SIM Canada Out and About Anyone who has travelled anywhere, has had to eat food that one might consider 'bizarre'! Recently, I travelled to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia and when I was at a restaurant, I didn't exactly know what I was ordering. My new local friends assured me that I would like it so I went with it. The bowl came and my eyes immediately zeroed in on the bones that were sitting on top. More specifically the jaw bone that still had teeth in it, sitting one top. In your travels, what food was difficult to eat? Or what food have you eaten (and even enjoyed) that seems bizarre to the average Canadian? Tue, 15 May 2012 11:23:16 -0500 "A raid is about to take place. Be ready to receive some new girls." It's that sort of phone call that alerts Redlight Greenlight's aftercare home in Delhi to prepare for the arrival of girls recently rescued from the underworld of human trafficking. It was with that sort of phone call they prepared for their first girl, received on January 16. Previous to her arrival, there was a year of staff hiring, of location finding for the home, of training in trauma counseling and recovery support. As several more girls followed the first in rapid succession, all that training and knowledge were instantly tested. "[The staff members] are just shining," says Adam, project manager. "They're pouring their lives into the girls." By mid-March, a total of fourteen girls have come through the aftercare home. Some have stayed only a couple of nights, moving back home with their families or on to other locations. New girls could come at any time with another phone call. Usually the new girl will arrive in the evening after she's received medical attention and a report has been filed at the police station. Because a home such as this must be licensed by the government in order to legally receive girls, some might find the constant interaction with authorities intimidating. When Adam and his staff first began the aftercare home, they were warned to expect a highly bureaucratic system with little personal interest in the girls. Instead, they've found that some police officers, judges, and Child Welfare Committee members are eager to help girls make the transition smoothly. "We believe God wants His people to engage with all aspects of society," reflects Adam, "and our experience is proving fruitful." They often call one official, off-hours, for advice about navigating complicated legal situations related to girl's case histories. The mentoring and willingness to work flexibly with Redlight Greenlight's staff has been a blessing as the home settles into what's turned out to be a rather overwhelming work load. "We thought we were being luxurious," says Adam about the number of staff they initially hired. But even with the 14 full-time staff members, there have been days when "we were almost short a person." Days when one girl needed a doctor's appointment, one had a hearing at the court house, and another at the police station. It has been challenging for the staff to set basic parenting boundaries with the girls, ensuring the environment is consistent and everyone keeps the same "house rules". At night, girls struggle with nightmares about their trauma and staff members soothingly remind them they are now in a safe place. They offer to pray with the girls and have found a willing, hungry response. Even as the staff members simply pray before meals, girls watch and absorb. After a few days in the home, many girls want to pray themselves. Some begin asking for prayer before court, hospital, or police visits. One of the girls recently went into the library, picked out a children's Bible, and put it near her bed to read through. "Our dream," says Adam, "was to create an environment where girls could experience the redemptive love and power of God." It would seem the dream is coming true. PRAY. GO. GIVE. If you would like to support this ministry, please visit www.sim.ca/givenow (Project #98652 - Face Trafficking & Prostitution). Tue, 8 May 2012 14:13:33 -0500 Shortly before returning to Canada on home assignment I had a remarkable experience in Durban. Like other large cities in South Africa, Durban has become a haven to tens of thousands of refugees from across the whole continent. Most of these displaced people are very poor and suffer the brunt of discrimination and mistreatment. Early in December Asani and I joined a small a team of three Christians who've been going every week to meet with a dozen destitute Tanzanian refugees, most of whom have been in Durban less than two years. We shared simple food stuffs with them as we do every week. While discussing how their week had gone, we learned that one of the group members had managed to get a casual job. We thanked the Lord and then we called the group together to hear the Bible story. We read the story a couple verses at a time, first in Swahili, then in English. At a couple points we asked questions which stimulated lively conversation. Pastor Asani, a new member of our team, brought the Swahili Bible and was able to translate key aspects of our discussion in Swahili. To say that Pastor Asani's input was vital would be an understatement. After 45 minutes of Bible reading, Asani was asked to close in prayer. But he did something that took us by surprise. He suggested we all hold hands, while standing in a circle. Then he led us in singing a Swahili gospel chorus. It seemed to me as if these men picked up the flow of the song quite effortlessly. As the song ended several of the Tanzanians exclaimed, "Hallelujah!" Asani prayed in Swahili and again, spontaneous outbursts of "Amen" punctuated the air. Of course, this exciting story is only one small chapter. There is a lot more watering of seeds to be done. We are praying and planning to harness financial support for Asani. His skills are vital for the continuation of our work. Asani and I met another group of 10 impoverished Tanzanian refugees. We have briefly talked with these young men on four occasions and sensed the beginning of a real bond of friendship. We have no other helpers to work with Asani in reaching out to this new group. We have presented this need to several pastors in the heart of Durban. One pastor from a nearby suburb is lending a helping hand. Furthermore, we're praying that the Lord will provide one or two short term workers to work with Asani and to enable us to capitalize on this amazing open door. If you are interested, please contact SIM Canada to learn more. Be sure to check out the Opportunity of the Week on for more details. By David Foster Tue, 1 May 2012 10:16:31 -0500 Paul Russell, the deputy director of SIM Canada, recently travelled to Angola, Namibia and South Africa. He took a friend with him, Paul Huntington to document the trip. Over the next four weeks, we will travel with them as Paul Huntington describes what they saw and experienced. Be sure to also look at the great shots Paul took of the trip at the end of each day's blog. Enjoy! Monday January 23, 2012 The pastor picked us up at exactly 4 a.m. There was no traffic at this time so we made great time. This would be the first time in Angola that we would face the long check-in process without a Portuguese speaking companion - I guess we had graduated. Check in opened at 5:00 a.m., at least a line had formed by then, but nothing happened until 5:30. We were flying SonAir for this trip and though that the service might be better since it was private (more or less). The check-in staff was polite but brutally slow. They would disappear in the middle of a task with no explanation and the line would stop. We finally got our bags checked and boarding passes printed. Customs was quick, as they should be given that it was a domestic flight, but this is Angola and the rules are different. We sat down in the departure lounge wondering which of the gates would be used by SonAir. There were a number of flat screens displaying blank flight information. Other flat screens were beside each door, but there was no indication of the airline or flight on any of them. A couple of SonAir flights departed by bus to the remote stands - it was now 20 minutes after the time that our 6:00 a.m. flight was to have departed. We were starting to wonder if we had somehow missed the flight. I looked at the boarding card and saw that the boarding time was 6:45 a.m. for a 6 a.m. flight. We were in the line to board and as soon as they announced the flight, people rushed from all sides. The gate agents allow this and in fact made me stop to serve customers who had obviously cut into line. That's fine, the line cutters got onto the bus first, so we got off the bus first. I found our checked bags on the ramp and put them in the boarding cart. We walked quickly around the plane and up the stairs at the tail and into the cabin. It felt strange boarding from the tail. After all our concern, the flight was only half full and we got Paul the exit row seating he required. We arrived back in Lubango within an hour. The air was clear and the view approaching the city was spectacular. Once more, we lined up for passport control. Last time we had arrived here it had been an international flight from Namibia, so naturally, the only passport lines open were for domestic arrivals, and that's where we went. This time, both lines were open. As we had arrived on a domestic flight, it made sense that we should line up on that side. Of course we were wrong, and were redirected to the international arrivals line. Finally it was my turn. She spent the required two minutes copying my passport info onto a piece of paper. I was asked why I wished to enter Angola. "I'm not entering Angola. I've been here for a week. You stamped my passport last week." This resulted in an extended question and answer session. I produced my detailed itinerary which contained all the things she wished to know. She scanned this sheet for several minutes, obviously not comprehending anything written there. She handed me back the sheet and added no new information to the document she had been filling out. Afonzo picked us up. Our next stop was the CMEL hospital. We were supposed to spend the day there with Steve. It was suggested that we might wish to rest instead. We took the hint and went upstairs. A couple of hours later, Becky came to fetch us and transport us to the hospital. We made a slight detour on the way to go and see the statue of Christ, "Cristo Rei", which overlooks the city, a smaller copy of the status in Rio de Janeiro. There was no one there and the view was great. The courtyard gates were locked, but we discovered that the side entrance was unlocked, so we went in. The doors to the inside of the statue were wired shut. It was a simple task to get past this. Just then, a very irate security guard came into the courtyard yelling in Portuguese. Fortunately Becky was there to interpret. He was quite abusive and demanded payment. Becky argued that this was a tourist attraction and that there were no signs indicating a need to pay. We ignored his protests and climbed the spiral stairs to the top. We went back to the hospital and sat in on some consultations and I got some useful photos. They really do good work there. One man we met had travelled 600 kilometers for his appointment. Steve Foster took us to his home for lunch, and then delivered us back home for more rest. After a couple of hours, Becky came back upstairs to suggest that now would be a good time to return to Tundavale. I grabbed my camera and ran down the stairs. After a 30 minute drive, we arrived at the edge of the escarpment. The air was clear and the sun was low. It was spectacular! We returned to the viewing platforms, amazed at the transformation from the misty world we had encountered a week earlier. I shot a