Today...and some other days

2 Years Ago Today: I took some radioactive pills that eradicated the thyroid cancer cells in my body. I came home from the hospital and entered my bedroom to be in isolation for 3 days, instructed to drink gallons of fluid and suck on hard candies to keep my salivary glands from being too damaged by the drugs.

1 Year Ago: I was nearing the end of a busy summer of ministry in Bundibugyo. We had hosted 3 interns, I had helped organize a public health fair, and to keep things interesting--my house flooded.

2 Months Ago Today: I flew back to America, knowing I was back for the foreseeable future. I had gotten bumped up to business class and after nearly 4 weeks of travel, I was loving the extra space. My parents greeted me at the airport and as always, I felt a bit disoriented as I entered a home that felt so familiar and yet completely foreign.

Today: My bedroom is tricky to navigate as the boxes take over. I've gotten slightly more used to living in America--enjoying the climate control, carpeting, convenience of smartphones, and orderliness of lines. I miss my friends in Uganda but am thankful for cell phones and being able to connect occasionally. I wish I could grow more accustomed to the constant state of transition that comes from traveling, moving, and switching cultures.

In 2 Days: I will move to Philadelphia; probably the biggest life change of the year. From the bush of Uganda, 8 hours from any real city to a house in a city with a population of 1.5 million. Most of me is excited, a small part is terrified.

I continue to be amazed at what can happen in just a few years or months. God orchestrates the big and little events in life as he pulls me, stretches me, grows me, and uses me. I still battle with the anxieties and stress that comes from transition but I have also learned the freedom that comes from trust. He is my Shepherd and I shall not want. I can move forward free from fear because I know that He loves me. And for that, I am so thankful.

On Being a Honey Badger

“Honey badger don’t care. He just takes what he wants.” –crude (but hilarious) youtube video

Since moving to Africa, I’ve learned a lot about honey badgers. Yes, my first exposure was through the above mentioned video. If you have delicate sensibilities when it comes to profanity, don’t watch it. Otherwise, you’ve probably already seen it since it has a bajillion views on youtube. Anyway, I also learned about honey badgers in depth while on safari with my parents in Kenya. The manager of the lodge we were staying at had worked as a guide in Kruger National Park, in South Africa, and had come across a lot of honey badgers in her time. We had a lively and entertaining conversation (perhaps sprinkled with a few expletives—honey badgers seem to bring it out in people) about this amazing animal.

According to the fabulous internet source of wikipedia, honey badgers are “notorious for their strength, ferocity, and toughness.” They are “virtually tireless in combat and can wear out much larger animals in physical confrontations” and “Bee stings, porcupine quills, and animal bites rarely penetrate their skin.” These little weasel-like animals truly aren’t afraid of anything and seem impossible to be intimidate—taking down lions, buffalo, or cattle.

I’ll admit that I’ve been called a honey badger by more than one person. It’s usually in reference to my direct, no holds barred speech. Or when they’re surprised by my feistiness—how could someone so small and cute also be so scrappy?

There are times when my honey-badger-nature should probably be toned down a bit—when I ought to filter my thoughts that turn into words. But being feisty has come in handy way more than I ever thought it would on the mission field. Paired with my passion for social justice and “getting it done”, I’ve pushed through some decent-sized walls, especially since it seems everything is more complicated here.
An example: our severe acute malnutrition ward at the health center uses a special highly caloric milk formula called F100 to help these babies gain weight. It is supplied by Unicef and our stock began running low months ago. Alisha, our fabulous dietician, had filled out all the reports needed in order for Unicef to supply more—they were back-logged all the way from January 2012! And yet, after turning in the reports, no F100 was delivered. Yesterday the stock officially ran out. What to do? Without the milk, the 20 babies currently admitted would clearly suffer.

As Alisha told me about the dilemma, honey badger kicked in. The phrase my mom has often said to me popped into my head “Put on your big girl panties and deal with it!”. Ha! So I began a crusade for F100. I started calling around—starting with contacts at our health center, then moving on to contacts at a hospital about 20 minutes away. After about 10 phone calls over several hours today, going to Bundibugyo Town, and arriving at the hospital, we found the store room locked. Time to give up? Never! Find a man who looks important, chat with him, invited into his office while he calls yet another person. That person arrives, gets the keys, and bingo! F100—10 boxes plus 6 boxes of other supplies for severely malnourished kids. We’ve now got phone numbers and an open invitation to come get more anytime—amazing!

I certainly don’t credit myself alone for today’s success. God coordinated it so that the right people would be there when we arrived. Josh drove his truck so we could load it all in. Many helpful people gave me phone numbers along the way. Alisha filled out months and months worth of paperwork to make sure we could get it.

I am thankful for my honey badger moments. There have certainly been times here when the stress, the astronomical size of problems, and cross-cultural exhaustion have weighed me down, leading me to be apathetic and fatalistic. Sometimes it just seems easier to give up. But then the Holy Spirit gives me a boost of honey-badger-goodness, giving me the stamina to fight for what is true, just, and necessary.

Missions is not for the faint of heart. If you aren’t willing to put on your big girl panties and find a way, Bundibugyo is not the place for you. But God knew when he was making me that a dash of honey badger in the personality would help with my future calling. And I hope that even after leaving this place, I will be willing to put myself in hard situations with no known answer, to forge ahead, to be forced onto my knees, and to be blessed by advocating for those in need.

