On Being the Worst

I don’t consider myself to be a competitive person. I’ve never played sports and I enjoy playing games for the social fun rather than the joy of winning. In general, I would say I’m okay with not being the best at everything. But the other day I came to a realization. I thought to myself, “I don’t mind not being the best, but right now I feel like I’m the worst at everything!”

Coming to Bundibugyo has brought me back to that humbling, child-like level where I really am the worst at everything. I can’t communicate, I have lost social and cultural graces, my typical gifts, abilities, and even sense of humor have often been lost in the shuffle of adjustment and figuring out survival here.

Has this been hard? A resounding Yes! But am I learning from it also? Another resounding Yes! As someone who so often relies on her own strength, who finds fulfillment in accomplishing tasks, and easily forgets that her identity and worth are found in Christ, I am going back to the basics in more than one way. Multiple times throughout the day I feel discouraged that I am so clueless. But then I remind myself of the truth that “Hey! God loves you the same whether you can do this or not!” What a reassurance! My value is found in my Father and his unchanging love for me, not in whether I excel at a task or am even “operating at full capacity”. Thank you Jesus!

Thankful for Encouragement

Okay…I’m finding the need to be honest and vulnerable yet again! I’m starting to think this whole blog-writing thing is therapeutic for me; it forces me to sit down, think, and process my experiences and feelings of being here in Uganda. So feel free to read along and join in on the processing or patiently wait for a post about some other adventure I’ll have soon.

I’ve had a rough start to the week. On Sunday night my parents attempted to call me. First my phone was not working and I could not hear them. After playing around with the settings and finally deciding to turn it off and then back on (always a good trick to try!), I was able to call them and hear them. Success! Except for the multiple times that I lost reception, the call was dropped, or every fifth sentence was cutting out. It was still good to hear them and I tried to be thankful that we were even able to communicate as well as we did (there was no skype or cell phones not that long ago for most missionaries!). But it had been frustrating and made me miss home when I could call and talk to my mother for an hour at a time from the comfort of my bedroom with crystal clear calling quality.

I went to bed Sunday night struggling with homesickness and wondering yet again, “Why am I here?”. Monday morning I woke up feeling even worse. I had slept little, tossing and turning, and the little bit of time I did sleep I had strange dreams (Mefloquine-induced? Hopefully not!). Throughout the morning, tears welled up in my eyes at the most inconvenient of times but when is it convenient to cry?

I cried out to God, reading David’s laments in the Psalms and feeling equally forgotten. But God is so faithful to fulfill my every need. Amy invited me over for lunch and I knew encouragement would follow somehow. I felt such relief as Amy and Travis assured me that my feelings have been normal, that adjustment to life in Bundibugyo is hard, and that as dark as it all seems right now, God is my loving Father who has brought me here at this time, to this place, with this team for a reason. And it is all for good! I needed that reminder so desperately and God was faithful to provide it through my team leaders. Webhale Yesu (Thank you Jesus) for team!

God continued to shower me with reassurances throughout the day that I had begged him for in the morning. From that most encouraging 90 minute conversation with Amy to emails from friends and family at home to a rainbow cloud (yes! A cloud that had the stripes of a rainbow!), God was holding me close and reminding me of how much he loves me.

An Afternoon in the Life

The screeching brakes of Charles’ motorcycle beckon me from my house. I go out and am happy I can greet him in English. He straps on his helmet and I clamber onto the back of the motorcycle as gracefully as possible in a skirt. We set off down the dirt road; he attempts to dodge ruts and large rocks as we travel. The equatorial sun blazes and he slows to a crawl when driving on a shady part of the road. Sweet relief, even if just for a few moments. I wonder at his ability to wear long sleeves and trousers in the heat. Every few seconds a cry of “Mzungu! How are you?” echoes in my ears as we fly past mud and stick homes. I’m amazed at how young children are when they learn this phrase. Can I blame them for being excited by such a rare sight though? Who is the crazy white lady on the back of the motorcycle?

I continue to marvel at Charles’ driving skills as we make it up seemingly vertical hills and don’t get stuck in the mud puddle at the bottom of one valley. I remind myself to take in the beauy—the banana leaves, the goats lounging in the grasses on the side of the road, and the mountains in all their majesty. We arrive at the outpatient nutrition site; a concrete building in a clearing with a big shade tree in front. Several women have already arrived and are waiting patiently on the grass with their children. We set up under the shade tree—a woven basket scale for weighing babies, two chairs, a table, and a wooden board to measure height. A blue metal trunk filled with bags of groundnut and soybean paste. Set up and ready for clients!

The women file up to the table, placing the well-worn notebooks assigned to each of their children in front of me. I’m amazed that these notebooks survive and that each person seems to have their own portable medical history written in them. Some fare better than others; one looks like an animal nibbled on it while another has a hole of unknown origin clear through the center of the book.

We begin by assessing those that are new to the program—weighing them, measuring height, and their arm circumference, all important factors in a child’s level of malnutrition as well as their eligibility to join the 10 week program. Sadly, most meet at least one of the criteria. We record their names and information in their notebooks as well as in our books.

We weigh those that are already enrolled in the program. I find encouragement in even the smallest weight increase and find myself concerned for those that hover at an unhealthy weight or even lose a few grams. Charles begins to teach a lesson about antenatal nutrition in Lubwisi. I understand none of it but enjoy listening and laughing when everyone else is laughing. Several little girls catch my eye as it roams over the women listening. They smile and act shy. I go over to them and play peek-a-boo with their little sister. Their mother is nowhere to be found but the big sister cares for her younger sister and the other women of the village seem to pitch in too.

