The Village

I’ve been enjoying the company of our new volunteers. Alex, Rebecca and Kate are all full of life and super excited about being here. It is really good to be with people who are so anxious to dive in.

Last weekend we went to our first church service in the village. We went with our good friend George to his village about an hour-and-a-half away. The church building is literally on George’s property. Despite being an hour late to the service (thanks to Uganda’s lovely public transportation system) the congregation waited for us to arrive before starting. They welcomed us with open arms. The building we worshiped in had a footprint of about 10’x20’. The framework for the walls and roof were small tree trunks slowly being taken over by termites. The walls were constructed using dried cow dung, and the roof was corrugated aluminum sheets. There were all of about 30 people in the building including the 5 of us. The rhythm of hands clapping and feet stomping was worship in and of itself. They sang from such a sincere place to the Lord’s provision in their lives. For some of them, even making it church that day was a victory and testament to the Lord moving. I never cease to be amazed as to how thankful these people are to even the smallest things in their lives. You will see in the picture the worship team leading us. Most of which are George’s children.

We’ve been spending valuable time with some of the Suubi women and some of our friends who own shops on Main St. I am becoming more and more comfortable in my interaction with Ugandans and the natural dynamics that occur in time spent with them. Long periods of silence are no longer uncomfortable for me. It is getting easier to understand some of their heavy accents. It is even easier for me to read some of their non-verbal communication and body language. Baby step #2 is to conquer the local language. This one may take a while.

Unexpected Perspectives

One travels to a place like Africa with so many pre-conceived notions. Some are certain to be in the neighborhood of accurate, others nowhere close. There is one in particular which has caught me off-guard; specifically, how despair and poverty affect me in so many differing ways.

I fully expected to see and experience Uganda from a constant place of heartache and longing to help the people I pass by and interact with on a daily basis. To a certain extent, this has indeed been my experience.

These photos are of two kids I have come across here in Uganda. One is the daughter of one of the Suubi women, the other a friend of ours who hangs out at the house just about every day. These pictures are no different than the vast majority of what we in America see flooding our media outlets on a regular basis. This picture is what compels us to give of our money, maybe our prayers and sometimes even our time. Rightfully so. What I did not expect is to see some of these same children on the street and find myself being frustrated by their involuntary reaction to my presence, namely outstretched arms asking for a handout. For some of them, the sight of a “mazungu,” or white person triggers this response, almost like Pavlov’s dog. How, why am I so overcome with two completely differing emotions under very similar circumstances? I think part of it is the immediate change in their demeanor. They really don’t seem to care one way or another about who I am or why I’m here. They’re really not even interested in shooting me a quick smile or even saying hello. Why would they? Just as I have been programmed by my culture and society to respond a certain way to the poor, so too have they to respond a certain way to a mazungu. Realizing this has definitely changed the vast majority of my internal responses to these children I see everyday.

One other thing I have started noticing is my internal response to some of the men here. I came expecting a hard heart towards just about every man I came across. Not only are we not “programmed” in the U.S. to care for some of these broken men, but my experience of these men through those who have been before me has established quite a stigma. Most of what I have seen and heard about the presence of the male in Ugandan culture has left a strong distaste in my mouth. I have come across and entered into friendships with several men who have, once again, broken the mold for my heart’s response to their situation. I have recently had several conversations with a man who has seven children, six of whom he is trying to send to school. Keep in mind the biggest, largest, craziest dream a Ugandan parent experiences is that their children can go to and make it through High School or maybe even University. Other than that, they just want to be able to afford food and a safe place to stay. Up until the last couple of years, he has been able to afford to send his children to school because he made good money working in a larger Ugandan company. He was laid off due to downsizing and, like many Americans as of late, his life changed. He has since been holding down a steady job, making decent money, but not enough to actually send six kids to school. My time with him has led me to believe he is a good, honest man who simply wants his children to have the hope of a better life. This man’s face and story are not told in the U.S. His picture is not highlighted in any magazine. This saddens my heart. Even in my conversations with him, he is reluctant to voice this great need in his life because he does not want to be just like all the other Ugandans who see the color of my skin and inevitably want only one thing. I am hopeful that I am somehow able to help this man. I am hopeful his story isn’t pushed aside any longer.