Chapter X
Chapter X
Yesterday we had a fun and relaxing day. We went to Bushale Island (pronounced Boo shar’ ee). We drove to Lake Bunyonyi. As we drove down to the waterfront there was a street market going on—kind of like a huge flea market. We drove right through the middle of it, people, goats, cows and bicycles parting before us like the Red Sea. We parked right in front of the little ticket stand, walked down and got on a large, covered canoe. This one had a motor. They made us wear annoying life jackets, but I guess I should be glad. As we pulled away from the dock I noticed Fr. David holding on to both sides of the boat, as white-knuckled as he can get. Rick noticed also and asked, “Do you know how to swim, Fr. David?” Fr. David said no—he can’t swim. I then became very grateful for the life jackets. The ride over was delightful. The weather was its usual perfection, not hot, not cold, plenty of sunshine but big fluffy white clouds floating in the sky. I put my hand over the side into the lake. The water was cool, not cold, probably perfect for swimming. Native people were paddling back and forth across the lake in dug-out canoes. Everyone smiled and waved. Some boats had bicycles on board, others a mother and several children. Fr. David pointed out several churches on the different islands (the lake has 28 in all) and also pointed out a school he had attended as a child. When we got to Bushale, we got out of the boat and began climbing (we’re always climbing here) up to the restaurant and information center at the top. There we learned we needed to order lunch now, then go hiking around the island, and then come back and the food would be ready. So we ordered and went hiking. At one point I was standing looking through the trees filled with colorful birds with the water sparkling in the distance when I heard Fr. David behind me say, “Now, do you see how sweet is Africa?” I certainly do see how sweet this part is—I’m reserving judgment on the parts I haven’t experienced. This country is what Winston Churchill called The Pearl in Africa’s Crown,” and Kigezi has been called “The Switzerland of Africa.” The scenery is breathtaking—soaring mountains, pine trees and banana trees growing together, weather that is never really hot or really cold, a night sky that dazzles the eye and the senses. And the island is the kind you think of when you imagine a tropical island paradise. However, there are no animals on the island, only birds. They are trying to keep the island ecologically pure so they don’t allow anything brought in that doesn’t grow there naturally. The Diocese of Kigezi oversees the island. Bushale used to have a hospital on it that cared for lepers who resided on the next island over. The leper colony and hospital operated from the early 1900s until 1962. Now, most of the income from tourism to the island goes to help AIDS widows and orphans from the area. The island has cabins and tents for rent and there was a group of people there from England. The ‘gift shop” contained various hand-crafted items made by area widows and the money from the sales helps them support their families. We arrived back from our hike about one hour later. The food wasn’t ready for another half hour after that.
On the drive back up from the water it was the same as on the way there, lots of horn honking and people and animals getting out of the way. Once a cow came so close to the car on my side she brushed the side mirror and smashed it against the side of the car. I could reach out and run my hand over her back. On the road home we stopped by St. Andrews and met Reverend Ernst who told us all about Fr. David founding the church. After that we visited St. Marks which Fr. David helped to build when he was still a stonemason before he was called to the priesthood. At St. Mark’s the Arch Deacon resides. The lay reader showed me some more locally made musical instruments. We sang a song together—”Joy to the World” which was fun singing during August. From there we came home. Just as we arrived home, the telephone company truck pulled up to make arrangements to install the phone we had ordered to make it possible for Fr. David to use the Internet. They were prepared to do it right away, but it was a “power shedding” night and the power was off from 18:00 to 22:00 and it was 18:30, so they will be back in the morning.
The past two nights we have also been treated to African produced movies. Now that Fr. David has a DVD player, Fred has brought home rented movies twice. The stories have both been about sin and its consequences. The plots are pure drama with lots of sobbing and fainting. But God is at the center. It’s been fun and interesting.
The next morning.
Aah—nothing like a cold “bath” in the morning, standing in a little plastic basin trying to get everything clean
without falling out of the “tub.” I have visions going through my mind of my naked body sprawled out on the concrete floor in a pool of soapy water, one foot still stuck in the basin, having to be rescued by my hysterically laughing hosts. Needless to say, every move is made very carefully. Today, as I looked out the bathroom window, I was greeted by a goat calmly munching the shrub outside the window about two feet from my face. The acoustics in the house are such that when people talk in the living room, it sounds like they are right outside the bathroom window (which is open and has no glass, screen or curtains). It took a while to get used to that and not leap across the slippery, wet cement floor for something to cover up with each time I heard someone say something.
