Do people use the New Testament in their mother tongue? (by Douglas)

This is one of the hardest questions we face as we support Bible translation projects. Will people actually read the completed Scriptures? What affects whether or not these New Testaments are used?

In eastern Congo, the only published New Testament our group has seen so far is in the Fuliiru language. But several other New Testaments either are in press right now, or will be published in the next few years. Naturally, we want to know what kinds of factors affect whether or not people read them, so we can prepare as well as possible.

Ten thousand copies have been distributed; is their message being heard?
Do people find the words 'sweet', or are the books only a curiosity?

This was the work of the Strategic Research Team (Dr Bagamba Araali and me) -- to design and oversee the collection of interview data among the Fuliiru people themselves.

To get to the Fuliiru translation office in Kiliba, Bagamba and I traveled by air, sea, and land. On 20 August we flew to the town of Goma, on the northern shore of Lake Kivu. The next morning, we crossed the lake in a "rapid boat" (« canot rapide »).

Bukavu is on the southern shore. The photo below was taken from the window of a restaurant where we ate on our return trip.

In Bukavu we met the research team, pictured with us in Kiliba: Rév. Mbirize Masumbuko (Fuliiru Language Program Director); Feston and Malega, two other translators who have worked with him on the Fuliiru Bible now in draft; and six other Fuliiru pastors and Christian leaders. Mbirize is in the top left of the photo, Malega is next to me, and Feston is the only one in the "middle row".

The field researchers with Mbirize, Bagamba, Douglas and a guy in a football jersey.

The best road from Bukavu to Kiliba passes through Rwanda. I hadn't ever thought that my first visit to Rwanda would last less than one hour -- much less my second visit, six days later! Bagamba and I rode in the front seat of the van in this photo. The white sign wishes us a good trip in English, French and Kinyarwanda.

After re-entering Congo, we dropped off pairs of researchers at various places on the way to Kiliba, arranging for them to meet us after five days of interviews in a total of about twenty villages. Madame Tulizo, whom you see here, is the widow of a pastor.

Saying 'see you later' to Mama Tulizo

Tulizo testified that people in the chapel she serves used to be hesitant to pray in public. They didn't have all the vocabulary they needed in their own language, and they weren't sure how to use the Swahili words that they had heard. Since people started receiving teaching from the Fuliiru New Testament, though, there are always enough volunteers to pray in Fuliiru, and the contents of their prayers are theologically rich.

When walking with a camera, I often trailed behind Bagamba and Mbirize. On the left, we're going to the translation office shortly after our arrival in Kiliba. There were two cozy guest rooms, complete with solar power. On the right, Bagamba goes with Mbirize to see Lake Tanganyika up close.

The office is a few hundred yards above a Pentecostal church. On the other side of the road is the turnoff for a famous sugar factory; however, some of the factory equipment was damaged in the war and it is no longer in operation. I took this photo while waiting for the bus back to Bukavu.

But what did we find? More after the break...

Healthcare Among Friends - Part 2

Another tale of friendship and surgery, this one far more serious. You will notice that, as in the last post, there are a lot of "as it happens" in this story. Lots of happy coincidences. Some of these I attribute to the fact that Congolese society is highly networked and inter-dependent, with lots of unexpected connections between people I never would have guessed knew each other. I also can't help but see God's hand in how things came together. Here's the story:

The head translator for one of the projects we work with, Pierre, had known for some time that he needed prostate surgery. He lives up north in an area that does not have great hospitals. But a couple of hours outside of Bunia, in a town called Nyankunde, there is a very good hospital, furnished and supported by Samaritan's Purse. It is well-known throughout the region. That is where Pierre hoped to have this surgery.

Pierre, head translator for the Bible in his language. During tea time at the translation office.

Confronting Congolese Doubts about Local Language ("Mother Tongue") Development and Bible Translation

A few weeks ago, President Joseph Kabila came to town for a few days. Among the groups he planned an audience with was UNADI, a coalition of 21 ethnic groups. They are concerned that their parliamentary representatives (MPs) serve their party and not the people they represent. So these ethnic communities wanted their representatives to talk with the president about how they can help themselves without relying on government. They voted on 3 people to represent them in that meeting. One of them was Douglas' partner and our dear friend, Dr Bagamba Araali.

Bagamba and Douglas in front of the Bible translation office in Bunia

He and the representatives arrived where President Kabila was staying at 7 AM, as instructed. And they waited....

