Banking in Bundibugyo

Today was a truly cross-cultural experience as I entered the Stanbic Bank in Bundibugyo Town on a mission to become a signatory for the Bundi Nutrition account. Thankfully, John Clark was along to guide and help me jump through the bureaucratic hoops. Below is a (more or less) play-by-play recounting of the morning. See if you can find how the experience differs a bit from what might happen in the U.S.

First, I hop on the back of John’s motorcycle while wearing a skirt. We make our way to town on dusty dirt roads, attempting to avoid the jagged rocks sticking out of the dirt (which is much harder than it sounds). The ride is about 30 minutes long and I’m sure we pass cows, large trucks kicking up dust clouds, and kids yelling “How are you?!” but I don’t remember. I guess it is becoming normal to me? Maybe.

We arrive at the bank, slightly windblown, and find out that “the network is down” so we cannot withdraw funds, check our account balance, or make any changes like adding a new signatory.  We decide to burn time—adding money to our electricity card so we have power at the mission, sitting at a little cafe eating chapatis and drinking hot tea.

Eventually we went back to the bank. The line of people had grown by a lot. Within minutes of standing in the line that never seemed to move, a woman comes and (by American standards) “cuts” in line. No one says anything. It seems to be a pretty typical thing here. You stand in line for a while, go run some errands, and then get back behind the guy you were behind before. No big deal.

When there are about six people in front of us in line, the person speaking to the teller ran into some kind of problem. The six people in front of us crowd around him, looking over his shoulder, all giving him advice. Banking privacy and security are defined a little differently here :) On a similar note, a man dressed entirely in yellow (think African version of Curious George’s caretaker minus the big hat) is crouched in a corner of the room with a huge pile of crushed bills, counting them out and creating piles, probably to deposit.

As we got closer to the front, the personal space factor diminished. For the last 30 minutes of waiting, an elderly woman behind me stood so close that her bag was resting on my body the whole time. I kept picturing the entire, winding line as human dominoes. Weird? Yes, but I had been standing in line for an hour with not much to do.

We finally reached the teller window. Victory! In order to withdraw cash, you have to write yourself a check. Which then has to be signed in 5 places and given the official stamp. Stamps and multiple signatures seem to be the name of the game here.

From there, we stepped into another line to request a provisional statement—a surprisingly quick and painless process! And then we went to the bank manager’s desk to turn in our paperwork and hopefully receive approval as a new signatory. We wait. And wait some more. And wait a little more. After about 30-45 minutes, he appears.

He rattles off a long list of documents that are required to process the request—3 passport photos, a signed letter from our local chairman, signed meeting minutes, filled out applications, and a photocopy of ID. Thankfully John has done this before and we have all of the above! The bank manager seems almost disappointed that we have everything and decides that my driver’s license is not a valid enough ID. My passport is in Kampala awaiting a work permit. Thankfully, I have a photocopy of the passport at home and he agrees to accept it and process the request when I bring it. Success!

After 5 hours, the banking for Bundi Nutrition seems to be in order. I hop onto the back of John’s motorcycle again and we make our way back to Nyahuka with the equatorial sun beating down. A few months ago, I probably would have thought it had been a long and frustrating process with little merit in the end. And while it did take a lot of time to do something seemingly simple, I understand the importance of it today.

Being able to withdraw those funds from America in a Stanbic bank on a dirt road in rural Uganda is going to save lives. As the dry season continues and food becomes scarce, malnourished children will be hungry, lose weight, and be less able to fight common sicknesses here like malaria or diarrhea. The Bundi Nutrition programs provide important food supplements that will keep these children alive or at least give them a fighting chance. So while the process of banking here in Bundibugyo is different, I am thankful for the system that provides funds for programs that save the lives of children here. 

Okwesigwa Kwaawe

On most Sundays here in Bundibugyo, I attend the church that is right outside our door, Bundimulinga Presbyterian Church. But it is always fun to visit other churches in the area and yesterday was one of those days. Anna and I walked to New Life Bubandi yesterday morning. It’s a really pretty walk and the further we went, the more the “traffic” decreased. Now that dry season is here, everyday is blazing hot but it was still pleasant at 9 am and it was nice to stop and greet smiling elderly women as we went.

