Malindi, Kenya

The next morning Kathy and I flew to Malindi where Jeremiah, another faithful driver, was waiting to take us to where the Bible school was being held. A big thanks to all the wonderful local people who drive missionaires all over town and then help be sure they're safe while they're visiting.


Malindi is a coastal town to the Indian Ocean. The population is just over 120,000 and its main industry is tourism, particularly among Italians. The African children here often greet us with a "Chow." A drive through town left me feeling a bit like we passed through an African Saugatuk. Perhaps I'll have an opporutnity to walk through later this week.

After Bible school and before dinner, Kathy and I strolled out to the ocean. We passed by three men who professed their deep love for Kathy and me. The tide was out so we kicked off our shoes and dipped our toes in this warm water. Large boats were docked off a far-away pier, bobbing in the waves. We came across a dead puffer fish…all puffed up. Something about having my photo taken with a dead puffer fish seems a little off.

The stroll was relaxing, the scenery was more than beautiful, and I so appreciated the direction the conversation took. Kathy is such a wonderful woman. I am so blessed to have gotten to know her these past few months.

Nairobi, Kenya

I arrived in Kenya without a hitch. Kimani was faithfully waiting, “Leslie Mosher” sign in hand, to take me to Rosslyn Academy where Kathy was giving music lessons. How sweet it was to see this lovely woman again.

Nairobi is the most populace city in East Africa, with more 3 million people. Based on my observations at one shopping center (and thus an extreme generalization), Nairobi seems to be one of the most diverse cities as well. Because of the presence of a number of large government agencies, Nairobi is also a financially well-to-do area, although the slums are prevalent too. I hope to learn more about these dark places when I return from Malindi.

Many missionaries use Nairobi as a hub to reach some of the more outlying African towns, as do the leaders of Biblical Life Ministries. After school I settled in to my room at the Johnson’s house and enjoyed some time with Kathy and her girls. I just love this family and I have learned so much from them about what being a full time missionary is like.

Olivia's Story: Update

Before I so hurriedly rushed off to Kenya, I was assigned the task of delivering a procedure letter to the owners of three of the schools where Mercy Uganda has sponsored children. While at the schools, I delivered gift bags sent from the states via Laura for those children sponsored at these schools – Yunus, Frank, Olivia, and Eseza’s twin sisters.

I had the opportunity to spend some time with Olivia, the child my friend sponsors, and to deliver her gift box. She seemed to recognize me, but she was no more talkative than during the last visit in June. As is true of so many Ugandan women, Olivia is quiet and reserved. She used no more words than necessary even when I asked open-ended questions.

We talked a little about how she was doing in school and gave her the assignment of getting her last term grades so that when I came back later this month to visit again she could tell me about her progress and I could bring a report back to her sponsor. We also talked a little about what she might need, as I was given some cash to help with these kinds of items. With that list, I’ll do a little shopping in preparation for another longer visit with this beautiful young girl.

I asked all those hard questions again – and will make a routine of doing so – and found that Olivia is healthy and happy. She is now boarding at the school and enjoying being with her friends. I wonder if she knows how important a role her being sponsored played in bringing me to Uganda in the first place.

Kenya: Biblical Life Ministries

Surprise! I was supposed to leave for Kenya Wednesday morning not Thursday morning (I made it in plenty of time). Thank goodness I’m an early riser…and so is Kathy who reminded me to leave. Showered and packed in 30 minutes and on my way in plenty of time. The guard at the door said, “Fly 540? It’s too early but you can go in.” The man at the counter said, “The counter isn’t open yet, but I’ll check you in.” The gate agent said, “You can’t come in yet, it’s too early.” Apparently he didn’t get the memo. Ha. So, here I am waiting. Sorry Lauren, for waking you in a panic and not giving you a hug before I left. Sorry Gabriel, for jolting you out of bed a day early. Sorry Henry, for not getting to George before I left. Sorry Annie for changing our plans for today.

I’ll spend this week with Biblical Life Ministries, the group I told you about when I went to Dallas. I’ll get to see a bit of Nairobi and then we fly to Malindi on the coast of the Indian Ocean to participate in the graduation ceremony for pastors having successfully come through the Bible School in a Briefcase program. Yea!

Food/Business Sponsorship

I met with Agnes, Pastor Phillip’s wife, to ask how best the people in these remote Karamajong villages could be helped. Agnes is an educated and very wise woman and her request was simple, “We need some way to earn money for food.”

