Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                           November 20th 2022

Thursday last, another funeral.  This for the 83 year old grandfather of one of my English students.  That student’s big sister is the apparition from a couple posts back so her grandfather too.  Huge family and a nephew and his son handled the massive event.  That Nephews son is a good friend here, a young man who is becoming a Mchungaji, Pastor.  His Great-Uncle who lived next door is the babu who died. 

I went to support my student, her sister, their mother, the whole community.  Unexpectedly I met there others who were directly related as grandchildren who I knew from elsewhere.  So big a family that grandchildren had never met each other, even though they lived on and around the same mountain. 

Yes, I was trying to be what I can’t be, invisible.  The Nephews son came and collected me from the women and placed me with his father, at the head of the event.  Local Mchungaji’s of all different types came in to group officiate for this extremely diverse and massive family.  Many know me, the one who tries to be invisible.  To a person those who know me call me Mchungaji.  I was not only not hidden but was not seated in the Mchungaji section where they expect, even have demanded me to be.  I was seated with the head man and his son.  Thank God for the white hair.   

Like most things in my life I’ve learned the hard way that not all family looks the same.  So, I keep my big mouth shut.  I don’t need to know how many wives, if more than one.  I don’t need to know how many other lines of children were begat outside legal or church sanctioned relationship, or not.  They could have all been adopted too.  In that way, we are all very much the same.  We are all adopted into the best and only eternal family of God. 

There were a lot of mourning ones.  A whole section of bibi’s, grandmothers, all dressed in white.  With them could have been more bibi’s or younger wives, all seated together.  Different lines will choose cloth to have matching dresses made.  The same pattern will be seated everywhere but most often grouped.  Some head woman eyes from that matrilineal bundling gauged me narrowly.  I have learned.

The time came for the head man’s son to go forward and view the deceased in the coffin surrounded by Mchungaji’s.  I went forward with my friend. 

Often at these funerals of a particularly beloved patriarch mourners will weep so uncontrollably that they lose consciousness or control of their limbs.  A couple older women had to be helped away by others wearing the same pattern.  One young woman who went up alone was carried away by two pallbearers.  The woman having the hardest steel in her gazing at me had a rough time for a while with three women holding her until she could stop shaking, this while she was seated.  I have learned.. some.

I walked around the deceased.  Yes, I knew him.  He was one of that incredibly practical and accepting group of white haired men who had let me help get a beloved General’s truck down off the high bank of the roadway without anything bigger than another, smaller, truck to haul rock and dirt with.  Yes, that same General was there too.  No, beloved or not, this one of this nation’s first generals was in the peanut gallery.  Lucky man.  Did I say that I’ve tried to learn?

We walked around my deceased friend of shared toil and unshared language in just the correct way to come out in front of that matrilineal bundle.  I reached for and took each and every hand using my pittance of Swahili and eye contact to say how very deeply sorry I was.  Even the steel-eyed ones broke, trusting me with open expressions of surprised unexpected appreciation and eyes full of tear. 

My Fathers Dad, my grandfather, lost all of his many siblings.  My grandparents simply gathered the children up and took them home to raise with their own.   We don’t know what happens in lives where death is near, common, and takes so many young ones.  Families may get massive because death has taken so many parents that the remaining simply gathered together forming up whatever came of the pieces.  My dad’s cousins were his brothers and sisters too.  I am old enough to remember.

I may be identified by locals as Mchungaji, but I am not a local Mchungaji.  I am different.  Thank God they let me be.  With my white hair and my foreigner status I am able to get away with things that locals cannot.  Risk everything.  Jesus did.  Now we have family!!!

Yes, those young women who know and trust me could be seen in the corners of the crowd taking turns looking out for someone they also call Babu, me. 

