Last night I preached at a place called Kamesa, a suburb of Bujumbura located in the hills behind the city. It took us about half an hour to get there, and once we got out of the Buj traffic jams it was a pleasant drive on a winding road, with little traffic and views over the city.

The church building is located back off the road, behind some shops and down a fairly steep stony slope, but I was able to negotiate the descent ok.

Maybe about thirty people had gathered, as well as a bunch of kids around the door. They had told me that it would only be an hour service, from 6 to 7, so I was quite surprised when they handed over to me at 6.15. I had been feeling very ill all day with the on-and-off sickness that has been plaguing me for most of my time in Africa – upset tummy, super tired and achy, cold sweats – but as so often happens all that disappeared under the anointing.

I was maybe 15 minutes into my message when the power went out: no lights, no mics. I pulled out my “preaching voice” and several people turned on their phone lights, whilst others quickly grabbed candles and set them around the podium. It limited the walking about I like to do while I am preaching, as I was concerned about tripping over something or falling off the platform, but otherwise I was able to continue with no problem.

Nobody responded to the altar call for salvation, but then the pastor asked for a call for those who had been born again but had walked away, and a bunch of people came out. I asked him later if he had been able to see how many there were, and he said more than ten. I thought that was a lot in such a small gathering, but I’ll take his word on it. However many there were, it’s always a delight to see people coming back to the Lord.

When we came out of the meeting some men with guns had stretched coiled barbed wire across the road. This is something that occurs frequently in Africa, and I asked the pastor what it was about this time. He said that they were trying to prevent illegal commercial activities, but didn’t elaborate. I wondered what those activities could possibly be, but it has occurred to me just now as I write that maybe it was about drugs or illegal alcohol. I know that in some parts they produce a local brew, and I have heard that it is very potent.

Today I had a rest day, but needed to go to the ATM and the supermarket. I have been self-catering my breakfasts (mueseli and yoghurt) because I am basically doing 18/6 intermittent fasting, so by the time breakfast comes around I need something a little more substantial than bread and jam, and I needed to get more yoghurt as well as a couple of other bits. When I came back to my room, I noticed a woman coming behind me and just assumed that she was one of the other guests.

I had barely been in the room a few minutes when there was a knock on the door. It was this woman, and she was begging. I’m always conflicted about beggars – my heart wants to give to them, but my common sense says that is not a good idea. I sent her away, feeling both bad that I hadn’t helped and angry that she had invaded this private property.

Tomorrow we are going up country and will be staying overnight so I can minister in a church there on Sunday morning.

This post is a catch up for the last couple of days. I left the cottage where I have been staying on Monday, but before that I had an uncomfortable and embarrassing visit on Sunday night.

I preached here in Bujumbura on Sunday morning and then had lunch with Domitien and the leader of this group of churches (see previous post). When we had finished, Domitien took me back to the cottage and said that he would not come back that night, but would see me on Monday.

Because I wasn’t expecting him back, and the girls were out, I thought I was safe to get into my jamas around 7. Fortunately I did think to take a gown out to the living room with me “just in case”.

Sometime later there was a knock at the door – Domitien had come to sort out a few last-minute things. I quickly scrambled into the gown – my jamas are definitely not suitable for public viewing, particularly by a male. I was soooo embarrassed!

Then it got worse. He went off to tell the managers of the place that I would be leaving in the morning, then came back saying they were asking why I had not come to visit them, and wanted either for me to go to them or them to come to visit me. Excuse me? I’m in my nightwear!

This man had actually come to the door about a week ago and asked why I had not visited. My first reaction (to myself, not to him) was, Why would I visit you? I don’t know you. Then I realized that at that point Domitien had not yet paid for the cottage, and I thought this was a subtle way of asking when I was going to pay.