The idea was a simple one and one I presumed some people were already doing. They simply lacked start-up capital to follow through. The problem is that most food is bought in gigantic bags that probably weigh nearly 100 pounds or more each. Yet most Karamajong cannot afford to purchase an entire bag, but instead have only a few shillings on rare occasions.

The suggestion…purchase a giant bag of food (rice, beans, sugar cane, matoke, etc.) and resell that food in smaller portions for a profit. Agnes thought the idea was perfect and asked how many women could create an income this way. We talked about how competition for any one food might affect sales and we talked about the practicality of getting to market for reselling. We also talked about managing the food so as not to consume it before it is sold. Finally, we talked about the viability of even beginning the process without funding.

Here’s where you come in. If you would like to sponsor a gigantic bag of food to help at least one family gain a small, self-sustaining income, please press the “donate” button and contribute $100. If you would like to help with a half bag of food for $50, I will match your gift with someone else’s gift to make up that full bag.

I’ll purchase all the necessary supplies (smaller bags) and transportation of these bags to the village where Agnes lives. I’ll make some recommendations to Agnes about how to manage the food supplies for the women and how to maximize profit on a single bag of food. The hope is that your gift will create a self-sustaining income. Can you help?

Robert's (Godfrey's) Story Update

In June I told you about Robert, a boy who needed sponsorship for P7 so that he could stay in school. I called him Robert but the boy’s name was actually Godfrey, I confused the names of two brothers. Anyhow, Godfrey came to the end of the semester and the time of taking the final exam and we learned that he had not been formally registered to take the exam. Typically the school is responsible for registering students, but somehow Godfrey slipped through their cracks.

Henry spent about three weeks negotiating with officials to get this child registered…all to no avail. While I hate to talk about the failure of some system, particularly when it affects the generosity of the family who sponsored Godfrey in this year of school, the reality of this problem is a reality that it’s important for American’s to understand.

The sense of justice, fairness, or even compassion that American’s take for granted is not the same in Uganda, keep in mind that things aren’t always so smooth in the U.S. either. Hands are tied in the simplest matters and no amount of exhausting work can reverse a decision. People just accept that unfairness as a part of life.

So, for Godfrey, another year in P7 is required before taking the exam. And, like last time, Godfrey needs a sponsor. Truthfully, Godfrey needs a sponsor for the rest of his senior level education (between four and six years depending on how far he chooses to go). Are you willing and able to sponsor P7 for Godfrey or even to sponsor him through senior school? The cost for P7 is right around $150 USD.

Widows

I’m getting better about not blurting out to just anyone that I am a widow. However a few opportunities to connect with people presented themselves via this fact. Yet I was advised not to tell people that I am a widow, even if someone asks my marital status. Why?

In Uganda, being a widow means that opportunities to take advantage of you exist. Being a widow in Uganda means many people will assume the wife killed the husband with AIDS. Being a widow in Uganda usually means you lose your house and everything in it (if you have one) because you have no property rights. And… that I am a widow makes the person who advised me about this social issue very sad.

I understand widowhood from the Ugandan cultural perspective very little, and these arguments make so much sense. Yet the idea of disavowing/denying/failing to acknowledge this very large and very important part of my life is revolting. I have much life experience as a result of my marriage and may have some comfort to offer others…yet I am to say nothing. I did ask what my response should be and was told to say that I am single and have children. How is that any better?

I’ll continue to watch and listen about how widows are affected in Uganda and pray that I can come to terms with this cultural nuance that is much larger in my eyes than in the eyes of so many others.

Stressed

I’d been asking to go for a walk over the last few days because I could feel the internal stress building. Nothing bad has to happen for my stress levels to rise, it happens when combining being away from home (Lauren’s) for too long, being in totally new situations, not having enough alone time, a lack of exercise, not enough sleep, and any number of other factors. Much of Africa is safe in the daytime except perhaps the bigger, more congested cities. But not many places in Africa are safe in the evening. Finding time to walk was out of the question, even with Gabriel. Still, I kept asking.

