Tag Archives: Africa

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I haven't written since our trip for several reasons. First, I had so much to say while we were in Uganda, I feel as though I should either come up with something profound to say or keep quiet. Second, school is in full swing and I've been busier than I could have imagined I would be during a Summer semester. Last is the least valid reason of all but probably the weightiest, and that is because we still just don't know where our piece will fit into the whole Uganda puzzle.

From where I am, isolated in my prerequisite studies, a nursing mission in Uganda appears small in my window. It is no less a priority, no less real, and no less the path I am following at God's direction; I just feel so far removed from Uganda and her children. I remain connected to my friends I made in country by way of Internet, prayer, and a common love for the same people, and that helps me keep focused on the mission rather than the baby steps toward it I am making, but progress feels slow and our deployment to the mission field far removed. Proverbs 13:12 says, "Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life." I like "tree of life" references - maybe it's the Lemmon in me - but I'm somewhere in that deferral that makes for heart-sickness right now. It's not a condition of being lost, afraid, or doubtful; it's just that 2021 is so many pages ahead in the calendar.

I'm in good company. Jacob (aka Israel) had to work seven extra years to earn his bride, Rachel. Noah, wasn't told to go sailing; he was told to build an ark. With the world mocking him, he stacked gopher wood until he had the resources to begin scraping, planing, boring, and fitting the logs together into a floating fortress that would be seventy-five years on dry land before the first drop of rain fell on it.

I, too, have received a share of mocking, of condescending interrogations, missiles of doubt fired from people, some nurses themselves, who may mean well but tend to emphasize obstacles rather than successful experiences, strength, or hope. The shock of disbelief that is typical of most people who hear our plans for relocation and service overseas is so staggering that I tend to keep the long-term plans to myself in casual conversation and just say, "I am studying to become a missionary nurse," to which responses are usually more positive. Leaving off the word "missionary" saves me even more interrogations, and usually evokes a response about a relative who is, was, or wants to become a nurse, but removes me even farther from the end goal of treating and educating Ugandans in abundant living in Christ Jesus.

I took a practice nursing school entrance exam, the HESI A2, this morning to see what kind of things I can expect and to feel closer to the process. I was encouraged with my results but received valuable feedback concerning what needs attention. I visited the websites and Facebook pages of my missionary friends, and rejoiced in their successes, praying for their ministries and the people they serve. In my bedroom, a handmade Ugandan souvenir hangs on my wall, reminding me to "Always remember Uganda." I cannot forget her! She's in my heart, which is torn to be this far removed.

Noah did everything just as God commanded him. (Genesis 6:22 NIV)

It was not for Noah to pump water up the hill or perform test-trials on his workmanship. He was not required to study meteorology or predict weather patterns. His job was to build an ark. Mine is to become a nurse. For now, I don't get to know the end-game, and I am not yet responsible to guess it. Trivial though daily assignments may seem, they are steps along the path of obedience. While I have no child in my arms, and no soul to heal just yet, I do have homework, and no task is irrelevant when I am doing it in obedience to the Lord. I will look to Noah's example as I continue on, as removed from Ugandan souls as a ship on a dry hill, and do what comes next, contenting myself in the knowledge that I am doing my Master's will.

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Day Sixteen, April 30:

20140430-134523.jpgThis morning we got up and availed ourselves of the hotel breakfast and committed to get some rest before our flight home tonight. The thoughts and memories of this trip, however, made it difficult to sleep, as Cindy and I both stirred the cauldron, pouring over it our dreams, hopes, and plans for the future.

Restless, I calculated our trip expense log and discovered we spent much less than we planned even with the last-minute hiring of Anthony our driver. Cindy and I marveled at how naive it was to have even considered taking this trip without him, and wondered what we had been thinking when we expected to bus or taxi across Uganda. Silly Mzungu! Renting a car was once an option for the uninformed, but since roads have no markings, and traffic here is a culture-shock nightmare, I would have killed us or someone else the first day!