But no, he really meant that he wanted me to visit them. The concept of “dropping in” to visit someone I don’t know and have no real reason to visit is totally foreign to me, both as an Aussie and as a classic introvert, but apparently here it is perfectly normal to visit people you don’t know, and you are considered to be strange if you don’t. So they came to visit: him, his wife, and the owner of the property, and I was expected to chat with these total strangers as if they were my lifelong buddies, and as if I were actually dressed in a manner suitable to receive visitors rather than in my nightwear. To make matters worse the wife sat there in silence the whole time, with an expression as if she was looking down on me.

Fortunately Domitien carried most of the conversation, but when I said that I was uncomfortable with this visit he berated me for “not fitting in with the culture” as though this were the first time I had ever done missions. In all, it was a very unpleasant experience.

On Monday I moved over to the convent. As nice as the cottage was, I wish they had booked me in here for the whole time. It is much cheaper than the cottage (although that was also very cheap for what it is) and, most importantly to me, it has good internet reception which means I can work from my room and not have to go over to Domitien’s home all the time to get online.

I have a single room, small but adequate. Elisha’s room had a bed, a table, a chair and a lamp (2 Kings 4:10) – I have all that (if you count the electric light as a lamp) plus a cupboard and toilet and shower. There is no fan, but with the window open it is pleasantly cool most of the day.

Meals are available for a small fee. At the moment I am catering my own breakfasts (muesli and yoghurt) but having lunch here. The lunches are very tasty – a good variety of veg and nicely cooked. On Monday there was a little meat, yesterday a fish.

There are a couple of challenges. Firstly, hardly anyone here speaks English – and what little I remember of my schoolgirl French isn’t even remotely adequate for communication. So making my wishes known is a real challenge. Even getting my morning yoghurt out of the fridge in the kitchen requires much gesturing and repetition.

The second, which is by no means unique to this place, is that the bed has one of those horrible foam mattresses that give absolutely zero support for the back. Every bed I have slept in here in Africa has these things, and my poor old back is far from happy about them. In a couple of places I have actually got out of bed and slept on the floor, which is far more comfortable.

The other challenge, again not unique to here, is power. I was working on the computer yesterday afternoon when suddenly I noticed that it was not charging, and had obviously been not charging for some time as it was at a very low battery level. At first I thought the power point in this room had died, but when I was finally able to get someone who understood enough English for me to explain we found that the power was off through the building – but interestingly not the lights.

My computer was too low on battery for me to continue using it, and my phone was also too low for me to play games. So I had a very boring night and ended up going to bed early. The power was still off this morning, and I was beginning to be anxious because I had visions of being stuck without my phone and therefore with no way of communicating with anyone. However, after breakfast it came back so as I type this both phone and computer are happily charging.

This morning I ministered at a big church here in Bujumbura, the same one where I shared my testimony on the first Thursday. Domitien tells me that their membership is around 900, my guesstimate of the congregation today would have been around 500, maybe 600. As usual, lots of formalities and introductions, great worship and half a dozen different choirs presenting numbers. The Holy Spirit was all over me during the worship, and I found myself going into the deep places in Him that I was going to before I came away, much to my joy.

The service started at 9, and by 11.30 I was still not up. I was beginning to wonder just how much time they were going to allow me. Having very forcefully told our Congolese pastor yesterday that I was not about to preach a ten-minute sermon so that I could get away early to catch the ship, I was starting to think that maybe I would end up with only ten minutes anyway. However, Domitien leaned over and told me that I had an hour, so that was fine.

I love the anointing so much! Under the anointing I am a different person. Under the anointing I don’t even notice being on my feet for an hour – without it my body is complaining if I stand for ten minutes. And the anointing was strong today. When I gave the altar call for salvation, six people responded. Hallelujah! Six new souls in the Kingdom.

As I keep saying, I am not an evangelist, I don’t preach evangelistic messages, and I don’t have an anointing for salvation – at least I haven’t had up till now. On this trip it is growing. In November, there was one salvation. In December, there were four. In January, nine. And so far in February twenty-nine! I can hardly wait to see what March and April will bring.

