Uganda Chronicles

Chapter XXIV

noreply@blogger.com (St. John's Church) — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 22:18:00 +0000

18 September 2007 - Tuesday

This day began with another pouring rainstorm. I brought the laundry in (still damp) last night and I guess I won’t be putting it back out today. Fr. David was gone somewhere and breakfast was sitting out covered with a net. We ate and had coffee and watched the rain pour down. I was wondering how we would visit three different places up winding, muddy mountain roads in this downpour which had no appearance of stopping any time soon. Fr. David finally returned and sat down to eat with us. He explained that there was a clergy meeting at the cathedral that he needed to attend at least for a few minutes before we went visiting. We had an appointment with the attorney at 11:00 and were supposed to be at the school at Nyabushabi at 13:30. It was now 10:00. I asked David if we could come to the clergy meeting with him so we could just proceed on from there. He lit up and said he would love to have us come and observe a clergy meeting here in Kigezi. He said he had not asked because he thought we “feared” the rain. So we tromped out to the car in the rain. Rick and I both sat in the back seat because the passenger side window in the front seat was stuck in the down position and rain was spraying in. By the time we got to the cathedral it had let up to at least normal rain. We were introduced to several priests as we walked in. Fr. David asked the Sub-Dean, who presides over clergy conferences, if we could attend. He said yes, of course, and then joked with us that however most of the proceedings would be in what would seem like a “heavenly language” to us. The agenda turned out to contain, as item #4, the discussion of transfers of lay readers within the Diocese. This is a huge item as the lay readers can be reassigned by the Sub Dean each year and some are known to be much better than others and campaigning goes on to transfer away unwanted ones and get the good ones. So it was very important for Fr. David to be there because his Lay Reader, Richard, is one of the best and he didn’t want to risk losing him by not being there. When we realized how important it was, we told him to be there as long as he needed. So, we arrived at our 11:00 attorney appointment at about 15:00 because the clergy meeting went on until 13:15 and then they insisted we stay and have lunch with them. Fortunately we didn’t eat much because we then came home for lunch before proceeding on to the attorney’s office. We had to collect the property owner first. He owns a shop in the large marketplace so we had to drive back in through the narrow, muddy streets crowded with people walking, bicycles, motorcycles, delivery trucks and an occasional goat. After picking him up we went on to the attorney’s office. The attorney has his office in the third floor of a building just off the main road. We walked up several flights of very steep cement stairs and through a very interesting medley of odors. The attorney had the papers ready so we signed, took pictures, and accomplished a major step toward beginning the orphanage. From there we dropped the owner back at his shop, where Fr. David purchased two area rugs as a surprise for Constance to spruce up the sitting room and also because the Bishop and his wife will be coming to dinner tomorrow night. We discussed the best way to arrange the rugs – Constance wanted them side by side to form a square, but David insisted on putting them end to end through the middle of the room. So, we put them end to end. We had a little ceremony celebrating the new rugs where Constance and I danced down the length of the new rugs followed by David and Rick. A little later, David and Rick left to meet with an architect and a surveyor. While they were gone, Constance and the girls rearranged the rugs into a square (much better arrangement in my opinion) and they will most likely remain that way.
Fr. David and Rick arrived home several hours later having accomplished quite a bit. The architect will begin to design the orphanage per our desires, and the surveyor surveyed the plot and will register it and get us a plot number. This turned to be quite and unexpected expense. I hope there won’t be too many of these!

19 September 2007 – Wednesday

With urgent business taken care of, it was the day to have fun giving gifts. When we first woke up, the humidity was horrible. The sheets were damp. I took a dress off of a hanger and put it on – it felt like it was wet. Rick and I were also waking up with strange insect bites on us which I believe may be from bedbugs. These, along with mosquito bites, were itching and burning. I was so miserable I felt like crying. Again I began to wonder – why am I such a wimp? Other people seem to be able to work right through all their miseries and aches and pains, but when I am physically miserable I can’t even think. So I prayed to God to give me the grace to be a blessing to others even though I felt miserable and grouchy. God is so wonderful! About ½ hour later, the sun came out, and a breeze began to whisper through the eucalyptus trees across the road. I walked outside to put the still damp laundry out once again and it was so beautiful I stayed outside sitting on a low brick wall, eyes closed, praising the Lord for His mercy and grace and His love for me.
Soon, it was time to leave and go to St. Luke’s. We drove up, up, up over bumps and ruts. Fortunately, after Rick showed Fr. David how to clean the air filter on the car, it began being able to climb hills again. We had been concerned because it had been gasping and stalling every time we started up a hill the day before. So, we arrived at the beautiful Lake Bunyoni area. We were supposed to have been there yesterday so they were surprised we were there but immediately set about beating the drums to summon people to the church. While we were waiting, a young man named Andrew arrived. He is one of the students sponsored by someone at St. John’s Roseville. He was dressed very nicely and so happy to meet us. He spoke good English. He is very thankful for the opportunity to continue school. His parents have both died and he lives part time with an uncle and part time with his ancient grandmother, Beatrice, whose only son was Andrew’s father. Beatrice wanted to meet us so we walked down the road to her house. She greeted us leaning heavily on a walking stick and moved so slowly toward us I decided to go to her. By now she was trembling with effort. We greeted her and helped her to sit down on a small stool. As she tried to sit, she cried out in pain. Andrew explained it was her hip which has begun giving her a lot of pain recently. We laid hands on her and prayed the Lord to ease her suffering and heal her body. How she lives there alone most of the time I don’t know. There is no running water or power and she can barely get around. Family and friends do come to help regularly, but she must be very lonely. She blessed us repeatedly for helping Andrew. He said he wants to be an engineer or a business owner.

Chapter XXIII

noreply@blogger.com (St. John's Church) — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 17:47:00 +0000

17 September 2007

I was so depressed Saturday most of the day. Then, about 15:00, Fr. David said we were going to visit another sponsored child. I didn’t even feel like going but I knew I should. So we got in the car and drove down some more truly horrendous roads until we couldn’t drive any more and got out to walk the rest of the way. Waiting for us on the pathway was Isaac, the boy we were going to visit. He had been on his way somewhere when he saw us coming so he was able to lead us to his home (up a narrow dirt pathway, down a steep embankment and over a few more winding pathways). There we came to a small mud hut with a thatched roof and no windows. The hut probably measures about 10 feet by 12 feet. There is no power, no running water. No beds – just straw mats on a dirt floor for the mother and her three children. The father died in 2000. Janet, Isaac’s mother, doesn’t even have a plastic basin to wash clothing in. She had a piece of a large tire she was ingeniously using as a basin to do laundry when we arrived. Isaac is 18 years old and in fifth grade because he has only been able to afford school fees ($8.00/term) for 5 of his 12 school-aged years. Isaac is about 4 feet 8 inches tall and suffers from a disease of the bones he was born with. No one has a name for it here – but it looks to me like severe scoliosis and kyfosis. His back is humped and hunched and slightly twisted. He is the only child I have met here who refused a hug from me – whether from self-consciousness or because it’s painful for him I’m not sure. But he proudly informed us he is first in his class in all subjects. He brought out and proudly displayed his school uniform and shoes. By then, the inevitable gathering of neighborhood children had arrived. There were about 8 girls and boys, and several of them began shyly stroking my arm, turning my hand over, touching my hair. They had never seen a white person before. My depression evaporated. How could I have possibly been so down because of a few set-backs? Here was s boy deformed from birth, 18 years old before he put on his first pair of shoes, proudly going into the 5th grade at 18 years of age. He has lived all his life in a little mud hut on about an eighth of and acre of ground – just enough for the hut, a small external kitchen, outhouse and a tiny garden. He has lived without running water, shoes, medical care, electricity, or even a mattress to sleep on. And his situation is not unusual here.
Sunday, 16 September, was a good day. We went to church at Emmanuel church. We saw a young man baptized. We heard the wonderful music, the singing of people who love to sing and praise the Lord. Rick preached, I sang (this time with some very welcome help from some of the youth) and we were able to give our gifts from St. John’s Uganda Fund - $500.00 to the orphans group and $300.00 to the church for Communion supplies, and two soccer balls for the kids. Rick had given Richard (the church Lay Reader) a package of 12 pens the other day. Richard got up and ceremoniously gave a pen to each Warden of the church. After church we had a time of greeting people who have now become friends and also many people who wanted their pictures taken with us. We met several more sponsored children and gave them the gifts from their sponsors. We then retired to the parsonage for lunch. While there, Richard and his wife, Jenifer, arrived with a large rooster to present to us as a gift. After lunch (rooster in the trunk), we went to watch a soccer game in which Isaac Rurihoona was playing. It was fun and very interesting. Once the ball was kicked out of bounds and a big chicken came flapping and loudly protesting from the disturbed clump of grass. Another time the ball was kicked out of bounds into a flock of goats who were feeding on the sidelines. A group of children clustered around us as usual. One of the girls was holding a small baby of about 6 months. The baby turned towards me, looked in wide-eyed amazement at this wrong-colored apparition (me), screwed up her little face in terror and began screaming. This is hard to get used to since I love children so much, and many times the little babies here are terrified of me. They had to take her away to another group of people to quiet her.
Later in the evening we had dinner at Patience’s house. This was our first visit to her home since she was married last December. Her home is well kept and she served an excellent meal. I was also happy to find out some of her sisters and/or girlfriends often stay there with her. I was concerned about her and Retreat being alone the whole year Emmanuel is studying in India. Patience gave me a tour of the house. It is built in a long rectangle with the living room right inside of the front door. You pass through the living room into a hallway with 2 bedrooms off of it. The hallway continues into a small mud room and the back door. Outside the back door is a detached room used as the kitchen. The house is in a triplex type arrangement with an enclosed courtyard in the back into which all three apartments open. In the courtyard are the doors to the kitchens, several shared-use shower stalls and latrines. A naked little boy was splashing in a basin of water in the courtyard, and lines of drying laundry were stretched out on clotheslines. It kind of reminded me of some of the places we saw when we went for visits with my mother’s family in Brooklyn, New York when I was a little kid – the communality of the situation, the easy way the neighbors accept each other’s closeness, clothes flapping on the lines. Patience explained that a “self contained” home (one with its own toilet room) would cost much more and since they are newly married they are trying to be responsible and save money for the future so they are living in this arrangement for now. I told her I was very proud of them.
Friday, when I was feeling so depressed and useless, I got out my sewing kit and began patching holes in the curtains and one of the girls gave me a blouse to repair. I also did some of our laundry – mostly socks and underwear. That was Friday. Today is Monday and they are still not dry. Hopefully today they will dry as it is currently sunny and breezy. I hope it remains that way as I now have more laundry to do.

