Jambo!

T.I.A.

2009-05-23T13:57:00.025+03:00

With just a little over 30 days before we’ll be returning to the states for a visit, we’re taking a few minutes to look back over the last eight months of living in Uganda. It’s been quite an adventure…a real melding of cultures; there’s been exasperation, excitement, curiosity, frustration, joy, confusion, moments that have taken our breath away, some moments when we wish we weren’t ‘breathing it all in…” We can’t even imagine not having had the opportunities we’ve had so far; the blessing to meet the people we’ve met; the heartbreaks, the happy moments. It’s been delightful, brilliant, satisfying.

And on the lighter side, here’s what it means to live in Uganda;

A need to travel in convoys through many places

Passing truckloads of soldiers with rocket launchers and AK-47’s; they’re always going the other way…is that good or bad?

Learning to distinguish the difference in your mosquito net, between lizard poop, rat poop, roach poop, bat poop and scorpion poop.

The big three—cockroaches, sweet ants, and big black grease ants. They seem to have an agreement over whose turn it is to own your home. I just spray Doom and watch them fall to a heap. Here that is called "punishing" them with "medicine."

Figuring out why people "smoke their latrines”. They set methane gas beneath the concrete slab (the one with the hole in it you straddle) on fire. They tell us this makes it smell better.

When you shop at any of the Chinese herbal shops, they will sell you one particular medicine that is good for; “relief for cardiac and abdominal pains, rheumatic pains, aching back, quadriplegia, sprains, and bruises, injuries from falls, contusions, strains, cuts, burns, bleeding, stings, bites, and deep-rooted ulcers.” You should know that two of the ingredients are turpentine and kerosene.

You must learn to figure this out: In 2004 a generator cost $600, or 1,065,000 UGX at an exchange rate of 1,775. So if it's $300 at today’s rate of 2,300 shillings, is that a good deal?

Signs here are interesting...and different.

Termite mounds are taller than Mike. Anything wood that comes up missing has probably been consumed by the termites for their mounds.

Don’t get excited if you hear a gun blast in the middle of the night. All guards carry guns and forget they’re loaded.

Most all of the delays here can be explained with one sentence, "The man with the key has gone." We have seen schools, churches, businesses closed for weeks because the key is with “the man “and they cannot locate him. Every door in Africa has a key. Our apartment has 6 different keys.

It’s hard to kill these cockroaches with flip flops no matter how hard you smack them.

You see everything in traffic here: Boda-Boda passengers holding huge sheets of plate glass; lorries with 60 armed guards jammed in the back; lost cows, taxies with dead fish on the bumper or squawking chickens hanging out the windows, bicycles with 5-foot high stacks of raw eggs or 14-foot lengths of lumber, vendors selling fried grasshoppers or goat on a stick, adolescents on skateboards, beggars, soldiers with AK47s…

Vanilla, Dove soap, and roach motels disappeared from stores 3 months ago. Pudding, ‘Minced’ Helper (like our Hamburger Helper?) and Listerine mouth wash made a debut.

Reasons you won’t get any sleep:

The neighbors are swarming all over the white ants that are swarming all over the property all around us. Yes, you pull the ‘feathers’ (wings) off and fry them…or not. Good either way.
The buzz of a mosquito…is it inside the net or outside?

The endless noise of obnoxious music blaring from bars all around
Horns ‘hooting’…relentlessly

Roosters that cannot tell time, so they just tell you each time the hour changes.

Taking a shower in Kitgum— mix water from the borehole with hot water from the coffee pot. (if someone will put the generator on…because there is no power.) Dump over your head.

Using the toilet in the village: find someone with the key; step over roosters, past cows, goats and pigs…push cement block off hole, ignore the enormous lizard watching you from overhead, pick up travel toilet paper roll from the ground that you always drop, blow the dirt and giant spider off. Think of the squat as part of your work out to build muscles you didn’t know you were suppose to have

If you try to watch a program with anyone here, half-way through, your companions will begin to share some bizarre story…then go back to the show as though they hadn’t just completely interrupted the show. It doesn’t really matter though…either the place you’re staying will change the channel before the show is over anyway, or the power will go off.

At any given time, the electric will be off, the propane empty and “finished” throughout all of Kampala…and you will have no water, but the internet will be up. You can never have it all at the same time. Deal with it. T.I.A.

You have to appreciate the language here; "Had a close call today. The car almost got knocked up by a boda-boda carrying a long, steel pipe." At hotels, the answer to everything you ask for is “sorry, it is just finished.” Driving directions are always hysterical…there is no left or right, there is up, down, or continue while people are making directional hand gestures from the back seat. The answer to your every request, “it is coming.” It is coming can mean anything from 2 hours to 2 weeks. Seriously.

The church collection basket will look something like: a cabbage, a bag of beans, 2 avocados, carrots, 2 onions, 3 eggs and a live chicken…on a good day.

When the internet guy finally shows up to fix your internet, the power will go out.

The insurance company seriously informs you that they will not replace a car windshield more than two times a year.

ALL glass on a car needs to be etched with the license plate number of the car or it will be stolen and resold to you later at the repair shop. Count on it happening at least once.

Tubs and showers here have no shower curtains. We have stopped trying to keep the water from drenching everything in the bathroom. Someone comes in and mops up afterwards. A curtain would be so easy.

It’s a big deal if you get served the gizzard of a chicken. It means they killed the bird for you.

What’s wrong with this picture? The meat markets are little places in the market where the vendor sits INSIDE while the meat hangs OUTSIDE…in the heat. hmmm

A knife sharpener is someone showing up with a bike and pedaling madly while holding your knife in a contraption on top

Deworming is a fact of life here. And we thought it was just for our pets back home.

Do not try to return soda bottles without buying new sodas. A refund is inconceivable and perplexing.

You really miss home at Christmas when the Christmas decorating involves the Energizer Bunny being pulled by reindeer.

Count on fun “extras” in everything you purchase from the market; baby roaches in the egg cartons; roaches imbedded in the toilet paper; feathers and chicken poop still on the eggs. No, you don’t pay extra. And then there’s the game our good friends who know we love word games gave us for Christmas…”SCRAMBLE, the WORLD game” uh huh.

And my favorite…If clothes are hung outside, and they always are, it is very possible for a female fly to lay eggs on them. The clothes are then worn and the eggs penetrate the skin and within three days, painful, boil-like lesions occur. Pus emerges from each sore as it gets ripe. Once the sore is expressed a worm comes out of it. Ick. We'll try to leave these behind when we visit.

A Bug is Still a Bug

2009-05-22T09:43:00.005+03:00

Yes, this is a grasshopper. Nsenene is what they are called here. You know me...it’s bad enough that this thing is jumping around just acting like a bug. But here they are also a delicacy. Uh huh. Food. Snack. Something you would send your husband out for in the middle of the night when you’re pregnant and having cravings.
But a bug is still a bug. Right? It’s grasshopper season right now in Uganda. There are guys carrying large containers of these things everywhere you look selling them. Typically they just walk right on by the mzungu car. They’ve learned. We’re just not cool enough to want to eat grasshoppers.

Mike and I made a pact a while back, before we knew better; before we knew grasshoppers were a delicacy; we would ‘try’ anything any local person gave us to eat.

How bad could it be? We weren’t very ‘africanized’ then.

They catch them like this: They put traps up at night after it gets totally dark out. They use 14 foot long aluminum sheeting and have lights set up shining on the sheeting. The light attracts the bug...they fly into the metal sheets, knock themselves silly and fall into big barrels at the bottom of the sheets which are filled with water.

Then they are deep fried and you just can’t get enough of them. Uh huh.

Recently we were in the home of some very sweet people here. And after being in Uganda nearly eight months, we were finally eyeball to eyeball with a plate of fried grasshoppers. Our hosts offered them up quite freely; and Mike and I stood there staring, with our mouths hanging open.

I poked them. I smelled them. I looked at one of the kids who had just finished an entire bowl of them...much like we would eat potato chips. He looked ok. Everyone was watching us, and my husband, who really will eat just about anything...except strange food in Uganda, was not even encouraging me to go for it. “But we said we’d try it, dear; everyone is watching,” I whispered.

Our cute little hostess suggested trying a small, brown one...”they will be the crunchiest” she said. As opposed to, what? A mushy bug? Oh this was not going to be easy.

We fished around for the smallest, brownest, crunchiest one. I picked it up and looked at it...it was looking back. I tried hiding the little face by putting my finger over it...but I still knew the little face was there.

The tiniest member of the family kept saying, “just eat it. They are quite good.”
Okay Deb. Stop over thinking it. Just put it in your mouth, I was saying to myself. Alasdair says, “I will count to ten. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8;” ”wait a minute; start over please.” Alasdair; sigh; "1, 2, 3, 4,...”

Everyone else had become bored staring at us. It’s just a bug after all. Now is my chance to just put it in my mouth. Here goes. Crunch. Crunch. Oh, I’m eating a buuug. Hmmm. Tastes very fishy. I looked at Mike. He was trying to swallow his bug.

Feeling quite proud of myself for eating a bug and not offending our hosts, I held the plate out to them, relieved I hadn’t passed out or puked, and said, “Not terrible. Here you go.” Hosts: “Oh, no, we don’t eat those. They’re bugs. Just our oldest son enjoys them." T.I.A.

An Ounce of Prevention

2009-05-21T12:10:00.012+03:00

As parents, it is our instinct to help those we see in harm's way, isn’t it? The fallen child or the little one running towards traffic. But it is hard to assist those that we do not see, people who struggle every minute of every day, just to survive.