At the end of the service they asked me if I would pray for those with needs. At first I thought they meant the normal laying-on-of-hands prayer line, but no, far too many people came out for that. Instead I prayed a general prayer over all of them. As I began, the anointing that hit was so strong that I could barely stay on my feet. I declared healing, and prayed for the Baptism in the Holy Spirit for those who had not already received it, and for open doors and provision for those called to go to the nations. I am absolutely believing to hear back testimonies of healing and God transforming lives.

Afterwards Domitien and the pastor who is head of that denomination here took me to lunch. One of the things I find most daunting about Africa is the predominance of men – and sometimes women – in uniform with big automatic weapons. They guard ATM machines (that’s good, at least you can be confident that you are not going to be held up at the ATM) and shopping centres, and seem to be just about everywhere, as well as every so often speeding down the road in open trucks. Today as we were going into town there were soldiers with big guns every hundred metres or so as we came near to the town centre, then we were turned off the road onto a side road.

We had encountered this same kind of thing one day last week, so I knew what was happening: the president was about to go past. We went into a cafe in the side street, so didn’t see all the hoo-haa this time, but the other day we watched half a dozen open trucks full of soldier speed past, followed by half a dozen black SUVs with dark tinted windows – I assume this was so that, in case of an attack, nobody would know which vehicle held the president – and another half dozen trucks full of soldiers. Quite a drama, but over very quickly.

This morning I preached at one of the churches here in Bujumbura. It was basically a prayer meeting, with maybe about thirty people, mostly women. There was some great worship, again with only a traditional drum as the musical accompaniment. Sometimes the harmonies these people sing remind me so much of my time in Papua New Guinea – there is a real “island” sound about it.

I had a prophetic word for one woman whom the Lord highlighted to me during the worship. He had no sooner given me the word than this woman began to dance frantically, and ended up falling – I’m not sure whether it was under the power of the Spirit, or simple exhaustion. In any case, her behaviour was a confirmation to me of the word the Lord had given me, and her reaction when I delivered it was further confirmation.

The Lord had led me to speak on the extent of our salvation, and as has now become my habit I gave an altar call for salvation at the end. Nobody responded at first, but the minute I extended the call to any who had prayer needs, one woman was out of her seat. She responded so quickly that I was not sure whether she was coming for the first call or the second, so I asked my interpreter to ask her. It turned out that she had been born again, but when she moved to a different area she had fallen away, and now she wanted to come back to the Lord. Hallelujah! One of God’s kids coming home is something to get excited about.

Meanwhile, I had been terribly conflicted about the Congo. Part of me said that the fact that there has been so many problems with me getting there, between the visa dramas and now transport woes, that maybe it was an indication that God wants to do something really great in Congo. But another part of me said that maybe all this was a warning to stay away. I had a really bad feeling in my spirit (which should have been enough, but anyhoo …) Because I was going to have to get US cash for the ship fare, I put out a bit of a “fleece” that if the ATM was open and I could get the cash with no problem, I would go, but if I couldn’t I would take it as a sign to not go. I got the cash, but still didn’t feel good. “Fleeces” are a very poor way of determining the will of God, and I should have known better.

I had not heard from the Congolese pastor whether they had confirmed the ship returning on Thursday, so I messaged him asking if they had. His reply was, “Yes. But is coming back on Wednesday, not on Thursday. The one coming back on Thursday is not good.” Really? And exactly when were you planning to tell me this, if I had not specifically asked? I messaged back to say that meant I would have only one day of ministry there, which was simply not practical.

He replied that I would arrive on Monday, do a service Monday afternoon, do two services on Tuesday and another Wednesday morning before returning Wednesday afternoon. All this with a twelve-hour boat trip with very little sleep on either end of it. By now I was really cranky with him. I reminded him of my age, cancelled the trip, and told Domitien I would be staying her in Burundi for another week. I’m here to work, and I don’t mind working hard, but I do need to give some consideration to my body – and I remember how sick I was after similar demands were put on me in Uganda.