The return drive from Karamoja – another 10-12 hours – was long and bumpy. That ongoing sense of confinement and stress continued to build. A single minor event was the last straw. I lost it. I couldn’t be nice anymore, I couldn’t hold it all in. All I wanted to was to run. We parked the car at a hotel, I gave Laura (who knows me well) the eye, and put my shoes on and ran as far and as fast as I could. I didn’t ask if it was safe or even for a suggestion about where to run. I just ran. I ran and ran and ran until I couldn’t see in the dark anymore. I ran and ran and ran and cried and cried and cried. These are the times I feel so alone and am smacked with the reality of that aloneness.

Had I gotten the regular exercise I was asking for the build up would never have happened, nor would the tears, the last straw would not have come, the appearance of rudeness on my part would never have surfaced, worrying my friends would not have been an issue, missing Rick might not have crossed my mind. But, I knew it was coming and there was nothing I could do about it.

In the end, I was all worn out and sat at the end of the drive watching the big orange moon rise behind a few clouds and cast a beautiful light on Mount Tororo. I was reminded of God’s presence and of his unending goodness. Exhale.

Lokopo Medical Clinic

The second village we visited in Karamoja was about an hour away from Matany, where Pastor Phillip and his family live and where the obvious dirt road ended. This village was particularly special because Gabriel’s mother and sister live here. This is the village in which he was born and left at the age of three following some very tragic circumstances. Pastor Phillip, who is Gabriel’s cousin, brought Gabriel back to the village for the first time at the age of 15. Can you imagine being introduced to your own family at that age? Gabriel and Lina are shown with Agnes and Pastor Phillip.

As with the other villages, we were welcomed with song and dance. After having been seen by the medical team first, the elders observed patiently from their tiny wooden perches. In stark contrast to Kokorio, the people in this smaller village patiently waited in a single file line for their turn to be seen by the doctor. The team mused over this fact given their lack of exposure to such forms of fair play.

Because we spent little time on crowd control, the doctors were able to see a majority of the people in this village. One boy, in particular, stood out as a worst case. When he was very young he had malaria that went untreated. When finally seen by a doctor he was given an injection which then caused paralysis. Luckily we hadn’t seen too many (how many is too many?) severe cases like this one. Please pray God’s protection over these beautiful people.

Shepherds

The second day in Karamoja was spent in a second village about an hour away from the first. Driving to that village was met with the same kind of terrain as the first, but we were all a little more nervous given that it was so deep into no-man’s land and that there are no sign posts or even visual markers directing our path. The Karamajong are said to be nomads, but given the work that goes into fencing and building houses I’d be surprised if they moved often.

Shepherds were commonly seen in the distance. Young boys with a sarong-like wrap drove goats and sometimes cattle around the plains in search of grazing pastures. A short, quick snap of the whip (a long, dry piece of branch). The dry land spared little by way of anything edible for the goats let alone for the people.

Traditional Karamojong Clothing

Many of the villagers were wearing traditional clothing and beads. A few villagers were wearing American-style clothing, which created quite a dissonance. T-shirts touting Obama seemed most out of place and the old Boy Scout shirt was another oddity.

The women where Pastor Phillip lives in Matany made some beautiful traditional clothing and beads for us and they invited us to try them on there in that dark one-room home. What woman doesn’t cringe at the thought of announcing before a room full of people that the item is too small?

You are not imagining that my face is glowing a bit, burnt again. From left to right: Leslie, Laura, Becky, Gabriel, Brandy, and Rebecca. In the picture to the right are Laura and Agnes, Pastor Phillip's wife. What beautiful and thoughtful gifts from these women.

While outside fending off mosquitoes and posing for pictures, I soaked in the fact that I was in the farthest reaches of Africa staring at a most beautiful full moon. How cool is that!

Karamoja Shoes

I’ve written a few times about shoes and the stories these shoes tell about the life of the one who wears them. In Karamoja, only those are gifted shoes by people like this medical team we worked with get them. A few people buy them or find them but most go without. The broad feet and short toes of the Karamojong testify to the hardiness needed in living a nomad’s life.

These little feet stepped onto the scale and I couldn’t help but wonder about that life and what it might hold in its future.

Karamajong Houses

To protect their families and their livestock, the Karamojong strategically locate their villages among stands of trees so as to make them blend into the landscape when seen from a distance. And blend in they did. Their clans are surrounded by fencing made of branches and they line those fences with the thorny shrubs through which no man would dare to pass. At night a shrub is pulled into the one small opening to prevent entry. Currently, the Somalians are the biggest threat, particularly to the livestock who have their own corral and are guarded but often without any real effect in comparison to their attackers.

