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True Hunger for the True Gospel

Rolland and Heidi Baker of Iris Ministries (see this post) talk about when they went to a new province of Mozambique to hold a conference there. The hunger of the locals to travel the distances they did under the conditions they endured is incredible. And the response of Rolland and Heidi is so refreshing. No lectures, no ideas, only pure scripture. As they say, the only reliable thing they could offer:

They were hungry tired and penniless. This was our first conference in Nampula Province, a major event. Some of our pastors had walked for two days without food from their villages to get here, just sleeping on the dirt by the side of the road at night. Others walked four days, and one six days – to learn from us. All came with only the poor, threadbare clothes on their backs. Now they were all waiting to see what we would do. Guy asked them, "What are you most afraid of?" "That our children will starve to death while we are here," they answered simply. They didn’t even know how they would survive going home. What did we have to say?

Heidi and I came to Mozambique deliberately to face situations like this. We came to test the Gospel, and strip from our preaching everything that didn’t work and wasn’t the Truth. We came to give people the Living Jesus, not to try out our mission strategy on them. We came to love the poorest of the poor into the Kingdom, not to promise them a cheap road to health and wealth. We came asking Jesus to kill us, destroy us, and remake us however He wanted so that we would be useful to Him here. And now we faced the test.

These people were suffering. They were sick and weak. They had seen their children die in their arms. Moslems persecuted them. They saw no hope outside the Good News we brought. So we preached the purest, simplest messages we could, straight from Scripture. We had no confidence in any other ideas we might have. They needed words that the Holy Spirit would back up. They needed to know what Jesus will bless and support, what will attract His company and presence. They needed content they could depend on to the death.

How many times has the Gospel been altered and changed. Modified and "fixed" so that it is less offensive, less difficult to obey, easier to understand. But anything less than the pure Gospel is not the Gospel at all. We cannot lose even one tiny part of this essential truth.

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Picking Up The Pieces

After a day of complete and utter rest on Sunday, today is a complete contrast.

sunday night in the park
Sunday night in the park filled with people, bands, and crafts stalls.

The first task for the day is getting the missing and broken pieces on my bike replaced. So contracting a taxi driver to shuttle me around the town, I move from place to place searching for those elusive bits that seem to belong only to the bygone era when the bike was made. Although many parts come close, there is nothing that works.

Pipa’s Workshop
The main bearings are easy to find, as the shops here are large and filled with every variety of item. Quite a contrast from the places that I have known in Corrientes. The other parts remain missing, but my taxi driver who also owns a couple of motorbikes makes a suggestion. He knows a guy whom he claims is the best guy in the entire city to solve my problem. If  this guy cannot fix my problem then it cannot be solved in Saenz Peña.

Skeptical at first, when we arrive at Pipa’s workshop I start to believe the claims about the place. A motorbike workshop that specialises in racing bikes, it has all of the lathes and other specialised equipment needed to fabricate any broken or missing part. When presented with the broken bits of my bike, the guy suggests that it is possible to fix, if I leave them with him until the afternoon.

the broken bits
Some of the damaged parts from my bike.

It is still morning when I consider calling a shop I know in Resistencia to see if they have the parts. When I am assured that they do, I return to Pipa’s to inform him. His preference is to fix it here, and my presence sends him into action, looking for a solution. Half an hour later I discover that there is no solution for me in this town.

Searching for a Solution
My solution lies in Resistencia, or Corrientes where there are shops with the parts that I desperately need. Already into the fourth day of my saga, my search for a courier service that leaves today to take my parts ends up fruitless. It would now be tomorrow evening at the earliest that my parts would arrive here.

With desperation rising, there had to be another way. There was. The only other way to get the parts today was for me to go for them myself. That meant a bus ride to Resistencia.

the bus terminal
The bus terminal in Saenz Peña.

Pirota
At 5.30pm I arrived in Resistencia after a two and a half hour journey on the bus and went straight to Pirota, a shop I had known only through phone calls and recommendations. Well presented, and filled with plaques and paper clippings about the owner as a basketball champion, it was an old guy that served me.