I have to admit, in the days I used to tuck my little babies into bed, I took their good health for granted. Being in Uganda for nearly eight months, we have been hit with the unfathomable number of people, babies and children that die here daily. 200,000 children under the age of five die annually. Of these, more than half die during their first year and 45,000 within the first month of birth. Nearly all of these 45,000 babies, and most of the 200,000, die from completely preventable causes and diseases. Now please reread those numbers. Staggering, yes?

Every woman deserves the security of knowing that her child will live another day.

If those sad statistics are not bad enough, one in seven African moms can expect to die as a result of pregnancy. The Commissioner of Social Affairs for the African Union says, “In Africa getting pregnant is a gamble between life and death.” A woman giving birth in sub-Saharan Africa is 100 times more likely to die in labor than a woman in a wealthy nation. These deaths occur in the early neonatal period and often result from obstructed labor or hemorrhage, which are linked to the delay or non-existent pre-natal care. No wonder expectant mothers here look at me with horrified expressions when I ask about their pregnancy or due date.

Most at risk babies are born in rural village areas where health care is unaffordable or unavailable. Many of the deaths that occur in the baby’s first month are a result of poverty and lack of knowledge. The three major causes of newborn deaths are asphyxia, infections, and complications of premature birth.

It should be noted here that all deaths from birth asphyxia can be prevented by use of proper equipment such as resuscitation kits. Yet, basic equipment and essential drugs for new-born care are lacking in most hospitals, and certainly unavailable in the villages.

Infection at birth is the number one robber of a newborn baby’s life. Sepsis, pneumonia, meningitis, tetanus and diarrhea are the single highest killers of newborns. Infections can be prevented through two simple doses of the tetanus vaccine during prenatal care, hygiene practices during childbirth and clean cord care after birth.

There are also many cultural practices that are recipes for infections and postnatal death; the application of ash by traditional birth attendants, or the shaking of a baby to start its breathing right after birth.

Premature birth is responsible for 25% of newborn deaths. More than half of the babies are born at home and mothers do not take their babies to be weighed. Even babies born in health facilities may not be weighed due to lack of equipment, broken equipment, or just the fact that some health workers do not have the skill or knowledge for weighing newborns.

Globally, Sub-Saharan Africa has the highest fertility rate. Uganda has the fourth highest fertility rate in all of Africa at an average of 7.6 births per woman. This results in shorter birth intervals, greater risk of newborn death, and malnutrition, as the mom’s breastfeeding capabilities diminish when there are two or more babies needing breast milk.

Basically, poverty and poor access to healthcare are the fundamental causes of all the newborn deaths in Uganda. Many of the deaths that occur in the first month are a direct result of poverty. Most of the at risk babies are born to young moms, in rural villages, in the bush, and slum areas who cannot afford healthcare. Even if the birth takes place in a hospital, there is no strategy to support newborns in their first week.

We have witnessed firsthand the frustrations of delivering effective healthcare to a population with no electricity, no running water, and very little knowledge of or access to proper nutrition or health management. We are just doing a tiny part but have been so encouraged by the results from our Healthy Village and Family Workshops. The testimonies have fortified our belief that preventable diseases and illnesses can be fought by arming people with knowledge.

With the support of the local pastors and one local nurse, we began our Healthy Village workshops at the grassroots level in several remote villages that had little or no Western style healthcare. We implemented a village-driven training program based on the training Mike did in the states through CERF, the concepts presented in the reference book, Where There is No Doctor; A Village Health Care Handbook, and The Health Education Program for Developing Countries. The two initial and lengthy trainings we taught brought to the top the most dedicated trainers to continue the training throughout the villages. Forty-two driven grads are now out spreading the word in their villages.

In our first training we conducted a simple health survey asking participants to identify the biggest problem they faced in the past year. Sadly, poverty proved to be a major issue and huge barrier to healthcare. Villagers could not afford to eat properly or buy nutritional supplements or appropriate medications. They did not have access to safe water for drinking or bathing. They did not know proper ways to handle excrement. They did not have fuel in which to cook by, or boil water. They typically could not afford to travel to reach a clinic or hospital, and due to fear of medical costs, they would often remain in the village and die.

Other challenges were inadequate or nonexistent diagnosis before treatment; ineffective treatment; and the pervasiveness of superstition, ignorance, and influence from witchdoctors.

The responses to our initial classes helped us shape our current program. We center our Healthy Village and Family training around the most significant health challenges, like Malaria, AIDS, STD’s, tuberculosis, pneumonia, diarrhea, goiter, anemia, malnutrition, worms and other parasites, lack of prenatal care, limited access to immunizations, and lack of clean water and sanitation.

We have been blessed with some donations of medical supplies from friends in the states. And because of the generosity of others who share our passion to eliminate the suffering of the Ugandan people we have been able to add bandages, some medications, beds, mattresses, bedding and mosquito nets to the clinic. There is a lot more training that needs to be done, to share knowledge and prevent preventable deaths and suffering. Medications are difficult for the locals to procure for the clinic. But with funding we’re able to buy medications for them. The general lack of donations forces us to be resourceful and creative…to improvise; banana leaves for bandages, ways to recognize and diagnose anemia, malnutrition, worms and dehydration without equipment or tests; methods in which to treat water without cooking fuel or power; ways to cook without charcoal or firewood.

Why is it okay for a woman giving birth in Uganda to be 100 times more likely to die in labor than a woman in a wealthy nation? Why is it okay for 200,000 babies to die every year? Why is it okay for 320 people to die DAILY in Uganda alone from Malaria…mostly children and pregnant women? Why does life or death depend on where one is born?

There are many challenges that face the people of Uganda that need to be addressed. Want to roll up your shirt sleeves and work beside us? Find out ways you can help change the lives of people in Africa. Check out our website; www.onecityministries.org

Another Top Ten...

2009-03-17T18:26:00.004+03:00

For the last several weeks, we have experienced power outages more often than ‘onages’… and I know that’s not a word, but here in Uganda, everything goes.

Being without electricity is good for some things…it challenges you to think of new and creative ways to do things like; dry your hair (those cute, next to worthless battery operated camping fans) cook, cool off, entertain yourself (no TV, radio, computer or lights...) and keep your food from spoiling. I haven’t figured out ways to do any of the other things, but in my ‘down time’ I did think of…

The Top 10 Reasons You Don’t Have Power in Uganda…

1. A lightning bolt wiped out the transformer
2. A driver hit the pole with the transformer
3. A storm took out the three electric poles
4. Someone stole the electric poles
5. Someone stole all the electrical cables from Kampala to Karamajong
6. The power company neglected to record your payments and is punishing you.
7. They are selling all the power to Kenya
8. There isn't enough water left in Lake Victoria to keep two dams running
9. The man at the main switch is gone, or sleeping, or talking to someone...
10. We had power yesterday. We have water today. What do you expect?

And by the way, the rates for electricity have gone up 40% this month.

A Lost Christmas Letter

2009-01-14T16:51:00.019+03:00

Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, 'The Lord is my portion;'" Lamentations 3:22-24

Hello! Abeeka bali batya?

Living on a different continent away from the people you know and love means meeting the kind of people you wouldn’t at home: people who will ask us about our night when they greet us in the morning and literally want to know about our night; people that want to shake our hand, just because we’re white; people who have fled their country because of war and genocide in theirs; children who never knew their parents; Taxi drivers, police officers, teachers, pastors, farmers, builders, bed makers, nurses…all who earn somewhere in the neighborhood of $1 - $3 dollars per day (and no, the cost of living isn’t cheap here); people who have a million questions about America and will shyly begin to ask us things like, "is it true that all Americans have cars?" "have homes?" "go to school?" (See, I’d be asking about bathrooms but that’s just because I know about them and miss them!) They want to know "how we walk in the snow, why we have Thanksgiving, what we do at Christmas, why the Kennedy family has so many problems, why we read, lay in the sun, and my all time favorite, "how many cows and goats did you get for your daughter when she married?"

We’ve met Roman Catholics, Protestants, Pentecostals, Born Agains and Muslims; About 20 percent believe in local religions, including a proliferation of old traditional customs centering on spirits, spirit possession, witchcraft, witchdoctors and child sacrifices. Really.

To watch the people here is quite amazing. Their heads will be from totally shaved to having several pounds of dreadlocks suspended in a cap. In the city everyone tries to dress "smart." The rest of the folks are somehow dressed in American’s hand-me-downs. Most children are in rags. Out in the bush, In the villages and in the IDP camps the women and children are naked, or raggedy, or in the traditional dress of busuiti’s or gomasi’s.

We’ve begun to know which young boys will be selling bizarre trinkets all along our drive into town; which old women will come out and sit alongside the road as the day begins to cool, selling her bananas, potatoes, matoke…which children will be walking up the steep hill past us early in the mornings, stopping only to throw rocks up into the immense Mango trees hoping for the prize of a mango to fall down for their breakfast as they head off to find water, or wood, or food before their long day at school. The occasional cow that breaks away from its tree and heads out down the middle of the road still causes us to laugh as it seeks an escape route.

Mainly there have been scores of people with kind hearts who have welcomed us into their homes and lives. They have shared and trusted us with their stories…there is a lot of pain in this country. We look around and see extreme poverty and hardships. But they say, "this mango is a gift from God; This morning’s rain was a shower of mercy upon us; My healthy child is a miracle. Perhaps tomorrow we will not have such things, but our hearts are so full of God's compassion. He is my portion."