ton of images, but none of them could capture this view. It was well worth the second trip. We returned to town and picked up Afonzo and Eva, and then drove to the south end of town to one of the few restaurants in Lubango: Kimdo do Soba (Village of the Chief). There was a village. Each of the huts was a hotel room. There were a variety of animals on the grounds, but in the dark we saw only ducks. Near the entrance, there was a wide selection of beef, seafood and game to choose from displayed. We wandered over to check it out and suddenly, the lights went out. After several minutes and numerous attempts the generator was started and the lights came back on. The restaurant itself was cozy with numerous game trophies for decoration. It was the perfect ambiance for a great dinner together. The ridiculously early mornings were catching up to us and we were ready to crash as soon as we arrived back home. Tuesday January 24, 2012 Our pick-up was at 7 a.m. and right on time a worn Land Rover pulled up to the gate. We climbed into the back and sat on opposing bench seats. Several of the staff at the Clinica Rio da Huila live in Lubango and would be picked up on the way to the clinic, which was 45 minutes out of town. The clinic was a group of buildings far enough from the highway to feel like we were in the middle of nowhere. We met Dr. Karen Henricksen and her 15-20 staff at their morning meeting. After the meeting, the staff divided up; some to meet patients at the clinic and some to prepare to take the clinic on the road to a remote Mumhuila village: Tchitunda. Karen took us for a tour of the various areas including a large group of buildings set away from the rest. This was the housing for the TB patients. Some of them were using dry grass and nylon fibre from grain bags to make beautiful baskets. Others were just lying in the sun. All wanted to be photographed. Of course I shot them all, enjoying their smiles at seeing their images displayed on the camera's LCD screen. We continued on and saw the new morgue, the maternity buildings, the clinic, pharmacy and operating rooms. Before too long the staff were climbing into the Land Rover with all the equipment and vaccines required at the village. We joined them in the back and the Land Rover bounced away down the narrow track to the highway. Once on the highway, the driver exhibited great restraint with the throttle - this may have been because Dr. Karen was beside him. The village was several kilometers of rough dirt and sand road off the highway, turning to a narrow path as we got closer. The Land Rover's thick paint was taking the thorn bushes along the path in stride until we finally scraped and bounced into the clearing. At note to bush travellers in Africa: many of the bushes have thorns - long thorns - keep your arms and legs in the vehicle at all times. If in Zambia, also keep the windows rolled up. There are legitimate reports of Black Mambas striking at drivers in vehicles through open windows. Others have waited above paths in the trees - one snake killed 4 cattle in an afternoon. Thankfully, Angolan Black Mambas are not so aggressive! Across the field ahead of us was a small pond surrounded by a verge of dry earth. This was the only source of drinking water for the village. Not just drinking water for the people, but for the herd of cattle and donkeys as well. It was also the communal bathtub. As bad as that seems, during the dry season, the villagers must walk 10 kilometres to get water. Imagine walking that far and then having to return with 30 pounds of water on your head. Dr. Karen had been to the village the previous Sunday to make sure that everyone knew the clinic would be held on Tuesday. There was a group of 30 women and at least 70 children waiting for the Land Rover in the shade of a tree, beside the church. The church had been constructed by the villagers, who used hand-made mud and straw bricks to support the new corrugated tin roof. The staff went into the church by the side door and the moms and kids filed in from the back door. The head of security for the clinic is also an evangelist - this church was created as a result of his work. He led everyone in a couple of songs and gave some instructions about how the clinic would operate. In one area, the babies would be weighed. In another, the vaccinations would be given, and the new patients signed up. In the back of the church the new moms would be examined: blood pressure and an internal examination, performed on the dirt floor. No privacy in this clinic. Anyone who wanted to watch could do so. I wandered towards the north, staying safely on the path, so I could take a shot of the church with the main village in the background. I then walked back and then past the church to shoot the stagnant pond. On the far side there was a woman in traditional Mumhuila dress: a brightly coloured patterned wrap for a skirt, and a collection of beads around her neck and waist - the strings of beads around her neck indicated that her husband was wealthy - the strings on her waist had other significance from her coming of age. I guess she saw the camera and wasn't impressed that I was taking a picture that included her and the little boy. I waved and turned away to leave them in peace. The yelling got louder. (Some languages sound angry to my ear, and Mumhuila is one of them). As it turns out, she wasn't angry that I had taken their picture. The problem was that I wasn't close enough. I walked around the pond and took a couple shots of them, turning the camera after to show her the image on the LCD screen on the back. She was delighted. Everyone wanted their picture taken. I found this in every village as we traveled. I must have shot 400 images that morning of some of the most beautiful people on earth. The clinic lasted for about three hours, and then we loaded up the Land Rover and headed back to Rio da Huila. Lunch was rice, roasted corn and meat. Yes, I said meat. They didn't tell and I didn't ask! In the afternoon, we went to the Mbambi village. We were late as Dr. Karen had several distractions to contend with (and I think that she was trying to avoid having time to do a video interview for me). The village was several kilometres off the highway. Before going off-road, we picked up four passengers (to ensure the Land Rover was packed). Karen seemed to be unaware of the passengers bouncing in the back rows as she crashed from pothole to the next. Bruised, battered and laughing, her five back seat passengers fell out of the three back doors. We were in Mbambi to see a church there which had started 22 years earlier. The building itself was constructed on concrete blocks. It was the only building of that quality in the region. It was also built straight, square, level and plumb - a rare thing in Huila province! They were having a meeting and waiting for the visitors from Canada to arrive. We slipped in the back and were immediately brought to the front. We joined in a discussion on the need of the Mumhuila people to learn to read their own language and to have a translated bible. Learning to read is a challenge, in that the language is not a written one, only spoken. The work of creating the written language has been completed by previous missionaries. The alphabet includes all 26 letters, plus some extras to cover sounds not found in the English language, such a "mb" which is pronounced as an extended or emphasized "b". There were songs printed out and stuck on the church walls written in the Mumhuila language. Currently, there is a missionary, Fran (who flew with us from Windhoek), who is working in the village on translation one day a week. This is not enough. There is an apartment and office built next to the church, and there is plenty of work for a full-time translator. Karen lived in this village for the first 18 months of her ministry in Angola, staying in a stick and thatch hut, living just as a villager - not the lifestyle most doctors would aspire to. I had a chance to speak and told them about all the beauty I had seen in Angola, the country, the people and especially the beauty on their insides - the evidence of their belief in Jesus Christ. After this I asked them to sing so that I could capture some background music for shows to be created following the trip. These people can sing! Afterwards, we greeted everyone. Most laughed at our poor attempts to greet them in the Mumhuila language. I took pictures of everyone, showing them to each as I moved along. This is always a highlight of the visit. On the way back to the highway, we stopped to pick up a couple bags of beans for the clinic at the pastor's house, or should I say houses. There were a number of buildings in the complex including the latest, a concrete block building. The pastor had two wives when he and many of his family became Christians. Recognising that having two wives was not consistent with biblical teaching, the pastor and his second wife agreed to divorce amicably (his second wife still lives in the village and attend his church). There were 5 children in total, some away at university some still at home. His daughter Paula works at the clinic as the human resources director. There were also several nephews and nieces living with him, (the children of his brother - who has many wives). There were cultivated and irrigated fields beside the house on both sides of the creek. The work ethic and foresight of the pastor had made him a very successful man. He spends time teaching others his farming methods, and financially supports many family members. I have great respect for Paulo. The sun was setting and it was dark by the time Karen dropped us at Steve and Peggy's for dinner. We said our goodbyes, sad that our last day in Angola was over. After dinner, Paul, Steve and Peggy discussed mission business. Peggy is caring for Steve's mom. She suffers from stroke related dementia and cannot communicate beyond saying "I think so". Thankfully, home care staff is inexpensive in Angola, so household chores are not part of Peggy's schedule. I told her the story of our life at home caring for my mom over the few years, told her to take care of her mom and not to worry about other responsibilities. Others would have the opportunity to step up and take over for a while. Peggy dropped us at home and we climbed the stairs in the dark, as usual, for the last time. I packed my bags by candle light and dropped into bed exhausted. Mon, 23 Apr 2012 16:39:01 -0500 Paul Russell, the deputy director of SIM Canada, recently travelled to Angola, Namibia and South Africa. He took a friend with him, Paul Huntington to document the trip. Over the next four weeks, we will travel with them as Paul Huntington describes what they saw and experienced. Be sure to also look at the great shots Paul took of the trip at the end of each day's blog. Enjoy! Thursday January 19, 2012 We were up by 6 for our 7:00 am pick up by Sheila. She would be our host/guide/translator for the next few days as we traveled around Angola. By this time, we had received a copy of our itinerary. It was nice to know where we were supposed to be going from day to day. We were escorted at all times. Angola is not tourist-friendly, and on our own, not being able to speak Portuguese, I'm sure that Paul and I would have ended up in an Angolan jail (at least for a couple of days). Sheila drove us to Brent and Elena's house to drop off her Land Rover and to wait for our ride to the airport in the MAF truck. As usual, the vehicle we were in was full and then some. Overloading must be cultural. We arrived at the airport for our charter flight to Menongue. I assumed that we would just drive the MAF hanger, load the plane and be on our way. No, this is Angola. We had to go through the terminal and have our bags weighed and