The church service was fairly typical. We arrived at 10:30, after being told that it started at 10. The service began around 11. The church building is a small, concrete rectangle with a tin roof and a dirt floor with a few wooden benches inside. We were greeted warmly and worship began, accompanied by drums.

As people trickled in and we sang, I was blessed by the true worship surrounding me. The believers in that building had real joy. As I’ve dealt with my health issues, it is easy to become self-focused and lose my joy and faith. But these believers reminded me yesterday that you can still worship amidst difficulty and it can mean so much more when struggling to maintain joy.

My favorite song from yesterday was Okwesigwa Kwaawe (Great is Your Faithfulness). The translation isn’t exact but I’m going to write the chorus lyrics below. The tune and tempo are a lot different than the Great is Thy Faithfulness I grew up with but it is beautiful.

Okwesigwa Kwaawe

Okwesigwa Kwaawe, Ai Yesu, Bukya, Bukya Kuloho

Your Faithfulness, oh Jesus, is Always, Always There

Koona Eki Ndukwetaaga, Omukono Gwaawe, Taata, Gukakimpa

All that I Need, Your Hand, Father, Gives Me

The Noises of Bundibugyo

I wish I could record sound and post it here. I’m sure there is some way to do that but I’m not tech savvy and our bandwidth is slow. I live in Bundibugyo, as you know. It’s waaaaaay out in rural Western Uganda. Ugandans hear that I live out here and they often seem baffled; we really live in the sticks. You would think because it is such a remote location that it would be peaceful, quiet, and full of rainforest nature noises like you hear on those Bose sound machines. Nope.

Currently there is some kind of party going on outside our house. Maybe a political candidate drove through? I’m really not sure. But whatever happened, someone got their hands on several vuvuzelas. Since then, there have been spontaneous outbursts of bleating. At one point there was even a rhythm going on where the vuvuzelas honked and a car horn echoed back. It gets quiet for about 30 seconds…maybe they’re finished? Nope. One straggler starts up again and the chorus begins.

This is just one instance :) There is a goat pen close to my bedroom window that often holds sick goats who need care from one of our extension workers. Lately there has been one with “flu”. It has been sneezing non-stop. I never knew goats could sneeze. They often start bleating in the middle of the night too for no apparent reason.

Other fun noises: motorcycle horns beeping, big trucks barreling down the road, music that reaches our house all the way from downtown Nyahuka, our neighbor’s radio (often playing random American hits from the 1990s), bats screeching at night, our dogs rustling around (probably hunting) at night under my window, and the ever present “Majungu!” yelled by kids anytime I exit my house and walk down the street.

Bundibugyo is far from a quiet place. Even the nature noises can be overwhelming at times. But I do find myself liking other characteristics of it’s “country-ness”. I love that I can see the stars at night, that the air is fresh, that the sun coming up over the mountains is breath-taking, the green-ness of the banana leaves. And there are times when I wake up in the middle of the night and hear a wonderful thing—silence.

The Stillness of Stopping

As most of you know, I’ve been struggling with a variety of health issues since a few weeks before my arrival here in Uganda. It is interesting—when attending my pre-field training at MTI, one of the activities was to look at a list of typical fears missionaries face when going to the field. We were supposed to choose those that caused us the most anxiety and at the top of my list was “being unable to do ministry due to health problems”. Maybe God was hinting even then at what was to come.

I think it would be easy for me to whine, complain, list all of my symptoms and how they’ve affected my attempt to live life here. But instead, I would like to reflect on what God has been teaching me the past several months through this trial. I don’t want this to become a list that appears to be “why I’m holier than you”. Not at all. If anything, this time of illness has shown me just how little I understand the Gospel, God’s character, and my own sinful heart. But as I process this morning by writing, I hope it can come as an encouragement to you in whatever trial you’re facing. We are not alone in needing to learn and re-learn the simple truths of the Gospel. As miserable as hardship may be, I am finding that God uses it to grow us in leaps and bounds.

