Our January 15th flight out of Jacksonville, Florida was cancelled due to icy winds in Washington DC. We were sent home and asked to try again later, but were told no flights would connect to our destination for a week. Since Cindy only had two weeks to spend going with me to Uganda, she dusted off her administrative skills and schooled the airline on how to connect the dots with connecting flights she discovered on her own. We left the next day, this time through the “Windy City” of Chicago, where there is never any icy wind. We learned to favor that airport over many, since one can deplane from a domestic flight and board an international one without repeating the TSA checkpoint rigmarole. We connected in Brussels, Belgium, where we again avoided a lengthy security check, and were quickly underway for Africa. One brief stop in Bujumbura, Burundi, and we were off again for Uganda.
When we landed in Entebbe, we got through Immigration without a hitch, then went to the mobile phone kiosk to reactivate my phone line and get Cindy one of her own. As we left the airport and it’s complimentary Wi-Fi, though, our new phone lines still inactive, we were left without communication. Without the option of calling on friends, we decided to risk engaging one of the throng of taxi drivers hawking their service at the airport exit. Kenneth, the driver we engaged, was more than pleased when we told him we were willing to hire him to take us all the way to the capitol city of Kampala, where our familiar driver, Jeremiah, lives.
When we arrived at Tick Hotel, it was 2:30 am, and the night desk clerk was sleeping on a lobby couch. His befuddlement will come into play later in this story, as will my exhaustion after so much travel. For now, I will say we got a room with a beautiful balcony and Cindy was able to experience the hotel I have come to comfortably know. The sleep was peaceful but short, and I got to see my friends Regina and Owen at the desk on day shift. Jeremiah arrived to pick us up shortly after breakfast around 10:00 am.
Once I saw the red soil of Africa, the green of matooke (plantain) trees and lush vegetation, I was at home. While Cindy and I both slept during much of the road trip to Karuma, I opened my eyes occasionally to drink in the beauty of Uganda. I watched a woman in meager clothing, standing in dire circumstances, enjoying the simple joy of talking with a friend. Just as we drove by, she threw her head back in laughter. Something about that laugh warmed my heart and made me smile. I remember when I first came to Uganda, and the western misgivings I had about poverty. Maybe I was remembering that true wealth is really just contentment with one’s circumstances rather than the accumulation of resources. Maybe I was considering all this woman had to overcome to laugh so energetically. Maybe I just enjoy seeing Ugandans smile. Whatever the case, I found myself feeling a joy I had missed since I left this place in November.
We arrived in Karuma and proceeded down the dusty, bumpy road to the very familiar mission campus. When we arrived at Team House, it was unoccupied, but shoes piled up at the entrance were evidence enough someone else was staying there. In time we discovered my friends, Judith, James, and their new baby, Faith, had moved back in, and a new guest, Justin, was also staying for the month. We situated our things and began to receive visitors almost immediately. First came Olivia, the most recent addition to my little family circle. Prisca and K-Morris followed, but there were several missing who had not yet returned from their home villages since the Christmas school break. My “baby girl,” Janet, was painfully absent, but having battled malaria, typhoid fever, pneumonia, and tribal village violence, she made me happy just letting me know she was on her way. Shalom and Hosman, siblings, were also still journeying from their home village, after caring for a brother whose left side was shattered in a motorcycle accident.
We found my dear friends, the Cessnuns, a missionary family of eleven, packing their entire lives into 33 plastic trunks. After ten years of living, serving, and raising a family here, they were returning to Texas. Most of the kids have never lived anywhere but Uganda and only know America from brief visits. Doing anything with a family of eleven is a chore for which Dr. Colby and his wife, Maryanne, deserve a lot of credit, but packing them up for a move is nothing short of heroic. Their departure is the reason we timed this very brief introductory trip. While I wanted to introduce Cindy to as many of our new friends as I could and the land in which I have learned to feel at home, I really wanted her to meet this precious family, and to learn from their selfless example what a beautiful thing living and serving in Uganda can be.
Cindy did that and more, as she became fast friends with Maryanne and and Colby, and immediately fell in love with their kids as much as one can when we are still trying to master all their names. We busied ourselves packing, cleaning, and encouraging as each of them were interrupted with tearful goodbye after another. “We will see you again in Heaven,” I heard Maryanne say to one woman in her Bible study and prayer group. I was so struck with the earthly permanence of that statement that I joined in their crying. It remained like that for a couple days, while we turned ten years of living into luggage. I had entered into an agreement to buy the Cessnun’s vehicle and a few household items, but as they found other things they could not take along, we kept amending our agreement until I ended up buying everything they left behind after they sold what they could and gave to the mission kids anything they could use.
