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June 6th my car broke down. June 7th I had it towed to Kampala five hours from home for repairs. June 10th I was told my car would be ready the next day, so June 11th I went to Kampala with friend and fellow missionary Nancy Cardoza. My car wouldn’t actually be ready until June 14th, but that gave me a chance to witness something I hadn’t before.

While Nancy drove us through the capital, sweet little children jumped on her car at every intersection, begging for a handout, crying about their hunger. My heart hurting as it does for such children, I reached for my pocket. Nancy stopped me. “Don’t you dare give her money! Those are trafficked children from Karamoja, and whatever you give them goes to their handlers, so if you give into them you support human trafficking.”

I was shocked, torn, furious, and heartbroken at every intersection after that. How could this go on? Police were sitting in the shade at many of these intersections where handlers oversaw their trafficked child slaves. It was appalling!

June 15th I woke up in the wee hours of the morning with the thought of a Karamoja round-up. Alone I could never Pied Piper or Liam Neeson those kids home, but I thought of a few recent news articles that showed me just who to bring the idea to. 

The background is the Karamoja, the primitive tribe of cattle people in the northeast of Uganda, have been notoriously defiant of Ugandan authority and have been stealing cattle from their neighboring tribe, the Acholi. President Yoweri Museveni has tried all manner of talks to get them to stop and to submit to Ugandan authority but recent efforts have turned into threats of violent force.

June 12th the President sent hundreds of goats to the people of Karamoja, as an incentive project to keep cattle rustlers from reoffending (https://theinformerug.com/2022/06/13/president-museveni-donates-goats-to-karamojong-to-curtail-cattle-rustling/). The problem with that is the Karamoja are cattle people, not goat herders. 

It occurred to me that a round-up of Karamoja’s stolen kids and a coordinated reunion would go a long way toward making peace with this outsider tribe of Ugandans. I have sown an idea toward President Museveni on Twitter in the past and soon saw him implement it, so I took a chance on doing it again. I am verbose, so the first draft was not Twitter-friendly. Here are both the draft and the published tweet:

Long version (not sent):

Most honorable President @KagutaMuseveni, I know that you value the lives of your fellow Ugandans. If I may say so, what the Karamoja need more than your generous gift of goats is their stolen children returned from the street corners of Kampala. A joint round-up initiative by your police, army, and social services could accomplish a reunion in mere weeks. The atrocity of human trafficking should be stopped where it can, most honorable one, and you have that power.

Edited for Twitter (sent):

Most honorable President @KagutaMuseveni, a joint round-up initiative by your police, army, and social services could reunite the stolen children of Karamoja on Kampala’s street corners with their families. You have the power to stop this human trafficking and bless the Karamoja.

I pray God gets this message to those who would follow up on it, that no offense is taken, that Karamoja’s children recover from the trauma of being stolen, and that there is peace in the north. My understanding is that many of these kids were promised good homes, food, and jobs, and were surrendered by their families who had no hope of supporting them.

It seems to me that if a nation wants the respect of a tribe, and expects them to obey the national laws, it could use its authority to stop the trafficking of that tribe’s children first. Pray this gets taken the right way and that God’s will is done here in Uganda as it is in Heaven.

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They say that to a dying man everything tastes sweet, and that may explain why I feel like this very weak, cold shower was the best one ever. I finally have running water in my apartment! The plumber who promised to be here at 4 PM finally showed up at 7 PM, tore up the clay tiles in the backyard, and somehow managed to clear the supply line of the air that was keeping the water from flowing. When he was all finished with his toil, he charged me a whopping 30,000 Uganda shillings, which is equivalent to about eight American dollars. 

I made a tour of our Uganda home. Check it out at https://youtu.be/9xiXcnmyGEM

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Saturday May 21

What a day! I found a riding partner, a friend named Nelson, and we took a long dusty trip down the worst road in the history of roads. Two and a half hours later we arrived at the home where my dear friend and practically adopted daughter, Janet, has been staying. There I got to meet her uncle, aunt, and some extended family. I was welcomed, fed, and treated like a royal guest. Uncle Charles was surely sizing me up for intentions but was gracious and a generous host. We spent far too long there for the rest of the stops we would make. 

Nelson, Janet, and I left there and went down the main road only a little while and found the home of Sharon, our friend with the surgical concern. Even though we had just finished lunch she forced us to sit at her table for another lunch. I was informed that it is extremely rude not to eat what is offered. She had slayed a chicken for us so it seemed proper to eat it. I showed her the GoFundMe page we started on her behalf, and she was thrilled to see all the donors who had contributed to her care. Her eyes beamed with gratitude even as she blessed our little group. She is quite a prayer warrior!

