Chapter XVI
09 December 2006 (Friday)
I am sitting the car, sweating, as several African mechanics, Rick and Fr. David try to figure out why the car quit running properly after the last giant speed bump crashed against the bottom of the car. (It turned out the speed bump knocked the fuel line loose and petrol was leaking out instead of getting to the engine. This happened several more times before we got home.)
We arrived at Entebbe on Tuesday evening and went to Medard’s house. As will happen often with plans here, Pastor Mike did not meet us at the airport as he had insisted he must, but he had made a hotel reservation for us which we declined in favor of staying with a friend. He was going to contact us the next day, but that never occurred. Wednesday morning, the car went into the “shop” for a few repairs. Those few repairs turned into shocks, brakes, calipers, replace a broken tie rod and a few other “little things.” That took two days and Fr. David had to stay there the whole time to monitor the work. Finally, Thursday evening, the repairs were done. We left about 09:30 Friday morning. However, nothing is ever as it seems here. We found out this morning we would be transporting a passenger, a family friend who wants to go home to Kabale for the wedding. That involved some extremely creative packing of the car to fit all of us and the luggage in. Then, since Fr. David doesn’t know the way from Medard’s house to other places in Kampala, we had to hire a driver to drive us to the tyre shop to get two new tyres (which turned into 3). This necessitated our passenger, Pamela (pronounced Pah MARE ah), to take a boda boda (bicycle taxi) to the place near the main highway where we would eventually end up. Off she went on the boda boda, off we went through the worst Kampala traffic I have seen yet. It took almost 1 ½ hours to go what was probably about 10 miles. At the tyre shop, Fr. David realized all the suitcases had been packed on top of the spare tyre in the trunk, so we unpacked it all there in the parking lot and repacked it when the work was finished. Finally, we were on the road – just a simple stop for petrol still needed. At the petrol station, they backed the back driver’s side tyre(one of the newly installed tyres!) up onto a cement block to tilt the car sideways, then several men rocked the car to make sure every last drop of petrol was squeezed into the tank. We then drove around a bit to locate Pamela and finally got on the road about 13:00. Only four hours to get out of town! But still time to make it to Kabale before dark – until that darn speed bump. So now I sit here with about 5 children hanging through the car window saying “hi – how are YOU?” I say, with a smile through clenched teeth, “I am FINE!”
11 December 2006
I have been reflecting on the importance of hospitality. I have always wondered why it is so highly prized in many cultures, especially in the Bible. Sure – it’s nice to be nice, to entertain people in your home, to offer friends and family a place to stay when they are visiting. It seems God put a certain desire in most people to want to offer hospitality – to sort of “show off” our homes and possessions and children and pets. But since being in Uganda a new meaning has become real to me. Sometimes, many times in past centuries, hospitality can be the difference between life and death. In desert cultures a person can die with no water or shelter, and a person refusing a traveler either of those things could be condemning that traveler to death. When I first moved to Phoenix, Arizona in the late 1960’s, there was a law on the books that stated it was illegal to refuse anyone a drink of water if they asked. Living there, I definitely understood that. Here and now though, on this trip, I have realized how different our experience would be if not for friends here and their hospitality. This culture is very different from ours. The people are friendly, but we have no way to know if something we say or do is offensive. We were all created the same, as tribal people. People who live together in societies develop traditions and rules to live by so there will be order and prosperity. When a stranger comes among them, people are naturally wary until they see if that person will be able to fit in and not create chaos by ignoring the rules and traditions. Hospitality plays an important part in helping to introduce strangers to a different society. The host is showing the community – see – this person is acceptable to me, I trust them and I am responsible for their actions while they are here. When we first came here to Uganda, Fr. David taught us some of the words to use to greet people, to say thank you, (there is no word in their language for “please”), etc. Because we were with him, others knew they should not try to overcharge us in the market. If we had just arrived at the airport on our own, we would have been at the mercy of many people’s hospitality – to be shown how to obtain transportation, where to change money, to find lodging, to even buy a meal. Because we had a host, all these things were made easier. We were under his protection. And because of that, we were able to begin serving God immediately instead of wasting a lot of time just learning our way around. And so, I have a new respect for the concept of hospitality.
