neighborhood kids

hanging with the neighborhood kids

Noticing the Night

Sitting out back this evening with Sarah and some of the girls as they prepared supper, I gazed up and noticed the stars. A short ways outside of town there is little light to block out their brilliance. The only light present in fact is the one gleaming from within the house, providing just enough visibility to cook upon the little coal stoves, but scarcely to write.

It’s amazing how vast the sky appears and how bright the stars shine. How beautiful they appear on this peaceful evening with only soft chatter around the kettle and the occasional fir of laughter breaking the steady hum of the grasshoppers. Leaning against the cold stone wall of the house, sipping my boiling hot cup of English tea [I have not fully become African yet] listening to the now familiar sounds of the lunyankole conversation being carried out around me – a warmth and joy overtook my soul as I realized how fully I had been incorporated into this vibrant family. What a joy and blessing it is to discover a new home nearly half way around the world.

Oh Sunday's!

Waking up and going to church on a Sunday morning is usually quite the typical and predictable affair. However, this Sunday was anything but ordinary...

Being informed the evening before that I was to accompany Pastor Emmy on his visit to one of the rural churches the next morning, we woke and left early for the ONE HOUR drive out of town down the long and windy stretches of dirt road that divide the countryside. Naively thinking I would be able to accomplish work during the car ride I brought along my journal to write it. After fighting to legibly scribble down a few of my thoughts I gave up and simply sought to enjoy the view. Driving for an hour and a half and stopping several times for no apparent reason it became clear that we actually didn't know where we were going. It wasn't that we were lost, as we knew where we were and we knew where we wanted to go, but the route in between was a bit fuzzy.

The further out we journeyed the more rugged the 'roads' became. At one point as we jerked and stalled our way up the hillside, I felt as though I was actually on a roller coaster making my way up to the top before the giant drop on the other side. However, on an amusement park ride it is all thrill, knowing that you will survive... being jostled along the Ugandan landscape the thrill is fun, but the question of safe passage is a bit more questionable. I will have to say though that our Driver, also named Emmy, is one of a kind and definitely displays impressive skills on a daily basis!

Clearly we survived our 2.5 HOUR! trip to the church, making a few U-turns and venturing down dirt pathways (forget roads!). Pulling up to the half finished church I was confused by the empty scene before me. With essentially no communication in English (I am in the only foreigner in the bunch) I was left to my own devices to determine what was unfolding before me. Slightly dazed by the journey, I stumbled out of the matatu and into the brilliant sunshine. Welcomed by the pastor we were escorted to a neighboring building, directed into a very small room and invited to take a seat. "Ah, we are having a quaint little Bible study, this will be nice," I thought to myself.

Oh NO! This was only the prelude to the day's concherto. Within moments a tray of coffee cups passed by, then the all telling teapot, and the smell. My stomach churned. That smell could only mean one thing, African Tea! Usually quite the tea officianado, I have not been able to handle tea in this region which really isn't tea at all, but spiced milk. Fresh from the cow unrefrigerated unpasturized milk that curdles my stomach at the sight. I prayed for strength as a piping hot cup was plunked down in front of me. Reinforcements were thankfully on the way in the form of plates piled with bread and bushels of bananas.

Plan of attack: swallow down a swig of the toxic tea and then inhale a piece of banana to cover the taste. Great in theory... not so effective in actuality.

The tea tasted as bad as I remembered from my village experience in Rakai and the banana did nothing.

Plan of attack take 2: dip bread into tea thereby dispersing the taste and lowering the overall level of liquid in my cup. Another brilliant theory... another unsatisfactory attempt.

The soggy sweet bread was slightly more tolerable then the tea itself, but hardly decreased the quantity of tea.

Plan of attack #3: swap cups with the small child who was sitting next to me who had all but finished her drink. Perfect in prospect but the only drawback was making the switch without 1) the host noticing and 2) the child saying anything.

Alas, I knew it could not be done. Trying to avoid eye contact with our host who noticed my lack of enthusiasm over breakfast, Grace thankfully came to my rescue offering to drink my tea and my stomach was saved!

Church began shortly after that, or rather, we entered into the already started service minutes later. Praising, singing and dancing commenced, followed by the obligatory long winded introductions, the "few words" by the mzungu and then Pastor Emmy's sermon. The service was actually quite pleasant and I didn't miss anything given my front and center placement before the church.