After lunch we wrestled our way back down that horrible Lira Road, this time with rain that disguised the depth of all the potholes and reduced visibility. I hate that road! 

We were nearing Gulu when we passed a group of pedestrians we recognized. It was the boys football team from the mission I have visited before. Their car stranded, they were walking toward Karuma, roughly 40 km (25 mi) away. I loaded the van with footballers and we turned around headed for Karuma. 

As we neared the Nile River, we found the rest of the team, somehow much nearer Karuma. They waved frantically at us to stop, and motioned that there was danger. Just ahead was a herd of elephants on the side of the road. We stopped to see what they would do. They are known to topple cars that get in their way so we kept our distance. A tour bus ahead of us stopped just after passing the giants, and that seemed to startle them away from the road. As the elephants scattered back into the bush, the walking half of the football team ran passed that spot as if they were being chased. Elephants are the symbol of the Acholi people, but they are reverently feared.

 We caught up with the group at the police checkpoint just shy of the Karuma Bridge and stopped to ask if we could help. After the police involved themselves in the exchange I ended up with one or two fewer passengers than the twelve I had been carrying. We all crossed the Nile, some in the van, some privileged to see the amazing rapids close-up and on foot. 

By the time we got away from our unscheduled detour, it was well past dark. One common piece of advice in Uganda is not to drive in the dark unless you absolutely have to. I braved the ever-changing obstacle course of humans, livestock, and automotive traffic with and without headlights or high beam dimmer switches all the way through Gulu to the north side of town where Janet would stay with her old teacher, my new tutor, Beatrice. 

As much as we wanted to stay, Nelson and I once again pierced the darkness and emerged into the warm welcoming light of home. After a brief rodent hunt and unfruitful hearing aid search we went to bed.

The rest of May

The thing about journaling is one does it when there is nothing else to do. I have been insanely busy, and have often fallen asleep on the couch reviewing my studies. The other factor is that I have been involved in the lives of several who, for security’s sake, must remain nameless on this media.

The troubles that have plagued me this far include a lack of water with bad shoulders that harshly object to carrying 20 Liter (5-gallon) Jerry cans full of water to the bath. Apparently when my landlady switched my meter she assigned me one with an outstanding balance and cut off my lock giving free access to all my neighbors while I was in Florida. The result was a shutoff account my first week here.

Another little nuisance has been Jerry the rat. Jerry stole one of my hearing aids and apparently ate it. I found the battery for it inside his nest inside the kitchen range I destroyed in the process of hunting him, but the hearing aid was not there. Now I need to hire a junk removal man to take away the scraps of the stove I once was so happy to receive. While I waited for the arrival of the rat trap I ordered, I tried to make friends with Tom, the neighbor’s cat, hoping he could help me take care of little Jerry permanently.

My association with several former wards and staff of the mission I once served has caused me to be unwelcome at that mission. I have not been able to visit friends there, whether staff or children. In fact, Patrick, who goes to school next door to my house and visits often, was told he is unwelcome to return even to visit his wife and boys there.  His wife has been threatened with termination if he returns. I do not understand the politics of man, and I would never have expected a Christian organization to behave in this way.

Beatrice has been such a great teacher! When I am in the market, people are amazed I have begun to speak their language. Her husband, Simon, who is a professional driver, has occasionally relieved me of my driving duties, especially on the long backroads that are so hard on my shoulders. 

Janet’s cousin Dorcas has joined us to help out with housekeeping at Beatrice’s home and mine. Dorcas speaks Acholi Luo and very little English, so we are helping each other learn. Her brother-in-law died, so we travelled to her husband’s remote village in Oyam District. This was my second Ugandan funeral, but it was still a cultural experience. This one had no interpreter, but I was happy to have less attention. Every eye was on me when it was time to eat, and each one turned to smiles when the munu (white one) had no trouble eating the local fare with his hands.

The first Sunday I was here, we attended the Catholic service at the School of Nursing next to my house to be supportive of Patrick and a few other Catholic Christians in our group. The second week we went to Beatrice’s church, a small, primitive group with a lot of energy but not much else in the way of resources. There, one of the ministers singled me out and began to preach at me, using scripture to condemn my use of jewelry, my diet of pork, and my comparative wealth. The third Sunday, I talked the group into visiting Gulu United Methodist Church, but when we got there it was empty, so we went to the Watoto Church in town. It felt like the charismatic congregations in America, with English worship, electronic displays, and a rowdy choir. It turns out we were at the charismatic church on the Day of Pentecost, so that was a real treat, especially for the conservative traditionalists in my group.

