Just for fun, before beginning this post, I did a google search for "family values". It's amazing all the stuff that comes up. Everything from propaganda by political organizations (both left and right leaning- each has an amusingly different take on what the phrase means) to a bunch of psychobabble from different psychological organizations and publications. It seems everyone wants to weigh in on "family values". Each group seems anxious to own it. To define it. But what does it really mean? We could argue long and hard over this, but what I am really interested in talking about is the way in which American values differ so vastly from African values. Mainly in that they actually HAVE some and live them out......
We talk a lot in this country about how we value the family. Our politicians blather on and on about it seemingly endlessly. That is, when they aren't trying to destroy each other over debt ceilings and the like. What I see in this country is little thought or care at all for families or by families for their own collective good. Or for the collective good of the community. What community? Here it is largely every nuclear family for themselves. And this is the opposite of what I saw in Uganda.
In our society, what I see nearly daily, is that most families bow down at the altar of The Almighty Child. I see families who practically worship their children. From what I have read, this trend began the the 60's with the advent of such writers as Dr Spock. I see lots of parents who believe their kids can do no wrong. Who carefully orchestrate their every waking moment. Who agonize over every possible "trauma" which might befall them and then go to great lengths to ensure that these things never happen. Kids are rescued from every potential failure. Failure is not an option- Johnny might feel bad and suffer a loss of self esteem. Unthinkable! Parents go into debt buying things they can't afford so that their kids won't feel bad about not having what their peers have. They neglect their own retirement needs so that their kids can attend a $40k per year private university when a public one would do just as well. Children in our society are taught practically from the moment of their birth that they are the most important person in the room, and certainly on equal footing with any adult. They are also taught that their needs, wants, desires, supersede those of all others at all times. I could go on and on. Don't believe me? Talk to a few teachers! I once witnessed a woman take 40 minutes to dress a 4 yr old after minor surgery. Because every time she tried to put the child's clothing on the little girl would begin screaming and whining. So the mom would stop, coddle her, tell her how they didn't need to do this right now. That they could wait. That they could stay here all day till she felt like putting her clothes on. That she (the child) was in charge today! I can tell you had that been one of my boys those clothes would have been on in 30 seconds and we would have been out the door. Cry all you want. Crying is not a fatal illness! I sometimes feel like shouting this at work on a daily basis! Like school teachers- I see a lot of parenting issues going on all around me through my work environment. And frankly- I don't know how on earth they are able to put up with most American parents. To every teacher out there who might read this- you have my complete sympathy!!
I think most Americans we are totally unaware of any potential problems with parenting paradigm I have just spoken of. It is so pervasive that we think of it as normal. No one questions it. In fact - we believe that all other ways of parenting are wrong. But it wasn't always this way in America. And it is not this way in other parts of the world in 2011. There was a time in this country when children were "seen and not heard". There was a time when they were just one member of a typically larger family unit that probably included some gradparents. When their needs were on par with everyone else's needs within the family as a whole. They didn't live on a pedestal. There was a time when their job was to contribute to the general welfare of the family unit. To function in it as a cog within the larger wheel- instead of as the engine which drives every single decision, often to the detriment of other family members. Those days, sadly, are largely gone in this country. Africa, however, is a different story.
Our society is all about The Individual. We live and die by the iconic philosophy of "The Rugged Individualist". This is as American as red, white, and blue, and mom's apple pie! African society is all about the collective welfare of all. This is true of each family unit as well as the village. Families live and die- very literally- by attending to their welfare as a whole. A child in Africa understands that his or her place is in submission to the adults in the community. They honor their parents and their elders. Parents are so very valued by African children. On a continent overwhelmed with orphans due to HIV/Aids, those who still have at least one parent consider themselves to be very fortunate. I met two orphaned boys in Africa - one a 15 yr old boy named Sam, the other an 18 yr old boy named Henry. Their parents have long been dead. They died when these boys were very young- so young that neither boy can have much memory of them. Yet, when each spoke to me about having no parents, a dark cloud passed over each of their faces and their eyes bore a distant pain. By the end of the week they were both calling me "Mum". Parents are seen as a great advantage in Africa. When was the last time your kids thought of you as any kind of asset in their lives? I could rest my case right here but I won't.........
School is a great privilege in Africa. Every child wants to go. Many cannot due to a lack of ability on the part of their parents to come up with the necessary fees. School is technically "free" and public and private schools both exist. But kids need uniforms. They need porridge money (lunch fee). Books must be purchased. Just to keep starvation at bay an African needs to earn around $2.00 per day. In Uganda and Kenya you can earn around $ 1.50 for 12 hours of work. If you can find it. Remember- the unemployment rate is around 80%. So you do the math. Where's a family to come up with school fees? I was curious about how much it costs to send a Ugandan child to school. For an entire school year it costs about $200. That's 55 cents per day. Nothing to us. But you can see that it's a sizable chunk of your budget if you live on less than $2.00 per day. Again- think about your kids and their attitude about school. Do they see it as a great privilege to attend? Or do they mostly whine and complain about every single thing associated with it?
I don't want to digress too much here because I intend to write a whole post about schools later. My purpose here is to contrast the stark differences I saw between the way in which we view family in the west, versus the way they do in the developing world. Families there depend upon each other and upon God for their very survival. As such, they recognize the great importance of the collective good. They function as a unit. Individual desires are set aside. Children there don't dream dreams for themselves. They dream dreams for their family! So many children told me of their dreams of going to school and making something of themselves in order to raise up their family into a better life. This is in fact, exactly what they do. If one child manages somehow to escape to the city and land a job, they immediately take on the role of provider to the family. They begin to send money home for school fees for all the remaining younger siblings. The one who becomes successful becomes the provider for all. One night when we were playing a game called " cultural hot seat" one of the Ugandan youths in our group, an 18 yr old named Billy, was asked what his dream was for his life. This is what he said. "I dream of making my parents the proudest of me". Billy wants to graduate and go to university -so that he can help his family. Not so that he can party. Not so that he can drink himself into a coma every weekend. Not in order to chase chicks. Not to get away from home and the oppressive rules of his parents, but to make something of himself so that he can take care of his family. Again- I could rest my case here but I have one more story to tell.
One night during our adult leader's huddle, one of our young Ugandan friends shyly approached us and asked if he might speak with us. His name was Moses. He is the son of George and Margaret, whose house we were working to enlarge by creating a foundation for 3 new rooms. Moses stood there in the dark at nearly 11pm so that he could thank us profusely for making his parents so happy. He thanked God over and over for us. He expressed again and again how wonderful God is for sending us to his country to help his family. He just wanted us to know how thankful to God he was that we were making his parents so very happy. When he walked away to begin his mile long trek home in the pitch black African night, I was just shaking with emotion. I was doubled over in tears. It took a long time for me to stop weeping. I wasn't alone. There wasn't a dry eye in our group.
So there you have it. Family values. American style versus African style. You be the judge. Draw your own conclusions. For me, they win- hands down. Shalom!
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Friday, July 29, 2011
Confronting the Superiority Complex
One of the most interesting and eye opening things I learned in Africa were the many differences between our culture and that of other societies. To which you are probably thinking "Duh. Everyone knows that". But bear with me here. I contend that as Americans we give little thought to the culture of others. And that is because we automatically dismiss everyone out of hand as inferior to us. Before you get all up in arms with me for saying this, just think about something for a minute. As a nation we are taught that we are the best. That we are what everyone in the world aspires to be. That we are the greatest nation on the planet. Because we are thus taught, and most of us buy into these beliefs, we automatically think that our culture and values are superior. It's not a conscious thought, perhaps, but because we are such an ethnocentric nation, deep down, we think our values are just better than those of every other culture. The proof is the fact that everything is just so darn good here! I believe that those in the developing world aspire to America's level of prosperity and advancement. But they do not aspire to much else about our country. And what I would say to you is "rightly so". Allow me to elaborate......
At some point during one of our cultural sharing exchanges somebody asked our African friends (I think it might have been one of the SLAM leaders) if they thought that the Americans believe themselves to be better than them. Nearly every hand went up in agreement. I was shocked. Here we were- living in tents, working hard side by side with them, immersed in their culture, and yet we are still perceived as thinking of ourselves as superior somehow. My initial reaction was one of hurt feelings, and yet as I thought about it, I had to admit that they were mostly right. Deep down, we do think that we deserve better things, a better life, because as Americans, that is what we are used to. I thought of my own attitude towards the Cho. Disgusting. Gross. Just the worst thing ever. And yet, this is what everyone in Africa uses daily. They deal with it. Why was I having so much trouble? And don't think they don't know how we feel about it either. One day as we were walking thru the village a local yelled out at our group "How do you like the Cho?". It was a taunt. They know that we look down on them for this. I still hate the lack of decent plumbing in Africa. But what I hate even more is that in myself which makes me feel like I somehow deserve something better because of the accident of where I was born. Beware, dear friends, of going on mission trips and asking God to open the eyes of your heart. He will indeed do so. And you won't like some of what you see. Mostly about yourself and beliefs that you didn't even know you harbored.
