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.
Uganda: Cold showers. Really cold.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Every day after work, we go back to the farming center and clean up. It takes 15 of us 40 minutes to get through 2 showers. Cold showers. Really cold. I’ve actually not yet gotten into the shower. I squat next to the lower faucet and use my shower gloves to rinse off, soap up, and rinse off again. I move fast and remind myself to breathe. There are no lights in the bathroom except my blue Mini Maglight, but I can still see the dirt stream off my arms and legs.
Tonight, we rode into Kampala and are staying at the Green Valley Hotel during our weekend excursion in the capital. I almost burned myself with the hot water. Luxury.
Every day after work, we go back to the farming center and clean up. It takes 15 of us 40 minutes to get through 2 showers. Cold showers. Really cold. I’ve actually not yet gotten into the shower. I squat next to the lower faucet and use my shower gloves to rinse off, soap up, and rinse off again. I move fast and remind myself to breathe. There are no lights in the bathroom except my blue Mini Maglight, but I can still see the dirt stream off my arms and legs.
Tonight, we rode into Kampala and are staying at the Green Valley Hotel during our weekend excursion in the capital. I almost burned myself with the hot water. Luxury.
Uganda: “That’s muzungu price!”
Sunday, August 5, 2007
I have mosquito bites. Hopefully my malaria pills work.
The weekend was relaxing, a nice change of pace. I fell into old habits – falling asleep in my clothes with the light on and waking back up at 3am to get ready for bed. We could also sleep in a little later instead of waking up at 6am to get to the building site. After some time at an American-style mall for internet and buying souvenirs at the National Theatre, we trekked through a produce market. A couple guys were trying to sell me fresh vanilla for $15. We were already joking around so I laughed and said, “That’s muzungu price!” They, too, laughed that I said $15 was “white man” price. I was considering the packet at $4, but a friend reminded me that Customs wouldn’t take favorably to the packet, regardless of the price.
So how am I doing? Really well. I’m interested to see how this next week goes. The first week was full of a lot of mixed feelings – as I’m sure the last will be also. It’s the middle that’s always interesting.
I have mosquito bites. Hopefully my malaria pills work.
The weekend was relaxing, a nice change of pace. I fell into old habits – falling asleep in my clothes with the light on and waking back up at 3am to get ready for bed. We could also sleep in a little later instead of waking up at 6am to get to the building site. After some time at an American-style mall for internet and buying souvenirs at the National Theatre, we trekked through a produce market. A couple guys were trying to sell me fresh vanilla for $15. We were already joking around so I laughed and said, “That’s muzungu price!” They, too, laughed that I said $15 was “white man” price. I was considering the packet at $4, but a friend reminded me that Customs wouldn’t take favorably to the packet, regardless of the price.
So how am I doing? Really well. I’m interested to see how this next week goes. The first week was full of a lot of mixed feelings – as I’m sure the last will be also. It’s the middle that’s always interesting.
Uganda: "Money is a problem in this country."
Monday, August 6, 2007
While on break at the site: Patrick, one of the masons, and I were picking rocks out of mud to later mix concrete. We talked about money. He wants to get a microfinance loan to open his own store. He said, “Money is a problem in this country. You have to be patient to get it. If you’re not patient, you’ll have problems.” I added that money is a problem in different ways all over the world – some people have too much of it and then it can become a mind and heart problem.
I really like it here. The breeze is blowing and we’re building a house. I can hear the women pounding food with mortar and pestle. I’m sure that I do not know a lot about this country. What kind of stages would I go through if I stayed here longer? Not sure. Back to work.
While on break at the site: Patrick, one of the masons, and I were picking rocks out of mud to later mix concrete. We talked about money. He wants to get a microfinance loan to open his own store. He said, “Money is a problem in this country. You have to be patient to get it. If you’re not patient, you’ll have problems.” I added that money is a problem in different ways all over the world – some people have too much of it and then it can become a mind and heart problem.
I really like it here. The breeze is blowing and we’re building a house. I can hear the women pounding food with mortar and pestle. I’m sure that I do not know a lot about this country. What kind of stages would I go through if I stayed here longer? Not sure. Back to work.