A very low gate allows entry into a compound made up of multiple families. These families also fence in their homes (circles within circles) using even lower entry gates. The house walls are made of red clay mud that washes away with rain, although not easily, if there is rain. The house roof is made of thick grasses that usually keep the people inside dry. Dirt floors are swept with a straw broom each day.

Each night the family lays out thin grass mats to sleep on the dirt floor alongside swarms of mosquitoes and no mosquito nets. The mosquitoes in Karamoja trump any I’ve ever seen, particularly in number. Once the sun goes down these biting pests take aim almost as though working in a coordinated effort. No wonder malaria and worms were the two most treated illnesses during our medical clinic.

Security and Priority

The team reflected on the crushing in of so many people and how best to handle security of sorts in the next village. The amount of time needed to push people away from the medical team was time wasted in treating them. This concept, however, was lost on the villagers. A big part of the disconnect for them came, we guessed, from the fact that we were not treating the men first.

As a suggested solution we asked about identifying those with the most pressing medical needs, a difficult task given that not all medical needs are externally evident. The village had no medicine man, no nurses, no medicines other than herbs, and apparently no concept of any degree of illness. Sick means sick.

Another problem with identifying those with the most urgent medical needs is that the person making the identification would put their family first regardless of the true medical need. Among all the suggestions we considered, none was even close to adequate given that the culture here was so far away from anything American and familiar to the team – who goes first, who is most sick, wait your turn, women and children first. I wonder what impression these people were left with when we were done.

Kokorio Village Medical Clinic

The children, some of whom are sponsored through Mercy Uganda, welcomed us with songs as did the women. Regional church leaders came from far-away places to welcome us and to help with translating their unique language. Elders observed from hand-made stools only big enough to give their butt bones a place to rest.

This clinic worked much the same way as in Kyamagemule except that this village never had a medical team visit before let alone any other outside team. We imagined that we would see only those who were sick and primarily women and children given Mercy Uganda’s focus in that area. How naive of us to think that not everyone who sleeps on the dirt every night among swarms of mosquitoes would need to see the doctors.

Not only were people sick but they were also curious. They increasingly pressed in around Brandy and me as the first checkpoint before seeing the doctors. Who would be seen in what order was left to Henry and Gabriel this time, but many people did not hesitate to help themselves to the front of the line, particularly the elders. How, in a society where elders are given the utmost respect, are we to turn them away in lieu of women and children? It wasn’t easy.

The people continued to press in almost to the point of smothering us. Name, weight, temperature, blood pressure, and pulse were needed for each patient. I held many a baby sans diapers to get the weight of the mother and baby, both yea and eew. At one point we discussed closing up the clinic early because of chaos created by so many people wanting to be seen. But don’t think these people rude or disorderly. Instead view their persistence as a sign of how little they receive help, particularly medical help, and how desperate they are for that help.

That we could not stay all day until every person had their needs met troubled us all. At the same time, we were so thankful to have seen so many people that day.

Kokorio Village Drive

Pastor Phillip and his wife, Agnes, joined us in the van Wednesday morning in order to get us to Kokorio village where we would hold the first clinic. Describing the road to this village, and the village we went to the next day, is challenging.

Imagine plains for hundreds of miles in all directions. Dry, dusty, and flat; giant aloe plants, small cacti, short bushes, and trees with thorns three inches long littered that vast plain. In the distance a few clumps of trees could be seen here and there…in the way distance. Oh ya, and there are no roads, no two tracks, and only faint trails if you can call a lack of vegetation a trail.

We set out in a general direction winding the van around many green obstacles listening to the sound of those thorns slowly scraping the side of the vehicle as we inched along. Every once in a while a thorn bush branch would snap through the open window catching a passenger who would be leaning way in to avoid its sting. I know, close the windows. Have I mentioned how hot it is in Africa?

Hmm wait, go that direction…I think. Eventually we heard the sound of children singing a welcome song as a beacon.

Karamoja Hotel

The rooms were simple but nice by Ugandan standards. Each room contained a double bed draped with a mosquito net, a desk, and a small, self-contained bathroom with air temperature water that simply trickled from the showerhead. Why they provide a hot and cold water handle when only cold is available is beyond me. The towels were luxurious, the toilet lacked enough pressure to be effective, and the beds were quite comfortable. The place was clean and neat and would suit our needs very well.