I once read something someone wrote about how easy it is for Americans and Europeans to just dismiss all the repeated tragedies on the continent of Africa. The endless cycle of war, genocide, famine, drought, hunger, insurrection, terrorism, massive numbers dying from HIV/AIDS and the resultant orphaned children crisis. It is so common, so endless, so repetitive, that there is a temptation to just tune it all out and say "Well- that's Africa for you. Nothing ever changes there. What else can you expect from such uneducated people?". The same writer suggested that this would not be nearly so easy to do were it not for the fact that these were all brown skinned people enduring these hardships. If they were white, he contended, our attitude would be a whole lot different. He went on to say that the lives of blacks around the world are less valued than those of non-blacks. That there is less of a premium on them. That they are less valuable. I remember that I recoiled from these words when I read them. I thought "This guy is a jerk. That's not true.". Sadly, I think about those words now and can see that though it is painful to admit, they are in fact, true. Deep down, we in The West do value these lives less. The proof is the very fact that we turn away from their suffering and go back to watching "Jersey Shore" or "Dancing with the Stars". We'd rather distract ourselves into numbness. Consume our way out of any momentary pangs of conscience we might feel. We flip the channel quickly when we see the images of skeletal children with swarming flies around their faces. We are more comfortable looking at all those glittery gems on QVC than those sunken eyes staring out from nearly lifeless faces......
Discomfort is God's way of nudging us. My teacher/mentor has taught me that when I feel really uncomfortable, when I feel restless, when I feel unsettled about the struggles of this life, that this is God's hand moving across the waters of my soul. It's a signal to pay attention. That this is the place where He wants to meet me and remake me, remold me, reform me. If I have written anything here that unsettles you then I say "Good!". Pay attention. See what God wants to speak into that place where you feel uneasy. I have come to embrace feeling uncomfortable much of the time about the world we live in. I now understand it to be the nearness of God. I know that His work in me to "break my heart for the things that break His" is evidence of His great love for me. It is evidence of His great love for each of us..........Shalom!
At some point during one of our cultural sharing exchanges somebody asked our African friends (I think it might have been one of the SLAM leaders) if they thought that the Americans believe themselves to be better than them. Nearly every hand went up in agreement. I was shocked. Here we were- living in tents, working hard side by side with them, immersed in their culture, and yet we are still perceived as thinking of ourselves as superior somehow. My initial reaction was one of hurt feelings, and yet as I thought about it, I had to admit that they were mostly right. Deep down, we do think that we deserve better things, a better life, because as Americans, that is what we are used to. I thought of my own attitude towards the Cho. Disgusting. Gross. Just the worst thing ever. And yet, this is what everyone in Africa uses daily. They deal with it. Why was I having so much trouble? And don't think they don't know how we feel about it either. One day as we were walking thru the village a local yelled out at our group "How do you like the Cho?". It was a taunt. They know that we look down on them for this. I still hate the lack of decent plumbing in Africa. But what I hate even more is that in myself which makes me feel like I somehow deserve something better because of the accident of where I was born. Beware, dear friends, of going on mission trips and asking God to open the eyes of your heart. He will indeed do so. And you won't like some of what you see. Mostly about yourself and beliefs that you didn't even know you harbored.
I once read something someone wrote about how easy it is for Americans and Europeans to just dismiss all the repeated tragedies on the continent of Africa. The endless cycle of war, genocide, famine, drought, hunger, insurrection, terrorism, massive numbers dying from HIV/AIDS and the resultant orphaned children crisis. It is so common, so endless, so repetitive, that there is a temptation to just tune it all out and say "Well- that's Africa for you. Nothing ever changes there. What else can you expect from such uneducated people?". The same writer suggested that this would not be nearly so easy to do were it not for the fact that these were all brown skinned people enduring these hardships. If they were white, he contended, our attitude would be a whole lot different. He went on to say that the lives of blacks around the world are less valued than those of non-blacks. That there is less of a premium on them. That they are less valuable. I remember that I recoiled from these words when I read them. I thought "This guy is a jerk. That's not true.". Sadly, I think about those words now and can see that though it is painful to admit, they are in fact, true. Deep down, we in The West do value these lives less. The proof is the very fact that we turn away from their suffering and go back to watching "Jersey Shore" or "Dancing with the Stars". We'd rather distract ourselves into numbness. Consume our way out of any momentary pangs of conscience we might feel. We flip the channel quickly when we see the images of skeletal children with swarming flies around their faces. We are more comfortable looking at all those glittery gems on QVC than those sunken eyes staring out from nearly lifeless faces......
Discomfort is God's way of nudging us. My teacher/mentor has taught me that when I feel really uncomfortable, when I feel restless, when I feel unsettled about the struggles of this life, that this is God's hand moving across the waters of my soul. It's a signal to pay attention. That this is the place where He wants to meet me and remake me, remold me, reform me. If I have written anything here that unsettles you then I say "Good!". Pay attention. See what God wants to speak into that place where you feel uneasy. I have come to embrace feeling uncomfortable much of the time about the world we live in. I now understand it to be the nearness of God. I know that His work in me to "break my heart for the things that break His" is evidence of His great love for me. It is evidence of His great love for each of us..........Shalom!
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Let the Work Projects Begin!
One of the purposes for our trip to Uganda was to build two houses. We were supposed to begin construction on two homes for some Kenyan missionaries who are part of the SLAM leadership program. Well- TIA. Apparently the land that SLAM had purchased is now tied up in the Ugandan court system. There are squatters on it, and the issue of the squatters must first be resolved before any building can take place. Yeah. Good luck with that. I am certain there will be no hurry to resolve that, and many palms will have to be greased before resolution occurs. Everything governmental in Uganda, like most African nations, is horribly corrupt.
So- Plan B. Visiting prisons. Visiting schools. Organizing a carnival for the children. And working on improvements in housing for some Ugandan friends/partners of SLAM. SLAM has a partnership with several local families in Bombo town. The way they operate is this. Slam has a presence in both Kenya and Uganda. They are currently training teams of people thru their parent organization G.O.D (Global Outreach Development) to become full-time missionaries in Bombo. Several of these young people- Christina, Josh, Jordan, Kendace, Liz, Canan, are all training and preparing to move to Uganda eventually. They were currently in the country for 3 months learning their roles, meeting the people, learning their way around. Currently two SLAM families are living much of the year in Bombo. Adam is the leader of the team.
G.O.D's philosophy is one of biblical teaching first and foremost. They are there to spread the Word of God. Beyond this, they believe in equal partnerships with the Ugandan people. They live like the people there live. Their homes are in a modest compound that has in the center a courtyard that is always strung with laundry on a line. They do have a water catchment system and showers. But their bathrooms are cho's. They live with sporadic electricity like the rest of the people in Bombo. They shop at the local market and eat local food. Their vision is one of equal partnership across the board. They believe that imperialism and paternalism have caused most of the misery on the continent of Africa. They do not believe in throwing money at problems, nor in handouts. They don't want to be seen as the Great White Rescuers. Instead, they seek to educate. To empower. To give a hand up. To teach biblical principals for living. The story we were told about how SLAM came to be in Bombo is that Pastor Tom, a local pastor, had been praying for a long time for someone to come and help him spread the Word of God. Greg, the founder of G.O.D felt drawn to Uganda but had no contacts there. He nevertheless got a team put together and flew over, not knowing where he would end up, but trusting God to lead the way. God guided him to Bombo and to Pastor Tom's church. When he arrived Pastor Tom asked him " Are you the ones God has sent?" And yes, indeed, they were! That was many years ago, and the partnership has been in existance ever since.
SLAM partners with several local men who serve as Bible teachers and mentors to the local youth in Bombo. These men- George, Peter, Francis, Lawrence work closely with their American counterparts. And as such, the Americans are working with them to make practical improvements to their lives, and to those of their families. Improvements to their homes. Improvements to their sanitation. Improvements to their ability to catch and contain fresh water when the rainy season comes. Helping to fund school fees for children. Teaching them improved techniques of gardening and farming. Teaching them how to keep themselves and their children healthy. These are just a few of the practical ways that God uses His people to spread hope and joy in the world.
Our teams were assigned work for three of these families. Lawrence and Josephine would receive improvements to their existing home. Francis and Annette would receive a vastly improved and much expanded garden so that they could grow enough food to feed their family of 5. George and Margaret would have their existing home enlarged and expanded. We dug and built the foundation for 3 new rooms to follow. These were our work assignments.
On Monday I was assigned with a team to work on Lawrence's house. It needed gutters, because when it rained, water was coming into one of the rooms. We laid gravel and sand pathways all around the house so that during the rainy season the outside of his home would no longer be a mud field. We finished up work on his Eco-toilet- a vast improvement to the Cho. Sewage and sanitation is a huge problem in the third world. Water is always a problem. Consider the frequent droughts in East Africa. Bill Gates and German engineers are currently researching and developing a waterless toilet for the developing world. The Eco- toilet that the SLAM folks had built at Lawrence's house is something we put the finishing touches on. This new and improved toilet is still in an out building. It has 2 stalls if you will. For one year you use only one side of the system. After one year, you switch and begin using the other side. The waste products drop into a pit about maybe 10 feet deep that is filled with straw, etc. After each solid waste, ash and wood chips are dropped into the pit. Heat from the hot African sun beats down thru the steel covered doors over the pit. After 2 years, the waste is considered fully " composted" and the pit is cleaned out. The composted material is safe to use around trees and bushes, but not around food plants for consumption. The beauty of the Eco- toilet is that it does not contaminate the ground water source. A Cho is dug 40 feet into the earth. Every family has a Cho. All that run off from human waste seeps into the village water source- the community pump. So all these people filling their Jerry cans with water are filling them with contaminated water. They have to haul it home and boil it before consumption. And if not, children and babies will die, typically of severe diarrhea. Death in infancy from water borne pathogens causing diarrhea is a leading cause of death in the developing world. And it is preventable. Hurray for the Eco-toilet!
We were quite the sight at our work site. We attracted quite a crowd. A bunch of mzungus getting sweaty, dirty, hauling rock, shoveling dirt, etc. The Africans don't get this. To them Americans are all the like people on MTV "Cribs". They think we live in mansions with swimming pools lined with gold. They believe that once a person has status, wealth, that one hires a laborer to do anything physical or manual. They don't get why we would leave our country, come to Bombo, and do this kind of work. This is not how wealthy people act. This is not how white tourists act. Sorry- we weren't tourists! We were a perplexing puzzle to them. Still- they all smiled and said how nice it was that we were making Lawrence's home so beautiful. One watching woman expressed how she wished we could make her home better too. We wished for this as well.
