Our God is AMAZING!

One of the lovely ladies here was given some bad news before we left to go on our rural home stays. Her brother had been in a car accident and was unresponsive. When we returned after ten days, there was no sign of improvement and the family was waiting one more day before deciding to take him off life support. Many of us gathered and prayed for this friend and her family and for the healing of her brother. When Monday came, there was a small sign of activity so the family decided to wait. Within the next 12 hours he went downhill. This morning, my friends family said that the doctors were now expecting him to make a full recovery, but they couldn't be sure when he would wake up. Tonight, while at dinner, my friend got a phone call from her brother, who was not only awake but coherent and able to have a conversation with his sister.

Another extremely brave and beautiful friend has recently gone through some really difficult things that dealt with her school's soccer team. Since then, she has no been able to play the sport that she loves. Today, she decided to  play 'football' with the Ugandan girls! Through doing so, God is liberating her of the past and giving her new hope and joy!

These people are some of the most beautiful and brave souls I know. Through them, God's healing power is shown. Sadly, I am ashamed to say that when my friend had gotten a phone call from her brother, I was surprised and convicted. We say that we pray with the faith that God can do anything, even bring people back from the point of death, but do we really believe it? I am awestruck, humbled and drawn to praise my God, who still works miracles!

My week in Kapchorwa

So much went on this past week, both internally and externally, so my apologies if this goes all over the place. Maybe we'll start with the external to give a bit of background.

Kapchorwa is a district in the foothills of Mt. Elgon, near the border of Kenya. There are several villages within the district, many of which lie on the side of the mountain and are not accessible by vehicle. I was dropped off at the edge of a cliff, to climb down to my home for the week. The scenery here is beautiful. Banana and coffee farms blanket the valley. Vegetation is everywhere. From my home I can see clear across to the other side. The living part of my home is a permanent building - made of bricks and concrete. Our kitchen building is semi-permanent - made from wooden poles and mud. The bathing "room" is outside, past the kitchen building and the latrine is still past that before the field where my family plants maize or irish during the rainy season. It is the dry season now though, so the field is just another place for our cows, goats and sheep to graze. We also have bananas and coffee, on several acres of land that I never figured out where the boundaries were. The village "roads" run right through everyone's farms and in many cases right through the front/back yards of families. The roads are just footpaths where the vehicles are people, mainly women carrying bananas or firewood on their heads, or children bringing back water to their homes. It's peaceful here. Simple. At night, everything gets quiet and the mountains get dark, only a few lights dot the valley. This week the moon was becoming full, so everything was bathed in a pale glow. The stars are spectacular, they are so clear and bright and seem so much farther than normal. The busyness of life is somewhere back on the main road, at the top of that cliff.

My family was Mama Winnie, Papa Benson, Tabitha (10), Ruth (9), Brenda (8), Samuel (5), and Deborah (6mo). Of the children, the only one who liked me was Deborah, who would bang on the stool with me or splash in the basins or just make noise in general. She is beautiful, looks just like her mother. Our days usually began with cleaning the compound, mostly picking up leaves and garbage by hand because sweeping wasn't possible with the wind. Then we milked the cow for tea, peeled matoke or duma for breakfast and spent time cooking. We had Eucalyptus trees, so that's what we used for firewood - the smoke from Eucalyptus burns your eyes and throat, so it's always better not to stand in the kitchen. Breakfast would be finished around 10, then after we ate we washed dishes and began preparing for lunch. Once lunch was cooked, served and finished, we would wash dishes again and do some other household chores, like washing the laundry, re-planting duma, going for water or smearing the kitchen building. Washing laundry was done by hand, the same as everywhere else here. Duma is a root, so once it is cut from the top part of the plant it can be put back in the ground and will continue to grow. Water was about 3/4-1 mile, not far distance wise, however it was up at the top of the cliff and through a few fields to the school - going there was the easy part, carrying back (on our heads) down to the house was far more difficult, especially with every person we passed laughing at the mzungu carrying water on her head. "Smearing" is the process of mixing cow dung, ash and water and literally smearing it on the floor and around the base of the building to keep the dust down. Since it is made of clay and can't be mopped, smearing is done once a week...probably my least favorite part of the week...
At 7-8 we would milk the cow again and begin preparing supper, which took several hours (as does every meal), after eating and cleaning up from supper it was time for bed. Simple.

A woman in our village passed away on Tuesday. She had been a friend of Mama Winnie's and died from AIDS, leaving behind her husband and one young son. On Wednesday we went to the home to see the family and Thursday went to her burial. It was hard. It was difficult moving past the "my experience" mentality to be there for Mama Winnie and be present for the family and the community. It was difficult being the white spectacle at an event that was not about me, or the few other mzungus there. It was difficult listening to the families decide what to do with the child with the community present and hearing this woman turned into an example for those who may or may not get or have AIDS.