Retracing our tracks home we arrived shortly, thus concluding our 8 hour church excursion. Minutes later I was being ushered out the door once again, this time for a music event. Excited to be out in the evening for the first time since arriving I had no idea what was in store. All I knew is that it was supposed to be a night of Christian music. Entering the large rustically created gymnasium type room, I was instantly ushered to my seat. As you may have already guessed, front row center located immediately behind the table of honor - since being the only white person in the entire place I didn't already stand out enough!


The evening was certainly entertaining with an overzealous MC who looked like he escaped off some corny oldschool game show and the songs with choreographed backup dancing. Sitting through over two hours of music in other languages and being recorded close to a hundred times on camera I was rapidly growing weary of the evening and was just determining hour to make the least spectacle of a departure when the music stopped and three chairs were placed on the stage for 3 special people. "I'm safe," I thought, "no one here even knows my name so there is NO way I could be called on stage." Oh, so SO WRONG! "Pastor ____ can you please come forward, and the only mzungu white lady in the front row..." Yes, that would be me, just in case there was any question or confusion! Lets think of a more awkward moment shall we. I unwillingly made my way up onto the stage and took my place in the center chair. Three dancers were then brought up onto the stage to dance before each of the selected people and baskets were placed in front of them as a competition for a CD. I felt like I was trapped inside some very awful and very wrong international television program. Thankfully my dancer was an adorable little child who looked just about as confused and intimidated as I did. At first count the mzungu was leading (yes, purely out of pity and because of my skin color). New dancers were called to replace the first set and the music played again. Recount. Still leading, but barely. At this point I was the only one still sitting my chair and so I awkwardly stood, vowing that I would simply stand there but would under no circumstances be moved to dance. The music played again, the amusement of the situation had long sense worn off and just wanting the incident to end I joined in with my dancer much to the amusement of everyone present. The contest was then halted for cheating (no rules had ever been given!) and another tally of the baskets was taken. I was barely in the lead, still, but was just shy of the 50,000 shillings needed (when that number was decided I have no idea). The announcer turned to us and asked how we should settle this before turning back to the audience and stating that the CD could not be given for less than 50,000. Taking matters into my own hands I handed my nearest opponent a 20,000 note, giving him more than enough to be declared the winner. This was clearly unexpected, but after a bit of debating had the desired effect as I was finally allowed off the stage and back to my seat. Needless to say I departed the assembly a few minutes later.

Exploited as a fundraising tool for my skin color. Always makes a person feel good.
I do not even know what they were trying to raise money for. Hopefully it was a worthy cause.

Christmas Came Early

There is nothing like getting into the Christmas spirit - the spirit of joy and the spirit of giving. Spending numerous hours with the orphaned and needy children at the Parental Care School and Orphanage in Mbarara, Uganda in the days leading up to Christmas it was hard not to fall in love with each and every one of them. From their precious smiles to their uncontainable laughter, you would never know that most of the children present grew up separated or were abandoned by their families.
Taken in by the ever welcoming and warm arms of Supermom Sarah and Pastor "Papa" Emmy, the children at Parental Care School are raised up in a simple but loving setting where they receive a wonderful education, a safe and warm place to live and a large family to call home. Beginning as a dream and vision of this husband and wife team, they sacrificed a great deal to help the beautiful unwanted children in their community.

(How anyone could turn away or mistreat one of these most precious beings is beyond me.) Last year they even sold their own home as a "seed" to finance the construction of buildings for the school and dormitory. Trusting implicitly that God would provide for each and every one of their needs they have refused to turn back even in light of tough economic times and their own large ever-growing family, currently 30+.
Talking to Pastor Emmy in the weeks leading up to December the ministry was severely strapped financially and they were struggling to find money to feed all the children properly. Never losing hope or faith, prayers were continually sent out. Thank you so much to everyone who joined in prayer with them and donated precious resources. The Christmas celebration would not have been the same without you!

Christmas actually came early for the most needy of the children at the school who remained without any relatives to return to over the holiday break. Working for several days earlier in the week, Sarah had secured new outfits for the children from all over town to present to them as their Christmas gift. Pulling into the school on that bright and sunny afternoon, the children could hardly contain their excitement as they raced to welcome the van and warmly greeted us all with tremendous hugs.

Assembling in mass in the middle of the compound each child sat in anticipation was their name was called and new clothes were brought forth. Order quickly transformed into a frenzy as the excitement simply could simply not be regulated. Within moments each of the children were holding up their new garments for examination. Pausing momentarily for a few pictures it was then off to the races as each rushed off to adorn their Christmas presents. Emerging from the buildings, the compound was awash with color as the children ran about with glee. Over a hundred photos later the festivities were winding down and it was time to say that day's goodbyes, followed instantly by a "see you tomorrow."
The joy, gratefulness and humbleness this children express is inspiring. One new outfit completely made their day and their Christmas.

