Day Fifteen, April 29:
This morning we tagged along with Steve, Gina, and Wells of Hope as they met with the local police about a young man about seven or eight years old, who was offered for sale by a man who claims to be his father to a buyer who claimed he was going to use him for a ritual killing. I had heard such things still happen in the northern territories, but I never thought I would sit with, talk to, lay hands on, and pray for such a child in person. Since Wells of Hope focuses on the children of imprisoned men, and this boy's "father" will most certainly be imprisoned, the Gants and Francis Ssuubi, Director of Wells of Hope, responded to the call for help. Posting the need on Facebook, the organization found willing people to contribute to Willie's sponsorship.
While this dramatic story brings a rapid response of willingness, there remain forty-two (42) unsponsored children at the Wells of Hope Academy. In addition to this shortfall, the Academy is in need of desks for their teachers, 120 metal bunk beds, just as many wooden desk-benches, and latrine and septic improvements. There are other needs as well as hopes for more improvements in the future. This group is trusting God for support. I encourage any reading this who sense the Spirit's urging, to please investigate donation details at www.wellsofhope.org and help however you can.
As we sat in that dusty office, in the back of the local police holding yard, we greeted the accused child trafficker, and Wells of Hope communicated their desire to lend spiritual and emotional support during his incarceration. They also offered to care for, teach, and disciple Willie for as long as necessary. This was difficult, especially because the criminal investigators were present and often chimed in to interrogate the accused during the meeting. Knowing no other family but the man who betrayed him to his death, Willie cried when we took him away from that interview room. Taken from whatever he once knew, he had no way of knowing that he was being delivered to the safe, loving care of Wells of Hope and the love of Jesus Christ. It must have been a horrifyingly traumatic day for Willie, and it was a learning experience for all of us in attendance.
The police investigators were amazingly helpful, and patiently explained that there is no governmental provision for any such children. The line level police officers have often contributed to the welfare of such children out of their own meager salaries. We were told that the government relies solely on non-governmental organizations (NGOs) such as Wells of Hope, for temporary custody of such vulnerable or abandoned children. We were shown a converted intermodal cargo container, in which as many as eight children may be housed for a few days at a time, in the custody of the police, while a few more often sleep on the floor of the open police reception area. Mr. Ssuubi told us of a boy who was "defiled" (sexually abused) by an officer in that setting only a year ago. Clearly, there is a need for missionary work, children's homes, and foster care in Uganda. Perhaps there is a need for humanitarian reform at a governmental level, but I have learned that governmental change is difficult, slow, and inadequate in Uganda. The response of Christ's hands and feet must not be to clutch the purse and tap the foot while waiting for social change, but should be to speed, feed, and meet the need.
I still do not know exactly how Cindy and I will fit into this response, but the discarded children of Uganda are on our heart. In Masaka, we accompanied the Okoa Refuge missionaries as they received two week-old Emmanuel, and now Willie with Wells of Hope in Kampala. We were blessed to meet the AIDS afflicted cast-aways at the YES Manna House and watch as a Jinja community and the Acholi women of Gulu were assisted by Amazima ministries and Going in Love (respectively) in keeping their families whole, virtually preventing abandonment before it happens. My mind is still whirling with all the possibilities and the overwhelming need here in Uganda.
From the police station, Steve and Gina Gant took us to a supermarket that felt very much like one we might see at home, although the food items were decidedly different. Imagine being in an American supermarket completely filled with everything that usually occupies a tiny bit of shelf space on what you likely consider "the ethnic aisle" at your local store. From the deli, we got Samosas, triangular fritters filled with vegetables, rice, or meat. We washed them down with the first soda I have had in over a year, a Stoney Tangawizi, and accompanied them with some dried jackfruit and a taste of sim-sim sticks (made of a sesame-looking seed by the same name).
We ate our car picnic as we waited for a Facebook contact to show the Gants a 4-wheel drive Toyota van, and when it arrived it appeared like a possible solution to their need. We shall see. My mind wondered if a similar van would convert to an ambulance or mobile clinic. My brain is already shopping for a vehicle and noting real estate prices! I'm afraid the next seven years are going to be long.
When we arrived back at the Gant's home, we were treated to a jackfruit carving demonstration by David, the guard and all-around helper in the small community where the Gants live. Once he showed us how to separate and eat the fruit and avoid most of its tarry white sap, we had a jackfruit peeling and tasting party, and got very sticky in the process. A jackfruit looks like a tightly closed green pinecone about the size of a July watermelon, smells like a pineapple when it is first cut open, has a fleshy meat, and a tropical flavor like someone blended bananas with pineapple gummy bears.
Our party ended just as Anthony arrived to collect us and take us to the hotel near the airport, where we began our Ugandan circuit. We took the opportunity of having an extra pair of hands to get pictures together with the Gants and also with Anthony. I always hate saying goodbye, and this was no exception. Stephen and Gina Gant were gracious hosts and have become good friends already, as I have already written. Enough about that. I hate goodbyes!
Before we parted from our trusted driver and friend, Anthony, we took him out to eat at Faze-3, a restaurant popular with Bzungu (white people), but which he knew to serve goat, a dish I had not yet experienced. The vote is in: goat beats African beef! And it's pretty darn close to beating American beef too.
It was already beginning to get dark as we said goodbye to Anthony and hello to the friendly faces at the Sunset Entebbe Hotel. We knew Anthony had a long ride to Jinja through Kampala, on dark roads which we know he hates, but he delivered us to the end of our trip and I don't know how we would have survived such a journey without him. We have a day of rest before our plane leaves tomorrow night, so we plan to try to get some sleep since neither Cindy nor I sleep well on aircraft. Perhaps tomorrow we will venture back to the market or to Faze-3 in the hotel car, before making an early return to the airport.