inspected, go through security and finally, passport control, where happy members of the SME and the secret police examined our passports and other documents. We were then permitted to go downstairs to the departure area and load our bags back into the MAF truck to drive down the ramp to the MAF hanger. The MAF hanger is now the oldest on the airport property. Several new hangers have been built by private companies to store their aircraft. They have moved out of the airport in the capital to get away from the high rents and congestion. We loaded our bags in the under-cabin pod and three of us pushed the Caravan back from its parking spot. Paul and Sheila took the second row seats so that I could have the co-pilot's seat (I was the photographer). We taxied to the nearest end of the runway and took off with a light tailwind in order to avoid the long taxi past the underground bunkers where Angolan Air Force fight jets are parked at the other end of the runway. We were given permission to turn right away take-off to travel west for a few miles in order to shoot the hospital and to see the escarpment that we missed in the clouds the day before (the sun had returned to Angola). The escarpment is the edge of the Huila plateau. As we approached the edge, Brent descended to 200 feet above the ground. Crossing the edge Brent descended further between the rock walls on either side. It was busy shooting video and stills. View was spectacular. We turned south and passed over the road to Namibe as it snaked down the cliffs in a series of switchbacks. The tour was over and we turned east and climbed to 9000 feet for a direct flight to Menongue. The flight took us well north of the farm, and for the most part shadowed the road and newly reconstructed narrow gauge railway. It is in operation between Lubango and Menogue, but the track between Lubango and the coast still needs to be rebuilt. Ten years ago Angola's civil war ended. That war had begun 30 years earlier when the Portugese granted the country independence after a 10 year war. Before that, there had been a 10 year war for independence. Forty years of war had left the roads, railroads, electrical, water, sewage and communications utilities in a shambles. Nothing had been maintained or upgraded, plus there was the damage of the war itself. Then, there are the land mines! It is estimated that there are three land mines for every person in Angola - that's 50 million land mines. For ten years the Angolan government as well as other companies have been de-mining Angola. The work is very slow and very dangerous. Even areas cleared of mines continue to be deadly - it's impossible to find them all. Some roads have been repaved, but many have not. In a couple of days we would experience the real roads to Angola, but for now, at 9,000 feet they looked fine. From above, Menongue is dominated by the new railway station (still under construction). Outside of the town centre, there were various neighbourhoods, built in no specific pattern, more biological in appearance than man-made displaying no rhyme or reason, the tin roofs reflecting the morning sun. Amazing how different those same neighbourhoods look from the ground. After landing we were met by Pastor Eduardo Matongue, Vice President of UIEA (Union of Evangelical Churches of Angola) and most of the pastors from the surrounding areas. I took a quick shot of the group by the plane before the secret police made their expected appearance and I was forced to hide my camera. We were led to a holding room, where we cooled our heels for a few minutes, and then were led to the other end of the small terminal building to have our passports scrutinized and details painstakingly recorded. Once the formalities were completed, we piled into a pickup truck and a car for the short trip to town. After lunch, we loaded a smaller group into the truck and drove to one of those nearby neighbourhoods we had seen from the air, to drop off our stuff. Paul, Brent and I would be sharing an out-building behind a colonial era Portuguese home. In our room, we found two mattresses on the concrete floor and a rotting ceiling above. The bathroom was next door. The drain plumbing was obviously leaking and the stink was unbelievable. I'm not complaining, just describing - this is pretty much what I expected in Angola and so far things had been much better than expected. We left the Catota and started back towards Menongue. I rode in the back of the truck with the pastors. I offered them gum, and they were happy to accept. For them, gum was a treat, so I divided my supply for the week and shared it out between them. The pastors were tucked up behind the cab out of the wind, but I was at the back where the wind was quite strong. I had to remove my glasses for fear of having them blown off. It wasn't too long however before the driver pulled over at a newly constructed bridge so we could have a picnic. There were a group of people in the river. I still had no glasses on. When I checked the images later I discovered that I had shot the woman's bathing area. Oops. The river was fast moving at this point, so the crocodiles weren't an issue. Farther downstream, the flow is much slower. No one swims there. This bridge was another convenient location for executions during the colonial period and the civil war. The newly dead body would float downstream, and the crocodiles would take care of the rest. Back in Menongue, we visited a local church in the middle of a dusty neighbourhood. The children from all around came to see the white people - rare outside visitors to this backwoods town. The church was in the middle of building an addition. There were new concrete blocks drying in the sun. I made the mistake of stepping on one and it crumbled under my foot. I felt terrible. It was obvious that they were extending the cement by using too much sand in the mixture. Cement is very expensive in Angola, and this is common practice in the building trade. Little wonder that the buildings begin to crumble after only a couple of years. Paul was presented with a gift in front of the church: a live chicken! He graciously accepted this valuable gift, we put it into a bag and carefully placed it in the back of the truck. The chicken was later re-gifted to Pastor Matongue, who in turn re-gifted it to us in the form of breakfast the next morning. Next, we stopped by the local Bible College, which is tucked in behind Pastor Matongue's home, or more correctly it wraps around the home. Our college students had better not complain about their campuses when I am around. The conditions reminded me of a visit to the prison, Alcatraz. Of course, it's not the building, but the teachers and students that make a school, but we in the west have so much to be thankful for! We returned to the church for a quick dinner - in the dark, (typical blackout), and then were dropped off at Casa del Stinky Toilet. Paul and I slept in our clothes. We were both concerned about bedbugs and other surprises. The lights were out with the exception of my computer screen as I was backing up the day's images. I noticed something moving on the floor. I pointed my flashlight at the large cockroach and introduced myself with my boot. I kicked his corpse into the corner as a warning to his friends and family. I laid down on the bed, hoping to be asleep before the next visitor arrived. Friday, January 20, 2012 It was cold by the time we woke at 6 a.m. to go to the airport for our flight with MAF to Luena. We were out in front of the house at the appointed time, but there was no ride. 30 minutes later, the truck met us and after a quick stop at the church for breakfast, we were back at the airport. After the passport check, we were quickly in the air, joined for the trip by Pastor Matongue. In just over an hour Luena was in site. Some of the fiercest fighting of the war took place in Luena. It was the center of support of the "rebel" forces and the location of the rebel leader, Savimbi's death and subsequent signing of a peace agreement. There is no longer any real reason for Luena to exist. There is no industry, mines or agriculture. It was originally the mid-point on the British railroad between Zambia and Africa's west coast in Angola. The streets are laid out in an orderly fashion with broad boulevards separated by green spaces and trees. The first thing you notice about the Luena is all the trees. The second thing is the garbage. The garbage is not just in Luena, but in every Angolan city I visited. Garbage is simply thrown on the street or beside it. I really can't do justice to a description of the trash in the cities and villages I visited. Even church leaders we travelled with thought nothing of tossing their empty water bottles where ever it pleased them. I guess it's just part of the culture, but I don't have to like it! The welcome for us at the airport in Luena was unforgettable. The church's male choir was singing out on the ramp as we walked over from the plane. Not my style of music, but their harmonies made the hair on my arms stand on end. What amazing talent. I would have loved to video their singing, but the secret police wouldn't want me filming the small, shabby terminal building! Another round of passport poker and we were off for our first stop at one of the downtown churches. This was a church plant operating in one of the corners a member's property. The evangelical churches in Luena have a membership comprised mostly of rural people displaced during the war. These churches do not interest the better educated, Portuguese speaking urban population. We then traveled to the edge of town to the "Jesus Saves Medical Clinic". This clinic operates in direct competition with the three public hospitals in town. I asked why the people would choose to pay for health care. The answer: the government hospitals are staffed by foreign doctors from Russia and Cuba - they have very poor Portuguese and have an even worse bedside manner. Their pharmacies are under stocked as well. In contrast, the staff of the clinic, Christian doctors from Argentina, who care for the people; they display Christian love and compassion. There is also a kitchen and dining room providing healthy meals for lunch. Speaking of lunch, it was time for ours. We drove back to town and gathered in the garden of Tobias and Carola Schempp, missionaries from Germany. The lunch came from the lady across the street. The barbequed chicken was amazing. After three meals of omelet sandwiches, this was high end dining! The pineapple Fanta was the perfect drink with the chicken! There was a planter in the garden made from the tail section of a bomb. Toby is a character, with a wealth of stories which sound even better with his German accent. Toby is heading up an agriculture project. The plan is to create a teaching farm, to train the locals in the proper maintenance of the land. Currently, the main crop is cassava which is a root. The cassava is prepared and served like dough. It is filling but has limited nutritional value. The soil is sandy and the cassava leaves it useless for cultivation. After lunch, we dropped our things around the corner at Dave and Miriam Trott's home, then immediately left again for the road trip north. On the edge of town, we stopped at the new church plant. The same church we visited in town, will be building a new, larger building on this site. At the back of the property are large pits which tanks used during the war for cover. They would drive out of the pit, take their shot and back down into the pit again. Luena was a hot spot during the civil war as it was a stronghold of the rebel forces, UNITA. The area around Luena was one of the most heavily land mined. We continued in convoy back to the main road and headed north. This is the most direct route out