Back “home” for the evening: So we smashed brick, moved more brick piles, took pictures, climbed on the house walls for work, climbed up a tree for fun, leveled some ground, and sat around. We were waiting for materials. Ready to work, but waiting. One of our group members made a good point: let this be a lesson to us about all the people in the world who would like to do something, but can’t yet for current lack of resources… this was an interesting tie-back to Patrick’s comment from earlier today. I’m excited to go back to grad school and learn about economics. It surely affects a lot on this Earth. More than it should, ideally. It worries me when material things highly affect non-material things. When lacking goods affects our desire to do good and to be good. Then we have problems. But then again, how would I understand what it is to lack in the first place if I eat good food every day and sleep in my nice bed?
Michael, our amazing local Habitat volunteer who’s been with us every step of the way, gave tonight’s devotion. He simply said: “There is no poor person on the Earth – just people who need. Me or you or him or her. A giving heart will be blessed. Proverbs 25 and 26. Psalm 100.”
I liked Michael’s words. We may not identify with poverty, but we can all identify with feeling in need. Of something.
On a different note: Critters we’ve found in the last couple days include small hairy centipedes whose trail leaves you stinging for only three hours (I found a couple on my pant legs before they found my skin), 2 small black snakes about a foot long, and an odd green- and white-striped cricket. Our latrine (read: 4-inch hole in a concrete slab) housed 2 New York City-sized roaches, a three-inch spider in the tarantula family, a couple geckos, and 2 or 3 two-inch black spiders. There was a bat waiting on one of our ladies’ towels when she stepped out of the shower. I’m writing this back at the farm center and a few geckos are keeping me company in the dining room. Everyone else has gone to bed. A massive beetle insisted on performing Top Gun-style fly-bys near my head. I just trapped it under a ceramic mug; the beetle continues to crawl, moving the mug from the inside. He bumped into my phone and is now not only blindly pushing the mug, but my phone, too. I think it’s time to retire to my bed and protective mosquito net.
From the safety of my bed: I freed the beetle and fled the room. Sweet dreams and good night.
Uganda: Sweet Baby Lydia
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Today was a great day. All the materials were at the site. Cheers for prayer and patience!
The morning was tough work, but really good. We laid the foundation throughout the house. With some rough math, we figured we laid about 5 ¾ tons of concrete. Whatever the amount was, we laughed, sweat, and passed the mortar pans.
Tomorrow the masons will help us play soccer against the community and we’ll probably get killed.
Yesterday we took a walk through the village to get lumber. It was wonderful to see more people and homes in the area. The long trail of people in our team tripled in size as the village children sprang from their yards to hop in line. And oh! Today one of the ladies plopped baby Lydia in our laps. The sweetest smile blossomed on her face. I am so excited to be a mom – later.
Our bus broke down. Now, we ride in a canvas-sided truck with old seats nailed down to the bed. It pretty much completes the experience and makes me smile.
Tomorrow is our last day of building. Then the dedication on Thursday. And to Kampala on Friday. Then the rest of the team leaves. Prayers for my accommodations! I don’t have any reservations yet. I’ll miss being in the jungle.
One of the boys in our group scooped another bat out of the shower tonight. Then we spoke with the local prison ministry. Can you imagine being in prison for murder for 18 years and then being set free – because they found your “victim” alive? This story belongs to a man who now goes back and spends time doing ministry in his previous place of captivity.
Today was a great day. All the materials were at the site. Cheers for prayer and patience!
The morning was tough work, but really good. We laid the foundation throughout the house. With some rough math, we figured we laid about 5 ¾ tons of concrete. Whatever the amount was, we laughed, sweat, and passed the mortar pans.
Tomorrow the masons will help us play soccer against the community and we’ll probably get killed.
Yesterday we took a walk through the village to get lumber. It was wonderful to see more people and homes in the area. The long trail of people in our team tripled in size as the village children sprang from their yards to hop in line. And oh! Today one of the ladies plopped baby Lydia in our laps. The sweetest smile blossomed on her face. I am so excited to be a mom – later.