Chapter XXII

noreply@blogger.com (St. John's Church) — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 21:47:00 +0000

14 September 2007

Still no power, and now no water. Evidently electric pumps are part of the water delivery system (go figure!). Last night a man came by with news of another piece of land for sale. So, after breakfast, we took off on foot across country on little dirt pathways, crossing streams on logs. The song “over the mountain and through the woods, to Grandmother’s house we go” kept going through my mind. After a long trek up and down hills, down dirt pathways and other roads, we came to the plot for sale. This one is actually better than the first one because it is level. It is right next door to a secondary school and around the corner from where a new health clinic is being built, and very close to a good road. We walked home, got a drink of water, and walked to town to change some money and check on the car. The mechanic showed us the damage and then informed us he can’t fix it until the power comes on because the welding unit needs electricity. So we hired a taxi to take us to visit the homes of sponsored children. He agreed on a price of 15,000 UGS (about $8.50). We got in and started off – going to visit the children who live in Bugongi. We passed through Bugongi and started up a road – one of the worst we’ve been on. We finally got to a point where the driver refused to take his car any further so it was get out and walk the rest of the way. It was, of course, up a mountain to the boy’s house. We climbed up and up, getting short of breath and rubbery legged. I wanted to start saying “are we there yet – pant, pant,” but didn’t want to complain. Finally, we reached the house. The mother of the boy, Baram, had met us halfway down the mountain and walked up with us. The house was a nice size and appeared well built. The view from the front door was incredible. We must have climbed up to about 7000 feet from 6300 feet. Inside the house which has mud walls and dirt floor, it was cool. There was a couch and two chairs and a wooden coffee table. We sat down and visited for a bit and took pictures. Then Baram presented us with a chicken as a gift for his sponsor. This brought tears to my eyes. The family is extremely poor and this was a big gift. The mother had also given us each a soda to drink, but she and Baram had none. Fr. David told me later that the mother is HIV positive. There are so many! It breaks my heart. We hiked back down the mountain where the driver was waiting, put the chicken in the trunk, and took off back down the mountain with the chicken squawking loudly in protest. Next stop we hiked up another mountain and visited several more families. By the time we got there I was ready to lay down in the dirt and refuse to move, but I kept remembering we were so very lucky to get to meet these children and their families in person, to get pictures for their sponsors – and that the children make this hike daily to go to school. All the kids are children of widows who also must walk up and down the mountains to get water and anything else they need from town, to go to church or visit friends. Children followed us everywhere. We visited about 9 children and their mothers and went home sore, tired, and very satisfied – but absolutely filthy. Still no power, still no water, so we stayed dirty and ate in the dark again. I haven’t been able to use the internet for three days now and feel cut off from the world. That night, we drew up a floor plan for the orphanage by candlelight.

15 September 2007

The power came back on late Thursday night so I was able to send a request to the bank to transfer money to buy the property. However, the bank replied no, I have to come in in person to do that. Meanwhile, the power just went off again. It’s cloudy and humid today. I am beginning to feel discouraged. Maybe the Lord wants to see how serious we really are. At this moment I have thoughts of forgetting the whole thing, going home to California, retiring in 2 years and vacationing in warm, dry, sunny places with power and fresh water the rest of my life. I feel trapped right now. I am not in my own house so I can’t just go work on a project, or leave and go shopping. If I go lay in the bedroom and read I feel rude. I forgot to bring any knitting supplies. And through it all, I’m beginning to fee dull and unimaginative.
I am fascinated at how a little deprivation of creature comforts can affect the spirit. I realize how pampered my life really is. Here in this place I am truly a stranger in a strange land. The water was off for 2 days – becoming dirty made me irritable. I need to do laundry but it looks like rain and I also know the clothes won’t be dry for two days. It is so humid it’s hard to breathe, and just sitting in a chair for awhile gets you a damp rear end from the moisture in the upholstery. I have to take allergy pills because of the molds caused by the dampness. As a guest, I feel obligated to be alert and entertaining, but I feel dull and tired. I get irritated at Rick because he just goes to sleep when he’s bored and I think that’s rude. But I wish I could do the same thing. The combination of the altitude and humidity makes me feel tired all the time. So – do I only want to do God’s work when I’m comfortable? Is it disgusting of me to feel so miserable I’m ready to give up when the children we want to help endure all this PLUS hunger, illness, abandonment, lack of clothing and countless other miseries and still have enough joy in their hearts to sing and play and dance? What is wrong with me!? I have a good husband, incredible children and grandchildren, a wonderful church family, a great job and have spent my whole life with adequate nutrition, hygiene, medical care and education. Less than a week of less than ideal living conditions and I am a grouch. I can also begin to understand why people are so willing to risk so much to cross the border into the U.S.A. What I can’t understand is why they get there, begin to enjoy the benefits, and then start complaining about it and say they aren’t being treated well enough. How unbelievably short are our human memories! We are all, every one of us, like the Israelites complaining about the Manna from Heaven and wanting to go back to slavery in Egypt just to have a more varied diet. How pathetic.
Rick and I prayed this morning for God to show us the way. His hand has been so obviously in this from the beginning. He whispered the idea of the orphanage in our hearts at the same time. He spoke a prophecy to me through a stranger that we should buy the property. He provided the funding to begin from an unexpected source. But now we are here to do it, we seem blocked from accomplishing anything. Our bank in the U.S. says the only thing we can do is write a check for the land. Our bank here says that would be– shall we say – not so smart of us. They say we should do it my e-mail. Our bank in California says no. So far it is a standoff only God can break.

Uganda Chronicles Chapter XXI

noreply@blogger.com (St. John's Church) — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 18:16:00 +0000

13 September 2007

Today we sent into town fairly early (around 10:00) to take care of some banking. We had to sign a bunch of papers to be officially on the Good Samaritan Orphanage Care account. Then we had to go across the street to get our pictures taken because the bank needed our pictures for their records. We had taken the money out of the account to give the gifts to St. John’s Bugongi School, Nyabushabi School, Emmanuel orphan’s group and St. Luke’s church. We didn’t have to be at Emmanuel to meet the sponsored children until 14:30 so we had time to shop for some things we wanted. We had to get a button up shirt for Bob, a dress and shirt for a couple at church, and a few more things for ourselves. I love the dresses here – they are beautiful colors and made for women who actually have flesh on their bones. We also needed a calculator, some envelopes, and I wanted to find a book on the history of Uganda. We met Fr. Francis in town and had a nice talk with him. It was about 13:30 when we were finished, so Fr. David said we should go home and have lunch before going to Emmanuel. As we walked back to the car from the other end of town, a man was riding by on a bicycle loaded down with three giant bunches of bananas. Fr. David stopped him and negotiated a price on the bananas and told him to meet us back at the car. Somehow he had arranged for pineapples to be brought also. So we started home with a trunk full of bananas and pineapples but we still had to stop to buy several cases of sodas to take the children and their guardians at Nyabushabi. We arrived home for lunch at about 14:00. I astutely ascertained we would not be arriving at Emmanuel at the appointed time of 14:30. We had lunch, got in the car and started off. After stopping for petrol, we arrived at Emmanuel at about 15:45. Most of the sponsored kids and their guardians were there – kids playing and guardians visiting. Some still had not yet arrived. They walk amazing distances up and down steep hills and across streams and through tall grasses and undergrowth to get there. We assembled in the church and as we walked in a song was sung. Fr. David prayed and then explained why we were there – then each child and their guardian came forward and introduced themselves and told a little about themselves. Rick video taped it for the sponsors. After that, Rick and I spoke for a few minutes to the children and guardians. We are so incredibly lucky to get to meet them! The kids then sang some songs for us, and then the guardians sang and danced. It was joyous – the singing, dancing, drumming, birds flying through the rafters, the rain pattering on the metal roof and a cool breeze blowing through the open doors and windows. The children were all clean and dressed – some even wore shoes. Isaac Rurihoona, who was assisting in any way he could, took pictures, opened soda bottles and passed out the drinks. He is such a nice young man – full of curiosity about everything, and always willing to help. He is in his last year of secondary school and a candidate for the last 2 years of high school. He will board at the school this year as they have evening counseling and advisory sessions to plan for their futures and also don’t want to be distracted in their studies by things that are happening or need to be done at home.
Before we left the church, Fr. David had a woman named Ruth come forward and tell her story. She has deformed feet and seemed to be of advanced age. Her husband and all her children are already dead. She is alone in the world and a few months ago her mud house began to crumble and the thatch roof began to leak. Fr. David had the roof repaired by members of the parish and the walls patched, but now her outhouse had caved in. We had a time of prayer for her, and then Rick said why don’t we go see the extent of the damage. So we started off to her home, which was “just near” like everything else here. We hiked single file down little trails enclosed on both sides by tall grasses and bushes and trailing vines. I felt like I was in a Tarzan movie as I brushed vines aside and moisture dripped from the vegetation. We finally emerged into a small compound of mud homes, some with iron roofs, some with thatched roofs. Ruth’s home was the smallest mud hut with a thatched roof. Next to it was the remains of her outhouse. Fr. David suggested I step inside the house to see what it was like. Just inside the door was a room about the size of a walk-in closet with a hallway leading back to what was probably a bedroom. It was dark in the house even though it was still light outside. There are no windows in the house so it is pitch dark 24 hours a day. The whole house was about the size of a child’s bedroom in the U.S. Rick asked how much it would cost to construct a new outhouse and was told about 50,000 UGS (about $30.00). Rick gave the money to Richard, Fr. David’s assistant, who will see it gets built for Ruth. (It was done the next day). We then processed back down the jungle trail to the church as it began to rain. Finished with the program for the orphan’s group and done with our side trip, we said our goodbyes and got in the car to leave. About a third of the way home, we hit a bump and heard “THE SCRAPE,” the one that means the fuel line was scraped by the bump. Sure enough, the car stopped running. We all got out and Rick, David and a young man passing by jacked up the car and fixed the problem. We drew a crowd as usual – kids, women walking by carrying loads on their heads and babies on their backs – all stopped to watch the repairs and to visit. Fr. David, in his black clerical suit, white shirt and collar, was lying in the dirt under the car, Rick kneeling in the dirt beside him, Constance and I standing at the side of the road in the rain. Finally it was fixed. We got in the car, started it up, and went maybe 100 yards when it quit again. Repeat performance – men under the car, spectators, me and Constance in the rain. Back in the car – 200 yards – repeat of all of the above. We finally made it to the relatively smooth main road and to a gas station just as it was getting dark. We pulled into the repair bay so someone could walk under the car to fix it better. However, there was no light in the bay (power still out) so once again my mini flashlight came off my key chain to provide the light by which to repair the car. The guy under the car sent another guy to get something to fix it with. Guy #2 proceeded to amble slowly around looking through piles of un-identifiable stuff until he pulled an unidentifiable something out of a pile and gave it to Guy #1. Car fixed once again, we went home. The car was still acting weird – pulling strangely to the left and something rattling loudly in the wheel area. Once home, we ate dinner, visited, played guitar and sang. About 21:00 Fred left to drive Patience and Retreat home. Ten minutes later Fr. David’s cell phone rang. It was Fred saying the car had suddenly “refused to move,” and was listing to the side like it had a flat tire. However, nothing that simple would happen. The real problem turned out to be a broken A frame – in layman’s terms, the metal part that holds the axel together and the wheel on was cracked. I’m not sure how Patience got home, but the car had to be left there on the side of the road. The next morning a mechanic came and somehow got it to the repair shop.

