Pastor David had said that we would need to leave by 5am to get to the airport by 8, to be in time for my flight which was due to depart at 10. His wife was taking me, as she works at a school in the city and he had commitments in his home area. The idea was that she would take me to a certain point in the city, and then hand me over to Pastor George who would then take me the rest of the way to the airport by cab. So I set the alarm for 4 and was all packed and ready to go by 4.30. We got away just after 5.

I could not believe the amount of traffic on the road at that early hour. Even though the area where David lives is considered to be a rural district, it is actually a city in itself, and there are other city areas between it and the main city of Accra. Traffic crawled along, not helped by various drivers who stopped in the middle of the road to buy from the street sellers.

I did my “good baby” thing and slept for a large part of the way, but when I woke up I realized that our time was pushing out beyond where it should be. By the time we reached the handover to George, it was already 7.30. I had no idea how long it would take to get from there to the airport, but I figured it was probably going to be more than half an hour.

Again, the traffic crawled at hours per kilometre rather than kilometres per hour. Anxiety was rising in me, and I kept trying to fight it down: God is in control; I am not going to miss the plane; God is on the throne.

Eight o’clock came and went. Likewise 8.30. By now I was losing the battle with anxiety. We arrived at the airport at 9. George came with me, and when we came to the check-in desk the girl told us, “Sorry, it’s closed. You should have been here an hour ago.” Some quick talking from George (I was soooo grateful for his presence) convinced her to check me in anyway. Then I needed to get to the gate quickly. They recognized that I probably would not be able to move fast enough, so they put me in a wheelchair with a guy to push me. A quick good bye to George and a promise that next time I will come for a month, and we took off. He whizzed me through all the formalities and we arrived at the gate just as boarding was about to start. I ended up actually being the first person on the plane!

That was the closest call I ever want to have with a flight!

The trip to Monrovia involved two short flights, first to Abidjan (Ivory Coast) and then from there to Monrovia. Ivory Coast is French-speaking, and hardly anyone at the airport spoke English. The board which is supposed to show the departure gates had no gate shown for my flight, so I sat and played games on my phone, hoping that the info would go up closer to the time. Instead a guy came through announcing that the flight to Monrovia was departing from Gate D (which of course was downstairs) NOW. Rush to get down there as quickly as possible, co-opted a guy to help with my bag, and made it to the bus which was taking us to the plane.

Every flight I have taken for at least the last 20 years, I have had to get a seat-belt extender. This time, as I pulled the belt out to its full extent I thought, That might actually fit. And amazingly it did. I was chuffed! I don’t know whether my moderate success in observing an 18:6 intermittent fasting routine has had some results, or maybe the passive exercise I get being driven over rough roads (I feel like a rag doll when going over these roads. Every one of my wobbly bits wobbles in a different direction.) Or it could be just that Air Cote D’Ivoire has longer seat belts than most planes. In any case, it was a really pleasant surprise.

Another pleasant surprise came when I reached Monrovia. Because I am slow on my feet, I always end up at the end of the queue for Immigration. One of the officials saw me, pulled me out of the line, straight through all the formalities, grabbed my bag for me, and had me out of the terminal in minutes. He then asked if I had someone picking me up, and when I said yes he took Pastor Mac’s phone number and called him to make sure he was on his way. Then he found me a chair so I could sit while I was waiting for Mac to arrive. Honestly, I felt like royalty!

Pastor Mac came with Pastor Daniel and also another pastor who is not yet part of the network, Pastor Brook. For most of the time here I will be staying with Pastor Mac, but because for this first week I am going to be doing a conference with Pastor Daniel at a place some distance away, they have arranged somewhere for me to stay this week.

On Friday I was told that on Saturday I would be teaching three sessions for a Pastors and Leaders conference. O…K… I’m used to being “instant in season, out of season” – I can handle this.

It turned out that I actually had two sessions at a Bible school, future leaders and a couple of pastors. LOL. Things here change so quickly. I taught about gifts and ministries, and it was very well received with some good questions from the students afterwards. In their regular curriculum they were at the point of learning about the Holy Spirit (something I didn’t know about) so my teaching about spiritual gifts slotted right in. Love the way the Holy Spirit does that!