of Luena and towards the Angolan capital and main northern port, Luanda. This road used to be a two lane highway. It was last maintained in the 1960s. Since then, it has been bombed and flooded numerous times, making it all but useless. In some parts of the road, asphalt is visible, only lightly pot holed, and can be used. However, most of the time, the sandy lanes beyond the edge of the road are better and the old highway sections are used for passing traffic, or for crossing from one sand lane to the other sand lane on the far side following tracks to stay on the smoothest available path. Tractor trailers make this trip bringing in everything from food to diesel fuel and gasoline. I would not have believed large truck could use a road like this. We are here in the rainy season, but the rains have not come. When they do, it is inevitable that a truck will become stuck, blocking the road, and the flow of supplies will cease. People in Luena, with the means to do so, stock up on supplies during the dry season in order to deal with the inevitable shortages in the rainy season. After almost an hour, we turned off the road and followed a narrow track through the fields to a small village. We stopped to pay respects to the "soba" (chief). He is quite young and progressive in his thinking and very happy about the development of a teaching farm so close to his village. This is in contrast to the old soba on the other side of the river, who's only interests are whiskey and beer. We saw the beginning of the access road and the place where a bridge would need to be built. To actually get onto the land, we needed to backtrack to the highway and follow a track on the other side of the river which took us to the older soba's village. We unloaded from our convoy and started down towards the river. Many of the villagers were bathing and there were a ton of kids around. I pulled out the video camera and set up beside the rough bridge to capture the beautiful landscape, to the background sounds of chattering children. They were scared of my camera at first but once they saw the images on the screen, they were fighting to keep up with me in order to be on TV. We crossed the bridge and I held the camera up above me, pointed backward in order to catch the action of the children following. Since I was behind the main group, they instructed me not to go off the path for fear of snakes (black mambas, boomslangs and puff adders) as well as land mines. The pastors met on the new farm and admired the view. The sun was setting and we had to hustle back to the cars as the sun sets quickly so close to the equator. We had seen the army ants on our way in and were careful not to disturb them on the way back out.We had picked up a couple of pineapples from a vendor at the side of the road. Tobias pulled out a machete to carve them up. It was the sweetest pineapple I have ever tasted. So good! We drove back to Luena in the darkness, this time picking our way through the ditches and potholes as well as avoiding the oncoming traffic, many driving without headlights. Dinner was at the Trott's. We enjoyed a Peruvian dinner, cleaned up and went to bed as we all had to be at church for a bible study at 5:45 a.m. the next morning. Tue, 17 Apr 2012 13:39:56 -0500 Paul Russell, the deputy director of SIM Canada, recently travelled to Angola, Namibia and South Africa. He took a friend with him, Paul Huntington to document the trip. Over the next four weeks, we will travel with them as Paul Huntington describes what they saw and experienced. Be sure to also look at the great shots Paul took of the trip at the end of each day's blog. Enjoy! Tuesday, January 17, 2012 I stayed true to my decision, as I didn't crawl out of my bed until 7:00 a.m., just in time to get to roll call where Stirling has a Bible study every morning with the labourers. We returned to the house for Cream of Wheat. After breakfast, we left in the Land Rover to check out the cattle. Our first stop was at one of the herdsman's homes: two thatched roofed huts, one for sleeping and one for cooking. This herdsman had several children and a few guests. After taking some pictures, we walked through the bush to the kraal. There were 80-100 cattle: three bulls, cows and calves, including one little guy with a cleft palate which made him oddly cute. I wandered the kraal, photographing the cattle and freezing. I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. It was warm in the Land Rover, but really cold standing in the rain with the cattle. We left the cattle kraal and returned to the warmth of the Land Rover for an inspection of the fence. The workmanship was very impressive! Some portions of the fence were 2 years old. In that time the bush had already grown up 4 - 6 feet tall along the fence. It was clear that construction would give way to maintenance before the rest of the fence was completed. The local aardvarks are not deterred by the fence; they just dig right under. It will take regular fence inspections to keep the smaller game inside the farm. One of the trees by the fence was stripped of its bark - evidence of elephants. After that, I quickly packed my equipment and we loaded into the SUV for the long ride back to town. As usual, Afonzo was asked to stop periodically so I could take pictures. I wanted to video the SUV traversing the worst part of the road, so I hopped out of the car just before that section and ran ahead. I kept running, but never reached the spot I had remembered. I imagined that the meadows on either side of the track were home to a pride of lions - that very well might have been but I might have been watching for elephants as well. (The day after we left the farm, Stirling and Donna were charged by a pair of elephants while driving down the same road I had been walking on). Thankfully I didn't see any lions or elephants. I didn't see any SUVs either, so I turned around. It wasn't too long before the SUV came cruising down the track. I guess I missed the turn. Embarrassed, I climbed into the SUV. The bad news: we wasted 40 minutes of travel time and didn't shoot any video of the road. The good news: now Afonzo and Becky knew a new way to the farm that avoided the worst section of road! We arrived back in Lubango at sunset. We didn't see the sun setting, as we still had not seen the sun while in Angola. The power was off when we got "home". Paul offered to take Becky and Afonzo out to dinner, but they preferred dining in, so after cleaning up, we joined them downstairs. Soon it was missionary midnight, so we said our good byes and climbed the stairs for bed. I spent an hour trying to catch up on my journal, while Paul teased me about my slow typing. The mosquitos have not been bad, in fact, I've only seen one, so, I chose to leave the window open for some fresh air. The open window brought the sounds of Angolan security systems into my sleep: dogs. I think that Lubango means "the city of the dogs", because they are speaking to one another all night long. It never stops and sometimes the barking reaches a crescendo of what must surely be rabid fits on a massive scale. On top of this, the roosters start at 3, at least 2 hours before sunrise. Wednesday, January 18, 2012 We were to spend Wednesday in the Lubango area with Sheila. She came to pick us up at 9. She had some business to do with Becky and needed to pick up some literature from the UIEA office in the compound. After a stop at the seminary, Sheila took us west out of town towards the escarpment. We passed the new construction, the N'gola beer plant, the Coca Cola plant and into the hills. The landscape suddenly looked very tropical and lush but around the next bend, things were more arid. The rock in the area appears to be limestone. We were on our way to a lookout which faces west towards Namibe province. The road was under construction in preparation for a visit by the president. The workers were laying grey granite cobblestones and had created several kilometres of smooth two lane road. The center line and edges of the road were black granite. The road continued to climb past and through giant limestone boulders an on to a parking area. The same cobble stops were used the whole way up and paved the parking as well. When you see the conditions of the roads in Angola, you really wonder about the government's priorities! As we arrived at the top, you could see the tops of the clouds on the west side, and mist flowing up through the cuts in the escarpment. By the time I had the camera out, the scene had changed and the whole area was shrouded in mist. It was cold and damp, just how I expected Africa in the summer to be! We stayed for a few minutes at the lookout area, but the mist remained thick. I took a few pictures despite the conditions and then walked over to the lookout by the cut. It was in the mist as well. Too bad, the cliff face is approximately 3,000 feet high. The second look out, at a deep cut with sheer cliffs, was a popular spot for executions during the war years. Standing at the edge required one, and gravity took care of disposal of the body. Sometimes the bullet was saved and the victim was simply pushed. Having been at war for 40 years, one can only imagine how many remains are at the bottom of the cliff. We drove back down to the seminary for lunch at Sheila's. We then drove southeast up onto the plateau to the CESL hospital. I had another video interview to conduct - this time in the operating room, during surgery. Things at the hospital were ahead of schedule, so we needed to get dressed in short order. I was already warm from running and had to put scrubs on over my street clothes. I set up the video camera so I could shoot the whole scene without grossing out the audience (which included me). I gave the still camera to Paul and told him to shoot whatever he wanted. The operation was to remove a growth from the back of a young woman's head. As I started shooting, Steve Foster explained to the resident how he was making the incision and cauterizing the area around the growth, (which had attached itself to the woman's skull. Paul was in position to shoot all the gore. Before long, a 3" round chunk of scalp and growth was tossed onto the sheet covering the patient. Totally not necessary for me to see that! Now, the problem was how to sew things up. When Steve asked where the head was, I knew the patient was in trouble. How do you sew a 3" round circle of missing skin back up? Well, by loosening the scalp around the circle. How is this accomplished? Insert your fingers under the scalp. Doesn't it sound nice? Not to me, but I think that was Paul's favorite part! While Steve did the sewing, I interviewed him on video. The most unusual video work I've ever done? Oh yeah! Steve gave a great interview, and I packed up. On the way back to the city, Sheila stopped at an overlook and I shot and video recorded the beautiful city below. Beautiful, that is, from a distance. It is amazing how good a city can look from above. Lubango, for the most part is not beautiful close up. There is no garbage collection that I can see evidence of. Crushed cans, plastic bottles, paper, car parts, broken bricks and rocks are everywhere. At least the rocks and bricks can be tossed onto the tin roofs to hold the tin in place. Again, we had dinner with the Chinhamas. Saurib joined us. Naturally, the power went out during dinner. Missionary midnight came early and we climbed the stairs to bed. I packed for the next part of our trip by candle light and then dropped onto the bed to listen to the dog symphony. WARNING: The following photo album contains some graphic content. Wed, 11 Apr 2012 15:29:37 -0500 Paul Russell, the deputy director of SIM Canada, recently travelled to Angola, Namibia and South Africa. He took a friend with him, Paul