We unloaded the medical supplies (a task that seems never ending – on the van, off the van, on the van, off the van) and left them in my room for the night. Gabriel stays at this hotel each time he comes to his field of ministry and was known by the manager. He had called ahead so that our rooms and our dinner would be waiting for us – chicken, chapatti, rice, stew (yum), and beans.

I fell asleep quickly at around 10:30. Roosters began crowing at about 1:00, at least the one outside my door started at that time. His calls were returned from afar. This back-and-forth the calling went on through the night. That baby will be my dinner if he’s not careful (and here, that could really happen)!

Pastor Phillip

Our first destination was a brief welcome from Pastor Phillip. Pastor Phillip is Gabriel’s cousin and spiritual advisor for Mercy Uganda in Karamoja. He was waiting by the roadside for us and called out his welcome to me when he saw us. I met Pastor Phillip during a Mercy Uganda meeting in June. This man traveled this long journey from Karamoja to Kawuku for a two hour meeting that day back in June. Pastor Phillip’s children and a few of those children being sponsored helped unload the van.

A narrow, non-descript walking trail led Gabriel and I to Pastor Phillip’s house where the children sang and welcomed us again. Pastor Phillip had a single candle to light his entire house while we chatted about the journey. Six-year-old Grace, a twin to Joy, found her way to my lap. The weather began to cool (by Africa standards) and Grace began to shiver. A look at Gabriel and he knew this would be the home for that beautiful scrap-ghan.

Karamoja Drive

By 10:30 Gabriel and I left Lweza Guest House with the van driver and a van packed inside and out with medical supplies and gifts. We set on our way to Karamoja – a drive that could take between 8 and 12 hours. The rest of the team will fly in the next day. We traveled through many larger (using the term very loosely) cities - Jinja, Mbale, Iganga, Soroti, and almost to Moroto – and even more small villages not named on any map.

The drive as far as Soroti took six hours and it was there that we stopped for lunch – boiled chicken and chips. The boys found a bush before coming into Soroti and I was treated to an actual bathroom at the restaurant. Four stalls, doors open, men facing the wall in all but one. The fourth stall was mine and was very likely a duplicate to the others. Stepping in was not for the faint of heart. A grated drain hole was the extent of this facility along with tiled walls smeared with dirt (and who knows what else) – something akin to a very nasty shower stall. Suddenly I find that my inhibitions about using a bush are in decline.

Soroti is where the pavement ended and the dusty red dirt road began. During the next four hours we encountered maybe a dozen cars and hundreds of school children walking home for the night, many will walk between two and three miles to school and another two or three returning from school each day. The roads, while not as bad as Kyamagemule, were rough in spots. At one point a box of bottled water exploded open sending bottles out onto the road. The man who witnessed the show told Gabriel that there had been so much rain here the crops were all flooded and so there was no food for this entire region.

The Karamojong Plains View post showed the wide, flat landscape from the top of the mountain in Kapchorwa. Actually driving through those plains was amazing. With only a little imagination I could easily see every episode of Wild Kingdom taking place before my eyes…without the animals. I’m not sure why but there aren’t many wild animals in this area. When asked I was told they just don’t live here.

A brief rain storm came through and because the expanse of view from these plains I could watch that storm move in preparation for dumping more water into this basin. The area is most assuredly lush and green and the standing water could easily be seen – I even asked if rice was growing there. Yet the dust and hard dirt seemed to contradict that any water came at all.

Karamoja is said to be the location of King Solomon’s mines. I have no doubt that I will find treasure here.

Kyamagemule School Desks

The school in Kyamagemule, as in many parts of Uganda, is sparse. The doors and windows are simple openings. At present the children sit on the dirt floor for their lesson while the teacher stands. An occasional wood bench can be found in a few classrooms.

Mercy Uganda raised funds for the lumber to build school desks for the kids in Kyamagemule. The kids were excited to be a part of helping transport this lumber, even the youngest shared a small piece of the responsibility. I forgot to take pictures of the desks when they were done but it was nice to see a few of the men from the village working to better the school for their children.

