We explained to Pastor Enoch that we were meant to be met by Bishop Lamba Lamba’s people and were now very concerned. I could feel that he sensed every fibre of fear and uncertainty that we were feeling. He said not to worry, that the church had a branch in Kasumbalesa, helped us with our luggage and walked with us to the church – a ramshackle complex with a small church hall, pastor’s office and an assortment of shacks and run-down brick buildings. A little pig was wallowing in a mud pit a few metres from the entrance.

The service was about to begin. We were greeted by the church’s pastors. We gave them each a few French bible-books out of sheer gratitude for the refuge. They were genuinely delighted with the books. I thought if we ever get to Lubumbashe we may just be carrying an empty cardboard box.

The people were friendly, courteous and greeted us in French. I asked for water and we were served ice-cold bottled water on a tray. We slumped wearily into the plastic chairs at the back of the church hall, sighed, and smiled nervously at each other.

It was a temporary relief.