Our bus broke down. Now, we ride in a canvas-sided truck with old seats nailed down to the bed. It pretty much completes the experience and makes me smile.
Tomorrow is our last day of building. Then the dedication on Thursday. And to Kampala on Friday. Then the rest of the team leaves. Prayers for my accommodations! I don’t have any reservations yet. I’ll miss being in the jungle.
One of the boys in our group scooped another bat out of the shower tonight. Then we spoke with the local prison ministry. Can you imagine being in prison for murder for 18 years and then being set free – because they found your “victim” alive? This story belongs to a man who now goes back and spends time doing ministry in his previous place of captivity.
Uganda: Soccer with the Cows and the Community
Wednesday August 8, 2007
We played our community soccer game today. The few loitering cows moved eventually. The masons tossed their slippers off onto the field, as the community players did with their shirts and we continued to play around articles of clothing, potholes, and mounds. The kids cheered, especially the girls when Natasha or I got the ball because girls don’t usually play soccer. This one doesn’t either, but the couple passes and one steal I managed will have to suffice. At least I was pretty excited!
Uganda: Unexpected Recognition. House Complete.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
The house dedication saved me from having my first truly horrible day. I felt poorly in the morning – mostly emotionally, but also somewhat physically. I was just really feeling sad about leaving the village. The kids made me so happy and I loved doing something with my hands. I knew that we’d come back tonight and pack all our things. Then say goodbye tomorrow. But first, there was the dedication ceremony. And it was wonderful.
We headed to the site in our canvas-covered truck. The choir from the orphanage was drumming and singing. All the kids who run around our worksite were there. The neighbors who cooked cassava chips and tea every day at 11am. All of the other neighbors. TJ, the Peace Corps volunteer who had spent time with us. The community leader. Other religious leaders. And all of us.
We each received recognition. I was not expecting that. Michael gave a touching speech about the importance of our work – about the hope it brings to the family and to the community. I did not expect to go and make any big difference, but we were told otherwise… by the community leader, by Frank the homeowner, and by Michael. They say what we’re doing is generous. I suppose it is, but it doesn’t really seem like it. That’s what we were supposed to do. “Go,” said God. So we went.
The house dedication saved me from having my first truly horrible day. I felt poorly in the morning – mostly emotionally, but also somewhat physically. I was just really feeling sad about leaving the village. The kids made me so happy and I loved doing something with my hands. I knew that we’d come back tonight and pack all our things. Then say goodbye tomorrow. But first, there was the dedication ceremony. And it was wonderful.
We headed to the site in our canvas-covered truck. The choir from the orphanage was drumming and singing. All the kids who run around our worksite were there. The neighbors who cooked cassava chips and tea every day at 11am. All of the other neighbors. TJ, the Peace Corps volunteer who had spent time with us. The community leader. Other religious leaders. And all of us.
We each received recognition. I was not expecting that. Michael gave a touching speech about the importance of our work – about the hope it brings to the family and to the community. I did not expect to go and make any big difference, but we were told otherwise… by the community leader, by Frank the homeowner, and by Michael. They say what we’re doing is generous. I suppose it is, but it doesn’t really seem like it. That’s what we were supposed to do. “Go,” said God. So we went.
Uganda: Into the City
Friday, August 10, 2007
We rode down the dusty hill in Mbalala for the last time and headed back to Kampala. I then said good bye to the team. I wasn’t really sure where I was going or what all would happen in the week to come, but I knew that it wasn’t the first time I’d ventured alone somewhere in the world…
One of the Habitat leaders had arranged a paid homestay for me with his friend, Helen. I dropped my bags at her workplace and went off to an informational meeting at KACITA, a microfinance institution (MFI) for small business owners. Alex, my friend that I had met between London and Entebbe, helped set up meetings with local MFIs, which was my purpose for staying an extra week. KACITA is a newer MFI; it was interesting speaking with one of the loan officers regarding precautions taken and training offered to people taking out loans. I have so much to learn. And I’m excited about it! Who knows where I’ll be in five years? Or even 1?!
