Thank you to everyone who supported me through your love, prayers, encouragement, and interest. This trip was not possible without you. The following entries are excerpts from my personal journal during my time in Uganda.
~RMS~
Monday, October 29, 2007
UGANDA -- A PLACE TO BUILD
Thank you to everyone who supported me through your love, prayers, encouragement, and interest. This trip was not possible without you. The following entries are excerpts from my personal journal during my time in Uganda.
~RMS~
Uganda: Just Above the Navel
Saturday, July 28, 2007
I stayed up all night on Trader Joe’s espresso to fly over an ocean and two continents. I now stand just above the navel of the world, ready to dive in and dig deep.
I sit on the ledge of my third-story balcony, one foot on a rain-splattered school desk, both ankles splattered in the red clay of Uganda. The children have left their love marks on my white shirt and I hope they never wash out. I’m facing a ball of setting light over the Nile River – guest house and green lawn below. Some sort of factory is blowing smoke kisses at the sun and the birds are humming “How lovely is our dwelling place.” My eyelids have the weight of travel but instead of acquiescing to them, I will honor my lungs with green-given fresh air out on the balcony.
Our first introduction to “African Time” was the two-hour drive from the airport that took three due to some dirt-road detours. We saw brick houses. Mud huts. Piles of drying bricks. Women in long skirts. Coca-cola. Coca-cola. Coca-cola. Children carrying bundles on their head. People selling newspapers on the highway. Beautiful, lush green trees and rolling tea fields. Many churches. A few mosques. A huddle of giggly children hiding under a blanket on a porch. Bicycles. Trucks. Motorcycles. Cell phones and internet cafes. Barefeet and shaved heads.
Then to Jinja for the HopeWalks event with Children of Grace, the organization that helps support kids who have been orphaned by AIDS and HIV. After we waited out the torrential downpour, a uniformed marching band led us through the town’s unpaved streets. The kids wore beaming smiles. Little hands held tight to mine all down the street and through the dance performances. What a treat! To feel the heart connection through fingertips and the soul through dance. “You know how to dance!” said 13-year-old Masi. And she should know! The drumming and dancing and singing flows from these kids to the beat of their heart pumping blood into their veins. I not only wanted to dance with these kids – they told me I had better dance!
The magic of Africa. It really is magical here – just as I knew it would be. What I don’t know is “it.” I don’t know Africa. How much will I know when I head back? Perhaps not enough to satisfy and everything enough to return… Everything’s much slower than Park Avenue. And that is just right, right now.
Uganda: Stay in the Temple!
Sunday, July, 29, 2007
We’re at church. 10:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. With a service as long as this, you can’t really think about when you’re getting out. We’re here and that’s where we are – in the Body of Christ. Fittingly, the sermon was titled: “Stay in the Temple!”
We’re at church. 10:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. With a service as long as this, you can’t really think about when you’re getting out. We’re here and that’s where we are – in the Body of Christ. Fittingly, the sermon was titled: “Stay in the Temple!”
Uganda: "I wish you much suffering"
Monday, July 30, 2007
I believe we’re waiting for the bus. I say believe because you can’t always distinguish when you’re waiting and when you’re relaxing. Either way – you’re in Uganda and building relationships and working and serving.
It’s good to be dirty. I probably smell. It feels more real than perfume in New York. That said – I love the cultural opportunities in New York – just as there are very different cultural opportunities here.
We drove into the campsite where the college group from First Pres Berkeley was staying yesterday. The poverty was more prominent than anywhere I’ve seen first-hand. But I’m not shocked. Mom and Dad made it very clear to us that there was a place called the Bush. Where children were happy playing with sticks and mud. Where houses were built with sticks and mud.
I believe we’re waiting for the bus. I say believe because you can’t always distinguish when you’re waiting and when you’re relaxing. Either way – you’re in Uganda and building relationships and working and serving.
It’s good to be dirty. I probably smell. It feels more real than perfume in New York. That said – I love the cultural opportunities in New York – just as there are very different cultural opportunities here.
We drove into the campsite where the college group from First Pres Berkeley was staying yesterday. The poverty was more prominent than anywhere I’ve seen first-hand. But I’m not shocked. Mom and Dad made it very clear to us that there was a place called the Bush. Where children were happy playing with sticks and mud. Where houses were built with sticks and mud.
I’m trying to wrap my head around a “standard of living.” What’s “fair.” What’s “right.” There are many people who would be severely unhappy with my modest living. But they could be clean. And eat. And get health care. And a stellar education. And various kinds of experiences. So how unhappy would they really end up being? People adapt. I can’t really tell how happy or unhappy people are here. How unhappy could you allow yourself to be?
Lord! What’s happy anyway? And what is my obsession with happiness as an American? Feeling good? Is it our entitlement or the fact that many of us don’t know it’s not about feeling comfortable. Jesus, if anything, calls us to suffer for him. That in suffering we find grace. We find growth. Rudolf Ungvary, a freedom fighter in the 1956 Hungarian Revolution, wished me much suffering in life. I keep thinking about that. And about Bonhoeffer saying we are blessed to suffer. But we are not to call ourselves to our own suffering. And as much as we might “suffer” watching others suffer here – we have no idea. We have no idea what that kind of suffering feels like. And absolutely no idea about the potential for grace that accompanies.
This is not meant to justify suffering for man, woman, or child. Or to make it right. It’s simply about the spirit instead of the body.