After working for 6 hours, we knocked off and walked over to a village common area- a big dirt and grass field between multiple primary school buildings. By 4 pm school would be out and there would be hundreds of kids to play with. This became our routine. Work all day. Play with school kids from 4- 6:30 pm. Walk 2 miles or so back to camp followed by hordes of children. Grab a 5 minute bucket shower. Prepare for dinner. Eat. Do dishes for 70 people. Gather at the campfire. Sing worship songs. Share The Word. Play games or have small group discussions. Have a team meeting. Have an adult team members meeting. It's now pushing 11pm or later. You have 2 choices. Try to crawl onto your tent and sleep. Or hang out at the fire pit with the Kenyans and the Ugandans talking till all hours. I swear the Africans never sleep. They stay up half the night. They then rise at 6 am beating their drums and singing praise songs. We were regularly awoken by our African brethren yelling at us at 6 am to "Get up! Do not enjoy your sleep! It's time to worship the Lord!". Thus begins and ends another day in Africa........ Shalom!
So- Plan B. Visiting prisons. Visiting schools. Organizing a carnival for the children. And working on improvements in housing for some Ugandan friends/partners of SLAM. SLAM has a partnership with several local families in Bombo town. The way they operate is this. Slam has a presence in both Kenya and Uganda. They are currently training teams of people thru their parent organization G.O.D (Global Outreach Development) to become full-time missionaries in Bombo. Several of these young people- Christina, Josh, Jordan, Kendace, Liz, Canan, are all training and preparing to move to Uganda eventually. They were currently in the country for 3 months learning their roles, meeting the people, learning their way around. Currently two SLAM families are living much of the year in Bombo. Adam is the leader of the team.
G.O.D's philosophy is one of biblical teaching first and foremost. They are there to spread the Word of God. Beyond this, they believe in equal partnerships with the Ugandan people. They live like the people there live. Their homes are in a modest compound that has in the center a courtyard that is always strung with laundry on a line. They do have a water catchment system and showers. But their bathrooms are cho's. They live with sporadic electricity like the rest of the people in Bombo. They shop at the local market and eat local food. Their vision is one of equal partnership across the board. They believe that imperialism and paternalism have caused most of the misery on the continent of Africa. They do not believe in throwing money at problems, nor in handouts. They don't want to be seen as the Great White Rescuers. Instead, they seek to educate. To empower. To give a hand up. To teach biblical principals for living. The story we were told about how SLAM came to be in Bombo is that Pastor Tom, a local pastor, had been praying for a long time for someone to come and help him spread the Word of God. Greg, the founder of G.O.D felt drawn to Uganda but had no contacts there. He nevertheless got a team put together and flew over, not knowing where he would end up, but trusting God to lead the way. God guided him to Bombo and to Pastor Tom's church. When he arrived Pastor Tom asked him " Are you the ones God has sent?" And yes, indeed, they were! That was many years ago, and the partnership has been in existance ever since.
SLAM partners with several local men who serve as Bible teachers and mentors to the local youth in Bombo. These men- George, Peter, Francis, Lawrence work closely with their American counterparts. And as such, the Americans are working with them to make practical improvements to their lives, and to those of their families. Improvements to their homes. Improvements to their sanitation. Improvements to their ability to catch and contain fresh water when the rainy season comes. Helping to fund school fees for children. Teaching them improved techniques of gardening and farming. Teaching them how to keep themselves and their children healthy. These are just a few of the practical ways that God uses His people to spread hope and joy in the world.
Our teams were assigned work for three of these families. Lawrence and Josephine would receive improvements to their existing home. Francis and Annette would receive a vastly improved and much expanded garden so that they could grow enough food to feed their family of 5. George and Margaret would have their existing home enlarged and expanded. We dug and built the foundation for 3 new rooms to follow. These were our work assignments.
On Monday I was assigned with a team to work on Lawrence's house. It needed gutters, because when it rained, water was coming into one of the rooms. We laid gravel and sand pathways all around the house so that during the rainy season the outside of his home would no longer be a mud field. We finished up work on his Eco-toilet- a vast improvement to the Cho. Sewage and sanitation is a huge problem in the third world. Water is always a problem. Consider the frequent droughts in East Africa. Bill Gates and German engineers are currently researching and developing a waterless toilet for the developing world. The Eco- toilet that the SLAM folks had built at Lawrence's house is something we put the finishing touches on. This new and improved toilet is still in an out building. It has 2 stalls if you will. For one year you use only one side of the system. After one year, you switch and begin using the other side. The waste products drop into a pit about maybe 10 feet deep that is filled with straw, etc. After each solid waste, ash and wood chips are dropped into the pit. Heat from the hot African sun beats down thru the steel covered doors over the pit. After 2 years, the waste is considered fully " composted" and the pit is cleaned out. The composted material is safe to use around trees and bushes, but not around food plants for consumption. The beauty of the Eco- toilet is that it does not contaminate the ground water source. A Cho is dug 40 feet into the earth. Every family has a Cho. All that run off from human waste seeps into the village water source- the community pump. So all these people filling their Jerry cans with water are filling them with contaminated water. They have to haul it home and boil it before consumption. And if not, children and babies will die, typically of severe diarrhea. Death in infancy from water borne pathogens causing diarrhea is a leading cause of death in the developing world. And it is preventable. Hurray for the Eco-toilet!
We were quite the sight at our work site. We attracted quite a crowd. A bunch of mzungus getting sweaty, dirty, hauling rock, shoveling dirt, etc. The Africans don't get this. To them Americans are all the like people on MTV "Cribs". They think we live in mansions with swimming pools lined with gold. They believe that once a person has status, wealth, that one hires a laborer to do anything physical or manual. They don't get why we would leave our country, come to Bombo, and do this kind of work. This is not how wealthy people act. This is not how white tourists act. Sorry- we weren't tourists! We were a perplexing puzzle to them. Still- they all smiled and said how nice it was that we were making Lawrence's home so beautiful. One watching woman expressed how she wished we could make her home better too. We wished for this as well.
After working for 6 hours, we knocked off and walked over to a village common area- a big dirt and grass field between multiple primary school buildings. By 4 pm school would be out and there would be hundreds of kids to play with. This became our routine. Work all day. Play with school kids from 4- 6:30 pm. Walk 2 miles or so back to camp followed by hordes of children. Grab a 5 minute bucket shower. Prepare for dinner. Eat. Do dishes for 70 people. Gather at the campfire. Sing worship songs. Share The Word. Play games or have small group discussions. Have a team meeting. Have an adult team members meeting. It's now pushing 11pm or later. You have 2 choices. Try to crawl onto your tent and sleep. Or hang out at the fire pit with the Kenyans and the Ugandans talking till all hours. I swear the Africans never sleep. They stay up half the night. They then rise at 6 am beating their drums and singing praise songs. We were regularly awoken by our African brethren yelling at us at 6 am to "Get up! Do not enjoy your sleep! It's time to worship the Lord!". Thus begins and ends another day in Africa........ Shalom!
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Culture Shock
At this point in the story I want to pause and talk a bit about the emotional impact of the trip. So far I have given detailed descriptions of our activities and surroundings, but I have talked little about the emotional climate of the group. There is a lot going on beneath the surface in the human heart that we seldom see. But given enough time, enough stress, enough feelings of being overwhelmed, and things just begin to bubble to the surface. Its a bit like watching water begin topping a dam.....
Remember the composition of this group. Fifteen high school and college age kids and 8 adults- only two of whom have raised kids thru the teen years. For some of these kids it was their first time on a plane. For others is was their first time out of the US. For others it was their first time to a third world country. For me- it was the first international mission trip that I have ever been on under primative conditions (ie camping, no running water, no electricity, no hot showers, no flushing toilets, etc). There was a lot to adapt to! By Sunday night after our long day at church, we returned to our hotel, collected our belongings, and took a ride out to the SLAM camp to begin the process of pitching our tents in the rapidly approaching darkness. Thank goodness for some of our boyscout lads! They got those tents up in no time! Our tent assignments were made and after evening Bible study and worship, followed by a Raleigh team meeting, and an adult leaders meeting, we settled into our tents with some of the kids.
What was becoming apparent to some of the adult leaders at this point was that many of the kids were really struggling and homesick. But what to do about it? It's not like any of them could pick up the phone and call home. No one could call up mom and dad and asked to be picked up. There was no changing the living conditions or the length of the trip. We all just had to cope. So- we could tell the kids to just get over it- they knew what they were signing up for when they volunteered (we did indeed, but the fact of the matter is that head knowledge of something and the actual sensory experience of it are two entirely different things!) or- we could offer a listening ear and some coping strategies. The truth is we did some of both of these things.
One of the other adult leaders and myself had some quiet side conversations with several of the girls. I was surprised that even those who seemed to be in good spirits readily opened up and admitted that they wanted nothing more than to go home right now! What I became aware of was the most of them were putting on a brave face because they did not want to disappoint anyone. I knew that a couple of the boys were feeling this way as well. The truth of the matter is that after 72 hours on the ground we were still jet lagged and we had been bombarded and sensory overloaded. We were kept up our first night there till nearly midnight with Bible study about prisoners. We had been to a prison and to an all day Church service. We were eating strange foods and living in accommodations that frankly, just creeped out even the adults. We were seeing large swaths of this country thru long bus rides daily that were one unrelenting imagine of extreme poverty after another. It's enough to make you......long for home! Homesickness, I decided, was probably completely normal at this stage of the game.
