May 14: Busy Days (as they say here) 'Moving Up and Down'

Sunday I unwittingly found myself in the midst of a high voltage health and wealth gospel service, that refused to end, at the Jinja Miracle Center.  Half way through, when I thought it was nearly over, I went out to try and generate some blood supply to my brain.  When I came back it was another two hours before the preacher relented.  Each of us sat emanating heat like glowing charcoal so that the collective body heat hung like steam until the odd gentle breeze would rescue us.  It created a Sunday stupor in me but it generated a fervent hysteria in the pastor.  Her words flung like horse shoes promising riches and a long life if only one would pray earnestly enough.  She made note of her large girth as an example of what the Lord can do if you are faithful.   “Once I was small and skinny” she said, “but now I am big and fat” as the congregation looked upon her with admiration.  Her rotund figure was draped in a vibrant dress as she wore out three microphones while wiping sweat from her face with a large white towel.  Behind her the choir sang and danced like their lives depended on it.  The congregation prayed earnestly along with her like starving people lining up for food.  In this case it seemed like God’s kitchen had tight security.  It felt like the odd one would find the blessing kind of like winning a lottery.  If I lived under the conditions that people here do I'm quite sure I'd find this gospel enticing. 

walls going up on the latrine

Then I arrived at the Railways to see how the latrine construction was going.  At one point I was inside one of the stalls together with three others, one of whom was not fully lucid, discussing how big the hole should be.  Arguments were made on all sides.  To reduce our cleaning costs we are very keen on maximizing the success of those who use the latrine to accurately find the hole when relieving themselves.  

doors, plastering, roof, now remains...size of the hole

In meeting up with our dear friend Lillian who has helped us a great deal in the ‘Railways’ community I learned that my friend Michael, who is prone to partake in the drink, had been fervently looking for me.  Apparently, he had heard me say that I was leaving soon and he knew I had promised him some sort of compensation for the janitorial work I’d asked him to do.  So, Saturday, clouded by effects of the drink, he told Lillian that I was leaving today and that he was going to find me at my guesthouse.  He said he had packed his bags and was going to come back to Canada with me.  Somehow he was confused about our agreement, which was that I would leave him responsible to clean the latrines.  Anyway, he spent the whole day looking for me, which was not surprising because he had no idea where I was staying.  He walked all the way to the bridge, because he thought he heard me say I was staying near there, carrying two big bags one being on his head.  Having failed he returned back to the Railways well after dark exhausted and fell in a heap in front of Lillian’s veranda and promptly went to sleep.  When making a verbal agreement I guess it is important that both parties be sober. 

Abdu, our farmer, showing us his farm

From there I had a couple more meetings with people who have asked for time to show me their homes and to tell me some of their story.  We are also in the midst of working out an agreement with a model farmer who will help us get a nutrition for children’s initiative off the ground.  We will invest money into his farm and in return he will pay us back in the form of eggs and milk which will go toward feeding children in primary schools.  Once he is part way through paying back his loan he will contribute a certain amount which will come off his debt to help two other farmers develop their farms.  As his repayment decreases the new farmers will begin paying back the loans also in the form of eggs and milk.  I am excited to see if this can work.  We have found a terrific model farmer to invest in and our hope is that it will have a rippling out effect.

Adbu has 1100 layers

Monday after a very long day of meetings with people trying to get our projects completed I was taken to a program in Kakira where there are groups of women who have banded together to form business communities.  These women are very isolated and would rarely if ever have the chance to get out of their village and see the world outside.  Their husbands for the most part are not particularly helpful in making money for their families and do not allow them to venture out of the village.  In meeting them I was overwhelmed by their determination to fight against the obstacles that they faced and to do it with energy and passion.  I was so impressed by their organization, their hospitality, and their desire to make a better life for their kids.  Over the year of being together they've made contributions to the group each week and from that pool of money each member gets a sum of money to enhance their business.  If one falls in difficult times with a child being sick or a death in the family each group member will contribute toward helping that person out.  It is entirely their group.  They have been helped by a local leader who took us to see them but only in terms of mobilizing and organizing them.  I’m not sure I’ve ever received a welcome like this one.  It was not hard to come up with words to encourage them.

all ladies in the group except for one man (behind me). Paul (next to me) helped start the group

Notes from May 9: A Good Day...