The children whose sweet and adorable faces grace this years Christmas card are not the faces of our own kids that are far away from us this year. These are children that God has put into our lives that we’ve hugged, cried over, prayed for, prayed with. They have taught us to not "be consumed." With God’s grace, and all of you back in the states, we have been able to sow into their lives with health workshops for their families, school fees, beds, medical supplies and equipment for medical clinics, first aid training, food, mosquito nets and HUGE amounts of love and TLC. That’s what God’s been doing in less than three months! The near future holds more trainings, marriage conferences, a new medical clinic, latrine construction (thank God!), vocational trainings and some exciting economic development programs.

We deeply miss all of you that we know and love…who know, yet still love us! But God continues opening doors for us in Africa to touch and be touched by people and stories we would never have known. We hope that somehow in our sharing of them, you feel connected and part of their lives, part of their future. Drop us a line sometime…we’d love to know what’s going on in your lives too! Hope to see you all when we visit in July. Merry Christmas and a wonderful New Year to you all!
Mwebale nnyo! (thank you very much)

With Much Love,
Mike and deb

note - our Christmas card and letter was mailed from Uganda over three weeks ago. But since no one has yet recieved it, we decided to post it!

Everyone Travels By Boat

2009-01-02T13:44:00.011+03:00

I'm a chicken.
This does not come as a revelation to anyone who even sort of knows me.
Not this kind of chicken...

I watched the neighbor fatten this guy up for a few days before he mysteriously disappeared. I knew what was going to happen. I even tried to talk Mike into a late night rescue of the poor guy. But alas, he became Christmas dinner. I've stopped giving names to the chickens, cows, goats and roosters that hang out by our kitchen window. They will be someone's meal.

The kind of chicken I'm referring to is the new reputation I have in a fishing village across Lake Victoria that Mike and I visited earlier this week.

The fishing village is maybe 30 kilometers from Kampala.
By boat.
Have you seen the boats here? Well, truthfully I hadn't either, but that makes no difference. I've seen how other things are built and maintained.
And if the boats are ok, why did our host give us an option...by land or by sea?
I chose by road. I may have chosen wrong. I don't know how many kilometers it is by land; it can't be that many. By boat the trip was 15 minutes.

The journey began perfectly. It was a beautiful day, pretty much like all the days here. Many of the cities folks were still out in the villages visiting family for Christmas, so traffic jams were not a problem. The road was nicely paved and a pleasure to drive on. Mostly.

Just as we were moving along at a pretty good clip, Godfrey, our host let us know that we were about to turn on a road that was not “as nice.”

About 50 kilometres out of town, the pavement was turned off like a tap. We had turned onto a horribly washed-out dirt road.

You have to envision this…deep mud ruts ground into the red clay, loose stones that make you slide, boulders blocking clear areas that weren’t axel deep holes, parts washed out so much we weren’t sure if we were still on the road or a path through the jungle; twisting turns around hills on a path barely wide enough for one vehicle. We’ve been on some bad roads here, but this was so bad that no amount of skill, no weaving, no speed variation could dampen the blows.
The Big Horn was traveling in a controlled fall bouncing from spot to spot.

Bouncing up and down for over two hours of our trip kept us praying for a decent bathroom and soon. Though by the looks of our surroundings, it wasn’t promising.

After three and a half hours of spine wrenching insanity, we had arrived.

The Orphanage we pulled up to was like an oasis in the desert. Neatly built houses, grass covering the front yards…and there…gleaming in the sun, pit-latrines. The one they unlocked for us must have been a special “guest” bathroom as the others weren’t locked.
I don’t really want to imagine the others.

Immediately, those in charge of the orphanage we’d come to meet with began inquiring as to the method we traveled. Seems coming by land is simply unheard of. To avoid too many explanations, I simply answered, “I’m not very comfortable on the water.” (not a stretch, by the way)

By the time the director of the camp found us, a highly-educated, well spoken native Ugandan moving around the hills and rocks of the camp via wheel chair, my ‘fear’ had preceded me. He very seriously focused on Mike and asked, “Do you have a pool at home?” Mike replied, “In Florida we did.” “Well then, you must immediately cover it, for your wife is not comfortable on water.” I didn’t know what to make of his comments as this was the first time we had encountered a Ugandan with an American sense of humour.

December and January in Uganda is like the American’s “summer vacation.” So while on a break from school, this village was hosting a ‘summer camp.’ Some 5000 children are sponsored into one camp per year. They’re doing awesome work in this village. This particular day, a pastor was very boldly delivering a message on premarital sex, STD’s and HIV/AIDS. His candidness was even making me blush.

This village is run by a church just across the lake (had I opted to go via boat, I would have seen the church I was told…a few times), and sponsored by donors in Texas and California. The neatly built concrete and brick homes sat on tidy grounds, and inside were 3 bedrooms, a living room and an eating area. The homes hold 16 children and a house mama. The bunk beds were stacked three high.

The children currently living here are from 6 to 19 years of age; orphans, or children who do not have families able to care for them. Children that weren’t part of the camp this day were busy washing their clothes in wash tubs and hanging them to dry or preparing the mid-day meal in the kitchen houses (separate buildings to keep the smoke out of the main homes.) They were neatly dressed, clean, busy, and had clearly been around white people enough that few spent much time gawking at us.

Here, there is an agricultural program in full swing, a medical clinic (with doors and windows, equipment and a real nurse), family garden plots where much of the families meals come from, schools, boreholes, a method for safe water, a generator which keeps some lights on and refrigeration of some foods.

Awesome. What were we doing here?

Before joining our host and his wife (both teachers at this school) for lunch in their sweet, humble home, about the size of one of your closets (and they care for three family members, have one baby and one on the way), Godfrey wanted to take us to visit the fishing village. We were feeling pretty good about this place! Lead on!

This time he gave me the choice of walking or driving. Which is funny only because there is NO way to get a vehicle through this area and down to the fishing village.

After about 10 minutes into our walk, we saw children running towards us…lots of children yelling “mzungus.” The children in Uganda always put a smile on our faces. They are beautiful, curious, and loveable. Except those that have never seen a white person. That happened on our drive in. A young girl about 10 got a glimpse of our white faces and with a horrified expression on her face, grabbed her baby sister and ran!

We were immediately guests of honour. Africa is like that. We arrive and instantly, betrayed by the color of our skin, are assumed to be members of the super-rich. It’s difficult to adjust to being a spectacle. White people here are loved as givers of gifts, misled by scammers, reviled for a history we didn’t condone, envied by the disenchanted motivated.

You must be careful to not develop an unintentional haughtiness because without question you are more knowledgeable and richer. That jab of uneasiness we feel is comforting, reminding us that this is unearned respect…not automatically due. It keeps us humble.

As we began walking through the village, time seemed to slip out of gear. Everything was happening in slow motion.

The children had grabbed hold of Mike and I. Two little girls had a death grip on each of my hands, and they weren’t letting go. They tried to shoo the other little girls away, but they weren’t easily dissuaded. The same was happening to Mike with the little boys of the village.

They all just wanted to put a hand on us. Just touch us. As I stood numbly, and helplessly staring at a young woman with scabbed over cuts and blue and purple swelled bruises all over her face, I felt one of the girls rubbing my arm; one putting her little hand up my sleeve. They wanted to touch our skin.

The pastor was speaking to the woman in a language we weren’t familiar with. She sat stoically, answering his questions, while keeping a suspicious eye on us.

The huts were partially washed away, some completely gone. The floors covered in cow dung, mixing with the odors of raw sewage, trash and dead fish was almost more than we could bear as we walked through.

These children had everything. That is if you count lice, ringworm, hookworm, scabies and malnutrition. I can’t deny that for a few minutes my mind was trying to think of ways to protect my skin and hair from the things oozing out of their skin and heads. As they desperately tried to communicate in their language, or with their eyes, or smiles, or curious expressions, you can’t help but fall in love with them.

The little girl who had grabbed my left hand apparently needed to run and fetch something. She and the little girl on my right had a brief conversation as she was moving my left hand into the other little girls hand. The pastor laughed and shared with me that she was getting her friend to “save her place” with my hand…not to let anyone else get my hand until she returned.

We could barely walk with the number of kids clinging on to us. Suddenly a wildly excited man came running over yelling something to the people and the pastor in a still unidentified language. The pastor talked with him for a moment before the young man moved away. He explained to us that the man was high on opium. Something available in the village. Home grown. He had cut off three fingers of his left hand, “just because he could.” Possibly the happiest man in the village.

He freaked me out a little when he came back up to me, grabbing my hands and shrieking something. The children all laughed. He seems to have made a joke. I was glad I didn’t understand. He was covered with sores and his eyes were yellow, red and glassy.

There is no school here. A couple of the fortunate ones are sponsored by the village down the hill to attend school; sometimes their mothers let them go. None of the children speak English. They don’t have medical clinics, beds, mosquito nets, medicine, soap, water, or enough food. They don’t know how to farm. It’s a fishing village.

The men beat the women, and the village people mind their own business. The men leave for months at a time to fish different waters, leaving the women and children to fend for themselves.

HIV/AIDS is rampant, as is every other illness and disease you can imagine.
The pastor grabs a few shillings from our host and buys some fish from one of the fishermen. The eyes of the dead fish blankly staring are remarkably like the eyes of most of the adults in the village.

It’s hard to talk the children into releasing our hands and head back down the path to their homes as we start traveling the opposite direction. Just 10 minutes from hope. 10 minutes from civilization. 10 minutes from the 21st century.

We spent the rest of the evening trying not to think about them. But every night they’re in my dreams. I move between despair and seething at their condition. At the lack of assistance; the lack of care; the lack of opportunity.

We’ll visit them again soon. Probably by boat.

Hope

2008-12-09T19:33:00.012+03:00

It's unbelievable how beautiful the children are here.

It's equally unbelievable how poor this country is.