Because the church where the Bible school is held is in the city, quite a distance from Pastor David’s home, it became a very long day. I ended up having “lunch” around 6pm!

This morning was an early start as we again made the trip to the city for the service at Pastor George’s church. This was a very special day, as George had asked me to ordain him as an apostle.

My experience with George has shown him to be a true son in the Lord. He has gone out of his way to assist me in obtaining my visas for both Ghana and Liberia, and has liaised with other other pastors in orgainzing my time here. He is also very keen to see the Apostolic Network grow in Ghana and in Western Africa. And I recognize the apostolic call and anointing that is already on his life, so I was delighted to be able to do this.

Ordination does not make someone an apostle (or prophet, or whatever other ministry they are called to) – only God can do that. In ordination, we recognize that grace that is already upon and operating in the person’s life. However, there is also an impartation of a new level of anointing for them to go forward in that calling.

So after I had preached the word, George came forward and I poured oil on his head and prayed over him. I feel so humbled to have this privilege, to be part of launching God’s servant into a new level of his calling.

This was the last of my ministry here in Ghana this time. Tomorrow is a super- early start as we have to be at the airport by 8.

Yesterday Pastor George introduced me to his friend, Pastor David, whose church I was to minister at tonight. Because he is a long way from the city, we were to stay there tonight and come back tomorrow. Pastor David had invited George up to his church to celebrate George’s birthday.

David is an interesting fellow – a former politician, he gave up active participation in politics to pursue the call of God on his life, but he is still very much interested and involved. He told me that when I come next time, if his party is back in power he will introduce me to the President. Maybe this is what God meant when He said that He would connect me with government leaders on this trip.

The service was mostly young people, and worship was dominated by an overly enthusiastic drummer, who drowned out everyone else. There was a little confusion at the beginning of my message, with my original interpreter seeming uncertain of whether he should be actually interpreting or not. Then George took over the interpretation and it all went smoothly. The message was well received, but no salvations this time.

When the serious part of the service was over, it was time for the celebration of George’s birthday – of course, also accompanied by several lots of prayer. Cake and sodas for everyone, and lots of cheering.

Then we went back to the house for the night. David’s home is a beautiful, large, modern house. David had apparently looked at my accommodation and decided it was not good enough, so now I am going to be staying here with him and his wife for the week, and they will take me down to the services in the city. The plan is that I will rest here tomorrow (something I am rather glad about, because this throat infection is making me feel quite ill), then go down to do a meeting on Saturday and pick up my big bag (I only brought the small one with me), come back here Saturday night and go down on Sunday for the service.

The only problem with all that is, I only brought a change of underwear for one day. So it’s a quick wash of the nickers in the sink, wring them out in my towel (old boarding school trick) and pray that they are dry by tomorrow morning.

By the time I got to bed yesterday it was after 5am, the time when I normally get up. I managed to get a couple of hours sleep before Pastor George arrived with my breakfast at around 8.

The place where I am staying is the home of one of the church members. My room is very basic – bare concrete floor, single mattress on the floor (but it’s an innerspring and my back is happy, so that is not a minus.) I purloined a table and chair from one of the other rooms so that I can use the computer, and I have the essential fan, so it’s really all I need. The only real drawback to the room is that it is on the west of the building and in the afternoon becomes a hot box, but putting the curtains down helps a bit. Bathroom (bucket bath) and toilet are shared.

The first order of the day was to find an ATM and take out some money. Praise God, this time we found one that  worked first go. Then it was on to the Liberian Embassy to give them my passport so that I could get my visa for Liberia sorted before I fly on Monday. The woman there has had the rest of my paperwork for weeks.

So I handed over my passport. She looked at the info then told us that there is no way I could get a visa before Monday. Apparently tomorrow and Friday are holidays. (The public service here has more holidays than anywhere I have ever encountered.) If I wanted my visa more quickly I would have to pay an extra $100 US for an emergency visa.