If you’ve ever kept going after you’ve made a wrong turn hoping that somehow your mistake would turn serendipitously into something good you know how I feel about ‘Accurate Motor Garage’.  Once again I went only for an oil change.  It was running fine on the way in but it now travels with a rattle that could wake the dead and the engine has cut out on me once.  But we’ve been through so much together that it would be a betrayal to go anywhere else.

Today was an exceptional day in that it started at the Rippon Medical Clinic where we are helping three children with operations.  Sharon, who you know, we are thrilled about.  Her operation is finished and the results of the biopsy are negative for cancer.  Dr. Philip thinks she’ll make a full recovery and the remaining scar tissue will eventually dissipate so that she won’t have any abnormality.  When I entered the clinic she and her dad were there both smiling like two suns.  Her dad hugged me on one side and then the other with each of them lasting for as long as was comfortable.  For a man who didn’t speak and was without expression of any kind he has become the epitome of warmth and gratitude.  Today he handed me a lined piece of paper with a letter that he had someone write for him thanking us for the operation for Sharon.  I’ve had lots of thank you’s in the work we’ve been doing but nothing has felt quite like the joy of Sharon and her Dad.    

Sharon, Brian, and George (don't be fooled by the pink shirt and skirt)

The next boy is Brian who was mistreated by a step father when he was about 2 years old and suffered a dislocated hip which was never corrected so that he walks with a severe limp and even his growth seems to be stunted.  He has come for an X ray and requires reconstructive surgery which will likely be followed by fairly lengthy treatment of being in traction.  Brian is a tender little boy who greets you with deference and the softest of manners.  However, he has the same look of fear that Sharon had when she first came for the initial tests for her operation. 

The baby is George who is just 2 years old and has an intestinal hernia which has sunk down into his scrotal sack which is now the size of a mango.  His mom seemed scared and doesn’t speak any English.  Being in the city seems to draw out the look of the village in her.  I think of how our parents at home would be googling everything that a doctor says, educating themselves on their child’s condition, asking questions, getting second opinions, and following every decision that is made.  Here there is an unquestioning faith in the mystery of medical treatment.  No one knows what medication they’re taking but they simply refer to it as taking their ‘tabs’.  I can’t think of a better place to utilize the power of placebo.  It seems to be inherent in the mindset that as long as I am taking something it is going to heal me.  There is the ubiquitous use of ‘Panadol’ which is like our Ibuprofen but it is remarkable what ailments people seem to overcome with only one dose. 

family of four kids: not yet sporting their new outfits

The rest of the day was just as satisfying as it was spent helping children with school fees.  There is a family of four children (4, 6, 9, 12) at the Railways who are exceptionally poor.  They don’t live in one of the block units but stay in a make shift bamboo structure in between the barracks.  The whole family (6 in total) live in this 10x10 hut which contains all their earthly possessions.  The best part of the morning with them was going to the market to get their school uniforms, shoes, socks, notebooks and pencils.  If you ever need an infusion of perspective and wonder I suggest taking a child who has rarely been to school and register him in his class, shop for his school clothes, buy him shoes, and let pure joy have its way with you.  I kept wanting the children’s shoes to fit properly but the father and James (my helper/translator) kept pushing for shoes that were several sizes too big for each of the four kids.  It was made very clear to me, as if I needed careful instruction, that there is no sense in buying shoes that fit because you’ve got to anticipate that the kids feet are going to grow.  Eventually, I gave up and accepted that we were now walking through the market with four kids wearing shoes like waterskis.  As we passed by certain shops the shopkeepers would be laughing, calling out ‘well done’, and clapping knowing that something good was happening for children that have one set of tired clothes and rarely, if ever, have gone to school or worn shoes. 

The market is a place that unwittingly reminds me that I’m blindingly white.  I being the odd one out enter into everyone’s radar as misplaced, unexpected, or simply different.  No one means any harm by it in fact I get a thrill playing with the curious onlookers by holding a somewhat stern glance which builds a dramatic tension until a breaking moment in which I slip out a grin to the amusement of the audience.  The sewing ladies seem to love this the most.  When I do something like hit my head on the iron sheets that hang down way too low it is as if I am a traveling circus that just arrived to perform for them.  In those moments I feel like I’ve just been pushed out from behind the curtain and I’m now on stage with a rapt attentive crowd keen on knowing that the strange mzungu is going to do next. 