We rode down the dusty hill in Mbalala for the last time and headed back to Kampala. I then said good bye to the team. I wasn’t really sure where I was going or what all would happen in the week to come, but I knew that it wasn’t the first time I’d ventured alone somewhere in the world…
One of the Habitat leaders had arranged a paid homestay for me with his friend, Helen. I dropped my bags at her workplace and went off to an informational meeting at KACITA, a microfinance institution (MFI) for small business owners. Alex, my friend that I had met between London and Entebbe, helped set up meetings with local MFIs, which was my purpose for staying an extra week. KACITA is a newer MFI; it was interesting speaking with one of the loan officers regarding precautions taken and training offered to people taking out loans. I have so much to learn. And I’m excited about it! Who knows where I’ll be in five years? Or even 1?!
Uganda: Put Your Hands Together
Saturday, August 11, 2007
God is in Africa. Of that much I’m sure. At the wedding I attended today, one of Alex’s friends said hello and then, “Do you believe in Jesus Christ?” “Yes.” “Good!” He continued to explain that he met someone who said that they did not need God for their next dollar or for their next day. “Here in Uganda,” he said, “You need to put your hands together and pray!”
God is in Africa. Of that much I’m sure. At the wedding I attended today, one of Alex’s friends said hello and then, “Do you believe in Jesus Christ?” “Yes.” “Good!” He continued to explain that he met someone who said that they did not need God for their next dollar or for their next day. “Here in Uganda,” he said, “You need to put your hands together and pray!”
Uganda: Pause from Wrestling
Sunday, August 12, 2007
“My humble place,” Helen said as we entered her home on the outskirts of the city. It’s a bit bigger than my apartment in New York. Concrete floor. Low lighting. Barred windows and a pad-locked gate. Grass in the front yard. Bright blue velvet couches with large, gold doilies. Foam mattress. Separate bathroom and shower room, like Europe. For the past two weeks, I’ve been saying that all I wanted was a hot-bucket shower instead of a cold “modern” shower. And that’s exactly what I have – a hot bucket shower in the small, dark shower room with a concrete floor. And you know what? It really is better than a cold shower!
I wrestle with the notion of finding grace, peace, and mercy in God’s suffering – not because I can’t find grace – but because I can’t classify cold water as suffering; if that’s been my greatest physical struggle, then I haven’t really experienced hardship. I do know that I’m getting tired and I need to pause from wrestling with hard questions to preserve myself. At least my stomach is acting better!
Helen’s grandmother is unexpectedly here for a couple days. She’s led a hard life, growing up in the village and being married at the age of 12 to a man more than twice her age. She only speaks Luganda, the local language, and speaks to me often – waiting for comprehension and response on my part. We don’t get too far because I can only say “how are you?” and “thank you, sir.”
“My humble place,” Helen said as we entered her home on the outskirts of the city. It’s a bit bigger than my apartment in New York. Concrete floor. Low lighting. Barred windows and a pad-locked gate. Grass in the front yard. Bright blue velvet couches with large, gold doilies. Foam mattress. Separate bathroom and shower room, like Europe. For the past two weeks, I’ve been saying that all I wanted was a hot-bucket shower instead of a cold “modern” shower. And that’s exactly what I have – a hot bucket shower in the small, dark shower room with a concrete floor. And you know what? It really is better than a cold shower!
I wrestle with the notion of finding grace, peace, and mercy in God’s suffering – not because I can’t find grace – but because I can’t classify cold water as suffering; if that’s been my greatest physical struggle, then I haven’t really experienced hardship. I do know that I’m getting tired and I need to pause from wrestling with hard questions to preserve myself. At least my stomach is acting better!
Helen’s grandmother is unexpectedly here for a couple days. She’s led a hard life, growing up in the village and being married at the age of 12 to a man more than twice her age. She only speaks Luganda, the local language, and speaks to me often – waiting for comprehension and response on my part. We don’t get too far because I can only say “how are you?” and “thank you, sir.”
