Tag Archives: Missions

•

Saturday, 6 November 2021

Last night, I was joined by my friend, Akizza Robert. (For those of you who have been following along, this is husband of Zam and father of Praise and Noah.) He wanted to stay closer to the wedding venue without having to work all night at Rock Ministries, so he stayed down the hall from me overnight. 

This morning I woke up ready for the wedding, but my shirt looked like cooked bacon, so I called Laundry at the Tick Hotel. In less than ten minutes, my wedding shirt was pressed and looking great. Have I mentioned how much I like this hotel? 

I had breakfast with the Best Man of the wedding, Robert. I always love his company, but today, “goodbye” was on the minds of us both, and it got a little mushy. In the middle of his sentimentality, he did say something I will have to remember. He said I have a special way of making family wherever I go. I have never thought of it that way, but it certainly is an answer to my prayers that the Lord would expand my circle of influence, and help me to glorify Him in it. This is happening here. 

After I bid Robert farewell to go do his Best Man duties, I met with Dr. Jane at the hotel lobby. At a price even cheaper than the local favorite Test-and-Fly, she conducted a PCR Covid test and took the sample to a nearby hospital for testing. By the time I got back, my results were printed and waiting for me at the hotel lobby desk. 

The wedding was absolutely beautiful and everyone looked stunning. It was very much a worship and praise service with two people getting married in the mix. Peruth’s brother gave her away on behalf of the family, and Pastor Gitta was a great host, though he looked excited as a little boy on Christmas morning. At the end of the formal church wedding, we all climbed in cars, busses, vans, taxis, and Bodas (motorcycle taxis), to move to the reception location. 

As we arrived at the reception venue, it began to rain. Pastor Gitta’s generous open invitation met with hundreds of attendees, but covered seating for only some, so it was fairly uncomfortable for a few late-comers until the sun came back out. The rains in Uganda are like the ones in Florida, here for a few minutes, but wait awhile and the weather will change. The mud was the only residual trouble from the rain, and we all got red-clay-stained at least up to our ankles. We worshiped, danced, laughed, and had a great time. When the RG team was presented, the kids urged me to speak, so I proclaimed a blessing and even asked God to give Gitta and Peruth twins (a common Ugandan blessing). As I was preparing to leave, I was captured by Roy Kasozi, who demanded I come and dance one time in the spotlight before I leave. I had warned folks about what would happen if they did that and, true to my word, I tied my sport coat around my waist and did my best Kikkanga <chē-kän-ga>, a traditional Ugandan dance with a lot of shaking of the hips, which are always adorned with some kind of wrap, usually a fur. It was a hoot! And I left there a dancing celebrity. 

There wasn’t room in any of the vehicles, but I found the bus with the RG kids and we piled ourselves in making room where there had been none. Several sweaty minutes later, we arrived at Rock Ministries Kitetikka, where the kids were staying and where many others were staging to go home. Best Man Robert found me a willing driver to drop me off at the Tick Hotel on his way, and I missed the opportunity to say a final farewell to a couple of my close-knit group, but jumped in the car as it was leaving. There had been many sad farewells, and sweet embraces, but this expedited transport hurried up the process, even though it was like tearing away a patch from cloth. 

I thanked my willing driver, James, as I got in and he said, “Who am I to drive such an important person?” It reminded me how I often underestimate my worth as well, thinking I am not worthy to carry the message of the Gospel, or I am not worthy to visit with some important type person. As I preached to James, I heard the Spirit teach me, “Our Creator died for each of us. We are the same importance and value!” On the way to the hotel, I was chatting online with several of the RG kids and nurses, cooling off with the window open and the warm, Uganda breeze drying me and my sweaty clothes. As the car slowed for a traffic jam, just like lightning, a thief reached into the car, snatched my unlocked phone, and was gone in an instant. My police instinct was to jump out of the car and chase after him, but as I leapt from the car I found no sign of the thief anywhere. He was gone just that fast. We stopped at a nearby police station and reported the crime but, as a former police officer, I was well aware nothing would come of it. An investigator with an AK-47 on his shoulder said he would track it for 200,000 Uganda shillings, but I knew I could erase it remotely if I could get to my laptop quickly, so we left, but with the investigator’s phone number in case I changed my mind. 

Back at the hotel, Regina was very sympathetic, but said she had lost eight phones in similar circumstances. Message to travelers: don’t use your phone where it can be snatched, and keep your windows half-way up! Being without mobile communication left me feeling like the “goodbyes” were abruptly ended, and the conversations I was having were interrupted by someone who, for all I know, was harvesting my data as we speak. All the wedding photos, videos, and notes I took would be lost forever. I signed into my Apple account from my hotel room, was heartbroken to confirm that none of my photos had uploaded to the cloud, and then promptly sent an “Erase iPhone” command to the handset. Ouch!