I did get to meet up with some of my fellow students during the week. It was fun getting to swap experiences and stories about the kids, animals, silly moments. I had a goat that sounded like a child yelling "maaaaaaa" all day long. I was nearly walked in on bathing by a sheep more than once. I thought I was going to be murdered in the latrine in the middle of one night (actually funny, wasn't really going to be murdered). Some neighbors were convinced I was Korean or Chinese and didn't understand that American meant neither. I ate the things we grew, helped plant, took the cow to water, bathed under the afternoon sunlight and was exhausted at the end of each day. It was challenging and beautiful.

Internally is much more of a murky soup still. I'm coming to realize that my future isn't here and probably not overseas. This has been a bit strange for me, considering I was pretty positive that my life was going to be spent in some remote location in Africa. But I'm at peace with finding a path at home, my home. God has called me back more than once, and while I am not certain what that means, I'm becoming more excited to find out. Being here, especially being in Kapchorwa, has changed my view on poverty so much. In the west, we define poverty as living on less than something like $1.25/day. I'm sure my family lived on less than that, but I would not say they were living in poverty by any means. They had everything they needed, plenty of food, shelter, water, clothes, their children went to school. While they did not have an abundance of material goods, they didn't need them. Both my 'parents' chose to move back to that area to raise their families. There are people living in true poverty though, families who can't feed, clothe or educate their children; parents with AIDS leaving their kids to be raised by another family member. The community does need things, but these things aren't necessarily more money. They need clothes, they need school supplies, they need a better system to bring water to the farms. They don't need a washing machine, indoor plumbing, the latest and greatest farming technology - that's just not how they live. Poverty isn't always what we think it is.

I've also been questioning the role of foreign aid in "development". I think there are many good things that NGOs (both domestic and foreign) and other organizations can do, but at what cost? I wonder if it's possible to separate helping as the people want and need from the development that the west expects. Ideally, of course it's possible, but we're all human. How much help can we give expecting no change in return, and on the flip-side, how much 'help' can we give before we make a people dependent. There are things that the community, at this point, cannot do for themselves - lobbying to get a system to deliver water to the villages - but there are also other things that I'm not sure are so beneficial - sending clothing. Don't get me wrong, sending clothing and school supplies is a great thing, it truly does help in a needed area. But is it just a quick fix? Would it be better to teach people in the village how to make clothes? I'm not sure how much 'help' is actually helping...

It's also very interesting being in an area where many of the children have never seen a white person. It's unnerving being a celebrity for the color of our skin. Some children have been told that white people eat babies, so they are afraid of us (kinda funny actually), but the majority of the kids will leave their schools to follow us down paths, for no other reason than the fact that we are white. White people don't fetch water, carry things on their heads, cook, serve, milk cows, chop wood, etc. We are a distraction, we are constantly being investigated, touched, pulled at (some of us even licked), because of the difference in appearance. I don't know if it takes away from their lives, or adds something to it, having a visitor in their midst. Do we introduce things, ways of living, that they will never be able to access? Or do we show them a world far more extensive than the one they are aware of, and is that a good thing, or a bad thing? Are we reinforcing community, or are we breaking it apart?

It's good to be back. It's good to play on the internets. It's good to see my dormmates. It's good to scrub my feet. The experience was amazing, I will cherish it forever.

Next...Sipi Falls - and hopefully some pictures. 

Imagine you're here

I would tell you to close your eyes and imagine Uganda, but you’re reading, so don’t close your eyes. You are in the back of a taxi, or matatu, a 15-passenger van heading from Mukono to Kampala. There are only 19 passengers this morning though, so it’s not overcrowded, which is nice. To your right is an elegant woman on the phone and to your left is a man listening to music. Even though his headphones are on you can hear he’s listening to Nicki Minaj and bobbing his head to the beat. The girl in the front row keeps looking back and smiling because even though you keep quiet and try to blend in, you look different, you stand out. Blending in here is not usually an option, so you embrace it, smile back and wave (from side to side, not opening and closing your palm – which means ‘come here’). The road from Mukono to Kampala is paved, which only means that there’s more traffic, really. The taxi bumps in and out of potholes and jerks to a stop every few seconds to avoid fill in the blank. Drivers here are surprisingly good at avoiding obstacles, or pedestrians here are surprisingly good at stepping just far enough back to avoid getting clipped. Most of the time vehicles and the people outside are close enough to shake hands, or even hug.

