Chapter XII
Chapter XII
At home tonight, we had dinner as usual, and then Fred brought out the guitar and we had a time of family song and praise. I keep feeling like I’m in “Little House on the Prairie,” and it’s a good feeling. Neighbors just drop by any time and are invited in to share whatever we are doing—eating, singing, just talking. The yard is always being visited by someone’s chickens or by children looking for Rick and balloons. I am beginning to love the community. I enjoy sitting outside with the other women doing laundry or dishes (I have not joined them in “digging” yet—I think I’m a bit old and creaky for that.) Everyone just works and talks unhurriedly. Sometimes, during a break, someone will just lie down on one of the ever present mats and take a snooze. Even cooking in the kitchen over a charcoal fire on a dirt floor is good, because you are never alone to do it. All work is shared in a relaxed manner. Sometimes dinner is at 19:00, sometimes at 21:00. Breakfast is anywhere from 08:00 to 10:00. No one ever seems rushed and stressed. Work is harder, but always shared. What is really impressive is the amount of work people are willing to do for their churches. Most of the churches are physically built by the congregation. Bricks are made by hand and carried to the site on heads, foundations dug by hand, trees cut for trusses, earth moved by relay teams. People do extra work “digging” for others to make the money to buy other materials.
The Next Day
Today we spent all day bumping over dirt roads I will euphemistically describe as ruts and potholes with ribbons of road winding randomly through them. We drove a total of about 75 miles. We were gone from 10:00 in the morning until 18:00 in the evening—in search of Pygmies. We drove up up up, all around the circumference of Lake Bunyonyi. I hope to someday find the words to describe the grandeur of the scenery. The words from “How Great Thou Art” kept going through my minds. “I feel the breeze, I see the mountain’s grandeur—my God, how great Thou art!” I have never been anywhere like this. Hawaii and Colorado blended into one incredible place. All the mountainsides are decorated with different patches of cultivation—all done by hand with picks and hoes. There is always someone to be seen working in the soil, and sometimes stretched out on a blanket taking a break. They grow Irish potatoes, sweet potatoes, dodo (spinach-like greens), cassava, ground nuts, tomatoes, squash and onions mostly. Bananas grow all around but there are also banana plantations. Up here at the higher elevations, probably about 8,000 feet, were some beautiful trees with flaming red flowers and no leaves—just a great bloom of the scarlet flowers. When the flowers die and fall off the leaves return. When the leaves fall (twice per year), the flowers return. While driving around one end of the lake, Rick spotted some animals playing in the water. We stopped to check them out. They were playing almost like dolphins, about 8 or 9 of them we counted. They most resembled otters, but Fr. David said he had never seen them before so I’ll have to do some research to find out what they are. The lake was down a big hill from us, and, of course, we had forgotten the binoculars so we didn’t ever get a really good look.
We stopped at several small villages to ask where the Pygmies were today. We finally came to a strange little village where many of the Pygmies stay when they come in from the bush. We walked into the little village which consisted of about three streets in all lined with tiny rooms -some shops, some sleeping places. We bought some cokes. When you buy a soda here you have to drink it on the spot and give the bottle back. They are the glass type with the tops that have to be taken off with a bottle opener. There are bottle caps scattered all over the ground everywhere, and they are collected by children as playthings, or to make things with such as musical instruments. We were surrounded on all sides by both Pygmies and regular people. The Pygmies were taller than I expected. Fr. David explained that, because of the ready availability of alcohol mostly, a lot of cross-breeding has taken place resulting in an average height increase. Most were about my height (5 feet). Most were some level of drunk and asking for money to buy more drinks. Fr. David told them they could have some money if they danced for us. Two of them accepted the offer. They danced, he gave them some coins and one of them literally ran to the nearest bar with the rest cheering him on. The other was an older man with a lame foot. He was wearing the most ragged clothing I think I have seen yet, no shoes and a walking stick taller than he was. He looked like a character from a fairy tale. The feelings going through me at this time were powerful—danger, curiosity, other-worldliness. Not for the first time this trip I felt like I was in a Star Wars movie, somewhere in a distant galaxy long ago. We drove on further and there found a group of very small Pygmies. All were caked in dirt, clothing torn, no attempt whatsoever to wash despite plentiful water. No shoes, feet crusted with dirt, legs looking like animal hides—pitted and cracked. They were in the process of bringing in “poached” bamboo to sell for the money to by alcohol. Cutting bamboo is against the law due to environmental concerns. The bamboo forest is the home of the Mountain Gorillas, and the bamboo is also a national resource. The Pygmies cut and sell it illegally. The Diocese of Kigezi has built them houses to live in, but they seldom use them. The say they don’t want houses, they want money. But when they have money, they spend it on drinking—both men and women. Food is actually plentiful in Uganda if you are willing to do the work to grow it or at least pick it. Almost all the people I’ve met in Uganda are hard working, intelligent people who want to improve their lives through education and technology. The Pygmies, however, seem to be this society’s professional victims. The want to be given the parts of civilization they want, but they don’t want to become civilized to get it. They want to come out of the bush when they feel like it, be given food, shelter and money to get drunk, and then sink back away into the trees when they feel like it.
