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)