I figured it was better to pay the $100 and get the visa than to lose my airfare, so handed over the equivalent amount in the local currency that I had just withdrawn from the bank. She took my passport and paperwork, and the money, and disappeared into an office.

Less than ten minutes later she emerged and handed my a receipt and my passport, complete with the visa.

Excuse me, something that was absolutely impossible is done in less than ten minutes when an extra $100 is thrown into the mix?

So basically I paid $100 plus the original $185 cost for the visa for ten minutes work. I’m obviously in the wrong line of business.

Never mind. At least I am now clear to go to Liberia on Monday, and that is the last of the visas I have to worry about for this trip.

Yesterday afternoon I crashed. I was out like a light when George came with my lunch, and woke up around 3.30. Between exhaustion and a very unsettled tummy, I was almost going to dip out on last night’s meeting, but decided to go ahead.

When I arrived I received the BIGGEST hug from George’s wife and some of the other ladies. There were only half a dozen people there, so I thought it would be good to let them get to know me a bit by sharing my testimony, which was very well received. George urged them to bring more people along tonight, so it will be interesting to see how many turn up.

The church building is only half finished, with walls only part of the way up, but that was a blessing as it allowed the breeze to circulate. This afternoon George is planning to take me around the town a bit before the service so I can get the feel of the place.

Yesterday we set out at 6.30am for Cotonou aiming to sort out the bus issue before l leave. As we came into the city during the morning peak hour I was impressed by the number of motorbikes. At a guess I would say they outnumbered cars at least ten to one, and even that is probably being conservative. However there is none of the three or four or more on a bike that is a normal site in the East African countries. In fact many of the bikes had just single riders, suggesting that they are privately owned.

When we arrived at the bus company, the guy there absolutely assured us that my luggage would fit on the mini-bus. I was still cynical, particularly given that I assumed there would be other passengers who would also have luggage. So I said we’ll wait and see.

We waited. The bus was supposed to board at 12, but there was no sign of it. Still no sign of it by 1. Now I was starting to think, If this goes too late we might not have time to get another bus if we need to. So I said to the guy, “If this bus is not here by 2, I want our money back so that we can go and book a real bus.” He must have known that the bus was actually not going to come, because even though he had earlier refused to even consider a refund he now gave it to us straight away.

So we went off and booked a seat on a big bus. A big, comfortable bus. With air cond. And plenty of room for baggage. The fare on the big bus was 20,000CFA (approximately $50AUD). The fare for the little squeezy mini-bus was 32,000CFA (approximately $80AUD). Couldn’t help thinking, In what universe is the latter even remotely justifiable?

Anyway, I was happy. Big bus, air cond, pleasant trip. Easy peasy!

I could not have been more wrong. When we arrived at the border with Togo, immigration officials came through the bus checking passports. They looked at mine and pulled me off the bus to go to the office. Now, I have travelled to a number of countries using an e-visa – in fact for many countries these days it is the only way to get a visa. The process has always been, you present the e-visa when you arrive, immigration stamps your passport to say they have seen the visa, and when you leave they stamp your passport again. I have never before been required to present the e-visa again on leaving the country. But Benin immigration wanted to see the bit of paper before they would let me go. The piece of paper was in my case on the bus. I kept pointing out to them the stamp in my passport, but that wasn’t enough for them. At one point I looked across for the bus – it had moved and I couldn’t see it, and I thought it had gone on without me. I was getting more and more upset. Then the guy from the bus came over, probably to see why his bus was being held up. He took me over to the bus and pulled out my case so I could get the bit of paper and show it to them, which satisfied them. Lesson learned: if travelling on an e-visa, always keep the bit of paper with the passport until you leave the country.