God has orchestrated every step of our journey to be exactly what we needed, and I need to remember every detail so that I don't miss whatever instruction He has in the experience of it. Conversations play over in my head (complete with accents) and are accompanied by the questions, emotional responses, and spiritual misgivings about what I witnessed here. There is corruption here like nowhere I've been, but there is also unrivaled need and shallowness of spirit, as each person scurries after their own needs, and the women, usually abandoned by self-serving men, are left to scurry after the needs of their children, or are forced by their own selfish fears to abandon them too. Such women either find creative ways to shed their responsibilities or creative ways to meet them. Selling a child might land a mother in prison, but either way she would be free from the overwhelming burden of feeding two mouths with no income. Incarceration is a form of liberty with meals included even though prison is only a slight step up from living in a latrine. Farming is everyone's responsibility here. Even if one has no job, one is expected to grow something to feed their family. Since farming even a small plot is hard work, the lazy choose other means. Alcoholism is rampant here, as there seems to be much heartache to escape and little resource to ease the pain except the gathering of drunkards and the abundance of alcohol in various forms. Certain illicit drugs are being introduced too, and the addiction of the night life, which I have not witnessed, drives them to attack anyone who might have the resources they need. According to police, the number one crime is robbery, followed by murder during robbery, since the primary method is blunt trauma to the head of an unsuspecting victim, most often a boda-boda passenger, who is easy prey since s/he is already exposed and can be delivered to predators by the boda-man. Investigation and enforcement is difficult since a victim could just as easily be identified as a traffic accident victim whose pockets were cleaned out by locals while s/he was incapacitated, as is allegedly customary. Generally speaking, everyone needs, and there is an underlying persuasion that it is okay to take from those who have extra, like Bzungu (white people), who are perceived to be a limitless resource of wealth. This is why most expatriates live in walled compounds behind locked gates and barred doors. Everything that is not secured disappears at night.

I am conflicted about that. In my studies of the Proverbs I read:

"Whoever builds a high gate invites destruction." (Proverbs 17:19b NIV)

I always considered that if one removes the curiosity and includes one's home among those of his neighbors, he is less likely to be victimized by them than if he erects this "high gate." Those that had tried this, however, told us that they found themselves victims of theft, prowling, and vandalism nightly. I considered setting up a reception shelter outside my house, with a bell to be rung when my clinical services were needed. If I freely give, it seems reasonable that I should have no fear of losing what I have, but I can hear all my new missionary friends laughing at that statement even before I ever say it. The proverb, I think, refers to one's attitude that they control the security of their property, rather than trusting God and being a steward of His resources. Proper stewardship requires prudence, and I learned that even the side view mirrors on a twelve year-old Toyota are a hot commodity around here, where some locals have never even seen what they look like. Enough about security. I'm no longer a cop!

Certain aspects of this trip have been especially liberating.

  • Spending time with Cindy without daily hassles. Being on unfamiliar ground kept either of us from being expert at anything, and on even terms.
  • Not driving. Letting Anthony, Carol, Laurie, Steve, and Charlie the boda-man concern themselves with the traffic suited me just fine.
  • Not shaving or styling my hair. Cindy thinks my curls and short beard are adorable.
  • Not fretting over every calorie consumed. Those who know me well know I track everything I eat. This trip, I just ate normal meals, abstained from sweets, cookies, cakes, ice-cream and nachos, and from throwing in the dietary towel, and I was just fine. I probably didn't even meet my minimum calorie goals any day but yesterday when the jackfruit might have put me over.

Recapping our ministry tour, we personally contacted:

20140430-134538.jpgI would be delighted to know that my communication about any of these ministries facilitated a stirring in any heart to contribute toward their support, not that the left hand should know what the right hand is doing, but just so the left hand knows it has a complimentary opposite hand.

Until we land in the States, Todd Lemmon, signing off in the fashion of the Wells of Hope Academy kids:
(from 2 Corinthians 13:14 NIV)

"May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all."
Now and forevermore. Amen!

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Day Fifteen, April 29:

20140429-231058.jpgThis 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.

20140429-231503.jpgWhen 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.

20140429-231227.jpgIt 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.