Last Friday we took a road trip over to Achi, a village, or series of villages actually, that was about an hour's drive west of here. The plan was that Bro. McLean would give a presentation he has given numerous times, usually primarily to a ministerial audience, "That I May Know Him," an in-depth study of God manifest in flesh, Jesus Christ.
The first thing you should know about such trips here is that it is virtually guaranteed you can expect the unexpected. On a previous such trip, we were supposed to be in a large government building and we were notified we would have to delay the start of the meeting because they were bringing a body to the building. Apparently some government-type person had passed away and a portion of the funeral services were going to be held there. Bro. McLean normally schedules the meetings to start at 9 a.m. and he plans to arrive no later than 10 a.m. hoping to start the meeting by 10:30 or so. That particular one did not start until 11 a.m.
So I wasn't terribly surprised this time when we found out that Bro. McLean was expected to preach, instead of presenting his seminar material. We arrived right around 10 a.m., a church service well in progress, and we were eventually ushered in to a “waiting room” in the familial house of the student (Samuel) who had invited Bro. McLean to give a presentation in his village.
After some minutes of waiting (maybe fifteen, maybe thirty or forty, I can’t really say), we went to church. The singing part of the service had mostly concluded. Any hope that it’d be preaching and out were dashed when they proceeded to go through all of the “normal” parts of a Nigerian Pentecostal church service. Prayer, Intercessory Prayer, Prayer for the Anointing, Prayer for the Power, Prayer for the . . . well, you get the point. Their custom is quite a bit more praying, quite a bit more singing, quite a bit more of other things than we are generally accustomed to. And it was mostly in Igbo so I understood very little of what was actually going on. After some long time, we were introduced one by one and some bizarre echo sound effect thing was effected after each introduction. A hearty “Praise the Lord” seemed to be expected from each person as they were introduced, but since Bro. McLean didn’t, I didn’t.
After the "conclusion" of the service, or, I should say, “our involvement” in the service as it had started long before we got there and it was still going on after we departed the village, we were ushered back into the waiting room, and, after a short amount of time, Samuel brought in a coffee table and a plate of garden eggs and pieces of coconut alongside a plateful of spicy peanut sauce. Drinks were provided, maltina, boxes of fruit juice, water. Maltina is this non-alcoholic beer that does not agree with me. I drank a whole once, and regretted having done so for the next few hours. Small bags of peanuts were provided. A sizable bunch of bananas was brought along with boxes of crackers. Last, but not least, three crocks of dishes were brought containing white rice, ofe akwu (a spicy stew containing among other things spinach and fresh palm oil), and chicken. This was just for our immediate consumption. They also sent us home with avocadoes, the unconsumed bananas and crackers, a couple very nice pineapples, and two live chickens, alive and kicking.
One other thing you should know about such trips is the randomness and frequency of police checkpoints. I think there something like eight of them on this particular trip. All told on the last two such trips I have been on, the police have asked for various things including my 1.5 litre bottle of pure water, a dash (or bribe), one of them simply wanted to scold us for something or another, and one wanted to see the proper paperwork to allow the tinted windows on the McLean’s new Pajero (which they do keep with them in the g.c.). Most of the time you simply show a friendly smile, greet the officer with a standard courteous good morning, or good afternoon, how are you, and all is well. I have not experienced one of these encounters going south and I hope never to. Oh yeah. You’re probably wondering about the guy who asked us for a bribe? Bro. McLean simply said (in response to the officer asking for something) “well, I would be happy to pray for you.” A brief discussion ensued, “Oh, you’re a priest?” “Yes, we’re missionaries.” “Ok, have a nice day.” Something like that. Wild.
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