entries from the equator

Apr 25
There is something stunningly real about watching life happen in a tiny, quiet African village, the simplicity of waiting for morning to break and night to fall. I get to be a humble witness of this, life as it should be, and will continue to be, long after I am gone. I had a feeling of nostalgia tonight as I sat and watched the slow moving sunset in Tikoling. I thought of the small village that I once visited of Molle Molle, nestled in the Andes of Bolivia. Three hours from anything remotely considered urban, I watched the villagers come in from a day of cultivating their land, heading back to their homes with their handcarts, as women weaved on their looms, working until light was gone. It’s that same feeling here, an existence that knows not -- nor needs to – of conveniences of a more civilized world. There is no trace of electricity or running water here. I listen to the sound of water being pumped out of a bore hole down the way, watching villagers ride on their squeaking bicycles down narrow paths, passing goats and cows grazing in the fields surrounding. Children running around a cluster of mud huts, kicking a makeshift soccer ball of plastic bags bundled together, their distant laughter combined with the dull noise of a radio playing somewhere in the background… before me is a day coming to a slow end. Soon it will be dark and the stars will be the only sign of life left. Quiet, night…awaiting light to arrive so life can begin again.

Apr 26
It always starts quietly.

A soft breeze begins blowing and clouds slowly, unassumingly, begin gathering in. The blazing equatorial sun becomes noticeably less intense, hiding in and out of the cloud coverings. The breeze turns into a sweeping wind, moving in and though the open spaces. A small drizzle begins… a bit of a warning of what is to come. Then it hits. Hard. The skies empty down rain with almost a hostile rage, pelting the ground and blowing every which way. A necessary outpouring. But it doesn’t last long. It never does, I’m told. It exits almost as quickly as it came. The locusts come alive again. Cooking fires become rekindled, villagers duck out of their huts and continue on with their work. The trees stop swaying and the breeze gathers itself and heads elsewhere. The ground is moistened and the water tanks are a bit fuller now.

I decided today that my emotions are a lot like the seasonal Ugandan rain.

Apr 27
I thought of the quote today from Chariots of Fire- “when I run I feel God’s pleasure.” Today I went running (or “wite” in the local language) at sunset with some children here in Tikoling. I did the running gesture to a group and started off down the damp red dirt paths, soft from the rain that had just fallen. Soon there were about 10, then 20, then at least 30 children running around and behind me, giggling, jumping and making sure of me along the way, calling out “Rose-see-ann” as we went (that is how they pronounce my name). As we ran through winding red dirt paths, dodging farm animals and weaving through mud hut after mud hut, the villagers looked at us incredulously, and yelled Apoyo, muzungo! (greetings!) as we ran through. What a site it must have been to see this crazy muzungo girl running with an audience of gleeful, barefoot children. Afterwards we went back to the school field and I taught them calisthenics and push ups, jumping jacks and some kickboxing exercises. They kept saying “more!” and we jumped around until the sun went down. I was mosquito-bitten and drenched from the humidity, but I felt God’s pleasure today through these little ones.

Apr 28
Comical highlights from rural life this week (seems that wherever I am, stories are sure to follow….)

On wieners:
When Ugandans say “winner” it sounds like “wiener” with their accent. So I could not stop giggling whenever we sang “I’m a winner with the Lord” (all I heard was, “I’m a wiener with the Lord...Thank you Jesus for making me a wiener every day!") It was funny EVERY time…though I only had myself to laugh with about it. At least I think I’m funny.

Oh pooh:
I stayed with the team that hosted the Bible camp I helped assess in the village. We stayed in a small two-room shelter that was built for the school’s headmaster. Well, I went to the house to get something during the day and I saw the door wide open. Uh oh. Surprise! Apparently, two cows had pushed their big ole selves in and roamed thru, proceeding to take their good and jolly time to pooh all through the house, tracking it all over everything. Nice.

Double pooh:
So there is a small latrine that is on the school grounds- it’s for visitors and has a western toilet in it. A work team built it last year. Well, it’s just a narrow shack, in the middle of the field facing the school. I was using it one morning, and the nail that closes the door popped off, mid-potty. Ack!! The door swung, I mean that sucker really swung, wide open and there is me, for all to see. Luckily only a few children caught the show and broke into a fit of giggling. I’m pretty sure I muttered a four-letter expletive and stumbled to close it quickly. Sigh. That will be a story shared for generations to come (…remember when the muzungo girl was using the john and the door swung wide open? Hee hee hee). Leave it to me to bring some new oral traditional stories to a village.