This means I will be moving house on Monday. The cottage where I have been staying was only booked for two weeks, and nice as it is I really can’t afford it for another week. Besides which, I would like somewhere where I can actually access the internet using the sim card I bought with such drama on my arrival. Domitien took me to a place he knows, a convent that lets rooms, and I have booked in there for the next week. The room is small but adequate, and if my currency conversion is correct, it will only cost me around $10 a day. More about it when I get there.

The Cottage where I have been staying

On our way back from the convent, out of the blue Domitien asked me if I eat ice-cream. He had no way of knowing it, but I have been craving ice-cream for weeks! He took me to an ice-cream parlor and treated me to a large cup of vanilla/chocolate swirl. I felt this was a “kiss from Daddy”* and a confirmation that I had made the right decision about Congo.

* “Kisses from Daddy” is a term that I use for those small, unexpected and totally unnecessary but utterly delightful surprises that Father God brings into my life every so often.

Hakuna Matata. Like the song in the film says, it means “No Worries.” But “no worries” might actually mean, no worries; or it might mean “I have not understood a single word you have just said, but I’m going to pretend that I did so that I don’t offend you”; or it might mean, “I understand exactly what you are saying, but I’m going to ignore you and do exactly what I want anyway. Stiff cheese.”

It’s one of the most annoying, frustrating habits of my African brothers and sisters, along with the habit of telling you what they think you want to hear, regardless of how accurate or otherwise that information might be.

From the time I began planning this trip, I have been indicating that where possible my preference is to travel on Mondays. This is simply because there is usually not much happening ministry-wise on Mondays or Tuesdays, so if I am waiting till mid-week to travel I have unused days at the start of the week, and am using possible ministry days for travel. And there is no way I would want to travel on a Sunday, that being the main ministry day.

For at least the last three months I have been telling the people here in Burundi and in Congo that I would be here from 12^th to 26^th February, then in Congo from 26^th February till 4^th March. Hakuna Matata.

Six weeks ago, after finding it impossible to line up a connection between Kalemie and Kinshasa for my ongoing journey to Benin, I asked our pastor in Congo if it would be possible for me to come back to Bujumbura at the end of his week and connect from here. Hakuna Matata. So I went ahead and booked my flights for Tuesday 5^th, giving me time to get back here on Monday – or so I thought.

Yesterday afternoon I learned that the ship to Kalemie goes only once a week – at 2pm Sunday. I am booked to preach on Sunday morning at one of the big churches in town, and they have already promoted it. Why on earth could the people from Congo have not told me this earlier? If I had know, I could have worked around it some way – but two days before???!!!

But wait, it gets worse. Today I learned that (a) the ship on Sunday travels overnight, arriving on Monday; and (b) the return ship leaves Kalemie on Thursday, arriving back here on Friday. This means that, if I go ahead with the trip, I will have only two and a half days in Congo. I am seriously wondering whether it is worth it, particularly given the cost of the ship – not to mention that I am REALLY ticked off with our Congo contacts. Surely they knew all this ahead of time – why leave it till the very last minute to inform me? Of course, Hakuna Matata.

I probably will go, if only for the sake of the people because I don’t want to disappoint them. Besides which, after the drama I had getting the visa it would be a shame to not use it. But there is also another issue – I have to have US dollars for the fare, so unless the ATM that dispenses US cash is open tomorrow afternoon (I am preaching in the morning) then either they will have to pay for my ticket and I will reimburse them when I can get US cash, or I won’t be able to go.

Domitien is up country today for a funeral, I’m expecting him back around 5 and hoping that he will be able to come over with the Congo guys and see what we can sort out.

We have three affiliated pastors here in Burundi: Pastor Domitien, who is hosting me in Bujumbura, Pastor Gerard, and Pastor Desire. I had hoped to be able to catch up with all three while I am here, but I haven’t been able to contact Pastor Desire. Pastor Gerard lives up country, a long way from Bujumbura. I thought I might be able to go up to see him there, but when Domitien explained to me the distance I realized that this was not going to be possible this time, particularly as I was already committed to a meeting here tonight. I was disappointed, and sad to have to disappoint Pastor Gerard and his people.

