One guide book describes Beira, Mozambique, as ‘drab, dirty and chaotic.’ Not very charitable, and I find it a good and energizing place to be, but it is quite a contrast to Gaborone, which I leave four days ago.
A flurry of activity precedes that departure: A few lunches with people I have wanted to see but never did, preaching a final time at the Holy Cross Cathedral, packing, a couple more classes to be taught, a kind farewell at St. Augustine, turning over keys to school and flat and car. Fr. James sees me off at the airport.
It is a brief less-than-two-hour flight from Johannesburg to Beira, situated on the Indian Ocean at the mouth of the Pungoe and Buzi rivers, close to the north-south center of this long country. I am here to attend the Annual Synod of the Igreja de Cristo Unida em Mocambique – the United Church of Christ in Mozambique – being held in Chamba, a short distance outside Beira. I am invited because I have written a book about their church – Toward an African Church in Mozambique – and they want to meet me and talk about it. The feeling is mutual.
Comparing and contrasting countries is unproductive and often unkind. Mozambique is one of the world’s poorest countries – although its recent economic growth rate has been impressive and the discovery of oil offshore is promising – and Botswana is considered a ‘middle-income’ country. Thus the fine Botswana roads yield to potholed and patched Mozambican ones; and the modern Gaborone shopping centers, to myriad shops and stalls along the side of the road. That’s what we drive along, and see, as we head to Chamba.
The church building is small, so they have erected a large tent and set up plastic chairs and tables. It’s hot and humid as the synod proceeds with reports from regions and parishes, read in Portuguese by someone, then comments invited, either made in Portuguese or in Ndau, interpreted into the other, then the person whose report it is responds, again in a bilingual fashion, and the delegates decide to ‘accept’ the report, or not. All are apparently accepted. It’s very systematic and organized, but also a bit of a strain for one who knows neither language, despite the best efforts of my faithful interpreter to keep me informed.
Some months ago I send 30 copies of my book to the church here, for them to give away or sell as they see fit. I imagine there is limited demand, as it’s written in the wrong language. But there is interest, and I wonder about it. Theirs is not an especially large church. It is a church that has managed to work out its own identify, largely without missionaries, from the early years on; has faced all sorts of adversity, from colonialism to civil war; and has been left alone to its own devices for many decades. All of those are reasons their story fascinates me. But I suspect my version of their story interests them in part because someone ‘outside’ cares enough and considers it important enough to tell.