We recently traveled to the northern sections of the country...up into Kitgum and Gulu, two of the hardest hit areas of the infamous Joseph Kony and his Lord's Resistance Army.

I can't really tell you how many villages, trade centers and districts are between here and there. Sometimes you're not certain you've left one and entered the next except that you see kids...hundreds of kids...in brightly colored school uniforms; and each village, district and trade center wear different colors.

It's an awesome site, for lots of reasons. First, the kids seem so happy. They're walking along all holding hands and talking animatedly. When they see us drive by, they all stop walking and begin waving and shouting, "hello mzungu...goodbye mzungu." The colors of their shirts and shorts are all strikingly bright and "happy!" If you get close though, you'll see how tattered they are. Kids will maybe have two uniforms for the school year, and they WILL be handed down the following year...many only have one.

But also, it's a sight we love because it means these children are going to school! Wipe out the school building, curriculum, books, teachers, etc., picture you have in your mind. It's very different here.

If there's actually a school "building" in the different villages it will be a mud building with no roof, or a leanto with a tin roof; sometimes it's a brick building that does look a bit like a school building as we know them, but will have no windows. Mostly, school out in the bush is under a mango tree.

Not all kids go to school though. School fees are typically more than most parents make in a whole year. While the country requires parents to send all children to school, some simply cannot afford it (and are at risk of being jailed) nor can Uganda enforce it. Ask why. Go ahead.

No one really knows how many kids are here...up until recently, there haven't been birth certificates, or any record of births! When we talked to former abductees of the LRA, young adults who were abducted and forced to serve in the army as young children, not one of them could tell us for certain how old they are now, or how old they were when they were abducted. They all sort of estimate their age. They simply don't know. They don't have "birthdays." Talk about being lost in the shuffle. Is it any wonder child sacrifices are so prominent here? Who knows the child existed in the first place? That's another whole story though.

While most children love attending school and see it as their way out of the poverty, there are just as many that don't have the opportunity. Their families think they need them more at home doing chores than their children need school. Life is hard in the bush. Really hard.

Those are the other kids you see on the side of road on your way to anywhere Uganda. There is water to be fetched from a borehole or river far away; there's firewood to find and cut, though in most areas the forests are depleted; there are cows to get to pasture (if a family is fortunate enough to have a cow or two,) clothes to wash (I think it's hard to do our laundry in the sink; imagine a washboard down by the river); there are younger siblings to care for.

For many kilometers as we were traveling north, the countryside was a beautiful, lush green. As I watched it change to a deep orange, I thought we had suddenly come to an area where there had been a fire, or everything was dead. But in looking closer, I realized everything was coated with a thick layer of clay colored dust. It stayed that way all the way into Kitgum. Breathing actually becomes difficult because of the thick dust.

I will never cease to be amazed at the women walking along the road carrying the most amazing things atop their heads; bananas, matooke, piles of laundry, baskets of vegetables, bundles of firewood, while at the same time balancing two jerry cans filled with water...and did I mention the baby on their backs? They make it look so easy! You often see young girls practicing this talent, so apparently it's not a skill you're born with...it takes a good deal of practice. It reminds me of my early schooldays when I was trying to learn to balance a book on my head to teach me good posture...I couldn't even do that!

These filled jerry cans weigh 45 pounds each! I was able to pick them up, sort of. Taking a step with them was another story...and if I had things on top of my head and a baby on my back, I would have to stop walking and pull out my cell phone begging Mike to come pick me up in the car. Not an option these ladies have. Life is hard in the village. Very hard.

Education, quality education equals hope here. But there are a lot of things wrong with the education system. Ask any teacher or administrator. Teachers have long hours and large classes (sometimes 200 students with one teacher and an aid), few resources, no books, little pay. Teachers make about about 200,000 shillings a month which is about $105 USD. Take out their "taxes" which is about 10% (no one knows what the tax is for or how it's spent) and figure in the cost of living (which is surprisingly high here) and they're in the hole a good 400,000 shillings per month. And these are the fortunate ones that were able to make it through Senior 6 and graduated from a "teachers college." Sigh. Sometimes it's overwhelming to even think about. Imagine if you were living it!

Tomorrow I'll share some stories from The IDP Camps (Internally Displaced People's Camps) we went into. Devastating. But let me leave you with, there IS hope on this continent. People want to believe that. And people like YOU who are reading this and supporting this ministry or others in Africa are helping to spread that hope. We've been so blessed to spread that hope in concrete ways to so many because of YOU! Thank you!

Target...Mzungu Driving A Car

2008-11-20T13:57:00.000+03:00

Yesterday was a good day. A very good day.

After searching for a vehicle for six weeks and losing all the deals because Barclay's Bank in Uganda "lost" TWO wires from our U.S.Bank for over THREE weeks with little concern, we finally landed our funds and vehicle.

We've definitely learned a lot as we've had to maneuver around town via boda bodas, feet and overcrowded matatu's.

Last Friday night on our way home via taxi after the Global Leadership Summit, Mike and I were left somewhat dumbstruck as our little driver, Noah, stopped the taxi, put the emergency brake on (thank goodness...we were practically looking straight up at the sky from the backseat) jumped out and hopped on a boda boda and took off. He didn't say anything to us...he didn't even look back. Cars continued to "whiz" past us (that was for affect; there's not really a lot of whizzing going on during rush hour...the traffic is always jammed). Mike and I were just sitting in the backseat wondering "now what?" Mike took it in stride and spent the time thumbing through the days newspaper. I did what any wise person would do...I began text messaging my kids...just in case.

About ten minutes later, the boda boda returned with our driver carrying a water bottle partially full of petrol. He dumped it in, climbed back in and off we continued. Nothing weird about taxis always running out of gas here.

We were feeling pretty good about the Summit. Leadership training is something vastly needed in this country. And there we had been, in a room full of 2000 leaders and pastors from all over Uganda. All wondering what this country needed to do to be the great country it should and could be. There was hope in the conference room. And there were even a couple of local success stories.

There is a long history of ethnic massacres and civil war in Uganda. Strangers have been killing strangers, neighbors have been killing neighbors. And after more than 20 years, there are hundreds of thousands of people dead, more than a million still displaced from their homes and livelihood. Whole families have been destroyed.

Agriculture, electricity, the country's infrastructure-roads, to say nothing of banks and businesses still have not recovered. And even if they had, where are the teachers? Where are the mentors and leaders? The couple of short years that people have tried to return to life outside the IDP Camps and the total support from the UN and benevolent aid are not enough years to adequately train up this next generation who remain to make this country function and great.

So...today was a bad day.

It started out great; a fruitful meeting at the Parliament with the MP from Manafwa, arranged by a Pastor friend. On our way to take the Pastor to catch his bus that would drive him back to Mbale, we were hit with one of the ugly realities of Uganda.

We're a target. We're mzungas after all. That simply spells money. I'm not as ticked about this whole situation as I was a couple of hours ago...the bleeding heart part of me now is saying, "these people have been oppressed for so long, they see a flash of opportunity and they just take it."

So picture this...there's Mike (mzungu)in a suit and tie driving a decent looking vehicle. The opportunity was just too much for this very young, 12 year old looking cop. There are a lot of police here. They remind me a bit of glorified school patrol guards. They're on foot, most don't carry guns (thank God), they don't even have a badge identifying them as police. They "direct" traffic with the use of a whistle, day or night...nothing on them to illuminate them or keep them safe.

We're at a traffic light, the second we've seen in this large city, when this little cop runs up to our car and tells Mike to pull over. "Pull up there and pull over," he says. Mike and Pastor exchange looks. I'm quiet in the backseat hoping that whatever this is, it's quick. I've had to use the restroom for nearly 2 hours now.

Pastor was immediately apologetic for Mike's actions...whatever they were. "He's new. This is his first day to drive here." The cop is not concerned with this. He's smiling; Mike returns the smile, but I can tell from the tenseness of the pastor that this is not going well. "I will have to teach him a lesson. He needs to learn a lesson. You say he is new driving here. Well I will have to teach him. I will have to punish him." What the heck does THAT mean, I'm thinking?

I've heard stories. People have told us that we would be pulled over; for no reason other than we're white. "Don't pay" those same people have told us. "If you do, you will be marked and every cop will pull you over." Oh come on...really? Cops actually want you to buy your way out of going to jail? Which is the only alternative I might add here.

We pull over. Mike and the Pastor hop out. Again, there I am...sitting in the backseat of a car, parked on a hill, quickly surrounded by people staring at me. I whip out my phone thinking, "Surely there must be someone I can call to report this outrage." There's no one. It's only 3:00 am in Florida. I doubt if any of my kids are awake. And what could they do anyway? So I text message my friend in Kitgum and say, "Mike has been pulled over by the police." "Was he using his cell phone?" she asked? "No. They want to 'teach him a lesson' to the tune of 50,000 Shillings." "Politics, huh?" she responded, and continued with, "That's ridiculous. I would have told the cop off and left." It crossed my mind, but he had Mike's drivers license for one thing. Wisely, I was told to stay in the vehicle. If I wasn't so concerned about getting to a bathroom, and soon, I would have gotten out and told him off.

What is amazing (there are so many things)is that the cop so brazenly, with such entitlement and authority told Mike, "this will cost you 50,000 Shillings." Mike responded with, "no" and the cop responded with, "then I will call my supervisor and take you to jail and let the court decide." (like that works here either.) Mike told him to call his authority over...which of course he would not. Something was spoken back and forth in Luganda between the Pastor and the cop...and then he was escorted back to the car. At that point, the pastor handed the cop the money. Mike and I both sat there with our mouths hanging open. We reimbursed the pastor and got him to his bus. We were livid that we were such targets and it was ok with everyone.