Sunday, 7 November 2021

It is departure day, but I have some business to attend to. I got as many phone numbers as I thought I might need for my journey and wrote them on paper. Then I walked to a few nearby banks until I found one that would accept my ATM card. A few keystrokes later, I was on my way to the local phone service center. When one center said I needed a Ugandan ID to get my SIM card reactivated, I got directions to the next nearest service center, where I was helped with just my passport. I bought a cheap handset and a new SIM card with my old number on it, and spent the next couple hours figuring out why the darn thing wouldn’t start up. After lunch, I took it to one service center, where I was told to take it to the center where I bought it. A long Boda ride found me at the locked doors of the very service center I had visited hours before. Disappointed, I returned to the Tick on my fourth Boda ride of the day. 

If you are imagining a pretty day on the back of a motorcycle, you have the wrong picture in your mind. First, imagine the roads slick with recently moistened red clay. Next, picture six lanes of traffic on a road built for two, and a steep drop-off at each edge, where rocks line the drainage ditches, each between two and four feet deep. Then, add in pedestrians of every size, shape, and purpose. I am almost sure I clipped a man with a wheelbarrow with my knee as we squeezed between him and a cement truck. Especially for an American control-freak, this was an exercise in managing terror. 

At the hotel lobby, Owen kindly put my new SIM card in his own phone and discovered it was functioning but not yet active. He explained that the mobile carrier has to go through a process of terminating service on my line in the other SIM card before it can activate the new one. Just activation can take thirty minutes, but disconnecting from the old one may take 12-24 hours. So, my line may be renewed, and the mobile money I had on that account may be restored, but I may not know it until I return to Uganda and again reactivate my phone. So, there is today’s lesson in patience and contentment. I’m still working on forgiveness for the thief too. 

It’s time to pack. I have four hours in which to do it, but I want everything ready to go when the time comes. I may not have Wi-Fi again until I reach the U.S. so I’ll load this now. 

My reflections about this trip center around how totally worth the hassle of delayed flights, a trampy New York ghetto hotel, lost luggage, no laundry, misunderstood intentions, theft, and danger it really is to be in Uganda and meet with the wonderful people whose company I have enjoyed these six weeks. I have seen firsthand how universally we humans tend to doubt ourselves, our positions, and our value, and how much we need to be reminded that our Creator found us worth dying for. I have learned some valuable lessons about what to do and what not to do, and have found myself at home among the Acholi of the north and the Buganda of the south. God is glorified everywhere I go, even in dark traffic jams. The children and staff of RG really need a friend, and I have even more calling me their father figure than I did in the spring. I cannot wait to return and love on these fine folks again!

•

Friday, 22 October 2021

Work today was fairly busy again. We have referred some more advanced cases to St. Mary’s Hospital Lachor in Gulu for treatment. RG Hospital recently let go its orthopedic surgeon amid complaints about his bedside manner, and that has left us with little recourse but to refer out traumatic injuries. 

I left shortly after shift change to meet the kids who will go with me to Gulu tomorrow, but none showed up. When I discovered they were being detained in a general student assembly for another character development class (aka: a good old fashioned chewing out by the head teacher), I went alone to the head of Child Care to obtain their gate pass. There would be seven of us in the van tomorrow, plus the driver and the 8-seat dining table and chairs. 

Saturday, 23 October 2021

What a day we had! Nurse Patrick and I took Janet, Shalom, Prisca, Hosman, K-Morris to Gulu to shop and scrub the new apartment. David, our driver, managed to fit us all in, but he had to pay a fine at the traffic checkpoint for overloading the vehicle. We off-loaded the table and chairs, and let the kids tour the apartment, then all packed back up for our shopping spree in Gulu. 

There is one major supermarket popular with expats, called Cynibel, where we managed to get many of the items on our shopping list. That was a convenient choice since that store is used to Europeans and Americans, and doesn’t charge extra for being white like most Ugandans vendors. They also accept Visa, so I could use dollars instead of my expensive-to-exchange Uganda shillings. 

We went around finding this and that from our list, and Patrick was helpful to add a few necessities I had not thought of. The shopkeepers here were very friendly and even helped me find items they did not sell themselves, sometimes walking me deep into marketplaces I would never have found. 

The kids were very patient, and even helpful. We took lunch at Hotel Binen, a a Ugandan buffet restaurant recommended by Patrick, . We each got whatever we wanted, and there was more than enough as usual. I got goat soup with matooke (steamed plantains) and millet. These kids are the ones going to Pastor’s wedding next week, so I splurged and bought each girl a dress and each boy a pair of new shoes at the Gulu Main Market. 

We returned to the apartment and did a lot of scrubbing. The place has never been lived in, but it was dusty and needed a good cleaning. I got a chance to set up a few of the new items I had purchased, like the gas stove and pedestal fan. The power still did not work, but we look forward to the utility company coming online soon. We quickly discovered that the water was not potable, so we all got hot and thirsty working indoors.

About the time we were all exhausted and dehydrated, we piled into the van and went through town again, stopping at Cynibel again, this time for eight giant (3L) bottles of water, one for each of us. We quenched our thirst on our way to The Lookout Cafe, at Gulu University, home of Uganda’s best pizza, where several pies were waiting for us. Patrick had never heard of pizza before, but the kids have met enough Americans to know what to expect. We had a grand pizza party all the way back to RG, which is about an hour and a half ride. 