However, he decided to catch a bus down so that he could meet me while I’m here. He travelled down on Monday, and came to me yesterday morning. It was great to talk to him as he enthusiastically shared with me about his work with children and the elderly. Like so many areas in Africa, the place where he is has huge needs, particularly poverty and lack of education. In the case of the elderly, he said that in many cases families reject them and refuse to care for them. He has a big vision to provide care for both groups.

The “pile of grass” in the picture is this woman’s home, where she lives with her five children.

After Gerard left, I had arranged for Domitien’s son to take me into town to do three things – get some cash out from an ATM, grab a couple of personal items from a supermarket, and get some files printed and scanned. Simple!

Not so simple!

The first ATM we went to took my card. I entered my pin and the amount I wanted. “Please wait while the transaction is completed.” I waited. “Please take your card.” I took it. Then it threw up, “This ATM is under maintenance and cannot complete the transaction.” What? Had it taken the money out of my account? I had no way of knowing.

We found another ATM and I tried again. Three times, reducing the amount I asked for each time. No, it was not going to complete the transaction.

Yet another ATM. Same sad story. By now I was beginning to wonder was something wrong with my card. Had someone hacked my account and emptied it? Had the card itself somehow been damaged? I suggested we go back, pick up my computer and go to Domitien’s home so I could access the internet and check what was happening with it.

Domitien’s son suggested we try once more, at the bank where I had been able to withdraw US dollars the other day (though this time I was not looking for US currency.) I rather scepticaly agreed, and this time had success, though I only asked for half the amount I originally wanted, which means I will need to go through the process again before I leave – but this time I will go straight to the ATM that worked.

The next stop was the supermarket, where I was able to grab the couple of things I wanted with no drama. Then on to the printing, for which we went to a place just opposite Domitien’s home. First two of the five pages I needed printed were done with no trouble. Then the power went out. Of course! Did I want to wait, or look for somewhere else? I chose to wait for a bit to see if it came back.

Then this sleazy fellow came in. He started calling me “my Mummy” (I resisted the urge to tell him, “I’m not your Mummy, I’m a random stranger in a printing shop) and began what was obviously an attempt to convert me. At first I thought he was an over-enthusiastic Christian, but it was soon clear that he was a Jehovah’s Witness. In spite of my ignoring most of his questions and giving fairly sharp answers to those I did respond to, he would not let up. Finally Domitien’s son stepped in and suggested we go somewhere else, as it did not look like the power was going to come back any time soon. I very happily paid for my two copies and left with him.

We went back into town to a printer where I was able to successfully complete that small mission, and also met up with Domitien who was coming home from work, and came back to the house to spend some more time sharing about his ministry.

When I first arrived here in Burundi I wrote that the roads were good, and even though some of the side roads had potholes, they were not like the goat tracks in Uganda.

Well, on Saturday I found the goat tracks! There is a young man whose family has just moved into a new house, and he wanted us to come and bless it. It is not far out of the city, but the roads in this “suburban” area are every bit as bad as those in Uganda, or even worse. It really needs a 4WD to negotiate them, but Domitien has only a small normal car. At one point there was a huge ditch, at least two metres deep and three or four metres across. I didn’t think we were going to be able to make it across it, but with great care and caution, and going VERY slowly, we reached the other side. On the return journey Domitien chose a different route.

The house itself was beautiful – not yet complete, but looking every bit up to western standards. As well as his immediate family, a whole bunch of extended family and friends were here for this “house warming.”

The young man is a doctor, currently doing specialist training in France. He is at home for two weeks holiday before he goes back to France and his studies, which will be completed at the end of this year. I imagine it will be difficult for him, having grown up in African culture, then had several years in western culture, to then return to live and work in African culture. I suspect that, at least for some time, he will feel that he is not fully part of either culture.

It was interesting talking to him, in spite of the language barrier, as he was saying that France has all the same problems as we have in Australia with the homosexual/ gender-bender agenda, and laws taking away parents’ right to direct their children.