Huntington to document the trip. Over the next four weeks, we will travel with them as Paul Huntington describes what they saw and experienced. Be sure to also look at the great shots Paul took of the trip at the end of each day's blog. Enjoy! Sunday, January 15We joined Dagmar and Fran, a missionary on her way back to Angola, for breakfast in Dagmar's unit. Nambian bread and South African peanut butter and honey as well as Biltong, a dry, shredded game meat - probably some sort of antelope, but it doesn't list any ingredients on the package. It didn't have much taste, but I had to try it. At 9:15, Louis arrived to take us back to the airport. Once there, I left Paul and Fran to hold my place in line and went looking for a postcard for my friend Meegan (I'm sure that she has never received one from Namibia). I found one and gave the cashier a $10 bill. She must have wondered why I was still standing there 30 seconds later. I was waiting for my change, but there wouldn't be any coming - the postcard cost $10 - 10 Namibian dollars, about $1.25 Canadian... duh! I found the post office and bought a stamp. "How much is the postage to Canada?" She replied "The same as to everywhere else." I had to ask for an airmail sticker to ensure it would arrive before the end of the year. One day I'll find out if it arrived. We got through check-in quickly, once I moved a couple items from my checked bag to my carry-on to stay under the twenty kilo limit. You can check as many items as you want as long as the total is less than 20 kilos. Through customs again and one more security check, we were into the departure lounge. It was pretty much empty, but would be completely full by the time the South African and TAAG were ready to load. One wall was devoted to duty free and gift shops - pretty impressive for this small airport. The TAAG flight arrived about 30 minutes after it was supposed to have departed with us. The plane load of passengers who were so loud in the departure area, sat in silence on the plane. I opened my book and read for a while, about an hour, as we sat on the ground. No announcements, no talking, just 150 people sitting in silence. The flight attendant came down the aisle a couple of times, but said nothing. No one asked her anything. An hour late, the door was closed and the engines started. There was a mumbled apology for the delay from the cockpit, but no explanation. We taxied slowly, very slowly to the runway, and backtracked for a takeoff to the east. The takeoff roll was very long, but the climb out seemed steep and was quite bumpy. The Angolans at the back of the plane were screaming or laughing, I'm not sure which! I sat back and read my book and before long we started our descent into Lubango. The approach and landing were smooth, but the roll out used the entire runway. My guess is the pilot landed too fast at Windhoek and overheated the brakes. The delay on the ground was for the brakes to cool. I have been told that the Lubango to Windhoek flight is typically overloaded because the fuel is cheap for TAAF in Angola, so they tanker enough to Windhoek to come back without refilling. The flight back to Lubango from Windhoek is overloaded with stuffed Angolan suitcases. This overloading may be the reason for the slow taxi and takeoff performance. Those of us on the plane for Lubango deplaned before the plane continued on to Luanda. After three days and four flights, we had finally arrived in Angola! Dr. Steve Foster (one of many Fosters in Angola and a third generation missionary), met us outside. We loaded our bags into his Land Rover and set off for the city. The sky was heavy with clouds and it rained on and off on the drive in. The neighbourhoods along the way were built with adobe or clay brick and tin roofs. The tin is held in place in most cases by chunks of brick or random rocks. The streets were busy with car, truck and bike traffic, flowing in a typical third world fashion: a slightly organized chaos. After 15 minutes on paved roads, we turned on to a side street and the bumps began. Side streets are hard packed or loose sand, with ruts and large pot holes, chunks of rock or broken brick and the ever present garbage. During the dry season, it is dusty and dirty, while during the rainy season, the roads become mud. The heavy rains are late this year for Lubango, and the showers we are experiencing are light. When planning this trip, we decided on January as it would be the middle of the southern summer. That logic should work perfectly for the South African portion of the trip, but at Angola latitudes there aren't four seasons, just dry season and rainy season and we arrived at the height of rainy season! We dropped our bags and cleaned up, just in time for Steve's sister Sheila to pick us up for dinner. At this point we have no idea what or itinerary for our stay in Angola looks like, so we just go with the flow. Sheila lives on the seminary compound, a couple of kilometres away, so we see a little more of the city. The local car wash is an open lot beside a small creek. Several guys are detailing their cars. Most cars in Lubango are washed daily. After dinner, we joined about 20 local missionaries for singing and a video recorded church service in the home of Brent and Elena Mudde. Brent is an MAF pilot and Elena teaches school to missionary kids in the compound where they live. After some dessert, Sheila drove us back to our apartment. The couple downstairs, Afonzo and Becky Chinhama, were waiting for us with a bag of fresh bananas. Monday, January 16, 2012Alfonzo, Becky, their daughter Eva, Paul and I loaded into their small SUV for a drive to "the farm". Tchincombe is 160 kilometres south east of Lubango, but the drive is over 3 hours. The first part of the trip is through the city to the highway. This highway is a newly paved two lane, with paved shoulders and a speed limit of 120 km/h. Becky and Afonzo told us above the condition of the highway before the reconstruction, so I pictured the random potholes of Ghana. I would find out later in the week how wrong my perception was! The sky was a layer of heavy, dark clouds and we drove out of the city and into the rainy Huila (pronounced: wee-la) province countryside. The highway wound through rolling hills covered in low bush with highlands visible in the distance through breaks in the rain. Soon after leaving the city, we began to encounter herds of cattle. The African cattle come in a wide variety of colours and shapes, and have long horns - very different from the cattle at home - quite disconcerting if you are surrounded by them. There were also many people walking along the road. There was a mix of western and tribal costumes - right out of National Geographic! We stopped at a checkpoint on the road, for a document inspection. You must have your passport with you at all times in Angola! "Gasosa" (literally translated: frizzy drink), but meaning bribes are often expected, but missionaries do not pay them. After an hour on the main road, we turned off at a market and drove northeast into the bush. The road was wide hard-packed gravel, but within a couple of kilometres it was a single lane of deeply rutted sand. There were many places where we had to go around deep puddles (more like small ponds). The vegetation was a mix of meadow, low bushes and tall trees - the ratio of these was constantly changing. We were squeezed into the back seat - way more than once my head crashed into the side window when we hit a particularly wicked bump. Afonzo was driving 70 km/h when the road would allow, but sometimes he was caught by an unexpected bump (I'm sure that we were airborne several times). The road was completely unmarked. The directions were passed down from missionary to missionary. There were several opportunities to make a wrong turn, but we didn't, at least that I'm aware of. The pace slowed down from time to time due to wash-outs, but more often by herds of cattle, the odd goat or even a pig. Near the farm a duiker crossed the road in front of us. A duiker is a small relative of the gazelle, but stands only 50 cm tall. After almost 4 hours, we reached Fazenda Tchincombe (Place of the Eagle Ranch). The first buildings in view were a line of small concrete block bungalows of the farm laborer's families with thatched roofed huts in behind - the huts served as the kitchens for the families. The bungalows have kitchens, but the homemakers prefer their traditional kitchens. Beyond the compound, and through a stand of Zambezi teak we came to the main house, a ranch style home built of masonry and roofed in tin. The yard contained a collection of Land Rovers in various states of repair. Under the covered parking area, Jeffrey, 17, was working on rebuilding his own Land Rover. His father, Stirling (right out of a Wilbur Smith novel) greeted us. In a nearby cage, was a young Duiker which had been injured and was almost ready to be released back into the bush. Donna and their daughter Megan were indoors making lunch. After a long drive, the pasta with chicken and mushroom in tomato sauce was truly awesome! We spent the afternoon talking about the farm and learning how it ministered to the people of the region. The farm has 1,100 head of cattle which are divided into 14 herds. Each herd is cared for by its own herdsman and family. The cattle are kept in their kraals made of thorn branches and sticks for protection from hyena and lion during the night, just like they have been in much of Africa for centuries. In the morning, the herdsman takes the cattle to water, and then returns to the kraal for sunset. On the trip each way, the cattle feed on the grasses which grow during the rainy season and on the leaves of the bushes during the dry season. One problem with raising cattle here is that the cattle eat the grasses which they prefer, and the bushes take over; this destroys the habitat for the grass. One solution to this is to reintroduce the indigenous game animals into the farm. This requires 8 foot fencing around the perimeter. This is not small project as the 20,000 hectare farm requires 56 kilometres of fence. This is the main project of the labourers on the farm currently. First, the land is cleared along the fence line, then the posts are set in the sand (every 500 metres, posts are set in cement), then, using a template, nails are driven into the posts to mark the location of the wires (closer together at the bottom to contain the smaller game, and wider towards the top), and finally, the wires are run between the posts. After this, vertical pieces are attached to lock the wires at their specified width. The fence portions completed over the last two years are immaculate - perfectly straight. The fence at Tchincombe may be the only straight and plumb structure in Angola. Donna is a licenced veterinarian, which is great for the cattle, but also for the 300 surrounding villagers and herdsman. She runs the only medical clinic is the region. There is a new runway on the farm. It's large enough for MAF's Caravan (10 passenger turboprop) to land and take off. MAF have two small diesel powered aircraft on order which cost much less to fly. This will allow missionary doctors to fly in for daily medical clinics. Before dinner, Stirling took us for a tour of the farm in one of his land Cruisers. We saw the water pumping building and its generator. Having a source of water is critical during the dry season. We never did see any of the alleged 1,100 cattle, but were promised that we would see some the next day. Dinner is served at dusk. We enjoyed potato and leek soup along with local bread, similar to rye, cheese and sausage. Apple slices were for dessert, with a few chocolates making the rounds at the table. We talked a bit after dinner about camel spiders and scorpions. We were instructed