The shop was busy and he was on his own, so it was a long wait between other customers for him to help me out. As the time wore on, it became obvious that he had no actual replacement parts for my bike. The parts that were appearing on the counter before me were assorted bits and pieces that may or may not work in solving my problem.

Andérica
When it became more obvious that these parts were a gamble, there was only one place that I had left to go. Andérica, Corrientes. They have been the ones that have been able to supply me with genuine Siambretta parts when I have needed them.

Having made some good friends at this shop, the guys there were very surprised to see me again after my final farewells only a few days ago. They all wanted to hear the story of what happened and how far I got and so on. We chatted away as they searched out the missing parts. All genuine Siambretta parts. Almost all perfect for the job.

the bridge to Resistencia
On the way home over the bridge to Resistencia.

Heading Home
Now that I had my parts gathered together, I needed to get back to Saenz Peña where my hotel room was still booked. Time was tight to get the 9pm bus, so a couple of taxis were needed to get me to the bus terminal in time where I grab one of the very last seats.

The journey back home was uneventful, and by midnight my day had finished. I now had the pieces. Tomorrow we begin to put them together, with some extra work required to get everything to fit.

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How Far Would I Go?

In reading this quote from Heidi Baker (of Iris Ministries) in her and Rolland’s book called There is Always Enough, I felt really challenged to consider at what point would I stop, or where would I consider that this was enough in what I am doing for God? Would I turn around and stop because I felt uncomfortable or things weren’t going as I wanted them?

She says of the times that they were living in Mozambique during the days of the floods:

With our tent blown down and sagging into the swampy ground, we packed into our makeship dining room for worship, tracking water and mud everywhere. Bugs crawled in our hair. We were all hot and wet with perspiration. When the power went off, we carried on against the roar of a generator…

We were taking care of about seven hundred people daily at our own center, including our Mozambican staff, workers and students. And every day, even until late at night, the poor and desperate around us came for more – food, jobs, medicine, cement, money. We were crowded. Our hygiene was marginal. Our food was basic. We did the best we could medically… (p.82)

And then she ends all of this with:

And still God chose to love us and show Himself, filling our community of faith with the good things of His Spirit. (p.83)

It seemed to me that she understood the circumstances and did not deny them, yet was able to look beyond them and see the wonderful things that were also happening during the time, and acknowledge the awesome things that God was still doing in the midst of the difficulties.

I want that sort of faith. That sort of life.

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A Quick Trip to Tarija and Back

Somehow Guido managed to convince me that going to Tarija for the day would be a good thing to do. I was not very convinced, but never-the-less I went.

Our bus
One of the “bigger” smaller buses, this was our bus.

The Journey There
Having only ever travelled on the larger buses, called “Flotas” it was a new experience to travel on the smaller bus. Much later I find out that the larger buses are much more dangerous on these roads because of the width of road they need at each corner to turn. Even these larger buses however are not very big compared to the common 52 seater Greyhound type bus.

Standing in Entre Rios
Waiting for the bus to leave in Entre Rios.

Travelling with Guido provided me with an opportunity to ask about some of the things I did not quite understand. I learned that vehicles heading downhill must give way to the ones coming uphill. That means that if two vehicles meet where they cannot pass (most of the journey) then the uphill vehicle must reverse along those narrow roadways until they reach a section of road where you can pass.

A cross by the road edge
One of the many crosses on the edge of the road.

Continue reading “A Quick Trip to Tarija and Back”

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Siambretta – Almost Ready

After the paperwork saga, Sergio and I visited my motorscooter to see how the repairs were going on it. When we arrived the bike was mostly together, and old Mr. Verdun told me that it was almost ready to start, but he wanted it for another day to make sure it was tuned and running well.

Some of the replaced parts
Some of the old worn and broken parts that were replaced.

Looking over the bike I could see that there were many new changes to it, and that it was almost ready for me to ride away. The gear-change system had been replaced, as had many other parts too. So now I need to return on the Thursday to pick up my bike.