Uganda Chronicles Chapter XX

noreply@blogger.com (St. John's Church) — Wed, 28 May 2008 18:11:00 +0000

Chapter XX

10 September 2007

We are again home in Kabale. We arrived Saturday to the usual round of adventures. First, we went to the money changing counter only to find out that $200.00 of the money we had brought with us couldn’t be changed because the bills were older than the year 2000. (This was the first time we knew of this rule) Then, Fr. David was not at the airport to greet us, and of all the things to forget to bring with us, I forgot to bring my church directory which includes Fr. David’s phone number. So, while Rick sat on a metal folding chair in the airport parking lot with all our luggage, under threatening thunder clouds (and in the midst of hundreds of hopeful taxi drivers), I went in search of the information desk. The airport is in the middle of major renovations because of the approaching CHOGM (Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting) conference which will include a visit by Queen Elizabeth II of England in November. The gate we arrived through is in a temporary building and the main terminal where the information desk resides is in complete shambles with workmen moving around, sounds of hammers and drills, and dust flying. At the information desk I attempted to communicate the need to find a telephone number. Somehow the message got through the pounding of hammers, buzzing of saws and the language barrier of English spoken in two radically different dialects. The very helpful woman, Edith, was able to get me a number for the Diocese of Kigezi after 15 minutes of calls to different places. Then she tried to call the number from her airport phone and couldn’t get through. So, we walked next door to the air-time seller and I paid for time on her cell phone. There was not a writing instrument to be found between the air-time seller’s office and the information office, so I provided a pen from my purse to write numbers down. While Edith was still trying to find the numbers I needed, I asked to see a telephone book so I could look for some numbers myself. She handed me a book about the size of a Newsweek magazine. I asked if this book would include numbers in Kabale – she told me this was the telephone book for the entire country. I couldn’t find anything I was looking for, so we used her phone to call the Diocese of Kigezi. Fortunately, the Bishop’s secretary was in on that Saturday and I was able to get Fr. David’s cell phone number at last. I called him and found out the car had “betrayed” him, was at a mechanic’s shop, and Fr. David was in a taxi on his way to the airport to get us. Now, all this was achieved in African time – so I was gone for over 45 minutes. When I finally returned to the parking lot, Rick was about to have a meltdown. He had last seen me walking through a crowd of strangers at a foreign airport and had no idea where I was all that time. Finally, Fr. David arrived and we piled everything into the taxi and went to the Namirembe Guest House, a guest house owned by the Diocese in Kampala. It was now too late to drive home and arrive before dark and driving in the dark is suicidal. The guest house was really nice and we had a good night’s rest and our last hot shower for awhile and breakfast in the morning. After a few more car repair delays, we got on the road about 11:30 and by the grace of God arrived home about 30 minutes before the sun set. It was so good to see everyone – especially our new grandson, Retreat. He is adorable! We had a great time catching up and giving gifts. We had dinner and visited some more. In the morning all the neighborhood children were laying in wait to greet us. It was fun to see them again. At one point, all the kids were whispering together and laughing and all of a sudden they all rushed Rick and almost knocked him over with a huge group hug.

Fr. David was in the village taking three small boys to the clinic. Their mothers had brought them to our house early this morning because they were feeling ill. It turned out that two of them were suffering with worms, and the other had malaria. They had walked four or five miles through some rough terrain in this condition to get help from Fr. David. It gave me a good feeling to know that the money for their medical care was available through a generous contribution from a member of St. John’s Roseville. Without donations from outside sources, these children would continue to suffer, and possibly die. While Fr. David and the boys were gone, I visited with the mothers of the children. Only one spoke a little English, but they managed to communicate that one of them had been struck by lightening as a young woman and suffered what seems to be serious neurological trauma. She perceives her physical and mental abnormalities as being tormented by demons. I asked her if I could pray for her and she said yes. Isaac told me later that prayer had already brought her much further towards healing than she had ever been expected to come. Three of the four women are widows, all seem to be in their 30s or early 40s. They all wanted me to take pictures of them for their pen-pals. That was fun. They all had a good time seeing the pictures on the digital camera screen. When they left we all had heart-felt hugs.
Later in the afternoon we walked some distance through the neighborhood to look at some property for sale. We walked up and down narrow dirt pathways, crossed a stream on some logs, greeted many people walking, and eventually came to the property. It was like most property here – rolling. There is a hill where we would build the orphanage and then it slopes down to an area of bullrushes which looks like a swamp but actually isn’t. The parcel is a little over an acre and ½ and the price is 10,000,000 UGS (about $6,000.00 U.S.) I told Rick we will probably get mixed reactions when we explain we went to Africa to start an orphanage and bought a swamp for 10,000,000. We looked at several properties with some houses already on them, but it became clear that buying the land and then building would be much cheaper and also everything would be new and the way we want it. Also, the property is not inside the town – it is in a more “suburban” area where the children would have a nice play area and could raise animals and have a garden. So, now we need to meet a lawyer and arrange a purchase contract and meet an architect before we leave in 10 days. During this 10 days, we will also meet the sponsored children and visit 2 churches, 2 schools and the Bishop.

12 September 2007

Yesterday we couldn’t do anything. It began to rain in late morning. Maybe rain is the wrong word – deluge is more like it. It poured sheets and sheets of water for 30 minutes at a time, let up for a few, and then began again. Two or three times the sky let loose a barrage of marble sized hail. The neighborhood children kept running out from under the shelter of the overhanging porch roof to grab the balls of ice and pop them into their mouths (and I noticed some went down the backs of shirts). They were all soaking wet within seconds but didn’t seem to care. Hail is the only ice they ever see or have a chance to taste and/or throw at each other. Soon the lights began to flicker and the power went out. That was about 16:00 yesterday. It’s now 09:30 and still no power.

Chapter XIX

noreply@blogger.com (St. John's Church) — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 17:04:00 +0000

December 16, 2006 (continued – still at the wedding reception)