14 December 2006
Today we visited St. Luke’s, the small church in higher up in the mountains near Lake Bunyoni. When we first arrived we were given refreshments in the home of the Lay Reader. His home is about the size of a U.S. living room, with dirt floors, two very small windows for light, no electricity or running water. We sat on one of the two wooden benches to drink our sodas and have some time to visit, and then walked up the hill from the house to the church. As we stood outside greeting people, we watched the men carry the wooden benches out of the Lay Reader’s house up the hill to the church so there would something for us to sit on in the church. I had been asked to give the message today. The first thing I noticed when we walked in was the addition of a brick pulpit that had not been there last time we visited. So, after much singing and dancing, I spoke to them about the awesome power of God, and the love He has for us, and how we should tell everyone about that power and love. Then there was more singing and dancing outside and then we took our leave of those beautiful people. As we traveled down the road, two women waved us to a stop near the side of the road because they had some wedding gifts for Patience. Fr. David got out and spoke to them. Rick was driving and I was in the front passenger seat, and we just talked to each other while Fr. David spoke to the women by the road. He opened the trunk of the car and put in the wedding gifts, we said goodbye and thanks to the women, and began the twisting, bumping, dusty drive back down to Kabale Town. As we drove, I could hear the bleating of goats by the few homes we passed. Then we started through an area where there were no homes. But I still kept hearing the bleating of a goat. It started to filter through my consciousness that there were no goats along the road anymore. I asked Rick, “do you hear a goat?” He said yes, that’s strange because there aren’t any along the road in this area. Suddenly it flashed in my mind – the two women Fr. David had been talking to had been holding a small goat on a rope. It came together – the goat was a wedding gift to Patience, and that goat was in the trunk of the car! My animal loving American heart crashed painfully into the African cultural wall – here, animals are either to eat or to perform some service for humans. There are no pets. I listened to the poor little goat bleating in what I imagined to be pain and terror in the trunk of the car and tried not to cry. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer and I asked Fr. David, “Is there a live goat in the trunk of the car?” He said yes, it was a gift for Patience. I asked wouldn’t it die before we got it home? He said no, it would not die. I asked wasn’t it scared and in pain? He said, don’t worry, it will be fine. I kept repeating to myself, this is not Kansas anymore, shut up before you insult someone. But I began imagining the distance between where we were now and home, mentally ticking off the minutes before the little goat would be freed from the trunk. I calculated probably about 20 more minutes. Finally, we emerged from the mountain road to the main road of Kabale Town. Almost home, almost relief for the little goat! Just then, Fr. David said let’s stop at that hotel and have lunch. I couldn’t believe it! But I didn’t want to be rude so I decided to pretend there was no goat in the trunk until we were finished lunch. Finally, back in the car and headed home. But no, Fr. David said now let’s go visit the Bishop – he is expecting us this afternoon. WHAT ABOUT THE GOAT?! It wasn’t bleating anymore. It must have died of a heart attack brought on by the terror of being enclosed in the trunk of the car and being banged around on the mountain roads for miles. So again, I put it out of my mind while we visited the Bishop. Finally , four hours after we put the goat in the trunk, we arrived home. The trunk was opened, the goat was lifted out and placed on the ground where it immediately stretched and began eating grass like nothing had happened. Fr. David smiled at me and gave me a “see, I told you” look. Just another day on another planet.
I am sitting the car, sweating, as several African mechanics, Rick and Fr. David try to figure out why the car quit running properly after the last giant speed bump crashed against the bottom of the car. (It turned out the speed bump knocked the fuel line loose and petrol was leaking out instead of getting to the engine. This happened several more times before we got home.)
We arrived at Entebbe on Tuesday evening and went to Medard’s house. As will happen often with plans here, Pastor Mike did not meet us at the airport as he had insisted he must, but he had made a hotel reservation for us which we declined in favor of staying with a friend. He was going to contact us the next day, but that never occurred. Wednesday morning, the car went into the “shop” for a few repairs. Those few repairs turned into shocks, brakes, calipers, replace a broken tie rod and a few other “little things.” That took two days and Fr. David had to stay there the whole time to monitor the work. Finally, Thursday evening, the repairs were done. We left about 09:30 Friday morning. However, nothing is ever as it seems here. We found out this morning we would be transporting a passenger, a family friend who wants to go home to Kabale for the wedding. That involved some extremely creative packing of the car to fit all of us and the luggage in. Then, since Fr. David doesn’t know the way from Medard’s house to other places in Kampala, we had to hire a driver to drive us to the tyre shop to get two new tyres (which turned into 3). This necessitated our passenger, Pamela (pronounced Pah MARE ah), to take a boda boda (bicycle taxi) to the place near the main highway where we would eventually end up. Off she went on the boda boda, off we went through the worst Kampala traffic I have seen yet. It took almost 1 ½ hours to go what was probably about 10 miles. At the tyre shop, Fr. David realized all the suitcases had been packed on top of the spare tyre in the trunk, so we unpacked it all there in the parking lot and repacked it when the work was finished. Finally, we were on the road – just a simple stop for petrol still needed. At the petrol station, they backed the back driver’s side tyre(one of the newly installed tyres!) up onto a cement block to tilt the car sideways, then several men rocked the car to make sure every last drop of petrol was squeezed into the tank. We then drove around a bit to locate Pamela and finally got on the road about 13:00. Only four hours to get out of town! But still time to make it to Kabale before dark – until that darn speed bump. So now I sit here with about 5 children hanging through the car window saying “hi – how are YOU?” I say, with a smile through clenched teeth, “I am FINE!”