On the Eternal View

“Most days I feel like I’m banging my head against the wall.”

I can’t be sure what people envision when they hear “I’m a missionary in Africa”. I feel like the statement conjures up images of safari animals, red dusty roads, black babies with swollen bellies, maybe even pith helmets bobbing along in the jungle. And I have experienced all of that in my time in Uganda—well, pith helmets have been notably absent.

We joke here about the glamour Americans associate with “saving babies in Africa”. And I myself was quite guilty of envisioning an air-brushed version of what life would look like here. And yet, recently, as I’ve been spending some time attempting to process the last 2 1/2 years, I’ve been overloaded by the total lack of glamour that characterizes them. Most days have been spent sweaty, culturally confused, emotionally exhausted, and not entirely sure of exactly what it is that I’m doing here. I’ve found myself saying the initial phrase at the top of this post entirely too many times. Seemingly one step forward and two steps back, whether in language learning, cultural understanding, giving grace, relationship building, community development, advocacy or whatever.

And yet I hang on that word seemingly. Because I don’t really know how the last 30 months have trickled into eternity. In our women’s Bible study this week we talked about Abraham and how he had to wait for God’s promises to be fulfilled. And how some of those promises were not even completely fulfilled until Jesus came. And how some won’t be checked off the list until Jesus returns to make all things new. Meanwhile, I’ve been listening to the sermon series from my home church about Ecclesiastes—how everything this world has to offer is meaningless. And I’ve been re-reading the book “Broken Down House” which has reminded me of the brokenness of this world and the importance of having an eternal perspective.

It seems that God really wants me to get it through my thick head that even if I don’t get to reap tangible rewards right now, he is calling me to the eternal view. The one that makes missing holidays and birthdays with family worthwhile. The one that values muddling through the daily confusions of living cross-culturally. The one that provides hope in desperate situations.

I’ve had plenty of “i-oughta-pinch-myself-i-can’t-believe-i’m-in-africa” moments here. I’ve had lots of moments of joy and laughter. And I trust that some of the things I’ve done will benefit someone. But even without those things, I am looking forward to the day that it all makes sense, when the eternal plan is rolled out and we see how God used moments we never would have guessed were noteworthy.

Highs and Lows

When living in America, I was regularly described as dependable, stable, easy going. Bundibugyo has changed me in many ways. And the wide range of emotions I experience in a day serve as proof. Life here is comprised of extreme highs and extreme lows. While my life in the U.S. was not always the epitome of steady and predictable, I didn’t wake every morning knowing that the day would likely include mountain-top joy and deep valley sorrow—sometimes within the same hour.

Everything seems more intense and heightened here. Within the past week, I have felt hope blossom while teaching a competent employee how to complete the accounting for the nutrition program. I’ve felt joy at holding a sweet five day old baby girl, listening to those gentle newborn sounds. I’ve been impatient at meetings when everyone shows up late. I’ve been sad about missing yet another niece’s birthday. I’ve felt privileged at being introduced in the village as the daughter of my dear friend, Mama Joyce. I’ve been bone-tired from so much human interaction and requests made, as the introvert in me screams for a break. I’ve been re-fueled by a few hours sitting and reading during a rainstorm.

I’ve felt loved as I sifted through mail sent over the past 2 1/2 years from so many people in the States. I’ve felt the bittersweet emotions of starting the packing process—seeing personal touches slowly leave my room here. I’ve felt sorrow as I helped a friend move from the house she shared with her husband into a rented room with her small children; joined in her sadness over his taking another wife and leaving her behind. I’ve felt pride at having extended interactions with people only in Lubwisi, and yet still unsure of exactly how much was understood. I’ve shuddered while hearing updates from our team leader who has just received a cancer diagnosis and relive my own cancer experiences.

I’ve worshiped through a traditional Seder and age-old traditional liturgy. I’ve worshiped to the beat of African drums and enthusiastic dancing. I’ve filled up on kid therapy—swinging a jump rope, complimenting their coloring pages. I’ve groaned as the same kids knock on my door for a solid 45 minutes, as I try to accomplish something in the house.

Every day and week here includes these paradoxes, these polar opposites with a thread of similarity. Some days I feel like I’ll never be emotionally stable again. And yet, I wonder if I over-value stability. Much of me desires predictability, comfort, surety. But in a deep corner of my heart, I know that the lack of stability is good. It makes me dependent. It brings me to my knees. It forces me to feel deeply. And someday very soon I will be missing these highs and lows.

On Power…or the lack thereof

Here in Bundibugyo, power has always been less than stable. The electricity returning creates a certain yell among the missionaries here--of surprise and joy. Some even have a special dance that accompanies it. For the last three weeks our power has been especially unreliable. With the arrival of "THE road" in Bundibugyo Town and beyond, it will make its triumphal, slightly destructive entry in Nyahuka soon. Extreme widening of the road will take place as Nyahuka will soon house the African equivalent of a super highway. This road will roll from Mombasa all the way to Lagos, cutting straight through Uganda into the Congo. In preparation for its arrival, our electricity poles have been slowly shifted further from the current road, resulting in sun up to sun down power cuts. While this isn't highly disruptive and I've almost enjoyed the regularity at which the power comes off and on, our voltage stabilizer exploding a week ago was less appreciated. In smoke and flames, the magical box meant to control fluctuations in voltage, gave up the fight and plunged our house into darkness.