Mr. Verdun's house
Mr. Verdun’s house and workshop with my bike on the left.

electronic ignition
The new electronic ignition black box that promises to be more reliable.

Mr. Verdun's motorbike
The Siambretta that Mr. Verdun uses, and the style that I first saw which drew me to them in the first place.

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Old People – Photos While Waiting

Some more photos taken while waiting for the paperwork to be completed on my motorscooter. This time it is of old people that lived nearby or wandered past. The photos are taken in the same section of town, but in different areas.

Owner of house entering
Owner of the house of the previous photos entering his garage.

old man smoking
Old man biding his time watching traffic pass by.

old lady walking
Old lady with bag walking along briskly.

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Old Houses – Photos While Waiting

While Sergio and I were waiting for our Escribana during the paperwork saga on my motorscooter, I snapped off a number of photos. These were all in the same area of the one street.

Old house
Old house on Misiones Avenue.

house number
The same house’s number as it is pegged to the wall.

door and handle of house
The door of this same old house.

entry to another old house
Doorway to a house on the other side of the road.

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No trouble, No adventure

Adventure only becomes adventure when there are obstacles to overcome. Today I had the adventure of my life.

It all started after leaving the Corrientes YWAM base. My home for almost the past two years. Only ten minutes down the road I run out of fuel and the reserve tap does not work. Stranded in the middle of the avenue, I wait for the traffic to pass before pushing the bike to the side of the road and fixing the blockage.

resistencia bridge
The bridge leading to Resistencia.

Then, as I head out from Resistencia, just over the bridge from Corrientes, the bike slows down and loses power. It keeps going, so I persist as it is, but by now I am travelling at 40 to 50 km/h. It is slow, but I am still making progress.

55kms from Corrientes, I stop at Makalle, the first service station I find. It was worrying to not know when the next fuel stop would come. Here, I clean out the fuel tap and Carburettor and then fill up and continue on my way. By the time I leave it is almost midday, owing to leaving Corrientes later than expected due to farewelling various friends throughout the city.

starng down the long road forward
Staring down the load road ahead.

The sun it strong, hot, and overpowering at times, but the wind generated by the bike is enough to just keep it in check. I change into long sleeves and long pants to keep the sun from burning my skin and put cream on everything that remains exposed.

My next stop is in Pres. de la Plaza, a tiny town along the way. Here I clean out the carburettor once again and then fill up with fuel. It is around 1.30pm but even though I have not yet eaten, I decide to press on and eat at Saenz Peña, a big town not too far away. I never made it.

bike in bits on roadside
The bike in bits on the side of the road near Pres. de la Plaza.

At 2:15pm the bike stopped running, making enough unusual sounds to cause me to think that the motor was about to seize up. As soon as the motor stops, I spend the next ten minutes kicking it over and over again, to ensure that it does not lock up completely. It does not help. The bike never starts again.

In my search for a problem and to get the engine running again, I once again clean out the carburettor. It is once again full of bits of rust from the fuel tank, but cleaning it does not help. In the process of working on the bike, I discover that the exhaust pipe is flopping around, hanging on by a thread, so I tighten that up too. A couple of other tweaks and the bike is still not working.

working on the bike
Fixing up the exhaust pipe on the bike.

Then I make my biggest mistake. In trying to tighten a loose connector on my coil, it snaps, leaving me with a bike that will never go again until I replace it. So even though I may have had a chance at fixing it before, now there was no chance. So I pack up my stuff, strap my helmet on the back, slap on the suncreen, and start pushing the bike down the road. It is now 3:30pm.

starting point
The place where I started pushing the bike.

The township where I had just come was too small to have a workshop, so I continue onward to the next township, 13kms away. It is slightly bigger and more likely to have someone that can fix my bike. The heat of the sun is exhausting, and before long I am weak and faint in the heat, pushing the bike along only by force of sheer determination. Every time I stop my body just wants to collapse, my heart racing wildly.