This group saw we had a camera and immediately began complaining and hiding their faces. I respectfully put away the camera because I thought they had a cultural taboo or fear of photographs. However, that wasn’t it. They said I shouldn’t be able to take their pictures, sell them “for millions” in the U.S., and they get nothing for it. If I wanted their picture, I had to pay them. I asked Fr. David what he would suggest and he said to absolutely not give them any money. Then he told them if they wanted their pictures taken, they would have to pay US. They got very indignant and snorted and stomped around. One woman, who was very pregnant, gave me a nasty look and walked across the road and flopped down on the ground and just stared at us. Fr. David spoke to them for awhile longer and then we left to drive through the bamboo forest. It was beautiful, so different from anything I’ve seen before.
We stopped on the way back to buy some roasted maize from a guy who was just sitting on the roadside out in the middle of nowhere roasting maize. It’s a delicious snack, takes forever to chew and eat and probably very good for dieters. On the road home we stopped at the little church in Bwindi that was Fr. David’s first parish after he was ordained. The church he found when he got there was about the size of two large living rooms put together constructed of mud walls, dirt floor and no furniture except the altar and a couple of chairs for the clergy. When Fr. David saw it he immediately began construction of a new building. The people sold crops and worked for other people to raise the money for any supplies they couldn’t make themselves. They built a beautiful brick (adobe) church with windows and an altar rail, chrism and pulpit. Half of the floor has been concreted and there are pews. It’s really very amazing. The Bishop is coming next month to consecrate and name the new church. It will be named St. John’s. Rev. Christmas, the priest who took the parish when Fr. David was transferred to a different parish, told us in glowing terms how beholden they are to Fr. David for all he did when he was there. Then he showed us where the people are moving mounds of earth out of the way to make a courtyard for when the Bishop comes. The people seem so tireless and joyful in spite of all they’ve been through. Rev. Christmas told us about his little one year old boy, Miracle, who has lost an eye to cancer and may lose the other one also. We prayed with him and his wife before we left.
When we finally got home we were so covered in dust and dirt that even a cold bath was welcome!
At home tonight, we had dinner as usual, and then Fred brought out the guitar and we had a time of family song and praise. I keep feeling like I’m in “Little House on the Prairie,” and it’s a good feeling. Neighbors just drop by any time and are invited in to share whatever we are doing—eating, singing, just talking. The yard is always being visited by someone’s chickens or by children looking for Rick and balloons. I am beginning to love the community. I enjoy sitting outside with the other women doing laundry or dishes (I have not joined them in “digging” yet—I think I’m a bit old and creaky for that.) Everyone just works and talks unhurriedly. Sometimes, during a break, someone will just lie down on one of the ever present mats and take a snooze. Even cooking in the kitchen over a charcoal fire on a dirt floor is good, because you are never alone to do it. All work is shared in a relaxed manner. Sometimes dinner is at 19:00, sometimes at 21:00. Breakfast is anywhere from 08:00 to 10:00. No one ever seems rushed and stressed. Work is harder, but always shared. What is really impressive is the amount of work people are willing to do for their churches. Most of the churches are physically built by the congregation. Bricks are made by hand and carried to the site on heads, foundations dug by hand, trees cut for trusses, earth moved by relay teams. People do extra work “digging” for others to make the money to buy other materials.
The Next Day
Today we spent all day bumping over dirt roads I will euphemistically describe as ruts and potholes with ribbons of road winding randomly through them. We drove a total of about 75 miles. We were gone from 10:00 in the morning until 18:00 in the evening—in search of Pygmies. We drove up up up, all around the circumference of Lake Bunyonyi. I hope to someday find the words to describe the grandeur of the scenery. The words from “How Great Thou Art” kept going through my minds. “I feel the breeze, I see the mountain’s grandeur—my God, how great Thou art!” I have never been anywhere like this. Hawaii and Colorado blended into one incredible place. All the mountainsides are decorated with different patches of cultivation—all done by hand with picks and hoes. There is always someone to be seen working in the soil, and sometimes stretched out on a blanket taking a break. They grow Irish potatoes, sweet potatoes, dodo (spinach-like greens), cassava, ground nuts, tomatoes, squash and onions mostly. Bananas grow all around but there are also banana plantations. Up here at the higher elevations, probably about 8,000 feet, were some beautiful trees with flaming red flowers and no leaves—just a great bloom of the scarlet flowers. When the flowers die and fall off the leaves return. When the leaves fall (twice per year), the flowers return. While driving around one end of the lake, Rick spotted some animals playing in the water. We stopped to check them out. They were playing almost like dolphins, about 8 or 9 of them we counted. They most resembled otters, but Fr. David said he had never seen them before so I’ll have to do some research to find out what they are. The lake was down a big hill from us, and, of course, we had forgotten the binoculars so we didn’t ever get a really good look.