Ministry wise, things here are very quiet. Yesterday I preached for only the second time in the week that I have been here, and it is likely that I will have only three meetings in the coming week. Whereas in all the other countries where I have been, I have been coming up against a strong spirit of witchcraft, here I am hitting up against a strong spirit of religion.

The church where I ministered yesterday is reasonably large – I would guess around 100, maybe 150 people. I had told them I normally preach for an hour, given that with the interpretation taken out I only actually get about half of that time. Domitien had told me that they are very strict on time, but that they would allow for this. The service was to run from 9am till 12. During the first part several different choirs led worship, and a number of people were invited up to introduce themselves, several of whom took it as an opportunity to preach.

When they invited me up, I thought this was my preaching time, and began my usual introduction. Domitien whispered to me that this was not to preach, just to introduce myself, and that threw me off so I didn’t even finish the introduction properly. He whispered that I would be on at 11.

Well, someone had obviously not told the young worship leader. He kept going till 11.15. I was tempted to extend my time till 12.15, but I teach that no matter how much apostolic authority you have, in the local house you should submit to the local leadership, and they had said finish at 12. Fortunately the way I preach is very flexible, and I can trust the Holy Spirit to bring out what He wants to say.

I had a prophetic word for somebody (the Lord did not show me who it was for) and then quoted the Scripture from Isaiah 6, taking a verse at a time and waiting for the interpretation, as I usually do. I got to the last verse of the passage, and my interpreter decided that it wasn’t enough to quote the Word exactly as it is written, he had to read it from a physical Bible. I thought he just wanted to see the interpretation of that particular verse, but no, he had to read the whole passage that I had just quoted (and that he had interpreted) – another five minutes out of my time. I swallowed my annoyance and went on with the message.

As far as I could tell there was no response. Most faces were blank. Afterwards, unlike in other countries where many people have come up to me after the service to greet me and thank me for the ministry, only a very few greeted me, and only one, the pastor’s wife, actually indicated that she had appreciated the word.

It will be interesting to see if this religious spirit is predominant in all the French-speaking countries.

Another incredibly stressful and frustrating day at the Congolese Embassy. I had written the letter as required, and had it printed on the way to the “appointment”. I was already stressing out, because the appointment was supposed to be at 10 and we were running late (African Time strikes again.) I had visions of the Ambassador refusing to see us because I was late. I need not have worried. He didn’t show up till 11, came in to the waiting room and greeted everyone, exchanging pleasantries with some, including me. He seemed a nice man, but that was all I saw of him. So much for a divine connection!

The young man who came with me yesterday was there, even though I told him I didn’t need him. The representative of the church in Congo came with the documentation, but he only speaks French so there was no real possibility of communicating with him – plus he gave the distinct impression that he didn’t want to be there. Not sure that he was actually any help at all.

The staff continued to refuse to believe that the visa had already been approved, and to treat it as a new application. I felt that basically they were seeing me as a stupid old woman who didn’t know what she was talking about, and they kept talking to the young man about me as if I wasn’t there, even though I was standing or sitting right beside them and they could speak English.

I’m not proud of it, but I totally lost my cool. I told the young man that he had mucked it up yesterday by telling them I was applying for a visa, rather than that I was paying for one that had already been approved. And I let them know in no uncertain terms that I was not at all impressed with the whole process.

To make matters worse, when they finally said yes, I was getting the visa, and I had to pay for it, they left my surname off the receipt, putting just my Christian names. At the bank, a woman rudely pushed in front of me, and when I objected the young man defended her. Then the teller refused one of my US notes, saying it was too old. How can money be too old? When we returned to the Embassy and I pointed out that they had left off my surname, I was told “It doesn’t matter.” Of course it matters! It’s my name! If you say my name doesn’t matter, then you are saying that I don’t matter.

