Some of Johan’s thoughts on world peace, inspired by a quiet Sunday morning on the banks of the Zambezi River in Zambia.
Many have died just attempting to cross the mainline train tracks and return home from getting water, but no safety precautions – not even a simple caution sign – have been enacted. Because those lives “don’t matter.” Slum residents literally live among the trash, as if they’ve accepted that it is what they are. They were completely forgotten and devalued. Trash. Until…
With joy in their hearts and the wind of the Holy Spirit in their “sails,” (oars!) two four man teams set out in canoes from remote Chavuma, Zambia. Their rations were packed. Their tents were secured.
…nonetheless, Johan Leach and I set out to visit and dedicate the five new water wells just completed last month in the remotest of remote villages in far western Zambia.
It was a discovery that surprised me. There just isn’t that much space west of the Zambezi River in Zambia. There aren’t that many people there. Yes, there are several hundred thousand villagers spread out amongst plethora of small villages that dot the desolate land mass wedged between the river and the Angola border. But still, they all pretty much live the same, eat the same and display many of the same beautiful physical features. And yet they…
A few years ago, the plight of the Zambian villages isolated between Zambezi River and the Angola border came to our attention. They were so remote that they lacked most of the necessities for life, but the most concerning was their lack of access to water.
Being a missionary sure exposes you to a lot of strangeness. Strange cultures. Strange customs. Strange perceptions. Strange ethics. Strange multiplied. It’s true even for the missionaries in big city areas. The strangeness multiplies exponentially as you move further from the densely populated areas into the bush.