to check our beds and shoes for scorpions. I decided under no circumstances would I be setting foot on the floor before daylight. Nine o'clock is bedtime or "missionary midnight" and crawled into my "hospital bed" at the end of the hall, thankful to be in the main house rather than being alone, as Paul was, in an out-building where scorpions prefer to live. Mon, 2 Apr 2012 13:41:50 -0500 Answer from last week's blog: Mongolia. Thanks for playing everybody! You win bragging rights. A girl arrived for a week of camp this summer, and it quickly became apparent that she was a bit different than the other girls in her cabin: she wouldn't talk! For two days her counselor prayed for her, and tried to figure out ways to engage this young girl. It was beginning to seem like no situation would make it better. She wouldn't talk during meal times, in her cabin, Bible study times or even when settling down for the night in a circle of friends. On the third day of camp, it was her turn to do some horseback riding. Who was to know how important that time with the horses would be for her? From the time she dismounted until she returned to the city of Arequipa at the end of the week, the young teen did not stop talking about the horses and what a positive experience riding had been! Horses turned out to be the key experience that caused her to open up to her counselor and to the others in her cabin. From that moment on, camp became an important event in her life. It has been a gift to watch God using the horses as tools to change lives at Camp la Joya. Not only does God use these large animals as patient listeners, He uses them to build courage in their riders to overcome other large challenges in their lives with God's help. Amazing. GO: If you are gifted in training young horses, why not come and share your skill with us at Camp La Joya? Enquire here. Tue, 27 Mar 2012 10:15:56 -0500 This week on Out & About we are going to play a little game. All you have to do is guess where this picture was taken. You can either post your answer here or on Facebook. Where in the world was this picture taken? Photo Credit: Elmer Warkentin Tue, 20 Mar 2012 11:33:08 -0500 Who do you think missionaries are? Are they super Christians? Are they boring? Are they adventurous? Two SIM short termers and two long term missionaries share their opinions about missionaries. Check it out: For more videos, check out our YouTube Channel SIMCANADAVIDEO. Tue, 13 Mar 2012 11:35:11 -0500 Hey all, here's the much anticipated video and report on 'The Jesus Debate: Metaphor, Prophet,orSon of God'. Directly below is the full video of the debate, and under that is a report. If you're reading this, and you had a part in seeing/praying this event through, then I thank you deeply; here is the fruit of your labour. The Jesus Debate; how to summarize an idea that was in the works over a year before this night ever took place? The Jesus Debate took place on the university campus in Oshawa on a Thursday evening, February 9th2012. It was a debate between three of the leading worldviews on the person and purpose of Jesus Christ: Metaphor, Prophet, or Son of God. It seems that 'Jesus' is felt on a worldwide scale; across culture, language, people groups; among the most poor and filthy rich, the elite and inconsequential; across time, over two thousand years and counting, more if you factor the anticipation of a Messiah. It also seems that wherever Jesus is 'felt', the impact that follows is either riotous or a revival in nature; in the same setting He brings to some unspeakable joy and unity and to others inexplicable division and hatred. The fact that God so moved a secular university to accept such an inherently controversial and dynamic personality as Jesus Christ into debate on the campus in Oshawa is the first of many miracles from a multitude of witnesses held obedient by prayer. The week leading up to the Thursday debate was in a word: exciting. Many young Christian students who had never been challenged to be so transparent and vocal about their faith accepted the challenge and visibly grew in their relationship with Jesus as a result. I'm sure these first year students had no clue God would challenge them so greatly when they first signed up to attend a secular university. These young Christians will never forget what took place in February of their second semesters. No matter what future obstacles Satan places in their way, God will use this debate as a victory in their lives and a source of confidence as a persistent memory of His goodness. Monday February 6thto Thursday February 9th, was an intense few days. Many students stood up in their classes throughout the week to issue announcements about this 'Campus Event of the Year' to their peers. At the event booth we had a variety of students promoting the debate. From our partnership with the Muslim Student Association (MSA) we had Muslim students working the Jesus Debate booth. I never thought I'd live to see the day where a young Muslim lady wearing a hijab would be handing out flyers promoting Jesus in front of a Jesus booth. I witnessed this with my own eyes! Even the Student President of the MSA was standing out front of the booth at one point. It was interesting how his presence attracted a different group of people to our booth. I overheard many student conversations leading up to the debate, and each one was talking about the Jesus Debate - "who do you say He is?" they would ask each other. Truly Jesus was the number one topic of conversation on our campus. 300 students were walking around this past week wearing bright yellow t-shirts advertising Jesus and this debate. The night of the debate we had a 6pm start. At 6pm there were maybe only 500 students in attendance at the gym. But, students are notoriously late. Roughly an additional 1000 students would arrive and add to our numbers over the next hour. It was a beautiful mix of Atheist, Muslim, and Christian students in the bleachers, ready to hear an event entirely focused on Jesus. I don't believe we've ever had so many Muslim students attend an outreach event - not even close. We had three debaters: Dr. Christopher DiCarlo representing the Skeptic's side of 'Metaphor', Imam Shabir Ally representing the Muslims and 'Prophet', and Dr. Tony Costa for the Christians representing, Jesus: Son of God. We've had Dr.DiCarlo debate in the past during the Does God Exist debate in '09. His argument basically followed that to him the evidence for Jesus was less than compelling and given the radical nature of Jesus' message combined with the apparent lack of evidence for His existence it was a much more responsible position to take that Jesus Christ never actually existed. Imam Shabir on the other hand was debating for 'Jesus the Prophet' but in truth, from my observations - possibly to gain favour with the Atheists in the crowd - Shabir was willing to trade the existence of Jesus and quasi-join DiCarlo's side as long as people would accept the general tenants of Islam. In other words Shabir was working to make Islam more appealing and less far-fetched by removing components of the supernatural, aka Jesus. Not only, according to Shabir, did Jesus not die and rise again (a common belief held among Muslims) but even His miracles such as raising others to life, Shabir explained, can be understood as people not fully dead but in a comatose state and Jesus, having an advanced incite/understanding of science, could bring these people out of their paralysed but not dead condition. Dr. Tony Costa spoke with confidence in his unapologetic message that remained true throughout the night; namely, Jesus existed and was/is the Son of God. I encourage you to watch the whole debate, there are many highlights and great insights that will encourage you in your faith and equip/challenge you to reach out to your lost neighbours. There is a really great back and forth debate between all three speakers starting shortly after the 1 hour 23 minute mark which ends with Tony Costa passionately stating, "If the LORD and Master of the universe gives you a command you better obey!" (~1:23:00-1:27:00) You should know that throughout the course of the promotion and afterwards students have been joining our Campus Church university club by the dozens. Daily the LORD is adding to our numbers. And we've begun our following-up of the fertile soil that's been prepped by the efforts and talk of Jesus on campus. We've got two nights during the week, Wednesdays and Thursdays where we have rented rooms and are meeting with people who are ready. Pray that the LORD OF THE HARVEST would bring in HIS PEOPLE TO THE STOREHOUSE! The university did their best to censor, silence, and erase all efforts to lift THE NAME THAT IS ABOVE ALL NAMES on our campus, but they were unsuccessful. The Jesus Debate did move forward, and HIS NAME was proclaimed mightily. No matter. Thank God, that although not always welcome, Jesus is still welcome in the space of the student's hearts for all who will receive. To them, He will give THE RIGHT to be called CHILDREN OF GOD. Amen. Graydon Baker is part of SIM Canada's Culture Connexions (CCX) ministry. To learn more about CCX, watch this video. And to learn more about Graydon's ministry, visit his website. Mon, 5 Mar 2012 12:00:48 -0500 Paul and Lila Balisky are retired missionaries who went back to Ethiopia in October 2011. They flew to Ethiopia on October 4, 2011, with an agenda of both teaching and visiting former students, understanding the dynamics of Christianity and church at present, getting a feel of historical processes in the various places they had lived and served through the years. They called it a pilgrimage. Here is their story in their own words. /\ /\ / \ / \ / \ ^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v / \ / \ / Life in Africa Life in our western countries \ / \ / in contrast to: \/ \ / \/ In the west, we rush along through life in short-term jerks, closed in upon by protective strategies, media, the speed of mini-bites, over stimulation, loneliness. In Africa , life is experienced more slowly with greater highs and lows. The agonies and ecstasies are lived through with broad strokes, in community, under the great African sun. (Read Ryszard Kapuschinski: The Shadow of the Sun: My African Life.) This is not to be construed as judgmental because I am part of western society now myself. But there is a numbness or malaise in the west that snares us unknowingly. My personal prayer song for the journey was a lovely poem by Shirley Erena Murray (sing to a 11.11.11.11 meter tune): Go gently, go lightly, go safe in the Spirit; live simply, don't carry much more than you need; Go trusting God's goodness, go spreading God's kindness, stay centered on Jesus and where he will lead. Go singing, go bringing the gifts of the Spirit, go hopefully searching for things that are true; In living, in loving, whatever befalls you, God keep you, God bless you in all that you do. In our short time in Ethiopia, we drove 5000 kilometers through magnificent mountains and gorges. We drove in all kinds of road conditions - new highways, roads under construction, mud in the Kamba moutains. Fortunately, we were able to rent a Land Cruiser and do all the driving ourselves from place to place. There were many wonderful hours of fellowship with friends, former colleagues, former students, and church leaders in Addis Ababa and other cities where we formerly lived. It was very intense and exciting, full of moments of surprise when we felt God's presence and goodness. There have been many changes in the Ethiopian church and generally in African Christianity. Some of the things happening are theological education, different worship styles and directions in various churches in Ethiopia, Kenya and Tanzania, discipling, expanding