So what I told the girls was this: It's okay that you feel this way. I feel this way too and I am a lot older and have been on these kinds of trips before. But what I knew for sure was that we had an entire week to go. And if we allowed this mindset to take hold too much we would miss what God had brought us here to experience. So my advice was to keep their chins up. To try not to focus their thoughts on home, but rather instead, to live in each moment, to take one day at a time. I also knew that once these kids could get their hands dirty and start doing some real work that they would feel good about themselves. That they would see some merit to their efforts. That they would stop questioning why they had come. Having seen the joy on a family's face when they move into a new home at the end of the week, I had some experience from my past Mexico trips to draw on. I knew that feeling at week's end. The kids did not. I wanted them to hold on till they could have this experience for themselves.
Our low point mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually, I believe was on Sunday night and into Monday. After this, what I began to sense was a turning point. It's not that we did not still complain about stuff. We all still hated the Cho. But we could laugh about it now. We began to talk about our new friends and the families we were serving with excitement. We wanted to work as hard and as fast and as long as possible so we could get many things done to help our families. The kids began to speak with pride about all that they had accomplished at their work sites. I saw new friendships begin to bloom with the Kenyan and Ugandan youths. In short- we all began to adapt. We had a lot of prayer being offered up for us by family and friends during our time away. I think those prayers helped us over this hump. It's nonsense to suggest that you can take a group this size halfway around the world and dump them in a place that feels as foreign as the surface of the moon and not have adjustment issues. The point, however, is that these things can be weathered for the most part. You just have to hang on and trust that the God who called you for His purposes isn't about to abandon you during your hour of need. He stayed with us. We drew near to Him. Good things are in store if you can but believe this. As we were about to see.....More later.......Shalom!
Remember the composition of this group. Fifteen high school and college age kids and 8 adults- only two of whom have raised kids thru the teen years. For some of these kids it was their first time on a plane. For others is was their first time out of the US. For others it was their first time to a third world country. For me- it was the first international mission trip that I have ever been on under primative conditions (ie camping, no running water, no electricity, no hot showers, no flushing toilets, etc). There was a lot to adapt to! By Sunday night after our long day at church, we returned to our hotel, collected our belongings, and took a ride out to the SLAM camp to begin the process of pitching our tents in the rapidly approaching darkness. Thank goodness for some of our boyscout lads! They got those tents up in no time! Our tent assignments were made and after evening Bible study and worship, followed by a Raleigh team meeting, and an adult leaders meeting, we settled into our tents with some of the kids.
What was becoming apparent to some of the adult leaders at this point was that many of the kids were really struggling and homesick. But what to do about it? It's not like any of them could pick up the phone and call home. No one could call up mom and dad and asked to be picked up. There was no changing the living conditions or the length of the trip. We all just had to cope. So- we could tell the kids to just get over it- they knew what they were signing up for when they volunteered (we did indeed, but the fact of the matter is that head knowledge of something and the actual sensory experience of it are two entirely different things!) or- we could offer a listening ear and some coping strategies. The truth is we did some of both of these things.
One of the other adult leaders and myself had some quiet side conversations with several of the girls. I was surprised that even those who seemed to be in good spirits readily opened up and admitted that they wanted nothing more than to go home right now! What I became aware of was the most of them were putting on a brave face because they did not want to disappoint anyone. I knew that a couple of the boys were feeling this way as well. The truth of the matter is that after 72 hours on the ground we were still jet lagged and we had been bombarded and sensory overloaded. We were kept up our first night there till nearly midnight with Bible study about prisoners. We had been to a prison and to an all day Church service. We were eating strange foods and living in accommodations that frankly, just creeped out even the adults. We were seeing large swaths of this country thru long bus rides daily that were one unrelenting imagine of extreme poverty after another. It's enough to make you......long for home! Homesickness, I decided, was probably completely normal at this stage of the game.
So what I told the girls was this: It's okay that you feel this way. I feel this way too and I am a lot older and have been on these kinds of trips before. But what I knew for sure was that we had an entire week to go. And if we allowed this mindset to take hold too much we would miss what God had brought us here to experience. So my advice was to keep their chins up. To try not to focus their thoughts on home, but rather instead, to live in each moment, to take one day at a time. I also knew that once these kids could get their hands dirty and start doing some real work that they would feel good about themselves. That they would see some merit to their efforts. That they would stop questioning why they had come. Having seen the joy on a family's face when they move into a new home at the end of the week, I had some experience from my past Mexico trips to draw on. I knew that feeling at week's end. The kids did not. I wanted them to hold on till they could have this experience for themselves.
Our low point mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually, I believe was on Sunday night and into Monday. After this, what I began to sense was a turning point. It's not that we did not still complain about stuff. We all still hated the Cho. But we could laugh about it now. We began to talk about our new friends and the families we were serving with excitement. We wanted to work as hard and as fast and as long as possible so we could get many things done to help our families. The kids began to speak with pride about all that they had accomplished at their work sites. I saw new friendships begin to bloom with the Kenyan and Ugandan youths. In short- we all began to adapt. We had a lot of prayer being offered up for us by family and friends during our time away. I think those prayers helped us over this hump. It's nonsense to suggest that you can take a group this size halfway around the world and dump them in a place that feels as foreign as the surface of the moon and not have adjustment issues. The point, however, is that these things can be weathered for the most part. You just have to hang on and trust that the God who called you for His purposes isn't about to abandon you during your hour of need. He stayed with us. We drew near to Him. Good things are in store if you can but believe this. As we were about to see.....More later.......Shalom!
Saturday, July 23, 2011
The Church in the Bush
It's Sunday. Back in the states you rise early (maybe), take a shower, dress yourself, and drive to church. Maybe 15 minutes, tops. Here in Uganda it's similar (not really). You rise at 6 am. Brush your teeth with bottled water. Use the Cho and hope not to let your skirt drag the floor. Next, you pile into a crowded bus with your team and your new best friends from Kenya and Uganda and drive over 2 hours thru the countryside. Yep, just another typical Sunday......
The bus veers off the paved road suddenly. You bounce down a rutted out dirt road for what feels like 10 miles or more. Finally the dirt road narrows to a trail. Tree branches are now reaching into the open windows on both sides of the bus. Suddenly the bus can go no further so it stops. Rumor has it that here is where the 3 mile trek on foot starts......
Not so! Up ahead is a clearing. There are at least 100 men, women and children present. A big party seems to be going on. As it turns out, your group is the honored guests. These people are dressed in their best clothes. The women wear silk gowns in an African style that is unfamiliar to me. Many are wearing head scarves. The children are dressed in their best as well. The girls wear elaborate dresses. All the children are barefoot.
From the moment we arrive, the people descend upon us smiling broadly, speaking words of welcome, shaking our hands, hugging us. They speak in both English and Luganda. The children fall into two camps. Those who smile broadly and are fascinated by us, and those who hide behind their mom's skirts peeking out at us. Any child who I smiled at and extended my hand to dropped to their knees and shook my hand as a sign of respect. I would like to go on the record right here and now as saying the children I met in Africa (hundreds of them) were the most respectful kids on the planet. They are so unlike American children as to be practically a different species altogether. But more about that later.....
The clearing we are now standing in is a hubbub of activity. Over to the right women are cooking and preparing food. There is meat being grilled and other dishes being prepared. Other women are circulating handing us mangos and roasted nuts. Children are playing an animal skin bongo drum of sorts. And front and center is a church constructed of mud bricks with a dirt floor and thatched straw roof. It is small and quite hot inside. There is a praise and worship team inside singing and dancing. They are singing in both English and Luganda. One song being sung over and over is " I love you so much Jesus". That is pretty much the entire song! Africans love repetition in their music!
We gather in the little church at first, singing and dancing, but it is soon apparent that there are too many of us and it is too warm inside. After awhile, plans are made to move us all outside for the church service. A large tarp is raised. Plastic chairs are moved from inside the church to outside. The worship service begins. There is much dancing, singing, and praise going on. Each group takes turns leading. The villagers lead the singing first and Pastor Tom, planter of this church and numerous others, speaks a few words. Our team plays some American praise and worship music with guitar accompaniment. We sing "Ebintu Biterede", a song we learned in their language. The Kenyans lead some singing, worship and scripture reading. This goes on for awhile, then suddenly there is a break. At this point, all the guests are asked to be seated in the same area. We sit down. I have a small child in my lap- a little girl who has befriended me. Soon the women begin passing out huge bowls of food. There is no silverware present so you eat with your right hand, even if you are left handed. I'll leave it to your imagination why.....
The food we are served is hot and plentiful. Most of it is identifiable. There is chicken, goat meat, rice, cooked greens, and something I can't identify that looks like a large hard dumpling. What is it? I find out later it is a staple dish called matoke. Of course I have no idea if that is spelled right. There is so much food that I am perplexed for a number of reasons. One- I know that the villagers have sacrificed to provide this meal. Their children won't eat meat for who knows how long because their parents have sacrificed their animals for this feast. Secondly- there is no way I could eat this much food in one sitting even if I was at home and it was something I really liked. It's just way too much food. Third, my stomach is in a state of revolt- mostly because I am suffering from the universal affliction of our group (see Day One of my journal entries). And lastly- no children are being served and there are a hundred hungry eyes peering at us watching us eat. All I wanted to do was hand them my bowl, but I could not. That would have been an insult. As it was, we were expected to eat ALL of this food. It is a crime to waste food in Africa. And knowing the hunger there, it is easy to see why. Still- I could not do it. I passed the goat meat to one of the men on our team, picked at the chicken and rice, and tried the matoke which was awful. None of the Americans like it, but some bravely choked it down. It is something made from unripened green bananas which are then fried. At least that is what I have heard. I can't confirm that.