Added to the frustration of limited power, followed by no power, I reached the end of my rope upon realizing we had one propane tank, which was already in use. Propane runs our gas stove, which we use many times a day. But it also runs our "back up" fridge in cases when the power is off for many hours and we'd rather not lose all the meat in our freezer to green mold and other bacteria with long names. We couldn't run both appliances and for various reasons it seemed there wasn't a single propane tank available on all of World Harvest Mission property for our borrowing.

Less than 24 hours later, many of our problems were solved as a propane tank was scrounged up. And luckily the team engineer was in Kampala at the time and able to buy a replacement for our voltage stabilizer, and install in 2 days later upon his return. Thankfully we also had solar light bulbs and outlets available for use during the day which was great.

The point of this story is not how our power was fixed or even my lamenting unreliable electricity. Rather, as I thought about my many "power issues" I realized it isn't limited to electricity.

So many of the things that are challenging to me in Bundibugyo have to do with my lack of power in life here. I am powerless against the electricity going off, rats deciding my pantry is their new home, and sweat dripping down my back. But these are all mere annoyances when compared with the need surrounding me and my seeming powerlessness to help or change anything. Trying to tackle the many needs here is like trying to empty the ocean armed only with a thimble. I may be inconvenienced by my lack of power and propane for my second fridge (a reminder of the excess I continue to have despite leaving America's excess). But it is nothing compared to the powerlessness I feel when I see starving children at the health center or meet yet another student at my door hoping I can pay their school fees.

And even that is nothing in comparison with what I imagine so many people in Bundibugyo may feel on any given day. Powerlessness in the face of corruption as they are asked for a "gift" to accompany their job application. As they hear that their husband has taken a second wife. As they battle with alcoholism. As they watch their child waste away with HIV or as their child cringes in pain during a sickle cell crisis. As they sweat and work in their gardens and the fruit of their labor is stolen. As they lose yet another loved one to malaria. As they freeze in fear, hearing someone has cursed them and visited the local witch doctor with plans to torment them.

Feeling powerless leads to a state of hopelessness and despair. How many times can one be beaten down and still get back up again? I don't know exactly how many times but the resilience and perseverance of so many here amazes me. And ultimately, how does one receive power? The answer is found in Acts 1:8—“But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.” The only true, staying power we can find is in the Gospel of Jesus Christ, our Rescuer and All Powerful God.

The more time I spend in Bundibugyo, the more I believe that change can only come through our great God's power. He has the power to free the bonds and break the chains of the captive. Only he can provide power over evil spirits, addictions, dependency, poverty, and death. His love is more powerful than any force and his grace empowers us to bring a preview of his coming complete Redemption to this earth.

I may whine about a lack of electricity or struggle over my inability to meet every need presented to me here. But I am delighted to know the one who is ultimately the most Powerful, "the holder of the keys" as they say here, the one with the Strength and ultimate plan to glorify this place and these people (myself included) in the days to come.

Counting the Cost

In my last post, I mentioned that there is a cost to saying “yes” to the missionary lifestyle. There is a sacrifice in the going, the doing, the being. Some missionaries claim that they “never made a sacrifice”. And if that is truly how they saw it, bully for them. But me? I haven’t been sanctified enough yet to say that. Not sure I ever will.

When I first signed up for this gig, I counted the cost. Moving away from a loving family, supportive friends, and a familiar home. Leaving my home culture and exchanging it for one in which I knew little to nothing. Moving from competence and productivity to a place with a new language that would reduce me to speaking like a toddler. Exchanging climate control for the equator. Sharing my house with jungle wildlife. Joining the scores before me that suddenly inhabited the “missionary pedestal”, in which one is expected to suddenly become holy and kind.

Then when I arrived I counted it all over again as I ran headlong into new sacrifices I had not previously considered. Constant knocks at the door requesting assistance. 80% of my belongings covered in fine mold. The inability to go anywhere anonymously. An eight hour drive to go grocery shopping. Not knowing how to do the most basic things like turn on my fridge or where to buy an onion. Feeling the need to communicate only joy and happiness to those I left at home, when I may have been willing to hop on the next plane to leave.

If you’re familiar with my story, you know that the call to sacrifice continued—through months of illness, a cancer diagnosis, and more months of illness. See-sawing between fear and determination in my decision to return here. Pouring into relationships, some of which have grown and others that have fizzled out. Fighting for patients, many of which have died. Starting new projects, resuming old ones. Continuing to answer the door to new requests, every day, with limited resources for response. Hopping between anxiety and hope at medical follow-ups. And returning again to say good-byes.

I wish I could say that after 29 months, I no longer think about these sacrifices. But I do. Many things that were once incredibly difficult about this life are now manageable. But they seem to be replaced with new sacrifices. Some days certain things weigh heavier than others. Right now the barrage of need at my doorstep coupled with my own weariness has been rough. Add in a dash of stolen cellphone, my desire to maintain reputation on the missionary pedestal of holiness, and some obnoxious comments from men on the road and you’ve got a recipe for disaster.

And that’s just what I am—a disaster! Someone completely sinful and incapable of loving people on my own. Someone who yearns for thank yous, recognition, and immediate results for work done. Someone struggling to believe the gospel, while trying to preach it to others. Someone who is tired and weary of the sacrifices.

