…with apologies to Jonathan Swift and his writing under the same title about the terrible plight of the poor children in 18th century Ireland. Let me give the title a positive twist in the Third World setting of Emmanuel Fellowship Church in 21st century Zimbabwe:
Our church kitchen is basically a 12’ x 12’ square with 21” of counter, stove, refrigerator hugging all four walls. The remaining floor space is quickly crowded when four to six women tackle the serving and cleanup for a tea or church meal. So, when a gift of $2000 came in designated for kitchen remodeling, I was very pleased.
But before we could get started we were caught in a Sunday school space bind. Or should I say “opportunity”? For a long time we’ve had one teacher and the children lumped together in what we called Children’s Church. Then we added a class for Youth and more recently a class for Beginners. Once they met in the church hall but now each class is tucked away into their own classroom, and we are utilizing some rooms that have been standing empty.
Empty because during years of hyperinflation church finances didn’t stretch to upkeep but just to keeping afloat. Once we opened up the rooms, we clearly saw the need for some TLC (tender loving care). We replaced skirting (mopboard) that had been eaten by the ants. Ceiling boards sagging and stained by a leaking roof were replaced and/or repainted. And the walls are on a when-we-can-do-it schedule for repainting.
And then we turned to the kitchen. It’s been so liberating and even exhilarating to be doing something positive and not just marking time. And Jim has been caught up in the possibilities as much as I am. It was his idea to knock out the wall between the kitchen and the next room which had become a catchall room. Also, his idea to take shelving above the refrigerator, divide in into two and place above the serving counter. The ladies love this as we no longer need to call the men in to take cups off the shelves.
The initial $2000 has doubled and should cover materials and labor for the plumber, electrician, carpenter, welder, tile layer and demolition crew. Red, who works for us and also cleans the church, is acting as Foreman, which includes hiring. That’s how we’ve met Timos and Calvin, who done the carpenter-related tasks. Another crew came in for the kitchen wall and tiling. We ask for a quote on each job before work commences.
The workmen quote for labor and include a list of needed supplies. We would go to town to pick up materials. At first we would shop around because prices vary wildly. When I say “we” I really mean Red. Sometimes Timos and Calvin rode along so the right items and sizes were purchased. Most of the building suppliers didn’t deal in change, and so we were given pens, bulbs, exercise books, toothbrushes, etc. for anything short of a dollar.
No one supplier had everything, and so the men often went from shop to shop to find a particular screw or type of nail. A trip to town (approximately 1 ½ kilometers) was never quick. Under an hour was quick but trips often took two hours and more. Looking, for instance, for a shop that would cut a board. They wanted to seal the whole board for $50, and so we went behind the shops to a place that would cut a board to our size for $18. We paid for the board and took the receipt. It wouldn’t be ready that day, but we could come back the next morning at 8:30. Well, we made four trips over four days before we had the board.
Just to give an idea of prices: We used 16 boxes of tile purchased for $17 each and labor at $280 for the enlarged kitchen and two small toilets/hallway. That’s approximately 34 square yards of floor space, and only one tile and bits and pieces leftover. We paid $111 for 30 meters of rexine (benching fabric—a heavy oil cloth bought at two different shops because neither shop had enough fabric on hand) and $150 in labor to recover about 15 benches with cushioned seats and back rests, recovered for the first time since they were created for the church 40 years ago.
We need curtain material now for the kitchen windows, but there’s nothing suitable or desirable in the Gweru shops. One of our ladies will sew up the curtains and do a beautiful job, but we’ll have to make a trip to Bulawayo (1 ½ to 2 hours driving time) one day to shop for fabric. There’s other things still to purchase such as formica for the countertops, but what we’ll be buying the most in the coming weeks is paint and more paint to put the finishing touch on all these now beautiful recycled rooms.
