Be in prayer about this, prayer warriors! We have been offered a piece of land exactly where we are planning to begin that has been measured at 100 acres! I have a local scout checking out that property this weekend. If a westerner showed up, the price would quickly multiply, so a friend will check it first and report back to me. The asking price is 3 million ($857) per acre, but my scout thinks he can get them down to 2 million ($571) per acre. If that was the case we could be looking getting 100 acres for just‘$57,142.
Our mission support does not yet equal that amount, so pray God opens the floodgates of blessing in our direction so we can start with the projects He has called us to do.
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.
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.
As some of you know, Cindy and I started a GoFundMe campaign for a 24-year-old woman with degenerative hip disease who needs bilateral hip replacement. This is separate from our mission endeavors but is consistent with our heart for those suffering from poverty related diseases in Uganda. I know this girl and she is the cousin of one of my dearest Ugandan friends. Sharon has received one of her new hips but is fighting illness between surgeries. We keep in contact and I have the privilege of encouraging her when she gets low or feels like she is not worth the trouble. Today started with a blessing I received from her father. I will copy it here:
Praise be to God the most high, the creator of heaven and Earth. Thanks be to God the Almighty father that gave you life, strength wisdom and the spirit of help. I Nelson Obua father of Sharon Adongo wish to send my sincere thanks to you Todd for taking a lot of concern to treat Sharon Adongo I therefore pray that God should really award you wisdom like Solomon, protect you like Abenego and Daniel, annoint you like David, remember you like Noah, prosper you like Isaac, bless you like Abraham, favour you like Moses. I beg we remain family friend.
Nelson Obua, Sharon's father
When I read that blessing I was reminded that this family of God, this Bride of Christ, extends so much farther than any of us generally are aware. I have never met Nelson, but God has moved him by mobilizing a few of us to act on his daughter’s behalf. If you would like to participate in changing and maybe even saving Sharon’s life, contribute to the GoFundMe campaign at gf.me/u/22pppw. Donations to that fund are not affiliated with the mission of TLC Uganda and are not tax exempt.
Our next event of the day was to chauffeur our daughter for an endoscopy procedure. No matter how old your child gets, it is never easy to watch her go into an operating suite. All went well and we got her home to recover with her two fur babies, our grand-dogs.
A quick stop at the pharmacy equipped me with my anti-malaria medicine and Cindy and I left for the airport. Since I had a trunk, a suitcase, a carry-on, and an oversized “personal bag” to wrangle, Cindy dropped me off at the departures entrance and then drove around the airport several times looking for a parking space. She called me in tears at the thought she might not get to say goodbye and see me to the security checkpoint. I sometimes forget how hard it is to be left behind since she, too, is called to go to Uganda. She found a spot in long-term parking and rode a shuttle bus to come see me off. Devoted woman!
My first flight was late. United said they had to switch planes and crews. When the crew got there I thought we might board but there was another problem. The substitute plane has been fueled to go to a much farther destination, so the airline had to pump fuel out of the plane. They said it was either that or leave some passengers behind. I didn’t hear any complaints and I didn’t see any volunteers to stay behind.
The trouble came when those of us with connecting flights stepped off the plane an hour and a half late. There were about twenty of us bustling through the crowds with the urgency that only comes when there is the threat of missing an international connection. One by one my fellow sprinters split from my path until I finally got to my gate. The Brussels attendant could tell what my frantic look meant, laughingly applauded my successful arrival, and coached me to calm down. This flight, too, was delayed.
When we finally did board, God granted me two empty seats between my aisle seat and the aisle seat of the Congolese woman seated with me. We greeted one another and were neighborly on the trip, sharing the space between us like friends. It was a welcome change from the screen-obsessed millennial I was stuck with on the previous flight. He didn’t even grunt when I greeted him and bladed his body away from mine any time I looked like I might engage him.
It’s sleepy time. My neighbor is sleeping in the three seats next to me. I am accommodating as I can be, even loaning her my pillow and blanket.
Wednesday May 18
I am traveling forward in time. Since my flight is toward the rising sun, sunrise and breakfast came painfully close to the dinner before it. There is no way to feel refreshed after crossing six time zones even with one’s eyes closed. I have one more time done to cross before I arrive in Entebbe tonight.
I got to spend time chatting online with several Ugandan friends on yesterday’s domestic flight which offered complimentary in-flight Wi-Fi, so I feel out of reach on this long leg. When I land in Brussels for my layover, I will likely again be out of touch. In Uganda, I will briefly have Wi-Fi access until I set foot outside the airport. Even though I have a Ugandan phone number it takes hours to reestablish it, so I will count on my airport shuttle to remember me and be patient enough to wait for me to get through Immigration, baggage, money exchange, and the phone kiosk.