Kyamagemule Medical Clinic

Dr. Detrich has come to Uganda once before to serve in medical missions. This year he brought a wonderful staff. The photo shows Dr. Dave, George (informal pastor to Kyamagemule), Henry (Mercy Uganda Director), Rebecca, Becky, Brandy, and Don. This doctor donated six 50-pound totes full of medicine and gear for use in these villages – a HUGE thank you to him!

Given that this was the second time on this particular trip, the clinic ran like clockwork. Once Henry got the process rolling, he assigned me the operational task of keeping them rolling. The task was perfect for my skill set and I think I did pretty well from a tactical standpoint. But the assertiveness needed for the role surfaced a feeling in me that I did not like. I loved my work in operations management and was pretty good at it but I don’t like what it does to me.

Look at this room full of people needing treatment. Have you ever had to choose which sick person would be treated and which would remain sick? One of my many roles during the clinic was to select those who would be seen by the doctor. Not being able to speak Luganda, identifying illnesses in order to prioritize patients meant that every person present had problems in their head and problems in their stomach.

While there are a number of very structured and organized ways to take patients, in this culture none of those very American methods work. As the end of the clinic time approached, the people began begging…should I say pleading with me to be the next in line. They crowded me, tugged at me, and cried before me. What a helpless and yucky feeling. Brandy reminded me that we helped about 225 people in the two days we were in Kyamagemule, far more than were turned away. She also reminded me that we cannot fix the world. Sigh.

Kyamagemule Well Commissioning

The ceremony commissioning the well drew admirers from every household. Henry and the maintenance team he assembled spoke to the audience of the value of this resource and the importance of its maintenance. The community was so thankful for this newfound easy access to clean water. The children, as primary water carriers, were especially thankful.

Kyamagemule Well

The roads to Kyamagemule have already been semi-adequately described as has the mission for providing a well for the people in this village. Now…drive well-drilling trucks and equipment up and down those roads and add the fact that it is the rainy season and add the fact that when working on such projects anything that can go wrong will. At one point the trucks were so stuck the drivers, along with Henry, spent the night leaning against the wall of one of very few shacks along the way. No food, no blankets.

The Indian well-drilling company offered two choices for contracting the work. Option 1: A larger sum for guaranteeing to reach water no matter how many locations they needed to drill. Option 2: One hole, 60 meters, no water=no well. Although the decision was agonizing, the reality was that Mercy Uganda did not have the funds for Option 1 and that the geological survey indicated the presence of water.

At 70 meters, the company decided to pack up and make the return trip. Enter Henry, the ultimate negotiator. 80 meters, 90 meters…a refusal to continue. Again, Henry convinced them to go just a bit further before giving up. After some very long and hard debates, they hit water at 101 meters (about 330 feet). Not only was there water but the pressure indicated five times what was necessary to feed this particular village.

Water samples were sent off for testing and returned positive. The village can consume the water produced by this well without health concerns.

Photo credits to Henry, I was not present for drilling.

Dollies for Little Girls

During the last trip I came across a little one with that limbless Mohawk dolly. George, the informal shepherd for Kyamagemule, helped me find that little darling once again. George helped her understand that I remembered her because of that little doll and brought her a new one. A little unsure at first, she accepted the dolly and cracked a smile only to have it disappear once the camera came out.

How do you even begin to decide which of 300 or more children would be the recipient of those beautiful little dollies my mom made. I always remember Kefa’s point in A Distant Grief…God will show me which one and that I cannot help them all.

I pulled the dollies out of my suitcase and before I even tucked them into my bag one young woman approached and asked for a doll. Because it’s not common for the adults to approach and ask for anything, I thought this might be God. So, I gave her the first doll. She handed that doll to a little girl (daughter, niece, cousin, friend???) who promptly lifted the dress. Throughout the rest of the day this girl cried while grasping this dolly right up until Henry talked softly to her.

All the children stay close when the mzungu arrive, but one in particular caught my eye. I handed Faith the last dolly and again the dress was lifted. Scarcely a smile could be found until I caught her off guard. Faith became my shadow for the rest of the day. She held my hand, laid across my lap, and finally fell asleep against my chest. I was bothered that no one came looking for her, but I was certainly in no big hurry to move her along.

Mom is sending eight more dollies from the U.S. to the Mercy Uganda PO Box in Kampala. I can’t wait to find the girls who will become new mommies to these dollies. Um, mom...Laura would like one dollie for her fundraising banquet.

