Faith in Flux. Devaka Premawardhana

      Introduction

      I clapped twice to announce my presence, then ducked into the mud-plaster longhouse that Mutúali built soon after the rains had ceased. It was dark inside, except for the day’s last sunrays passing through the rear. It was empty except for Mutúali and Leonardo standing toward the front. On a bamboo platform before them sat what was, as late as 2012, only the second television set to appear in Kaveya village. An empty box to the side revealed it to be a fourteen-inch Sharp Multisystem. To repay the loan needed for its purchase, Mutúali would be operating his longhouse essentially as a village cinema, charging visitors an entrance fee of three meticais (at the time, around five U.S. cents) per night. Of course, not always would he be able to show videos and take in revenue. “Depends on the gasoline,” he said. The fee would also go toward this: the cost of diesel for his electric generator, and the labor of biking, jerry cans in tow, to the service station forty kilometers away.

      For this inaugural occasion Mutúali invited his fellow worshippers at Kaveya’s Pentecostal church to join him early. I arrived with Jemusse, a church member with whose family my wife and I were living that year. We greeted Mutúali and Leonardo, then sat down in the front row—a broad log on the dirt floor. Silently and admiringly we watched our friends maneuver through a tangle of wires and devices.

      Other church members trickled in. After Deacon Nório arrived, technical preparations ceased. Or, rather, they took a new form: we got to our feet and prayed. Jemusse started by recalling Mutúali’s previous failed projects—a dilapidated sewing machine, a malfunctioning motorbike—yet affirming that God was behind those opportunities just as God is now behind this one. “Bless us, Lord, so that all the machines work well,” he said. We each then took to shouting our own prayers. Our eyes were shut and our voices loud. A few arms were raised, others punched the air. After some minutes, Deacon Nório raised his voice above the rest: “We thank you, God, for the miracles you are doing in this home. Here on earth no one can do these miracles. Thank you, Lord! But whoever wants to spoil this place, stay away. Evil spirits, you cannot come near! Let Jesus Christ reign. I hand over all to you, my God.” We all yelled in unison, “Amen!”

      I reclaimed my seat, and Mutúali and Leonardo resumed their setup. Out of some foam casing they removed a DVD player. They connected it to an extension cord that snaked out the side entrance. There the generator sat, whirring hesitantly, then more persistently. It was soon emitting the pungent odor of burning fuel.

      Meanwhile the rows behind me were filling silently, everyone seemingly awed by the novelty before them. One man finally broke the silence with a joke, telling us to look and see the television already on. He was referring to what the screen reflected beyond the rear passageway: the open sky and a mango tree, under which