On Wednesday, our penultimate day in Tungamalenga, three members of our group got up bright and early to go to Ruaha National Park for a day-and-a-half safari. My mom and I stayed in the village while they were gone. Mom had done that twice before and loved "kuzunguka zunguka-ing," walking circles around Tunga, meeting people in a much more informal manner, and having freetime for long and contructive conversations. I did it with her because: You've seen one giraffe, you've seen them all, I saved a small amount of money by staying, and I liked the idea of "kuzunguka zunguka-ing" too. I wanted to spend more time with the people I'd met before time ran out.
After the three left, the landrover Mom had hired arrived. We were going to the Masai village of Mahove, and with us came our driver Titus, associate Mchungaji Paulo (the first ordained Masai pastor in the diocese), five evangelists and partnership committee members, and our translator Mfaume, a soon-to-be university graduate. Ten of us fit in the seven-seater, with Mom and I sharing the front passenger seat, and we were soon on our bumpy way to Mahove. It took perhaps 20 minutes, where we went through several villages, and then through a rough path in the Tanzanian bush. We didn't have a clue how Titus knew his way, when there was hardly a road to follow. I imagined the directions sounding like, "Turn left at the tree. No--the other tree. Yeah, that one. Then, see that bush? The little one with the pointy needles?" It all looked the same to me.
We were nearing our destination when we stopped. Blocking our was was a large bundle of sticks, a woman's kitenge cloth, and a pair of shoes. Titus called out something to the trees in Swahili once, then twice. The second time, people slowly started appearing from behind the trees, they gathered their things and we continued driving. Titus laughed and told us, "They thought we were soldiers." I found out that Mahove is part of a reserve, therefore it's illegal to cut the trees for firewood, which they need to cook their food. Mahove doesn't have easy access to water either, and it's a long walk to get it. The government told the Masai, traditionally a nomadic herding people, to settle in this one place, far from these necessities, and isolated from other villages and people. I have no idea why they were put there.
Shortly afterwards, we arrived at the preaching point and we popped out of the landrover. We were greeted by evangelist Azuberi Mhema and people of the congregation. They showed us to some small wooden chairs on a tarp, and we were mercifully shaded by another tarp hung from two trees. Azuberi and Petro, the other evangelist who is Masai, led the people in songs you can't help but clap to. Azuberi read a report, telling us there are 106 church members, 51 of whom are adults. Their main goals are to build an actual chapel--presently they worship outside--and they're in the process of organizing to buy cement and collect the bricks. And of course they asked for help to build a well. This was the second time a group from my church had visited Mahove. Mchungaji Paulo got up and read a verse from Colossions in Kihehe, a very different tribal language from his own. People were impressed and entertained by that.
After that, Mom got up to say words of thanks and sympathy. The thanks was for welcoming us so graciously, and for working hard to build a chapel.
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