Days 83-88: Africa wins again

8.12.2009: DAY EIGHTY EIGHT. Eric's Office, the British High Commission.
I stopped eye-sieving the dead ground at the side of the road and slashed, African-style, against a wall. I said out loud, "Jesus. I'm looking forward to how you're going to sort this out. You owe me an explanation."

I should be arriving home in Southampton right about now. But I'm not. I'm sitting in the corner of Eric's office, waiting for the phone call that will tell me my new passport is ready. We was robbed.

YESTERDAY I sent Dad a text, 'All done. Packed. Just left Emmanuel's. Brian & Elspeth taking me for lunch then airport. Very nice! See you tomorrow morning!' We walked out of the restaurant, over to the car, and Brian said, "The car's open." Then I looked at the boot -both rucksacks gone. Um...

The armed Guard pretends not to understand, changes his story, but won't tell us anything. The guy from inside who pretends to be the Manager won't get anything out of him; starts telling us how things are often taken from that car park. I interrupt him, 'saying that doesn't help anything, does it? I asked you how you can employ someone and not be able to trust them.'

It takes me half the drive on to the church to realise that not only my passport, books, journals, work notes, and photos have gone; but the copies of my passport and visa. My flight is at 19:50. I can't leave.

Get to the church and Eric rings. He works at the passport place. There's hope. "You need to get a police report. And two passport photos (Oh- those were in the rucksack as well). And 411,000 for a new passport. (Good grief) And if you come after 4, they will charge you for every hour you keep them - it's 3 now; postpone your flight and come tomorrow." I'm not going home. I want to go home. I'm stuck here. I hope Brian has enough money.

There's a lot of praying in the hope that the two bags will somehow appear. They are bright red and bright orange, after all. We go back and pick over the area before going to the police shed. At least that goes straight forward.

I'm slowly coming out of shock as we drive to Garden City for the photos. Getting used to the idea. Trying to see the positive side. Because I believe there must be one. "In all things he works for the good of those who love him", Elsepth remembers. My new passport photos look pretty good. We see a PINK PINEAPPLE in the car park. We have an affogato and watch the light shift over the city through christmas bunting, and it tastes good (I heave my suitcase up the stairs. Once bitten, twice shy. Could have done with a bit of OCD two hours ago). Someone tries to scam us (we think), and so we wrestle with the old question of giving once again. And Brian tells us how Richard has come up with a new acronym. You've heard of 'TIA', right (brew)? "This is Africa". Well how about 'AWA'? "Africa Wins Again".

SUNDAY
We didn't finish friday so we agreed to have our dress rehearsal after the service. No one brought their costumes. I rang Rose and she was at home - 'I'll be 30 minutes.' '30 minutes?' 'I'm in Bukasa'... Was she going to wait until I phoned? Turn round and discover Judith has gone home. I just told her not to leave. When they all finally arrive I actually tell them all off and make it a teaching point. 'When you're late you mess everyone else about', 'You must communicate with people', 'Dress rehearsal means exactly like performance'. Someone manages to completely ignore me directly asking them questions for 30 seconds, before I give up on the point of despair. I march across the room, bend my knees, and point both hands at the floor. Ssttaanndd hheerree!! I get Felix to lead the warm up. They must hate me. I make them all smile, like 5 year olds. The (non)dress rehearsal is a total drag. I go round Eric's for lunch an hour and a half late.

Guess what? Someone else came 45 minutes late for the warm up. I kept the MCs flapping for 10 minutes making sure the cast were as psyched as I could get them. And they did well... they just about kept going, through the worst series of technical problems I have ever seen.

I specifically arranged with the technical guys that we would use the two sockets on the back of the stage for our lights. We rehearsed the stage set up that afternoon, and rehearsed with the lights in place. But how could it be so easy for the technical guys to stick an extension lead in one socket and wreck everything? Here comes the key moment, where Jesus appears to Paul in a blinding light; where we flick the switch for the main lights off and the spotlight on... and we have complete darkness. 30 kids scream. They think it's a power cut. None of the actors knows what to do. The main lights come on again. Off again. On again. Every time a scream. Finally the spot appears, actors scrabbling round to their places. It looks beautiful. But then we're back to chaos. The mics bang, hum, crackle and fizz; random people tell other random people to go and fiddle the normal lights on; the actors muddle through. And then we have the spotlight switch again at the end. It goes just as badly; it looks just as beautiful. I clap them off as they applaud the wall instead of the sound desk (not deliberately), and there is a bare scatter of other applause. Africa Wins Again.

SATURDAY was great. I went to bed after midnight as we get caught in a great Denzel Washington film about a black university debating society in 30s America. Some scenes that made me feel quite ashamed as a white man in a black room. Reminded me again of the wonder, the power, the importance of story & drama. Why we do it.

Had a great time with Eric, and the waters of the Nile. It smells funny but it feels so good. Forget my perforated eardrum. Swimming was beautiful, flipping out in the rapids was incredible. The yuppies reminded me I'm in for a culture shock when I get home. And Eric told me something which summed up the choice of the christian nutter: "Jesus doesn't necessarily shield us from the consequences of radically following him. If we give our money away, we may have to miss meals. If we tell people the good news, we may get kicked out of school. If we go to the warzone, we may get killed. If we follow Jesus, Satan will attack us. He can mess us up. But we should still do these things. Because the reward of following Jesus is not his protection, his provision, or his gifts - though he gives us all three. The reward is Jesus himself."

So this morning I thanked Jesus that something I've been doing has made me worthy of having my bags taken. And I remember that the battle is never finished - Satan doesn't respect our holidays, when we think 'now my work is done and I can just go home'. And I remember I need to be weaned off my posessions anyway. And I realise that if Brian and Elspeth hadn't had their flight postponed a day, there would have been no money and no way to get home. And I thank God that Eric is best mates with the guy who gives passports and is just about to deliver mine. This isn't the way I wanted to get home, but God's still made it all okay. Africa strikes, but God Wins Again.
Tim