Over the next few hours there were a number of dance and song tributes to the bride and groom from various groups – the Mother’s Union, different parts of the family clans, a youth group. Then began the SERIOUS speeches. Many people got up to speak. One of the groom’s former high school teachers gave a glowing recount of his (Emmanuel’s) entire high school career including grades earned and awards won (this was the portion in English, there was at least an equal part in Rukiga). Various relatives of the bride’s spoke both on their own and in behalf of David and Constance who weren’t allowed to be there personally. Then the father of the groom got up. And stayed up. He welcomed each guest by name and with an explanation of who they were in relationship to the family. When he got at last to introducing the woman who had been the flower girl at his own wedding 30 years in the past, I thought surely he must be finished. But NO! There was more to go, both in English and Rukiga and by the end of this speech I was in that place where you are mentally listing the names of foods in the local grocery store by aisle just to keep from either going crazy or falling asleep. When I was aroused with a start from my trance by the sound of applause I thought, “OK, he had to have been the keynote speaker. The speeches must be finished.” But NO – it was now time for the bride and groom, matron of honor and best man, to arise and go to stand in the middle of the crowd near the table containing the cakes. To cut the cake? – I thought recklessly?! But NO – now it was time for the best man to recount each moment of his friendship with the wedding couple. And THEN, the groom’s turn to speak. By now I was swaying on my feet, tempted to grab hold of Patience to remain standing, but knowing it would be very bad manners. I thought – surely the groom won’t want to talk too long. And then I saw him pull a notepad from his pocket with two pages of notes written. Back to the grocery store aisles – “produce section – apples, pears, oranges, kiwis……” Finally, he closed the notepad, spoke for about five more minutes, and it was time to cut the cake. We proceeded to the cake table (slowly) to the strains of the Wedding March done in a very strange key and with a whistle being blown at various intervals. The cakes were absolutely beautiful and arranged nicely on the table. The bride and groom placed their hands on the knife, pressed down to make the traditional cut and – candles on the table similar to July 4th sparklers were ignited. If I hadn’t still been in a semi-trance from the speeches, I probably would have jumped a foot in the air to the great delight of all around, but I didn’t. Until the shaving cream began flying all over the place. That was a shock. People all around the table were spraying the wedding party with shaving cream. I had big globs all over my dress, arms and hair. It is evidently standard wedding reception behavior there because everyone else took it in stride and cheered and clapped. Maybe I should take a few cans of Silly String with me next time and start a whole new trend. The rest of the reception was much like the one the day before at the Give-Away. Patience and I took pieces of cake to the members of the groom’s family and knelt to present them. Then we got to sit down while the rest of the brides maids took cake to the rest of the people. Patience presented whole cakes to various people who were special in the wedding preparations, and one to me! That was a real surprise, and brought tears to my eyes. I certainly never expected that. By the time the cake was distributed and eaten & the gifts presented and appreciated, the sun was beginning to go down. Remember, the sun comes up at 07:00 and goes down at 19:00 – every day of the year. So, it was now almost 8 hours after the wedding officially began. It was finally time to go home and people began drifting away, back down the mountain to various cars and trucks where as many bodies as possible were squeezed in to transport everyone back to Kabale Town. There certainly seemed to be less vehicles here now than there were before, and no one here ever seems to feel responsible to provide rides home to the people they brought here. So there was a lot of knocking on car windows and pleas for “just one more person” to squeeze in. And, finally, we were back home with David and Constance and it was time to collapse.
We had mentioned to Fr. David that it might be nice to purchase a small home in the area to stay in when we were there for longer than a few weeks (after we retire), and also for anyone else from our church who may want to visit Kabale. Right across the road from Fr. David’s house, there is an almost completed home made of brick on a relatively small lot. The walls are built but there is no roof yet. We asked him about it, and were told it was the home of the professor whose funeral we had attended back in August, and that he had not finished it before he died. He said he would inquire of the widow if it was for sale and also check on lots for sale that we could maybe build on some day. As Rick and I had decided to pay the fees for Mary to go to school, we spent the next day seeing the school where she would be going, and buying her uniforms, sweater, shoes, book bag etc. That was so much fun! She was very happy and came over to model her uniform for us after we got home.

We pretty much rested the last two days there, and then began the marathon trip back to Kampala. Again, I amused myself by thinking of things I would rather do than make this trip – being locked in a room with a boom box blaring rap “music,” having nothing but buttermilk to eat or drink for the rest of my life, etc.

Finally on the way back to the U.S., we were on a layover in Washington, D.C. when we noticed an unusual number of white couples with black infants and small children. The children all seemed very comfortable with the adults and the adults called themselves mommy and daddy to the kids. So, of course, I had to ask one of them what was the scenario. I was told they were a group from Washington State who had all gone to Ethiopia to adopt AIDS orphans. I asked how long they had been there – how much time they had to bond with the children before bringing them home. Three days!!!! They had all arrived in Ethiopia on Wednesday, been given the children they had pre-arranged for, and were back on a plane home on Saturday. I couldn’t believe it. They all seemed like family already, the children and the adoptive parents. One woman told me a heart wrenching story. She and her husband have taken 18 month old triplets to raise. The Ethiopian father had died of AIDS, and the mother was very sick and ready to die soon also. The mother had signed over her triplets to this family and said goodbye to them forever because she knew she was dying and wanted a good life for them. The adoptive mom said it was one of the most emotional things she had ever been through – saying good-bye and seeing the mother part from her children. I continue to pray for all these husbands and wives who went to so much trouble to do what they could for these hurting people.

Once home, we began to get pictures and descriptions from Fr. David of various homes and lots for sale in the Kabale area. He was not going to let us forget that we had discussed having a home there some day. Soon, the homes in the pictures began to get larger and larger until he sent us the picture of a hostel in downtown Kabale that was for sale. Eleven rooms, kitchen, bathrooms, courtyard, enclosed compound – the works. For about $25,000.00. Well, we didn’t have that kind of money. I said to Rick – “for Heaven’s sake, some of these places he is sending us pictures of are big enough to start an orphanage.” There was a long moment of stunned silence as we looked at each other, looked away, looked back, the same thought dawning in both our minds at once, both of us trying to not give voice to it. And neither one of us did actually say anything out loud at that moment– but from that moment on, we knew we were destined to build an orphanage in Kabale. Somewhere in my mind I could see Fr. David dancing around, hands raised in the air, knowing his prayers had once again been answered. God had evidently told Fr. David what we would do before He told us. We had absolutely no idea how we would even begin to do this thing. And then, in the mail, came a completely unexpected windfall check. Now, for the last 20 years, Rick has yearned for a Harley Davidson motorcycle. So, when the check came, he bought one. A month later, he sold it and bought a less expensive motorcycle, putting the profit into the bank to start an orphanage. He then sold the nice almost new truck we had just bought a few months before and bought a cheaper one. That money went into the orphanage fund. A few weeks later I was visiting patients in the hospital. A man approached me and asked me to come pray for his brother who was dying of cancer. The dying man had already lapsed into a semi-coma. There were several family members in the room when I came in. I laid my hands on the man and prayed for him, for peace and comfort and for God to help the family through this difficult time. The man was talking aimlessly to no one in particular about old school friends and past events. We finished the prayer and I began to turn away to say something to the family. I felt a hand on my arm, and turned back to the man in the bed. He looked right at me and said plainly, “Buy the property and use it for what it is intended.” And then he returned to his semi-coma and random ramblings. I had chills all over me, felt short of breath, and don’t even remember what I said to the family. I hastily excused myself and ran to a phone to call Rick and tell him what had just happened. I knew then there was no turning back. We soon booked a flight for another trip to Uganda – this time to buy land and start planning an orphanage.

Chapter XVIII

noreply@blogger.com (St. John's Church) — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 16:59:00 +0000

Friday, December 15, 2006

Finally the time came – time for the bride’s family to formally present her to the groom and his family. The youngest brother of the bride, Isaac, came for her and escorted us across the grass to where her mother and father, Rick, and other members of the family were standing. Patience was now crying and holding hands with Isaac on one side and me on the other. We drew close to the family and stood there, Patience near her mother and father, while speeches were made by the men of the family including Rick. The speeches, as usual, were long. The Groom and the men of his family walked across the lawn to us, and traditional words were said between the families. After this round of speeches, gifts were presented including several goats. After the gifts, more speeches (sigh), but then it was time to cut the cake. As this was the Give-Away, not the actual wedding, the brother of the bride, in this case Isaac, stood next to her and cut the cake with her. She told me later it is a tradition that lets the bride honor her family for nurturing her through her childhood and up to the time of her wedding. After Patience and Isaac made the first cut in the cake, the rest of the cake was cut into small pieces and Patience and I took the plate over to the groom’s section and (kneeling) presented pieces of cake to the groom and his family. After that, all the rest of the bridesmaids took cake to the rest of the guests, except Patience and I took it to her family and the Bishops who were in attendance. We then resumed our original seats and there was more entertainment. Patience was looking pretty drained by this time. It was quite an emotional day for her. As I sat there, alternately watching the dancers, looking up at the majestic scenery, watching the sun go down behind the mountains, I just couldn’t believe I was here doing this. I felt like I was in an adventure story, a story of someone else’s adventure, it just couldn’t be me in this totally foreign place participating in this completely alien cultural event. It was thrilling, like living out a dream. I looked over at Rick and Fr. David in their ceremonial robes, listened to the hissing sounds the dancers were making as they shook their spears and pointed them at us. I still don’t know what that dance signified, and why it was done at a wedding event. It seemed to me like a war dance with the drums and shakers and fierce looks and spears, grass and rattles tied around the ankles of the dancers. But then, it was over and time for us to process back to the house. We walked slowly through the wet grass (it had rained several times during the afternoon), up the stairs and into the house past all the food set out for the guests, and back into the little room. The door shut behind us. Now it was dark outside, and there was no power in the house. We changed out of the formal dresses in the dark with a lot of giggling and talking. I had a small flashlight with me, and we used it to open gifts and also make sure everyone had their own shoes etc. as all had been left in a big pile in the room when we changed for the ceremony. I was released from the bridal room again to go find my husband and have something to eat. The whole house was full of people and was lit by candles. The air was warm, shadows flickered on the walls and conversation was in a language I didn’t understand. By now, I was worn out and ready to go to sleep so I just sat in a chair against the wall and dozed until it was time to go home to Kabale to sleep quickly and get ready for the wedding the next day.

Saturday, December 16, 2006

Today was the wedding of Patience and Emmanuel –long awaited. They met when they were children and their fathers, both Priests, worked at the same church in the town of Kabale. Since housing is provided on the church property for the clergy, the children of the two Priests played together. Somewhere along the line, Patience and Emmanuel fell in love. This love survived their families being transferred every few years to different parishes, some very far from each other. They waited until both of them had finished their schooling, well into their twenties. Patience received a diploma in Business Studies geared toward bank employment, and then she went to work for several years in order to help put her younger brothers and sisters through school. Emmanuel became a high-school teacher and was working in Kampala, a 7 hour drive from Kabale at the time of the wedding. He had already rented a small apartment in Kabale for them to move to when they were finally married. Patience had taken Rick and I there to see it several days before the wedding.