All this has been happening in the month of October, and it’s been a time of joy in seeing such good progress. Some frustration, too, when some things take longer than you wanted. And it’s another lesson in patience. Some things can’t be done when there’s no electricity which happens on an irregular unknown–to-use schedule. And once you start such big projects you find there’s more and more to be done, but you limit yourself to financial and time realities and save some tasks for another day.
The churches physical improvement has been an item for prayer for the last two years. Our modest proposal to improve the kitchen is the third positive step; the first two were some cement repairs outside the church and a refurbishing of the playground. We thank God not only for the funds but for the able and resourceful Red, Timos, Calvin and others.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
CHASING THE ONIONS
You can’t buy them in Zimbabwe. French Fried Onions (FFO). For this old Yankee the FFO paints a nostalgic picture of the Green Bean Casserole at Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter family dinners.
My sister Delight started the ball rolling a year or so ago when she sent the makings for the casserole. A big hit with our guests at the pastor’s Sunday dinner. (also, a bit of fun to arouse a hint of envy in the heart of Theresa , an American missionary living across the alley from us, and a delighted chuckle when Debbie at Sunday dinner exclaimed quite loudly as her husband took a second helping).
As I said, you can’t buy the FFO here in Gweru nor have I seen them in South Africa. So I requested another supply from my sister. Just the FFO, because we can buy the mushroom soup and green beans here. I even add water chestnuts for an extra crunch. On September 1, Delight obliges. It’s about five weeks on the average from her post office in Los Banos, CA, to our post office in Gweru. On Tuesday, October 5, I get an ominous-looking envelope in our post box. Brown with no stamps. It shouts “government”!
Not thinking FFO, my heart skips a bit. Maybe it’s a notice that my second level of residency has been approved. It’s three years for your first work permit, another three years for the renewal, and a final three years to establish residency. It took two years for the first level to come through, and I actually have until February to make it two years for the next level approval to come through. Jim is hoping they’ll just go ahead and offer the permanent residency on the second level.
The brown envelope contains a slip telling us they are holding a package which requires a permit from the Department of Agriculture for importing onions. And I remembered my request for FFO. Just a simple misunderstanding, I reason. All they have to do is open the package.
We take the slip to the place where we pick up packages. We want to tell them to open the package, which they sometimes do when there is a question, but they say come back tomorrow at 11 when the customs lady is there or better yet go over to the government center and see her in her office.
Red (the fellow who’s worked about 30 years for Jim) and I show up at 11 but we’re already too late. Go to the government center, they say. So we do. Someone directs us to the right office, but she’s not there. Probably at the customs building a few blocks away. We miss her there. She’s at the post office, they say. But she isn’t. We miss her again. Try again in the afternoon or come again in the morning. 9 a.m.
We do get her at the customs building the next day. I explain that we’re talking about a condiment used in a casserole. I even have a picture of the casserole. And I tell them, it tastes really good. They laugh with me. Open the package, I urge her, and you’ll see these are not onion plants but processed onions in a can. She says meet her at the post office at 10 a.m. on Thursday. I can’t do that because we have a Pastors’ Tea at our house at 10. Could Red come in my place? Yes, that will be okay.
Red heads to town, about 2 kilometers. It’s a waiting game again but finally after 11 he connects with the customs lady at the post office. She opens the package and is satisfied. Red brings the package home. I see on the customs slip that Delight has written in bold ink ONIONS/CANS. The second part was blurred but the first part bold and beautiful. So it was just an easily misunderstood wrong assumption, but we have four beautiful cans of FFO. This Sunday we’ll have the Green Been Casserole, thanks to Delight and the customs lady in Gweru.
Nine around the table for Sunday dinner. Good fellowship and the food good, too. And I think of the difference between Third World and First World. How often do we get bent out of shape when we don’t get what we want when we want it. Here in Gweru we wait five or six weeks to receive a package, but I can remember as kids in the Congo that we would wait up to six months. My Grandma Erickson would often include homemade fudge in a package, and it would be looking a bit old by the time we received it. We ate it anyway—every crumb.