Anyway, the long and short of it is that I got ugly. I did not show them Christ, but a stressed out, frustrated and very angry old woman. And, of course, I had to repent and at some point I will have to apologize to the young man. Lord, teach me to hide myself in You at times like this, instead of letting the old Lynn rise to the surface and bring dishonour to Your name.

Later last night I remembered that Kyaba’s message about the visa had actually been a voice message, not a text which is what I had been looking for. And yes, he clearly says that a representative of their church had come to the Embassy and spoken with the Ambassador, and the Ambassador had said he was granting the visa and I just had to pay for it. They could have paid then, or I could pay when I arrived in Burundi. That message was on 13^th January, a month before I came to Burundi. I felt vindicated. I played it to Domitien, and if I get a chance I will play it to the young man, just to show him that I am not the idiot he thinks I am. I have also written a letter to the Ambassador, which I will post after I return from Congo, pointing out that he had already approved the visa and that everything I have been through in the last couple of days was totally unnecessary.

But at least I now have the visa. Only Ghana and Liberia still to deal with.

Yesterday we went to the ATM that we had been told about that gives US$. What a difference from the frustrations of the day before! Simple, easy: put in the card, enter my PIN, enter the amount I need, say Yes to the transaction, DONE. And it cost me half as much in fees as it would have done had I been able to get the money at the bank yesterday. Thank You, Father, that the EFTPOS machine didn’t work.

Today it was back to frustration. Bishop Kyaba in the D R Congo had done all the paperwork for my visa, and told me that it had been approved and all I needed to do was to go and pay for it. I had a message this morning asking if I could go today, and I assumed that he had come over and would have all the paperwork with him. But no, when we arrived at the embassy I was met by the young evangelist whom I had met during my frustration about the sim card (seems this guy is destined to see me at my worst. I hope at some point he might get a chance to also see me at my best.) I kept trying to tell him that all the paperwork had been done, the visa had been approved, and I was just there to pay for it, but it seems he was saying I wanted to apply for a visa. The guy there said I couldn’t apply from Burundi unless I had lived here for two years. But I wasn’t applying from Burundi, I was wanting to pay for a visa that had already been applied for and approved from D R Congo. Grrrrrr! I find it so frustrating when I tell someone the same thing over and over again and they just don’t get it. Unfortunately, because I thought Kyaba would be meeting us there with the paperwork, I didn’t bring any paperwork with me. However, we were able to get onto Kyaba through WhatsApp, and he sent the copies of the paperwork. No, they still didn’t get it. As a result I have an appointment with the Ambassador at 10am tomorrow, and have had to write a letter explaining my situation.

The young evangelist took me back to the church office to type the letter, but when I tried I discovered that his laptop has a totally different keyboard. When you are a touch typist and the keys are in the wrong places, it results in some very interesting prose.

I have since been in contact with Kyaba and he has organized for a representative of his church to meet us at the Embassy tomorrow to sort things out. I hope he is there and on time. I gave up. I was stressed out enough, without having to one-finger type on a strange keyboard. I said I would do it tonight at home (which I have, and this gave me the advantage of being able to put it on a ministry letterhead.)

Meanwhile, a thought has occurred to me: the Lord told me before I came on this trip that I would be meeting with government heads during my time in Africa. Maybe this is an open door more than a simple frustration. Hmmmm … tomorrow morning could be interesting.

By the time we finished all this it was after 4, and I had a meeting at 5. Quick change – I would have liked a shower, but there wasn’t time – five deep breaths and a quick “Holy Spirit, You had better take over because I can’t do this”, and the car was here to take me. Turned out the meeting was to start at 5.30, so we were on time. This was more about introducing me to the church, and I had suggested that I share my testimony. They thought this was a good idea, but as they were only allowing me 30 minutes I was going to have to cut it short. I had been praying about what parts the Lord wanted me to share and what He wanted me to leave out.

I had been speaking for maybe five minutes when the power went out, and we continued with loud voices and the light of dozens of cell phones. I couldn’t see either my watch or the clock, so even though I tried to time it correctly I think I ended up going about ten minutes over time. However, they seemed very happy with it and want me back next Sunday.