Pushing along the side of the road is too much effort, so I push with the bike just on the edge of the road. The traffic is sparse, but at times they come from both directions and meet right where I am, so I have to keep watching both directions and get off the road fast. Some trucks refuse to move even when there is room, and simply lean on the horn. Occasionally some crazy driver overtakes toward me, missing my bike by a hand-span or two. Virtually all are travelling at speeds over the designated 110km/h. Some are travelling close to 200.

one more corner
The corners were a great marker for a water stop.

After running out of water, I push onward until reaching two small houses. Here two gauchos are saddling their horses, and after building the strength to walk over there, they fill up my empty bottle. I also take advantage of the stop and change into shorts and a light shirt, removing my longs that are now dripping in sweat. It helps, but not much.

Finally I see some buildings that tell me I am entering the turn-off for Machagai. Struggling with the force needed to keep the bike upright, I concentrate on each step, one after the other, to keep me going, looking at the ground before me so I do not see the distance remaining.

the gauchos
The gauchos that gave me the water I desperately needed.

Suddenly a car lets out a long continuous beep, and pulls off in front of me. On looking up I cannot believe my eyes. It is my dear friend Sergio Astarloa and family. They are travelling aound the province of Chaco every weekend to share about their vision for Africa, and just happened to see me as they were passing.

Overcome with emotion, I struggle to put the bike’s stand down before it falls from my weakness. Sergio walks up to me and greets me, and asks about what happened. I cannot believe that he is here to help me. It has been such an incredible day, and I had not even made more than 100kms.

He offers to tow me to Saenz Peña, since it is the only place likely to have a decent workshop that can fix my bike, and before long I am connected to his car by a thick rope, travelling at 70 km/h towards this big city. The wind of the journey helped me to cool down and gather some strength.

As we journey I consider the amazing coincidence of meeting up with Sergio, and the incredible way that he helped me out of my current situation. It was overwhelming to think that after three hours of pushing the bike along the side of the road where not a soul even slowed to ask how things were, a friend should just appear out of nowhere.

In Saenz Peña, we stop at a classy workshop. It is the best place I have ever seen since arriving in Argentina. Clean, tidy, and well ordered, it inspires confidence. At just after 7.30pm, the mechanic was about to leave, but agreed to look at the bike in the morning. He talked about tuning the carburettor and other things that I have only ever heard other mechanics mumble about. So I have a lot of confidence that the bike will go well after it is fixed.

a meal and some journalling
A meal and some journalling and my day draws to a close.

Sergio still had to get to his destination, so he dropped me off at a hotel and moved on. I was happy to stay at the hotel after such a hard day; and treat myself to some luxury. After a hot shower and decent meal I was ready to retire for the night. My day was now over, as was my adventure. But it had been interesting.

Now tomorrow waits to reveal its own version of adventure.

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Stranded and Going Nowhere

The Bombshell
Today was another very adventurous day. After arriving at the workshop where I left the bike, I am confronted with some serious news. The bike has a serious problem. The engine is broken somewhere on the inside. There is no quick fix.

victor's workshop
Victor’s workshop.

Worse still, is that the workshop refused to work on my bike because it was too old. Instead I am pointed down the road to another workshop that may accept the job. I thank the guy for finding the problem and push the bike down the road to the other workshop. Victor, namesake and owner of the workshop, comes out to look over the bike. To my relief he agrees to take on the job, but I must leave the bike with him.

After explaining my situation, Victor points me to the bus terminal and shortly afterwards closes up shop for the afternoon siesta. The bus terminal however, only brings sad news. That there are no buses leaving for Salta before 10pm at night. I return to my hotel, collect my bags, and head out to the main route. Perhaps I would at least be able to hitch a ride there so I could make it to the wedding.

heading out to the highway
Loaded up with my bags and heading out to the highway. Note the kung-fu shoes.

Facing Reality
The time was now 3pm, and I had been standing on the side of the road for the last two and a half hours, trying to solicit a ride from the passing motorists. I was willing to do anything to try and arrive in time for Isaac and Natalia’s wedding. I never made it.