Next step was Togo immigration. I knew that I would need a visa, and had been told I could get it at the border. I assumed that Togo immigration, like any civilised organization, would accept a credit card. Wrong. Problem was, in Benin I had not been able to find an ATM that would accept my card to get out cash to give Pastor Roland for my expenses there, so I had given him the US currency that I had. I did not have any other cash, and the immigration would not accept a card. I was already stressed out from the encounter with Benin immigration, and now I could see myself being trapped at the border with no money, no phone (I had given my Benin sim card back to Roland, and would not get another till I reached Ghana) and not speaking the language. At that point I lost it and became totally hysterical. I am not proud of this, it was a total failure of faith, but it’s what happened. The people from the bus were also there, and got into a huge argument (almost a physical fight) with someone else who made some comment which of course I could not understand. That made me even worse. Then the bus driver came and offered me some money, saying when we got into Togo I could go to an ATM and get the money to repay him. He went ahead and sorted out the visa for me. I was such a mess that I don’t think I even got around to thanking him properly, but I pray that the Lord will pour overflowing blessings on him for his kindness. Mind you, at 25,000CFA the visa cost more than the bus fare, which I thought was a bit steep for a couple of hours travelling through the country on a bus. Lesson learned: always carry a couple of hundred dollars in US currency.

Anyway, we were on our way. When we got into the city, the conductor of the bus took me to an ATM. However, we had to walk, and it was at least half a kilometre. When we arrived, the ATM would not accept my card. So we walked further to another bank. The ATM there would not accept my card. By now I was totally exhausted, and I said, “I can’t walk any further.” After lengthy discussion between the conductor and a security guard and several other people who just happened to be around, all in a language I could not understand, the conductor hailed a tuk-tuk, which took us to yet another bank where the ATM refused my card. By now I was getting desperate. I gave him Pastor George’s number and said to call him and ask if he could send the money through, and I would repay him when I arrived. No, we will try one more bank. Praise God, this one accepted the card and I was able to get the money, plus enough to pay for the tuk-tuk.

Back to the tuk-tuk to head back to the bus. Except that the bus was not there, and we kept going. By now I was totally strung out and not thinking at all rationally, and I was afraid that I was being kidnapped. I kept asking, “Where are we going? Where is the bus?” He kept answering me in French, which made me even more frustrated.

It turned out that the bus had gone on to the border with Ghana, and the other passengers had gone through immigration and were waiting for me to do so. OK, at least this would not be a problem, I had my “Visa on Arrival” organized and paid for, all I had to do was collect it and the receipt. Wrong again. Ghana immigration didn’t want to accept my bit of paper. They said it had me arriving by plane, even though I had told those organizing it that I was coming by bus. Then they wanted proof of payment. The piece of paper was marked “paid” but they wanted a receipt. No, I didn’t have a receipt. I was supposed to collect it with the visa. Fortunately by now I had calmed down and was able to think more clearly, and I remembered that I had asked Pastor George to give me the name of the lady (a high official in immigration) who had organized it. A quick scroll through the phone and showed them her name, and things changed. The visa was issued and my passport stamped, along with a polite question about whether this was my first time in Africa. (“No, my seventh time in Africa, but my first in West Africa.”)

Back on the bus. Now I can relax. Well, not quite. As we came into Ghana we had to pass through a number of police checks. At one of them, a guy in uniform (I don’t know whether he was a policeman, soldier, security guard or what) came on looking at passports. He took mine and said that he would be back in a minute. I thought, Oh no, here we go again. What now? But he was true to his word and came back quickly. Then he started talking to me. “I want to go to Australia. Will you take me to Australia with you?” He told me he had a farm as well as this job. He even wanted to exchange phone numbers with me. I thought, Really? You are trying to chat up a 73 year woman who must look an absolute wreck after what I have been through on this trip. How desperate are you? He kept saying I should take him to Australia with me. How do you tell a man in uniform that even if it were possible (which it is not) there is no way on earth it would be happening? At least it added a little humour to my nightmare trip.

Now, surely there could be no more problems. Wrong again. The bus company had given me a piece of paper with the name of the bus stop where I was to get off, where Pastor George would be waiting for me, but for some reason they let me off at the wrong one. A group of young street sellers was there, and pointed out the error, but the bus still left me there with my bags and went off. These kids were marvellous. They quickly found a chair for me, took George’s number and called him to tell him where I was, and encouraged me that everything was ok and he would be here soon. They kept assuring me that they would not leave until I had been picked up. I pray God’s richest blessings for all of them.