On Friday the 21st, a bus showed up to take the Cessnun family away for the last time. Caesar, the driver insisted that he could not carry all the cargo and passengers, the very thing he was hired to do. Disappointed but determined, we rode caravan style, with Cindy and me in a van full of and piled high with cargo behind the speed-crazed bus driver. This was only the second time I have ever driven in Uganda, and the first on a paved road. I drove the new-to-me 1995 Toyota all-wheel-drive Hiace Super Custom van, which has an occasional issue with engine overheating. Much to Cindy’s terror I kept up with Caesar, even though he had a bad habit of overtaking while going up hills or around curves. My police pursuit-driving came in handy, as long as I remembered to drive on the left and signal every thought, intention, or observation. It’s a Uganda thing. They use their turn signals, horns, and high-beam lights for all sorts of communication.
We arrived at a hotel with a four-room suite for the eleven Cessnuns plus one, a Ugandan named Innocent, who has been sort of an unofficial part of the Cessnun family for about a year. This tearing apart was especially hard for him, since he was brother and son to this family for so long. We stayed in a smaller room on the other side of the same hotel, the Imperial Mall Residences. It was so grand and luxurious, one could possibly forget they were in Uganda. While Colby negotiated through the disappointing travel arrangements, it was clear we and the van would be required a few more days. We were happy to sacrifice this part of our Uganda stay to serve our friends. They mean so very much to us, and were in real need of help they have been so willing to give others these ten years.
While in Entebbe, I took the opportunity to approach a mobile phone service center and inquire about my phone service, which was still not functional. To reactivate it would require my passport, but when I presented my passport cover filled with all manner of travel paperwork I was horrified to discover one missing content — the passport itself. Surely I had left it in my luggage in Karuma. I would find it when I returned. In the meantime, Cindy bought me a temporary phone line using her passport.
We stayed with the Cessnuns in Entebbe until Saturday the 22nd, when we again rode caravan style, but this time I rode shotgun in an open cargo truck filled with luggage, while Colby drove his family one last time in their family car behind us. Cindy stayed behind at the hotel. We arrived at Entebbe International Airport safely by the grace of God, and began a procession of eleven luggage trolleys up the long ramp to the departure gate. Innocent, a handful of airport staff, and I babysat the luggage as the broken-hearted missionary family proceeded through the Covid checkpoint. Once they were cleared, we all shared hugs and tears one last time, while Innocent and I bid them farewell. My friends and missionary heroes were closing the Uganda chapter of their lives as Cindy and I were only beginning to write ours.
God has a way of helping us through our pain, and on this day, help came in the form of distraction. When we got to the exit gate at the front of a traffic jam of about fifteen cars, Innocent and I quickly realized that Colby took our parking ticket on the plane with him. Attendants directed me to move the van out of the cue, though I was nestled well into the one-way-only exit chute. I managed to wriggle out of our predicament and proceed up the down traffic lane to return to the parking payment machines. An officer reviewed all the video footage and found our tag number as we entered the facility and gave me the proper payment information. A few thousand shillings later, Innocent and I were on the road again. (One US Dollar equals about 3,500 Uganda shillings.) Just about the time we started to get weepy again, we recognized we had missed our turn for the hotel. We both worked at finding our landmarks until we made it safely back. Troubles like that do not come from God, but I believe He uses them for His purposes. That night we were prevented from obsessing over our grief by the focus on new problems to solve.