We stopped at several small villages to ask where the Pygmies were today. We finally came to a strange little village where many of the Pygmies stay when they come in from the bush. We walked into the little village which consisted of about three streets in all lined with tiny rooms -some shops, some sleeping places. We bought some cokes. When you buy a soda here you have to drink it on the spot and give the bottle back. They are the glass type with the tops that have to be taken off with a bottle opener. There are bottle caps scattered all over the ground everywhere, and they are collected by children as playthings, or to make things with such as musical instruments. We were surrounded on all sides by both Pygmies and regular people. The Pygmies were taller than I expected. Fr. David explained that, because of the ready availability of alcohol mostly, a lot of cross-breeding has taken place resulting in an average height increase. Most were about my height (5 feet). Most were some level of drunk and asking for money to buy more drinks. Fr. David told them they could have some money if they danced for us. Two of them accepted the offer. They danced, he gave them some coins and one of them literally ran to the nearest bar with the rest cheering him on. The other was an older man with a lame foot. He was wearing the most ragged clothing I think I have seen yet, no shoes and a walking stick taller than he was. He looked like a character from a fairy tale. The feelings going through me at this time were powerful—danger, curiosity, other-worldliness. Not for the first time this trip I felt like I was in a Star Wars movie, somewhere in a distant galaxy long ago. We drove on further and there found a group of very small Pygmies. All were caked in dirt, clothing torn, no attempt whatsoever to wash despite plentiful water. No shoes, feet crusted with dirt, legs looking like animal hides—pitted and cracked. They were in the process of bringing in “poached” bamboo to sell for the money to by alcohol. Cutting bamboo is against the law due to environmental concerns. The bamboo forest is the home of the Mountain Gorillas, and the bamboo is also a national resource. The Pygmies cut and sell it illegally. The Diocese of Kigezi has built them houses to live in, but they seldom use them. The say they don’t want houses, they want money. But when they have money, they spend it on drinking—both men and women. Food is actually plentiful in Uganda if you are willing to do the work to grow it or at least pick it. Almost all the people I’ve met in Uganda are hard working, intelligent people who want to improve their lives through education and technology. The Pygmies, however, seem to be this society’s professional victims. The want to be given the parts of civilization they want, but they don’t want to become civilized to get it. They want to come out of the bush when they feel like it, be given food, shelter and money to get drunk, and then sink back away into the trees when they feel like it.
This group saw we had a camera and immediately began complaining and hiding their faces. I respectfully put away the camera because I thought they had a cultural taboo or fear of photographs. However, that wasn’t it. They said I shouldn’t be able to take their pictures, sell them “for millions” in the U.S., and they get nothing for it. If I wanted their picture, I had to pay them. I asked Fr. David what he would suggest and he said to absolutely not give them any money. Then he told them if they wanted their pictures taken, they would have to pay US. They got very indignant and snorted and stomped around. One woman, who was very pregnant, gave me a nasty look and walked across the road and flopped down on the ground and just stared at us. Fr. David spoke to them for awhile longer and then we left to drive through the bamboo forest. It was beautiful, so different from anything I’ve seen before.
We stopped on the way back to buy some roasted maize from a guy who was just sitting on the roadside out in the middle of nowhere roasting maize. It’s a delicious snack, takes forever to chew and eat and probably very good for dieters. On the road home we stopped at the little church in Bwindi that was Fr. David’s first parish after he was ordained. The church he found when he got there was about the size of two large living rooms put together constructed of mud walls, dirt floor and no furniture except the altar and a couple of chairs for the clergy. When Fr. David saw it he immediately began construction of a new building. The people sold crops and worked for other people to raise the money for any supplies they couldn’t make themselves. They built a beautiful brick (adobe) church with windows and an altar rail, chrism and pulpit. Half of the floor has been concreted and there are pews. It’s really very amazing. The Bishop is coming next month to consecrate and name the new church. It will be named St. John’s. Rev. Christmas, the priest who took the parish when Fr. David was transferred to a different parish, told us in glowing terms how beholden they are to Fr. David for all he did when he was there. Then he showed us where the people are moving mounds of earth out of the way to make a courtyard for when the Bishop comes. The people seem so tireless and joyful in spite of all they’ve been through. Rev. Christmas told us about his little one year old boy, Miracle, who has lost an eye to cancer and may lose the other one also. We prayed with him and his wife before we left.
When we finally got home we were so covered in dust and dirt that even a cold bath was welcome!
Labels: Uganda Chronicles
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