At any rate, I was overwhelmed with the expressions of excitement at my approach to Uganda. I will disappoint several people this visit since I will not be staying at the mission at which I have served before. Perhaps I can visit somehow.
We arrived in Brussels in plenty of time to visit the cologne testers in the duty free shop. After a long flight I consider it a favor to my fellow passengers that I try one. The stronger the better.
I don’t know whether that cologne was strong enough, but I got all four of the center seats to myself for the long ride to Bujumbura. With my bad shoulders I refrained from taking them all at once, but waving my elbows was a privilege not many got. After passing people bashed my shoulder for the third time I moved inboard to make the most of those empty seats. Next time maybe one of you reading this will sit next to me.
The plane arrived at 10:20 pm right on time. But Immigration took until 11:45 to get us through and I was somehow near the end. When I arrived at the baggage carousel, I found my black and yellow Costco shipping and storage trunk in pieces. An attendant was there complaining that he had waited nearly two hours for me. All I could think was he was the wrong one of us to be disappointed. He told me I would have to sign that I received all the contents but did not want to help find a cutter of any kind to undo the cable ties holding on the lid. Around the carousel came my suitcase, and in it my nursing shears. Believe it or not, I kept a packing list for each piece of luggage. Some of you may remember my experience last time with lost luggage. It all appeared intact.
A not-so-quick stop at the money changers and another at the phone kiosk, and I was finally ready to meet my airport shuttle. Only thing was he wasn’t there. Instead I was swarmed by taxi drivers offering to replace him. One called the hotel and asked the clerk for my driver. They said he would come but he never showed up. I hired the most persistent driver and we got to the hotel, only to find it completely dark. My driver raised enough noise about this mismanagement that the security guard let me in to my room.
I’m bushed! Time for real sleep.
Thursday May 19
Jeremiah, my faithful friend and driver appeared right on time and I apologized for not using his service even for the little drives. He was quite gracious.
We stopped in the capital city of Kampala to visit with a friend over breakfast, then journeyed on to Gulu in the Northern territory. When we arrived at Mucungwa Manor (the Lemmon apartment) Jeremiah offered to help get our van started. I reconnected the battery which was still well charged but nothing happened. We tried to jump start it and still … nothing. We took my battery out and put his in and still got nothing but clicks. I had swept away a lot of oxidation dust, but decided that had not been enough. I told Jeremiah we needed a soda.
Off we went to the nearest restaurant, a scary hole-in-the-wall “pork joint” on the side of the road. There we ate, talked and laughed with the locals who came to or worked at the pork stand. When we were through, we ordered a Coca Cola and brought it home in a used plastic water bottle. Cokes are offered in returnable glass bottles which are not allowed to leave.
I poured Coke over the oxidized cable connector and left it soaking overnight. Meanwhile, Jeremiah became our second ever overnight houseguest.
Friday May 20
This morning that copper cable sparkled like new. Jeremiah and I hooked it back up and “zoom” went the van! No worries!
Jeremiah left and I was faced to confront the loneliness of my apartment. I made the only thing I had— tea.
WhatsApp is great for keeping in touch with people all over the world for free as long as you have network signal. I sent out greetings to as many friends as I could think might be interested that I was here. And quickly got an invitation to tea (which is really just a late breakfast).
As I was preparing, I went to the spot where I carefully placed my hearing aids the night before, but found one missing. Jeremiah would have no reason or use to move them. The only explanation was a rodent must have found the scent on ear wax enticing enough to steal one. I searched all around and found evidence of at least two nests — one in a chair that had been torn up from under the cushion, and the other in the asbestos lining under the oven. I will have to go east and hearing aid hunting when I get the time.
I met our friend, fellow missionary, and TLC Uganda Director Nancy Cardoza at Elephante’s for tea. “African tea” is hot black tea with real fresh cream, ginger, and raw sugar. Breakfast was toast with avocado and eggs. The fellowship was great and the talk insightful. I can always count on Nancy for guidance about what not to do and how to avoid some of the painful mistakes she has survived.
I went shopping in town and spent too long looking for car parts. I ended up at my favorite hardware shop, where the ladies, Sandra, and her mother always help be beyond any expectation. I was greeted with welcoming smiles and hugs, so well they know me. They asked about Cindy and hoses long I would stay this time. Then Sandra walked me around town markets showing me the best places to find those things on my shopping list.
By the time I got home, I turned around again to pick up my friend, Patrick, who is studying at the medical school near my house. His family village is only a 20 minute drive, so we went to inspect his gardens. I am so proud of my friend who studies and works so hard at everything he does while his wife is working as a hospital nurse and caring for their two small boys. We got a takeout dinner and I took him back to school, then went home and ate half of mine alone for supper. The rest is breakfast.
It is good to be here. Neighbors take me seriously when I speak their language, but I have gotten rusty from my time in Florida. I look forward to working with my Acholi tutor starting next week.