Finally George arrived. But of course there had to be one last little drama before the end of the night. Apparently the driver did something wrong as he was turning to pick me up, and a policeman saw it. So we had to follow the said policeman to the police station for the driver to be booked before we could be on our way.

With that sorted we were off, and at 4.30am I came to the place where I am staying and was able to fall into bed, but not before some earnest repentance about my reactions and behaviour during the night.

The church where I have ministered yesterday and today has been totally different from the two that I ministered at earlier in the week. Here, I was treated like royalty. A large banner on the side of the church building with my face on it welcomed me, albeit with my name spelt incorrectly. The whole church lined up outside to welcome me, and sing their greetings as I walked in. They had spread cloths on the ground leading up to my seat, which was like a throne at the front of the building. It was pretty over-the-top, but an obviously sincere expression of their beautiful hearts. When we were inside they sang another welcome song, and the ladies danced up to my seat to give me hugs.

As all the churches I have been to here in Benin, the congregation was small and at least half of it was kids, with the remainder mostly women and very few men. The building is unfinished, but more substantial than the one where I was on Friday, and it is part of a village where most of the houses are small mud huts.

Unlike the other congregations, these people were attentive, with only a few getting up during the preaching to attend to the needs of children. Yesterday on the altar call five people responded for salvation. God is so good!

Today was much the same. No salvations today, but that was not surprising as it was basically the same congregation as yesterday. I felt particularly to pray for healing today, and heaps of people came out, including many of the little kids who I am sure did not understand what I was actually praying for, but I prayed a blessing on each one anyway. I believe that God touched many of them, and am hoping that I will hear back some testimonies of healing. Our driver later said to Pastor Roland that his wife had pain in her leg, and would I pray for her, so they brought her back to the hotel room where I prayed.

Meanwhile, there has been a bit of drama about my bus trip to Ghana tomorrow. The day I arrived Roland took me to the office of a bus company to book. We couldn’t do it right then, because I had to get the money. While we were there I noticed a mini-bus outside the office, so on the way here I asked Roland, is this bus we are booking a big bus or a mini-bus. No worries, it’s a big bus. Hakuna Matata.

Yesterday Roland was able to send the money through for me and actually book the ticket. He sent me a picture of the ticket and one of the bus by WhatsApp. The mini-bus. With a luggage allowance of 10kg. I have a cabin bag that weights almost that much, plus my big 23kg case.

I went into a full-on panic attack. I couldn’t breathe my heart was racing so fast. How could this happen? Apart from the fact that I have seen how many people they try to cram into those mini-busses, and the thought of being trapped in one for eight hours is an absolute nightmare, how is my bag going to get to Ghana?

Much frantic messaging back and forth to Roland. Everything will be fine. No worries. Yes, worries – I have to be in Ghana on Monday so I can get to the Liberian embassy on Tuesday to sort out that visa. Yes, worries – it doesn’t look as if there is even room for my bag on that little thing.

The long and short of it is, (a) I have repented of my panic, which essentially was a lack of trust in the Lord; (b) we are going to leave here at 6 in the morning to get down to Cotonou by 9 or 10, so that we can check out things with the bus company and if I am not satisfied I will try to book a different bus.

Meanwhile, Roland tells me that the company does also have big busses, so I am praying that God will bless them with so many passengers for the trip tomorrow that they won’t be able to squeeze them in to the mini-bus and will have to use the big bus.

As suggested in my last post, the first thing I noticed about Benin was the heat. According to the internet it was only 32C, but it felt like at least 10 degrees hotter than that.

The city, Cotonou, is clean and reasonably modern, but still with some of the rough buildings that are so typical of Africa. Within the city the roads are good and the traffic is well-behaved.

As you leave the city, though, both the roads and the buildings quickly deteriorate. Bohicon, where I am staying, is approximately 130km north of the city. The towns we passed through on the way were mostly rough buildings, with a lot of open country in between.

One of the most noticeable things is that there are not masses of people walking along the roads, as there are in the East African countries. There are a few, but not very many.