The next morning we left Entebbe for Karuma, this time I was master of the machine, traveling at my own pace and overtaking only when safe to do so. We were just underway, on the new Entebbe-Kampala Expressway, when a sound like a wounded bird flapping in the engine compartment startled me into stopping on the roadside. I remembered just the day prior when I had thought, “I feel sorry for anyone who breaks down on this expressway, since there is nowhere to go for help.” Now I was one. I opened the engine compartment and found a shredded fan belt had wrapped itself so tightly around the pulley system, I could not budge it. I called Colby’s mechanic, who promised he could have someone to us in about an hour. It was a good thing we were so close to Kampala! A few minutes later, the highway officials came and told us it was too unsafe to remain roadside on the expressway. They would tow us for free to the nearest holding area, the parking lot at the far end of the expressway where the opposing toll booth was situated. The timing was perfect, as we arrived in the towing car just as our mechanic, Sam, was pulling up. He got the shredded belt off in no time but said he needed to do about two hours of repairs at the garage. Since the belt was merely the one that runs the air conditioner, he was able to drive us to his shop and, since there was no proper lounge for us, carried us in another car to the nearby Cafe Java. We had brunch there and killed a little time. When we called Sam, he said he was almost finished and would meet us in about fifteen minutes. As promised, Sam showed up with our car and even rode with us a short way to direct us to the main road, just to see us safely away. He would have a partner pick him up just to save us having to drive back through the rough town roads to the Team Blick Racing Garage. We were honored he would provide such self-sacrificing service and personal care, but I have found that to be the way in Uganda. People do whatever they can for one another here, without expecting in return, except that the same is expected of you when roles are reversed. It is like living in the Bible. I should mention the whole encounter only cost us the equivalent of $105 and we were on the road again with minimal delay.
I was stopped for my very first police checkpoint. (They wave most cars through and stop who they want to.) I had prepared myself with a couple cheap bottles of water in the console of the van. Before he had a chance to ask for a bribe, customarily done by saying something like, “I am thirsty and need money for water,” I offered him a bottle of water and greeted him heartily. When I told him we were heading to Karuma, he said he used to work there, so I began speaking to him in Luo, the local language of the Acholi tribe in the north, which hardly anyone speaks in the south. He beamed with excitement and acted as if he had never heard a Caucasian speak Luo. He gratefully accepted the water and sent me on my way, but not until after I spoke a Luo blessing over him. He laughed as he shouted, “amen,” and returned the blessing. Innocent was impressed and, from the back seat called out, “Uncle Todd, you are the best!” He said I drove like a natural Ugandan too. I take my compliments where I can get them.
Back at the mission, the kids began to show up in more complete numbers. Shalom and her brother, Hosman, even made it, so Cindy got to meet and fall in love with my little unofficial family of friends, who made themselves at home in Team House as long as I was there. All of them were disturbed that our visit would be so short, and we, too, felt like our hellos contained a little bit of goodbye. We listened and loved on each one as they were our own, having our hearts broken for what breaks theirs, and praying with them to overcome their obstacles. African worries make American ones seem so pale and trivial.
Cindy and I tore apart every compartment of every bag, case, clothing pocket, and crevice, but could still find no trace of my passport. I was determined not to worry, though the natural panic rose to the level of one treading water, refusing to let it drown him. I confessed my fear, and asked God to return my passport, acknowledging that He is omniscient and has everything in His hand. I did my best not to worry but began to make connections to the airport security, since the last place I remember using it was the mobile phone service provider in the airport.
Cindy and I spent Sunday evening and most of Monday sorting and cleaning the Cessnun house. We ran into the mission CEO and founder, who welcomed us and checked to see what we were up to. We hired a truck to come Tuesday and move the remaining contents of the house to our apartment in Gulu, about an hour and a half to the north.
After we loaded the apartment with furniture and supplies, we had so much to do that the day got away from us. Our utilities had apparently been cut off, so it seemed impossible to stay overnight. I can make it without power, but I need water. Besides, I had promised the mission kids we would return. So we drove back in the dark, something I hope to seldom repeat. With cows, goats, and chickens darting into the road, pedestrians crossing at will, motorists refusing to use headlights or dim them on approach, it was impossible to travel at a safe speed. Nighttime travel is an emergency only venture in Uganda!
We got home as promised, but found no visitors the first night back, a fact I made a point of whining about the next day when the kids did finally visit. We ended up making a local record of three visits to Gulu in as many days, but finally got things situated, including water valve repairs, utilities reconnected, and drinking water delivery set up. The second of those three days turned out to be a national holiday, something like President’s Day, when all the offices we needed were closed. We spent the extra time with our friend, fellow missionary, and our own board member, Nancy Cardoza, who lives and serves in Gulu. It was a special treat to see her. Also in Gulu was my friend, Nurse Patrick, who is now enrolled in school to become a Clinical Officer, sort of like a Physician’s Assistant or Nurse Practitioner. He came over to the apartment and helped me set up the beds and kitchen range. He has claimed Cindy and me as parents, and it is our joy, any chance we get, to be with him and his family, which he left behind while he engages in study.