In a country where the people have been squeezed and oppressed for, well, as far back as I can find, where 70% are hungry because they can only afford one meal a day (maybe), is it any wonder they learn to survive on corruption?

Many of the working class people here make less than $2 a day. I'm talking about the security people, taxi's, street police. Is it any wonder they try to squeeze the mzungu's?

I'm certainly not condoning "extortion"...but it makes us understand it a bit. When people in authority positions, like police, see corruption commonly occur across the continent, aren't they being raised to believe it's ok? The way to do business? The only way to prosper? WHERE will the leadership come from to EVER pull this country out of the jaws of poverty and corruption?

A Continent Displaced By Civil Wars

2008-11-04T06:27:00.000+03:00

The news is dismal. You watch CNN, right?

There have been special live break-in reports to the already bad news coverage to cover even more bad news. Now it's the DR of the Congo.

Pushed out by rebel forces led by Laurent Nkunda, thousands of Congolese locals are fleeing to Kisoro District in Southwest Ugandan and Nakivale, along the DRC border to already over-crowded "camps"...no, not the kind we send our kids to over summer vacation. The kind with no food, no water, no shelter, no shade, no jobs, no crops, no medical care, no school.

As of last night when we went to bed, the number of people that have left their villages and homes looking for safety and protection from the rebel forces have hit over 1,000,000.

After seeing the aftermath of these civil wars up close and personal, I can only sit, numb, as I watch more unfold...and not too many miles away from where I sit in relative comfort and peace.

It seems so impossible at times. What's the biggest need? What do you do first? Do you feed the people? Give them clean water? A safe place to call home? Health care? A job? First Aid? A bath? Some answers? A government that works?

How do we give them a future?

The first and biggest thing that stand between us and a future for the people of Uganda, or Sudan, or the DR of the Congo, is the belief that such a future IS possible. If we stop believing it is possible, we'll have nothing to aim for. And if we fail to aim, we are guaranteed not to get there.

A better future for the people here IS possible because it's NOT IMpossible!

Granted, this recent crisis unfolding in the DR of the Congo needs troops on the ground regaining peace in a place that I'm not sure even remembers what peace looks like. But past that, there is hope for a future, and it has nothing to do with putting band aids on the gaping wounds of the people.

Beyond this, the problems that exist in the villages and districts need discussion with the people of the villages and districts. Not the kind of discussion where a bunch of aid workers and governments express their opinions.

But an engaged discussion where we're forced to ask ourselves, "How can we engage these folks in creating a future for themselves?" Who knows better what they need than those in need?

When we focus on creating the future of these areas, and we consider engaging the people in the discussions in a very real way, we begin to recognize the importance of listening, empathizing and collaborating well together. We're not here to do the things we think are important, but in hearing the needs of the people, and working with them with integrity and respect.

I think perhaps God is trying to teach this lesson to Mike and me in a very interesting way. We have been stuck together 24/7...lots of times without any other personal contact from anyone else...or power, or Internet, or television, or news, or music. You get the picture.

The wire of our funds to purchase a vehicle (the only real way to get around here) has been floating around somewhere in CyberUgandaBankHell for three weeks. This has added to our frustration, lack of getting things done, and general crabbiness.

We have, during this time, spent many hours talking about things we want to do here. Sometimes one of us has to say, "I'm not sure I agree with that. Help me understand it. Is that making our resources work in a way that creates a future for the people?"

This practice surely will make us better able to create decisions together with the people whose futures we're trying to better. It is making us learn to "play well together" and hear one another, even if our ideas might be different.

We want to help build programs with the core being ownership by the people whose futures depend on them, using their own human and physical resources.

And that's at least part of the answer. Bringing the people into the decisions of what they need. Getting them involved by sharing what they have...allowing them to feel ownership of the problems, and the solutions.

And when our wire finally shows up and we're able to get a vehicle and hit the road, we'll be doing so with a renewed vision to hear the needs of the people, and acting on them. We're thinking maybe we should begin with the banking industry. But even Mike and I don't, on our very best day, have the energy or stamina to take this on!

Note* Not that I was kidding about the bath...it's one thing I'd kind of want...but reports here say that the UN made its first delivery of aid since AUGUST...and it was soap. Soap to the people who are literally starving to death.

Ahhh...The Sounds of Africa

2008-11-01T07:40:00.001+03:00

I wish you could hear the sounds of Africa in the morning. It really is the most extraordinary time.

There are birds calling that I can't quite come close to identifying or describing their beautiful songs. They're hidden somewhere in the giant mango trees that surround us...the same trees that will come alive with movement in a little while as the kids amble off to school or off to run errands. You'll see them looking around for things to throw up into the trees hoping to get lucky enough to hit something that will knock the delicious fruit to the ground for them. But for now, the birds know they're safe up there eating.

Their calls are answered by the monkeys who still seem to evade me. Even though I hear they're crazy wild around here, I've only been able to spot one...once.

The weather is cool in the morning with a refreshing breeze off of Lake Victoria - a view not far to the - oh, right - I'm even more directionally challenged here than anywhere I've been.

You hear sheep naying all around, and on this early Saturday morning, the cars haven't quite begun their obnoxious cacaphony of horns honking and loud mufflers and matutu drivers sticking their heads out the doors calling to folks who might prefer to pay the USG500 instead of climbing the hill by foot.

The lunatic rooster who has the messed up alarm clock is joined about 30 minutes after he wakes me by at least 20 more. The cows and goats chime in, though they seem to wake later...guess they need to pace themselves for that long day of grazing they have ahead of them. The dogs, thank God, have finally gone to sleep somewhere after barking all night long.

This morning I watch a little boy...or girl, you can never be sure by the way they're dressed, stumble out of the snugness of his bed to wander over to their outhouse. Many houses around us are not "self-contained," or...there's no bathroom inside. A question you'll learn to ask when looking for a guest house (hotels here).

He was pushing hard against the door which refused to budge...then started doing a little dance. I felt a tiny bit intrusive, sort of syping on him; but it's fascinating to watch people! Finally, after several minutes, an older sister slowly makes her way out, words are exchanged in luganda, then a slap returned by a punch. Some things are the same everywhere, huh?

I also decided the little dancing one must be a girl. A little boy would have thought nothing of going right there.

The smells in the morning are nice too. The evening breeze seems to blow the diesel odors away and for a little bit, it's almost fresh air. Even the haze is gone early.

The sky is painted these incredible hues of pinks over Lake Victoria where the sun is beginning to rise (oh!! perhaps the Lake is east of us?) And just before it hits the sky full-blown, you begin to see the smoke all around from the women starting their charcoal fires for the first meal of the day for their families.

And so it begins...this day in Africa. In the amount of time I've sat writing this, the day has come fully alive around me. The birds and cows and rosters are now the background sounds, replaced by cars and horns, the blaring of some radio station somewhere...the mosque up the hill, drums somewhere in a distant village, someone practicing the flute, the sounds of mops splashing the nights worth of dust off pavement and kitchen floors...the swooshing of water as the women and children begin their tasks of scrubbing laundry.

If it weren't for the fact that I so love the quiet noises early in the morning before Africa wakes up, I'd probably hunt down the lunatic rooster with the messed up alarm clock and eat him myself.

Today, I Ironed Boxers

2008-10-31T05:59:00.000+03:00

Yes, that is apparently included in the life of mission work.

If there is anyone thinking its glamour (really?) and excitement all the time...feeling needed and doing great works for people...changing lives, saving lives, well, I'm here to tell you that some days you just need to iron boxers.

one of my new best friends. However it weighs about 4 ounces and you have to follow it around to iron as it moves with every stroke.

I guess it took me a few days to fiugre out that we really don't have to wear stiff clothes. After scrubbing them with some pretty harsh detergent and waiting for the sun to come out and shine right in the spot I have room to hang things, I pull them off the line hours later and laugh at the fact that boxers, among other things, can stand in a corner all by themselves. really. (try this if you're bored. Or there must be some reason to do this as a science experiment.)

a view of our clothesline!

This is really no way to treat your husband. After all, he did come in and rescue me last night when there was a roach in our bed. Uh huh, I said a roach in the bed.

Even though he was busy at the time doing something else entirely, he was not going to argue with this crazy person standing there in my nightshirt, slippers in one hand, shoes back on my feet with a flashlight waving wildly, calmly explaining to him, "well, look, it didn't just disappear. It's somewhere in here and we HAVE to find it." He knew there would be no sleeping until he showed me a dead roach...and I mean the exact one I saw alive two minutes earlier. I CAN identify their bodies and he knows this.

So today, I had the brilliant idea that if ironing softens my jeans to the point I can get them on and still bend my legs (with a little work), surely it will work on his boxers. He's tired of wearing cardboard boxes with leg holes.

I'll let you know how that all works out.

our view of the street when we're hanging clothes

Some Things About Uganda

2008-10-29T08:52:00.001+03:00

Negotiating is big here. Pretty much nothing has a fixed price. The one constant, of course, is that the mzungu price is always higher and always the one they give us to begin with.

I don't do well with flexible prices. In fact, I'm a little bothered by them. Even in many of the "large" stores of Kampala and Mbale there are few price tags to be found.

Some mzungu's (Mike) enjoy the game of negotiating here; they'll ask the price; they'll cluck and roll their eyes; they'll say, "that's the mzungu price, what's the real price?" The vendor will often come down a hundred shillings or two (except in the case of vehicle purchases!); then the mzungu will bluff a bit...and eventually buy it or walk away to look at the same thing four feet away to begin the whole process again.