And yet, there are two sides to every coin. With the sacrifices, comes joy and hope. Maybe not immediately. But the sacrifices are not made in vain. They reveal my true self—the one that is so far knocked off the missionary pedestal, you may have to search around for me on the ground. They make the joys of living here that much more extreme. A gift of bananas from a friend, a child saying “thank you”, a baby that got well, a friendly hello on the street, a reliable and self-motivated employee or a clear phone call back to the U.S. are all counted as great victories. The sacrifices make us yearn for the redemption that is coming—to this world, to this place.

I will never say that I never made a sacrifice. I’ll never say there was no cost involved in saying “yes” to going. And I won’t say that I don’t continue to count that cost regularly. What I will say is that I believe there is a value to the sacrifice, that it will be redeemed, and that it is not in vain. It hurts to say it but I am privileged to sacrifice.

“Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ.”
 –Philippians 3:8

(This post was inspired by another blog post found here)

Time in the Land of Plenty

I’ve been shying away from blogging as I’ve spent the last 2 months jetting around the U.S. and back to Uganda. On the one hand, my time in the States doesn’t seem “blog worthy” as I’m not advocating for dying children or finding myself in mud-filled adventures. On the other hand, the transition between two cultures, neither of which seem entirely comfortable, can be adventure enough.

Straddling two cultures, embracing a state of “homelessness”—after two and a half years, I may have thought it’d become “old hat”, nothing to ruffle the feathers. The general expectations of re-entry are slightly more predictable but they take a different form every time.

This time it included shock at how good everyone smells in America, sweet moments savored with friends and family, amazement at how clean everything is—including the streets, joy-filled tastebuds as I savored seafood, salads, and Dr. Pepper for the first time in a year. It included a few jolts as I attempted to drive an automatic car with two feet and experienced a moment of defeat due to the number of chapstick brands available in a Wal-mart aisle.

There are always a few surprises. As I attended Urbana with WHM, I felt a creeping cynicism entering in. So many starry-eyed students with big plans and high expectations surrounded me. I was one of them recently but the past few years have brought unexpected pain, suffering, sacrifice. Questions nagged me as they heard I was a “real missionary” and they wanted to know more. How to encourage them to join in God’s calling while still counting the cost? How to balance sharing the joys and sufferings that come with this life? How to be real without scaring them off?

My time in the U.S. included making plans for the future, experiencing gut-wrenching anxiety for a few days, followed by peace and a clear path to pursue. (I won’t leave you hanging forever about that one—but it’s a whole separate post) There was great rest and naps, just because I could. There were moments for reflection and remembering what had happened in the past 12 months. And of course, there were good-byes. But they were made slightly easier with the promise “I’ll see you in June”.

Over 24 hours of recycled air, moving through the maze of cordoned off security areas, sitting on the tarmac for five hours as they de-iced the plane…and I was home. Home to driving on the left side of the road, home to the warmth and humidity, home to familiar surroundings and advertisements for things I actually recognize. Home to a bed where I can sleep off the jet lag :)

A Post...of sorts

Hello to those of you who read my blog...if you haven't given up on me yet. I have been quite terrible about updating this space since leaving for the U.S. but I promise to write something reflective and whatnot soon. Perhaps there will even be a photo to accompany said post! For now, I'm waiting for David, our friend and faithful taxi driver, to pick me up at the guest house so we can make the long trek to Bundibugyo today from Kampala. And if you want to read some of my thoughts, I encourage you to click here. Lauren, a future member of Team Bundi, asked me some questions via email about life in Bundibugyo and I had a great time answering them. They forced me to reflect and process, which often doesn't happen for me unless I am forced to do so! Thanks Lauren, for the opportunity to reflect on the last 2 years and remember my hopes for the future of Bundibugyo!

Click on it! http://webbersinafrica.blogspot.com/2013/01/another-voice-part-1.html?m=1

Thinking of Friday on a Monday

For the last week, I've been on my "cancer" diet, otherwise known as an iodine free diet, in preparation for my scan on Thursday. As much as I complain about not being able to eat chocolate, Chick-fil-a and other Christmastime goodies for the next two weeks, I am still so thankful for my access to modern healthcare and the hope that the scan will be clear. Despite insurance headaches, I am thankful for the affordability of top-notch care. And despite not liking the two shots I'll receive to the "hip" (read "butt"), I'm so thankful that they were available to me to help smooth this process. Maybe all of this is hitting closer to home due to some news I received two weekends ago.

Friday, pictured below, passed away from Burkitt's lymphoma at Uganda's Cancer Institute in Kampala. You can read more about his story at this link and an update here. The picture below was taken on Thanksgiving Day. The day started with a less-than-traditional schedule of events, including visiting Friday at the Cancer Institute and then dropping off another child's lymph node at a lab for a pathology report. The child with the lymph node issue got good news: no cancer, just tuberculosis. Friday was clearly emaciated and severely ill but his tumor had been responding well to the chemotherapy and Charles said he was looking better than he had earlier in the week. I was hopeful that he might be a success story in the long line of kids that I had advocated for and yet didn't make it.