As I was getting dressed, the drums began, announcing it’s Sunday morning and time for the local church service to begin in about one hour. What is it about drums that stirs the blood with both excitement and maybe a little bit of fear? Probably TV shows about Tarzan, or old Cowboy and Indian movies where the drums always meant the explorers/missionaries/settlers were about to be brutally slaughtered by the locals. Here, in this century, the drums are a summons to gather for an event—usually a joyful event like church or a wedding.
Yesterday, we went to meet the parents of Emmanuel (husband-to-be of Patience). Joyce and Guster live about 15 miles from Kabale in a region called Kihoro. How we made it to the house without four-wheel drive I am still pondering. The home is in a location people would pay bundles to live in. It’s on a hill overlooking some of the best scenery I’ve seen yet, and that’s going some. Mountains march in lines in all directions. They are covered with the unlikely mixture of banana groves, pine trees and cassava plants. Flowers grow all around the house—geraniums, coleus plants, flowering poinsettias, bottle brush, lilies—things I have never seen growing naturally together before. Guster wanted to show us his land. We hiked up a steep hillside as he explained about this being his land over here, over there is his brother’s land. Here is where land is set aside for his two sons to build on if they wish. The Ugandan’s only asset is his land, handed down for generations. Many of them have sold almost all their land to pay for school fees for their children. After hiking back down the mountain, we had a delightful lunch (you guessed it—matoke, meat stew, beans, rice and cabbage) in a room with a soft breeze blowing in the windows and little bright yellow birds hopping part way in the door to see if we had dropped anything for them. Guster’s 90-year-old father sat in a chair by the door and was brought a skewer of roasted liver which was all he wanted to eat. Father (name unpronounceable by me) is still extremely mobile and alert for his age. Somehow, he and Rick connected as ex-military men. Father doesn’t speak any English, but with a little interpretation we found out he was with the Royal African Rifle Corp (for England) in WWII. When we were leaving, he and Rick saluted each other. It was very touching. Before we got in the car they presented us with a big bag of freshly picked bananas, and Joyce gave me a beautiful basket woven with the words (in Rukiga) “Jesus Heals.” When we got home, Patience was impatiently waiting to hear all about the visit. She has never been to the home of her future in-laws.
Yesterday we had a fun and relaxing day. We went to Bushale Island (pronounced Boo shar’ ee). We drove to Lake Bunyonyi. As we drove down to the waterfront there was a street market going on—kind of like a huge flea market. We drove right through the middle of it, people, goats, cows and bicycles parting before us like the Red Sea. We parked right in front of the little ticket stand, walked down and got on a large, covered canoe. This one had a motor. They made us wear annoying life jackets, but I guess I should be glad. As we pulled away from the dock I noticed Fr. David holding on to both sides of the boat, as white-knuckled as he can get. Rick noticed also and asked, “Do you know how to swim, Fr. David?” Fr. David said no—he can’t swim. I then became very grateful for the life jackets. The ride over was delightful. The weather was its usual perfection, not hot, not cold, plenty of sunshine but big fluffy white clouds floating in the sky. I put my hand over the side into the lake. The water was cool, not cold, probably perfect for swimming. Native people were paddling back and forth across the lake in dug-out canoes. Everyone smiled and waved. Some boats had bicycles on board, others a mother and several children. Fr. David pointed out several churches on the different islands (the lake has 28 in all) and also pointed out a school he had attended as a child. When we got to Bushale, we got out of the boat and began climbing (we’re always climbing here) up to the restaurant and information center at the top. There we learned we needed to order lunch now, then go hiking around the island, and then come back and the food would be ready. So we ordered and went hiking. At one point I was standing looking through the trees filled with colorful birds with the water sparkling in the distance when I heard Fr. David behind me say, “Now, do you see how sweet is Africa?” I certainly do see how sweet this part is—I’m reserving judgment on the parts I haven’t experienced. This country is what Winston Churchill called The Pearl in Africa’s Crown,” and Kigezi has been called “The Switzerland of Africa.” The scenery is breathtaking—soaring mountains, pine trees and banana trees growing together, weather that is never really hot or really cold, a night sky that dazzles the eye and the senses. And the island is the kind you think of when you imagine a tropical island paradise. However, there are no animals on the island, only birds. They are trying to keep the island ecologically pure so they don’t allow anything brought in that doesn’t grow there naturally. The Diocese of Kigezi oversees the island. Bushale used to have a hospital on it that cared for lepers who resided on the next island over. The leper colony and hospital operated from the early 1900s until 1962. Now, most of the income from tourism to the island goes to help AIDS widows and orphans from the area. The island has cabins and tents for rent and there was a group of people there from England. The ‘gift shop” contained various hand-crafted items made by area widows and the money from the sales helps them support their families. We arrived back from our hike about one hour later. The food wasn’t ready for another half hour after that.