Ususally the price difference isn't that big of a deal. In shillings it sounds like a huge amount, but it often ends up being .10 or .20 cents. Big to them....not so much to you or I. They don't do this maliciously necessarily. It's what the market will bear and we just look like we can afford it.

Still, I have enough trouble converting 3,000 shillings into dollars..."Is this TOO much for a pineapple? How much is that really?" When I do this, the vendors assume I'm trying to get a better price, not figure out how much that is in US dollars. Often my stupidity...and thinking out loud, works out well for me. I will walk away with the pineapple for 1,500 shillings, or about .75 cents or so. I'm still not sure if that's the real price or the mzungu price though.

After just a few weeks here in Uganda, I've learned some things about the people and their culture...some astound and amaze me...some I laugh at...some I am still scratching my head in wonderment about.

there's still a "bride price" that is negotiated between the bride's parents and the groom to be. This is almost always in animals...and people are always wondering what my price was.

If a Mzungu shows up for church, the pastor will, without notice, call you to the podium to deliver the message. I'm not kidding. And the congregation LOVE to hear from us. I've been tempted to ask the pastor to please make me sound smarter as he's interpreting.

"Housegirls" (I grew up in middle class America and the idea of having house help is just uncomfortable for me) They do everything here from washing clothes by hand, gardening, digging, weeding, chopping wood, caring for the children, cooking all the meals, including cutting the heads off the chickens. Most of this is done the good old fashioned way, without electricity...charcoal irons, charcoal stoves, etc. And they earn about $25 - $120 a month. Depends on the employer. Huge for them, by the way. I know I will be happy for the help and I will be happy to help someone by employing them. I just hope I remember my upbringing. (mike's clothes drying on the ground. Undies will be displayed for everyone to see; you might consider doing these on your own, inside!)
It's a source of shame for the men to cook. speechless

Ugandans expect elaborate greetings - it is considered very rude to walk into a shop or even to someone on the street and not begin with a greeting before you plunge into the reason for your visit. "How was your night?" "How is your family?" Like that.

Ugandans are never in a hurry (save behind the wheel of any vehicle going anywhere at any time)

They are huge soccer (it's called football here) fans.

Call us fat...and that's a compliment

You will rarely ever see women wear pants, except in Kampala

Are very religious. The "born again" movement is quite widespread

The Ugandan people work from sunrise to sunset. And still stay up after that cooking and visiting.

They can carry anything on their heads...even young children carry things this way.

Everyone has chores...from the very smallest child who can walk to the oldest person that can still walk

Have little in material possessions, and are quite content this way.

Still find Mzungu's an oddity

Will give Mzungu's the best seat in the house, even if that means moving someone out. A bit uncomfortable.

You don't drink the water...but you can wash your dishes and then eat from them, and wash your vegetables in the water and eat them. Curious.

As annoying as they are (and they are) you NEVER sleep without your mosquito net. And still somehow at least one mosquito will find its way in

Tailors can spend 2 minutes measuring you, and have a whole outfit ready the next day that fits perfectly, still using the old Singer pedal sewing machines. (these were a gift from Pastor James; photo shows us, Pastors son, Lawrence, Pastor and his wife Teddi)

The people use pangas (large machete's) for all their tool needs.

They make their own bricks by hand to build their own homes (except in the case of mud huts; widely used, and a science all its own)

They really like their meat tough and chewy. And they don't care if you've already given the animal they're going to eat a name.

They eat matooke every day. Watch here for a recipe coming soon!

They use very proper English...almost makes me ashamed of my own command of the language. They don't understand any of our slang. And I continue to be a curiosity to them in the way that I speak. Most speak more than 2 languages, and many speak at least 4 or more.

What little electricity they have is somewhat unreliable.

The internet is UNBELIEVABLY slow. I mean really.

The Chinese made stuff here is the worst.

Mosquito's are a constant.

"Beef" is rarely cow. I'm not sure what it is.

Delicious Tilapia. And you can always get french fries.

Milk comes in a bag. You have to be careful not to get unpasteurized. A real issue for my stomach.

Eggs are never refrigerated?

Forget finding a place that knows how to cut my hair. Trish, help!

The roads are by far the worst thing I've ever seen.

Locally grown produce is AMAZING! Avocadoes, pineapples, tomatoes, pumpkins (which is really squash), eggplant, cabbage, onions, potatoes and peanuts galore!

The landscape is lush and beautiful. Mountains, valleys, plantations. The sky is exquisite.

The people are very friendly...but they will wait for you to acknowledge them

"Excuse me" is not part of the vocabulary or culture. You just need to always get out of the way.

The weather is gorgeous

We CAN get CNN sometimes. But usually the only thing on is Big Brother Africa. That's when you're happy the power is out!
There are some very rich people that live here. I just don't know who they are or what they do. But their houses...WOW!

There's a restaurant that serves GREAT pizza! Mamba Point

The children here are either thrilled to see mzungus and run up to you and touch you, or they stare, cry and run away.

Don't wave at someone with an up and down motion of your hand. That means "come here." Which is why little children were following us for days. You wave side to side.

I haven't seen anyone smoke a cigarette here. Well, there was that one guy who rolled up some grass from the hill he was sitting on by the side of the road and lit it...

You don't feel any grudges against white people in regards to slave history.

The exchange rate right now is great! About 1900 shillings to $1 USD

Don't keep your window open at night any further than the largest animal you want coming in. (no screens)

You should always sleep with your slippers in your bed.

You cannot tell time by the roosters crow. They do not understand dawn, or dusk, or noon...or anything in between.

Cats and dogs roam the streets and are always hungry

Transportation is crazy. boda boda's are dangerous and matatus (taxi's) will almost always try to rip you off. Boda Boda's will carry anything!

this cow was just going for a ride, and thankfully, he was still alive

There are things you will miss here...Dark Chocolate M&M's, (I've had eight left in my bag all week...I'm holding out!), family and friends, fluffy pillows, soft toilet paper (ANY toilet paper), family and friends, hot water on demand, electricity, family and friends, pizza delivery, internet, family and friends, a good movie, any movie, reliable bank service, mail delivery, family and friends...roads, family and friends...tupperware.

We don't have to look around very much or very far, however, to be reminded of the blessed life we have. And none of these things that we mzungus "miss" are nearly as life threatening as what the people here have been missing their entire life. Well...the shallow me would say, "except for the M&M's and toilet paper." What IS it with me and toilet paper?

Uncle

2008-09-10T03:26:00.000+03:00

It's been busy. When I was last writing about "stuff" even I didn't know the amount of stuff that has pinned me down. Like a two ton wrestler on top of the 95 pound weakling taunting, "say uncle."

Since I last updated, we've had two estate sales (four full days worth), posted and sold numerous items on ebay, and held a wonderful benefit for the children of Uganda called FrosTEA...which was an opportunity for my 200 snowman to find good homes.

We've filled bag after bag with clothing and shoes, assorted dishes and glassware that have been dropped at the likes of Salvation Army and the Kidney Foundation. We have begged our kids to take whatever items they've enjoyed and appreciated through the years because this is it...treat this as kind of a death really...there won't be another time that we'll have "things" to pass on to them.

The night before the FrosTEA event, a bunch of us went over to our church to set up. My daughters and I had lovingly tagged, tissued and boxed every single snowperson in the weeks leading up to the event. It took several vehicles just to deliver all the jolly fellas, and nearly 20 tables to display them all!

As I looked around the room at the end of that evening before the event, a number of things crossed my mind. First, what wonderful friends and daughters I have who so selflessly gave so much of their time and talent to put this event together (and how much I would miss them!)

And, second...my conscience was terribly troubled. I was remembering tiny village after tiny village that we drove through in Uganda full of impoverished people. I'm coveting 200 snowmen and ticking off the plans in my head for how much food should be served the next day, and in my head are the faces of little naked kids with bobbing bellies chasing after any vehicle that drove across their pitted, dirt roads asking for food or money. I know that what I'm looking at in this room is worth more money than whole villages earn in a year.

The tea was an amazing event. We were embraced by people that really wanted to know what was going on in Uganda, and why. We saw friends we hadn't seen in a long time...and every single snowman found a new home. $6000 was raised, and so was some awareness about the plight of the children in Uganda.

I stopped beating myself up about the ridiculous number of snowmen I'd collected over the years. I started to wonder if God had this amazing sense of humor, or a really big mean streak...having someone like me who collects and saves everything, be moved to let go of it all. Neither, I guess. I think He's pretty serious about His children in Africa. I think His heart is broken when He looks at them; starving, naked, sick, alone, dying, orphaned.

I don't think that Jesus is going to actually physically show up in Africa to pass out clothing to the children, or feed the starving, or hold the sick, or nurture the orphaned. No, I think we all know what's going to happen the next time Jesus visits us here. But that doesn't take us off the hook, does it? Each of us are part of the answer to our hurting brothers and sisters 8000 miles away.

As we continued packing up our home, we hit some really hard places. Passing on the snowmen; simple. Passing on heirlooms to our kids; easy.Going through baby books and photos to pass on to the kids; a little harder. Going through boxes of Christmas ornaments, remembering the stories that go along with each one and realizing our family Christmas traditions as we've known them are over; even harder. Helping Mandy and AJ and their adorable baby kitties move into their own place, knowing something we've taken for granted for years has ended...which was seeing them every single day; harder still. Packing Teddy up to move him to a new home after five years of being under my feet, and always on my last nerve; really sad. Standing in the driveway waving goodbye to my oldest, Jenny, not knowing exactly when we'd see each other again...even I cried wet tears! Knowing that my front row seat (when I could make it) to watching proudly as Jesse spoke right to peoples hearts at every event she put together; heartbreaking.