When we had all eaten all that we could, we placed our bowls down and they mysteriously and mercifully disappeared. Later we saw the children eating what we had not finished. The little girl who was on my lap whom I had hoped to share my food with was scooped up by her mama long ago leaving me to fend for myself. I kept wishing she had been able to stay in my lap so that she could eat as much as she liked. No doubt that would have been a first for her.
Just the gesture of this meal was overwhelming to me. I mean here these villagers were. They lived in mud brick houses with dirt floors and straw roofs. They were the poorest of the poor in material terms. And yet they had pooled their resources to provide this meal to so many visitors. At great sacrifice to themselves and their families. And it was an honor for them to do so. Think about that. Do you think that anyone in our country would have done the same had the roles been reversed? I think probably not.....
The other thing that stood out about these villagers so profoundly was their faith. Their great joy in the Lord. Their unshakable belief that God is good, that He is great, that He is glorious. I wonder at my own ability to embrace these truths were I to find myself in their place. Would I still believe in the greatness and the goodness of God if I were as poor as these people? Or would I be bitter about my lot in life? These are questions I now find myself thinking about. At the end of our time with them, a few of the women who spoke some English asked some of our team members if they could come home with us. America is well know to the Africans. They think it is the land of milk and honey. Or more accurately, a place where the streets are paved with gold and every man lives like a king. I suppose there is some truth to this when you draw the obvious comparisons.
As we trudged back to our bus one more surprise awaited us. The bus was broken. A broken down bus lodged in the bush. A very interesting dilemma indeed. It's not like you can just call AAA and get a tow. It's not like you can call up the bus company and they will send a new one. I can just hear it now " Yes- hello. Our bus is broken down in the bush. What bush? Hmmm.... I don't know. Anyone got an address for this location?". Something tells me things just don't work quite that way.....TIA, baby. Nothing works like it should (see Day One).
We had lots of people pushing that bus. We ran and pushed it for close to an hour. We just kept running along side it and pushing it. I decided that prayer was our only real option. That finally worked. The stupid bus started. We climbed aboard and rode thru the countryside back to Bombo Town and our lovely hotel, The Diplomat for another restful night in our deluxe accommodations. (Not! ) Thus ends Day Three of our journey......Shalom!
(For photos of our day at the Church in the Bush, see my Facebook Photo Album)
The bus veers off the paved road suddenly. You bounce down a rutted out dirt road for what feels like 10 miles or more. Finally the dirt road narrows to a trail. Tree branches are now reaching into the open windows on both sides of the bus. Suddenly the bus can go no further so it stops. Rumor has it that here is where the 3 mile trek on foot starts......
Not so! Up ahead is a clearing. There are at least 100 men, women and children present. A big party seems to be going on. As it turns out, your group is the honored guests. These people are dressed in their best clothes. The women wear silk gowns in an African style that is unfamiliar to me. Many are wearing head scarves. The children are dressed in their best as well. The girls wear elaborate dresses. All the children are barefoot.
From the moment we arrive, the people descend upon us smiling broadly, speaking words of welcome, shaking our hands, hugging us. They speak in both English and Luganda. The children fall into two camps. Those who smile broadly and are fascinated by us, and those who hide behind their mom's skirts peeking out at us. Any child who I smiled at and extended my hand to dropped to their knees and shook my hand as a sign of respect. I would like to go on the record right here and now as saying the children I met in Africa (hundreds of them) were the most respectful kids on the planet. They are so unlike American children as to be practically a different species altogether. But more about that later.....
The clearing we are now standing in is a hubbub of activity. Over to the right women are cooking and preparing food. There is meat being grilled and other dishes being prepared. Other women are circulating handing us mangos and roasted nuts. Children are playing an animal skin bongo drum of sorts. And front and center is a church constructed of mud bricks with a dirt floor and thatched straw roof. It is small and quite hot inside. There is a praise and worship team inside singing and dancing. They are singing in both English and Luganda. One song being sung over and over is " I love you so much Jesus". That is pretty much the entire song! Africans love repetition in their music!
We gather in the little church at first, singing and dancing, but it is soon apparent that there are too many of us and it is too warm inside. After awhile, plans are made to move us all outside for the church service. A large tarp is raised. Plastic chairs are moved from inside the church to outside. The worship service begins. There is much dancing, singing, and praise going on. Each group takes turns leading. The villagers lead the singing first and Pastor Tom, planter of this church and numerous others, speaks a few words. Our team plays some American praise and worship music with guitar accompaniment. We sing "Ebintu Biterede", a song we learned in their language. The Kenyans lead some singing, worship and scripture reading. This goes on for awhile, then suddenly there is a break. At this point, all the guests are asked to be seated in the same area. We sit down. I have a small child in my lap- a little girl who has befriended me. Soon the women begin passing out huge bowls of food. There is no silverware present so you eat with your right hand, even if you are left handed. I'll leave it to your imagination why.....
The food we are served is hot and plentiful. Most of it is identifiable. There is chicken, goat meat, rice, cooked greens, and something I can't identify that looks like a large hard dumpling. What is it? I find out later it is a staple dish called matoke. Of course I have no idea if that is spelled right. There is so much food that I am perplexed for a number of reasons. One- I know that the villagers have sacrificed to provide this meal. Their children won't eat meat for who knows how long because their parents have sacrificed their animals for this feast. Secondly- there is no way I could eat this much food in one sitting even if I was at home and it was something I really liked. It's just way too much food. Third, my stomach is in a state of revolt- mostly because I am suffering from the universal affliction of our group (see Day One of my journal entries). And lastly- no children are being served and there are a hundred hungry eyes peering at us watching us eat. All I wanted to do was hand them my bowl, but I could not. That would have been an insult. As it was, we were expected to eat ALL of this food. It is a crime to waste food in Africa. And knowing the hunger there, it is easy to see why. Still- I could not do it. I passed the goat meat to one of the men on our team, picked at the chicken and rice, and tried the matoke which was awful. None of the Americans like it, but some bravely choked it down. It is something made from unripened green bananas which are then fried. At least that is what I have heard. I can't confirm that.
When we had all eaten all that we could, we placed our bowls down and they mysteriously and mercifully disappeared. Later we saw the children eating what we had not finished. The little girl who was on my lap whom I had hoped to share my food with was scooped up by her mama long ago leaving me to fend for myself. I kept wishing she had been able to stay in my lap so that she could eat as much as she liked. No doubt that would have been a first for her.
Just the gesture of this meal was overwhelming to me. I mean here these villagers were. They lived in mud brick houses with dirt floors and straw roofs. They were the poorest of the poor in material terms. And yet they had pooled their resources to provide this meal to so many visitors. At great sacrifice to themselves and their families. And it was an honor for them to do so. Think about that. Do you think that anyone in our country would have done the same had the roles been reversed? I think probably not.....
The other thing that stood out about these villagers so profoundly was their faith. Their great joy in the Lord. Their unshakable belief that God is good, that He is great, that He is glorious. I wonder at my own ability to embrace these truths were I to find myself in their place. Would I still believe in the greatness and the goodness of God if I were as poor as these people? Or would I be bitter about my lot in life? These are questions I now find myself thinking about. At the end of our time with them, a few of the women who spoke some English asked some of our team members if they could come home with us. America is well know to the Africans. They think it is the land of milk and honey. Or more accurately, a place where the streets are paved with gold and every man lives like a king. I suppose there is some truth to this when you draw the obvious comparisons.
As we trudged back to our bus one more surprise awaited us. The bus was broken. A broken down bus lodged in the bush. A very interesting dilemma indeed. It's not like you can just call AAA and get a tow. It's not like you can call up the bus company and they will send a new one. I can just hear it now " Yes- hello. Our bus is broken down in the bush. What bush? Hmmm.... I don't know. Anyone got an address for this location?". Something tells me things just don't work quite that way.....TIA, baby. Nothing works like it should (see Day One).
We had lots of people pushing that bus. We ran and pushed it for close to an hour. We just kept running along side it and pushing it. I decided that prayer was our only real option. That finally worked. The stupid bus started. We climbed aboard and rode thru the countryside back to Bombo Town and our lovely hotel, The Diplomat for another restful night in our deluxe accommodations. (Not! ) Thus ends Day Three of our journey......Shalom!
(For photos of our day at the Church in the Bush, see my Facebook Photo Album)
Thursday, July 21, 2011
A Day in a Ugandan Prison
I admit that when we arrived and very shortly learned that our plans for the next day involved visiting a Ugandan prison, I thought "You have got to be kidding me!". This was not something we had ever discussed as one of our possible work assignments. As I thought about all the need I had witnessed driving thru the countryside and in Bombo where we were staying, I thought "why waste our time helping prisoners?" Surely there were many more deserving people we could help? Though I had my doubts, I decided to just go along and see what God might be about to reveal......it's not like I had another choice. It seemed wise to try to make the best of it.
Prisons in Uganda are different from those in the states. For one thing, many of the people in them have been convicted of nothing. Many have been accused of a crime, but they get locked up while awaiting a trial date that could be as long as a year away. In other words, you are guilty till proven innocent. We certainly never learned what any of the inmates we saw were in there for, but as I understand it, it often involves only minor offenses, such as stealing food or a goat. Which, in a country where many children go hungry every day, theft of food seems to be at least understandable!
So on Saturday, after an hour and a half bus ride with our team plus several of our Kenyan and Ugandan friends, we arrived at the prison. I was surprised by what I saw. The picture I had in my head was like that of the Turkish prison in the movie Midnight Express. I pictured men locked up in dank, dark cells, crawling with insects, smelling like who knows what. Instead, what we saw was a concrete building in the middle of a field surrounded by greenery and trees. The building was painted and appeared tidy. The grounds contained flowers and shrubs. Frankly, it looked better than most anything I had seen thus far in Bombo.