Sunday, 24 October 2021

Last night I disappointed a few girls who had sent me little messages asking for things like I was an American Santa Claus. One asked for ice cream from Gulu which, as I mentioned is almost two hours away. Another for a suitcase, and another for a dress. It made me feel bad to draw lines, but I do not know some of these kids, and I think my purpose here is misunderstood by some. Whatever I am, Santa Claus I am not. At any rate, I woke up in one of those blue mood states, where reflection is the call of the day. 

When I arrived at RG Church, a generally Pentecostal gathering of worship, anyone who was not dancing for joy to be in the “house of the Lord” was chastised and commanded to smile, be happy, dance, and shout, so I wandered off and prayed alone in the shadow of the trees nearby. I was disappointed that those who were wringing their hearts out before the Lord were not as welcome as those who were bubbling with joy, considering each is an authentic act of worship. 

When the dancing and shouting was over, I rejoined the congregation, just in time to listen to the substitute preacher misuse Scripture to promote his own ideas. There is a dire need for sound doctrine here in Uganda! So many are misguided. Last time I was here a visiting preacher misused Scripture to advance his own profiteering campaign. This time, it was being used to keep people in line and instill in them a fear of a God who, just like He did at the Tower of Babel, would “come down and frustrate your efforts.” He spoke of the evils of making bricks, which every Ugandan tends to do just to survive, rather than using the God-given stones; of using tar rather than mortar; and of allowing people to call you nick-names rather than the name given at baptism (“make a name for ourselves,” Genesis 11:4). By the time he was done, my mood had gone from blue to fiery red. 

Afterward, I went to the Spiritual Director, but she was busy in prayer. I approached Child Care Superintendent Justine, who is also the wife of RG’s Managing Director, Espirito. Justine confirmed an invitation she had extended to me for dinner tonight, then asked how she could help me. She arranged to have a gate pass written for Janet and Shalom so Janet could have her new scrub trousers hemmed. 

When we returned, I took a nap while the boys’ team played a visiting team from the north. I wanted to watch, but I was just too beat from yesterday and, again, was in no state to enjoy festivities. 

At 5:30, I awoke and dressed for dinner at Espirito and Justine’s house. Espirito told me his story, which involved leaving everything he owned in Kampala to follow God’s call to serve in the war-torn north. He told of miracles he had witnessed and had prayed for, not the least of which were convincing President Museveni that their war was not only against flesh and blood, but agains principalities of Darkness. He waged a spiritual war against the strongholds of Joseph Kony and his child warriors and sex-slaves. He blessed cursed waters and demonstrated their purity by bathing in and drinking water that had killed animals the previous day. He managed to obtain support from the President, including ground and air transportation, armed guards, hardware, and even a media crew, who filmed the documentary “An Unconventional War” about the spiritual aspect of this battle. It was quite a story!

Dinner was delightful, with Ugandan favorites like matooke and chicken soup, but with pizza also, apparently because they were entertaining a Westerner. How thoughtful! 

Espirito then asked me my story, and I told it with just as much excitement as if I had battled war lords, since I had, but of a different variety. During the telling, I mentioned that I had taught Sunday School even at the age of fifteen, so he gathered his six children around us and told me to teach them. Talk about being put on the spot! They aged from three to eleven, and I had them participating and giggling, but felt I also had their attention. When I was done, I prayed for them, and asked them to sing a song for me. We all sang a praise song, and this time the smiles and dancing came as naturally as water from a stream. 

When I was excused, I was dismissed with hugs and high fives, and Justine and the kids escorted me down the road, at least to the first intersection. I was so honored that I continued on with them, even though I had planned to meet with the Cessnun family next door to Espirito, for the end of the Liverpool v. Manchester United match. When the kids had all left, I sneaked back in the dark to watch the end of the football (soccer) game. My team (Liverpool) won an unprecedented 5 goals to none. I was surprised to see the Cessnun family had the same idea we all had over the previous two days: pizza, which they made with chapati instead of pizza dough, for a sort of chap-pizza combination of Africa and America. 

I walked home in the dark, content that I had managed to meet with the Managing Director and his wife without making any social or political errors. Instead of being hurt by my decision to live outside RG, he was eager to hear ideas about how he and I can work together. 

Monday, 25 October 2021

There were very few patients at the hospital today, and plenty of nursing staff to treat them. So I was relieved when Michael, the head of the Hospitality Team, fetched me so I could unlock Team House for its weekly cleaning. I took the opportunity to steal away, reflect, write, and rest. 

I was grieved to receive word that another of Nurse Patrick’s family has died, this one from Covid-19. He will have to go to his home outside Gulu, but offered to pick up the remainder of the keys from my landlady, who finally has tracked them down from the builder. Patrick shoulders a lot of the responsibility of his family, being the only one regularly employed, and the oldest sober member of the family. We are hatching a goat-rearing plan, and I hope we can make a go of a lasting partnership. He is such a beloved brother to me!