The Women's Congress Retreat

The beautiful lake in Chicamba

The map said we were headed to Chicamba, a dam and lake south of Manica close to the Zimbabwe border. It was my first experience at the Baptist Women's Congress; a four-day retreat serving over 200 Mozambican women.  I knew I was in for a cultural awakening when the bus in front of my car stopped to let our women out as if they were at a stateside rest stop.  All the women aboard (except for my American friend Lou) used the side of the road to relieve themselves, boarded the bus and off they went.  The bus driver let Lou, Cristiana (a Brazilian missionary) and myself use the more modern invention, the gas station bathroom in the next town of Chimoio.  None of us knew exactly where we were going (including the bus driver) but after navigating through miles of washboard roads we found the four-wheel drive entrance down to the remarkable lake.  There wasn't a lodge with a beautiful fireplace and a kitchen that could whip out pancakes and syrup.  Instead, stretched a over the top of indigenous poles was a variety of tattered canvass creating a make-do shelter. Their kitchen was a large pot over a fire. A generator supplied energy for three small light bulbs in the erected tent - the only light in the camp.  Of course Lou and I, a culturally coddled couple of missionaries, had forgotten our flashlights. Close to the campsite however, was a small hotel that offered us the advantage of paying for a room.

The women from Dondo, Savane, Mafarinha and Mafambisse

For about $4 a night, we were able to rent a room that was large enough to fit two twin beds.   There wasn't a key that worked in our door so the bus driver invented one.  He promptly broke the handle off the door, shaped the handle crudely and showed us how to pick the lock to make the door open.  It served as our "key" to get in until we handed in the handle at the end of our stay. The bathroom for all the guests was outside of the rooms - a hole in the ground with a squatter seat.  We had a choice for taking a bath - we could join the women in the lake, or use a bucket of lake water in our shared bathroom with its accompanying fumes.  Knowing the lake had the potential for crocodiles, we chose the latter. :-)

The women washed clothes and bathed in the lake.

When we arrived at the camp, we parked our car by two grazing goats.  Ah...cute camp pets. No...camp dinner. The night's meal would be boiled corn flour and goat meat.  Without modern amenities, it would take until 10:30 that night for dinner to be served...yet a treat for the women who rarely buy meat. It had cost them a month and a half of their wages in order to attend.  They brought their own dish and mat to sleep on. They would bathe in the cold lake each morning, and sleep together on the hard ground under their makeshift tent. They would drink the water from a faucet that came from the lake. No one seemed to complain though many came down with diarrhea.

The makeshift tent

The night picked up speed as the women started to worship. They had come not for the comforts of life but for the comforts of the heart. It didn't matter what part of Mozambique they represented....they had a special comaraderie in their dancing and in their songs of Shona, Sena, Ndau and Portuguese.  Their obvious joy was so loud I am certain it was heard in heaven, if not across the lake.  It was a great genesis to their retreat.

Four of our activistas with Project Life at Chicamba

The rest of the weekend the women listened and shared their hearts about life as a woman in Mozambique.  What do you do when your husband cares for his second wife, but not you?  How do you respond to physical abuse as a Christian wife?  What do you do without a husband, money or job?  It was a joy to see other Mozambican women counsel their sisters in their desire to seek God's will in difficult circumstances. Though no different from some issues we have as Americans, their fight for the basic necessities of life constantly abrades their armor as they try to live a godly life.

Women danced and sang their worship songs.

The last night it rained off and on bringing water through the holes in their makeshift tent.  Many did not sleep, especially the babies. Though tired physically, inwardly they were renewed through the shared encouragement from their Christian sisters.  We went home treasuring the cultural experience, the joy of watching the women grow in their pursuit of God and a renewed sense of God's blessings.

(I am trying to post a video of the conference I created but the internet in Dondo is not cooperating. I hope to get it up in another post so you can check back later.)