I'm just back from that "remote corner of Bandundu Province", my destination when we last wrote you in early October.Mbali-Iboma is about 60 miles north of the Kwa/Kasai River that flows into the Congo River north of Kinshasa.If you have a map of Congo handy, it is also about halfway between the Congo River and a large lake, Lac Mai-Ndombe.My team, Mrs Mayala, Chantal and I, are all traveled-out and don't even want to think about going anywhere else for the rest of the year.We went to Mbali to conduct another training seminar for adult literacy teachers.The plan has been to do seminars in different corners of this needy region.Last year we did the first one in Mushi itself (right on the Kwa.)The current trip was the second training.But we had no idea that it would take us over a month there and back to give our 5-day seminar!

Since we were going by riverboat – the road had disappeared – we planned in some extra days for the vagaries of boat travel.What we hadn't planned for was delays all along the way.The biggest delay was in renting the ancient abused Land Cruiser from the Catholics in Mushie for the overland trip to Mbali.While Pastor Dweme had talked to the priest about our proposed trip previously, and the priest had agreed in principle, he had refused to give a firm commitment.When we arrived and people were waiting for us in Mbali, the Catholic parish had several things going on that required the vehicle.It would not be available for at least a week.No, there wasn't an alternative vehicle somewhere to be had.

We tried to be patient, tightening our belts.The food arrangement for the trip had all been made assuming that we would go to Mbali immediately.In the breach, the task of feeding us fell directly on the shoulders of the pastor who had invited us.With his already large household this was another burden.We gathered up all the mending from the pastor's household and fell to sewing to pass the time, all the while praying for God to clear the way, and worrying about the people waiting for the seminar to begin in Mbali.They would be twiddling their thumbs wondering if we would come, thinking about the work they had left at home and perhaps finishing off the food they'd brought before the seminar even got going.Would they leave?Midweek they sent two young men on bicycles to find out if we were really coming.We reassured them.

The day before we started it rained.The roads are clay tracks in this region.It turns slick and sticky when it rains.It forms treacherous mud holes at the least provocation, in the most innocent looking places.There are also numerous small bridges, many in dubious condition.It took us two days to make the 60-mile trip.We had to make a great detour to avoid the last bridge.Then as we approached the end our motor died as we were struggling through some particularly humpy grassland avoiding a mud hole.We walked the last two miles under the blazing sun.

In Mbali, the church people expecting us were enduring the jeers of the community.People maintained that we, particularly the white woman (me), were never coming.After all, when was the last time ANYONE came there from the outside world?The kids said we were on the road just outside of town.People surged out to meet us.Women ran to us waving green branches and singing, drums accompanying them.They danced alongside us singing and waving their cloths to fan us along the way.One woman would come at intervals to wipe the sweat off the backs of our necks with her cloth.Some men joined us and at least a hundred kids.Like Jesus entering Jerusalem!They were losing no opportunity to rub it in to their skeptical neighbors.As we turned into the church property, women spread their cloths for us to walk on.They ushered us in under a palm branch awning to a sofa and armchairs arranged in front of a little house, sat us down.A solid wall of fascinated faces closed in on us on three sides . . . for hours.

Hours later the Land Cruiser showed up and unloaded.Most of the little boys detached themselves to concentrate on the vehicle.Pastor Dweme lured all the kids he could off to have their picture taken, and then sent them home.Many trickled off.The church evangelist enthusiastically said that they'd planned such a choir concert for the evening that no one would sleep all night.God graciously sent rain, sending people home as we crashed into welcome sleep.The concert was held the next night, when we could handle it better.When almost all the choirs had sung, the rain started again.It rains a lot in Mbali.

We had 20 people from three places for the training.There are 13 towns and villages in the region.The turnout was disappointing, but not unreasonable considering the circumstances.If their classes go well, it will attract other villages to follow their lead.The really important things are that the Mbali people get involved.The town is seat of the paramount chief of the Mboma people.Willing and enthusiastic participation of teachers and students as well as the endorsement of the chief would be crucial to a successful literacy program.

The trainees for basic literacy did particularly well.The trainees to teach French picked up the method well, but their French was very rusty.Even educated people in the Mboma region don't speak French very often, though they yearn to learn.We left instructions for them to practice among themselves before teaching.