It can be hard to stay motivated, pouring time, money, and trying to work around endless obstacles into these patients. I'm not sure what the actual "success" rate is of those that I send that actually get medical care and get better. Dismally low. There is a great article on BBC that speaks exactly to this problem here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-20524606 I don't usually click on links to read articles but this one is pretty interesting. The photo at the top is taken in the room that Friday lived in for several months while receiving chemo treatments.

Despite not being able to see Friday healed on this side of eternity, I know our efforts were not in vain. My hope is that the family experienced the touch of Jesus through the many people that sought to help them. And I am thankful for my own hope to see Friday in his fully glorified body someday.

Referral Patient Update

Blogging has sunk low on my list as life continues at breakneck speed here in Bundibugyo. But then again, I know my primary purpose here is not blogging and I’m thankful to be busy in ministry :)

Over a month ago, I wrote here about Friday—a 3 year old referral patient with suspected Burkitt’s lymphoma. I am so happy to report that he was admitted at Mulago’s Cancer Institute and has been receiving care for several weeks now. He has responded well to the treatments and I was so happy to see a photo of him sent by email last week.

As you can see, he is still clearly sick and has a way to go but he is the first success story from Mulago—the country’s biggest referral hospital in Kampala. You may also remember his sister, Zawadi, who has sickle cell and went to Kampala with an exposed leg bone due to a serious infection. Another success! She had surgery at an orthopedic hospital, recovered, and is back in Bundibugyo with her mother as of yesterday. God is so good in his timing too—the mom of the family is about to produce their third child so I’m happy she will be back home for the birth!

Please continue to pray for this family as well as the eleven other patients currently in my file! Pray for Wycliffe, a 6 year old with glaucoma, in need of eye surgery. Pray for Biira, a severely malnourished baby that had a cleft palate surgery that didn’t heal properly. Pray for Godfrey, a 1 year old, who is having surgery on Monday to remove a fatty tumor from his chest. Pray for Lillian, a 13 year old, who needs to see a kidney specialist. Pray for Filimoni who just had surgery yesterday for hydrocephaly. Pray for little Ismail who has tuberculosis and is waiting on a biopsy for a possible lymphoma diagnosis.

I am so thankful that God knows the number of hairs on each of these patient's’ heads. A strange thought, perhaps. But, reassuring nonetheless as I struggle to make connections with hospitals and social workers, sending these people off into the unknown, praying that they will receive the care they need. I regularly feel my compassion stretched thin as I get phone calls at 7:30 AM, a family of five shows up at my door before I’ve had my coffee or the phone network is down and my hands are tied. But, the rewards are great as I see the above photo in my inbox, when parents say “thank you”, and when I make a new connection at a hospital I’ve never set eyes on.

My desk may be cluttered (see exhibit A below). But I’m thankful for the opportunity to help those who are hopeless. And I’m thankful that God can speak to their hearts in any language, pointing them to the one true Hope.

Mum and the Mzee

A few weeks ago, there were some visitors to Bundibugyo that were very important to me! My mom and dad were able to come and spend over 2 weeks with me in Africa and it was such an encouragement! I feel so blessed to have been able to share my life here with them and I think they enjoyed it too :) They spent a week with me in Bundibugyo followed by a much-needed (by me) vacation to Kenya. Since I’ve been back from Kenya, everyone wants to know if my “mum” and the “mzee” (a term of respect for older men) made it back to America safely.

One of my favorite things was seeing Uganda through their eyes—while it is still often crazy to me, the exotic-ness has often worn off. Here are some of their photos for your enjoyment!

First night together in Kampala

Serious about getting weighed at the nutrition program

Loving on Brenda who gained 3 kilos in her enrollment!

Visiting Mama Joyce in her shop

Sandwiched between my two mamas!

To market, to market.

Just a few of the kids at church.

The new church location on its first Sunday!

Cocoa season has begun!

The two Christines at CSB.

Cutie at the health center with a beach ball  brought by my Mom.

Just had to include this--duct tape is a regular part of making life work here!

Sherlock being too cute.

Buying some Irish potatoes.

Chloe being ridiculous. And cute.

The joy of a Ft. Portal rolex--egg, cabbage, tomato wrapped in a chapati.

There's always room for one more person...or parcel.

Prom-tastic

Last Saturday, I attended a senior prom in the bush of Africa, as a very under-dressed guest of honor. I know that is quite a statement, so let me back up a bit.

I had planned to attend Christ School’s Candidates Party, to show support to the S4 and S6 students, as they took a day off before the onslaught of standardized examinations. I had never been around for one before so I didn’t know exactly what to expect. After asking a few sources, it sounded like the students dressed up a bit, there were some speeches, and food. Michael, my teammate, was preparing a 30 minute talk to encourage the students and I planned on just being present for the fun.

Well, this is Uganda so the festivities got off to a later start than planned. By about 4 hours. And Michael had plans to travel to Fort Portal before dark. So, he was unable to attend. The few other team members in district had other plans. So, I went to the party and looked forward to talking to some students and teachers. It had been a busy day so I hoped I could “make an appearance” and head back home.

I arrived and sat in the back corner, hoping to draw little attention to myself and being able to make an exit without causing disruption. Within 2 minutes of sitting down, the student emcee let everyone know that “Madame Christine” has arrived and needed to say a few words. I quickly spewed out a few greetings on behalf of WHM and wished them the best on their exams and sat down. Not too bad. For the next half hour, I enjoyed the cross-cultural experience of a prom.