Our "Top Ten Things We Love About Living in Bunia" List

1. The People - We have dear, close friends here, both expatriate and Congolese.  We are constantly touched and humbled by how generous people are with their time and resources.

Two of our American friends made and decorated this gorgeous cake when we arrived in July.

2. The Clothes - Congolese women and men love bright, colorful patterns. Most women here wear traditional African cloth outfits, especially to church or on a special occasion. Tailoring is truly an art form. We have a particular tailor that we like, and he has made nice outfits for both of us (below). People literally stop us in the street to say how marvelous we look. They seem to love the fact that we appreciate Congolese fashion enough to wear it ourselves.

Janvier in his shop, tailoring a skirt for Jennings



Our Christmas outfits

It's always fun to see the different styles and designs that people wear.  And spotting a burly young man with a hot pink, tasseled messenger bag or a lavender "My Little Pony" backpack... that can just make your day.

Members of a choir often have outfits of matching cloth, but with individual style

An impromptu photo calls for just a bit of "spiffing up".

3. Singing - On a Sunday morning, there can be 4 or 5 different local choirs performing at church: full-throated, exuberant singing, with choreographed movements.  Generally the songs are in Lingala or Swahili, but sometimes they are in French. Thrilling!

4. Rainstorms - We get *serious* rainstorms here - drenching, full-on downpours, complete with thunder and lightning. They come down from the Blue Mountains, pushing delicious cool breezes in front of them. Wonderful!

5. The sunsets - stunning!!! (... we have not yet seen so many sunrises)

6. Goma cheese - Surprise! We get better cheese here than we did in Nairobi! Goma cheese (from the North Kivu region) comes in one-kilo rounds and is great "as is" or melted on stuff. It can fill in for many varieties of Western cheese to make grilled cheese sandwiches, pizza, lasagna, you name it. It is one of the brightest spots in our meals here.

7. Fresh produce - Passion fruit and papaya from the market, pineapple from our friends' garden, different kinds of local greens (leafy vegetables)... we love them all! Passion fruit is great by itself, and it also makes delicious juice.

Still life with Goma cheese and passion fruit

Those aren't hats on the kids' heads; they're to help them balance baskets of corn.

8. Fresh milk - Delivered to the front gate: just boil, skim and drink! Collect the cream and whip into butter! One of the advantages of living in a cow-raising region.

9. Slow walking - When the sun is high during dry season, it can be hot out there, and dusty. You do *not* want to be trying to rush somewhere, working yourself into a sweat (and kicking up dust clouds).  Plus, the roads and paths are far from even, and you might twist your ankle if you aren't careful. So just take your time. Sloooow down. Amble. Look around you... that's how everyone walks! And they're right! Greet people, breathe, relax... now, isn't that better?

10. The "Being There" Factor - When we first arrived, Congolese would ask how long we were going to be here, assuming we were visiting.  When we answered "Nous sommes là!" ("We are here!"), we were rewarded with huge smiles and vigorous handshakes.  There is something very fundamental about sharing life together, about being in the same place, being part of their lives, experiencing (a very small part of) the struggles they experience.  It's more than physical presence, it's solidarity, empathy.  It's a high value here.   "Tuko pamoja"... "We are together".

Je ne réponds pas au nom de "Muzungu" (My name is not "Muzungu") - by Jennings

My biggest emotional challenge here is getting used to being so conspicuous.  There is simply no “blending in” in a public setting.  Conversely, my happiest moments are here are when I really do feel a part of things, when I am with Congolese who know me well enough to be completely unimpressed by my presence, who treat me as a friend. Those warm, wonderful moments of feeling part of the group, connected, at home. Like I belong here.

I have an ongoing internal debate over the word “muzungu” (the Swahili term for a foreigner, specially a white foreigner).  Like many epithets, I don’t mind using it about myself in a self-deprecating joke, i.e. “Ah, we wazungu are so feeble, we have to drink filtered water or we get sick! And our skin is so weak that we have to cover it from the sun or we’ll turn into nyama choma (roasted meat).”  But I bristle when someone yells it at me.  Which happens all the time.  Children in particular, if they see us walking down a road, come running, pointing and yelling “Muzungu! Muzungu!”  Vendors in the market yell it at us, as do motorcycle taxi drivers.