This morning dawned beautiful, birds singing, sky blue with white billowy clouds. And now it was back to the beauty salon to have yesterday’s hairdo taken down and today’s created. The tradition is for the entire bridal party from the bride to the flower girls to be prepared with hairdo, makeup and clothing right there at the salon. The place was crowded with women and girls getting ready for the wedding. The woman who owns the salon doubles as a hair dresser and tailor. She has a tiny bedroom in the back of the shop where she sleeps and also sews. She rents wedding dresses and outfits for bridesmaids and alters them to fit each person. The wedding was scheduled to begin at 11:00. Around 11:30 several cars arrived at the salon to pick up the bridal party. We piled into the vehicles, me with an 8 year old flower girl on my lap, and headed for the church. The wedding began promptly at 11:45 with a procession down the isle. The rest is a bit fuzzy in my head. I remember standing next to Patience, holding a microphone to her lips for her to recite her vows. I remember the choir sang beautiful music, and that one of the choir members had to sit down to nurse a baby in the middle of a song. At one point, I and the Best Man stood next to the bride and groom with offering baskets and the guests all came forward singing songs and placing money in the baskets for the Bride and Groom. The entire service was conducted in Rukiga, so I understood only intuitively what was being said. The only words I recognized were “Mukama (God),” and Patience and Emmanuel’s names. After the vows were said, rings exchanged, prayers said and messages given, the Bride and Groom stepped up to a table accompanied by their God-Parents to sign the wedding documents. This was quite a ceremony, concluding with Patience folding the wedding certificate and placing it in Emmanuel’s shirt pocket to much applause. And now, time for the recessional, in slow time. Then many pictures and piling back into the vehicles for the 30 minutes trip to the reception which would be held at the home of the Groom’s parents, Guster and Joyce. At this point, the Bride has become a part of the Groom’s family and the parents of the Bride do not attend the reception. So Rick and I were off to the reception without David and Constance. We were in separate cars, I still had the flower girl on my lap. It was a long ride, especially up the incredible 45 degree driveway to the house there at Kihara. We were ushered into the house and the Bridal party was directed to a small side room where we all sat shoulder to shoulder and were brought food. All the other guests would be eating outside from buffet tables. The whole yard was decorated with the traditional pavilions and folding chairs for all the guests, except the Bride & Groom, Best Man and Maid of Honor (me) had sofas to sit on and a long coffee table in front of us for drinks to sit on. So, after eating lunch, we processed slowly through an aisle of smiling guests, through wet grass, over a small rivulet running through the lawn, and to an arch of flowers with a ribbon stretched across the pathway. Here, Emmanuel and Patience cut the ribbon, signifying their entry into their new life. Cheers erupted, and we continued the procession on to where the sofas were, and took our seats. As we sat down, I looked around and realized there were several hundred people seated in chairs, standing, & sitting on the lawn. The sun was high overhead, slightly beginning it’s decent to afternoon. It was about 13:30 by now. Time for the speeches to begin. I looked over at Rick, sitting with Medard and Henry, one of Fr. David’s brothers, and we exchanged a smile. Here we were again, the only white faces, (we were later thanked for ‘adding some color to the celebration’) the only ones who didn’t understand the language being spoken, but feeling incredibly included and loved and so very blessed to be sharing this adventure together as husband and wife.

Guests continued to arrive and place gifts in the big pile next to the table that held the six wedding cakes. The Emcee took the microphone and began the afternoon with a relatively short speech. The reception had officially begun.

Chapter XVII

noreply@blogger.com (St. John's Church) — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 16:15:00 +0000

December 13, 2006

Today we went to St. John’s Bugongi. We had brought Christmas gifts for the kids – coloring books, crayons, rulers, colorful pencils, small kaleidoscopes, compasses and, best of all, soccer balls. When we arrived, there was a large group of mothers and children up on the hill near the church building. It looked like they were having a meeting or a class. As we got out of the car, the children saw us and broke away from the parents, came running down the hill and swarmed us. I had four little children holding on to my legs, putting their arms up to be held. I picked one of them up and he put his arms around me and hugged me tight. Then one of the little girls started pulling on my skirt – it was her turn. I put the little boy down and picked up the little girl. And so it went, child after child. I was just trying to walk up the hill towards the church where we were to have a visit with Fr. Francis, and children were all around me, crying to be picked up, hugging me, and I was overwhelmed with emotion and asking God, “what do these children see in me, a stranger, to make them do this?” And then I was humbled and grateful and overjoyed at the same time as the answer came, quietly, from the Lord, “they see Me.” Oh, how I have prayed for that again and again – that people could see the Savior through me, that I would be a reflection of His love to those I meet, that I could be a conduit of His grace, and be willing to give all the glory to Him. I could hardly see through the tears. I looked toward Rick, and saw that he was equally inundated, and my heart swelled with love for this man God has given me – a man who would share my love of Jesus, who loves children, who would quit smoking to be a better witness, who could walk these hills and love these people.
Both Rick and I were brought up in homes filled with bigotry. In my home, there was an ethnic slur-word for every group of people, but the worst was reserved for the black race. Rick came from the South where bigotry was a way of life. And the Lord sent us to Africa and filled us with incredible love for these black people! Way to go, God!!
As we arrived at the group of women, they broke into song – that amazing Ugandan type of song that needs no accompanying instruments except clapping hands. The voices harmonized and each song was about Jesus and His love and power. We were introduced to a young woman who was conducting the class, which turned out to be a class on parenting given by Compassion International. This international group guides mothers, from the time of pregnancy, on good nutrition and hygiene, infant and child care. They also sponsor some of the children to go to school and provide some medical help. It was a contribution from St. John’s, Roseville, California that built the Compassion International office that is on this property (St. John’s, Bugongi). These children were all obviously better dressed and cleaner and happier than most of the other children we had met. Thank God for groups like Compassion International, World Vision, Christian Children’s Fund and others. This day was such a blessing – a true mountain-top experience.

15 December 2006

The day has finally arrived! The day of the beginning of the two-day wedding ceremony. Today’s ceremony is called the Give-Away. At this event, the bride is officially given away to the groom’s family. After a morning of preparation at the hair salon, we were all squeezed into the car and taken to the house at Nyabushabi where the ceremony was to be. Preparations had been going on all night long.
Last night, Fr. David took us there to see some of the things done to prepare. UNFORTUNATELY ☺, we arrived too late for me to witness the butchering of the cow and goats for the feast, which disappointed Fr. David, but I was able to see the mountains of firewood, the large pots of simmering foods already begun for a feast that would start the next day. There were stacks of green bananas to be peeled and steamed for matoke, mounds of Irish potatoes and sweet potatoes. Inside the house in one of the rooms were large pots containing the skins of the animals just butchered, and many pots of the sorghum “porridge” that is so popular here. Men were setting up pavilions and tables, women were preparing food, and everyone was talking and laughing and sharing the work. Children were running around caught up in the general feeling of celebration, and, of course, Rick was in the middle of them. It reminded me of times long ago when I was a child in Indiana and my father’s whole clan would come together for a holiday celebration or family reunion. I remember being one of the children seeing my cousins, a little giddy from the party atmosphere, allowed to stay up longer than usual, getting foods we didn’t get every day. I miss that. Constance and Patience would be staying here tonight while Fr. David, Rick and I went back to the Kabale house.
And now here we are the next afternoon. The grounds have been transformed with four pavilions in a large rectangle with a big grassy area in the middle. All the decorations are in the lime green and white colors selected by Patience. One pavilion was set aside for the groom’s clan, one for the bride’s clan, one for the bride and her party surrounded by many guests, and one to cover the cakes. It had been raining a lot the last few days and the ground was muddy, but the area where the pavilions were set up was grass. When we arrived, we went into the house to get dressed and then have lunch. Patience and I (the Matron of Honor) and the rest of the bridal party went into a small bedroom to dress. Much laughter accompanied my attempts to arrange the many layers of traditional clothing correctly, but fortunately, with help, I was finally dressed correctly. The bridal party would stay in the small room and have food brought to them while the bride’s family and guests visited and had lunch in the rest of the house. I, however, being a mzoong (white person, foreigner, special guest), was asked to leave the room and help to entertain the two Bishops in attendance. I walked out into the living room area to see Rick seated with the two Bishops. Rick was wearing the ceremonial garment reserved for the elders of the clan. Being an adopted Mugyes (moo-HESS), and Fr. David’s Best Man, he was one of the three honored to wear this garment. So, we visited with the Bishops until lunch was over and it was time for the ceremony to begin. I went back into the Bridal room, everyone else went outside to the pavilions for entertainment. Finally, we were summoned. Now, remember, I had no clue what was expected of me. Every time I asked someone, in the days preceding the Give-Away, “what will I be expected to do?” I was told with a smile, “don’t worry, you will know.” I was not confident with that advice but it appeared to be the only instruction I would get. Rick had attended a give-away last time we were here. His advice from his observations at that event was to “keep straightening the bride’s clothing and gaze at her adoringly the whole time.” This did not excite me. But no further directions were forthcoming from anywhere, so, as we started out the door for the procession, I handed it over to Jesus. (I do that a lot here!) All processions here are done in the traditional “bridal walk,” slow in other words. I am a fast walker and had to restrain myself from speed walking down the aisle at my own wedding. Out the door we marched, one inch at a time, down the steps, long filmy garments floating treacherously in the breeze. At the bottom of the steps the muddy, slippery ground lurked. Stepping gingerly onto the mud I turned to make sure Patience didn’t stumble, only to be told sternly by one of the other attendants that I should NEVER turn around while processing. So, I went even slower so Patience could be beside me where I could keep an eye on her. Little by little we approached the pathway created by the Mother’s Union – standing on either side for us to walk through them as they sang a joyous song to the bride. As we came out the other end of the pathway we processed across the lawn to the chairs set up for the bride and her party, and finally were seated. I breathed a sigh of relief – no one in the bridal party had fallen in the mud, sprained an ankle or lost a shoe. Now I could relax for awhile and look around. The majestic scenery of the Kigezi region was all around us - green, terraced hills, azure sky and white billowy clouds. Across the lawn behind where the pavilion coverings fluttered in the gentle breeze, on a hill, sat all the people who weren’t part of the 300 plus close family and friends. Thunder rumbled in the background, but no one worried because, here, it is considered a blessing if your event is rained upon. The atmosphere was festive, children ran barefoot on the grass, adults chatted and laughed together, and the bridal party sat appropriately staring solemnly ahead. Entertainment came in the form of traditional dancers who were extremely energetic and a lot of fun to watch. The dancer’s costumes all reflected the bridal color theme. I kept looking to see if Patience needed any “arranging,” but she continued to look perfectly beautiful, although I noticed she was clutching her little beaded purse very tightly.