The students were incredibly decked out in fancy dresses and stiletto heels or suits and ties. I realized I had never seen many of the girls with jewelry before and could barely recognize a few. There were a lot of pairs of sunglasses going around and even some clear faux reading glasses—to look studious, I suppose. A lot of the party was student-run, including the emcees. Quite a few students performed raps and sang along to popular songs in front of everyone. One of my favorite aspects was Mr. and Miss Party—the Ugandan equivalent of a prom king and queen. I never figured out exactly if they were “elected” by their peers or not but they had a special head table and got to cut the cake amidst much celebration.

I went around to some of the tables, snapping photos of students in their finery. I listened to some of the speeches prepared by the teachers and administration. I felt horribly under-dressed in my sweat-soaked Saturday attire. After the headmaster arrived, he wanted me to sit next to him, closer to the front. I protested but eventually gave in. It was around this time that I started to feel concerned as I heard the words “guest of honor” connected to my name several times. When did this happen?!

I immediately began to sweat as I realized that the guest of honor always has to share a speech. I had nothing prepared. I explicitly told this to at least three people in charge. I could be the guest of honor but wouldn’t be able to give a speech. Yikes! Eventually, I found out that Michael was slated to be the guest of honor but because he didn’t show, the role shifted to me. As I tried to quickly come up with something to say, the moment passed and I took a deep breath. Then, it was announced that I had nothing prepared but the headmaster would speak on my behalf! So, the headmaster stood up, I stood up, and he spoke for me. A strange experience but I didn’t have to give a speech!

The evening ended with food—the students receive posho (a starch) and beans every day. So this feast of goat meat, chicken, rice, cabbage, and potatoes was fabulous! Thankfully I didn’t get a huge portion despite being the guest of honor and I was able to enjoy the food. As I went to leave, every student wanted a photo with me. I enjoyed getting some with the students I knew (and many I didn’t). As I left the school grounds, I was thankful for the staff at CSB, seeing the students have a fun time, and hopeful that they will impact this place in a great way in the future.

Just another manic Monday...

Today has been a manic Monday, to say the least. While every day is not as crazy as today, most days are full of a wide variety of tasks and I often end up doing things I never thought I'd do when I woke up in the morning...or in my lifetime. Let me try to break down today for you and give you a peek into my manic Monday :)

-6:50 am: The alarm goes off and I snooze as long as possible. Happy that the power has stayed on all night after it was off for about 55 hours this weekend. Roll out of bed and throw on a skirt, brush the teeth, and head out the door to check on the conditions of the air field.

-7:15 am: Drive to the airstrip and hear the tires squishing in mud. Not a good sign. But, the sun is out and I can see the mountains beautifully. Call the MAF pilot and let him know the conditions. Head back home. Make breakfast, enjoy a much-needed cup of coffee. Get ready for the day.

-9 am: Drive Jess and Alisha to the health center to drop off some boxes of IV fluids. The pediatric ward is emptied of patients and I see soldiers all over the hospital compound, slashing tall grass, cleaning the ward. We enter the ward and for the first time ever, it smells like bleach instead of urine and illness. Wow! I hear from a nurse that the soldiers have come to help clean for Uganda's Independence Day, which is tomorrow. Thank you UPDF!

-9:15 am: Come back home and give our houseworkers instructions for while I am gone--Joas is baking bread and washing dishes, Susana is washing clothes. I manage to communicate in Lubwisi that I need a mosquito net washed for my parents arrival--exciting stuff!

-9:30 am: Drive to the airfield. The sun is shining and some more soldiers greet me, as they are our security guards for the air strip. Happy to have them there, keeping the hoards of kids out of the plane's way. Settle in and read about sharing the gospel among animistic societies for a few minutes. Hear the plane circling and get out of the car to wave. As I watch the plane come in to land, I say a quick prayer. Should have been a longer one. Half way down the strip, the plane hits a muddy patch and gets stuck. Uh oh.

-10:30 am: After unloading the plane, jamming the car full of bags and goodies from both Kampala and America and loading up the Johnson family minus Travis plus Amy's Dad, we head to Nyahuka. Pamela rides on the roof luggage rack, along with a 6 month supply of dog food for the Johnsons' dogs. We are quite the sight and every kid along the way waves and yells at us.

-11 am: Return to the airfield after dropping the Johnsons, Pamela, and their stuff. Grab a shovel, hoe, and rake and head back with the hopes of digging out the plane wheel mired in the mud. Now comes the fun. The pilot and Travis dig out the wheel and the pilot tries to taxi the plane out of the rut. No luck. For the next hour or more, we attach the car to the stuck plane wheel and "tow" the plane out. This takes a while since we get the wheel to go for about 2 feet, then it gets stuck and so does the car. Back up a bit, dig out the wheel again, pull the plane another 2 feet, and so on. The cycle continued for quite a while. And guess who was driving the car as the two guys pushed the plane? Me. Ha! Finally after quite a lot of pulling, pushing, re-positioning, and digging, the plane clears the muddy area. But it is now facing the wrong direction. Straight into the weeds and trees. So we find about 5 guys that have been standing and watching up to this point and get them to help push the plane and turn it the right direction. They're happy because they know they'll get a little something for their grunt work :)

-12:15: The plane is unstuck, the pilot taxis to the end of the field, and takes off as I pray quite a lot again. I hear some thunder in the distance and I'm so thankful he got out before a storm came. Drive Travis and myself back to Nyahuka.