Kyamagemule Drive

The drive to Kyamagemule has not gone without mention from my previous trip. This trip was just a bit worse in that the van was loaded with 15 people and literally over 1,000 pounds of medical equipment and luggage.

I ran ahead to capture some footage of the van leaving behind its entrails as we navigated the canyons. The photos do not do justice to the sounds of scraping, clanging, and thumping we heard from inside the van.

Henry's Singing Group

The very long day spent fulfilling errands (water bottles, coffee beans, patient visits, etc.) ended with a stop at Rose’s house. Rose is a lady who hosts Henry and several other members of a singing group for Bible study and practice after church on Sundays.

The sun began to set (which means the mosquitoes swarmed) as the group treated us to a beautiful acapella rendering of familiar songs newly arranged and sung in Luganda. The voices were beautiful…until they asked us to join them.

What a treat to end our day with such a luxury.

Flower Boy

Gabriel and Henry surprised me with a small bundle of pink, yellow, and purple flowers picked from the Lweza Guest House yard. Although the little red ants love flowers and could easily be found tucked deep into the center, I inhaled the fragrance of roses, marigolds, and those purple flowers...whatever they are. I carried those flowers all over town with me for most of the day.

Once we arrived at the new office space, the children began to swarm. Upon departure, one little boy was more than excited to poke his head into our van. I handed him my little wilting bundle of flowers and he danced with excitement. I thought about how happy that little bundle of ant-filled flowers made me and that the flowers gave that joy a second time to this little boy. Would that all gifts could give like that.

International NGO Status

During my June trip, I worked with Mercy Uganda to develop the business documents required by the Ugandan government to obtain NGO (nonprofit) status. Having NGO status in Uganda means a very high level of accountability, demanding business planning, and certain tax benefits. Why these same standards are not imposed on traditional businesses, I have no idea.

Today (Saturday, September 18) Henry surprised us all by taking us to the new office space – a requirement to obtain the official status – for a ribbon cutting ceremony. During this ceremony, he announced the successful receipt of that NGO status as a surprise to Laura. The most we’d heard was that it was so difficult to obtain the status and that several obstacles were preventing success.

The little 8’ x 10’ office space is located in Kajjansi at the bridge on the way to Henry’s house. The upstairs window faces the road where commerce abounds – chapatti and shoes can be purchased on the lower level of the same office building should the need arise. The office was painted in a light grey with white and charcoal accents on the ceiling. Alice, Henry’s wife, made curtains for the big storefront window. Office furniture filled the room of this $30 per month space. We gasp at the thought of such a low rate yet that $30 figure represents a month’s wages for a majority of the population in the area.

Dr. Dave – a surgeon and big Mercy Uganda supporter – cut the ribbon with Laura. After some very Henry-like speeches, each person present signed the guest book as the first group to contribute to the organization’s success. I’m so thankful to have been a part of achieving this goal with Mercy Uganda.

Mercy Uganda and Medical Team Arrival

Friday was a day of down-time. After the first week I needed some laundry done so Irene came and cared for that. We watched the sun dry the laundry from the front porch. Gabriel took us to market where we got fresh carrots, green beans, watermelon and the like. One lady was having the fungus removed from her toes atop snap peas. Lauren and I retreated to watch a chick flick on the laptop while sprawled out on my mattress on the living room floor. Gabriel went to work more on his house. Later I saw some shoes out on the brick pile and asked if they were mine. I couldn’t quite tell given their white color. I thought mine were clay red.

The airport was packed as it seems most flights arrive in the evening. The Mercy Uganda team arrived on schedule with all of their bags – a minor miracle. Waiting on the outside of the airport for those coming out was a new perspective for me and I really enjoyed being on that side of the glass. For those arriving that didn’t know me, I told them I’d be the white girl…perhaps I should have said the “bright” girl.

We hoisted all the 50-75 pound bags to the top of the van and piled the people inside. To the Lweza Guest House and Conference Center we went. Introductions, a short schedule for the morning, and off to bed with us all. Well…Laura, Lauren, and I chatted a little while longer. It was SO good to be the three of us again. I’ve decided to stay with Lauren rather than at the guest house, although I agonized over this decision for days. I can’t quite figure out what troubled me so. I chalked it up to the fact that we’ll be traveling so much and I’ll be gone for so long it seemed that one extra bed used three different times during the same week was stressing me more than it should.