On the drive back up from the water it was the same as on the way there, lots of horn honking and people and animals getting out of the way. Once a cow came so close to the car on my side she brushed the side mirror and smashed it against the side of the car. I could reach out and run my hand over her back. On the road home we stopped by St. Andrews and met Reverend Ernst who told us all about Fr. David founding the church. After that we visited St. Marks which Fr. David helped to build when he was still a stonemason before he was called to the priesthood. At St. Mark’s the Arch Deacon resides. The lay reader showed me some more locally made musical instruments. We sang a song together—”Joy to the World” which was fun singing during August. From there we came home. Just as we arrived home, the telephone company truck pulled up to make arrangements to install the phone we had ordered to make it possible for Fr. David to use the Internet. They were prepared to do it right away, but it was a “power shedding” night and the power was off from 18:00 to 22:00 and it was 18:30, so they will be back in the morning.
The past two nights we have also been treated to African produced movies. Now that Fr. David has a DVD player, Fred has brought home rented movies twice. The stories have both been about sin and its consequences. The plots are pure drama with lots of sobbing and fainting. But God is at the center. It’s been fun and interesting.
The next morning.
Aah—nothing like a cold “bath” in the morning, standing in a little plastic basin trying to get everything clean
without falling out of the “tub.” I have visions going through my mind of my naked body sprawled out on the concrete floor in a pool of soapy water, one foot still stuck in the basin, having to be rescued by my hysterically laughing hosts. Needless to say, every move is made very carefully. Today, as I looked out the bathroom window, I was greeted by a goat calmly munching the shrub outside the window about two feet from my face. The acoustics in the house are such that when people talk in the living room, it sounds like they are right outside the bathroom window (which is open and has no glass, screen or curtains). It took a while to get used to that and not leap across the slippery, wet cement floor for something to cover up with each time I heard someone say something.
As I was getting dressed, the drums began, announcing it’s Sunday morning and time for the local church service to begin in about one hour. What is it about drums that stirs the blood with both excitement and maybe a little bit of fear? Probably TV shows about Tarzan, or old Cowboy and Indian movies where the drums always meant the explorers/missionaries/settlers were about to be brutally slaughtered by the locals. Here, in this century, the drums are a summons to gather for an event—usually a joyful event like church or a wedding.
Yesterday, we went to meet the parents of Emmanuel (husband-to-be of Patience). Joyce and Guster live about 15 miles from Kabale in a region called Kihoro. How we made it to the house without four-wheel drive I am still pondering. The home is in a location people would pay bundles to live in. It’s on a hill overlooking some of the best scenery I’ve seen yet, and that’s going some. Mountains march in lines in all directions. They are covered with the unlikely mixture of banana groves, pine trees and cassava plants. Flowers grow all around the house—geraniums, coleus plants, flowering poinsettias, bottle brush, lilies—things I have never seen growing naturally together before. Guster wanted to show us his land. We hiked up a steep hillside as he explained about this being his land over here, over there is his brother’s land. Here is where land is set aside for his two sons to build on if they wish. The Ugandan’s only asset is his land, handed down for generations. Many of them have sold almost all their land to pay for school fees for their children. After hiking back down the mountain, we had a delightful lunch (you guessed it—matoke, meat stew, beans, rice and cabbage) in a room with a soft breeze blowing in the windows and little bright yellow birds hopping part way in the door to see if we had dropped anything for them. Guster’s 90-year-old father sat in a chair by the door and was brought a skewer of roasted liver which was all he wanted to eat. Father (name unpronounceable by me) is still extremely mobile and alert for his age. Somehow, he and Rick connected as ex-military men. Father doesn’t speak any English, but with a little interpretation we found out he was with the Royal African Rifle Corp (for England) in WWII. When we were leaving, he and Rick saluted each other. It was very touching. Before we got in the car they presented us with a big bag of freshly picked bananas, and Joyce gave me a beautiful basket woven with the words (in Rukiga) “Jesus Heals.” When we got home, Patience was impatiently waiting to hear all about the visit. She has never been to the home of her future in-laws.
Labels: Uganda Chronicles
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