
Rangemore is located at the edge of Bulawayo, on wild velt where lions roared and the warriors of Lobengula, King of the Matabeleland roamed not that long ago. Then tracks were cut through the long grass, and flat houses of local red brick have appeared, scattered across the grassland, as the city expands. I am told that money from the Diaspora is coming in to find and make a home.
I first visited The Church of the Good Shepherd 2 years ago, at the start of this project. At that stage it was standing alone and isolated, seemingly abandoned in the empty vistas of Matabeleland. Almost as if it was in the wrong place. A symbol of what was to come. This morning Fr Moffat and myself drove out, navigating the treacherous potholes and slippery red mud that clings to everything, to meet Fr Dumisa. He is a sizeable cheerful character, shaped like a body-builder, and hands like boxing gloves. I was glad to get them back safely from my handshake.
He welcomed us across the red mud into the church building to meet a small group of pre-schoolers, giggling around desks. It was explained that there was nowhere for mothers and pre-schoolers to go in the area so this is what the church is about: helping in the community.
I was greeted by the children in a perfectly smooth sentence, clearly well rehearsed: “Good morning how are you I am fine.” To be read without any breaks. My answer: “I am fine, and how are you?” clearly flummoxed them as they had already told me that they were fine. I suspected that they were not really wanting to hear that I had a nasty cough, glands up and had downed two paracetamol before coming out … so we left it at that.
In trying to extract names, the first girl simply stared transfixed at my white face, mouth open, unable to say anything. The next boy with a cheeky grin, shrieked, threw his arms into the air, banged his head on the table and remained face down. So, clearly no connection made with the children there today! My child communication skills have abandoned me.

We moved on outside to inspect the borehole and solar setup. The site was the first selected in the Phase 1 of this project. It has a small 25m deep borehole into which we fitted and secured a pump, erected a solar array, distribution system and storage tank. Apparently during the height of the end of three year drought last year the borehole was not filling the 5,000 litre tank, and the decision was made to stop the agricultural project. Water would be retained only for community and household personal use. “It was veery hard last year..” explained Fr Dumisa, with a far away look, “But now the rains are come and we are thankful.”
Indeed, the pump was happily pumping, despite the overcast skies, and water was being delivered into storage. We examined the casing, read the meter, and checked the cabling. There had been attempts at vandalism and theft, but had failed because of our secure design, which was good news.

I looked around. A woman was cleaning clothing in the concrete wash apron we had constructed,using clean borehole water from the tap. This is surely what it is about: from the Earth, powered by the Sun, delivering water for living. And at no cost!
As always, I am in awe and wonder at this gift. However I imagine God to be, it has got to involve unearned abundance, freely given … perhaps grace is a good word.
I am grateful to be part of this story, even if I cannot communicate with children.
Thanks to you for reading this and supporting myself and TZABA in these projects.
Sandy Elsworth 21 January 2025
It is incredible hearing here all the changes that have happened over the years that you have been visiting some of these places and what having a borehole in the village has meant for communities. Just incredible and inspiring. Thank you for sharing your experiences.
I am transfixed with my eyes and mouth open, everytime i see you my friend. I am completely agog! 😁 What a great story of how water is provided. We take it for granted!