We were kept waiting for a long, long time. Miscommunication is a way of life in Africa. Apparently the SLAM people and been working on building a relationship with the warden of this prison for some time. He had agreed to let our mission team make this visit. But suddenly when we arrived, no one seemed to know anything about our coming. After much private conferencing, the warden finally stepped outside to speak with us. He was a rather stern, unsmiling man. I found him to be intimidating. He laid down the rules. No cameras. No speaking to the prisoners privately. No more than 20 people in at a time. We had 2 groups- one assigned to do praise and worship, music and testimony, and a team of kids to play soccer against the inmates. The praise and worship group I was a part of was allowed in first. The others remained outside near the bus.
We were lead to a large assembly room where about 400 prisoners were seated on the floor. They wore bright yellow shirts and shorts. Many were barefoot. We introduced ourselves in their language and then told them that our dentist, Jina, was going to teach them about good oral care. As Jina spoke thru an interpreter, I was surprised at the attentiveness of the men. She opened the floor for questions, and many of the men asked her various things. Mostly they wanted to know if she could help their mouth pain. We promised to bring back tooth brushes and toothpaste once our lost luggage arrived. This brought on cheers and smiles. Next we began some music. We had a guitar and a vocal team and we did some songs, one in Luganda. The inmates really perked up when we began singing in their language. One of our youths then gave a powerful testimony in which he explained that he loved them all. That we all loved them, because God first loved us. That God loved them and would forgive them for whatever they had done. He spoke of how God could be accessed even in a place such as prison by simply being still and allowing God to speak in the silence to them. He then asked a group of inmates who were seated along the wall with some strange looking tribal instruments that sounded exactly like a harp to begin playing softly as he spoke. It was beautiful and soothing. The inmates were mesmerized and nodding their heads in agreement to Daniel's words. After about an hour, we were finished and left for the bus area, allowing the soccer team to enter.
After a lunch of nuts, boiled corn, and bananas, we sat in the grass talking for along time listening to the cheers coming from the center courtyard of the prison. Finally one of the warden's assistants came out and invited us to come in and watch the game. We were surprised, but eager to go back inside and watch our team play soccer.
Many of the inmates were playing barefoot. We had lots of girls on the field. They had shed their long skirts and were wearing gym shorts. The field had a sidewalk in the middle of it and the rest was pure dirt. The prisoners were lined up along the walls of the barracks, seated and watching intently. We learned from some of our Ugandan friends that the inmates were yelling at their team things like " Be gentle! Don't hurt them!". The game was a close one, but the inmates ended up winning 3-1. They had a "ringer" that they threw in at the end that shifted the game their way. While the teams were playing, the men with the harp like instruments were sitting around in a group making the most delightful African music. A couple of the Kenyans, Shem and Jackie, decided a dance party was in order. So they got up and began dancing. This was much enjoyed by the prisoners and finally the Americans could resist no longer, so we all got up and began dancing too. They taught us African moves and we taught them the electric slide, which was fairly hilarious! For a time, we all forgot that we were inside a prison and everyone just enjoyed the day and had some fun. For the prisoners, it was an exceptional day. For one thing, they had visitors- something that never happens. For another, it was the first time some of them had ever seen a "mzungu" (white person) up close. Lastly, a soccer game is unheard of. There was absolutely nothing in this prison for recreation that we could see. Just the sheer boredom of prison life had been interrupted, which is a positive thing. It was a big day for these men.....
Before our departure, one of the SLAM leaders presented the winning soccer team with jerseys and shirts. He thanked them for letting us come. He reminded each one that they were loved by Christ, and promised that we would return. Next he asked for the striker from the winning team to come forward. This was the "ringer" I referred to earlier. An African youth stepped forward who couldn't have been out of his teens yet. When it was translated that he was the MVP of the match, he lit up and grinned from ear to ear. He came out of the crowd and was presented with the game ball which evoked a reaction of great joy both from him and from the other prisoners. Loud cheering ensued. As the boy accepted the game ball, he bowed respectfully and shook hands with several of our team members. As I witnessed his happiness and his deep respectfulness towards us, I was moved to tears. I was reminded of my own two sons at home who are both around his age. I thought about my boys being locked up in such a place. It was too much to think about....
The final surprise of the day was the stern warden. He came forward to speak for his men. He was now smiling! He thanked us for coming. He said that we had given his men a very good day and made many of them happy. It seemed to me that we had done little in the grand scheme of things, but perhaps grand schemes are not always what is needed. Perhaps sometimes a little love, a little human contact, some warmth, and some smiling faces are all one needs to draw a bit of strength for another day. Is this not often how God uses the willing to minister to the needful? I think it is......
So, my initial trepidation ended up being unfounded. I learned something about mercy, about our common humanity despite labels like "prisoner", and about how the love of God can transcend everything else when we let ourselves be used for His higher, better purposes. Not Bad for Day Two of our trip!
Prisons in Uganda are different from those in the states. For one thing, many of the people in them have been convicted of nothing. Many have been accused of a crime, but they get locked up while awaiting a trial date that could be as long as a year away. In other words, you are guilty till proven innocent. We certainly never learned what any of the inmates we saw were in there for, but as I understand it, it often involves only minor offenses, such as stealing food or a goat. Which, in a country where many children go hungry every day, theft of food seems to be at least understandable!
So on Saturday, after an hour and a half bus ride with our team plus several of our Kenyan and Ugandan friends, we arrived at the prison. I was surprised by what I saw. The picture I had in my head was like that of the Turkish prison in the movie Midnight Express. I pictured men locked up in dank, dark cells, crawling with insects, smelling like who knows what. Instead, what we saw was a concrete building in the middle of a field surrounded by greenery and trees. The building was painted and appeared tidy. The grounds contained flowers and shrubs. Frankly, it looked better than most anything I had seen thus far in Bombo.
We were kept waiting for a long, long time. Miscommunication is a way of life in Africa. Apparently the SLAM people and been working on building a relationship with the warden of this prison for some time. He had agreed to let our mission team make this visit. But suddenly when we arrived, no one seemed to know anything about our coming. After much private conferencing, the warden finally stepped outside to speak with us. He was a rather stern, unsmiling man. I found him to be intimidating. He laid down the rules. No cameras. No speaking to the prisoners privately. No more than 20 people in at a time. We had 2 groups- one assigned to do praise and worship, music and testimony, and a team of kids to play soccer against the inmates. The praise and worship group I was a part of was allowed in first. The others remained outside near the bus.
We were lead to a large assembly room where about 400 prisoners were seated on the floor. They wore bright yellow shirts and shorts. Many were barefoot. We introduced ourselves in their language and then told them that our dentist, Jina, was going to teach them about good oral care. As Jina spoke thru an interpreter, I was surprised at the attentiveness of the men. She opened the floor for questions, and many of the men asked her various things. Mostly they wanted to know if she could help their mouth pain. We promised to bring back tooth brushes and toothpaste once our lost luggage arrived. This brought on cheers and smiles. Next we began some music. We had a guitar and a vocal team and we did some songs, one in Luganda. The inmates really perked up when we began singing in their language. One of our youths then gave a powerful testimony in which he explained that he loved them all. That we all loved them, because God first loved us. That God loved them and would forgive them for whatever they had done. He spoke of how God could be accessed even in a place such as prison by simply being still and allowing God to speak in the silence to them. He then asked a group of inmates who were seated along the wall with some strange looking tribal instruments that sounded exactly like a harp to begin playing softly as he spoke. It was beautiful and soothing. The inmates were mesmerized and nodding their heads in agreement to Daniel's words. After about an hour, we were finished and left for the bus area, allowing the soccer team to enter.
After a lunch of nuts, boiled corn, and bananas, we sat in the grass talking for along time listening to the cheers coming from the center courtyard of the prison. Finally one of the warden's assistants came out and invited us to come in and watch the game. We were surprised, but eager to go back inside and watch our team play soccer.
Many of the inmates were playing barefoot. We had lots of girls on the field. They had shed their long skirts and were wearing gym shorts. The field had a sidewalk in the middle of it and the rest was pure dirt. The prisoners were lined up along the walls of the barracks, seated and watching intently. We learned from some of our Ugandan friends that the inmates were yelling at their team things like " Be gentle! Don't hurt them!". The game was a close one, but the inmates ended up winning 3-1. They had a "ringer" that they threw in at the end that shifted the game their way. While the teams were playing, the men with the harp like instruments were sitting around in a group making the most delightful African music. A couple of the Kenyans, Shem and Jackie, decided a dance party was in order. So they got up and began dancing. This was much enjoyed by the prisoners and finally the Americans could resist no longer, so we all got up and began dancing too. They taught us African moves and we taught them the electric slide, which was fairly hilarious! For a time, we all forgot that we were inside a prison and everyone just enjoyed the day and had some fun. For the prisoners, it was an exceptional day. For one thing, they had visitors- something that never happens. For another, it was the first time some of them had ever seen a "mzungu" (white person) up close. Lastly, a soccer game is unheard of. There was absolutely nothing in this prison for recreation that we could see. Just the sheer boredom of prison life had been interrupted, which is a positive thing. It was a big day for these men.....
