I am in Cape Town, and we have been going into the townships, beginning the day I arrived.
Handing out tracts with nephew James at a huge taxi station in Bellville was interesting. One man took my hand and thanked me over and over “for coming so far to do this.” I offered a tract to a man in the garb of Islam, and he refused it, saying he was a Muslim. I replied, “But you can still read it.” To my surprise, he reached out and took it. I’ve never handed out tracts to so many groups of men drinking booze. James actually pulled me away once, because I hadn’t noticed that the neck of the beer bottle that was smashed at my feet was brandished in the man’s hand. As I recall, another was pulling him away from the fight. (Not with me.
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We've been threatened by dogs a few times, but simply stooping to pretend picking up a rock intimidated them. And I carry pepper spray for the little rascals who don't respect us strangers. Most simply lie around, and obey their owners quickly if scolded.
In Lavender Hill, in one group sitting along a wall was an old, wrinkled Muslim lady. When I offered her a tract, she thanked me, reached out for a hug, and asked me to pray for her. Her name sounded like Chala, if you want to pray for her by name.
One man refused a tract, but made sure his friend got one. Another father, perhaps Muslim, when I gave his teenage daughter (?) one, thanked me from his car.
My brother and I left the street area in one township, and walked further into the maze of thrown-together shacks. The way was so narrow, one couldn't stretch out both arms, and piles of refuse and glass covered with flies were common.
So many people who need the Lord! Our tracts are colorful, to the point, and easy to read in a choice of English, Xhosa, Chichewa, and Afrikaans.