Job 28:12-28
Uganda: Brick by Brick
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
We’re building a house. The foundation was dug when we arrived. Nathan, the head mason, lays the corners and we lay bricks between. The bricks are porous and made from the red clay soil. You can see brick being made all over the villages. Then we use mortar and trowel to fill in the gaps. When it’s dried a bit, we clean up the brick surface with a wire brush and make lines between the bricks with a metal edge. Nathan stretches twine and uses a level to make sure the bricks match height. The foundation is made of compacted dirt and pulverized pieces of brick. We build with four other local masons, Frank and Agnes and their seven children who will live in the house, and tons and tons of kids. The kids are barefoot, wear torn clothes with Colorado emblems and Disney characters, and are incredible. They do a huge amount of work – shoveling, running wheelbarrows, and filling pans with mortar… all barefoot on a field construction site. It’s great! Between jobs, we take time out to play with the children. Squeals and smiles accompany soccer games, float around bubbles, and peer out at you from behind shy hiding places. The joy is infectious.
We’re building a house. The foundation was dug when we arrived. Nathan, the head mason, lays the corners and we lay bricks between. The bricks are porous and made from the red clay soil. You can see brick being made all over the villages. Then we use mortar and trowel to fill in the gaps. When it’s dried a bit, we clean up the brick surface with a wire brush and make lines between the bricks with a metal edge. Nathan stretches twine and uses a level to make sure the bricks match height. The foundation is made of compacted dirt and pulverized pieces of brick. We build with four other local masons, Frank and Agnes and their seven children who will live in the house, and tons and tons of kids. The kids are barefoot, wear torn clothes with Colorado emblems and Disney characters, and are incredible. They do a huge amount of work – shoveling, running wheelbarrows, and filling pans with mortar… all barefoot on a field construction site. It’s great! Between jobs, we take time out to play with the children. Squeals and smiles accompany soccer games, float around bubbles, and peer out at you from behind shy hiding places. The joy is infectious.
Uganda: Widows Without Land
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Today was a more melancholy day for me personally, but I’m feeling better. I just needed some time to think. It was interesting because Michael and Muhammed, our Ugandan Habitat volunteer and coordinator, noticed and asked if I was alright. I said that I needed some time, but I’d be fine. I was not only processing my own feelings and reactions to my surroundings, but I was also internalizing other team members’ emotions. It was a lot to take in.
(The frogs outside right now are so loud! They sound like sick ducks.)
We had dinner with the leaders of International Justice Mission (IJM). They help widows suffering from their husbands’ families land-grabbing their property. After the husband dies, the family sometimes takes all property, belongings, and sometimes her children from her. IJM assists the widows in taking legal action against their husbands’ families and is also providing empowerment training in business consulting and finance management, essential skills for a woman providing for herself and for her family. Without IJM, some of these women could never access the court system – even because some lack the bus money to get to the office in the first place.
I have a feeling that tomorrow will be a great day. Really. Truly. Blessed. I need to write so much more…
I would love pancakes tomorrow. Not going to happen.
Today was a more melancholy day for me personally, but I’m feeling better. I just needed some time to think. It was interesting because Michael and Muhammed, our Ugandan Habitat volunteer and coordinator, noticed and asked if I was alright. I said that I needed some time, but I’d be fine. I was not only processing my own feelings and reactions to my surroundings, but I was also internalizing other team members’ emotions. It was a lot to take in.
(The frogs outside right now are so loud! They sound like sick ducks.)
We had dinner with the leaders of International Justice Mission (IJM). They help widows suffering from their husbands’ families land-grabbing their property. After the husband dies, the family sometimes takes all property, belongings, and sometimes her children from her. IJM assists the widows in taking legal action against their husbands’ families and is also providing empowerment training in business consulting and finance management, essential skills for a woman providing for herself and for her family. Without IJM, some of these women could never access the court system – even because some lack the bus money to get to the office in the first place.
I have a feeling that tomorrow will be a great day. Really. Truly. Blessed. I need to write so much more…
I would love pancakes tomorrow. Not going to happen.
Uganda: Red-Stained Truth Love
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Today was a great day. Truly.
I climbed up on the branch and twine scaffolding, worked beside the masons, and filled spaces with mortar. Two sides of the house are to their top height. It’s really incredible building this house brick by brick. The masons are very kind and patient with all of us. Really patient. Incredibly kind.
I climbed up on the branch and twine scaffolding, worked beside the masons, and filled spaces with mortar. Two sides of the house are to their top height. It’s really incredible building this house brick by brick. The masons are very kind and patient with all of us. Really patient. Incredibly kind.
Everyone is being generous with their personal space and graceful in accepting the bits of mortar that seem to flick onto your work partner’s shirt or chin. I feel beautiful choosing to be this patient and receiving it in return.
--------------------
I’m standing at the belt of the world that holds in our swollen belly. Swollen from food and lack of food. Swollen bellies connected to beating hearts.
Strong beats to the drum’s true rhythm. Strong beats matching the Love Truth that rightfully challenges pop love in our culture – the one that heats up fast in oil and flame – bursting into fluff like kernels of corn. No.
Truth Love – that truly courses through our veins – that charts courses between heart, mind, soul, and feet.
Barefeet. Souled-feet.
Toes that push through the red mud and heels that kick up red dust. Red dirt that holds up our playing children and working friends. The red that gives life to life crops and forms the brick that builds our houses.
Our home.
The red that finds our home back to our heart. That connects my heart to yours and my red-stained socks back to America. The Brooklyn washing machine can’t rid red stains left in my heart.
Connected to house and home.
On the belly of the World. From out of the belly of the Whale.
Peace and blessings for all of us.
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