Uganda: A Gift that Humbles
Monday, August 13, 2007
Many people here ask for assistance. Michael mentioned before that Africa expects others to give – especially muzungus. And there have definitely been times when my soul has felt worn out by all the requests. And so many of them are valid!! Some granting of requests provides for implementation of sustainable solutions while others do not. And it’s impossible to grant them all. Our team did give to the prison ministry and to Habitat and to the school and to the orphanage. I had very mixed feelings about the orphanage giving each of us a gift in return, but Michael was impressed that they gave back. And because there’s nothing else to do but accept and keep the hand-made purse I was given, I will hold tight to its accompanying blessing – that when my heart was tired from giving, people with less than me reached out to refresh my soul. One of my original prayer requests was that I remain humble in not only giving, but receiving. It’s hard to think of a more humbling situation than an orphan in Uganda giving me a gift.
Later in Kampala, I saw a sight that definitely stayed with me. As I mentioned, the poverty I had seen was not mind-blowing or shocking, but this! A mother and child on the sidewalk. The child must have been about 2 years old and its body more than halfway covered by burn scars. I walked past. If I could go back and change anything, it would be to speak with the mother, pray, and give her what she asked. What happened? What happened to me?
Many people here ask for assistance. Michael mentioned before that Africa expects others to give – especially muzungus. And there have definitely been times when my soul has felt worn out by all the requests. And so many of them are valid!! Some granting of requests provides for implementation of sustainable solutions while others do not. And it’s impossible to grant them all. Our team did give to the prison ministry and to Habitat and to the school and to the orphanage. I had very mixed feelings about the orphanage giving each of us a gift in return, but Michael was impressed that they gave back. And because there’s nothing else to do but accept and keep the hand-made purse I was given, I will hold tight to its accompanying blessing – that when my heart was tired from giving, people with less than me reached out to refresh my soul. One of my original prayer requests was that I remain humble in not only giving, but receiving. It’s hard to think of a more humbling situation than an orphan in Uganda giving me a gift.
Later in Kampala, I saw a sight that definitely stayed with me. As I mentioned, the poverty I had seen was not mind-blowing or shocking, but this! A mother and child on the sidewalk. The child must have been about 2 years old and its body more than halfway covered by burn scars. I walked past. If I could go back and change anything, it would be to speak with the mother, pray, and give her what she asked. What happened? What happened to me?
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Uganda: In Microfinance, Meat Matters
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
I am exhausted. Physically and emotionally. Transitioning from throwing bricks and laying mortar for two weeks to riding motorcycle taxis side-saddle in a busy, dusty city really takes a toll. I feel so tough… and so vulnerable.
I decided to stay this extra week to speak with microfinance institutions (MFIs) and as tired as I am at times, the extra stay is well worth it. With MFIs at all levels – small, large, start-up, scaled, non-profit, for-profit, Christian, and secular – MFIs stress the importance of building trust and knowledge among those seeking loans. Individuals or groups will take out loans as little as $20 to buy equipment or material to fund a small entrepreneurial idea or existing business. The MFIs conduct training courses that explore the necessary skills and structure it takes to financially succeed in the growing market. I spoke with loan officers at three MFIs; each explained the important role that discipline and trust play, especially in the group loan settings. The group will take turns in distributing loan money to the individuals’ businesses, but all will be held responsible for ensuring the loan’s repayment. So the group members keep a careful eye on one another’s practices and are, in turn, held accountable for their own business actions. All information is cross-referenced; a loan officer may ask a man how much he spends per week on food and then ask his wife how many times per week the family eats meat. !! Can you imagine applying for a small business loan at your bank in America and being asked about your weekly meat consumption? When it comes to microfinance in the village, meat matters. It’s incredible to hear about the woman with a son in indentured servanthood who takes out a loan, starts a business, grows the business, and can now not only have her son at home, but in school.
Of course, they are not all success stories and I’m definitely wary of MFI directors who come across as extremely money- and profit-oriented. The work and improvement that is being accomplished is pretty impressive, however. One thing that draws me to this form of economic development is that it provides challenging ground to balance my heart and my actions with the opportunity of development and profit. It’s also fascinating to see so many women take out loans, prove successful, and thus not only engender economic change, but social change. It will be interesting to track both the development of those seeking microfinance loans and the industry as a whole.
