A Typical Day in the Mission

“What do you do over there, anyway?”  We often get asked about what a typical missionary day is like for us so I thought I’d give an example.  A typical day in Africa is not lived by rote.  Each day presents its own uniqueness.  Ours is not a mission where we daily determine which doors to knock on or are chained to an office chair.  Although our primary responsibility is in the Employment Resource Center (soon to be called Self-reliance Center) we have varied activities and responsibilities.

Every morning I look for news from home.  No mail or messages were received today.  The local Yahoo news said:  “A woman was killed in an apparent house robbery in Monavoni, in Centurion, Pretoria this morning, Gauteng police said.  Her husband heard the dogs barking outside and went to investigate, Captain Bonginkosi Amos Msimango said.  While outside, he heard a gunshot in the house. He found his wife had been shot in the stomach. Her cell phone was missing. She died on the scene.”  There are 50 murders a day in South Africa and it is known as the rape capital of the world.  Thus, there are no young female missionaries here – only us old gals.  Robbers will kill for a cell phone or less.  Another person was killed when road-rage filled the heart of a driver.  One of our managers at the Area Office was robbed at gunpoint when he stopped at a traffic light (“robot”) the other day.  They took his wedding ring and cell phone.  Thankfully, he drove away with his life intact.  Although every day has the potential of exposing us to danger, the Lord watches over us and we have been safe.

Today is a warm, summer day with billowing clouds in the sky.
The beauty of God’s creations is apparent in the proliferation of trees, birds and flowers.  We began the celebration of this gift from God at 6am with a morning walk with a BYU professor/author/fellow Sister Missionary that works with the Perpetual Education Fund.  Nothing is planned but senior missionaries walk with whoever is out there on the top parking level of the mall across the street.  It’s a fun way to get better acquainted and stay fit.  I follow several laps of power-walking with ballet stretches, a run around the parking lot and then a sluggish climb up 90 stairs to our flat.  I feel like a real wimp next to one of the temple missionaries that’s older than we are and takes on the 90 stairs 30 times every morning and hardly breaks a sweat.  We’re all trying to get “more fit for the kingdom.”  Back in the flat, we made a health smoothie and got ready for the day.  Sister Basso dressed in missionary attire and Elder Basso wore jeans and a T-shirt, his repair attire.  We went to South Africa’s version of Costco and shopped for repair items for the orphanage and a mirror for the orphans to see their sweet reflections in.

Although KFC is the largest American fast food chain here, we have never eaten there before today.  My chicken salad didn’t give me food poisoning so it’s a good day.  We continued on the drive to Tembisa to help with maintenance at the orphanage we assist.  The little ones were sweetly napping on the floor and the older ones were at school.  “Mama,” the amazing care provider chugged into the driveway as her old “bakkie” died.  The starter stopped working and a push was required to jump start it.  Chuck headed straight to the bathroom to repair the toilets and install the mirror.  “Mama” calls him her number one husband when he repairs things for her.  I asked what happened to her real #1 husband and she said, “He die.”  “What happened?” I asked.  Did he have cancer...or a heart attack?” and pounded on my chest sign-language style.  She responded, “No. Sick. Drink too much.  Good now.  No more shout me.  No more kick me.  No more hit me.  I free.”  My heart ached for her suffering.  She understands her downtrodden and oft abused little waifs she loves and cares for.  We gave Mama a half-dozen new bath towels, a school kit and money to buy some Mielie-meal, a staple food among the Africans.  We toured the garden, assessed the needs, hugged, laughed, blew kisses and left.

We rushed back for an appointment with service people Chuck had to supervise and mentor.  He dropped me off at the temple.  I worked briefly in the ERC and followed up on training I did yesterday for one of the Public Affairs people, took care of business and research in several areas and met with some people in the office.  Putting together a small library for the temple patron children is one of my new projects I’ll launch next week so I prepared some books.  Chuck will repair the bookcase and install it on Monday.  He picked me up from the office and dropped me off at “home” and rushed to a meeting regarding building concerns, as he serves on the Board of Directors for Duke’s Court, the building we reside in.

Yesterday a young man we shared an elevator ride with looked at our nametags and said, “Do you have a church around here somewhere?”  We said, “Yes.  Would you like to come to church with us on Sunday?”  He said that he would.  The elevator doors opened on his floor.  I asked what flat he was in and promised to get the information to him.  So today as I returned to Duke’s, I got off on the 4th floor to visit the young man from the elevator encounter yesterday with directions in hand and a copy of the Ensign Magazine for him.  I rang the bell and a woman with dark hair and light skin opened the door.  Her chest was bandaged with the hint of a catheter of some kind hidden beneath the bandages.  I supposed the boy to be her son so asked if her son was home.  She said he was at the gym.  Nosily looking beyond her, I saw an elegant display table by the door with a gold menorah on it.  I asked if she was Jewish.  She said that her husband was Jewish but she was Christian.  When I asked which faith her son embraced she replied with a slight smile, “He is a Christian.”  I told her of our encounter with him and handed her the items.  She seemed very pleased.  We had some pleasant conversation and I brazenly asked about the bandages on her chest.  She dropped her gaze and said it was chemo.  She has colon cancer and had a surgery thought to be successful.  I asked her name and she said it was Denise.  I told her that I would pray for her and she gushed with gratitude.  That sealed the deal.  We are now officially neighbors . . . and friends.  It was a sweet, spiritual experience.  It’s always a joy to cheer up the sad and make someone feel glad.

Chuck finally finished his work with the building issues and deposited his toolbox on the table.  He steamed some sweet potatoes for dinner and I stirred some wheat grass powder in a glass of water for dessert.  The day’s paper work is scanned and plans are made for the rest of the week.  An unexpected guest came to visit and see our flat decorated with laundry drying in the breeze of the front window.  No invitation was extended to “sit” because the upholstery is still wet from a cleaning job this afternoon and the cushions have been sent out for new foam.

It’s bedtime now but I need to transfer some photos, do the night version of exercises which usually includes light weights and a little hula.  Then it’s scripture time, prayer and plop into bed.  Tomorrow I’m going with some sisters from the area office to purchase plush fabric to make some blankets for a few of the hundreds of AIDS babies born every day here – most to unwed mothers.  Without a donated blanket, many babies are taken home in a paper bag or wrapped in newspapers.  What can their futures hold?

On Saturday, I’ll give a couple of haircuts and go to the Organic Marketplace for an errand and lunch with a favorite missionary couple.  Devotional, conference call and meetings will resume on Monday along with a Self-employment Workshop.  Final preparations for a big Public Affairs event that I will photograph will be under way.  Better go charge up the batteries in my camera and in my body for another “typical” missionary day in Africa.