Top Ten Things I Learned After a Landslide

Three hundred and fifty people that died in a catastrophic landslide in Uganda doesn’t seem like a very big deal to those of us who might be jaded by the staggering numbers of deaths the last two months or so all over the world due to natural disasters. But let me assure you, from a front row position, when you put a face on the child, when you stand next to the inconsolable, weeping parents as yet another body is dug out of 10 feet of mud, it’s real. It’s sad. It’s a tragedy. A devastating, horrendous tragedy.

And so…this being my very first landslide, there were a few things I learned, some on the lighter side, that I thought I’d like to share with you….

#10 A Walking stick is not just something that looks cool…it is absolutely necessary if you’re going to make the trek up the slippery, treacherous mountain without falling hundreds of feet to sure death.

#9 A poncho is a great idea to cart around with you. It WILL rain heavily at some point when you are headed up or down the mountain…especially if you don’t have a poncho.

#8 Band-aids are important for the blisters that will appear on your fingers from clutching the walking stick…and on your feet if your gum boots don’t fit you perfectly.

#7 Have boots (that fit) – to keep the rain out, the mud out, the snakes out, and to give you some traction on the mountain

#6 You should begin the trek hydrated and stay hydrated while climbing the mountain and while digging to recover bodies…it helps with the thinning atmosphere which you haven’t had time to adjust to, because, well it’s an unexpected crisis

#5 There’s such a thing as “reading the soil” as our local walking companions shared with us. They knew exactly where to place each foot. After almost falling off the mountain several times, we learned to listen.

#4 Going down the mountain is NOT easier than going up the mountain

#3 We never got used to seeing people carry the bodies of their dead loved ones pulled from the mud, simply wrapped in pieces of fabric, or not at all

#2 We continued to be amazed at the resilience of the people…and

#1 We were humbled by the local people who were constantly more concerned and worried about us mzungus getting wet or muddy or being tired on the long hike, than their own well-being, or their devastating losses.

T.I.A.

With just a little over 30 days before we’ll be returning to the states for a visit, we’re taking a few minutes to look back over the last eight months of living in Uganda. It’s been quite an adventure…a real melding of cultures; there’s been exasperation, excitement, curiosity, frustration, joy, confusion, moments that have taken our breath away, some moments when we wish we weren’t ‘breathing it all in…” We can’t even imagine not having had the opportunities we’ve had so far; the blessing to meet the people we’ve met; the heartbreaks, the happy moments. It’s been delightful, brilliant, satisfying.

And on the lighter side, here’s what it means to live in Uganda;

A need to travel in convoys through many places

Passing truckloads of soldiers with rocket launchers and AK-47’s; they’re always going the other way…is that good or bad?

Learning to distinguish the difference in your mosquito net, between lizard poop, rat poop, roach poop, bat poop and scorpion poop.

The big three—cockroaches, sweet ants, and big black grease ants. They seem to have an agreement over whose turn it is to own your home. I just spray Doom and watch them fall to a heap. Here that is called "punishing" them with "medicine."

Figuring out why people "smoke their latrines”. They set methane gas beneath the concrete slab (the one with the hole in it you straddle) on fire. They tell us this makes it smell better.

When you shop at any of the Chinese herbal shops, they will sell you one particular medicine that is good for; “relief for cardiac and abdominal pains, rheumatic pains, aching back, quadriplegia, sprains, and bruises, injuries from falls, contusions, strains, cuts, burns, bleeding, stings, bites, and deep-rooted ulcers.” You should know that two of the ingredients are turpentine and kerosene.

You must learn to figure this out: In 2004 a generator cost $600, or 1,065,000 UGX at an exchange rate of 1,775. So if it's $300 at today’s rate of 2,300 shillings, is that a good deal?

Signs here are interesting...and different.

Termite mounds are taller than Mike. Anything wood that comes up missing has probably been consumed by the termites for their mounds.

Don’t get excited if you hear a gun blast in the middle of the night. All guards carry guns and forget they’re loaded.

Most all of the delays here can be explained with one sentence, "The man with the key has gone." We have seen schools, churches, businesses closed for weeks because the key is with “the man “and they cannot locate him. Every door in Africa has a key. Our apartment has 6 different keys.