Last week I toured a couple properties in Minakulu, where I hope to plant TLC Uganda Ministries. There was a piece of land about 5.4 acres, less than a kilometer from the main highway, but the price was ridiculously high. Just around the corner from that land was an abandoned health center, complete with pharmacy, out-patient department, in-patient ward, maternity ward with birthing room, and office building. It was in terrible disrepair, but the rent for it was reasonable. After I left, the caretaker called to say she would inquire with her tribal elders about selling the property outright rather than renting. Any such consideration will require an engineer’s approval. 

No one really gets in a hurry here. Even if you are in a rush, the pace is “when we can.” I have learned to sit back and say, “TIA!” which stands for This is Africa! Leisure is part of the way of life here and no one does business without first exchanging a greeting and pleasantries. Americans have got so rushed it is a refreshing change…until you need something in a hurry.

Monday June 6

I went to the water management office at the opening of business. I was told to wait for a staff meeting which may take a while. It did! 

I capitalized the time doing some shopping in town. I got my old Uganda phone line fully reinstated, bought a tire for the van, had a bad battery terminal replaced on the van, had the tire mounted, and then made it back to the water management office, where I still had to wait. I am so glad I didn’t just take a number!

When humans did begin to emerge from the staff meeting, I was greeted by the Revenue & Technical Manager, Okidi Robert. He did not just send one of his plumbers, but came with me himself to inspect and correct my water problem. We had the same problem with this line as with the original one I fixed — a bad shutoff valve. We rode into town to get the part and were almost home when the car overheated so severely that it stalled out. We were stranded, but only a few hundred meters from home, so we walked it together.

Once the water executive finished my plumbing, he educated me about direct lines, like the one to my kitchen sink, and all the rest which are tank-fed lines. Since the tank would take a few minutes to fill sufficiently to meet demand, the only one to work now would be the kitchen and the spigot at the meter. This became far more important later when the tank never filled. I was still forced to tote water in Jerry cans for showers and toilet flushing.

I managed to cool off my engine and make it once more to Beatrice’s house, but on the way back the van overheated again. I was watching the gauge go toward the dangerously hot end of the measuring line but could not stop in town because of a violent mob that had gathered to beat down a man I assume was a shoplifter. It was ugly! I’ve seen some abusive force before but nothing like what this mob was doing to that poor man. Justice would have to wait for another day. This white boy followed discretion’s voice, rolled up the windows, locked the doors, and kept pushing the steaming car forward to the next sub-division. 

In Layibi, sort of a town at the south end of Gulu, I stopped to burn my hand on the radiator cap and add some more water to the steaming cooling system. A local man was happy to help me get water in the 5-liter Jerry can I carry for just this purpose. I am recognized in this marketplace because I often stop here for eggs, bread, and corn flour.

I managed to limp home but just barely. A call to the mechanic I trust confirmed the head gasket likely needed to be replaced. I recalled that the missionary that sold me the van warned that the head gasket was wearing thin. Now it was critical. I paid for the tow and agreed to do without transportation for a week or two. What was my option? Drive with no engine?

Tuesday June 7

It was a good thing I gave Beatrice a teacher’s planning day, because I had a lot to do at home. First, the tow truck arrived and took away my transportation. After breakfast I busied myself tearing apart the rest of the kitchen range, looking for my hearing aid. I finally found it in the bottom of the mess I made tearing this poor stove apart. There was not enough of the hearing aid left to salvage, but maybe the factory in Texas will get a kick out of the story and replace it with a refurbished one. Since the new ones are $2,500, it would have been worth the destruction of a $300 stove if it had been intact.

The other order of business for the day was to contract the landlady’s plumber to come figure out why my water tank is not filling. He said he would not be here until 4pm, but in Uganda time that is usually 10am the next day. If he shows up and fixes it there will be one long, cold shower in my future!

I have been thinking about how I will get around while the van is in the shop. It is not safe to hire just any Bodaman in town. There are some competent professionals, but some are idiots, and still others are crooks who will drive you to an ambush site. There an accomplice knocks a passenger over the head and takes all their belongings. Then the driver reports a Boda accident and the police believe the head injury is a result of the crash. Police in Kampala once told me that is the number one crime in Uganda, and it often results in death. The alternative is waving down a passing car. This method, known here as “public transportation” costs a little more but amounts to ride-sharing and, except for the risks, is acceptable. I have made my way around this way before I had a car.

I spent the leisure time of the day studying my Acholi Luo notes and writing them in a computer document. Maybe someone else will find the information useful someday.

Things I used to view as dangerous are just part of life now. When Cindy and I first came to Uganda, everyone told us to be in before dark no matter what. I am not sure what boogey-men come out after dark, but I have only made it home in daylight twice since I have been here. Driving at night has its own  danger but I have found the risk outweighs being paralyzed at home. Just living in Uganda is dangerous, but then so is living anywhere. My plan is to go where God sends me and trust Him to be there when I catch up.