I’ve said this before but some days are really good.  Today was another one of those.  It felt like the best of my culture and Ugandan culture could meet, embrace, and just find each other amusing.

May 7: After Some Time...

Hello friends, I haven’t posted in awhile.  It has been a real treat having my sister, Mike, and Mikaela here for the past couple of weeks.  We enjoyed as much as we could of Africa together.  For the last few days we went to a luxury safari resort in Kenya called, ‘Kichwa Tembo’.  It is located in the Masai Mara which is an hour’s plane ride from Nairobi, which we took in a small and remarkably well used aircraft.  I've never been in a plane that leaked before but on the way out when rainwater started coming through the seal above us and drip down the back of the neck of the man in front of me I think most of us had concerns about the integrity of the aircraft.  There's seems to be a general understanding that an airplane starts it's career in the west, goes to Russia, then China, and spends it's retirement in Africa.

At the camp one night, after supper, we witnessed the most triumphant dancing guitar strumming band emerge from the kitchen. They were celebrating the anniversary of a missionary couple who were also staying here. When we asked one of the waiters who was in the singing troop what they were singing he stated proudly that it was a song from his tribe the ‘Lou’ people. We asked again what the song was about and he said it is a very famous song which says, 'the world is not good'.  Not sure if it ties into the anniversary theme but otherwise, enough said. 

To call this a 'camp' is to stretch the word beyond its range but I think we're inclined to use it because it gives us the feeling that in some way we are enduring hardship in order to have access to this remote paradise.  It preserves our need to feel that in some way we have worked for this vista and earned the distinguished status of being adventurers.  I have not stayed in a nicer bed or tasted better food in all of my days. 

The life of Africans has an eclipsing effect on the status of my own problems.  I often feel like I am made of same stuff as toys from China in comparison to the cast iron reinforced concrete that is the African people.  I have a Masai warrior with a flashlight and a bow and arrow who suddenly appears out of the darkness to walk me back to my 'tent' each night lest I twist my ankle on the beautifully crafted walkway or encounter a monkey along the way.  He finds words unnecessary, his sense of purpose is focused and zoomed, he has probably been eyeball to eyeball with a lion.  He must protect the vulnerable mzungus at all costs.  The staff here are mostly Masai people.  They have a tremendous ability to anticipate our every need.  Even thinking about something seems to bring it to life around here. 

Last night after being chaperoned back to my luxury tent I was slipping into my high thread count Egyptian cotton sheeted bed when my bare foot touched something warm and body-like.  I shrieked and jerked my leg out from under the covers with such force I pulled a muscle in my neck, this after a day of nothing but the warm sun and quiet wind on the open expanse of the Masai Mara.  Instantly I realized it was a hot water bottle inserted into my bed by my tent staff, Stanley, to help create a womblike state for sleeping. The first thought that crystallized was the most earnest hope that the Masai warrior didn't clue in that I was another mzungu barely able to cope amidst extreme comfort.  In my own defense, our safari guide led us to lions, giraffes, mongeese, hyenas, elephants, hippos, zebras, a rhino, monkeys, baboons, and a crocodile that day and a wort hog resided just outside the tent so perhaps I was a little more on edge than I realized.

I am now back at my home away from home, the guesthouse, here in Jinja.  It is resoundingly clear that I am no longer staying in a five star safari resort.  For instance, when the water heater is on and you turn on the water in the shower the steel knob conducts electricity so that you get enough shock to awaken you at a very deep level.  Actually today my right middle finger is still twitching from last night’s skirmish with the electrical current.  Today I’m changing rooms and I’ve signaled a safety alert. 

This morning I’m eating my breakfast to the familiar sound of roosters and a very loud, and terribly acted, African soap opera showing on the TV.  Much to Gerrard’s (kitchen staff) dismay, in order to concentrate and wake up in some semblance of calmness, I turned the volume down on the soap opera.  Every once in a while I’d catch him watching the show longing for some volume.  Eventually, I moved outside to help put Gerrard out of his torment.  It is great to be back amidst the rich dramatic life of the guesthouse staff.  The loathed ‘morning meetings’, the analysis of management style, the disputes over workloads, I’ve missed so much.  I pick up what I can but keep in mind I’m trying to piece together shards of lugandan mixed with English not to mention I’ve got to strain to catch the hushed tones as I quietly eat my scrambled eggs.