I feel as though I have learned and accomplished so much and there’s still so far to go. One brick, one step at a time, though. For now, I need a moment to rest. And to breathe.
Of course, they are not all success stories and I’m definitely wary of MFI directors who come across as extremely money- and profit-oriented. The work and improvement that is being accomplished is pretty impressive, however. One thing that draws me to this form of economic development is that it provides challenging ground to balance my heart and my actions with the opportunity of development and profit. It’s also fascinating to see so many women take out loans, prove successful, and thus not only engender economic change, but social change. It will be interesting to track both the development of those seeking microfinance loans and the industry as a whole.
I feel as though I have learned and accomplished so much and there’s still so far to go. One brick, one step at a time, though. For now, I need a moment to rest. And to breathe.
Uganda: Peace Be Still
Thursday, August 16, 2007
I’m sitting here, curled up in a big chair on the lodge patio. The wind nudges the wave ripples onto the beach, says hello to the birds, and then tickles my ears. The whippoorwills coo in the palm trees and I sip on pineapple juice that can only be this good on Bulago Island.
French Press coffee! Excuse me while I sip…
I can’t remember the last time I sat and relaxed all day in a truly peaceful place. This, of course, differs from being lazy. I can breathe deep, away from the dust and city. Away from obligations and strange people. Away from suffering. Not running away – just setting myself and my soul apart. Grounded in peace and in God. In the beauty of the world and the oxygen in my blood. I have committed to take a piece of this with me – down from the summit – and to remain emblazoned with the reflection of my Father.
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Peace be still. Peace be still. The Storm rages. Peace be still.
The lake is glass and life is clear. Not understood; simply pure.
Pure cane sugar. Pure goodness. Justice and mercy. Truth.
The Lord is Truth. I am true In Him. In Like Image. In Her? I am woman. She is In Me.
Words in Heart. Blood heart. Red heart. Red blood. Read me. Now read me. Understand. To satisfy. But to not be satisfied.
Change as the wind. Bend as the sail. Travel on water and head toward land. Toward the beacon on which we focus. The Light that leads us all on. Not to blind, but to illuminate. Stars in the eyes. Stars in the sky. In my eyes.
God that gives the Beacon of Light. Scatters the stars and narrows the Focus of Heart. Toward the Light. With the wind in my sails. Red in my heart. Over the glassy water. Smoothly at Peace. Peace through the Storm.
Through the Rage. Where’s the Light?
There. There is the Light. The Light is There. On the Path.
Peace. Be still.
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I’m sitting here, curled up in a big chair on the lodge patio. The wind nudges the wave ripples onto the beach, says hello to the birds, and then tickles my ears. The whippoorwills coo in the palm trees and I sip on pineapple juice that can only be this good on Bulago Island.
French Press coffee! Excuse me while I sip…
I can’t remember the last time I sat and relaxed all day in a truly peaceful place. This, of course, differs from being lazy. I can breathe deep, away from the dust and city. Away from obligations and strange people. Away from suffering. Not running away – just setting myself and my soul apart. Grounded in peace and in God. In the beauty of the world and the oxygen in my blood. I have committed to take a piece of this with me – down from the summit – and to remain emblazoned with the reflection of my Father. Peace be still. Peace be still. The Storm rages. Peace be still.
The lake is glass and life is clear. Not understood; simply pure.
Pure cane sugar. Pure goodness. Justice and mercy. Truth.
The Lord is Truth. I am true In Him. In Like Image. In Her? I am woman. She is In Me.
Words in Heart. Blood heart. Red heart. Red blood. Read me. Now read me. Understand. To satisfy. But to not be satisfied.
Change as the wind. Bend as the sail. Travel on water and head toward land. Toward the beacon on which we focus. The Light that leads us all on. Not to blind, but to illuminate. Stars in the eyes. Stars in the sky. In my eyes.
God that gives the Beacon of Light. Scatters the stars and narrows the Focus of Heart. Toward the Light. With the wind in my sails. Red in my heart. Over the glassy water. Smoothly at Peace. Peace through the Storm.
Through the Rage. Where’s the Light?
There. There is the Light. The Light is There. On the Path.
Peace. Be still.
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