emphasis on Ethiopia's role in sending their own missionaries, development of universities and still much more. The church in Ethiopia is alive and well! We are so privileged to be a small part of its history. We visited 13 Kale Heywet Church Centres throughout southern Ethiopia. We stopped in unannounced at Waka, high in the mountains, and went to the central church offices and found five former students all in church leadership in that area. It was a beautiful experience. We had many opportunities to teach including the intensive month of teaching in two different locales. There were also opportunities to speak to women's groups, evangelists' conference, chapels and lecturing at Trinity Theological Seminary and EGST. Paul used his "Wolaitta Evangelists" dissertation, now in book form, to bless many students as he taught in Wolaitta and Kambatta at the Soddo Wolaitta Evangelical Seminary (WES) and Duram KHC Missions School (EKSM). We were alert and on duty 24/7! As is common knowledge for successful missionaries - one always carries sermon notes in one's pocket. A highlight was seeing the publication of The Songs of Tesfaye Gabbiso, a diglot in English and Amharic - first of its kind in exposing Ethiopian song to a large world audience. It was great satisfaction for me and Ato Haile Jenai, the translator as we had been working on this project for about 30 years! We send our love and gratitude that we have been able to share with you the richness of our African sojourn. Take a moment to view some of our photos from the trip (see above). Tue, 28 Feb 2012 11:47:06 -0500 By Chuck GibbonsChuck Gibbons, SIM Canada Global Programs Finance Administrator, was asked by 700 Club Canada to share a bit about his journey from banker to overseas missionary. Watch it here: Seven years ago, I began to live. No one who met that 26 year old banker would have ever guessed that I would be called to serve the people of Africa, least of all me. I was settled into life in busy downtown Toronto, making good money as a banker on Bay Street. But I knew something was missing. It all started with a phone call, and the words "How would you like to come to India?" I had just quit my job as a commercial banker, unsure of the next step but knowing that I wanted to find a job that gave me more than just a pay cheque. Two days later, I held my first passport and prepared for my first international flight. I didn't know it then, but those three weeks in Calcutta, serving the poorest of the poor, were the start of a journey that is still beyond my comprehension. A year later, another call informed me of the need for a Finance Director in Malawi for Emmanuel International. Unlike many of my colleagues, I did not have a lifelong desire to work in Africa. In fact, the idea never occurred to me before. So, I stepped out in faith, and trusted I was being led somewhere. Someone recently asked me why I love Malawi so much. First of all, it is a beautiful country, full of stunning beauty and lovely people. The pace of life is relaxed. There is a simplistic beauty to things. It truly is the warm heart of Africa, and my heart is warmed every time I get a chance to visit again the place I called home for a year and a half. After a year and a half in Malawi, I found my next calling in the form of Finance Director for FAR in Sudan. FAR (Fellowship for African Relief) was started almost 25 years ago with a partnership between EI and SIM as a response to the growing needs of the people of Sudan. In north Sudan, the problems are very different from what I was used to in Malawi. In Malawi, the main problem was extreme poverty due to lack of resources (and for many years, lack of rain), the problems in North Sudan (from my limited perspective) seem much more related to the effects of generations of conflict. We were trying to help people rebuild lives, communities and families, and sometimes just survival, all in the midst of a country that ranges from areas of tenuous peace to areas that are still involved in full scale conflict. Working in relief and development can be very challenging and humbling. It is the most difficult yet most rewarding work that I have ever done. Somehow I get the feeling that this is how it is supposed to be when we choose to follow Him and do His work. As Paul says "Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." Tue, 21 Feb 2012 10:01:58 -0500 By ET Mair At the end of November 2011, I visited Ethiopia. While in the town of Sheshamene, I regularly saw the community garden that the Medan ACTS project supports. There was a family there who faithfully came day after day, to water and care for their vegetables. Whenever I came to the garden, their little boy would cry out in terror when he saw me and hide behind his sister. Everyday, I would smile at him and he would cry. Each day, he would progressively cry less but I still did not receive any smiles! My last day in Sheshemane, his whole family was there and I crouched down and said hello to him and smiled yet again at him. But this time, he did not shed any tears but rather smiled back and laughed even! Finally, my goal had been met. He no longer cried in horror but came to be somewhat familiar with me. His mother worked hard everyday for her family to care and provide. The father would come as well some days and help. It was incredible to see this family working so hard and as they grew their vegetables, I could see the hope for the future of their children. An example has been given for the children to follow and I pray that they do follow it. I took this photo of him while he was with his mother in the garden. This was earlier in the week, when he looked at me with hesitation and if I came too close he would burst into tears. Learn more about the projects of the Medan ACTS Project in Ethiopia here. Tue, 14 Feb 2012 11:00:06 -0500 This is the conclusion of a four-part fictional story about a couple in South Asia written by Sarah. Each part will be released on the Tuesday of each week. Here we go - the conclusion of "Date Night"! Emily sighed happily, surveying the clean guest rooms. The girls had done an amazing job and everything was perfect - ready for the team coming in another week. Flipping the lights off, Emily turned towards the downstairs, mentally running through the ingredient check list for quick-bake scones. When Eric got back from dropping the girls off in their neighbourhood, warm fresh scones would be the perfect ending to date night. A knock at the door interrupted Emily's measuring out of the sugar. She glanced at the clock. "Eight-thirty?" she said to herself. "Who in the world?" Wondering if someone was due to drop paperwork off for Eric, Emily wiped her hands on her knee-length kurta and hurried to the door. A wave of monsoon's humid evening air washed over her as she opened it. "Sunita?" Emily exclaimed, disappointment involuntarily washing over her. Another visit from the nosey neighbors so soon? But then she noticed Sunita didn't come with her overbearing mother-in-law. "She is asleep," Sunita explained, obviously noticing Emily's confused head-swivel looking for Aunty Rashmi. "Can I talk to you?" Emily cocked her head and backed away from the door to allow Sunita to find a place on one of the living room's thick couches. Emily still couldn't find any words in Hindi. "Didi," Sunita began - using the honorary title for older sisters - "I think you are so good!" Emily's eyes widened and she plopped down on the couch next to the girl so slender it seemed like her whole body disappeared in a hole at her waist. "Why?" The question fell out of Emily's mouth in a whoosh. Her mind darted back to the conversation she and Eric had in the coffee shop about having a more positive attitude towards their status as "always available to anyone". Emily had heard once that the true test of your Christ-like desire to be a servant is when you're treated like a servant. The demands on their time from friends and coworkers - foreign and Indian alike - tested her desire to be a servant often. She felt anything but good. Tears welled up in Sunita's eyes, "Didi, I did not want to marry Anil. I was in love with another boy. Anil's mother scared me." An image of Aunty Rashmi's vice-like grip on Sunita's arm flashed through Emily's mind. "But my parents thought this was a good family and so they arranged the marriage. I wasn't given any choice." Sunita sucked in a breath, saving herself from completely dissolving into tears. Her story wasn't unusual. "I was so angry when I came here. Angry at my husband. Angry at my parents. Angry at my new family. But what could I do? Now we were married. I thought about killing myself, but then I had Ranu." Emily laid a hand over Sunita's hands clasped in her lap as the story tumbled from the girl's lips. She was completely absorbed in the woman's dynamic, expressive face - forgetting scones and date nights and Eric's impending arrival. "Didi - I watch you and I think many things happen to you that you don't like. I think you don't like it when my mother-in-law comes over after you have company and you have many guests." In India, the saying "Guest is god" meant guests should be welcomed as a blessing and gift. But most women - tasked with extra kitchen and cleaning duties - thought they meant more work than blessing. "You also are far away from your family. But you never speak disrespectfully about these people. You don't get angry. There is always peace in your home." Emily smiled and held up a hand. "Wait, stop. I do get angry sometimes. Frustrated." Sunita shook her head, "Not like in our home. Anil's mother does yoga every morning and worships their family gods, but there is still no peace in our family. Not like here. Where do you find your peace?" Now it was Emily's turn for misted-over eyes. Eric strode in through the door just as she was forming an answer. "I don't smell scones!" he called out teasingly before turning to see Sunita and Emily seated on the couch. His eyes grew wide and he bit his lip in embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he apologized quickly in Hindi. "I should go," Sunita had immediately withdrawn into her usual shy, deferential shield. She rose, but Emily pulled her back down on the couch. "Could you give us a bit?" she asked Eric, meeting his eyes. His face reflected understanding and he winked quickly. "I'll go bake some scones," he said and disappeared down the hallway. Emily turned back towards Sunita and reached for the Hindi/English Bible they kept on a shelf above the couch, searching her mind for verses about peace. This could be a good way to end date night, she smiled. Pray. Go. SIM Asia is currently looking for someone - a single or a couple - to fill the Missionary Coordinator role. As Eric & Emily do in this fictional representation, the Missionary coordinator is responsible for organizing the physical aspects of the short-termer's stays in South Asia as well as discipling them and mentoring them as they seek God about future, long-term work in missions. The Missionary Coordinator needs to be flexible, able to work within a cross-cultural team and comfortable being self-directed to help establish and grow our short-term program. If you think you or someone you know may be called to fill this role, please contact your local SIM Canada office. Tue, 7 Feb 2012 14:38:24 -0500 This is part three of a four-part fictional story about a couple in South Asia written by Sarah. Each part will be released on the Tuesday of each week. Here we go - Part Two of "Date Night". "Thank you guys so, so much," Emily said, hugging Lydia again "No worries," she smiled. "You guys deserve a night out and we didn't have anything planned!" The other four girls were already upstairs in the guest portion of the house, stripping beds