Tag Archives: missionary nursing

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2023 has come, and along with it, the hope of more opportunities to love others and share resources with our brothers and sisters in Uganda. Cindy and I are packing for our departure in two days. Cindy will visit for two weeks, quickly touring to check in on our sponsored kids, associates, and our home in Gulu. I will remain for three months, during which I hope to continue building relationships and cultural relevance in the northern territory of Uganda known as Acholiland. I hate to admit it, but my Acholi is getting rusty already. A work permit is one of my first orders of business, but there will also be a lot of real estate investigation. We will follow up on the possible acquisition of a vacant hospital in Minakulu. I will also be viewing several properties with potential for use in TLCU’s other planned projects, which include a church meeting hall and community outreach center. 

Our ambitions are bigger than our budget. Still we are faithful to do what God has called us to do, acknowledging that it is out of His riches, not ours, that He will glorify Himself (Philippians 4:19, Ephesians 3:20). At this time of year, while you are praying for us on this trip and developing your annual budget, would you consider joining us as a financial partner? A commitment to monthly support would help secure our place in Uganda and open that window of blessing to our impoverished brothers and sisters there. Not everyone can “go into all the world," (Matthew 28:19) but we are more than happy to represent you!

God bless you and your families this year! May God’s richest blessings warm your heart to overflowing, so that all with whom you have contact recognize that you have something they also need. 

We would love to hear from you while we are in Uganda, but we turn off our American phone lines while overseas. Instead, try us on WhatsApp or Instagram. 

Cindy with our new granddaughter

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I got comfortable going for lessons every weekday and little in between. I fix myself a breakfast, usually an egg sandwich, but sometimes I experiment with millet porridge. It is pretty good with lemon and sugar. I report for Acholi Luo lessons with Beatrice at 9am, we break at around 1:30, and Teddy, Beatrice’s helper, serves us a lunch so big I rarely need to eat supper. We wrap up lessons around 5:30, but often I hang around just being family until just before dark. 

We have had interruptions to our study schedule off and on. During this trip I gained a daughter, Janet, who started nursing school, and two other dependents, one in Senior 4 (10th grade), and another, Janet’s cousin Dorcas, in tailoring training. I am helping an American couple support another girl in Senior 5 (11th Grade), and our supplements to her tuition, room, and board tempt me to claim her as another dependent, though she is not really. In Uganda, most students are in boarding schools, and the custom is that, on visiting day, the families and their students meet, usually in their Sunday best, and do their best to impress one another, the students with their report cards, and the parents with all the goodies they can carry. I have missed a few visiting days, but when I finally made it to one, recognized what an error it is to omit. The unvisited student sits neglected as her classmates enjoy treats and sodas from home for the next few weeks. 

In addition to these dependents, we have made student loans to several healthcare personnel, one nurse midwife seeking her diploma, one clinical officer (the Ugandan equivalent to a Physician’s Assistant) seeking ultrasound training, and one former nurse studying to become a clinical officer. These student loans are in keeping with our commitment to give a hand up, not a hand-out, so these precious Ugandan health workers can advance their credentials and continue ministering God’s abundant life here in Uganda. 

In addition to student loans, we have found a few others in need who were helped with micro-loans, one a single mother of two, abandoned by their father, and left to break rocks for the means to survive. We gave her a small loan which enabled her to open a small produce market stall near her daughter’s school. Another loan was to a truck driver who had to hire a Boda-boda (motorcycle taxi) every day to get to work. His family asked and we provided a loan for him to get his own motorcycle. 

With so many counting on us, I have had to take the occasional break from Acholi lessons to take the odd student to a clinic or go shopping at the open air market for necessities. Usually we make the most of even the sick days we get to spend together, and I take my little group to a buffet restaurant with local food just to see they get enough. I have gotten to like local food, though I do splurge on the occasional dinner of Indian cuisine.

I took a trip to see the “100-acre” lot in Minakulu. It was nowhere near 100 acres but more like thirty. Thirty would be good but this one had no real vehicle access, and was too ridiculously far from the main road to be practical. It was brought up that those in remote villages need care too, but I think that means TLCU may do healthcare outreach trips, but not set up permanent shop that deep in the villages. 

I have toured several health centers here in Northern Uganda, some impressive, others not so much. When I walked into one my mouth dropped open because it was just like the one I dream about. It had everything — emergency department, maternity, out-patient department (OPD), dental clinic, women’s independent living training center, guest house, and even (though I never dream of this part) a vulnerable children’s home and primary school. This place even had a similar color scheme to the one in my dreams, except mine is a Ugandan Red and yellow with black trim, and theirs is brown and orange with black trim. This place was founded by a German woman I am eager to meet someday, and maybe share design plans. 

Everywhere I go, my ability to speak at least some Acholi has increased my welcome. Everyone seems so excited to find a white traveler willing to learn the language. That is what this trip is about, and so far it has been a success.  Beatrice, my teacher, administered a series of exams to measure my progress. I managed to impress even her, though I know she is a lenient grader. She has done a great job with the time we have had, and I am going to miss being with her family after I “graduate” back to Florida.

I made some friends in the various villages I visited. Some even presented me with livestock. As of this writing, I have a kitten, a chick, a rooster, and a goat. Technically I gave the rooster to Beatrice since she is the one who gave me Chicken Little, a brown male chick. The goat, which I named “Sky” because of the cloudy white patches in her brown coat, will remain with her mother and sister until I return and get some land on which to keep livestock myself. 

Pray for us! When I return to the U.S. I will need to do some serious fund raising to bring our planned projects to life. Pray for our students. Pray for our organization, that we may get the proper credentials to do what God has called us to do. 

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I wrote the above entry two weeks ago but failed to post it. Now I am struggling with all the sad farewells that come with being a part of so many lives. Wednesday I will leave for the capital city, and Friday will board a plane, making my way back to Florida.

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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.