As in most African countries, there are plenty of roadside sellers, usually congregated around speed bumps where traffic has to slow down, allowing them opportunity to flock around the car pushing their wares. Pastor Roland bought us some fried banana chips – very thin slices of banana, obviously by the taste fried in vegetable oil. They were quite nice, but it occurred to me that doing the same thing using coconut oil instead of vegetable oil would produce a really nice result. Must try it when I get home. He also bought us some fresh pawpaw slices, which were tied in plastic bags. Yummy.

One thing that has been disappointing on this trip is that in most places the pastors have not been able to host me in their homes, but have put me in hotels. This means that I don’t have the same chance to interact with them and get to know them. The hotel I am in here is nice, quite western, with a good fan for which I am very grateful, and a firm mattress on the bed for which I am doubly grateful. My back is reasonably happy for the first time since I came to Africa.

I arrived late afternoon Wednesday, and had my first meeting yesterday morning. It was only a small gathering, and half the people looked as if they really didn’t want to be there. There was a group of teenage girls who kept talking through the entire time, but amazingly one of them responded to the altar call for salvation. She pulled one of the younger girls out with her, but I don’t really think the little one knew what she was doing.

Today we had a long drive out to a church in the country. Once we got off the sealed road, the condition of the road went downhill badly. This road did not have potholes, it had crater lakes! Along the way the car overheated, so we had a lengthy break at the roadside while it cooled down. Then back to the jolts and bumps along this dreadful road. I’m so glad I don’t suffer from car sickness these days, or there could have been a terrible mess!

The building where the church meets is a tiny, temporary structure that seems to be out in the middle of nowhere. The congregation was matchingly small, around twenty people at most, including kids. There was not the disinterest and distractions that were in the meeting yesterday, but I didn’t feel my message was getting through to them. Nobody responded to the calls for either salvation or recommittment, but pretty much the whole congregation came out to be prayed for for “prayer requests.”

Afterwards they had a time for questions. The first one was would I come back. “Not this time, but next time.” The second one was, would I help them build a beautiful church. “Sorry, I don’t have money.” I am so, so, so tired of the African mindset that all westerners must be rich! The third one (from the pastor) was, does God allow a woman to preach. “Yes He does. The passages that are used against women are terribly misinterpreted.” Excuse me, I am a woman and I have just preached in your church. If you don’t think God allows a woman to preach, why am I here?

Sadly, the whole thing left me with a bad taste in my mouth.

The good, and totally unrelated, news is that I finally have an official bit of paper saying that my Visa on Arrival for Ghana has been approved and paid for.

I left Bujumbura on Tuesday morning. I had told Domitien that I needed to be at the airport by 12, but he had a Zoom meeting at 12 that he needed to be back for, so we left early. By the time we fought our way through the Buj traffic, it was about 11.40 when we reached the airport.

I hadn’t had time for lunch before we left, so I decided to splurge and get something solid to eat at the airport restaurant. I blew the last of my Burundi money on a very nice mushroom omelette (I have been craving mushrooms for weeks) and a huge plate of fries that came with both tomato sauce and mayo (I did try for a salad, but it wasn’t available.) Then to top it off I had a lovely fruit salad. All up a very enjoyable indulgence.

As I mentioned in my last post, I had to fly to Kigali via Nairobi. The flight to Nairobi was about one and a half hours. Then I had seven hours hanging around at Nairobi airport. I filled in time with a lot of games on my phone, a couple of banana smoothies from the yoghurt bar, and an attempt to get in a little sleep before the plane left at just after midnight.

When we were finally boarding I thought, “Well, the plane will go at the same time whether I am the first on board or the last, so I might as well wait and not have to stand in the queue.” BIG mistake! By the time I got on board, all the luggage racks had been filled. When I asked the attendant to find a space for my bag she said, “Oh, we’ll take it down” and went off with it. When she came back she said I could collect it at the luggage carousel at the airport. I pointed out that it had my laptop in it, and said I hoped it would be safe. She said, “You will have to remove the laptop.” I said, “I can’t remove the laptop, you have already taken the bag.” They found the bag again and brought it back up. By now I was extremely tired, and I remembered how quickly a laptop can become very heavy if you are carrying it around, and I objected strongly to being forced to carry it through the airport. After a bit of argy-bargy I finally managed to shove the bag under the seat in front, which they found acceptable, but which meant that I did not have any room to stretch my legs during the flight. Not the least impressed. I have often seen flight attendants move stuff around so that an extra bag can be fitted in, but this lot were not prepared to even try.