You'd think the story ends here, right? Nope! My day continues on. As I got back in the car, I noticed my phone had 12 missed calls. Oh boy.

-12:30 pm: Call the two ladies that provide the nutrition program with soy flour and groundnuts and let them know someone will be by to pick up the stuff today. Call Baguma, my contact at Mulago Hospital, to hear that one of the patients with hydrocephaly is being sent back to Bundibugyo today without having surgery. Call my contact at CURE hospital in Mbale to find out what is going on. The child's brain is too swollen to perform surgery currently so he is being sent home with medications and will have to make the 12 hour trip back to the hospital in 1 month to have the surgery. Send money via cell phone for the mother's transport expenses, which requires another two phone calls. Call another patient's father who is currently at Mulago getting tests done to determine was is causing his lymph nodes to be chronically, severely swollen. The father needs me to send more money for the lab costs. Side note: while health care is technically free in Uganda, the system is overloaded. This means that in order to get remotely efficient test results, many are referred to outside private labs to get testing done, which costs money. I talk to Travis about what to do and call the father back.

-1 pm: I realize I don't have enough money loaded on my phone to send to the father. So, even though the rain has now come, I walk down to the market in hopes on depositing money at a MTN store, so I can then send the money electronically to the dad's phone. I go to my usual store and they are currently unable to take deposits. I find another store that can help and deposit the money while kids stand in the doorway yelling "Majungu!" at me.

-1:30 pm: I walk back home in the rain. I have a rain jacket but I'm covered in mud and sweat and it feels good to feel the cool rain on my skin. I send the money to the dad and call a different Baguma, who traveled to Mulago with the family I wrote about in my last post. He fills me in on all that he has helped the family through in the last 24 hours--acting as travel escort, translator, and advocate. They are officially checked in to the hospital and Friday has a bed at the Cancer Institute! The parents are overwhelmed and scared but he has been a great help to them.

-2 pm: Take a much-needed shower. My phone continues to ring. Sit down and eat lunch. Return some more calls. Write up some things to cover in interviews this afternoon as we look for a new nutrition program employee. Tell some kids at the door that I don't have any bread to give them. Come back in my room and hide for a bit as I write this :)

So, it's 2:55 pm as I write and I'm ready for a nap. The thunderstorm has officially rolled in and I'm happy to be inside and dry. Now I'm off to do some accounting and preparing the guest room for my parents! If you decide to be a missionary, remember that you may just find yourself some day pulling a plane out of the mud in the car, or a similarly insane activity...and know that I warned you :)

Advocating for Prayer

Meet Friday. He is three years old and suffering from suspected Burkitt's lymphoma, the most common pediatric cancer in equatorial Africa. The good news: it responds well to chemotherapy. The bad news: the challenges of getting the treatment are many. Friday is from the DRC, the border of which is just a few kilometers from my home here. His parents walked for four hours to reach the border and then took a motorcycle taxi to reach our health center in Nyahuka. They are extremely poor and speak only Lubwisi, the local tribal language. Not only is Friday sick, but is younger sister, Zawadi has sickle cell disease. She is also admitted at the health center with a severe bone infection in her leg (a complication of the sickle cell disease) that has caused the bone to break, oozing pus and exposed.

Both of these children are in serious need of medical attention. They need to go to two different hospitals in Kampala for their specialized care and the parents have never been outside of rural western Uganda. I am thankful for a friend here who is willing to accompany them on their journey to Kampala and make sure they arrive safely without getting lost. And I'm incredibly thankful for another friend who is willing to check on patients at Mulago Hospital everyday after he finishes his classes at a university campus next door.

Friday and Zawadi are only two of eight patients in the referral process currently. Last week I sent another child with lymphoma to Mulago. The week before I sent a trio of babies with hydrocephalus to Kampala and then on to Mbale's CURE hospital to receive neurosurgery. There is a baby that came to us severely malnourished with a partial cleft palate. She went to Kampala with her mother and received corrective surgery, only to return and have it heal improperly. Now they need to return for a second surgery. Each of these children are precious to our Father and while getting them care is challenging and coordinating it from Bundibugyo is frustrating and difficult, I am thankful that I can advocate for them.

But I come to you, my supporters and friends, asking for prayer. Pray for these children as they are seriously ill, in pain, and forced to travel 8-12 hours by public transportation. Pray for their parents as they enter the big city for the first time and try to find medical facilities and people who understand their Lubwisi language. Pray for doctors and social workers to be empathetic and caring and willing to communicate with me. Pray for me, as I try to keep everyone straight and am "on call" all the time. Pray that the gospel would go forth and God would heal these babies. And pray that the medical costs would be provided--I expect to pay nearly $500 for each baby with hydrocephalus to receive life-saving neurosurgery. If you would like to help offset some of these costs, please contact me. Thank you for your prayers for each of these children!

Two Years

On the way to my first day in Bundi.