It’s hard to kill these cockroaches with flip flops no matter how hard you smack them.

You see everything in traffic here: Boda-Boda passengers holding huge sheets of plate glass; lorries with 60 armed guards jammed in the back; lost cows, taxies with dead fish on the bumper or squawking chickens hanging out the windows, bicycles with 5-foot high stacks of raw eggs or 14-foot lengths of lumber, vendors selling fried grasshoppers or goat on a stick, adolescents on skateboards, beggars, soldiers with AK47s…

Vanilla, Dove soap, and roach motels disappeared from stores 3 months ago. Pudding, ‘Minced’ Helper (like our Hamburger Helper?) and Listerine mouth wash made a debut.

Reasons you won’t get any sleep:

• The neighbors are swarming all over the white ants that are swarming all over the property all around us. Yes, you pull the ‘feathers’ (wings) off and fry them…or not. Good either way.
  
• The buzz of a mosquito…is it inside the net or outside?


• The endless noise of obnoxious music blaring from bars all around
  
• Horns ‘hooting’…relentlessly


• Roosters that cannot tell time, so they just tell you each time the hour changes.

Taking a shower in Kitgum— mix water from the borehole with hot water from the coffee pot. (if someone will put the generator on…because there is no power.) Dump over your head.

Using the toilet in the village: find someone with the key; step over roosters, past cows, goats and pigs…push cement block off hole, ignore the enormous lizard watching you from overhead, pick up travel toilet paper roll from the ground that you always drop, blow the dirt and giant spider off. Think of the squat as part of your work out to build muscles you didn’t know you were suppose to have

If you try to watch a program with anyone here, half-way through, your companions will begin to share some bizarre story…then go back to the show as though they hadn’t just completely interrupted the show. It doesn’t really matter though…either the place you’re staying will change the channel before the show is over anyway, or the power will go off.

At any given time, the electric will be off, the propane empty and “finished” throughout all of Kampala…and you will have no water, but the internet will be up. You can never have it all at the same time. Deal with it. T.I.A.

You have to appreciate the language here; "Had a close call today. The car almost got knocked up by a boda-boda carrying a long, steel pipe." At hotels, the answer to everything you ask for is “sorry, it is just finished.” Driving directions are always hysterical…there is no left or right, there is up, down, or continue while people are making directional hand gestures from the back seat. The answer to your every request, “it is coming.” It is coming can mean anything from 2 hours to 2 weeks. Seriously.

The church collection basket will look something like: a cabbage, a bag of beans, 2 avocados, carrots, 2 onions, 3 eggs and a live chicken…on a good day.

When the internet guy finally shows up to fix your internet, the power will go out.

The insurance company seriously informs you that they will not replace a car windshield more than two times a year.

ALL glass on a car needs to be etched with the license plate number of the car or it will be stolen and resold to you later at the repair shop. Count on it happening at least once.

Tubs and showers here have no shower curtains. We have stopped trying to keep the water from drenching everything in the bathroom. Someone comes in and mops up afterwards. A curtain would be so easy.

It’s a big deal if you get served the gizzard of a chicken. It means they killed the bird for you.

What’s wrong with this picture? The meat markets are little places in the market where the vendor sits INSIDE while the meat hangs OUTSIDE…in the heat. hmmm

A knife sharpener is someone showing up with a bike and pedaling madly while holding your knife in a contraption on top

Deworming is a fact of life here. And we thought it was just for our pets back home.

Do not try to return soda bottles without buying new sodas. A refund is inconceivable and perplexing.

You really miss home at Christmas when the Christmas decorating involves the Energizer Bunny being pulled by reindeer.

Count on fun “extras” in everything you purchase from the market; baby roaches in the egg cartons; roaches imbedded in the toilet paper; feathers and chicken poop still on the eggs. No, you don’t pay extra. And then there’s the game our good friends who know we love word games gave us for Christmas…”SCRAMBLE, the WORLD game” uh huh.