Reading

My heart was deeply touched today as I spent the afternoon with some of Pastor Emmy's kids. I pulled out a simple children's storybook that I had salvaged from the junk pile at the International School in Rwanda, the kids loved it and must have read it 5 times each. It was "If You Give A Mouse Your Lunchbox," from the If You Take A Mouse to School series - great simple little book actually. My heart nearly broke though when after reading through the story once, Roger, a boy of 8 or 9, went off to dig through an old box to find their only storybook. It was a well worn Baby Bop (from Barney) paperback picture book where all the pages were falling out. He then read that one over several times, until I brought them an additional book from my secret Christmas stockpile. I could not even imagine a childhood without books. It was crushing and humbling all at the same time.

Vowing to find additional children's books for both the family and the kids at the school, I searched the entire downtown section of the city but was quite disheartened when the few bookstores I managed to find sold only dusty school books and outdated language primers.

A Different System of Communication

“Today you will teach a Bible lesson to the children”

This matter of fact statement came early this morning (I suppose early is relative, but I had barely finished breakfast) from Grace as she was informing me of what I would be doing today. I couldn’t help but appear slightly stunned, not so much by the request as its delivery. Shock quickly turned to a smile and then a barely audible laugh. Emmy, one of the oldest ‘boys’ in the house was sitting at the computer across from me and asked if something was the problem. It wasn’t so much the request, I can tell a Bible story, but the way in which it was delivered which is entirely African and still an assault to my American sensibilities.

Accustomed to being asked rather than informed to help out, share, speak and the like, I have no immediate frame of reference to shelve such a statement in. I am used to being asked days or at least a day in advance, not that several hours isn’t more than enough time, but more the expectation that because I am here, I will. Tonight will be fun though, I love being with the kids at the school and to get an opportunity to encourage them in their walks with God is even more of a joy than I could have asked for.

However, I am still not used to the abruptness in which information here is so often communicated. I guess it is still one of the many ways I have to learn to adjust and adapt.

Taking it with Time

“Here we don’t take meals with time,
you, you are used to taking meals with time.”

Yes, in America, time is truly everything. We schedule our days, our meals our comings and goings by the hands of a clock, growing frustrated and aggravated when an unexpected event forces them to deviate. We get impatient waiting in lines, waiting for food and waiting at all. We expect quality, quantity and quickness. We have created a word for extreme impatience in traffic, road rage.

Living in Africa these past 6 months my patience has been continually cultivated as I have spent the better part of most days waiting, sitting, standing, simply being. Here people are more important than punctuality. Relationships are valued above all else and the need to sit with others overtakes any rush to move along.

This morning after dropping Pastor Emmy off in town, the Driver, also named Emmy, took me over to the post office arriving at five to eight. With a few minutes to spare Emmy began to share his life story and how he came to be a part of the family. Watching people start to walk in and out of the Post I found myself getting antsy to go, but Emmy quite right on talking, seemingly oblivious that is was time to complete the task we had been waiting on. As the minutes passed I realized how my anxiousness was growing and how in the grand scheme of life the mail could wait another 20 minutes while anothers life was shared with me.

In the business of life it can be so easy to put tasks in front of people.
Take time today to be present with those around you, seizing the opportunity to share life with them instead of pushing past them as an interference to your plans. You might just be surprised in the ways your life is blessed.

Sometimes You Can't Please Everyone

There is nothing like making small children cry in the morning. It is just past 7am and I am sitting in my new favorite spot on the cool cement floor of the balcony. Sarah isn’t up yet to make me move to a mat. She is a sweetheart, and has clearly adopted me in as one of her children. With five biological children, 18 adopted directly in and over 150 more at the school, which she cares for diligently, it is amazing that she could have room in heart for any more. Her love is truly endless.

I have been getting along very well with all the kids at the house and school, yesterday afternoon was my best day here thus far, more on that to come later though…

One very simple thing about me: I love kids! I have been helping take care of children since I was a kid and to this day I cannot think of a single one who didn’t like me. Usually we hit it off instantly, at times it can take a little warming up to, but NEVER can I recall a child who has so adamantly hated me as the Driver’s youngest daughter does.