It was fascinating to get to know the Mboma people.They are a people with a very strong cultural identity; "we do things differently from the other peoples we know here."Mbali holds the court of their paramount chief, revered by all.Definitely royal, though they had little in material splendor.Those of the royal clan tend to assume superiority and privilege, a problem in the church.We made a courtesy visit to the chief, a man who wishes to bring positive change to his people.He attended our closing ceremony to signal his support.

Music in the region is very different: definitely not a Western scale, minor-sounding, with slow tempo, understated melody, complex rhythms on three to four drums of different tones, with a friction instrument as well.The drummer plays the drum set on a stand as opposed to standing free.Women have a completely different dancing style that centers on the shoulders and arms instead of feet and hips.Although Lingala is the public language, and people sing out of the Lingala hymnbook and read the Lingala Bible (they have no written language), many choir songs, even for young people, are in Mboma.Many songs retell Bible stories, perfect for the many, many people who don't read.

The first evangelists in the area were American Baptists around 1900.Early reorganization of the mission in order to consolidate church planting in single geographical areas British Baptists took over American Baptist work.In the 1970s, conflicts arose between Mboma believers and those from the more dominant ethnic groups in the church.The Mboma felt that evangelistic and educational work was neglected among their people.They established a relationship with the Baptist Convention of Western Congo, identified as a new evangelistic field.

There was a good reason for this.Traditional ancestor-oriented religion and the practice of magic and sorcery are very strong.Many villages still don't have a church.Some groups are just organizing a church.There are very few ordained pastors for the entire region.Christians often have that first-generation Christian fervor.The Mobile School training for congregational lay pastors, developed by Arley Brown is still a very important part of the regional strategy for the growth and discipling of the church.So is literacy, especially since the basic literacy curriculum we use there emphasizes learning to read, apply for oneself, and teach others the Bible.Mrs. Mayala and her pastor husband did first-contact evangelism in many villages on the Bateke Plateau (just east of Kinshasa.)The state of affairs in the Mbali region is very similar.

Our hosts in Mbali and Mushie took full advantage of the rare presence of visitors.Mrs. Mayala counseled pastors who weren't working well together.The Mbali women were in an organizational mess and appealed for help sorting things out.We counseled young people wanting to serve the church, preached daily, and introduced the "True Love Waits" program for young people in both places – all to enthusiastic reception.

It finally came time to leave Mbali.It rained during the closing ceremony.We delayed our departure until the next day in order to allow the roads to dry and watching anxiously as storm clouds continued to build.The first bridge broke under our front wheels.The strong young men that we were taking back from the seminar spent two and a half hours wrestling the wheel up out of the stream and pieced together enough wood to cross the bridge.The truck's steering assembly came apart and the driver patched it together.Motor oil was borrowed liberally along the way as the truck limped along to the halfway village.Next morning, the driver started out with more repairs.We started off to encounter ever more daunting mud holes.An unscheduled stop for more church business meant a second overnight and another choir concert for our entertainment.We got an early start on the third day.The flat tire just out of Mushie meant that we walked into church just about on time for Sunday morning worship.

People along the way had given bananas, plantains, and chickens.Food wasn't as tight at the pastor's house on our return.But we had finished a desperately needed job and we were all aching to go home, particularly Chantal who left her two young children, the classes she teaches and her supervision work in order to come.We'd even run out of conversation and things to mend.All we needed was a good fast boat.But for five more days, no boats arrived.When one finally arrived, it was so crowded that the only place we could sit was in other people's sleeping places.We cooked in a passageway with people streaming through.It made me think of how so many of our ancestors must have made the trip from the Old World to New in steerage.The captain allowed us to sleep on his little balcony with our baggage.

Once in port in Kinshasa we had only one more hurdle, costing more than our boat fare there and back: getting ourselves with all our baggage through the port onto the crowded taxi mini-buses to town, then across town to our separate destinations.

X-treme?Yes, but in God's providence, fully worth the trouble.The Mboma believers needed the encouragement.Would I do it again?Please don't ask me.But these are "normal" conditions for our brothers and sisters who serve the Gospel here in Congo.Please pray for them in their work, and particularly for the growth of the church (and, yes, for adult literacy and Bible-reading) among the Mboma people.