During one lunch meeting, I received a call from the airport VIP concierge, asking details about my missing passport. Just as I was talking to him outside the restaurant, Cindy burst out from the dining room yelling, “They have your passport at the Tick Hotel!” She had used her administrative genius to find their contact and get the answer to our stressful mystery. Thank God for His providence and for Cindy the best support teammate ever. Hallelujah, my passport was found! Apparently it had been left on the copier by the night-shift clerk I had awaken on our first night in Uganda.
Cindy got to experience downtown Gulu and the notorious Gulu Main Market. Imagine the biggest farmer’s market you’ve ever seen, with three more stories of shops of all kinds, with every manner of hand-made clothing, shoes, crafts, and Ugandan necessities all under one roof. It is overwhelming. We also went to the favorite supermarket of expatriates, Cynibel, where American treats can be found and American credit cards are honored. Cindy remembers the smells as the most memorable, between the body odor of a mass of people many of whom have never seen a shower, the open air fish market, and the smoke and dust everywhere. She had a lot to get accustomed to.
I parked our van outside Team House and was informed the brake lights were on. It turned out the solenoid switch that controls the brakes lights and disengages the parking transmission lock had failed. I disconnected the switch to keep from killing the battery and had to reconnect it each time we drove just to shift out of “Park.” It was a hassle and potentially dangerous failure, since the brake lights never went off, so we made another call to our mechanic in Kampala. They would arrange to have it fixed before our departure Saturday.
We had dinner with Robert and Zam, and Cindy finally got to experience Zam’s Buganda fare and the worship that has become a normal part of our interactions there. Praise, their toddler, and Noah, their new baby, kept us entertained. They are such a precious family! Promise had gone back home, so they have employed a new “follower,” Judith, who helps babysit, cook, and clean. They made us family as they always have made me, but it was special to finally include Cindy.
We met Dr. Corina, another visitor from America, about whom we had heard a lot. She was instrumental in building Team House, the staff housing, and the ceilings on all the medical wards. These were life-changing improvements. She was a real treat, and I was sorry we didn’t get more time with her. She had her own family visiting, and was working in the hospital, which I missed the opportunity to do this trip.
We did attend two morning devotions, one of the general staff and one at the hospital. Cindy was welcomed at each and I was made to feel a fixture as an already existing part of the family. The devotional gathering was really the only hospital experience I got this trip except for a few brief visits, as I breezed through seeking to find friends at work to greet and encourage.
On the second of our three-in-a-row visits to Gulu, we were accompanied by Janet, who helped us negotiate the market. She made me promise to host a pork dinner that night and helped us find all the ingredients without being taken advantage of as visitors. That day, we visited Jolly (pronounced “Joe Lee”) at Wend Africa, a ministry that employs endangered women as seamstresses. Cindy was thrilled to meet the lady who crafted her carry-on bag and to see all the amazing resources of this ministry being brought to bear to bring women out of abuse and into independence. When we got back to Team House, Janet began to cook and, assisted by many of her mission sisters, made us a meal to remember, which we shared with as many as showed up, about fifteen. It was a good night of fun and fellowship.
On the third of our trips to Gulu, Patrick managed a break from school and accompanied us back to the mission compound to surprise his family with a visit. That night there was a football (soccer) match between the hospital staff and the teaching staff, and since Patrick is the hospital’s prized striker, he was more than welcome. We, the hospital staff, won three goals to two.
Our last day at the mission was stressful with a lot of goodbyes and a visit from the mechanic from Kampala, but we managed a tour with the Agricultural Overseer, Emma. He demonstrated the maize (corn) miller, the chicken house, the pig pen, the new pole barn, and then the goat house. Cindy, who has some background in agriculture as it occurs in America, was less familiar with goats. So when she asked about the two kinds of goats in the herd, Emma and I were confused. She went on to explain that there were some normal looking goats and some fuzzier ones. Emma and I both broke out laughing as we explained the fuzzy goats were sheep!
We met with the CEO and his wife at their home. Cindy was pleased to hear, firsthand, the story of how they carved this mission compound out of the wilderness. It was inspiring and friendly, even as they recognized we were planning something different up north. We got some valuable advice and encouragement, as well as a welcome to return to whenever possible, within the parameters of the their mission vision.
While this was a brief trip, and some might misunderstand its relative lack of missional purpose, we were repeatedly told by missionaries in the know to take things slow in the beginning, develop and maintain relationships, and try to learn the language. We prioritized these things on this trip, emphasizing the development and maintenance of relationships.
Cindy’s take-away was that she fell in love with the place just as I have, she loves our new Uganda home, and seemed as broken-hearted as I was to leave it all behind and fly, not home, but to America.