Some things God has been showing me lately:

• I can do nothing, absolutely nothing without His strength.
• As the illusion of my control has been stripped away, I realize He has total control over all things.
• I have allowed many things to define me and become my identity when, in fact, my true identity can only be found in Him. I am the beloved child of the King, as we all are.
• My value is not found in what I can do or accomplish, how full my planner is or my outer appearance. My Father delights in me (and you too!) no matter what my circumstances may be.
• Sometimes it is okay to slow down or even stop; God uses those times of slowing or stopping to whisper to my often frantic heart.

The past few days have been days of stopping. As physical fatigue has wracked my body and emotional exhaustion has accompanied it, I’ve been forced to stop and rest. And right now in the cool, damp, and darkness of a rainy morning, I am no longer fighting it. There are some things that can only be learned in the stillness of stopping.

A Morning in the Life

My alarm goes off and I hit the snooze button (several times). I am thankful the power has stayed on all night, allowing a fan to emit a cool breeze over me and block out the night time noises of goats bleating and neighbors talking. Roll out of bed, enjoy a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal. Read Streams in the Desert and muddle my way through an Old Testament reading for my chronological-read-the-Bible-in-a-year study (genealogies get old fast but I am enjoying stories that I’m not as familiar with too).

My schedule suddenly clears as a meeting is canceled so I SMS my friend, Mbabazi*, who volunteers at the health center in Nyahuka. She is willing to let me tag along today and tells me she’ll arrive at 9:30. I look over some language study materials as I hope to begin again with a new helper this week. I leave the house at 9:30, knowing that it’s usually best to be late here. I am in Africa, right?

I still beat Mbabazi to the health center but she is right behind me. I greet Rose, a nurse friend, as she is back from a training in Kampala. I hope to spend time with her at the pediatric ward, learning more, soon. Today she is scheduled for the night shift so I decide to go with Mbabazi instead. We end up at the antenatal HIV/AIDS clinic.

The room is overflowing with pregnant women and several husbands that agreed to come along and be tested as well. At first, I feel my white skin as I sit down and hundreds of beautiful, brown faces stare back. But unlike children, they don’t stare for minute upon minute, seemingly without blinking. They return their attention to the health worker that is giving an educational message.

I learn how to do the recordkeeping while Mbabazi interviews each client, asking them their name, age, village, etc. When the pile of kitabos (personal notebooks containing each woman’s medical history) lessens, I stop and take in the room. Over a hundred women, all pregnant, wearing one of three maternity dress styles that must be selling in the market these days. A cluster of men in the back of the room. Benches lined up with a system of “waiting in line” that I don’t understand but everyone else seems to. Sweat dripping off everyone’s face as the sun beats down on the tin roof. A man walks around selling handfuls of peanuts. The occasional group chuckle when the health instructor makes a joke.

Mbabazi and I work together to fill out each woman’s kitabo and record the information in another gigantic book, presumably for government statistics, accountability, and the health center’s records. After a while, I’m amazed at how you can tell a woman’s age by the number of children she has had and vice versa. It seems the average age for a first pregnancy is 16. By the time girls reach my age (21), they’re having their 3rd child. And if a woman in her 30’s comes in, she likely has had 6-8 pregnancies. I also realize the child mortality rate, as many have had a certain number of children but have also lost 1-2 as well.

After each woman is registered, she is examined and tested for HIV, given iron and folic acid supplements, de-worming medicine , and any other treatment needed. As I go back to record the HIV test results, I am encouraged that most come back negative. But I am hit hard by the 21 year-old who tests positive, is pregnant, and the father tests positive as well. Nonetheless, it is good that they have come and the many negative results show that these HIV/AIDS clinics are doing their job in educating the public.

After a while, the kitabos start coming back with no test results written in them. I hear that the lab tech got tired and decided to stop. The women will have to come back and be tested another day. I remember then that Rose was concerned because no one had shown up this morning to work in the pediatric ward. And Mbabazi told me that many of the medicines have run out in the store room. I am discouraged by the lack of life-sustaining resources and committed staff. I wish I could do more.