While standing on the side of the road, I considered every possibility to cover the remaining 650kms. Walking would take me between 10-15 days, riding a bicycle would be about 5 days, by horse it would take about the same time, 5 days. If I had a motorbike at 50km/h it would still take me 13 hours. By now, even at 100km/h I would not get there in time.

waiting by the side of the road
Waiting on the side of the road for a ride.

It was not what I had planned. Nor even something that I had considered a possibility. But here I was, having to face the reality that I would not make it to Isaac’s wedding tonight. The engine on my bike was totally blown, there were no buses leaving in time, a taxi was ridiculously expensive, and after trying to hitch for so long I had received not even a hint of a ride. I was stranded and going nowhere.

Returning to Victor’s Workshop
Walking back the 2km stretch to the hotel was hard with the weight of my bags bearing down upon me. Once again I checked in and then, after dropping off my bags, decided to head over to see how my motorbike was going at the workshop where I had left it. Perhaps they would know something more about it by now.

The news was that the bike was still untouched. It would be Monday before they could look at it. I suggested to Victor that since I was now hanging around and had nothing to do, perhaps I could pull the thing apart for him. He seemed happy for me to do that, perhaps because I had mentioned to him earlier that I had been a mechanic many years ago.

my bike inside Victor's workshop
My bike inside and in pieces in Victor’s workshop.

So with the little tools I had, and some borrowed ones, in my good clothes because my suggestion had come as a whim in the moment, and with little time before the workshop would shut, I started pulling the bike apart. Covers, cables, sides, and other parts started coming off the bike at a fast rate.

In the middle of working, a rag fell down before me, and suddenly a pair of extra hands reached down to help me. It was Victor’s other mechanic who had finished his work and was now helping me to pull my bike apart. Before I had finished, Victor had also joined me, making a group of three. The whole job went very quickly and we removed everything including the crankshaft and bearings.

The Problem
It was here that we found the problem. The bottom end of the connecting rod had started to disintegrate, throwing chunks of metal into the fast moving precision areas of the engine. This caused some minor damage to the piston and cylinder, but pinned a ring to the piston, rendering it useless. Or put more simply, the engine chewed up and spat out a lot of metal chunks causing enough damage to stop it working.

the engine in pieces
The engine pulled completely apart to fix the broken bits.

Most of the parts that we need to fix the bike will be easy to find. There is one part however that needs to be perfectly correct. This may or may not cause problems. I collected all of the parts that needed to be replaced, and put them to one side. Then after a time of chatting with Victor and his mechanic, I agreed to return on Monday at 8am to search out the parts.

My bike was a mess. The damage serious. But at least now I know what the problem is, and we are on the way toward repairing it. So for now I remain here in Saenz Peña. Stranded, and going nowhere.

main street
An overcast day in Saenz Peña kept the heat down today.

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Moto Roto

Ya estoy en Saenz Peña, Chaco. Un tercer de la viaje completado. Empujé por 3 horas a llegar como 12 kilometres. Un amigo me encontró y me tiró hasta aquí. Por eso estoy aquí. Ha sido un viaje muy lento. Pero estoy llegando.

Que pasó? Se rompio la moto cuando llegué al pueblito de Pres. de la Plaza. La arreglé pero todavía no anduvo entonces la empujé hasta Machagai. Allá me encontró Sergio Astarloa y su equipo y me tiró hasta Saenz Peña donde la pusé en un taller para arreglarla. Lo haran mañana.

Otro cosa que pasó estuvo que el tanque de nafta, que remplazó el tanque que estaba que perdió nafta, tiene corosión adentro y esta bloqueando el pase de nafta. Entonces cada 15 minutos estaba limpiando el pase de nafta y el carburedor. Aún entonces, no anduvo más que 40 hasta 50 ks por hora.

Así anduve lentamente. Por eso estoy en Saenz Peña. Y mañana se arreglaran mi moto y espero que llegaré por la boda de Isaac y Natalia en Salta por la noche.

Moto roto me pusó aquí. Moto arreglado me llevará a Salta mañana.