Chapter XVI

noreply@blogger.com (St. John's Church) — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 16:14:00 +0000

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.

Chapter XV

noreply@blogger.com (St. John's Church) — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 16:13:00 +0000

Chapter XV

It’s one of our last few days here, and the mixture of feelings – sadness about leaving, excitement about arriving home – has started. Yesterday, we went to a large cave way back on the side of a mountain. Walking into the cave made me feel like I had been transported into the Clan of the Cave Bear book. We had driven there which was an adventure in itself. We drove until the road ran out, and then drove down a footpath only about half as wide as the car. Even way out there, there was a crowd of children running after the car. Some of them followed us all the way to the cave. The cave has a huge mouth and a high roof that slopes gradually back about 30 feet. At the back wall there are two indentions, almost like alcoves. The roof is blackened by fires over the centuries. But what the cave has been used for in recent times was hiding out from Idi Amin. People running from his regime of horror would live there in the cave. It was really fascinating. We stayed for quite awhile, just lost in our own thoughts.
Later, when we got home, I noticed that I was feeling really itchy under the waistband of my skirt. REALLY itchy. I thought I had finally gotten a few mosquito bites. However, I woke up in the middle of the night with giant welt-like hives all over my body – scalp to toes. I took a benedryl, went back to sleep, and woke up with them all still there. I showed my arms to Fr. David and Fred. My arms were really broken out. Fr. David said nonchalantly something about one of his children used to get that way from eating potatoes. I thought – wow, he doesn’t seem very concerned. (I found out a few days later he had contacted a friend in Kampala about having me airlifted to a hospital, which is a bit OVER concerned). I kept monitoring myself, making sure I wasn’t wheezing or feeling constricted for air. No – no swelling of the throat or inside of the nose. All seemed to be on the outside. Weird, but extremely uncomfortable. Finally, I asked Fr. David to take me to a clinic to have it checked. So, off we went to a clinic in town. The door was open, but no one was there. So, after waiting for a few minutes, we left and went to another clinic. The Dr. wasn’t in, but the nurse looked at me and decided to give me a shot of hydro-cortisone. I thought that was a good idea. She also gave me some prednisone tablets to take, and some other tablets that didn’t say what they were so I didn’t take them (I found out later they were de-worming pills – worms can cause hives and other allergic reactions – yuck). So I got the shot, went home, took the pills, and woke up in the morning still covered with hives. We were supposed to go to a Revival that day and be guest preachers. I said I wasn’t going covered in horrible itchy hives, so Fr. David and Rick went off alone seeming rather irritated with my decision. When they got home, nothing had changed so I asked to go to the clinic again. This time, Fr. David called the Doctor (who is a friend of his) and arranged to have him meet us there. That seemed really great, until we got there and realized it was a power shedding night and there was no electricity in town. It was pitch black inside the clinic. The Doctor lit a lantern, took me in his office and held the lantern up to observe my hives. He agreed I had hives and gave me some more pills to take. I’ll have to admit, it’s a little scary to be ill in a foreign place, especially a Third World foreign place. Rick and I had a couple of Epi-pens with us incase he got stung by a bee, and I told him, if I start gasping for air, please use one of the Epi-pens on me. He said, well, he didn’t know if the side effects of the epinephrine might not be worse than the allergic reaction. At this point, his extreme analytical side almost put him in danger of being strangled by a wife crazed by itching hives and only wanting the reassurance that he would try to save my life if I began suffocating. But I remained calm and just slid an Epi-pen under my side of the mattress.
We were leaving in the morning for the drive to Kampala and the airport. When I woke up, the hives were receding finally, and we prepared to say our good-byes. We were unprepared for the formality of the good-byes. The family appeared, all dressed in beautiful clothes and bearing parting gifts we were totally not expecting. We wound up having to re-pack a whole suitcase. Several family members made very nice farewell speeches, and we all took pictures, hugged and cried. The family gathered around the car and prayed for us and sang a song. It was really wonderful. And then, we were off. I spent much of the next 7 hours in the car making a mental list of the things I’d rather endure than this car trip – bamboo under the fingernails, chemotherapy, Chinese water torture – and sticking my arm out the window to feel cool rain on the remaining hives.

September 4, 2006
And so, we are on the plane, flying over Newfoundland. We’ve been flying now for about 14 hours with one hour on the ground in Nairobi and one hour at the airport in Dubai. I wish they would hurry up and invent a transporter so we could beam places like on Star Trek. We have flown today over Kuwait, Iraq, Iran, Warsaw, Moscow and Oslo – unbelievable. While staring out the window over Iraq I prayed for our troops. Strange being on an Arab owned airliner considering the world situation. They are so blatant – all the maps of the Middle East on the air trip monitors contain not one reference to Israel! To them, it doesn’t deserve to exist. The newspapers carry articles about all the Jewish terrorists beating up on poor, defenseless Lebanon. It will be good to get home. I’m trying to just drift here because I’m getting that incredibly sad, depressed feeling that happens after all these hours squashed into this little space. Everything aches, and my mind has started ticking off all the things I have to jump right back into the minute we arrive. I’ve been away in a fairy-tale world for a month now – a place that seems almost magical to me right now. Africa, a place I never really had an interest in except maybe to see the history of Egypt. Uganda, a place I hardly new existed except in news reports about dictators and atrocities of people against each other, and terrible diseases like Ebola. No desire to ever go there. But God knew otherwise. He has given me a love for the country of Uganda, the people, the landscape, the strangeness. I’ve been fascinated by science fiction all my life, and always dreamed of visiting other planets and galaxies in God’s universe. I think this trip has been like that because it’s definitely a whole different world to me.

December 5, 2006

We are on our way back to Kabale to participate in the wedding of Patience and Emmanuel. My sense of excitement has become dulled by about 15 hours of flying and all that goes with it – swollen feet, hair that has somehow become greasy and stiff with no exposure to weather or exercise, heartburn, mind numbing boredom. Even the scenery from the window has become boring after a grand passage over the beautiful Alps that brought back fond memories of my trip to Europe with my daughter in 1985. After a brief time over Italy there became nothing to see but clouds. I drifted off for awhile and when I woke up and looked out I was momentarily confused. It still looked like just clouds, but they weren’t white. Stretching out interminably as far as I could see from 39,000 feet was sand colored – well – sand. Mostly flat with areas of clusters of dunes. Nothing green, nothing blue, nothing but sand. I think I have seen the Great Sahara Desert for the first time in my life. It is awesome and terrifying. So much nothingness.
I spent 18 years of my life living in the Sonoran desert. The Sonoran Desert teems with life. An experienced person could survive quite a while there. The Sahara is lifeless and vast. I began to think of life without Christ being like this. The sun was setting and since we were flying due South long dark shadows began creeping out from the dunes, pointing like long fingers toward the East. There was nothing else – no roads, nothing moving. The sun continued to set and the dun colored sand became gray, then maroon. So desolate, nothing to hope for, no landmarks. A small point of light appeared near the horizon. It seemed to be shining through a haze, reminding me of some of those glorious Phoenix sunsets when my children were little and we were building a house in the desert. I kept watching the light, the only point of reference I had seen in almost an hour. It seemed curiously symmetrical. And suddenly, it became clear. It was the moon, rising out of the desert like the sun rises other places. I have never seen this miracle before! The half disc of the moon, huge and glowing, wavering a little in the updrafts from the cooling desert, became larger and rounder and finally separated itself from the horizon to float free in the sky – a beautiful silver light – and just in the last lingering glow of daylight as the moon took over the watch from the sun, the bright sunlight reflecting off the moon revealed a long, winding river – probably the Nile, stretching gloriously through the barren desert – a river of life in the middle of death. And then there was just black sky and the full shining moon, a reminder that no matter what kind of desert we choose to make of our lives, there is a Light that shines and a River of Life to guide us and deliver us from the desert. I love you, Jesus!

Chapter XIV

noreply@blogger.com (St. John's Church) — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 16:12:00 +0000

Chapter XIV

The Market

On the way back from Kisoro (Rwandan border) last Tuesday, we drove right into the thick of probably a few thousand people walking the roads. Some were falling-down drunk. Fr. David explained that Tuesday is market day and many people come to market, sell their wares, and then go get drunk. The closer we got to the market the more crowded it became until finally the car was parting a sea of people, cows, goats and chickens. Fr. David parked, we got out. Right next to the car a vendor was selling pieces of pineapple. All the husks were thrown into a trench next to the road and after a whole day (it was now 17:00) the smell of fermenting pineapple was very strong. We walked through the market place—it was an impromptu, flea-market type, set up and taken down every Tuesday. The lean-tos, poles and wares are all carried there and back on heavily laden bicycles and/or people’s heads. We watched as two women struggled to lift a load which they placed on the head of a third woman who then walked off with it like it was a pile of feathers.

As we wound our way through the maze of tents and people, I felt like I was lost in the Kasbah or some equally mysterious movie place long ago. Fr. David, of course, knew half the people there so there was s lot of stopping for hugs and short conversations. Fr. David has many brothers, sisters, cousins—full and half—as his father had five wives, and his grandfather had 38 women. So he is related in some way to half the town and surrounding area. People can marry within the tribe, but not within the same clan.

