September 3, 2022
Zanzibar is cool and cloudy this morning. Soft, ocean breezes greet the day at its beginning as I sit on my third floor veranda and listen, the ocean unseen behind me.
The sounds of the day float easily to my weary ears. Nearby shoveling, rhythmic sweeping, the falling of water. The chitterings of delicate birdsong is interrupted intermittently by the abrupt, guttural cawing of a black crow like seagull. The bird glides effortlessly on it’s slightly turned up wing tip in striking contrast to it’s scraping voice.
There is a hint of morning fires on the wind, voices below preparing the day as I turn within to do the same. I open my Chosen Devotional and am reminded that Jesus prayed for those who hurt Him. He asked the Father to forgive them “because they were not the enemy He was defeating that day.”
From my perch, I see a Muslim woman walk down the paved sidewalk that borders the yellow walls of my hotel. She is covered in the traditional black floor length robe with a bright turquoise scarf on her head. In my preparation for the trip, I did some reading. Many of the stories were of the miracle of overcoming the violence Muslim women suffer from the hands of their men. How they were transformed by the message of Jesus because they understood who the enemy was whom Jesus was defeating each day. It is an apt reminder as I launch into all He has for me today.
The Free Pentecostal Church of Tanzania is ablaze with the colors of heaven. The clear beryl of the pulpit, the onyx, pearl and slivery shine of the backdrop with the ruby curtains are made complete by the jewels that each of us bring. We have been made and called to shine as chosen ones of God Himself. And so it begins…
Pastor Johanna is a tall handsome Tanzanian with a joy that beams from his face and wide grin. He hugs everyone he meets and grasps my hand and holds it as we walk. He does the same with Joe.
It is a smaller space than we typically use but Kelly is, as always, a wonder as I watch her arrange her vision of clinic. To some it looks like a cacophony of chairs but its organized chaos is beauty in it’s execution.
Joe in his independence and other centered gifting has made immediate friends with the children. Miquel, Pastor Johana’s 6-year-old son, is among his most fervent admirers and Joe’s constant shadow. When I cannot find Joe, I’ve only to look for a gathering of children to find the white-haired boy at its center. The thing is, he is also at ease with the adult team members and his ability to connect agelessly makes me smile with joy and gratitude.
We spend our morning at our second church, The
Free Pentecostal Church and Upendo School. It is a 40 minute drive into the more rural countryside. The church is a large building. Pastor Peter, whom I met last November on the mainland, takes me aside and tells me that he has a vision for his own church. He dreams of a building this size. He is a man of great faith and purpose and I am honored to share his vision.
We prayer walk around the school grounds, escorted by Elijah it’s principal. In the preschool, I see English painted on the walls. The 6 year olds have the multiplication tables on theirs. Elijah tells us that it is a Christian school and 85% of it’s students are Muslim. He says that most of his students pass their exams and the excellent education draws all faiths in.
The air is thick with the school’s cooking fires as two ladies prepare the day’s porridge. On the perimeter are every kind of fruit tree: breadfruit, jackfruit, plantains, mangoes. The old growth large trees with out of reach branches have Joe tossing sticks in the hope of dislodging one for closer inspection. After he steps away, one finally falls and he picks it up asking me to look at what God has given him.
The afternoon is spent in clinic back at Pastor Johana’s church. We don’t usually hold clinic on Saturday but this trip’s timing makes it possible. At first, I am tasked with taking blood pressures. I have brought a new wrist BP but soon consider that it must not be working as the blood pressures on all my initial patients are so high. It turns out that there are an unusually high number of patients with high blood pressures here.
I begin to see patients with an interpreter that I have inherited from Pat but soon I am called away by Kelly. Three lethargic, pale siblings are brought in by their father. The oldest boy is 8ish. He hardly reacts when I start his IV. He is in obvious distress with labored breathing, cough, skin rashes and thrush. I have him lie down on the couches in the corner while we open wide the fluid. Tim prays over me and this boy and reminds me of Whose hands we are both in.
The next is his 3yo brother who musters the energy to struggle as I, by the grace of God, slide his IV in and hold on while we fashion a makeshift splint. He, too, is sick but I am encouraged by the fight in him. He sits in his daddy’s lap as his fluid flows freely.
Their sister is the least sick of the bunch but still in need of care. She lays across Joy’s lap for her antibiotic shot and falls asleep while her brothers sleep nearby. They are a brave trio.
Dinner is spent with Samantha and Obed at Joe’s request. They are a lovely, young couple who are from Kenya where they have a health ministry. Sam is talkative and spirited while Obed is sometimes quiet and reserved. His face, however, breaks into a marvelous, face filling smile when properly enticed. Barb joins us and we dine al fresco, oceanside. Seafood is their specialty and Joe and I feast on lobster with lemon garlic butter “gravy”. It is the ‘gravy’ I fancy and only use the lobster as an excuse to drink it. The Zanzibarbarians have outdone themselves tonight.
As my weary eyes begin to close, I think back over my day. How fun it has been to be part of a team who supports one another in precisely the necessary ways simply by being open to the One Who calls us.
Blessed, Z-Anne-zibar
Tripping with God: Stories of Faith and Inspiration 