So, another hour and a half flight to Kigali, then eight hours waiting at the airport. Because the flights to Nairobi and Kigali were with Kenya Airways, and the ongoing flight to Benin was with RwandaAir, my checked bag was only booked to Kigali. I was told in Buj that I would have to collect the bag in Kigali and recheck it to Benin. At Kigali they met me off the plane with a wheelchair, which I didn’t say no to because by that time I was totally exhausted and I had no idea how far I might need to walk. However, the guy pushing me refused to believe that my bag was only checked to Kigali and needed to be rechecked to Benin, he insisted that it would have been checked right to Benin. Long, heated argument with him and the airport people till finally they said that they would check me and the bag in at check-in time in the morning. More games on my phone and a bit of sleep. Finally at 6am I got my boarding pass and luggage tag for Benin – though I was still none to sure that my bag was actually going to get here.

The flight from Kigali to Benin involved two legs. The first was about three and a half hours, to a city in Gabon, a small country on the west coast of Africa. This leg included breakfast. People often complain about airline food, but generally I find it quite enjoyable. RwandaAir was the exception. In response to the usual question, “Chicken or beef?” I opted for chicken. What I received was a square of pressed chicken in a white sauce, with a single overcooked broccoli floret and 3 small sweet potato fries, and a small tub of yoghurt and a bread roll. Not the most exciting brekky I have ever had! The second leg was about one and a half hours from Gabon to Benin, and included a “snack.” Again, “Chicken or beef?” This time I chose the beef. The bread roll had a single, thin slice of what looked and tasted like Spam. Moral of the story: if you want a half-way decent on board meal, don’t choose RwandaAir.

Benin is HOT! Very hot. I was very quickly dripping with perspiration. And my bag was one of the last on the carousel. I was getting more and more anxious, and drippier and drippier as I waited, but eventually it arrived and I was able to leave the airport. Pastor Roland was waiting for me, and took me first to book the bus for my travel from here to Ghana next Monday. Then there was a three hour drive from the airport to his town. By the time I had settled in to the hotel and finally crashed onto the bed, it was forty hours since I had last been horizontal.

This is my last night in Bujumbura, and in Burundi. Tomorrow I begin my journey to Benin. Because of difficulties with connections, this means flying first to Nairobi (Kenya), then to Kigali (Rwanda) and then on to Benin. Whilst I am leaving tomorrow, I won’t arrive in Benin till Wednesday afternoon. This is a bit of a pain, given that there were direct flights from Buj to Kigali, but it may be that the Lord has gone ahead of me in this. Apparently Burundi is closing the border with Rwanda. I had to fill out a document for my departure (which I only learned about today) and it is possible that if I had been going direct to Rwanda they would not have let me leave the country.

The last couple of days have been challenging. The church in Kibimba where I ministered yesterday was big, I would guess around 400 in the congregation. They had choir after choir bringing items – at  least seven or eight of them. Their performances were good, but they were just that: performances.  I was seated at the front with all the “dignitaries”, and I looked out over the congregation my heart was grieved. I sensed that many of the people were not there to worship, but just to enjoy a concert. I tried to break through in my preaching, but it felt like there was a massive religious spirit sitting over the place and laughing at me. I felt I had made absolutely zero impact on it, and I felt totally battered.

Overnight and into this morning it got worse. The enemy kept mocking me: Where is this great apostolic authority? This apostolic power? What makes you think you are an apostle? You are not an apostle’s bootlace! The attack was so heavy that I felt like I was being physically beaten. This morning I shot out urgent prayer requests to my prayer partner and our KOGMI intercessors.

