Going, going, Gulu!

Last weekend, I finally fulfilled a long ago made promise to visit my friend, Annelise, in Gulu. So early Friday morning, I set out on what turned out to be a 9 and a half hour long journey north. First was the typical 2 hour taxi ride to Kampala where I transferred to a large bus that would take me the final stretch. If you read my last blog post, you’ll be happy to know that I overcame my stubbornness and took a boda straight from the taxi to the bus park and couldn't have been happier about it given it was extra crazy in downtown Kampala that day. The next 6 ½ hours were spent nice and cozy between two men and our luggage in the back row of the bus. I realize 

I’m probably most certainly being overly sentimental but I always feel a sort of unspoken camaraderie with people I share a long journey with; be it plane, train or automobile. At one point we made a brief stop and my neighbor on the left got out to grab something from a vendor. Before he had a chance to board, the bus started leaving. The man on his other side started shouting that we were missing a passenger and we were notified that he was currently sprinting towards the bus. Once he made his way back to us, relieved and out of breath, he was welcomed back with laughter and smiles so maybe I’m not such a sap after all. 

I find that long journeys like that go by quickly and I’m often content with my music, my thoughts, a book and the passing scenery. My neighbor on my right took care to point out any interesting sights like Karuma Falls and baboons along the roadside and answered as best he could any questions I had about the landscape. 

Once I arrived in Gulu, I called Annelise and she met me at the taxi park where we hopped on a boda and went straight to her house to settle in. That first night, we stayed at home and watched a movie with her roommates and made plans for the following day.

Saturday couldn't have been more perfect. We slept in, made French toast and continued our conversations, catching up on the months since we’d seen each other. Then, in good time, we called one of Annelise’s known boda drivers and organized a trip out to Fort Patiko; an historic spot 32km (a 45 minute boda ride) north towards south Sudan. Its significance dates back to the mid 1800’s and involves the British and the Arab controlled slave trade. We first stopped at the sight of some small ruins; stone structures that were used for such purposes as storage and administration. Our boda driver, Jack, had never visited this sight before so it wasn’t without struggle (and without the kind guidance of a handful of villagers along the way) that we made our way along rough trails toward the base of a huge monolith that served as a look-out point for the Arab slave traders and was the location of the death of many slaves who were deemed unfit. Jack’s poor boda took a bit of a beating and there were many portions that Annelise and I dismounted and footed while he navigated the sometimes narrow, steep and rocky paths. 

Eventually, we reached a point where it became necessary to abandon the boda altogether and proceeded to hike up a bare 45 degree rock face complete with lizards scurrying into crevices along the way. We reached the top completely breathless but were rewarded with one of the most amazing views I’ve ever had the pleasure of setting my eyes on. Even though the day was incredibly hot, a steady breeze kept us cool and my lungs were treated to some much appreciated, sweet smelling, smoke and exhaust free, fresh air. We must have spent nearly an hour walking around the level surface of the rock and taking in the sights from every angle before stopping to have a quick cookie picnic and then made our way back down to the bike and rode home. Annelise and I returned sunburnt, wind-blown and covered in a thin layer of red dust but feeling incredibly blessed to have seen such a paradise. 

Highlights from the rest of the day included a shower and dinner out at an Indian restaurant with a group of Annelise’s friends and friends of friends; an interesting glimpse into the missionary and expat community of Gulu.

Sunday was rather low-key; church in the morning, which included some really great worship courtesy of a full band backed up by a choir of children, a quiet afternoon back at the house and dinner at a restaurant called The Wall that Annelise had heard was nice but turned out to be a glorified bar on an open balcony with Fast and Furious playing on a TV screen.

All in all, it was a really great, relaxing weekend with a wonderful friend exploring more of what the Pearl of Africa has to offer. I am truly blessed to live in such a beautiful country.    

One of the trails...

Part of the ruins...

Some of the villagers who helped us find our way...

The base of the monolith where we had to ditch the boda...

Apparently a slang word in Acholi that means something along the lines of...it is what it is...

If you look closely, you can see Annelise on the left and Jack on the right...

Robbers & Reunions

Looking back, I am having a hard time believing it’s been 2 whole months since my last post. Where on earth does the time go? Even stranger, there are only 3 months left before I come home for Christmas. I guess this is a good a time as any to share that I have a flight booked in January to return to Uganda for another year and even though I came to that decision months ago, I feel so settled here that I can’t believe I was even considering the alternative.

So, how to summarize the last 2 months without writing a novel…I’ll just stick with the really good parts.

A few weeks ago, a team from my church came to spend a couple weeks in Mpigi. Especially given I had friends on the team, I was extremely excited to see them. They had planned a day to come up to Jinja to see me and see Ekisa so I went down the day before to spend some time with them and accompanied them back the following day. Nigel (one of the team leaders) put me in charge of the day so as we rolled into town, I directed the driver to a small run down fishing village. I had everyone stay in the vans and went down to the shore where I knew I would find a row of leaky wooden boats and negotiated a one hour boat ride with a random Ugandan man. I went back and told the team to come on and follow me down and though there was definitely more than one person who asked me with raised eyebrows, “are you sure?”, we had a great time seeing the source of Nile, monkeys, a plethora of birds and even monitor lizards.  

From there, we had lunch at a great restaurant called 2 Friends and then headed to Ekisa to spend a couple hours with the kids. The kids were still napping when we got there which gave me a chance to sit down with everyone, tell them all about Ekisa and how I ended up here and answer any question they had. I can hardly even put into words how much it meant to me to have them make a deliberate trip to see this place and what we’re all about and I will be forever grateful to the team and to my church for their love and support.