11 December 2006
I have been reflecting on the importance of hospitality. I have always wondered why it is so highly prized in many cultures, especially in the Bible. Sure – it’s nice to be nice, to entertain people in your home, to offer friends and family a place to stay when they are visiting. It seems God put a certain desire in most people to want to offer hospitality – to sort of “show off” our homes and possessions and children and pets. But since being in Uganda a new meaning has become real to me. Sometimes, many times in past centuries, hospitality can be the difference between life and death. In desert cultures a person can die with no water or shelter, and a person refusing a traveler either of those things could be condemning that traveler to death. When I first moved to Phoenix, Arizona in the late 1960’s, there was a law on the books that stated it was illegal to refuse anyone a drink of water if they asked. Living there, I definitely understood that. Here and now though, on this trip, I have realized how different our experience would be if not for friends here and their hospitality. This culture is very different from ours. The people are friendly, but we have no way to know if something we say or do is offensive. We were all created the same, as tribal people. People who live together in societies develop traditions and rules to live by so there will be order and prosperity. When a stranger comes among them, people are naturally wary until they see if that person will be able to fit in and not create chaos by ignoring the rules and traditions. Hospitality plays an important part in helping to introduce strangers to a different society. The host is showing the community – see – this person is acceptable to me, I trust them and I am responsible for their actions while they are here. When we first came here to Uganda, Fr. David taught us some of the words to use to greet people, to say thank you, (there is no word in their language for “please”), etc. Because we were with him, others knew they should not try to overcharge us in the market. If we had just arrived at the airport on our own, we would have been at the mercy of many people’s hospitality – to be shown how to obtain transportation, where to change money, to find lodging, to even buy a meal. Because we had a host, all these things were made easier. We were under his protection. And because of that, we were able to begin serving God immediately instead of wasting a lot of time just learning our way around. And so, I have a new respect for the concept of hospitality.
14 December 2006
Today we visited St. Luke’s, the small church in higher up in the mountains near Lake Bunyoni. When we first arrived we were given refreshments in the home of the Lay Reader. His home is about the size of a U.S. living room, with dirt floors, two very small windows for light, no electricity or running water. We sat on one of the two wooden benches to drink our sodas and have some time to visit, and then walked up the hill from the house to the church. As we stood outside greeting people, we watched the men carry the wooden benches out of the Lay Reader’s house up the hill to the church so there would something for us to sit on in the church. I had been asked to give the message today. The first thing I noticed when we walked in was the addition of a brick pulpit that had not been there last time we visited. So, after much singing and dancing, I spoke to them about the awesome power of God, and the love He has for us, and how we should tell everyone about that power and love. Then there was more singing and dancing outside and then we took our leave of those beautiful people. As we traveled down the road, two women waved us to a stop near the side of the road because they had some wedding gifts for Patience. Fr. David got out and spoke to them. Rick was driving and I was in the front passenger seat, and we just talked to each other while Fr. David spoke to the women by the road. He opened the trunk of the car and put in the wedding gifts, we said goodbye and thanks to the women, and began the twisting, bumping, dusty drive back down to Kabale Town. As we drove, I could hear the bleating of goats by the few homes we passed. Then we started through an area where there were no homes. But I still kept hearing the bleating of a goat. It started to filter through my consciousness that there were no goats along the road anymore. I asked Rick, “do you hear a goat?” He said yes, that’s strange because there aren’t any along the road in this area. Suddenly it flashed in my mind – the two women Fr. David had been talking to had been holding a small goat on a rope. It came together – the goat was a wedding gift to Patience, and that goat was in the trunk of the car! My animal loving American heart crashed painfully into the African cultural wall – here, animals are either to eat or to perform some service for humans. There are no pets. I listened to the poor little goat bleating in what I imagined to be pain and terror in the trunk of the car and tried not to cry. Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer and I asked Fr. David, “Is there a live goat in the trunk of the car?” He said yes, it was a gift for Patience. I asked wouldn’t it die before we got it home? He said no, it would not die. I asked wasn’t it scared and in pain? He said, don’t worry, it will be fine. I kept repeating to myself, this is not Kansas anymore, shut up before you insult someone. But I began imagining the distance between where we were now and home, mentally ticking off the minutes before the little goat would be freed from the trunk. I calculated probably about 20 more minutes. Finally, we emerged from the mountain road to the main road of Kabale Town. Almost home, almost relief for the little goat! Just then, Fr. David said let’s stop at that hotel and have lunch. I couldn’t believe it! But I didn’t want to be rude so I decided to pretend there was no goat in the trunk until we were finished lunch. Finally, back in the car and headed home. But no, Fr. David said now let’s go visit the Bishop – he is expecting us this afternoon. WHAT ABOUT THE GOAT?! It wasn’t bleating anymore. It must have died of a heart attack brought on by the terror of being enclosed in the trunk of the car and being banged around on the mountain roads for miles. So again, I put it out of my mind while we visited the Bishop. Finally , four hours after we put the goat in the trunk, we arrived home. The trunk was opened, the goat was lifted out and placed on the ground where it immediately stretched and began eating grass like nothing had happened. Fr. David smiled at me and gave me a “see, I told you” look. Just another day on another planet.
Labels: Uganda Chronicles
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