New Trousers for Owen

So about two weeks ago one of the neighborhood kid Owen, about 10 years old, came knocking on my door asking if I had any work he could do. I couldn’t really come up with anything. I had already been to the market, the yard had just been slashed. He kind of looked at the ground and said he needed to buy some new trousers. I said I was sorry that I couldn’t help (and his trousers looked okay to me). When he turned to go, I smiled a bit due to the view. There were two a gaping holes about 6 inches each perpendicular to the middle seam. While this is not too unusual a sight I still felt bad because Owen did indeed need trousers (“Trousers” not to be confused with “pants”, which is what Ugandans call underwear.) He has continued to wear those trousers along with his usual smile for these past two weeks. He has also been persistent in asking for work, so this Saturday he has been working hard, first washing Heidi’s bike, then clearing our drainage ditch which is forever over grown. And lastly going for a market run which I was happy to pass off on this sweltering day. I gave him a list and explained it... “garlic, you know it?” (enthusiastic nodding) “oh yes it is like an onion, only not an onion.” “yes, one of those, five carrots, a pineapple, etc.”, I continued. And Owen and friend set out, my market bag over his shoulder, returning with an itemized list of how much everything cost. The only mistake was that since there was only one carrot to be found they bought 5 heads of garlic. When I paid him for his work, he had that satisfied look that comes with the reward of good, honest, hard work. The thought that he wouldn’t have be feeling the draft through his trousers much longer was that much sweeter.

The Rat ate my homework

We have been experiencing some rat issues at RMS. They began with a somewhat traumatic experience. Weeks ago when Ashley and I were rearranging the classroom we were removing books from a shelf when all of a sudden Ashley says, “oh no!” and backs away. There was a rat’s nest. I proceed to poke at it with a broom handle when a large rat jumps out at me. Both of us scream. I rush to shove the carpet under the door, but the little rascal beat me to it. Ashley got down from the table and we went to hunt it down. It had run behind the uninstalled black board leaning against the wall. Ashley stood on one end broom ready to shoo towards my end. Only I was feeling a bit apprehensive about my first rat kill. (I have disposed of many dead poised rats but I had yet to squish one’s furry body with a bat.) And again it ran right past me. We hunted a bit more but she was gone. How do I know it was a she you might be wondering? Well you can guess what I found dead on the floor from the long fall off the book shelf.

After this, almost every day we would find new evidence of our little pest(s). One night when one was trapped in our cabinet, after munching our precious white computer paper, Lilli’s foam handwriting mats, and various craft items, it went to town on the door. Many a book has been gnarled away on a corner. Strawberry Girl has had to be tossed completely... and yes even Jack’s homework was partially devoured. Jack and Julia the rat exterminators posted RATS BEWARE signs on the chalk boards and last week Mama Rat met her doom at the skilled hands of these two with broom handle and towel rod. The next day I was to have my first kills as Ashley and I found two more babies. I’ve decided broom handle is not my preferred implement. Just when we hoped we were rat free, all yesterday we kept getting little whiffs of something suspiciously like dead animal. After the kids left, there in our storage room was one smelly, grey, large, dead rat. With 4 down I am hoping we are at the end for a while. Ahh... the spice of life in Uganda. While rat hunts are not my favorite flavor, I love the adventure and new experiences that greet me each day.

Great Care!

One huge difference between life in America and life and Bundibugyo is the amount of time it takes to do things. I mean you can’t just whip up enchiladas you have to make tomato sauce and the tortillas. Last week when I wanted to buy some sand paper I ended up going all over... “no I don’t have it go here”. However, this weekend I experienced just the opposite.

We were participating in our usual Sunday activity... Sunday soccer at the Myhre’s, when while taking my turn as goalie my hand got in the way of a powerful shot resulting in quite a lot of pain. While in America this would have ended in perhaps hours in the ER or some waiting room followed by a large bill, here in Bundi I was quickly surrounded by 3 doctors and a nurse bringing me IB prophen, ice and quickly constructing a splint. Upon observation the following day it was decided that I needed an x-ray. There was no bone displacement but very likely a fracture. This meant the 8 hour trip to Kampala. Bumping along a dusty road, with a painful arm in the blazing heat was not something I was looking forward to. The other option presented was that Scott could just go ahead and put a cast on. After a bit of deliberation I decided I didn’t want to make the journey all the way to Kampala just for them to tell me I needed to get a cast, which I can get here. So 30 minutes later there I was on the Myhre’s porch a cut tube sock on my arm, cotton padding over top and Dr. Scott wrapping strips of wet plaster around my arm. All with the assistance of the wonderful “nurse” Julia. And I was done... easy as that. AND there was no bill! I may not have been able to choose my color cast, but I could not have asked for better care! Thanks team!

Over the mountains and through the jungle to Bundibugyo electricity goes

About a year ago huge mango trees came crashing down along the Bundibugyo road and a new kind of tree went up. The power lines have made it over the mountains and electricity is now available, though few are able to afford it. On the mission we have been using solar and have not yet tapped into the new source. Its effect on us has been from a distance. You can tell which shops are connected as kids gather out front to dance to the blaring music. Occasionally I am kept up by a neighbor showing a kung fu sounding movie. Traditionally when there is a death or a wedding drums beat all night to keep away evil spirits. Blaring music through the night is the new solution, a use of technology that I would never have considered. Duka’s with services like printing, photocopying, and cd burning are popping up. Even saw one with a popcorn machine the other day.