Before our departure, one of the SLAM leaders presented the winning soccer team with jerseys and shirts. He thanked them for letting us come. He reminded each one that they were loved by Christ, and promised that we would return. Next he asked for the striker from the winning team to come forward. This was the "ringer" I referred to earlier. An African youth stepped forward who couldn't have been out of his teens yet. When it was translated that he was the MVP of the match, he lit up and grinned from ear to ear. He came out of the crowd and was presented with the game ball which evoked a reaction of great joy both from him and from the other prisoners. Loud cheering ensued. As the boy accepted the game ball, he bowed respectfully and shook hands with several of our team members. As I witnessed his happiness and his deep respectfulness towards us, I was moved to tears. I was reminded of my own two sons at home who are both around his age. I thought about my boys being locked up in such a place. It was too much to think about....
The final surprise of the day was the stern warden. He came forward to speak for his men. He was now smiling! He thanked us for coming. He said that we had given his men a very good day and made many of them happy. It seemed to me that we had done little in the grand scheme of things, but perhaps grand schemes are not always what is needed. Perhaps sometimes a little love, a little human contact, some warmth, and some smiling faces are all one needs to draw a bit of strength for another day. Is this not often how God uses the willing to minister to the needful? I think it is......
So, my initial trepidation ended up being unfounded. I learned something about mercy, about our common humanity despite labels like "prisoner", and about how the love of God can transcend everything else when we let ourselves be used for His higher, better purposes. Not Bad for Day Two of our trip!
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
We Are Not in Kansas Anymore, Toto!
I think I should preface this writing journey of mine by saying that these are my experiences and perceptions. There were 16 teens and 7 adults on this mission trip. Each of us experienced many of the same events and yet each of us may have had very different perceptions and reactions to them. It's important to keep this in mind. I speak for no one but myself. I encourage those of you who are interested to speak with others who went as well and listen to their stories too.
Foreign travel is always interesting and fraught with frustrations. Add to this a group of 23 people traveling to a third world country together over the span of 2 days with 7 hours of lost time and now you have a real formula for disaster. Which surprisingly, never came until the plane landed in Kampala. Till then it was smooth sailing. As we disembarked in the cool (yes, COOL) African morning air on Friday morning, we were all pretty much beat from 36 hours of travel time to Uganda. We headed into the airport to begin clearing customs. In line head of us were a couple of other mission teams, one of which was wearing neon orange T-Shirts announcing themselves as "Mission Crew". Nothing like a bunch of white folks announcing their arrival to help fix this broken down country! We, on the other hand, were dressed modestly in long skirts as required for females by village custom and our guys wore long pants and collared shirts which the Ugandan men wear. No shorts in this culture, folks.
As we were standing in line, one of the youth looked at me and announced that she felt sick and was going to throw up. She didn't, but she did pass out cold. I caught her and then our group leader came over and lowered her to the floor. Less than a minute later she woke up. Still feeling weak and strange but once more conscious. We had to park her on the floor nearby while we went thru customs as she couldn't stand for a long time without feeling sick.
Next glitch was the failure of our checked baggage to arrive. Not one of the 9 duffles had made it. Big problem. These bags contained all of our supplies, sleeping bags, and tents. Where would we sleep without these things? We filled out the necessary paperwork (time consuming!) and then headed out to the curb where our SLAM leaders were waiting with a bus to take us to Bombo. It was then that we learned our head SLAM leader, Greg, and the rest of his band had been the victim of a hit and run accident the night before leaving him in the hospital seriously injured. He had to have abdominal surgery and also had a blown out ACL in one of his knees. The rest of the guys were \pretty beaten up but otherwise ok. Greg would miss our entire trip as a result of this careless accident. Are you beginning to see a pattern here? Lots of unexpected glitches..... as one of our adult leaders would later say "TIA, baby". Which is short for "This is Africa, baby". It would become our team motto. Translation: "Sh#t happens". Especially in Africa! Lots of it, as it turns out!
The bus ride thru Kampala was next. Picture those scenes from the movie Slum Dog Millionaire where the Indian people are all over the streets and the metro line. Thousands upon thousands of them, if not more. As we sat in our bus with windows open (no AC obviously!) we were struggling not to choke on the auto exhaust fumes all around us. We crawled thru the worst traffic I have ever seen in my life, all of it seemingly unregulated. In a car, bus, or motorcycle, it's each man for himself. People drive accordingly! There were so many people on the streets I was just incredulous. Where were all these people going? It was early afternoon on Friday by now. Why were all the streets so crowded with people? I later learned from some of our Ugandan friends that these are people out on the streets looking for work. The unemployment rate in Uganda is 80%. Yes, you read that correctly. 80%. What's ours in the US right now? Ten percent. Ten percent and the sky is literally falling if you believe our news media. This is practically all we talk about in America these days. The HUGE unemployment problem we have here. When I shared this with our Ugandan friends they just shook their heads and said they couldn't imagine their country with 90% of their people employed. To them that would be heaven on earth. As we continued our pain staking trek thru Kampala, all I could think over and over in my head was the title of Tom Friedan's book "Hot, Flat, and Crowded". Kampala gives new meaning to this phrase......
We drove thru many of the worst slums I have ever seen. As the journey progressed away from Kampala and out into the outskirts of the city over dirt roads, we had no idea how much longer our trip would be or where that bus would finally just pull up and stop announcing our arrival. As we crawled thru slum after slum, I often had the thought "Oh, please, God, not here. Please don't let this be the place we have to live for the next 10 days!". Fortunately we continued on and ended up back on some actual paved roads and moved further and further away from the city and its slum "suburbs"
We finally arrived in Bombo Town sometime between 1 and 3 pm. Who knows? Time has little meaning in Africa. The bus drove thru the city and down a rather deserted, bumpy dirt road (is there any other kind in Uganda?) and finally pulled up in the middle of a clearing surrounded by maize fields. There were several large primitive brick buildings on the site, and after all that we had seen, this place looked like heaven to me. It was green. The country side was rolling and lush. No immediate crowded slums pressing in on all sides. It was with a sense of relief that we disembarked from the bus only, to be overwhelmed by dozens of African people and the rest of our SLAM leaders who had come to greet us and make us welcome. There were so many people present! Men, women, children, teens! They were dressed in western clothing, albeit a bit more tattered and worn than what we see in the states, but they didn't look so different from people we see every day at home. After endless introductions and the mental exhaustion of trying to keep every one's names straight, we were lead into a large room with grass mats on the floor where we were seated while the final preparations for dinner were being made. There was no electricity in this place. Food was cooked in large pots over a wood fire. Dishes for 70 people every night were washed by hand from water hauled in large jerry cans. There were no trash cans, no running water, no flushing toilets. This was home for the next 10 days.....
Dinner was delicious, which was a pleasant surprise. We were served rice, fresh pineapple, nuts, and some kind of stew made from potatoes and carrots. We also had chai tea every night. The food we ate the entire time was non processed, fresh from the field, and pretty much the complete opposite of what we eat at home. After dish clean up, we gathered in the brick building once more for evening worship and Bible study. By now it was getting late. It was completely dark. Without electricity we had only lanterns to see by in this space. We were all completely exhausted and struggling to stay awake seated on the floor in the dark. One of the SLAM leaders began what was an hour long sermon on the injustice of the prison system and the biblical perspective on prisons and how we are to serve the least of these- the prisoner. I wasn't sure where that was leading, but we later learned. Our plans for the next day, Saturday, were to take a large group of us to a Ugandan prison to do some ministry work there. Once the lecture ended, we learned that because we had no tents or sleeping bags that we were to board the bus again and head down the dirt road into town where we would be spending the next 2 nights at the "first class accommodations" of the Diplomat Hotel until our bags arrived.
The Diplomat. I understand that it was by far the best choice of all the "hotels" we could have stayed at in Bombo Town. Which, believe me, isn't saying much! There was one bed per room which we shared with a roommate. There was spotty electricity and infrequent running water. My room never had a working light bulb. There was a "shower" of sorts that rarely worked. It was a spigot with cold water only and a bucket to bathe in. In the corner was a pail that guests were instructed to place their used condoms in. A sign printed in English announced a special penalty awaiting anyone who dared to wet the bed. The floors were covered in red dust. On the upside, the bed did have a mosquito net to cover us during the night. Then there was......The Cho.
Let me explain the Cho. I don't know if I am spelling that correctly or not, but it is pronounced like the "cho" in the word "chosen". Only one would never in a million years choose a Cho if you could help it! This is the African equivalent of a toilet. I want you to really get a picture of this. Picture the worst port a potty you have ever seen at the State Fair. Picture it made out of concrete with a wood door and no light bulb so that when you close the door you are in total darkness. Now picture a 6 inch by 12 inch hole in the floor that you have to squat and aim at. Picture dozens of people using this per day and having lousy aim. Imagine a stench that defies description. It is so bad that you literally feel like you will vomit unless you hold your breath the entire time, which I learned to do. Now add to this at night, the sound of cock roaches scurrying every where. If you were smart enough to bring a flash light, don't point it downwards unless you are not freaked out by roaches. There is no toilet paper unless you brought it with you, and typically no hand washing facilities near by, though the first class Diplomat did have 2 sinks in the courtyard by that sometimes worked. Welcome to Africa!
Fear of the Cho, I am convinced, is what made our entire group pretty much universally suffer from constipation the entire time we were in Uganda. What I was expecting and prepared to deal with, was traveler's diarrhea which is all you hear about when you visit a third world country. Nope. That was not our problem. Instead, I had kids that couldn't "go" for days on end. Checking to see if kids had pooped became as much my job as seeing that that had all taken their Malarone daily to prevent Malaria. Pooping was the hot topic every day. Who had, who hadn't, how many days it had been for everyone since they had last "gone". I never want to discuss this again as long as I live. I am "pooped" when it comes to this topic!
So needless to say, none of us was thrilled with the Diplomat. We would have preferred the open field with our tents and did, in fact, prefer it when we were able to move out and onto our campsite 2 days later when our bags arrived. Think about that. A hotel so gross that you prefer a tent in a field. That's saying something, I think.....