All over the ground were the wreathes of grass made by people to help balance loads on their heads. I guess they just leave them when they don’t need them anymore. All types of things were for sale—clothing, watches, chickens, pineapples, bananas, rock salt, and many things that will forever remain a mystery to me.

Joy and Bernard

Thursday evening we had late tea at the home of the Senior Warden of St. John’s, Bugongi. We drove through the village of Bugongi which never fails to be fascinating. The narrow, pot-holed road winds through the village, lined by combination shops/homes. Cows cross the road in front of us. Pigs root at trash heaps in the middle of intersections. Goats dart everywhere and chickens wander around. People sit or stand at various tasks in front of the houses—cooking, doing laundry, washing dishes. Children play with balls made of plastic bags wadded up and tied with strips of grass, or roll old bicycle tires down the road with sticks (a seemingly universal pastime for children). They wear all types of clothing from Notre Dame sweatshirts to Mickey Mouse tee-shirts (although they have never heard of Mickey Mouse or Notre Dame), ruffled organdy dresses hanging unbuttoned from thin shoulders. Some of the smaller children wear just a shirt, or nothing at all.

As we bounced through the village we received the ever present stares and calls of “Hey mzoongu—how are YOU?” as children ran to keep up with the car. Fr. David stopped the car a number of times to talk to people and hear the latest news. We finally arrived at Joy’s house. She was waiting at the door for us and was warmly welcoming as almost everyone has been. We walked up treacherous stone steps to the front door, my mind thinking “these stairs are definitely not disabled friendly!” As we entered the house, the first thing I saw was a man in a wheelchair. How eerie. The man was Bernard, Joy’s husband. Bernard had a stroke two years ago. He appeared in total control of his faculties and spoke with us about a number of subjects. His right side is paralyzed. Joy attended to him with obvious love and devotion while talking with us. She is a horticulturist who works at the place we saw the apple trees. She wanted us to taste some of the apples and compare them to American apples. They were superb! We talked about the differences in church structure between here and home. Evidently, Bernard was a pillar of the church before his stroke. He was head of the building committee, lay ministry coordinator and one other thing I forget. Fr. David was preparing to make him Senior Warden when the stroke occurred. The Senior Warden here is, Fr. David says, “a Priest without a collar,” in charge of the parish in the absence of the clergy. This confuses me as the Lay Reader also occupies much the same position as our Deacons do. So far I have seen Joy serve at the Altar, read announcements, clean up after chickens in front of the Altar, coordinate the harvest offering and other tasks, all in the same Sunday service.

When Bernard had the stroke, Fr. David decided to ask Joy to take the position. She has been a great blessing. Fr. David kept telling us how much he misses Bernard at the church. I asked if he could still at least attend services. Fr. David said no—because he goes through spells of being completely out of it—talking to dead people, wetting himself and saying some very inappropriate things. This surprised me because he was so lucid while we were visiting. How sad. It’s very fortunate that Joy is an educated woman who can get good employment or the family would be in much worse shape.

We had our tea and treats by candle light as it was a power-shedding night. Every other night the power goes off at 18:00 and returns at 22:00. So we have had every other dinner by the light of hurricane lamps and candles. I’m actually beginning to like it. No TV, no one can read or go disappear at a computer, we all just sit together talking or singing. Everyone looks soft and sweet in the semi darkness. I find myself having wild dreams of doing this at home—eating by candle light, doing the laundry outside and spreading it over the bushes to dry—but then a sort of sadness comes over me knowing that will never happen. When we get home we will return right back to our crazily busy lives filled with light and noise. Sigh. I wonder if it’s our cross to bear as the leaders in the world. The people here so much want the life improvements (physical that is) that technology brings—most of all the ability to keep clean—body, clothes, home—without back straining work. That is the main reason the women I have met would like what we have—indoor plumbing, hot water on tap, the ability to store perishables -the basic things we take for granted.

The Hot Springs

Yesterday we visited the Hot Springs. I don’t know how far away it is from Fr. David’s house. It took about 45 minutes of bumping over dirt roads to get there. It is further up the mountain than Kabale. We went through two small villages before we got there. What continues to amaze me is the amount of people lining the roads on their ways to and from home—gathering firewood, transporting chairs, jerry cans of water, 30 foot long poles, huge bags of potatoes, cases of soda or the empty bottles being returned—all either on the back of a bicycle, or on the head (many times with a baby tied onto the back also). People are walking along carrying out the business of life no matter how far into the hills you go.

When we arrived at the hot springs, the first thing I noticed were all the thatched roofs where “patients” had set up small tent-sized huts which they live in while there. People come here who have diseases—I don’t know exactly what range of diseases—which have failed to be cured any other way. How they get here if they are seriously ill I don’t know—it’s quite a strenuous trek from even the nearest village. But they come and stay here, soaking in the water at night and resting and eating during the day. Relatives visit them regularly and bring provisions. The government recently built them some latrines and one larger shelter. The spring itself bubbles up from the ground from under a rock. However, and I’ve never seen anything like this, a small regular stream runs parallel to the hot one. The area looks like its probably the beginning of one of the several marshy areas we’ve seen with many small streams trickling here and there and a lot of lush jungle-type vegetation. The people have ingeniously built a small dam from rocks to divert the cold stream into the hot stream to make the water a bearable temperature. They get their hot water for tea and coffee from the source of the hot spring. There were about 30 “patients” there today. Since I don’t speak Rukiga, I was unable to have any conversation with anyone, but I could feel the feelings of the place and the people and it was almost indescribable. To come to this muddy, damp place and live in a grass hut with a dirt floor and subsist on millet porridge and potatoes seems a strange way to get healed of something the hospital failed to heal. The people welcomed us, and we prayed for them for which they were very grateful. Who knows how God chooses to heal people! I will always retain this picture in my mind and heart. It was like coming to an African Pool of Siloam, only all the people are supporting and helping each other instead of fighting to be first into the pool. I pray fervently for the healing of those we saw today.

Chapter XIII

noreply@blogger.com (St. John's Church) — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 16:11:00 +0000

Chapter XIII

August 23, 2006

Wednesday was a memorable day. We went to meet the orphan’s group and their guardians at Emmanuel church. There have been so many children orphaned by AIDS. There are about 50 just at Emmanuel parish. Some of the women organized a support group for the orphans. They work to raise funds to send the children to school. It costs between $104.00 to $329.00 per year to send a child to school (includes fees, uniform, shoes, book bag, sweater) depending on the level in school. The kids introduced themselves, most painfully shy, one by one, telling us how happy they were to see us, how much they love Jesus, and how much they love school and the chance for an education. Rick and I spoke to them. We described the average day of a child at St. John’s School, talked about our kids and grandkids, told the caretakers how much we admire them for what they are doing. I really hope to inspire some interest in supporting this group when we get home.

The children sang us some songs and I sang a song for them. We then moved outside for dancing. These kids are incredible! Their dancing and singing was joyful, abandoned—they had fun. The girls challenged the caregivers, many of them grandparents, to dance and several of them did. It was a wonderful experience.

We then had tea at Fr. David’s house (the one there at the church grounds). From there we went to lunch at the Senior Warden’s home. The Senior Warden, Martin, lives at the family land. His father (who is 80 years old) who they call Mosay—a very reverent term for “old man -” greeted us effusively with hugs and slaps on the back and a huge smile. Martin presented his two little girls, Martha and Martina. The younger one came and sat on Rick’s lap. Martin’s twin brother, Frank, proudly brought out his pictures of his wife and 11 month old son. Their mother came and sat by the father—neither of them speak English so a translation marathon began. Mosay had so many questions about America. He had worked hard and built a wonderful house for his family. His sons treat him with obvious love and respect. In the back yard are the graves of another son and daughter-in-law who died from AIDS.

There were several guests there who had come to welcome us. One was a woman county council person who was elected as representative for women. Women have been liberated in Uganda by Christianity. The church encourages them to get education and encourages their husbands to support them. The AIDS epidemic (new cases) has been dramatically reduced due to the teaching of the church on faithful monogamy and abstinence before marriage. Their acceptance of Jesus has literally saved this country.

August 26, 2006

I am hiding in our room—the entire place is crawling with people preparing for the Introduction Ceremony and I’m feeling pretty useless. I’m having that too-familiar feeling of not wanting to get in the way but not wanting to appear lazy and unhelpful. The house has been painted, lawn scythed, mosquitoes sprayed, rooms washed. There is a man outside making decorations—well, trying to make squashed decorations look new. These will go on the tent. I’m beginning to wonder why I spent all day yesterday making decorations. Rick attended a Give-Away ceremony yesterday. Fr. David had Rick deliver a message and Rick described the whole ceremony to me. Sounds very nice.

Patience had a bit of a meltdown yesterday over some boutonnière type things she had someone make and
didn’t like the results. I wound up remaking them all and she appeared to be satisfied with them.

The “roll-with-the-punches” lifestyle here is hard for us Americans to adjust to. Yesterday, the Give-Away ceremony was to begin at 13:00. Rick was informed he would be giving the message as a guest preacher by overhearing a conversation between Fr. David and me through the window. At 12:30, Fr. David was still off on some errand. Rick was sitting in his suit and tie waiting to be collected and taken to the Give-Away. He had been ready for an hour. About 13:30, Fr. David returned and told Rick the family had called and they weren’t ready yet so they didn’t have to be there until 14:30. They left at 14:45.

This morning I was summoned at 08:30 by Emilly that I needed to go to the hair salon with Patience. I jumped up and got dressed in five minutes. When I walked into the living room, Emilly was calmly setting out tea and fruit and said Patience had left already, but would be returning soon because she couldn’t get her hair done yet due to a power outage. I remain waiting for her now at 10:30 wondering what I’m supposed to be doing. Rick is supposed to accompany Fr. David to the wedding ceremony (the people who had the Give-Away yesterday) and Fr. David said they had to leave at 10:00—English Time. Rick is dressed and ready to go, reading a book. Fr. David is gone somewhere. It’s 10:30. Either Fr. David forgot he asked Rick to go (distinct possibility), or African time has once again prevailed. Yes! At 11:00 Fr. David arrived, quickly donned his shirt and clerical collar, collected Rick, and they were off.