So we have “enjoyed” the changes of electricity at an arms length... until now. Now it is up close and personal. Our cement walls have been hacked apart. Holes for the outlets were pounded leaving a mess of rubble and fine cement dust hanging in the air. Then fresh cement was flung back into the gashes and craters in the wall. Everything book shelf, couch cushion, item on a counter top had to be moved out or covered up. This would be all well and good if they came in did the work and so mess could be cleaned and the house back in order. But here I sit over two weeks following the initial chisel pound and as I type the electrician can be heard clomping around in the ceiling and I’m still wiping cement dust off tables and shelves. Whether it is rain, not having someone to cook them lunch, or International Women’s day that has kept the MEN away... the installation continues. Getting electricity has turned into a cultural experience. African’s are not exactly time oriented. God faithfully provides grace to be flexible and forgives my eye rolling and impatience when they want to show up after noon when we are at work, or when they all leave 10 minutes after arriving because they need some tool, or when wet cement is left all over the counter. He gently shows me my own faults and my own ways of putting other things in front of what really matters. And reminds me that loving people is more important than being able to charge my phone or turn on the lights on a rainy day.

post hacking

post cement

International Women's Day

There was rain last night clearing the cloud cover that often shrouds the mountains in Bundibugyo, but today the sun was beating down. I squinted as it seemed to reflect off everything including the green grass of the Christ School soccer or pitch. The starting whistle was yet to blow and I could feel sweat already trickling down the back of my legs. Today was Women‘s Day, an international holiday that I have celebrated for the first time. Ugandan schools were out for the day and Illuminet, one of the Christ’s School teacher’s thought it would be fun to have a match between the Christ School girl’s team vs. the CSB female teachers, teacher’s wives and women from the mission. Ashley, the girl’s coach and pretty much an amazing athlete gallantly took midfield which involved the most running. Jennifer and Heidi were solid defenders and I played up top going head to head with feisty Nora who gave me a run for my money every time I got the ball.

Students lined the field gasping and awing with each good play. I felt so honored to be playing with these women and girls. In a place where just outside the school gates it would be inappropriate to wear pants, many women are uneducated and will spend their days having babies, cooking over 3 stones, and hauling fire wood and water, these teachers are role models, giving hope that it is possible to get an education and pursue a career. These girls are the future of Uganda studying hard and learning that they can enjoy playing futball like any boy. Also being poured into them is the hope that only Christ can give. That He loves them and has a future for each of their lives. And it is His love that gives them value. He is the one who will be there to lift them up not just on Women’s day but every day.

Nora Steeling the ball away

Kids, cookies, and cards

The other day I was in the middle of making some cookies. It never fails that whenever I am in the middle of something there is a knock at the door. This time it was some neighbor kids with requests of “ompe massi” and “ompe cards”... give me water, give me cards. It is a constant battle for me to have a gracious heart, but today it was hard to resist their smiling white teeth (or lack there of) and mischievous dark eyes. Kiemanual always tries to hide behind the door and jump out and scare me. So I obliged with the water and gave them the cards, but told them I was cooking and couldn’t come out and play right now. As I was inside baking away I could hear them outside talking and laughing with each other singing even as they played. Wonderful sounds really. And my heart went out to them. Behind their demands for water and whatever is a desire for love, acceptance not unlike my own. I just seek it in different ways. I decided to bring out some of the warm cookies and play a round or two of cards. Africa is slowly teaching me to lay aside some of my task orientedness. God is showing me how to love others more than myself and also showing me that it actually will bring me more joy if I rely on Him and do it. My heart was full today when Kiemanual came and took my hand today at church. God still has a lot of work to do on my selfish heart but he has promised to not give up on me.

The Honeymoon is over

Life in Bundibugyo has been a bit different these past few weeks. A bit more raw. I knew the honeymoon period was over when I came down with a fever and other flu symptoms that made me ever so thankful for indoor plumbing. The team is bare bones with the Clarks, Nathan and myself being the only ones. The comfort of running from one American home to another is not there. I don’t like being alone in my house and have felt lonely for the first time since arriving. I seem to be lacking purpose with the kids gone and no one to teach. Our school was broken into again revealing my accusatory heart. My hopes to focus on language have been thwarted with extended illness and I feel like my attempts are just not getting me anywhere. I have felt inadequate and overwhelmed as I face the new responsibilities of the scholarship program at Christ School. I am tempted to look at all of this and question why am I here? And be discouraged and wallow in self pity. Or I can see the mercy of God in placing me here at this time under these circumstances. What is going on is that the Holy Spirit has lit a fire in my hear, one that convicts and reveals sins of self-centeredness and drives me to seek Him.

The truth is that because I am self-centered, I have a hard time loving people. But there is another truth that is mine for the claiming... Jesus loves being with me anyway. And my worth doesn’t come from work that I a doing. And he is always around when I am lonely.(we actually seem to have more quality time that way). He loves it when I come to him confessing my selfish reasons for wanting to learn Lubwisi. And he is there to give grace to faithfully struggle with a language that is so hard for me. Jesus was already perfect for me, so I don’t have to have it together or know what I am doing as I jump into the scholarship program at Christ School. And his grace abounds, forever faithful, forever forgiving, forever loving me and helping me to believe it!