Thus ends our first day in Africa. From our arrival in Kampala at 0745 am, to a hotel at midnight in Bombo Town, it seems like a lifetime has passed. Exhausted, dirty, jet lagged, anxious, we crawl into our beds that hopefully no one will wet, and await our 6 am wake up call. Day Two: A visit to a Ugandan prison.....
Foreign travel is always interesting and fraught with frustrations. Add to this a group of 23 people traveling to a third world country together over the span of 2 days with 7 hours of lost time and now you have a real formula for disaster. Which surprisingly, never came until the plane landed in Kampala. Till then it was smooth sailing. As we disembarked in the cool (yes, COOL) African morning air on Friday morning, we were all pretty much beat from 36 hours of travel time to Uganda. We headed into the airport to begin clearing customs. In line head of us were a couple of other mission teams, one of which was wearing neon orange T-Shirts announcing themselves as "Mission Crew". Nothing like a bunch of white folks announcing their arrival to help fix this broken down country! We, on the other hand, were dressed modestly in long skirts as required for females by village custom and our guys wore long pants and collared shirts which the Ugandan men wear. No shorts in this culture, folks.
As we were standing in line, one of the youth looked at me and announced that she felt sick and was going to throw up. She didn't, but she did pass out cold. I caught her and then our group leader came over and lowered her to the floor. Less than a minute later she woke up. Still feeling weak and strange but once more conscious. We had to park her on the floor nearby while we went thru customs as she couldn't stand for a long time without feeling sick.
Next glitch was the failure of our checked baggage to arrive. Not one of the 9 duffles had made it. Big problem. These bags contained all of our supplies, sleeping bags, and tents. Where would we sleep without these things? We filled out the necessary paperwork (time consuming!) and then headed out to the curb where our SLAM leaders were waiting with a bus to take us to Bombo. It was then that we learned our head SLAM leader, Greg, and the rest of his band had been the victim of a hit and run accident the night before leaving him in the hospital seriously injured. He had to have abdominal surgery and also had a blown out ACL in one of his knees. The rest of the guys were \pretty beaten up but otherwise ok. Greg would miss our entire trip as a result of this careless accident. Are you beginning to see a pattern here? Lots of unexpected glitches..... as one of our adult leaders would later say "TIA, baby". Which is short for "This is Africa, baby". It would become our team motto. Translation: "Sh#t happens". Especially in Africa! Lots of it, as it turns out!
The bus ride thru Kampala was next. Picture those scenes from the movie Slum Dog Millionaire where the Indian people are all over the streets and the metro line. Thousands upon thousands of them, if not more. As we sat in our bus with windows open (no AC obviously!) we were struggling not to choke on the auto exhaust fumes all around us. We crawled thru the worst traffic I have ever seen in my life, all of it seemingly unregulated. In a car, bus, or motorcycle, it's each man for himself. People drive accordingly! There were so many people on the streets I was just incredulous. Where were all these people going? It was early afternoon on Friday by now. Why were all the streets so crowded with people? I later learned from some of our Ugandan friends that these are people out on the streets looking for work. The unemployment rate in Uganda is 80%. Yes, you read that correctly. 80%. What's ours in the US right now? Ten percent. Ten percent and the sky is literally falling if you believe our news media. This is practically all we talk about in America these days. The HUGE unemployment problem we have here. When I shared this with our Ugandan friends they just shook their heads and said they couldn't imagine their country with 90% of their people employed. To them that would be heaven on earth. As we continued our pain staking trek thru Kampala, all I could think over and over in my head was the title of Tom Friedan's book "Hot, Flat, and Crowded". Kampala gives new meaning to this phrase......
We drove thru many of the worst slums I have ever seen. As the journey progressed away from Kampala and out into the outskirts of the city over dirt roads, we had no idea how much longer our trip would be or where that bus would finally just pull up and stop announcing our arrival. As we crawled thru slum after slum, I often had the thought "Oh, please, God, not here. Please don't let this be the place we have to live for the next 10 days!". Fortunately we continued on and ended up back on some actual paved roads and moved further and further away from the city and its slum "suburbs"
We finally arrived in Bombo Town sometime between 1 and 3 pm. Who knows? Time has little meaning in Africa. The bus drove thru the city and down a rather deserted, bumpy dirt road (is there any other kind in Uganda?) and finally pulled up in the middle of a clearing surrounded by maize fields. There were several large primitive brick buildings on the site, and after all that we had seen, this place looked like heaven to me. It was green. The country side was rolling and lush. No immediate crowded slums pressing in on all sides. It was with a sense of relief that we disembarked from the bus only, to be overwhelmed by dozens of African people and the rest of our SLAM leaders who had come to greet us and make us welcome. There were so many people present! Men, women, children, teens! They were dressed in western clothing, albeit a bit more tattered and worn than what we see in the states, but they didn't look so different from people we see every day at home. After endless introductions and the mental exhaustion of trying to keep every one's names straight, we were lead into a large room with grass mats on the floor where we were seated while the final preparations for dinner were being made. There was no electricity in this place. Food was cooked in large pots over a wood fire. Dishes for 70 people every night were washed by hand from water hauled in large jerry cans. There were no trash cans, no running water, no flushing toilets. This was home for the next 10 days.....
Dinner was delicious, which was a pleasant surprise. We were served rice, fresh pineapple, nuts, and some kind of stew made from potatoes and carrots. We also had chai tea every night. The food we ate the entire time was non processed, fresh from the field, and pretty much the complete opposite of what we eat at home. After dish clean up, we gathered in the brick building once more for evening worship and Bible study. By now it was getting late. It was completely dark. Without electricity we had only lanterns to see by in this space. We were all completely exhausted and struggling to stay awake seated on the floor in the dark. One of the SLAM leaders began what was an hour long sermon on the injustice of the prison system and the biblical perspective on prisons and how we are to serve the least of these- the prisoner. I wasn't sure where that was leading, but we later learned. Our plans for the next day, Saturday, were to take a large group of us to a Ugandan prison to do some ministry work there. Once the lecture ended, we learned that because we had no tents or sleeping bags that we were to board the bus again and head down the dirt road into town where we would be spending the next 2 nights at the "first class accommodations" of the Diplomat Hotel until our bags arrived.
The Diplomat. I understand that it was by far the best choice of all the "hotels" we could have stayed at in Bombo Town. Which, believe me, isn't saying much! There was one bed per room which we shared with a roommate. There was spotty electricity and infrequent running water. My room never had a working light bulb. There was a "shower" of sorts that rarely worked. It was a spigot with cold water only and a bucket to bathe in. In the corner was a pail that guests were instructed to place their used condoms in. A sign printed in English announced a special penalty awaiting anyone who dared to wet the bed. The floors were covered in red dust. On the upside, the bed did have a mosquito net to cover us during the night. Then there was......The Cho.
Let me explain the Cho. I don't know if I am spelling that correctly or not, but it is pronounced like the "cho" in the word "chosen". Only one would never in a million years choose a Cho if you could help it! This is the African equivalent of a toilet. I want you to really get a picture of this. Picture the worst port a potty you have ever seen at the State Fair. Picture it made out of concrete with a wood door and no light bulb so that when you close the door you are in total darkness. Now picture a 6 inch by 12 inch hole in the floor that you have to squat and aim at. Picture dozens of people using this per day and having lousy aim. Imagine a stench that defies description. It is so bad that you literally feel like you will vomit unless you hold your breath the entire time, which I learned to do. Now add to this at night, the sound of cock roaches scurrying every where. If you were smart enough to bring a flash light, don't point it downwards unless you are not freaked out by roaches. There is no toilet paper unless you brought it with you, and typically no hand washing facilities near by, though the first class Diplomat did have 2 sinks in the courtyard by that sometimes worked. Welcome to Africa!
Fear of the Cho, I am convinced, is what made our entire group pretty much universally suffer from constipation the entire time we were in Uganda. What I was expecting and prepared to deal with, was traveler's diarrhea which is all you hear about when you visit a third world country. Nope. That was not our problem. Instead, I had kids that couldn't "go" for days on end. Checking to see if kids had pooped became as much my job as seeing that that had all taken their Malarone daily to prevent Malaria. Pooping was the hot topic every day. Who had, who hadn't, how many days it had been for everyone since they had last "gone". I never want to discuss this again as long as I live. I am "pooped" when it comes to this topic!
So needless to say, none of us was thrilled with the Diplomat. We would have preferred the open field with our tents and did, in fact, prefer it when we were able to move out and onto our campsite 2 days later when our bags arrived. Think about that. A hotel so gross that you prefer a tent in a field. That's saying something, I think.....
Thus ends our first day in Africa. From our arrival in Kampala at 0745 am, to a hotel at midnight in Bombo Town, it seems like a lifetime has passed. Exhausted, dirty, jet lagged, anxious, we crawl into our beds that hopefully no one will wet, and await our 6 am wake up call. Day Two: A visit to a Ugandan prison.....
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Out of Africa
Today (sometime, later hopefully), I will begin a series of blog posts which are taken from my journal during my time away in Uganda. They will be stories and observations, questions and thoughts about our world, about poverty and its' cruel effects on the human spirit, about wealth and what it means to have it, about what God thinks of all of this based on His word, and the implications for the people who claim His name. It won't be easy reading. You won't feel good much of the time. But I encourage you to come along with me and see the third world of East Africa through my eyes as a sojourner who spent some time and left a piece of her heart there amongst the African people. I hope to create vivid word pictures so that you can see it, smell it, feel it, experience it as we did. Read it. Share it with your friends and family. Talk about it. Comment on what I have written. I welcome your questions and comments. Mukama Abizibwe Omukisa ( May the Lord Bless You). Shalom!
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