, so we started 'church' again.  I still didn't 'preach', but I stood at the podium and gave my take on a passage of scripture.  We were hardly distracted by the people using the compound pit toilet just outside the door, or the curious naked children who would come to the door, or the rain, or the conversations being held outside, either.  I'm sure all the big time preachers (which I aspire to be one day) got their start like this...