Charles finishes teaching and we hand out the nutritious g-nut and soybean paste. Hopefully they’ll remember the demonstration from last week and mix it in with the foods they cook for their children. The dog-eared notebooks are handed back and the newly enrolled mothers receive vitamins as well. I am greatly encouraged by the father who brought his son today. A rarity I think but a true sign of his desire for his child to blossom and grow. He speaks some English and he thanks me for trying to fumble my way through greeting him in Lubwisi. His son cries when the mzungu gets too close.

Charles and I pack up to leave. We thank everyone and head back to Nyahuka. The storm clouds are rolling in ominously over the mountains. Charles drives over the ruts a little less cautiously but staying dry is more important than a smooth ride. I listen for that sound, like a freight train almost, the sound of the sheets of rain coming right before they pour down on you. I feel the first few drops and it is sweet relief from the heat. The drops become bigger and the sky is about to open up as we pull into my driveway. Last week Charles waited the rain out in our living room but this week he chooses to hurry home, still hoping to beat the total downpour. I say good-bye, run into my house, and listen as the rain begins to beat on the tin roof and rivers come pouring off our back porch. Perhaps this is not home yet but it feels a little more like it today.

Written on 10/12

I wrote the post below a few days ago. We were without electricity for 3 days. It seems a little silly to post this now since I'm feeling a lot different today. But I think it will give you an idea of how to pray for me! Here it is:

Knowing how to update this blog has been a challenge for me the past few days. First, there is the absence of power. We’ve been without power for __ hours now and no power means no Internet! Thank you Jesus for solar lights and propane fridges/stoves though.

I think the real reason I’ve been struggling to write a post though is my willingness to be honest and vulnerable. I would love to write about how much I am enjoying my new home, how I’m clearly seeing where I’ll fit in on the team, how I’m learning Lubwisi and loving the people of Bundibugyo, how my health is great. My heart desires self-sufficiency and boasting in my own strength. But God is humbling me and I believe he is calling me to be honest, vulnerable, and weak.

The truth is—I’m struggling. I thought I’d have a honeymoon period here in Uganda when I’d be drawn into all the new adventures and see all the positive aspects of the culture. I expected to hit that cross-cultural brick wall after I’d been here 6 months or so. My expectations were not correct. Maybe I used up all my cultural honeymoon experiences on past short-term trips. I’m not sure. But as I sit here writing, doubt is coming all too easily.

I doubt my decision to leave my family. I doubt that I am where God wants me. I doubt that God will open my heart to love the Ugandan people. I doubt that I’ll ever learn Lubwisi and be able to communicate. I doubt that this place will ever feel like home. I doubt that I will find any sense of purpose or use for my skills (do I even have any skills?) here. I doubt that God is loving and sovereign.

Doubts come easily and trusting God is hard. But I know that God is going to use this time when there seems to be no light to illuminate his love and character to me. And while it may be easy to doubt in the darkness a decision made in the light, I choose to believe that God will bring light again.

I’ve been reading “Calm My Anxious Heart” by Linda Dillow this week. It’s a book I’ve started multiple times in the U.S. and never finished. I’ve devoured it this week though as I have been struggling to cast my anxieties before my Father. In the book there is a “prescription for contentment” from a woman that served in the African bush for 52 years as a missionary. It has been a great encouragement to me and I think it applies to everyone:

• Never allow yourself to complain about anything—not even the weather.
• Never picture yourself in any other circumstances or someplace else.
• Never compare your lot with another’s.
• Never allow yourself to wish this or that had been otherwise.
• Never dwell on tomorrow—remember that tomorrow is God’s, not ours.

It is impossible for me to keep to this prescription on my own. But thank you Jesus for your grace to carry me through and teach me contentment. It’s a good thing the closest international airport is 8 hours away; I think I’d soon hop on the first plane to America. But this afternoon I choose to believe that God has me here for a reason and that His refining fire is working in my life as well as the lives around me.

First Week Experiences

Well, I've been in Bundibugyo for over one week now! It has been a week of emotional ups and downs for me and I have to admit I've been surprised by the weight of adjustment. But, in reviewing the week, I can say I've had a lot of firsts, some more fun than others.

• Within the first 20 minutes of being in my home, I realized the sound of lizards running around in the ceiling would soon become normal. Thank goodness they seem to be quiet at night :)
• I've learned to light my gas stove but am still learning to cook on it.
• I killed my first 3-inch long cockroach that was trying to make its home on my desk. And I saw the handiwork of Chloe, our teammate's dog, in a dead rat in our kitchen. So happy she killed it so I didn't have to!
• I received my first phone call from America.
• I learned how to keep records for the nutrition program as Charles and I went to the health center and an outpatient village site.
• I pinned down goats while Pauline clipped their hooves--definitely a new experience for me. I've never felt so much like a city girl since I've been in Bundibugyo!
• I helped Anna light our propane fridge. Electricity is an amazing thing and something I've taken for granted in the past!
• I went to the Saturday Nyahuka market, a pretty big deal in these parts!
• And so much more...

Firsts are both exciting and exhausting. I'm looking forward to more and also anticipating finding some sense of normalcy in life here. It may be a while before that comes but I'm trusting that God has me here for a reason and He will be glorified in it!

New Home

I've been in Bundibugyo for 4 days now! The range of emotions has been wide from excitement to fear to overwhelmed to joyful. Uganda doesn't feel like home yet but I'm looking forward to the day when it does. Or at least when it feels a little more familiar :)

Here are some pictures of my first day in Bundibugyo:

On the MAF plane from Kampala to Bundibugyo!

A fantastic welcome sign over my desk :)

And for my mother--my new bed, complete with mosquito netting.