Hate really is the wrong word though, because that implies that she knows me. The child is TERRIFIED of me. I know I am not supposed to take it personally, as she is scared of all “whities,” but still. She is adorable with her beautiful black hair all up in braids with beads dangling off the ends, all I want is to be friends.

Since arriving at the house she has cried nearly every time she sees me. I thought we were making a small amount of progress yesterday when I was able to walk by her several times without her immediately sobbing. Clearly I was mistaken! Just a few minutes ago she walked in with her father and the waterworks began again.

It has become part of my mission to get this beautiful little girl to like me and act which has not put me above bribery with candy, movies, crayons and colored paper. More than anything though it simply breaks my heart to see her cry, even though everyone else in the house thinks the entire situation is hilarious. Hopefully after 3.5 weeks she will realize that I am not so bad, hopefully!

Living in Black and White Where Color is Everything

Waking up this morning I faced the usual dilemma of what to wear for the day. Eyeing my bag strategically packed to maximize space but not accessibility I wondered how I was going to dig out the necessary components for a new outfit. Conquering my backpack and walking out to face a brand new day I was instantly humbled when I realized nearly everyone was still wearing their same clothes from yesterday. I was worried about what others would think if I wore the same outfit two days in a row when the reality is that there are so many greater situations to be concerned with. Aside from the fact that everyone is so focused on my whiteness that I doubt they would even notice if I wore the same clothes for a week. :o)

On the subject of color, a seemingly politically incorrect topic to discuss in the States but an inescapable part of my life here as everyone sees fit to remind me that I am white, foreign and therefore rich. (Clearly they have not seen my bank account!) The realization of racism in this region was unavoidable today as I accompanied my friend on an errand where the store owner quoted her a price 30% higher than normal purely because I was there. On later discussion, as the story was repeated about a hundred times over, it was astutely put that “even you, you pay for your color.” Yes, I certainly pay for my color in a land where I can be spotted from a mile away. However, at the same time, I am often given preferential treatment over others because I am white and thus somehow better? I take issue with both situations and wish that we could all simply treat one another with equality regardless of ethnicity, gender and socio-economic status. Only in a truly perfect world though, right.

Being away from my friendly American bubble down here in southern Uganda the discrepancy in my color seems to have multiplied ten fold. Everywhere I go I draw attention, crowds and stares. I don’t mind so much when the children yell out mzungu (white person) but when it comes from an adult, I guess I feel they should know better. Attending a funeral this afternoon, I couldn’t help but question if my presence there was more of a distraction than a blessing. With nearly half the audience keeping a curious eye on me I felt the focus shift from the tragedy at hand to speculation of the new person. The young lady who died was only 19 years old and was also 7 months pregnant. She leaves behind two young children and the uncertainty of who will care for them now.

Tired by 10

It ceases to amaze me how even though I felt like I did nothing today but sit and stand I am incredibly tired and it is only 10pm! What has happened to me, I must be getting old!!!

Sweating Through Christmas

Saturday evening, the dining room was once against decked in red and green, the sweet aroma of cinnamon filled the house as cooking had just commenced for the day and dessert was finishing up in the oven. In many ways it was deja vu from Thursday nights supper. However this dinner took on a more adult feel, kind of like when you finally move up from the kids table to the regular table at family meals. Alcohol and appetizers lined the table as guests walked in. A tiny tree with lights and several local decorations helped bring the Christmas feeling closer to home.

About the only unwelcome addition to our evening Christmas celebration was the heat. I have never been to a Christmas party before where a fan was blowing out of necessity. Needless to say, sweating in Christmas has become a very new tradition and one I hope is not repeated many years over.

Go-ED Christmas

“Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?
In the lane snow is glistening”

“In Uganda, the sun is shining,
and tomorrow we’ll be goodby’in”

What better way to celebrate the joy of the season and our final meal together then with a home cooked Christmas feast!

Giving our lovely cook Grace a night off for once, we divided ourselves up into groups and each took on a dish. Vegis, Potatoes, Meat and Dessert - we set out to planning several days in advance, creating a budget for what we would need and then setting out to get the necessary supplies.

Once the afternoon of cooking was complete it was time to sit down at our festively decorated table and enjoy the hard work of our labor. It was delicious!

Candlelight Concert

Friday came all to quickly this week, as our final days in Kampala as the Go-ED '08 semester came to a close.