One strategy is to smile and wave, like a celebrity being yelled at by fans.  (Though usually I feel more like a clown with a huge red nose and floppy shoes that everyone has come to point and laugh at. I obligingly wave and smile, aware that, indeed, I am quite the spectacle.)  Another strategy is to ignore it, as if the kids are being impolite and should not be encouraged. Or to try and encourage them to be more polite by setting a good example, responding with “Jambo!” or “Bonjour!”… you know, the way you greet an actual *human being*, not some kind of walking freak show. (Ahem... pardon the strong feeling there.)

As with most things, getting angry is never the solution.  Humor is always, always better. A few nights ago, I was walking home alone after dark - NOT a good idea! - and had the following exchange (translated from French).  Two guys passed me from behind and one said (without really looking at me) "Muzungu, muzungu, good evening!"  I immediately prickled and said nothing. But, aware of my vulnerability, I also didn't want to offend and make them mad.  Causing someone to lose face in public (such as by ignoring them) is not especially wise. So I tried joking to veil my anger: "That's not a name! Shouldn't you say 'Good evening, madame'?"  They answered, "But you're a muzungu, right? You're a muzungu!"  "Okay, yes. But would you like it if I said, 'Good evening, Congolese'?"  "Yes, that's good, we would like that!"  Then the conversation took a new direction: "So, where you going? Do you live around here?"  I started thinking how I could end it and not have them follow me down the darkening street.  Thankfully, a Congolese friend and his daughter appeared just then, and escorted me home, and the two guys faded into the night. I had fun telling our friend's 7-year-old son how his Daddy and sister had saved me from the bad guys (using great exaggeration, which is completely fine with kids).

I am trying now to be more positive about being yelled at and being called "muzungu".  I'm trying to interpret it as a sign that they are glad I’m there and want to connect with me in some way.  And I think this is very often the case.  So I try not to take offense.  If someone greets me with “Jambo, muzungu!” that is at least more polite than just pointing and staring or yelling. “Bonjour, madame” is even better, and I'll always answer... it would be very rude to ignore a greeting like that.

And “Jambo, mama!”… that is probably my favorite. It has an affectionate feeling, almost like they see me as someone who belongs here. :)

"Jambo kanisa!" "Jambo sana!"* (by Jennings)

*"Greetings, church!"  "We greet you so much!"

(All photos in this post were taken by our friend D. Wright and used with his permission)

Church in Ibambi – a Congolese village church. Exuberant, participatory, communal. At least those were my impressions. The head translator's son picked me up, led me to the church, took me in the women’s side, and sat me next to a very kind older lady. The service was entirely in Swahili, but that didn’t matter too much – my neighbor told me when to close my eyes for prayer, when to stand, when to get my offering out.

The women were on the right side of the church, the men on the left. Children – some just toddlers – sat on low stools (which they carried in with them) at the front, off to the side a bit. I loved seeing them there, I loved that all ages were together in church, all singing together, dancing, giving offerings, praying. It is a huge church with tall, open (no glass) windows and a very high tin roof. An artifact of missionary days. No ceiling, terrible acoustics. It was hard for me to hear what the service leader was saying, but no one else seemed to have any trouble following what was going on. And the kids could mill around and giggle and it didn’t really disturb anything.

There was a Scripture reading from Colossians. I was struck by how many people had brought their Bibles and were following along. Anzabati told me later that there is a real lack of Bibles, not enough people have them. But those who do sure do seem to use them! There was a sermon (I think), and the “chef de poste” spoke for a few minutes. But most of the two hour service was singing! We used the Swahili hymnal for 2 songs; otherwise, there were maybe 5 different choral groups who sang, mostly in Lingala. There was a trio of young men, a trio of middle-aged ladies, a choir of 20 or so girls – from tiny to teens – who sang in perfect harmony and danced, and a couple of other groups who stood up and sang. Two young men (part of the trio) played drums, and a few church members had other traditional instruments (flutes, shakers). Near the end, the whole church was singing, led by one of the drummers, with some call and response, lots of swaying back and forth, and other gestures. Everyone joined in, from the littlest kid to the oldest lady, they all knew the song, they all sang and gestured. It was wonderful!

When it was time for the offering, they brought out two huge wicker baskets and one small one (for the kids, I think). The women went first, swaying back and forth and shuffling forward slowly in a sort of conga line down the side aisle, toward the back, then up the front aisle. I have just enough rhythm to be able to sway in time. They had a time for visitors to stand up and be greeted, but I was grateful that I wasn’t asked to say anything, and no one made any kind of big deal of a muzungu being there (except for the children who stared at me open-mouthed, but that is to be expected).