PBJ and a Pringles binge:
I’ve found that it really doesn’t matter what you put PB and J on. It totally takes the edge off anything. So I sampled it on some biscuits, some rice, some chipatti bread, some bananas, and suddenly I felt like I was at the lunch table in 4th grade again (but no Squeeze-it bottle or pretzel sticks to accompany). Works like a charm every time. And travels well. Even tho the PB is made with g-nuts and the jelly isn’t really jelly, but pulp and sugar. But I’ll take it. Also, I found some Pringels in the Lira market today….and popped that baby open as I started working at my computer and – gasp- proceeded to eat almost the whole can in one sitting. Dang fake cheese-ums.

(below- during camp; kids raising their hands to accept Christ as their Lord)

culture {stress}

So I've been out here for about a month now...which I think is when the honeymoon period of being in a foreign place begins to wear a bit thin- the exhilaration of being in new culture, with new people, with lots of travel, looses its luster a bit. Now I'm not saying I don't love it here- I of course do. But I've been noticing recently that little things are starting to get to me that I didn't really think too much about before (ie culture stress). So in the spirit of being transparent, here are a few I noticed while traveling around Kampala this weekend-

1- Rudeness. Pushing. Shoving. No personal space whatsoever. To each his own everywhere you go. People will practically sit on your lap in public transportation.

2- White. White bread. White rice. White cassava. White flour. White potsi. Everything within me screams, white bad- only put whole wheat in your body! But it's not an option here. Neither are salads, vegetables, or anything else remotely healthy for you. So I'm ingesting hydrogenated oils on a daily basis, the things I avoid like the plague at home, and there isn't one thing I can do about it.

3- Men making comments, suggestive glances, whistling and saying - "come here cute Muzungo (means white person)." And they think that will really get my attention.

4-Craving the ability to go and get something familiar to eat. Chipotle. Soma. Whatever. And not second guessing whether "I Feel Like Chicken Tonight" is going to "make me feel like yakking tonight".

5-Soap. Toilet paper. Two very simple yet very scare bathroom commodities. The whole "wash your hands with soap after you go to the potty" craze hasn't hit Kampala yet. It will be weird to be back home and not have to carry a wad of TP and hand sanitizer with me in my pocket.

So those are just a few... part of daily life here. I'm dealing. But thought I should at least blog about it.

retreat?

I went on a retreat to the Sesse Islands in Lake Victoria with the FH/Uganda staff this past week. It was really nice for all the staff to get away for 4 days and worship and play together and learn what the other fields are doing. Ugandans sure know how to worship- they were quite surprised that this white girl could bust a move but I assured them I've been told I am part African (for various other reasons I wont mention here).

So here's some of the things I did:
- I frolicked in the water. Okay, not really. Us westerners were advised to not go in fresh water because of parasites, so although the water looked very inviting and it was about 100 degrees humidity (can we say big Texas hair?), I didn't risk it.
-I took a cruise ship over. Okay, that's not true. It was actually an old-school ferry that smelled like I put my head in a seafood locker, carrying a big "Frank's Fish" truck that was dripping out fishy-smelling liquid on my toes.
- I got to run on the beach. Okay, not totally. The "beach" was about a 1/2 mile long so I had to run back and forth several times like the roadrunner (insert me saying meep meep! in your visual). It was quite comical to the Ugandan staff who don't really see the fuss about exercise. They kept clapping saying,"Oh! That is good! Go Rose!"
-I stayed at a resort. Okay, not actually. It was called the Sesse Islands Resort, but is was a one star (maybe more like half) "resort" with no power, two missing windows, and a rusty showerhead that made my hair smell like a wet bike. I think the water was tapped in from the lake since it smelled like tilapia when I washed my face. And I think we were failed to be informed that our room was hosting the island's annual mosquito convention. Free drinks, bring your friends.
-I watched the sunset and read and journaled. Okay, well I tried to do this on several occasions but the mosquitoes, sand fleas, killer ants and a variety of about 100 species of insects I had never seen before didn't really allow this to happen. That and the stray dog that thought my chair was his personal urinal.
-I fell asleep to the sounds of nature. Okay, not so much, unless nature is bad karaoke. Hotel California and Whitney Houston's "I Will Always Love You" are consequently playing in my head like a broken reel-to-reel.
Despite all that, it ended being fun- I got to know our staff really well, we laughed a lot, sat around the campfire, ate lots of starches, played volleyball (the men were again surprised this "girl" could play) and saw lots of stars- the stars by the equator here are pure and bright-big bursts of white beaming through the blanket of darkness... how God intended the skies to look, I'd imagine.

I'm ready tho to get out to the communities next week. I will actually have some substantive information to share after weeks of being bush whacked with no internet, playing with kiddos, and working with staff, so be looking for that once I get back to civilization in a couple weeks.