By lunchtime I was beginning to gain the victory. Then God did one of His lovely little tricks. I think I have said that almost everyone here speaks only French, not English. At lunchtime one of the young nuns decided to practice her English by chatting with me. She asked what I do, and I told her that I am a minister and visiting the churches. When I later told her that tomorrow I will be going on to Benin, then Ghana, Liberia and Kenya before returning to Australia, she said, “Oh! You are an apostle!” That’s the last thing I expected to hear from a Catholic nun. OK, Father, message received!

So Kibimba is beautiful, but I’m praying for the Holy Spirit to breakthrough there.

Tonight I ministered at a place called Buterere, one of the suburbs of Bujumbura. Only a small congregation, maybe thirty or so. One lady recommitted her life to Jesus, so it was a great note on which to end my time in Burundi.

A few closing thoughts on Buj: it’s a beautiful city, very clean and green. The trees pictured are everywhere. At first I thought they grew like that, but then I saw some that had not been shaped. They prune them into that shape from the time they are very small, and continue pruning the lower branches as they grow.

Traffic is appalling, and drivers have the same kamikazi attitude as in other African countries, but without the politeness. Here drivers are rude and aggressive, and horns are used in much the same way as they are in Australia.

There is a distinct French influence, seen in cobbled streets and some aspects of the food, as well as the language. Overall, it is the most westernized of the countries I have been in on this trip.

Today we came to Kibimba, where we will stay tonight and I will minister in the church here tomorrow morning. This is a town up in the mountains, about three hours drive from Bujumbura. The scenery is stunning – I didn’t manage to get any photos today, but I hope I will be able to before we leave tomorrow. This is the town where the President of Burundi lives – his personal home, not his official quarters – and as a result the town is crawling with military and police.

On the way up we had to stop for a while at another town because Domitien needed to do some business there. He left me in the car for maybe half an hour with the young man who has come with us. That was enough for the local kids to get the message that there was a Mzungu in town. They crowded around the car. Most could not speak English, though a couple had one or two words, but mostly they just stood there and stared at me. It was extremely disconcerting and uncomfortable.

To make matters worse, then a young fellow came along. I would guess he was in his late teens or early 20s, and with an attitude that was begging for a good clip around the ears. “Mzungu, give me $100” he demanded. I told him, “In your dreams!” Then he started, “Mzungu, I’m hungry.” He looked about as hungry as I am. I decided to just ignore him. Fortunately at that moment Domitien came back and told him off. Through the whole thing the young man in the back seat had said nothing.

When we arrived in Kibimba they brought me first to the place where I will be staying the night, a guest house owned by the church. The room here is amazing. It is literally twice the size of my caravan at home, with an enormous bathroom that actually has a bath. (Most bathrooms in Africa are tiny.) I could move in and live here!

After I had settled in Domitien messaged me and said they would like to show me some things around the town. Much of the infrastructure here was set up by early missionaries, whose graves are still here in the town. There is a large boarding school and a hospital, and of course the church building. It is all old, but appears to have been maintained quite well.

On the way back to the guest house we called at the hospital, where I had the privilege of praying for a couple of wards full of sick kids. All I did was pray a general prayer, then go around and lay hands on each one and speak healing over them in the Name of Jesus. I didn’t feel any particular anointing, but I believe that God really touched at least some of them, and I very much hope that I will hear back testimonies of healing. Tomorrow I want to ask Domitien if I can have another hour there before we leave town, to pray for the adults.

One tiny drama here tonight. Since I have been in Africa I have, when possible, been having two showers a day – in the morning to get clean, and in the evening to get cool. As I said earlier, the room here has a bath, which was very tempting, but it is one of those small, formed ones, and as I looked at it I was none to confident of my being able to get into it, and even less confident of my being able to get out of it safely. So, sadly, I decided that it would have to be a shower. Then as I turned on the water I noticed a rather nasty looking spider running around the shower base. Umm, maybe not. I tried to drown him, and thought I had succeeded, but still decided that maybe I really didn’t need a second shower tonight. (It’s quite cool here, so it was not really a problem.)

When I had changed into my jamas I turned around and, no, I hadn’t succeeded in drowning Mr Spider. I grabbed a rubber flip-flop and quickly dispatched him to spider heaven.