Or the urge to become impatient with Third World bureaucracy. It’s not worth it or worthy of us to be demanding or impatient. And it all works out with nobody fussed. And I like that about life over here. You’re not so much in a hurry that you can’t give respect to someone who has this little bit of control over your life. And it works—at least 76 percent of the time!
My sister Delight started the ball rolling a year or so ago when she sent the makings for the casserole. A big hit with our guests at the pastor’s Sunday dinner. (also, a bit of fun to arouse a hint of envy in the heart of Theresa , an American missionary living across the alley from us, and a delighted chuckle when Debbie at Sunday dinner exclaimed quite loudly as her husband took a second helping).
As I said, you can’t buy the FFO here in Gweru nor have I seen them in South Africa. So I requested another supply from my sister. Just the FFO, because we can buy the mushroom soup and green beans here. I even add water chestnuts for an extra crunch. On September 1, Delight obliges. It’s about five weeks on the average from her post office in Los Banos, CA, to our post office in Gweru. On Tuesday, October 5, I get an ominous-looking envelope in our post box. Brown with no stamps. It shouts “government”!
Not thinking FFO, my heart skips a bit. Maybe it’s a notice that my second level of residency has been approved. It’s three years for your first work permit, another three years for the renewal, and a final three years to establish residency. It took two years for the first level to come through, and I actually have until February to make it two years for the next level approval to come through. Jim is hoping they’ll just go ahead and offer the permanent residency on the second level.
The brown envelope contains a slip telling us they are holding a package which requires a permit from the Department of Agriculture for importing onions. And I remembered my request for FFO. Just a simple misunderstanding, I reason. All they have to do is open the package.
We take the slip to the place where we pick up packages. We want to tell them to open the package, which they sometimes do when there is a question, but they say come back tomorrow at 11 when the customs lady is there or better yet go over to the government center and see her in her office.
Red (the fellow who’s worked about 30 years for Jim) and I show up at 11 but we’re already too late. Go to the government center, they say. So we do. Someone directs us to the right office, but she’s not there. Probably at the customs building a few blocks away. We miss her there. She’s at the post office, they say. But she isn’t. We miss her again. Try again in the afternoon or come again in the morning. 9 a.m.
We do get her at the customs building the next day. I explain that we’re talking about a condiment used in a casserole. I even have a picture of the casserole. And I tell them, it tastes really good. They laugh with me. Open the package, I urge her, and you’ll see these are not onion plants but processed onions in a can. She says meet her at the post office at 10 a.m. on Thursday. I can’t do that because we have a Pastors’ Tea at our house at 10. Could Red come in my place? Yes, that will be okay.
Red heads to town, about 2 kilometers. It’s a waiting game again but finally after 11 he connects with the customs lady at the post office. She opens the package and is satisfied. Red brings the package home. I see on the customs slip that Delight has written in bold ink ONIONS/CANS. The second part was blurred but the first part bold and beautiful. So it was just an easily misunderstood wrong assumption, but we have four beautiful cans of FFO. This Sunday we’ll have the Green Been Casserole, thanks to Delight and the customs lady in Gweru.
Nine around the table for Sunday dinner. Good fellowship and the food good, too. And I think of the difference between Third World and First World. How often do we get bent out of shape when we don’t get what we want when we want it. Here in Gweru we wait five or six weeks to receive a package, but I can remember as kids in the Congo that we would wait up to six months. My Grandma Erickson would often include homemade fudge in a package, and it would be looking a bit old by the time we received it. We ate it anyway—every crumb.
Or the urge to become impatient with Third World bureaucracy. It’s not worth it or worthy of us to be demanding or impatient. And it all works out with nobody fussed. And I like that about life over here. You’re not so much in a hurry that you can’t give respect to someone who has this little bit of control over your life. And it works—at least 76 percent of the time!
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