Until then, I have posted some pictures of the view and of our worship sessions under the trees- it does seem breathtaking I know... it was. But I purposely didn't post a picture of our accommodations to entice the imagination (kinda like when a seedy apartment complex shows only a picture of the pool and not their rooms in their ad. Same concept.)

chivalry, tea and the big-mouthed American

This week I’ve mostly been in our Kampala office for a CDP training since I got here. It’s been great to meet all the child development staff before I will go to their communities. What quality, dedicated people we have here. On Sunday, we will all head to Lake Victoria for an all-staff retreat (there are about 100 here in Uganda) through next week. Then I'll be traveling lots, into about 5 communities here for a week or so in each to get a feel for what is happening with children’s ministries… I’ll be doing some observations, sessions with the staff as well as working with the children. I’m looking forward to it. There is a good chance I’m heading to Rwanda before coming home to do some assessments there too…

So I’m trying not to be the “outspoken American girl” while over here, but really, my big mouth follows me wherever I go. I’ve become close with everyone these past few days so my “try not to say everything you think” filter is less active. Well, here is my issue with African men. They have been totally rooted for generations in the idea that women should totally serve them – I mean with everything – and are totally self-oriented and outright lazy. I’m not exaggerating here- I’ve heard so many women complain about it since I’ve been here. We’re talking, if there was a fire, they’d be out the door like George on Seinfeld, and there would be NO thought of ‘what about the women and children?' I knew something was bound to hit the fan. So this morning we had a session on humility and servanthood..how we need to consider others more important than ourselves, right? Now, in Africa they have tea time at 10 and 4 everyday. Without fail, the men RUSH the table then and at lunch, and the women stand quietly in back. So today, tea was a bit late so when it came out, it was like a feeding frenzy at a $4.99 all you-can-eat crab leg buffet. And guess who is at the front, crowding and shoving? ALL men. So I marched over there. And I started with… “this is my issue with African men…” (which got all their attention) And then I went into some spiel about always serving themselves first…how even after we JUST had a session on humility they didn’t stop to think about how the women – ie their Christian sisters-- maybe, just maybe, would like to have tea and biscuits before they feed their big faces (okay, I didn’t say it quite like that, but you get the idea). One guy looked at me with a “duh” look and said with a chuckle, “Well, that's what women are supposed to do- serve us,” ...to which I promptly said, “Well I guess I don’t want an African man then!” to which everyone started laughing.

So long story short, I think it sunk in a bit. At lunch, Patrick and Livingsten were asking, can I serve your drink? Let me serve you…” to some of the women, and they let me go ahead in the line for dinner. Everyone started clapping. Hee hee.
So even it is was just for a day (or an hour), I can at least say me and my big mouth helped bring the very lost art of African chivalry to men in Uganda today. Not bad.
(below- me and two CDP field staff Hope and Claire, and Esther, the little cutie daughter of another field staff who came to the conference).

over the river and through the hills...

I've arrived in Uganda. The last few days have been a bit eventful to get here:

-Easter in Ngong Hills with Peris. Comforting. Home-cooked food we made together. Spending time with a family I'd never met before. Church at a small chapel that was alive and rocking out. My first Easter in Africa.

-A burger and a salad at the Java House with staff before leaving... mmm

-A cup of local water that I thought was boiled... still seeing what comes of that. Oops.

-Having my seat sold for my flight at 6:10 even tho i was there in time

-Waiting until 9, then 9:30, then 10 pm to find out if I made the 10:30 flight- the standby list was 25 people long. 6 hours at the airport. Bumped again.

- Rain, rain, rain.... mosquitos, mosquitos, mosquitos.

-A late night stay at a random guest house, two hours sleep, and a 5:30 am taxi in hopes, fingers crossed, of getting on the 8:30 am flight.

-$80, a business class ticket and a cup of orange juice later, I'm here.

processing Friday

Today is my first down day since I got here. Good Friday. It’s been Processing Friday for me…processing the things I have seen… the things I’m learning about me.. about the Lord… It's a break from the humor I try to highlight in my posts since today is different. I’m heavy. The word I am landing on, and the word that always echoes in me when I see what I see, is reconcile. How do I reconcile in my heart the things that have been in my direct and peripheral vision these past weeks as I’ve moved in and out of impoverished community after another? How do you reconcile in Your heart what has become of man, this place, so far from what you intended?