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Yesterday, that very same head man’s son got married.  Hilda was dressed in the chosen color and pattern of all the Groom side Bibi’s.  We were taken and placed at the table closest to the bride and groom.  We were back with the Mchungaji’s.  It was fine, good even.  These Pastors, all different flavor, seem so young to me and they blow my mind with their acceptance.  America needs to train pastors here.  Hilda and I were singled out to be given a whole separate wedding cake, being called forward as Mchungaji, and Mama Mchungaji, Van.  That is how the name my parents gave me, Vern, comes out here, Van.  Which makes people laugh because in Africa a Van is also known as a Lorry or a Truck.

This is how you know the head cook likes you.  It is dark.  It’s been raining heavily, PRAISE GOD!, you are soaked because you, pastor truck used to be a logger and don’t care if you get wet.  One mighty beloved Meru daughter literally stands in the line holding the surging crowd back and hands you two plates so she and others working the event can have some food too, you will have it for them.  Head cook knows there are no utensils so she puts a piece of chicken on your plate that when the good is nibbled away makes a good spoon for the rest of the plate.  People are looking out for us.  Your prayer support is amazing, nothing less than absolutely amazing..

Please keep reading to the end..  yes, important stuff in the prayer requesting..

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Also please Pray for:

Hilda’s temporary contract with the local NGO ends next month, her work will hopefully transition over to Tanzanian hands.  If not it will come to a close.  Money is super-tight here like at home there.  We don’t know what is ahead though the few locals in the know are working as hard as we to discover what that may be.  We know we are used and God’s trust is even more beautiful than the trust we have among God’s children here.  Keep your good work up?  Please.  You are doing the best of best by taking even a moment of your precious time with God to think of, to mention, us.

Yes, reluctantly, you can help us if you wish and you don’t need tax paperwork.  We cannot provide that.  We are just folks.  We are not an organization.  Your Church is an organization and can provide paperwork and if moved by The Holy Spirit can help us and get you that paperwork.

If that is not possible, please consider The Small Things of Nkoaranga, Tanzania.  They are the parent NGO responsible for The Children’s Village we have been diligently around and among this last year.  They can get you tax paperwork and have sincere needs to attend.  The perimeter fence project and more importantly, on-going school fees for about fifty children.  These are too much for this old couple who live hand to mouth alone, but, money goes much further here.  These are easy do’s for a group of us.  God Bless you for reading and even considering.  Thank you.

Gratitude..

Gratitude for our time in the Pacific Northwest and over to Colorado for those dear children and grandchildren who miss us and whom we are overjoyed to have had our precious time with.

Makumira Secondary School, my brilliant helper Elisha’s school, is looking to share stories and partner in some way with a foreign school, Great leaders, teachers, students, programs, strong backs, minds, and hearts –

Hilda’s continued invisibility to those who can only see their own authority –

Visa situation..  Good now until after Christmas..  May we be able to learn and be lead into what is best for the benefit of what God would have us do, how God would have us do those things and stewardship of the resources God has put into us for Gods purposes -

Our armed forces families, our leadership, our people, whole world round, all of Gods kids -

All the tough and blessing expressed above –

The love of folks –

Whatever is on your hearts and minds for us –

I continue to be under much harsh spiritual attack concerning my sense of self-worth and those many things I have yet to get to, please, only as you are comfortable, remember me, indeed us.. the world doesn’t like what we are doing out of love we don’t own.. yet have none the less -

For our health to stay ahead of whatever is before us, for us to let our health fail so others can shine –

For a way for us to invest with our experience and even financially in support of local industrious people so we can afford to stay and continue to make a difference one face at a time –

For those who have braved the donate button to discover Kajun Crofton, our daughter who helps getting each one of your donations to us and every blogpost to where you can read it –

For you who find other ways to uplift and support us -

For each and every one of you –

Each and every one of your prayers, your precious conversations with God –

Prayers, Your Prayer, skipping stone and even groaning prayers make all the difference..

If we should ever cross your mind, even if we are strange and confusing, just grunt, crumple us up and throw us at God.  That is where we need to be.. 

Vern W

May life be as Music to your Heart – May Music be as Heart to your Life – May Heart be as Life to your Music