Hardest of all, though, was going through every teeny thing left in Sean's room. While we all knew each and every single item in there by heart, actually dismantling it was excruciating. And I know that if God wasn't moving us to Africa, I'd never have emptied his room. It's so final. And our home immediately took on a different feeling than that of being our home. This has definitely been a way to "clean house" so to speak. And this was all in a weeks time.

But it's done. I said "uncle" to God a long time ago.

Now we're excited to get there. We'll be in a culture that we don't quite understand yet. We don't presume to know their every need, or exactly what God will have us do. But we will walk slowly through and listen for His promptings ready to serve the beautiful people of Uganda. And as always, we thank you for being on this journey with us!

Big thank you's to:
Dan Weisberg for the great FrosTEA photos; Jesse for the original plan, wonderfully creative ideas and lots of work; Jenny and Mandy for working so hard and stretching so much out of your comfort zones; Donna, Brenda, Tara, Michelle, Michael, Curtis, Char, Lisa, Linda Loopie, Mary Nell, Al and Kathy, PQ, Trish, Heather...this couldn't have been accomplished without your constant help...AJ, for your patience working with us on another video and for an awesome job! All the folks who donated items for the auction; Michael and Michelle Licea, Brenda and Gordan, Trish, Loriann, Cheryl Schuette, Edie Eggert, Curtis Lawrence, Dan Weisberg ~ and of course all of those who attended and so generously contributed to One City Ministries!

Bike, Boards or Boda Boda's

2008-07-06T06:38:00.000+03:00

I happened upon this adorable website today with a little video that I tried every which way in the world to add to my blog so I could share it with you…but alas, you should all know I’m clearly computer illiterate.When my daughter, Jenny, saw the post, she emailed me and said, "call me about images and links." So, this video is brought to you by Jenny!

The story made me smile all over. There is a group of young kids in Uganda that have built the FIRST skate park in their country. By itself I guess that doesn’t sound like such an amazing feat, but it was! It really made me feel giddy with HOPE for them! After you watch the video (it’s only 5 minutes) follow the link to their website and spend a little time getting to know them. Just ten kids living in a district of Kampala that came up with an idea to skateboard and then made it happen! That is not the norm in Uganda. YEA Uganda skateboard union!

What I had been thinking a lot about and working on, before I took a detour to the skateboard site, was getting around in Uganda. Certainly something Mike and I have been doing some talking about lately. For us to drive there will mean;

• taking and passing a driving test (I barely did that here!);
• learning how to drive on the wrong side of the road with a steering wheel on the wrong side of the car!

And I can’t even imagine how a right handed person EVER learns how to drive a stick shift (very common in Uganda). My left hand doesn’t do a whole lot of things…holds my watch…holds the steering wheel while I’m text messaging with my right hand (kidding…just seeing whose paying attention!)

Your first impression of a frenzied road in Kampala propels your senses into a bemusing bedlam. Every passing vehicle is truly within just a hands reach of your own. This must be where mothers all over the world picked up that tired old saying, “keep your hands in the windows or you’ll lose them from a passing car.” Vehicles converge from every direction with any semblance of rules completely cast aside. Brazen horns blast persistently and as you seek to relieve your anxiety with a deep-breath, well, your respiratory organs are attacked by the thick layer of black exhaust fumes hovering in the air from the taxis. Vehicles do not have to pass smog checks.

There are a few other differences in Uganda when it comes to getting around. It doesn’t take your bottom too long to notice that the “roads” are really more like four-wheel drive tracks. Every time the car bottoms out, you feel you must apologize to your driver for clearly being so portly to be weighing down the back of the car so much.

The crumbling roads are pocked by random cavernous hidden potholes. (and those are the roads that actually have some tar on them.) Occasionally your driver will also have to manuever around arbitrarily placed mountain size piles of dirt intended for road repair, while at the same time swerving so as to avoid a head-on collision with oncoming road-dominating suicidal trucks on a fragment of tarmac that is not wide enough for two vehicles.

And just to make things a little more interesting, the roads are packed with pedestrians, bicyclists, cows, students, an occasional goat, chickens, market shoppers, carts, futilely whistling policemen, cars driving the wrong way in lanes that don’t even exist, and swarms of reckless boda-bodas cutting in between all the bumpers. And you don’t have much room to move…there are deep ditches on either side of the street.

In Kampala Japanese vans are called taxis and the man behind the wheel who has spent a fortune on this second hand vehicle and must work the rest of his life to pay his debts and survive at the same time is called a taxi driver. The people who walk everywhere they go and can’t travel very far, are those who cannot afford to buy a taxi, or even a ride in a taxi. They’ll probably live longer that way too! A taxi ride for most costs almost the same amount of shillings they’ll take home for their days work.

We only had to endure this type of taxi travel two times during our visit. You slide back the van door to a jungle of plastic covered animal print seats. They’re made to seat 12 (12 very slim people and only if you all can synchronize your breathing) but the drivers intend to defy the laws of physics every single time and force 17 people in. It was good that I was traveling with my husband, because I’m not sure what strangers lap I would have ended up on otherwise. The only real way to do this is in layers sort of. I imagine it’s wise to introduce yourself to each additional person the cab driver picks up along the way, as they’ll either end up on your lap, or you on theirs.

Boda-bodas, mentioned above, are these rather dinky motorbike taxis and major form of transportation in Kampala...if you don’t count walking. I did not experience this personally…I really had no desire to die my first trip to Uganda. They are speed demons…on the roads that are rocky, full of holes…and trucks. Big trucks. Fuel tankers in fact, that regularly blow up in traffic accidents in Uganda.

Both men and women passengers sit side saddle, leaving one nothing to hold on to, which the locals seem quite used to. While I was white knuckled for them, they would often be reading a book, balancing a load of sugarcane on their head, or clutching tightly to their live chicken dinner for the evening. (How and what Ugandans balance on their heads is worth its own blog entry; keep watching!)

I was trying to pay close attention to driving in Uganda. I realize I won’t always have the good blessing of the precious driver we had on our visit. (the people of Uganda won’t have the good blessing of me having my precious driver!) It seems the only road rule I recognized is to never vacillate; not when turning, not when breaking, passing, or any other driving action. I’m not confident enough to obey that rule, however. I did notice that if you can make a really mean face, it could help.

If you are a mzunga (have we talked about that yet? That’s “white face” in the luganda language) and you are involved in an accident of any sort, it will always be your fault. This is okay apparently, because the police are simply looking for a bribe.

You will also see many young men using bicycles to move their impossibly heavy loads. And they seem to always be going uphill. Both ways. So maybe this is where our fathers got their stories of having to “walk to school every day, up steep hills, both ways.”

There is one stoplight in the large capitol city of Kampala. We didn’t stop at it. No one stopped at it. We were told it was put in for the Queens visit a couple of years ago. It’s right outside a large new hotel that was also built for the Queens visit. None of the locals can afford to stay there.

There is something that’s working in my favor when it comes to driving…Most of the people have no concept of time. While it’s embarrassing to be 15 minutes late in the U.S, it’s quite acceptable to arrive several hours late in Uganda. When making travel plans in Uganda, assume there will be a communication breakdown at every level. Don’t give specific times when making arrangements. Give time frames. Like, I will meet you for lunch between Tuesday and Thursday.

You know, I’m thinking that as I pack for Uganda, I should throw in some knee pads and elbow pads…and a skate board. That would be a traffic stopper, huh?
Don’t forget to check out these awesome kids at
http://www.invisiblechildren.com/blog/2008/03/18/uganda-skateboard-union/

Visitors Welcome. Really!

2008-06-28T04:51:00.000+03:00

Today, just an update of what’s going on in and around our new place of abode!

You’ve probably heard me go on and on about the two decade civil war in Uganda between the Ugandan government and the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) led by the crazed Joseph Kony and his band of mostly abducted children (there have been 35,000 over the twenty-three year war.)

For two long years, a large team of negotiators, including representatives from Kony himself, hammered out what finally became a peace treaty everyone could agree upon. On the day, well, three different days that Kony was to make a personal appearance to etch the treaty in granite, he was a no show. No surprise really. He wants to be a totally free man with demands of a stereo, television, some money, and a place to call home. (some of his demands make him sound almost like a middle-school boy). The International Criminal Court wants to try him. Who can blame them? His ruthlessness has left a path of destruction from the northern parts of Uganda, into Sudan, the Congo and Central Africa Republic, raping, killing tens of thousands of people, mutilating, uprooting lives, destroying families, and bringing economy practically to its knees. Is there something worse than to its knees? 'Cos I think it's actually worse than that.

Fast forward to today (well earlier this week)…while Kony is expressing interest in continuing the negotiations, Ugandan President Yoweri Museveni is saying “the talking is over,” and it now appears that any hope of bringing all parties back to the table have taken a serious hit after the eight negotiators for the LRA quit, citing Kony (their boss) as the reason. They seem to think he’s dishonest and fabricating things. Hmmm, ya think?

Add to this the little fact that just days after his unkept appointment on the Congolese-Sudanese border for peace treaty signing purposes, his brutality and abductions began again. Some 350 additional people have been abducted…Sounds just like a man interested in peace.

And then today,(literally) it was reported that The annual Failed States Index has ranked Uganda as the 16th most unstable country in the world in 2008. The Index is compiled by Foreign Policy magazine and the Fund for Peace, determining the rankings based on 12 indicators. Some of those are: Chronic and Sustained Human Flight; Legacy of Vengeance-Seeking Group Grievance or Group Paranoia, Massive Movement of Refugees or Internally Displaced Persons creating Complex Humanitarian Emergencies; Progressive Deterioration of Public Services; and Widespread violation of Human Rights. Guess where the USA ranked.