The following week, the team had plans to head down to Kibaale to visit another missionary family from my church, Jeff and Shannon Dyck. As it had been my intention since they came back to Uganda to go and see them, this was the perfect opportunity to do so and to spend more time with everyone. Seeing them made me regret not making a trip to Kibaale a priority as I could never have imagined the blessing of spending time with people who understand and know home as well as Uganda…it’s a rare thing in my life and there are so many things I would like to talk to them about and I look forward to doing so. I believe wholeheartedly that they are a resource that will significantly increase my chances of navigating life in a missionary community with my sanity intact. In fact, however long we’re all here I truly intend to make the trip down at least once every couple months; Shannon, if you’re reading this, I hope that’s ok. J

I learned a valuable lesson on that second trip as I took public transport all the way to Mpigi and the whole way back which includes a taxi transfer in Kampala. To help you understand the choices I made, you have to understand how much I hate getting ripped off by boda drivers. In Jinja that doesn’t happen (when I do happen to take a boda) because I know the distance between places and what it should cost. When a taxi drops everyone off on the corner of a random side street in downtown Kampala and I need to get to the taxi park, I have no idea how far it is and what the fair price is….so I asked directions and I walked. On the way to Mpigi, this took nearly 20 minutes and involved walking between two buildings where I got the distinct impression that I was somewhere I shouldn’t be and I’m pretty sure a guy was tailing me looking for a chance to reach into my bag. I got through unscathed and found the taxi to Mpigi on the other side as I had been directed.

You would think that that experience would have convinced me that I am much better off getting on a boda the next time and just sucking it up if I end up paying too much; well, unfortunately for me, my stubbornness exceeded my common sense and I did the same thing on my way back to Jinja…another 20 minute walk through the bowels of crazy busy downtown Kampala. I held my purse close and didn’t put anything of value in the outside pockets of my backpack and I was wise to do so as at one point a sly hand attached to an audacious young man attempted to push open a zipper on my purse before veering off into the crowd and once I had settled into a coach bus in the taxi park, I discovered every one of the zippers on my backpack had been opened to some degree. The crazy thing is I fully expected this but still chose not to take a boda. I am happy to report, though, that I feel quite convinced to never do that again.      

I have so much more to share but as I’ve already gone on too long, I will save that for another post. 

The team having dinner together...

My dear friends, Chase and Breanna.

Nigel - "Look! A monkey" ...maybe...

This is near the official "Source of the Nile". This used to be more of an island but the water has risen since the dam.

Geoff, lovin' life.

Jeff gave us a great tour of their school and clinic.

We all got to introduce ourselves to the students...

Sage advice...

Jeff also gave us a bit of a tour of Kibaale and we got to visit a couple of the families in their program.

A view of Kibaale from the back of the pickup.

Choosing Adversity

“Besides food and buildings, what do you miss most about home?”

That's what our counselor, Sam, asked me a couple weeks ago during the long drive to Kampala.

Without having to think about it, I told him that significantly more than either of those things, what I have the hardest time leaving behind is security; good healthcare, ambulances, police that I can put my trust in. 

After I explained this, he thought for a moment and responded,

“Why would you ever give that up?”

Good question, Sam.

The simple answer is that God asked me to and I learned a long time ago not to argue.

There are reasons besides that, of course, that made me want to come back…the kids, friends, the sense of purpose; let’s be honest, without those things I never would have had the courage to return. Why? This place is a pressure cooker; it brings out the best and the worst in all of us. The best parts of me, the parts the Holy Spirit has permeated, are there…but the worst…God help me, the worst…

Self-righteous judgement, arrogance and an inflated sense of my own superiority when I don’t agree with another organization or a person’s motives for being here; bitterness, anger and cynicism when I’m weary of the corruption and insecurity…these things come swiftly and easily in this place…ask anyone. Sometimes I have felt like it’d be easier to be home simply so I don’t have to deal with my own wicked heart and the way I respond to the tougher parts of my life here.      

But all this is a familiar story; one that if I remember correctly, I have told before…but I have since come to a different conclusion: 

Choosing to live in a place that brings out the worst in me…a blessing?

In a most visual and disgusting way, let me give an illustration…if you have an abscess, it is heat that draws the pus to the surface and only then can it be extracted…

I recently had a situation where my pride was particularly highlighted and I sat there disgusted with myself, full of criticism and shame, until I felt God’s hand on my shoulder and a whisper…dear one, how will I ever cure the infection if I don’t first draw it out? I know it’s painful, but would you rather carry on never knowing you were ill and never understanding the source of your weariness?

I have begun to understand something more fully. Recognizing my sin and allowing it because it provides some sort of satisfaction or recognizing my sin and then simply feeling guilty about it, is exhausting. Recognizing my sin, choosing to not be satisfied with it, appreciating my inability to change my own heart, asking God for help and seeing the evidence of that change is nothing short of rejuvenating.

Although this concept isn’t exactly new to me, what’s new is that I am beginning to appreciate the hard situations that lead to the opportunity for these changes to take place. What’s more, I am beginning to recognize the maturity it takes to not allow myself those sins that facilitate a sense of superiority and not let the recognition of my sin deflate me.

So, Sam, why would I give it all up? Because God asked me to…yes…because this has become my home and I have a family here too…yes…because there is a purpose for me being here…yes…because I want to be in a place where I am tested, where the darkest parts of my heart are exposed and where I am brought to my knees, horrified by my own sin and depravity?…surprisingly…yes.