Journey with Joy

Yesterday afternoon George and I, along with Charles, who is George’s translator, went to a Bible study.  We’d been studying every Tuesday afternoon with one of the new converts of the congregation, along with several different neighbor ladies, but a while back Zawadi got sick, which landed her in the hospital.  Then she had to make a trip to Dar es Salaam to receive further medical treatment.  She finally returned to Iringa and yesterday we resumed our studies.

Zawadi lives in very rustic conditions.  She lives in a little mud building.  There is a small courtyard where people have their cooking fires.  We enter a small common room, via a rough doorway. It has no door.  The floor is dirt and the only light present is the sun shining through the doorway. After sitting for a few moments, our eyes adjust to the darkness. There are four doorways inside this common room two on each side. Zawadi rents one of the rooms. Another room is rented by Isabella and yet another is rented by Furaha.  We are not really sure about the whereabouts of any men.  From time to time Isabella and Furaha have joined in our classes.

Yesterday during the class I suddenly noticed some movement on the floor to my right.  A big rat had found it’s way in and tried to get inside Isabella’s room.  Then it came closer to me, and tried to get into Furaha’s room. then ran back again and then found a way to enter Isabella’s room. I hate rats.  I especially hate rats that come a little too close to my feet, especially when I have flip-flops on.  I will admit to having a little adrenaline rush on the inside, but I managed to be oh so cool on the outside. HA!

Toward to the end of our class, Furaha showed up.  She grabbed her Bible from her room and then sat down by me.  I hadn’t seen her for several weeks, and it was obvious that she is now heavy with child.  It was also obvious that she had been drinking.  I could hardly think of anything else for the remainder of the class.  Besides the fact that she reeked of alcohol, I could not help but think of what she is doing to the baby growing in her womb.

Sadly, Tanzanians have a great propensity for alcohol.  They have mastered the art of making alcohol from anything and everything.  In Moshi, where we lived for two years, there are many bananas grown nearby, and they make an alcoholic drink from fermented bananas.  The Massai tribe is well known for its corn-based liquor.  Here in Iringa there are many bamboo groves, and the locals make a brew from the liquid produced by the bamboo. There is a local name for it,  but our family has nicknamed it “bamboozi.”

After class, I asked to speak with Furaha.  I told her I wanted to speak with her “mother to mother.”  In very simple terms, I explained to her that when she drinks with a child growing inside, she will make the baby very sick, and that the baby might be born with problems that will not go away.  I told her that I loved her baby and that I loved her, and I begged her to stop drinking.  I spoke to her as kindly, but plainly as I could, with the hope that somehow I might touch her conscience.  Honestly, I’m not too hopeful, but at least I could walk away knowing that I had tried.  Furaha doesn’t need a government program or social agency. God’s Word is what she needs.

Furaha needs the gospel.  So does that elderly couple who live across the street from you… and the nice check-out lady at Walmart…and the belligerent teens that live down the road…and your mailman….and the person making those annoying soliciting phone calls…and your child’s teacher at school…and…you get the picture.  When it comes to the saving message of the Gospel, being silent is not the nice thing to do.  I know, it’s not comfortable…but we need to get out of our comfort zone and SAY SOMETHING.