For many, the day began early, as two angelic Saint Lucia's made their way from room to room bearing hot tea and christmas cheer. Startling most sound sleepers, they did not receive the warmest reception by all, but those who did rise to the occasion were treated to breakfast in bed, Julia's bed that is.

With warm drinks in hand we followed the floating candlelight down the stairs and into Julia & Kenny's room, where all us little ones piled into the bed to share in this very early Christmas tradition. (It was 5:30am - after most people had been up until 3am, need I say more).

Losing power in the middle of the morning, hardly anyone noticed as the last minute shopping and packing frenzy commenced. With little to do but stay out of the way, I watched and helped as eleven of my closest new friends prepared to depart.

By 1pm their ride was here, as none other than Patrick and bus with cheatah printed seats entered the compound. Oh Patrick - the stories we have to tell. Forty-five minutes later all the bags were stacked in the back and the final hugs were being bestowed. As the engine started rain and tears began to fall. Sarah and I stood out front watching our team pull away, what a semester it has been.

With an emptiness in our house and hearts Sarah and I found it challenging to keep occupied. To hot to be outside, no electricity to run computers, we resorted to writing Christmas cards and then decided it was time for a nap. Being the graduates of the bunch, we treated ourselves to a celebratory dinner at Indian Summer and then cemented the joy of the evening with a trip to Ciao Ciao's for ice cream.

Making our way up the street and back onto the compound the air was silent, too silent. Our trusty generator was off and we were now staring up at the darkness of our empty home. Panicking for a moment when we thought we'd been locked out, we carefully entered and made our way up through the darkness to search for our flashlights.

Finding them with little pain and anguish, we soon discovered how ineffective they were. Remembering the candlelight wreaths of the wee morning hours, a mini Christmas 'campfire' was created on the table upstairs illuminating the room just enough to see one another and share in a pleasant evening concert. Sarah strummed away on her guitar as I sat and wrote.

What an unexpected ending to a very empty day.

Go-ED team '08 you are already missed

Forever the Greatest Go-ED Group EVER!

Beneath the Tree

Before there were classrooms people would often gather at the base of trees to take shelter from the heat and share life with one another. In this way the history of peoples was passed from one generation to the next.

Arriving in East Africa we have been inundated with the history and culture of these different peoples as we have learned both within the classroom and walking down the street. One class in particular focused on the literature of East Africans in a post-colonial time frame, examining how the writing of the author characterized and illuminated their own view of life and tradition.

Additionally, as we were all split up and dispersed throughout the region for practicum, we were entrusted with the act of researching and gathering a selection of oral literature reflective of the culture we found ourselves in. Through conversations with elders in the community our teams gathered proverbs, songs, stories, legends and more to bring back and share with our fellow classmates.

In our afternoon of Oral Literature Presentations colors and laughter abounded as we reenacted the history that had been so lovingly passed on. In keeping with tradition, one group entertained under a tree, allowing us all to gain a glimpse of the beliefs held within Uganda.

Picture Problem

Due to our poor internet connectivity, my blog with be devoid of all new pictures for a while. I will post more once life returns to normal. Thanks for understanding!

Rain, Rain Go Away...

... Come Again Another Day! 

The afternoon rains have come again, this time catching me between houses as the first few warning drops felling signaling the unstoppable down pour.  Musical and calming, the sounds of rain falling at different volumes and times is a refreshing reminder of the wondrous world in which we live. Yesterday I was overcome by the sheer volume of it all as it sounded like I was trapped behind a waterfall. On other occasions, the sound of the water rushing down the metal sheets on the roof have been so deafening that all conversation is forced to cease. 

Today it is simply a pleasant downfall as I am tucked warmly inside babysitting our wireless internet device and trying to wrap up the last of my undergrad assignments.  Graduation is only 11 days away, but who is really counting! 

In and Out of Connection

Opening up my laptop these past few days, I am continuously confronted with one overriding question: will the internet work again? 

Having gone the better portion of 6 months with clear, fast, reliable wireless internet connection throughout the different countries I have been living in and traveling through, it has been a frustrating feat to rediscover the disconnected life. 

Rising up at the best moment possible - the final two weeks of school - apparently we humans are not the only ones tired of being worked to the max. Clearly the internet here has gone on strike working for only minutes at a time before requiring a period of rest.  Even now as I write this we have lost contact once again and I will have to save and repost during one of those brief glimmers of hopeful functionality. 

It is interesting how quickly we can become so reliant and dependent on technology and the instant connection to the digital world at our fingertips. What did we ever do before the age of cell phones, laptops and wireless internet?