But, I am encouraged by the staff that are faithful in showing up and their desire to help patients, even with severely limited resources. And I am encouraged by the fathers who have come to be tested for HIV. And I am encouraged by the many negative test results. And I am encouraged by hard-working volunteers like Mbabazi, who are so devoted and are not even paid for their time.

I leave around 2 pm, sweaty and hungry but realizing that most of the women will still be waiting for several more hours before leaving. At which point, they will have an even longer walk home. Access to medical care is hard to come by here and is usually an all day commitment filled with waiting.

I walk home with the equatorial sun blazing, burning my skin. It is a true dry-season kind of day with dust billowing up on the road and everyone moving slowly in the heat. I come home and appreciate a cup of cold water in a whole new way.

*I've changed some names in this post, just in case :)

On Separation

The past few days, I’ve been feeling the separation that living in Bundibugyo brings. Separation from family as they all have dinner together and talk about the twin boys Tony and Rachel are expecting and the new house Scott and Emily will soon be moving into. Separation from friends as they gather from 3 different states to spend a weekend together. Separation from the seasons I’ve known my whole life as I have a suntan while emails from home mention snow. Separation from high-quality and easily accessible healthcare as I wait another few weeks before returning to Kampala and my symptoms worsen. Separation from the lifestyle I had just a few months ago; using washing machines, microwaves, and dishwashers, having blown-dry hair and cute clothes, wearing make-up, driving my own car, a full social agenda and a busy college schedule. Separation from a world where everything makes sense. (I do realize that if I were to return to America now, it would no longer make sense either :)

Despite feeling the distance, I wouldn’t describe myself as being homesick. I am content here in Bundibugyo and pleased that God has placed me here at this time. After nearly 4 months here, I am amazed at all that I’ve learned and the level of comfort I feel with daily life. The moments when I pinch myself and ask “What have I done? What am I doing here?” still pop up (as I'm sure they will throughout the next 2 years) but they’re becoming less frequent.

And for the moments when I feel the separation, I run to Romans 8. I like the variation that the Message brings to this passage that I’ve grown so familiar with:

“The One who died for us—who was raised to life for us!—is in the presence of God at this very moment sticking up for us. Do you think anyone is going to be able to drive a wedge between us and Christ’s love for us? There is no way! Not trouble, not hard times, not hatred, not hunger, not homelessness, not bullying threats, not backstabbing, not even the worst sins listed in Scripture…None of this fazes us because Jesus loves us.”

Going Batty

A short term team arrived from North Carolina earlier this week and it has been fun getting to know them and sharing life in Bundibugyo with them. The first day, someone asked me “What is the biggest change you’ve noticed since arriving here 3 months ago? What is now normal that was strange then?” One of the first things that came to mind was that I’ve grown somewhat used to the abundance of creatures that we share our homes with here. I don’t think I’ll ever get entirely used to it but I’m no longer terrified every time a cockroach jumps out of a cookbook or a lizard does laps in our ceiling.

I guess God heard my statement because that night I had a creature adventure at 3 am. I woke up and heard a clicking/whirring noise that sounded like a very large bug. I was thankful for my mosquito net and tried to go back to sleep. After a while I decided to get up and look around with my headlamp and I was in for a surprise. Perched on the mosquito netting at the foot of my bed was a round, furry lump. I quickly realized it was a bat. Gross. I wasn’t quite sure what to do. I allowed myself to wake up a little bit and then decided I needed to get the bat out of my room before I could go back to sleep.

I found a pillowcase, stared at the bat for about 3 minutes gathering courage, and then managed to get the bat into the pillowcase. I RAN outside with it, while it was chirping and making unhappy bat noises. I tried to shake it out and let it free but it wouldn’t come out. So I left the pillowcase on our front porch, hoping it would find its way out, and went back to bed.

The next morning, Anna and Pat went outside to say good-bye to a friend. I was still in bed sleeping off my 3 am adventure. Anna saw the pillowcase and realized there was a bat inside. She and Pat were confused as to why someone would put a bat in a pillowcase on our front porch. Had someone tried to put a curse on us?

When I got up, I told them my tale and the batty pillowcase made a lot more sense. The past two nights have been bat-free and I’ve been thankful for good sleep :) You never know what you’ll find here!