Tomorrow…shopping and medical team preparations.

Kefa Sempangi

The Mercy Uganda team met with Kefa Sempangi the last time I was in Uganda so that we could obtain his letter of recommendation for the organization’s NGO (nonprofit) status. I had the opportunity to visit with Kefa a second time on the way back from sightseeing. Gabriel has a vision for ministry work in Karamoja and was sharing those ideas with me. In true fashion, I asked more questions than what he could answer. As a result, he suggested I meet with Kefa.

This personal meeting with Kefa Sempangi is a pretty big deal. Kefa is the former Deputy Minister for (post Amin) Rehabilitation and later became a member of Parliament representing the Mukono district. He founded the Presbyterian Church in Kampala and opened the Africa Foundation Children’s Home where Gabriel went to school for many years along with over 6,000 other homeless, abandoned, orphaned, or street children. Kefa is also author of A Distant Grief and From the Dust. A note about the Africa Foundation – I have met no fewer than a dozen of the friends Gabriel met while boarding and being educated at the Foundation and every one of them esteems Kefa to the highest degree. I also noticed that, although I didn’t understand the language, every person who departed from Kefa’s company during our visit left with a laugh and a smile.

We arrived at Kefa’s estate and, having been there just three months prior, could immediately detect the progress made on the rebuilding of his home and the redevelopment of parts of his land. Kefa and Gabriel know one another on a very personal level and a simple reintroduction to me seemed to jog Kefa’s memory a bit. We were warmly invited into his sitting room and given “tea,” which was really more like lunch.

After our affirming business-related discussion, we took a short tour of the compound so that Kefa could meet with another guest. During my last trip I met Kefa’s wife and the wife of an orphanage school leader, both of whom recognized me and welcomed me back to Uganda. Kefa returned and we chatted for another hour outside in the shade. Learning more about Gabriel’s life and his Karamojong background through Kefa, as well as learning so much more about Ugandan politics was very interesting and helpful.

At the last, Kefa asked when I would be moving to Uganda.

Bujagali Falls

Bujagali Falls is found on the Nile River in Jinja, Uganda. The falls are a bit more of a rapids, in fact they are considered a Class V rapids. The cool rushing waters hosted numerous kayakers and rafters. Showing the entire falls system is impossible in one photo but one of the treacherous sections is shown in the first photo. The second photo is a Class VI rapids called The Widow Maker. Big Brother, a Class VII rapids was behind us and legally impassable by rafters and kayakers. Honestly, the rapids simply swallow the boats, big and small. There is no such thing as controlling your boat in such powerful forces, although the kayakers might disagree. From my vantage point, the best they could do was to right-side-up their kayak after being spit out at the end.

A hydro electricity dam is being built at this site and is slated to be complete in 2011. The installation of this dam means the entire rapids will be flooded as the water level rises behind the dam. So sad, necessary I suppose, but sad. Electricity in at least Jinja, where the Source of the Nile is found, is shut off at night so as to conserve. I believe this is true in other places as well. I take so much for granted.

Yep, toes in the water again (hey, it’s hot). I had a front row seat to all the world-traveling kayakers passing by right in front of me. This is the spot I acquired my left sided crispiness. Watch the video to see what happened to many rafters.

Source of the Nile

The Nile River is generally considered the longest river in the world and is also a north-flowing river. I had to research whether being south of the equator had anything to do with the north-flowing fact, but apparently the cause is simply a matter of gravity. The river travels 4,000 miles from East Africa to the Mediterranean Sea.

The source of the Nile River is considered by many to be Lake Victoria in Jinja, Uganda. However, Lake Victoria is actually fed by other rivers of considerable size. Of those feeder rivers, the most distant and thus the most likely to be the ultimate source, comes from Rwanda.

Dipping my toes in the River Nile where Moses floated in a basket…pretty cool (literally and figuratively). Okay so that was 4,000 miles away but still… Based on the sounds of frogs that can be heard on the river at night, I think some might be left over from the plagues. Mahatma Gandhi’s ashes were spread at this site as well, as indicated by a bronze bust displayed near the site. A short boat ride to the island marking the 4,000 mile point revealed the spot where the churning waters begin their downhill flow.

Just one of many beautiful sites from the source of the Nile River, apart from the fuzzies on my camera lens, is the Chicagano (sp?) School of Misunderstanding. Some just call it a prison.