And my favorite…If clothes are hung outside, and they always are, it is very possible for a female fly to lay eggs on them. The clothes are then worn and the eggs penetrate the skin and within three days, painful, boil-like lesions occur. Pus emerges from each sore as it gets ripe. Once the sore is expressed a worm comes out of it. Ick. We'll try to leave these behind when we visit.

A Bug is Still a Bug

Yes, this is a grasshopper. Nsenene is what they are called here. You know me...it’s bad enough that this thing is jumping around just acting like a bug. But here they are also a delicacy. Uh huh. Food. Snack. Something you would send your husband out for in the middle of the night when you’re pregnant and having cravings.
But a bug is still a bug. Right? It’s grasshopper season right now in Uganda. There are guys carrying large containers of these things everywhere you look selling them. Typically they just walk right on by the mzungu car. They’ve learned. We’re just not cool enough to want to eat grasshoppers.

Mike and I made a pact a while back, before we knew better; before we knew grasshoppers were a delicacy; we would ‘try’ anything any local person gave us to eat.

How bad could it be? We weren’t very ‘africanized’ then.

They catch them like this: They put traps up at night after it gets totally dark out. They use 14 foot long aluminum sheeting and have lights set up shining on the sheeting. The light attracts the bug...they fly into the metal sheets, knock themselves silly and fall into big barrels at the bottom of the sheets which are filled with water.

Then they are deep fried and you just can’t get enough of them. Uh huh.

Recently we were in the home of some very sweet people here. And after being in Uganda nearly eight months, we were finally eyeball to eyeball with a plate of fried grasshoppers. Our hosts offered them up quite freely; and Mike and I stood there staring, with our mouths hanging open.

I poked them. I smelled them. I looked at one of the kids who had just finished an entire bowl of them...much like we would eat potato chips. He looked ok. Everyone was watching us, and my husband, who really will eat just about anything...except strange food in Uganda, was not even encouraging me to go for it. “But we said we’d try it, dear; everyone is watching,” I whispered.

Our cute little hostess suggested trying a small, brown one...”they will be the crunchiest” she said. As opposed to, what? A mushy bug? Oh this was not going to be easy.

We fished around for the smallest, brownest, crunchiest one. I picked it up and looked at it...it was looking back. I tried hiding the little face by putting my finger over it...but I still knew the little face was there.

The tiniest member of the family kept saying, “just eat it. They are quite good.”
Okay Deb. Stop over thinking it. Just put it in your mouth, I was saying to myself. Alasdair says, “I will count to ten. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8;” ”wait a minute; start over please.” Alasdair; sigh; "1, 2, 3, 4,...”

Everyone else had become bored staring at us. It’s just a bug after all. Now is my chance to just put it in my mouth. Here goes. Crunch. Crunch. Oh, I’m eating a buuug. Hmmm. Tastes very fishy. I looked at Mike. He was trying to swallow his bug.

Feeling quite proud of myself for eating a bug and not offending our hosts, I held the plate out to them, relieved I hadn’t passed out or puked, and said, “Not terrible. Here you go.” Hosts: “Oh, no, we don’t eat those. They’re bugs. Just our oldest son enjoys them." T.I.A.

An Ounce of Prevention

As parents, it is our instinct to help those we see in harm's way, isn’t it? The fallen child or the little one running towards traffic. But it is hard to assist those that we do not see, people who struggle every minute of every day, just to survive.

I have to admit, in the days I used to tuck my little babies into bed, I took their good health for granted. Being in Uganda for nearly eight months, we have been hit with the unfathomable number of people, babies and children that die here daily. 200,000 children under the age of five die annually. Of these, more than half die during their first year and 45,000 within the first month of birth. Nearly all of these 45,000 babies, and most of the 200,000, die from completely preventable causes and diseases. Now please reread those numbers. Staggering, yes?

Every woman deserves the security of knowing that her child will live another day.

If those sad statistics are not bad enough, one in seven African moms can expect to die as a result of pregnancy. The Commissioner of Social Affairs for the African Union says, “In Africa getting pregnant is a gamble between life and death.” A woman giving birth in sub-Saharan Africa is 100 times more likely to die in labor than a woman in a wealthy nation. These deaths occur in the early neonatal period and often result from obstructed labor or hemorrhage, which are linked to the delay or non-existent pre-natal care. No wonder expectant mothers here look at me with horrified expressions when I ask about their pregnancy or due date.