The Introduction Ceremony was scheduled to begin at 13:00 here at the house. At 11:00 when Fr. David and Rick left, Patience had still not returned. She finally showed up at about 11:15 and told me we had to get to the hair salon right away. So off we went. The hair experience was fascinating. Here, everyone is black and has African hair. Most women have their hair cut extremely short. At the hairdresser, there is no shampoo basin. The hair is not washed there, only styled. First, the hair is smoothed down to the head by a thick, oily substance that reminds me of axle grease. It is combed into the hair little by little until all the hair is smooth and glossy and plastered to the head. Then small tufts are picked back up and tied with string to form anchoring places for what happens next. After her hair is dried to a hard shell under the hair drier, the woman having her hair done selects a piece of artificial hair which is then sewed on to her glazed hair by first anchoring it in several places to the little tufts, and then using an actual needle and yarn to sew it on the rest of the way. Then the artificial hair is styled into a French twist, curls or whatever the client wants. This process all began for Patience at about 12:00. Remember, the Introduction was scheduled to begin at 13:00. Around 14:00, the hair was finally done and we went home to dress for the ceremony, which finally began around 14:45.

While we were at the salon, several large pavilions had been set up in the front yard, and all the living room furniture had been brought out of the house and placed under the pavilion. Rented folding chairs were set up, and a large grass mat. The groom’s clan, who had been waiting down the road for who knows how long, were now signaled to arrive. The rest of the guests began singing, and the groom’s clan walked solemnly down the road, through the gate and into the yard, taking their places on the sofas set up under the pavilion. Meanwhile, the bride and her entourage, including me (the Matron of Honor), were peeking out the window of the room we were sequestered in. When the groom’s family was all seated, we began our slow procession out the door and across the yard to the pavilion. The groom’s family, and all the guests, including my husband Rick, were seated in chairs or on sofas. The bride and her party got to sit on the ground on the grass mat and remain there, staring solemnly ahead and being careful not to smile, for a long time while many long speeches were made. Fortunately, by this time I had learned to put myself in a state of semi-hypnosis to avoid feeling my back and legs first hurting and then slowly going numb. Eventually it was time for the bride and the matron of honor to get up off the ground and proceed across the lawn to where the groom to be was comfortably seated on a sofa. We knelt in front of him, and Patience put a flower in his shirt pocket which is meant to show her clan that this is the man she will marry. Clapping and singing broke out as the bride and groom to be exchanged small gifts and Emmanuel (the groom) slipped the engagement ring on to Patience’s finger. It was then time to rise gracefully from our knees without tripping over the long flowing skirts and wraps, and proceed back to sit on the grass mat with our backs to the entertainment everyone else got to enjoy. When the time came, we got back up, proceeded into the house, and were sequestered in a room, food brought to us, and there we were to stay until the party broke up later. However, Patience released me so I could go see what the rest of the party was like since I was a rookie. There was a lot of food and laughter and friendship, and it was very enjoyable. The next morning when I woke up, all the furniture was back in the house, the house was spotless, and the yard was absent any sign of the chairs, pavilions and soda bottles from the evening before.

Chapter XII

noreply@blogger.com (St. John's Church) — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 16:10:00 +0000

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!

Chapter XI

noreply@blogger.com (St. John's Church) — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 16:09:00 +0000

Chapter XI

This morning we went to church at St. John’s Bugongi. The church became packed over the course of about an hour as people trickled in. It’s a long walk for most of them. There was a Baptism, and then the family of the child came forward to give a special offering and receive another blessing. Then there were the readings , prayer, & Rick’s sermon. Rick’s testimony was well received. When he was finished the congregation burst into a song that Fr. David told me they sing whenever they have been particularly touched by the message. Then came a very very long time of announcements and introductions. During the announcement time they read letters they have received from other parishes, introduce everyone from anywhere who is visiting and let them have a moment to speak. An American Episcopal priest would probably be overcome with a spell of swooning long before it was over.☺ I led a few songs, and then it was time for the Offertory. What an incredible offering time! Today was the harvest celebration (sorghum) and people were bringing their first fruits to the Altar. People came forward in groups (clans) all competing to give the best offering. As each clan was called, they would go out the side door, collect their offerings that had been left outside, and process down the aisle with them. Woman after woman with baskets of sorghum on their heads, men with chickens, eggs, cabbages and long stalks of sugar cane came forward, singing and praising God. At one point, a chicken got loose and pooped right in front of the Altar. The Senior Warden hurried forward with a piece of paper to clean up the mess. Fr. Frances calmly picked up the chicken and put it back with the rest of the offerings. After that part of the offering was over, I announced that the guitar I had played during the songs I led was to become a gift to St. John’s Bugongi from St. John’s Roseville. Wild applause broke out, singing and dancing in the aisle, and Fr. Frances laid the guitar on the altar with the rest of the offerings. I was quite overwhelmed by the response.

Meanwhile, a cute little girl about 2 1/2 yrs.old wandered up to me and crawled into my lap. She spent about 15 minutes touching my face and hair and staring at me. Then she just climbed down and wandered away. As the offering progressed, the singing and dancing continued. When the service was over and we had mingled with a lot of people and shaken a lot of hands, we walked up another mountain to the home of Fr. Frances for tea and lunch with his family. There was tea and biscuits (muffins) and bananas, chicken stew, g-nut sauce and matoke. We were each given a bottle of water which was much appreciated. There were also roasted ground nuts (g-nuts) which are very wonderful. After the dishes were cleared away, there were introductions and a talk by the Senior Warden which was translated by Fr. David. The Senior Warden’s name is Joy. I have found you can guess 80% of the women’s names by just going through the fruits of the Spirit until you get to it. After that, people began wandering out, until suddenly Fr. Jonathon took the guitar (which had been brought to Fr. Frances’ house) out of the case and started playing a local song. It was then I remembered that Ron Thomson had given Johathan a guitar last time he visited us. Fr. Jonathan knows the C, F, and G chords, and those seem to work fine for most of the songs they sing. As soon as he started playing and singing, the room magically filled with people—many who not been there originally. The singing and dancing began and was wonderful as usual. After three songs, Jonathan put away the guitar and we had a time of prayer and then it was time to go. But we were not going home just yet. We were going to go visit Morrie, the sister of Fr. David. Morrie lives up yet another Mount Everest just past the Mount Kilamanjaro that Fr. Frances lives on. When we arrived at her house, they were just having lunch and were going to offer us some but thank God Fr. David explained we had just eaten. I thought I would lose weight here! All we do is eat, and no one asks if you want more—they just observe what you choose and keep your plate filled with it until you leave some. Fortunately, I have figured this out and I only take a little of what I want and never clean the plate. Maybe this way I’ll at least not GAIN anything. We had a nice visit with Morrie, then rapelled (just kidding—we hiked) back down the mountain to the car. On the way home we stopped in Bugongi at the home of Dorothy Clark’s pen pal, Patience. She wasn’t there but the rest of her family was and they all knew who Dorothy is and asked about her and sent their greetings. I gave the mother of Patience the gift from Dorothy to pass along. The mother had just returned home from a goiter surgery. It’s hard to believe people still suffer from such a preventable condition. I have seen several people with large goiters. We finally arrived home about 17:00 and had a nice family evening.

Next Morning

When we got up, Fr. David was gone. He had gone to the Bishop’s office to see why the Bishop had called. I realized he drove all the way over there because he was out of air time on his phone. Rick and I talked and decided to give him some money for phone time and a few other things. It’s unbelievable how little money he has. He is supported solely by the offerings of the congregation which he splits with the Lay Reader. Since being switched to Emmanuel from St. John’s, his income has been reduced drastically. Emmanuel is a much poorer church. St. John’s is actually pretty well off. It is very close to town and many of the parishioners are council members, doctors, teachers etc. whereas at Emmanuel most are poor subsistance farmers and laborers. Fr. David and his family supplement their income by selling eggs, sweet potatoes and baskets. He is building a shop in front of the house near the road with the intention of more easily selling the eggs and sweet potatoes they grow. There are little home shops all up and down the roads. Some sell laundry soap, some sell sugar, some sell phone air time. When you need something, you just walk over to the the neighbor who sells it.

After breakfast, we went into the village to attend the funeral of a well-known university professor. The church was packed. The funeral began at 12:00 and was to last three hours. We arrived around 13:00. We were ushered up to the front to sit with the clergy once again. I think it will be nice to get home and fade back into the background. After two very lengthy speeches, Fr.David said it was time to leave. I guess it’s acceptable to come late and leave early although it made me feel guilty.

From the funeral we went to lunch at a local hotel. We were the only people in the place except for one other table. We ordered, then the lunch rush hit. We waited and waited while everyone else was served. I began to get an idea of what it must feel like to be ignored and discriminated against. (Although that was not the case here). I thought of being a black person in the South in the 1940-50’s, being ignored like a non-person. The range of emotions I felt was a learning experience. I was angry at first, which faded into embarassment, and then almost a feeling of self-loathing. It was very fascinating and made me sad for the people who suffer through this all the time in many places in the world. Finally, after about an hour, they brought the food. Turns out they didn’t have the sausage I ordered so they sent someone to buy some and it took longer than they expected. The food was very good. Fr. David, being himself, during this entire time kept getting up and going outside to greet people he knows, but we are now used to his ways. He is just full of energy and love (although he can get very irritated at times.)

After lunch we went to the phone company to ask why the new phone we just had installed was demanding a password before it would let anyone call. No one seemed to know, but they told us there was a guy who would be standing in front of another store around the corner who could come out and explain it if we would pick him up and give him a ride to the house. He was not there, so we just went home and the problem remains unsolved at this time.