They’ve assessed Uganda’s level of vulnerability to collapse or conflict as “critical”. Their report continues, “High levels of internal displacement, uneven development, demographic pressure and the “delegitimization of state” contributed to the Index’s ranking of Uganda. All three countries where LRA rebels are now active - Central African Republic, DR Congo and Sudan – were ranked in the top 10 of most unstable states.

This has been a drawn out blood bath of a war that’s displaced millions (yep, a number with 6 zeros after it) into camps that mostly function, look like, smell like, act like, prison camps. That have traumatized hundreds of thousands, that have crippled the economy, that have paralyzed the people from attempts to move back into their villages. The easy answer of who’s responsible for this, if this were a “whodunit” would be Kony, I guess. But after sifting through books, tons of research, interviews and current events, there are no easy answers.

Just a lot of worn out, brutalized, wounded, starving, desperate, beaten down, innocent people. And that’s why we’re going to Uganda.
Think they’ll give me a job with the Ugandan Tourists and Visitors Bureau?

Stuff

2008-06-26T04:35:00.000+03:00

If my friends who know me best were asked to list three things that stand out about me, I think they’d be:
1. she’s short
2. That cart she’s always wheeling around behind her filled to the brim with all kinds of stuff, and
3… well, I guess those two things pretty much summed me up!

Stuff. I seem to like stuff. I find stuff, I buy stuff, I collect stuff, I always seem to have an over abundance of stuff…must be some sickness from my early childhood or something.

I don’t like to be without stuff, and I can never have too much stuff! If I need to wrap a present for someone, I’ll go to Hallmark and buy a new roll of wrap, because the 20 or 30 rolls I keep stashed in my “stuff” closet might be needed for something else someday.

I’ve been known to be quite proud of myself when someone asks me if I might have some certain “stuff”…and I can happily produce it! A bar of soap with a hand-painted snowman on it…Of COURSE I do! Two hundred black Over The Hill Birthday napkins…most certainly, AND I can throw in the black candles as well…probably even some of those pointy birthday hats with a glittery “60” on them, though not a complete set. (I don’t know why I have those…no one in my home has even hit 60 yet, though my husband is getting pretty darn close!) A tin container of Prang water colors? You bet…and it’s never been used. You catch my drift. It’s a sickness.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the “stuff” I might want to take to Africa. The things I might miss most…the things I’ll really, really need!

It’s not the first time I’ll be packing up a house. I’ve moved around a bit in my life. Something interesting that I’ve found is there’s a lot of “stuff” I’ve boxed up, never to be seen again. I’m not sure exactly what’s happened to it all…it just ceased to exist.

Quite honestly, looking around my house at all my “stuff” has left me somewhat paralyzed. I don’t know where to begin. And the 5,000+ square feet in this house hasn’t even been big enough to house all my stuff! We also have a storage unit! I don’t know how big that is…I don’t even know what’s IN it! I just know that a little more than 9 years ago, we filled it up with a bunch of stuff and we’ve never looked back. Except once a month when we pay the bill and say, “what’s even in that stupid storage unit?”
Tomorrow we’re emptying it out. Surely I’ll find missing stuff that has left a giant void in my life for nine years that will be filled tomorrow!

No, I’m over the stuff. I started to make a list of the things we would need to take, and aside from the obvious, like, toilet paper and lots of packs of tuna and some peanut butter (not together!) to tide us over until we take a liking to deep fried crickets, and toilet paper, as well as those few things that are totally for vanity purposes...Dove Soap and Herbal Essence Shampoo, (oh, and a razor) I’ve realized it’s not that stuff that I’ll be missing in Africa.

It’s the intangible things that are so much a part of my life that I haven’t really been able to separate myself from them.
It’s sitting in the bookstore with my cute little friend, Michelle…chatting for hours, non-stop, drinking African Autumn Bush Tea, and needing more time even though the store is closing…
it’s seeing Brenda or Donna or Char come bounding across the church foyer, going out of their way just to grab me and give me a hug.
It’s my shorter than me friend, Linda loopie, that can practically read my mind, and actually gets a kick out of my shortcomings instead of being frustrated by them…
It’s my accountability sisters, Judy and Susie, who have tried desperately to fix me for the last five years, every Thursday morning over bad coffee and $10 egg whites.
It’s working side by side with my little daughter Mandy on Sunday’s…family dinner/game night, whether she’s chopping things or just chatting with me.
It’s the same 14 text messages I get from my middle daughter, Jesse on Sunday… “fam dinner?” “yep.” “What time?” “Oh, 7’ish, as usual.” “Okay…I’ll be there…I’ll bring dessert.” And then at 7:15… “I’m enroute…I’ll be late, don’t wait!” I should note here that family dinner/game night was her idea many years ago! And we never eat before 8.
There’s my second set of accountability sisters (I need lots of help apparently) that love me, even though I seldom make it to our morning rendezvous…Tammy, Jeanne & Katherine…
There’s Christmas …a time when all the kids come back home. I’ve never imagined life without that! The last few years, we’ve been blessed to have the “outlaws,” my youngest daughter’s in-laws, join us for Christmas. They’re not the typical outlaws…Al and Kathy, and their beautiful daughter Ari…they’re family…we’re tight. We’re comfortable. They even became part of our Christmas Eve jammie tradition!
There’s my son-in-law, AJ, who reminds me of the “not cool” things to say these days…who's always there when we need him…(except to follow us to Africa!)
…that my oldest daughter, Jenny can fly in or drive in from D.C to see us any time she feels like it…or that I’m ten hours from my mom and sister if I need to get there. There are so many relationships…
Then, there’s our son Sean. Well, he pretty much left before us. His stuff is a little different to me, and frankly still puzzling me. Sean died nearly a year ago, at age 18, his “stuff” is all we have left of him. His stuff, and his ashes. Which is of course how I figured out we’re supposed to go to Africa…I’ll save that for another day.
And there’s our dog, Teddy…well, not so much.

These are the kinds of simple pleasures that fortify my ordinary life; and I will miss them. More than my unopened box of 64 Crayola’s, or my china or silver…or antiques, more than my collection of sea shells, and buttons, ribbon and stickers and snowmen… more than my books, or even my twice kicked habit of dark chocolate M&M’s. Without these things, these pleasures—the relationships, not the M&M’s, though now that I’m thinking about them, also the M&M’s—I won’t be nearly as prosperous as I am right now.

It’s never been the “stuff”…it’s always been the people. It’s the people in my life that have made me so rich.

This will make my packing a lot easier, since the important stuff I can carry in my heart…which will leave lots of extra space in my carry on for dark chocolate M&M’s.

Mma? Hmmmm?

2008-06-20T00:47:00.000+03:00

You've probably noticed the funny little word in front of my name... "Mma." This was given to me by my youngest daughter, Mandy, who not only awakened my burden for the suffering in Africa, but also introduced me to my new favorite recreational reading material...The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency; A series of books written by Alexander McCall Smith, with the main character, (Mma. Precious Ramotswe, the "traditionally built" South African woman) commonly referred to as the "Miss Marple Of Botswana." A great escape, yet keeps me feeling connected to Africa!

It's evident page after page that Mr. Smith was born and raised in South Africa, a place that offered up many stories, a place that once you've been, you're always deeply connected to. The "Mma" is part of the traditional greeting in Setswana used for all females. Just FYI, the equivalent for men is Rra...(roll your tongue hard on that one!)

No one told me that when you first put your feet on African ground, you'd be hit by a feeling of overwhelming understanding, a feeling of returning home and quickly realizing that you belong. Frankly, I hadn't thought much about that. In April of 2008 we made our first trip to the continent we'd soon be calling home.

Instead, I had important, urgent issues on my mind like, what would the bathrooms be like? Would there be toilet paper (tip:when traveling there, take a roll!) What were my chances, really, of contracting malaria? Would I really get all tangled up in the mosquito net at night? How does something with holes in it actually protect one from mosquitoes anyway? Would we really be served bugs, and would I be able to discreetly pass those to my husband to consume so as not to appear rude and ungrateful? Would I ever be able to get a hot shower...or any shower at all? How would I brush my teeth with unsafe water? Really, no air-conditioning?

Like most Americans (I'm not taking this rap alone) I'm used to a certain standard of living. In my "poorest" days, I don't ever remember being concerned about drinking a glass of safe drinking water (heck, growing up, I never even knew there was such a thing as "unsafe" drinking water); I could take a shower just about anytime I wanted...in fact my first 12 or 13 years of life, I mostly recall having to be threatened to even get into the bathtub. I never lost sleep over the possibility of being bitten by something that would give me a disease that would kill me...nor did I ever worry about this with my own children. As I've grown up (well, older) and become even more "adjusted" to this privileged life style, my body has been conditioned to not be able to respond to any temperature outside of 71.5 degrees.

And so it was...with these bizarre worries, my roll of travel toilet paper, anti-biotics, mosquito repellent with a deet level double the recommended percentage to safely spray on ones skin, battery operated fans with enough batteries to probably run Kampala (the capitol of Uganda) and my little "Uganda church dress," I boarded 3 planes, traveled for 20+ hours, and landed...well, home.

And as we continue to sift through our home, the years of collecting and saving everything (yes, I have all of my children's baby teeth!) packing, selling, giving away, pawning off...discarding...I'll use this space to keep my sanity and share the what's, the when's...the why's. Hope you'll join me on the journey!

P.S. Sadly, I truly do covet toilet paper, it seems.