Today marks two years from my first day in Bundibugyo. I landed on a little MAF plane, slightly green from the bumps, and greeted by many smiling faces. Within minutes, the word that characterized the next several weeks came into play: overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the hundreds of kids on the airfield. Overwhelmed by how the car could even make it over the road from the airfield to the mission. Overwhelmed by how much there was to learn. Overwhelmed by how little I knew about the most basic things, like turning my oven on or how to flush the toilet. Overwhelmed by the noises in the ceiling (that turned out to be geckos). Overwhelmed by the foreign sound of Lubwisi. Overwhelmed by how to even tell anyone apart or understand their names.

I still often feel overwhelmed by life here. But, as I reflect today I realize how many things have become normal. It’s normal to do a dance when the electricity returns after being off for a day. It’s normal to have kids (and the occasional adult) yell “Mzungu! How are you?” anytime I step outside of my house. It’s normal to know that the post office and ATM are 30 minutes away on a terrible road and that the closest “supermarket” is 3 hours away. It’s normal to pasteurize milk and cook from scratch. It’s normal to hear noises that used to go under the category of “barnyard animals”, outside my bedroom window. It’s normal to be the minority everywhere I go. It’s normal to worship in a church made of tarps, surrounded by bars, and to have the occasional drunk man stumble in or a visit from a pig. It’s normal to feel sweat dripping down my back by 10 am.

I’ve also found that I’ve learned how to do so many things! I’ve learned how to cook over an open fire and how to pluck a chicken. I’ve learned to lead a Bible study. I’ve learned some Lubwisi and plenty of Ugandan English phrases. I’ve learned how to drive a stick shift car over muddy, mountainous, and sometimes non-existent roads. I’ve learned how to be an accountant for a nutrition program, a manager of an employee, and a social worker for referral patients. I’ve learned how to harvest cocoa and attempt to have a garden while waging war with African ants. I’ve learned how to light my oven and the propane fridge, as well as lighting some safari ants on fire. I’ve learned to kill a rat with a bat and the occasional door or drawer slam.

There have been so many good things and bad things that God has brought forth in the last two years. I am thankful for my teammates here, as the team has more than doubled in size in the last two years. I’ve also had to say some hard good-byes as other teammates have moved on. I am thankful for my friends in the community that bless me with their love and their grace in engaging in a cross-cultural friendship. I struggle to know how to help those friends as they death with issues of poverty, poor health, family pressures, death, polygamy, and trusting God. I am thankful for an improvement in internet access and cell phone reception in the last two years and the way it has helped me stay in touch with loved ones back home. The reality remains that I am far from family and friends and have missed birthdays, special days, and regular days and nothing makes up for talking together over dinner. I am thankful for many things that feel normal and Bundibugyo feeling like home. And yet I feel like I’ve barely made a dent in all there is to learn about culture, language, and how to live here well.

Sherlock--the newest Team Bundi addition

Above all else, I am thankful for the many ways God has changed me in the last two years. He has changed my heart, my plans, my life. It hasn’t come easily. It has come by walking through deep valleys and fiery struggle. It has come with rivers of tears and hours of pain and strife. But—the change is good. And with it comes hope. Hope for God’s extravagant, rescuing, love to permeate my soul and this place, Bundibugyo.

Sweet Summertime

Here in Bundibugyo I often feel like we live in an eternal state of summer. But, the world outside of this place continues on with seasons and we were blessed to have 3 summer interns join us for June and July! They left last week and their joyful, serving presence is missed here. One thing (out of many) that I was so thankful for was their taking photos of daily life here in Bundi. It's not something I get around to often but here is a peek into my life over the last 2 months!

A typical road scene here...

I do love the views on the 8 hour ride from Kampala!

My Bible study at Mt. Zion church

We meet in a "school building" (on the left) next to my friend, Annette's house.

Clovis, my co-leader, with a few of the many kids that are always hanging out.

Summer and Ashley--two of the interns.

Hiking to Nyahuka Falls. I ended up being the "guide" by default--not a great idea.

Of course we ended up asking directions.

There were beautiful views on the way though!

And after much scrambling, bush-whacking, and whatnot we made it!

Hosting a nutrition table at a local health fair.

Lots of people came!

I was very thankful for a great translator.

Weighing babies at the second meeting of our nutrition program.

Dr. Jess measuring height for assessment.

Taking a little girl's MUAC measurement for assessment.

The Nyahuka Health Center--operating theater is white building, darker building is lab and outpatient department. Lots of laundry out to dry too!

A typical roadside view here--love those mountains again!

Also a semi-typical thing--baboons on the roadside! 

Hiking to the Sempaya Hot Springs was a fun outing...

It definitely felt like we were in the rainforest!

We fit three to a motorcycle plus the driver--a first for me!

With Richard, my new boda driver friend.

We had to stop at the equator on our way to safari!

L to R: The Stevens family, myself, Ann, Jess

I just love this sign. I'm not sure why but it makes me laugh every time I see it.

We saw lots of hippos on the boat launch.

They have such stubby legs!

And there were a ton of mongooses hanging out in the shade of our car. Weird!

With Summer and Emily on a rooftop safari drive.

All of Christ School's OVC sponsored students at a meeting.

Cocoa is growing again so we're seeing more of it drying in the sun!

We had a great team retreat over the 4th of July weekend. As you can see, we're a very put-together type of team.

That's better :)

With my Christ School girls' cell group after chapel.

Mama Joyce with Owen and Marvin--some of my favorite people!

And for good measure--the weekend the interns left my house flooded. As you can see, I was not very happy about modeling my gumboots while in the bathroom.