and sweeping marble floors. "I'm so glad it was just Sunita at the door again! I was worried it was something else!" Emily rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, she got Ranu's other shoe so hopefully that's all they forgot!" "Aunty Rashmi sure pulled them out of here fast! Sometimes I won-" Lydia held up a hand, "Eric's waiting downstairs and we didn't come over to hang out with you. Go!" she commanded, waving her hand in a shooing motion. "Right, okay. Well, there's soda in the fridge and a big pot of curried vegetables. Help yourselves, please," said Emily. "Don't worry about us!" Lydia said, pushing Emily towards the door. "Get out of here!" Emily sighed and smiled before spinning towards the stairs and hurrying down where Eric waited. He was just closing his phone when she reached the car. "You are amazing! What made you think to call the girls?" she felt like her voice was dangerously close to squealing. He smiled into her eyes, "Desperate times," he said, grabbing her hand as they started to walk down the street towards the metro stop near their home. For large groups, it was easier to drive - but when it was just the two of them, using the efficient, modern metro system let them avoid the stress of traffic. "I just got an email from Ryan," Eric said, tapping his pocket. "You mean Ryan from last summer?" Emily asked, surprised. He'd been a short termer the previous year from England who spent four months of his gap year exploring mission opportunities in India. At the end of his time, during most of which he'd been sick, he confessed to Eric they'd been the most miserable months of his life. It had been discouraging to spend so much time encouraging, praying for and nursing him only to hear him talk like he'd never set foot here again! "He wants to come back for a full two-year internship. He thinks God is calling him here long-term," Eric's said excitedly. Emily squeezed Eric's hand, "That's..." she struggled for the word. "Amazing!" There were some short-termers who, at the end of their time, declared their India experience the best of their life - but who were never heard from again. Always hoping short termers would make long term commitments, this was discouraging. But then there were people like Ryan... "Yeah," Eric whispered, suddenly waving and smiling broadly at some of the neighborhood boys who were loudly calling him, "Bhaiya" - older brother in Hindi. They ran over to vie for his attention; Emily and Eric stopped to chat with them. "Bhaiya, will you play cricket with us?" "Bhaiya, my father wants to know when you are coming to our home again!" "Bhaiya,look at Mukul's arm - he scraped it yesterday!" "Bhaiya, where are you going?" "Bhaiya, bhaiya, bhaiya..." Most of the boys had good, caring fathers - but a few of them, Emily knew, struggled in families without a father or with a father who was too drunk or working too much to care about them. It was these boys, she noticed, who seemed to cling most tightly to Eric. Even though their main job was to encourage and disciple short termers - Emily and Eric had decided at the beginning they wanted to make the most of their relationships with Indian friends as well. A pang of guilt sent a hot stab through Emily's stomach as she thought of Aunty Rashmi and Sunita. It had been too long since, instead of just enduring their visits, she'd taken the time to really talk with her neighbor or try to move the conversation onto spiritual topics. Oh dear Lord, she breathed as the group of boys parted to let them continue down the road, why is balance so difficult sometimes? Come back next Tuesday for the conclusion of "Date Night"! Tue, 31 Jan 2012 10:10:16 -0500 This is part two of a four-part fictional story about a couple in South Asia written by Sarah. Each part will be released on the Tuesday of each week. Here we go - Part Two of "Date Night". A whole package of cookies later and half an hour of forcing laughter at Ranu's cute, but very naughty, antics, Emily's fake smile made her face ache. Sunita was flashing her apologetic, pleading glances but even those couldn't assuage Emily's growing irritation. Eric would be home any minute and that made her even more anxious to be rid of her house guest. With only half her attention on the fast, harsh Hindi of Aunty Rashmi, Emily was having trouble following the topics of conversation. Laughter floated up the stairs of the apartment building and slipped into Emily's living room. She looked at the door where, a second later, a knock froze Aunty Rashmi's lecture on the necessity of having children very soon after the wedding. Emily heard this indictment of her and Eric's lack of children often. Sunita and Aunty Rashmi's son Anil had their son exactly eleven months after the wedding. Emily flashed an apologetic smile and hurried curiously for the door. A wall of giggles and chatter washed over Emily as she swung open the door. Lydia, Jessica, Tess, Vanessa and Bekki streamed into the house, stifling giggles and greeting Aunty Rashmi properly with a solemn "Namaste" spoken with hands folded in front of chest. The five girls had all arrived in India three months ago and were a part of the group of short termers Emily was responsible to mentor and disciple through their two years spent exploring India. In their best Hindi, they conversed cheerfully with Aunty Rashmi until the older woman decided it was time to go home. Despite her perchance for visiting Emily every day, Aunty Rashmi seemed to dislike all other foreigners. She swept up Ranu in one arm and gripped Sunita's thin forearm in her other hand and pulled every one towards the door with her. When Emily had closed the door behind the trio, she spun merrily to the five girls, "How did you plan this visit so perfectly?" "Emily, you have to hear what happened to Tess," giggled Lydia. "What happened?" Emily asked, giggling too when she saw Tess' bright red face. "I was practicing Hindi at Alima's house," Tess had befriended Alima at the university where she took Hindi classes. "We wanted to make chai, but she was out of tea leaves. So we went next door to ask her neighbor and Alima said I should practice asking to borrow something..." The whole group broke out into giggles. Tess' whole body shook as she tried to recover her voice. "So I went over to the neighbor's house with her, but instead of asking to borrow her puttee - tea leaves - I asked to borrow her putee - husband!" This last word was long and shaking, lost in a fresh eruption of laughter. Horrified, Emily threw her hand over her mouth, "What did the neighbor say?" "Alima jumped right in to correct me," Tess said. "I was so embarrassed! We took the tea leaves and hurried home. A few minutes later, the neighbor's aunt came over and - very seriously - asked if she should try to arrange my marriage!" "Oh no!" Emily cried. The front door behind her clicked open and Eric walked into the room of laughter. "Sounds like you are having a good time," he said, tossing the car keys on the door-side table. His green eyes were twinkling, but he didn't look surprised to see the five visitors. "Girls, actually, Eric and I were planning on going out toni-," Emily began. "Oh, we know. That's why we came over," interrupted Lydia. "What?" Emily looked from the suddenly mischievous faces of the girls to Eric. "We heard you might need a little help getting out of the house tonight and that things around here might need a good scrubbing," explained Lydia. Emily thought she caught a mouthed "Thank you" from Eric to the girls. The sight of the three guest rooms upstairs that were still disheveled after hosting the team flashed through Emily's mind. "You guys shouldn't have to do my housework," she said slowly. "Not yours," Vanessa shook her head. "Just helping out with the team." Tears sprung to Emily's eyes for the second time that day as Eric wrapped his arm around her waist, "You wanna go put on some date night clothes?" he whispered in her ear. "You guys are the best!" Emily said, dashing to hug each of her girls. As Emily hurried down the hallway towards the bedroom, she heard a tap on the front door. What now? She grumbled, hoping Eric could handle it quickly. Come back next Tuesday for Part Three! Wed, 25 Jan 2012 10:06:14 -0500 For the next four weeks on Out & About, we will be featuring a four-part fictional story about a couple in South Asia written by Sarah. Each part will be released on the Tuesday of each week. Here we go - Part One of "Date Night". Emily bit her lower lip, trying to keep the tears behind her eyelids. She jammed the phone between ear and shoulder as she measured out water, tea leaves, sugar and ginger to make chai. "Hey babe, I'm on my way back right now," Eric answered. The connection crackled crankily. "Don't worry about hurrying back now, Eric. Aunty Rashmi and Sunita just showed up," Emily could hear a faint feedback of her voice. It sounded hollow and flat. Eric's sigh echoed the one Emily had breathed a few minutes before when Aunty Rashmi had dragged her daughter-in-law Sunita through the front door. "Well, serve chai right away. That's supposed to be the sign you don't have a lot of time and she should go, right?" Eric offered. "Yeah," Emily replied. Supposed to be."I'll try." Somehow the subtle ways suitable in South Asian culture to signal to guests they should leave sooner rather than later never worked on staunch Aunty Rashmi. "I'll be home in about an hour if this traffic h-" a line of static and the call dropped. Emily cupped the phone in her hand dangling by her side and leaned back against the plaster wall of the kitchen. The pot of chai was working itself up to a boil on the stovetop; she could just smell the ginger. In the next room, Aunty Rashmi was talking in high, loud tones to Sunita's son, Ranu. She was showing him the strange foreigner items from Canada. A family photo taken at Emily & Eric's wedding. Their laptop - both mystery and magic to the neighbors. A coffee table book of beautiful natural forests and lakes. Emily carefully added an equal amount of milk to the chai which had begun boiling in the pot. The tea turned a creamy tan. She turned the heat down and waited for it to begin bubbling again. When she and Eric had decided to move to South Asia, they'd known it would be a long transition full of bumps along the way. Orientation and the stories from other workers had prepared them to adjust to another culture. Or so they thought. It had been a long two years. Their role as Missionary Coordinators for the field meant investing time in college students trying to discern if God was leading them to serve long-term in South Asia. They also hosted two-week vision teams - groups from churches, businessmen, pastors. Each in their own way, trying to discern what their role in reaching South Asia's unreached people groups might be. Eric had just finished dropping off a team at the airport. And after two weeks of spending nearly all of their time with 15 people from a US church, Emily had been looking forward to a long evening alone with Eric. A stroll around the local gardens and then a cold coffee at their favorite cafe. It was their South Asian version of what date nights had been in Canada - a movie and coffee at Tim Hortons. But now Aunty Rashmi had situated her ample girth in the middle of the living room's loveseat. The woman's visits were never under two hours - no matter how early Emily served chai or how many hints she dropped about how much housework there was. "Emily?" called Aunty Rashmi from the other room. The Indian pronunciation of her name sounded more like "Imly" which - incidentally - was also the name of a small, round fruit. "Do you have any biscuits for Ranu?" Say goodbye to date night, Emily muttered. Come back next Tuesday to read part two! Tue, 17 Jan 2012 12:36:28 -0500