As you drive through towns along the way, your senses are bombarded by the surroundings. After being here a month, things have become commonplace but no less fascinating and even sometimes amusing. You see people of all different ages, styles of dress and participating in different things. Children with holes in their clothes roll a tire down the road with a stick. Women carrying baskets on their heads walk without moving anything but their legs. Other women stand inside their booths selling vegetables piled in neat little pyramids. Men work in the shops, or walk carrying goods either bought or sold. The conductor of the taxi is always leaning out the window yelling out our destination to possible passengers. The shops, down a small slope, line the street. They are all painted with “Sosoft” fabric softener, “MTN” mobile, “Sadolin” paint, or “Mirinda”, “Coke” or some other beverage. If you hadn’t seen the men painting the buildings and signs, you would think they were decals. The storefronts rarely ever sell what they are advertising though. Instead they are Internet Cafés, clothing boutiques or small general stores. Along this particular stretch, people are selling furniture – everything from hand carved bunk bed frames to art-deco plush couches. The sight of a motorcycle driving down the street with a full sized couch hanging off the sides will never get old. Even though the boda-bodas can be annoying, it’s amazing the things they can carry: hundreds of pounds of bananas, 10+ foot long sugar canes, 4 passengers (and a baby), and…couches.

The smells are no less overwhelming. Here, diesel is the most predominant; the cars, motorcycles, coaches and taxis fill the air with exhaust. Inside the taxi, it’s impossible not to smell the other passengers – and everyone smells different. The smell of burning garbage wafts in and out as you pass piles engulfed in flames. Sometimes you can even get the smell of maize, or chapatti being sold by the street vendors. Through everything is the smell of dust, the red dust that permeates everything.

The sounds that accompany the journey are the sounds of engines, hundreds of vehicles taking people or things somewhere. The taxi conductors yelling to the people on the street. People bartering. Children laughing and calling “bye mzungu” if they catch a glimpse of us passing. Grinders of people sharpening machetes, the all purpose tool. Chickens and goats as they graze in the tall grass that grows in the unclaimed spots along the road. Vendors coming to the window of the taxi to sell his goods, today it’s juicy fruit gum. Silence is hard to come by, especially on this crowded street. But the sounds are of community, people interacting with one another on a level that doesn’t often happen in the States. The closest comparison would be a flea market or farmers market – only that it takes up the whole city.

Kampala is different. If New York lost most of it’s people, all it’s traffic lights (except 2), had fallen into disrepair, and was filled with red dust that might be Kampala. There are pockets that seem entirely out of place. Garden City and Nacumat Oasis, for example, where westerners, Asians, and Wealthy Ugandans can go to get everything they need without having to interact with the local majority, except at checkout. You have to pay extra for that kind of convenience, but they don’t seem to mind. It’s strange to be there, because even though it reminds you of Walmart or a grocery store at home, you know that the people you spend your days with don’t generally have the opportunity or ability to purchase things from a place like that. So you marvel at the fact that they sell real cheese, but are appalled at how expensive it is and wonder if luxuries like that are really necessary. Part of you is grateful for the taste of the life you’re used to back home, but the bigger part feels uncomfortable because this is only reality for a small percentage of Uganda and a small percentage of the world.

Traveling back to campus is relieving. The sights that have become familiar are comforting. Back at UCU the monkeys jump from branch to branch and as you walk up the hill to Florence Hall dorms it hits you that you’re in Uganda. This is life. 

And we're back!

     My computer is dead…for good. But people have been wonderful, letting me and the other girl who lost her computer use theirs. And the USP office has given us a laptop to share while we are here. All in all, things could be much worse and I’m thankful they are not. The past week-ish has been tough, with school, some days of not feeling so hot, the flood. But God is good, and in this time he’s whispering that it’s not about me. We’re reading “Celebration of Discipline” for one of my classes and it’s so good! Foster says, in the chapter on submission that the disciplines are in pursuit of freedom, and he’s right. It’s hard, and I like getting my own way, but the times that I don’t aren’t usually as big of a deal as I think they are. It’s freeing not getting so upset when things don’t go according to our plans. (I’m still not at that point yet, so I’m encouraging myself as well)

     A lot of the time, I really want to come home, honestly. I would really like to be with my family and friends, doing the things I always do, when I want to do them. Often, I feel so dependent here, like a child. I have a curfew. I cannot go certain places and do certain things. I can only eat at specific times, and at my home stay I am even told when to bathe. I’m making it sound way worse than it actually is, because again…It’s really not as big of a deal as I think it is. I still do everything, just on a schedule that was not made by me. There are days and moments, though, when I get glimpses that I am here at this time for a reason. Mostly, those times come in meeting with people outside of school or my practicum. Sitting down and talking to people who have similar desires, locals and foreigners who want to help by learning first. A friend of my host family, Simon, said that if you can’t help the world by making one person smile, how will you help in any other way? I have learned of some organizations (including my practicum site www.chainfoundationuganda.org) started and run by local people who have the passion and desire to help their people: There are organizations in Kampala slums to bring awareness and development to future generations, my friends mom is going to school for gender studies for women's empowerment and rights,  this week I met someone involved in an agricultural organization that helps people use sustainable practices in all types of climates around the world. It's hearing about and seeing things like that which make me remember that God has me right here, right now. I would have missed the opportunities I'm having, had I stayed home or been somewhere else.