Lastly, being back and eating at local restaurants here in Jinja I am once again reminded of the sudden need to be in proximity to a functioning toilet.  If possible I am looking for a one that has flushing water, toilet paper, and a door that latches but I’ve learned to forgo all of these…except one. 

For all intents and purposes for this trip I am self employed and need to be self driven.  With so many areas in which to learn and help and develop and having been given so much to work with it feels like I’ve been put in for the catch of the season.  With the clock ticking and having crossed into the end zone the chance is still in my hands but it's bumbling.  I have an internal pressure to get more done, produce more results from the money that has been entrusted to me, and generate some kind of lasting positive change here.  My dream has been to develop some kind of business that could find a market here, offer local people employment, make a profit which then can go back into supporting the programs that I’ve come to love.  I continue to talk to people, ask questions, and look for a niche in which this can happen.  I might be bumbling the catch but the play isn’t over.   

Wendy's Post: Timothy's Village

I feel my words will not accurately describe what we saw and felt in the village today. We began by doing some shopping in Jinga for supplies to take to pastor Timothy's village. He lives across the bay from Jinga in a remote fishing village with no electricity. There are about 200 households in that village but it seems when mzungus come, people come from all around to see and touch us. We hired a small boat that resembles a long, narrow canoe and loaded  200 bags of salt, 3 - 50kg bags of maize flour, 1 - 50kg bag of sugar, 100 long bars of soap, and 200 bags of tea into it. We raised quite a scene as 4 white people and Damali attempted to transfer our goods from Glenn's SUV into the boat.

mike talking to all the families and kids

Upon arriving in the village, we were greeted by many children shouting "mzungu", "mzungu". One little girl in particular stood out from the others. She wore a faded plaid pajama shirt and a tattered little skirt, her hair was braided, her voice was louder than the rest but she had a very infectious smile and laugh. She immediately latched on to my hand and excitedly talked away to me in Lugandan as if I understood her every word. She kept caressing my mole on my arm and stroking my finger nails. She then proceeded to lift up my shirt to see if I was white underneath too!

We walked a little ways up the hill to the church/school room. There was then some discussion as to how we would proceed. Pastor Timothy invited us into the church where we were welcomed by 250 smiling faces, the majority of them children, sitting on the ground. They clapped, sang, cheered and thanked us profusely for coming. I was overcome with emotion and sat at the front on a little wooden bench, with tears streaming down my cheeks. I couldn't believe the reception they gave us and I felt unworthy of their praise and gratitude.

doctors checking out boy with dislocated hip

We were called upon to introduce ourselves and give "a word of testimony". Speeches were given, platitudes received, a choir sung songs in our honor and then we began to sort out how to do our supply distribution. There was considerable chaos and confusion thought the distribution. At one point, we were encroached by throngs of mothers shoving their babies in our faces for pieces of clothing. Mothers would come for clothes with a different baby in their arms, in hopes that there would be something else to receive. Mike and mikaela helped throw out candies to the children outside. It's impossible to do fairly and we couldn't be sure everyone got a candy. Mike says that next time he'll bring thousands of candies!

We were emotionally touched by a little boy who was maybe 3 years old. He was throw out of his crib by his father when he was a baby. The incident appears to have dislocated his hip and has remained that way. Over time, he has learned to walk with a limp but his eyes are so sad. We are hoping to have a doctor look at him today. Our hearts break with the multitude of needs here, and our time doesn't seem to be a drop in the bucket but we are enjoying every moment and so thankful to be used by God.

Mikaela giving Sharon her gifts...she was so happy!

Sharon and her father came from their village, which was far away. Stephen was a very pleasant, quiet man who also helped us with the distribution. Both Sharon and Stephen speak very little English so pastor Timothy translated for us. Sharon's back is healing well and she was sitting up fine during the whole afternoon. At the end of the afternoon, we were able to take her and her dad privately into Pastor Timothy's house and give her some of the small gifts we had for her (a doll, some clothes, candy, bracelet, notes, etc.) and give her father some of the $s that had been raised for him. They were filled with gratitude and Stephen with tears in his eyes, kept hugging Glenn and wouldn't let go. Sharon smiled and held onto her gifts proudly. It was a surreal moment and one I won't ever forget.

A sincere thank you to all of you for your prayers, donations and monetary gifts. You have brought hope and joy to many.