Most at risk babies are born in rural village areas where health care is unaffordable or unavailable. Many of the deaths that occur in the baby’s first month are a result of poverty and lack of knowledge. The three major causes of newborn deaths are asphyxia, infections, and complications of premature birth.

It should be noted here that all deaths from birth asphyxia can be prevented by use of proper equipment such as resuscitation kits. Yet, basic equipment and essential drugs for new-born care are lacking in most hospitals, and certainly unavailable in the villages.

Infection at birth is the number one robber of a newborn baby’s life. Sepsis, pneumonia, meningitis, tetanus and diarrhea are the single highest killers of newborns. Infections can be prevented through two simple doses of the tetanus vaccine during prenatal care, hygiene practices during childbirth and clean cord care after birth.

There are also many cultural practices that are recipes for infections and postnatal death; the application of ash by traditional birth attendants, or the shaking of a baby to start its breathing right after birth.

Premature birth is responsible for 25% of newborn deaths. More than half of the babies are born at home and mothers do not take their babies to be weighed. Even babies born in health facilities may not be weighed due to lack of equipment, broken equipment, or just the fact that some health workers do not have the skill or knowledge for weighing newborns.

Globally, Sub-Saharan Africa has the highest fertility rate. Uganda has the fourth highest fertility rate in all of Africa at an average of 7.6 births per woman. This results in shorter birth intervals, greater risk of newborn death, and malnutrition, as the mom’s breastfeeding capabilities diminish when there are two or more babies needing breast milk.

Basically, poverty and poor access to healthcare are the fundamental causes of all the newborn deaths in Uganda. Many of the deaths that occur in the first month are a direct result of poverty. Most of the at risk babies are born to young moms, in rural villages, in the bush, and slum areas who cannot afford healthcare. Even if the birth takes place in a hospital, there is no strategy to support newborns in their first week.

We have witnessed firsthand the frustrations of delivering effective healthcare to a population with no electricity, no running water, and very little knowledge of or access to proper nutrition or health management. We are just doing a tiny part but have been so encouraged by the results from our Healthy Village and Family Workshops. The testimonies have fortified our belief that preventable diseases and illnesses can be fought by arming people with knowledge.

With the support of the local pastors and one local nurse, we began our Healthy Village workshops at the grassroots level in several remote villages that had little or no Western style healthcare. We implemented a village-driven training program based on the training Mike did in the states through CERF, the concepts presented in the reference book, Where There is No Doctor; A Village Health Care Handbook, and The Health Education Program for Developing Countries. The two initial and lengthy trainings we taught brought to the top the most dedicated trainers to continue the training throughout the villages. Forty-two driven grads are now out spreading the word in their villages.

In our first training we conducted a simple health survey asking participants to identify the biggest problem they faced in the past year. Sadly, poverty proved to be a major issue and huge barrier to healthcare. Villagers could not afford to eat properly or buy nutritional supplements or appropriate medications. They did not have access to safe water for drinking or bathing. They did not know proper ways to handle excrement. They did not have fuel in which to cook by, or boil water. They typically could not afford to travel to reach a clinic or hospital, and due to fear of medical costs, they would often remain in the village and die.

Other challenges were inadequate or nonexistent diagnosis before treatment; ineffective treatment; and the pervasiveness of superstition, ignorance, and influence from witchdoctors.

The responses to our initial classes helped us shape our current program. We center our Healthy Village and Family training around the most significant health challenges, like Malaria, AIDS, STD’s, tuberculosis, pneumonia, diarrhea, goiter, anemia, malnutrition, worms and other parasites, lack of prenatal care, limited access to immunizations, and lack of clean water and sanitation.