Meanwhile, at a personal level there has been a rather interesting development. My hair appears to have developed a life and will of its own. Because I am none too confident about finding an African hairdresser who knows how to cut Mzungu hair, it is now around twice the length of time I normally go between haircuts. So it has decided it wants to be curly. All my life I have had reasonably well behaved straight hair, but now I have this unruly, curly mop. The strangest thing is, I think I actually like it.

Today was a free day, but there were just a couple of things I needed to do: go to the bank to get out some money in US dollars to pay for the accommodation here, and get a local sim card with a decent amount of data so I can hotspot the computer from the phone. Should be simple.

“Should” does not always equate to “is.”

First we went to the bank. The only parking spot available was right at the back of the parking lot, so quite a hike to the entry. Never mind, this would cross off one of my two chores for the day. Simply present my international debit card and ask for US cash. But no, they don’t accept Mastercard, only Visa. Do I have a Visa card? No, I have a Mastercard. What kind of bank does not accept Mastercard?

We went to the next bank. The teller downstairs couldn’t handle it, we had to go upstairs to the Foreign Exchange area. Yes, they could do it, but it was going to cost me $US40, plus 4% of the transaction. No happy, but if that’s what it costs, that’s what it costs. The guy put in the details for the transaction on the EFTPOS machine, I entered my password, and in a minute I would have the cash I needed. Nope. My card refused the transaction. No reason – I had plenty of funds in the account. I’m beginning to think this you-beaut whiz-bang international card is good for ATMs and pretty much nothing else. This is the fourth of fifth time it has refused a non-ATM transaction for no reason. I asked the bank guy, “Don’t you have an ATM?” Yes, they do, but it only gives out local currency, not US$. However, he told us about another bank that does have an ATM that gives US$.

By this time, however, I was hot and bothered, and frustrated with the whole process, and I really wanted to get online and check my balance just in case there was any problem that had caused the refusal. Could we please just go and get the sim card, so I could get online, then do the bank tomorrow? It took some effort to convince Domitien to do this, but finally he agreed and took me to the place to buy and register a sim. (Everywhere else, someone has got a sim in their own name and given it to me to use, but here they wanted me to register it officially.)

More frustration. I kept trying to tell the guy selling the sims that I don’t need talk and text – there is nobody local that I would want to talk or text to, as I do everything through WhatsApp – but I need at least 5gb of data so I can hotspot the computer. He pretty much ignored me, and in fact was quite rude – he needed my passport for the registration, and when he handed it back he gave it to Domitien instead of me, as if I wasn’t there. When I asked how much data was on the sim, it turned out to be 500mb – barely enough for a day of computer use. At that point I’m afraid I really lost my cool. I just kept stressing, “I need at least 5gb of data. I don’t need talk and text.”

Finally they got it sorted, added an extra 10gb data, and installed the sim. Even then it appeared at first to not be working. But eventually it showed I had data, and I settled down.

Back to the guest house, turn on the computer. Great, now I can catch up with a month’s worth of messages on Facebook from when I was not able to access it in Uganda, as well as check my bank and email and update this blog.

Nope. Think again. Computer shows that I am online, but refuses to open any sites or to connect to my email. Domitien suggests that the internet reception in the house here is bad, he sometimes has trouble getting through on his phone. I have the bright idea of moving out to the front porch, to see if it is any better there. Slight improvement, but because of the bright sunlight I can barely see the screen, and my cursor is having a great old time dancing around everywhere, out of my sight. I manage to get on Facebook for five minutes, then lose it again. Can’t get on to anything else. I give up in disgust.

The alternative is to go over to Domitien’s place and work from there. He assures me that he has good reception, so there should not be a problem.

But the day has one more frustration to throw at me. We arrive there only to find that the power is out. Not initially a problem, the computer is fully charged, but it’s late in the afternoon and by the time I am nearly finished it is almost impossible to see the keyboard.

It’s not a Friday, but the 13^th has certainly lived up to its reputation today.