This little mountain church started a lot like our other church in Bareau—just a simple thatch building. If you look at the photo, you’ll see they’ve rebuilt the walls with a mix of mud and cement to give it a little more strength. It’s still rough, but it stands.

The pastor here came out of our main Vision Church in Duclos. He grew up under that ministry, learned from Rosinel, and now leads this small gathering deep in the mountains. Out in these rural areas, churches don’t grow fast. There just aren’t many people, and life is simple. But the faith is real, and the community is strong.

Every so often, Rosi tries to visit both mountain churches. Before the gang crisis, he could make the trip maybe every couple of months. When he shows up, it’s a big moment. In these remote villages, having their “celebrity pastor” arrive feels like a gift. People light up. They laugh with him, hug him, and you can sense how deeply they love him. He’s like family to them.

But now, travel is hard. Our motorcycle was stolen, so we have to hire one just to get partway down the road. And the roads themselves are falling apart. Normally, regular traffic keeps a path clear, but because of gang activity, almost no one travels anymore. Even a simple motorcycle ride from Robino to the main church can cost $15 each way—a huge amount when most people only make five dollars a day, if that.

Fuel is around nine dollars a gallon. Public transportation is no better. Tap-taps have to pay gang extortion at checkpoints, so the fares skyrocket. A ride that used to cost $1.50 might now cost five, six, even seven dollars. For us, that still sounds small. But for someone who spends all day selling onions or small goods at the market—maybe earning three or four dollars total—it’s impossible.

Worse, many people can’t even go to the markets anymore. Gangs show up and demand money from the vendors. Imagine working all day, earning six dollars, and a gang member says, “Give me four—or else.” People stop going. They stop selling. They stop traveling. Life tightens down to survival.

And all of that filters up to these remote churches. They’re faithful, they’re hungry to learn, but the simple act of gathering, visiting, or traveling has become a heavy weight on everyone.

Still, they stand. Still, the church gathers. And still, hope wins out in Robino.