-Orphans. From AIDS. From bandits coming through and killing for money. From careless parents who have overdosed on the things they have turned to in hopes of forgetting their problems. Illicit brews. Drugs.
-Child prostitution. I won’t get into this one. I can’t.
-FGM. A big problem in the rural parts here. Degradation of women in so many ways. Stay home. Don’t learn to read. Make babies and bring them into the world that treats you like the hot dirt you trudge through to get water and wood day in and day out. This is your sole purpose. Don’t question it.
-Rapes. Military men are somehow permissed and even excused to treat the local women like pieces of emotionless and meaningless pleasure. And so AIDS spreads to innocent girls who live in fear of these brutes with no protection from the society that allows them to do it. How? Who will stand up for you, innocent child?
-Water. I found frustration rising inside me as we stood at a man-made well that provides water to many. I saw littles ones, not older than 4, carrying their little jerry cans strapped to their backs... at sunrise and sunset they come with the other women in their familes, trekking to get this precious commodity. Their lives revolve around it. Why did You choose me to not know what it is like to feel the impending fear of scarcity? I will never know what not having water feels like as long as I'm in my stifling Western bubble. I will never know the feeling of existing to fetch something so simple but so crucial to survival as this.

Swimming in my mind are the matter of fact musings that I heard from our staff and the people I met in each village about “the way things are here”…they began as quiet ripples but have been gathering energy and are now flooding over me like a tidal wave.
“What other means do they have? We can teach them one thing…but when they go home and mom is a prostitute as her mom was and on and on because it pays the bills when you are illiterate and raising 5 children on your own- one of which is 13 and already prostituting herself…that is their model”….. “the parents are getting high and drunk just to forget about their problems, not caring about the kids because, come hell or high water, they need to just survive until tomorrow…” “children are communal property here. They do their part. That’s it. Education, hope, are secondary.”

They follow me...waves crashing behind me, in front of me, around me.

And so God, I am praying... I am praying because there is absolutely nothing else I can do but be present and pray and beg that I can somehow be a part of your reconciliation here on earth. But I feel like I’m failing miserably. I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m broken about it. I’m afraid that somehow, not one bit of what I do will make a difference to any one of these people and I have too much to give and I don’t know how to begin or why…and I’m sick of needing what I think I need because it's worthless compared to seeing your reconcilation come alive for these people... and I’m responsible now, because I know, because I’ve seen, and I’m scared because that accountability is what you are now using in this process of changing me forever. I can feel it moving me in a very real way.

And I’m reading about Your Son, the one You sent for everyone to a place that was never intended to be like this for a people who were never intended to be like this… how did it get so out of hand? When did evil become so evil and doing the right thing become so noble? Yet he served. And he saw the filth and the corruption and the shame and the dirt and he served in a way that I will never grasp. Before the Passover feast he sat and washed the feet of those who he knew would deny him, that would speak empty promises, and he did it because that was who he was. That is who You are. And he did it because he had hope in Your plan for reconciliation. Do I have that hope, here and now? I want to believe so badly that I do, that the grave was and will be empty on Sunday and that what it meant back then means the very same thing as what it does today- hope for this broken, hardened world.

And you leave me tonight with this verse to haunt me as it did your disciples during the Passover some 2,000 years ago:

“I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you…. now that you know these things you will be blessed if you do them.” John 13: 15,17

decidedly event oriented

So these past few days I was in Meru… it was quite an adventure getting there. The company van is getting worked on, so we had to take mutatu busses- public transportation.. four hours in the back corner of that little hunk of you know what – yes, the only open seat was in the back corner above the janky wheel well, my bags piled on my lap, a velour curtain that was supposed to be covering the window flapping in my face the whole way. So we almost busted an axle on the way up, our driver was having an argument with his lover on his cell phone (causing sporadic jerks in his driving every time he raised his voice..."I said no, Fiona!") and some old school Boyz to Men was cranking the whole way (I had flash backs to my eighth grade dances as "I'll make love to you" and Mariah Carey's "Hero" played over and over). Sigh. Luckily I don’t have issues with claustrophobia or motion sickness. Which brings me to why I’ve decided I belong here. Get this- Violet (our CDP mgr here) was telling me that Africans are “event oriented”. That means they never make appointments and if they do, it is understood that the person will most likely be significantly late. They allow for people and life to come in and disrupt things. Now get this (-hold on for those who know me-) I’ve been the first person to arrive to several things here! I know you can hardly believe this. So see, in this part of the world I’m actually viewed as considerate. So it’s settled. I’m not chronically late. I’m highly event oriented. I had a worker at the guest house I am saying at come up to me and say, “You’ve been to Africa before, eh? You act like you belong here. You're most comfortable. You act Kenyan.” I smiled, keeping my little secret quiet…. Hee hee.

In Meru I got to spend lots of time with staff and make visits to several schools and communities… I’m beginning to understand my role better here and have began to craft a vision for the types of resources needed to support our staff teaching children. More on that later… but below are some pics of my time there -- some local food I can’t even pronounce but managed to shove into my mouth, a traffic jam, me disrupting some classes and some pictures of little peanuts…because everyone loves the little African cuties. Tomorrow, off to Sololo…