We have been blessed with some donations of medical supplies from friends in the states. And because of the generosity of others who share our passion to eliminate the suffering of the Ugandan people we have been able to add bandages, some medications, beds, mattresses, bedding and mosquito nets to the clinic. There is a lot more training that needs to be done, to share knowledge and prevent preventable deaths and suffering. Medications are difficult for the locals to procure for the clinic. But with funding we’re able to buy medications for them. The general lack of donations forces us to be resourceful and creative…to improvise; banana leaves for bandages, ways to recognize and diagnose anemia, malnutrition, worms and dehydration without equipment or tests; methods in which to treat water without cooking fuel or power; ways to cook without charcoal or firewood.

Why is it okay for a woman giving birth in Uganda to be 100 times more likely to die in labor than a woman in a wealthy nation? Why is it okay for 200,000 babies to die every year? Why is it okay for 320 people to die DAILY in Uganda alone from Malaria…mostly children and pregnant women? Why does life or death depend on where one is born?

There are many challenges that face the people of Uganda that need to be addressed. Want to roll up your shirt sleeves and work beside us? Find out ways you can help change the lives of people in Africa. Check out our website; www.onecityministries.org

Another Top Ten...

For the last several weeks, we have experienced power outages more often than ‘onages’… and I know that’s not a word, but here in Uganda, everything goes.

Being without electricity is good for some things…it challenges you to think of new and creative ways to do things like; dry your hair (those cute, next to worthless battery operated camping fans) cook, cool off, entertain yourself (no TV, radio, computer or lights...) and keep your food from spoiling. I haven’t figured out ways to do any of the other things, but in my ‘down time’ I did think of…

The Top 10 Reasons You Don’t Have Power in Uganda…

1. A lightning bolt wiped out the transformer
2. A driver hit the pole with the transformer
3. A storm took out the three electric poles
4. Someone stole the electric poles
5. Someone stole all the electrical cables from Kampala to Karamajong
6. The power company neglected to record your payments and is punishing you.
7. They are selling all the power to Kenya
8. There isn't enough water left in Lake Victoria to keep two dams running
9. The man at the main switch is gone, or sleeping, or talking to someone...
10. We had power yesterday. We have water today. What do you expect?

And by the way, the rates for electricity have gone up 40% this month.

A Lost Christmas Letter

Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, 'The Lord is my portion;'" Lamentations 3:22-24

Hello! Abeeka bali batya?

Living on a different continent away from the people you know and love means meeting the kind of people you wouldn’t at home: people who will ask us about our night when they greet us in the morning and literally want to know about our night; people that want to shake our hand, just because we’re white; people who have fled their country because of war and genocide in theirs; children who never knew their parents; Taxi drivers, police officers, teachers, pastors, farmers, builders, bed makers, nurses…all who earn somewhere in the neighborhood of $1 - $3 dollars per day (and no, the cost of living isn’t cheap here); people who have a million questions about America and will shyly begin to ask us things like, "is it true that all Americans have cars?" "have homes?" "go to school?" (See, I’d be asking about bathrooms but that’s just because I know about them and miss them!) They want to know "how we walk in the snow, why we have Thanksgiving, what we do at Christmas, why the Kennedy family has so many problems, why we read, lay in the sun, and my all time favorite, "how many cows and goats did you get for your daughter when she married?"

We’ve met Roman Catholics, Protestants, Pentecostals, Born Agains and Muslims; About 20 percent believe in local religions, including a proliferation of old traditional customs centering on spirits, spirit possession, witchcraft, witchdoctors and child sacrifices. Really.

To watch the people here is quite amazing. Their heads will be from totally shaved to having several pounds of dreadlocks suspended in a cap. In the city everyone tries to dress "smart." The rest of the folks are somehow dressed in American’s hand-me-downs. Most children are in rags. Out in the bush, In the villages and in the IDP camps the women and children are naked, or raggedy, or in the traditional dress of busuiti’s or gomasi’s.

We’ve begun to know which young boys will be selling bizarre trinkets all along our drive into town; which old women will come out and sit alongside the road as the day begins to cool, selling her bananas, potatoes, matoke…which children will be walking up the steep hill past us early in the mornings, stopping only to throw rocks up into the immense Mango trees hoping for the prize of a mango to fall down for their breakfast as they head off to find water, or wood, or food before their long day at school. The occasional cow that breaks away from its tree and heads out down the middle of the road still causes us to laugh as it seeks an escape route.

Mainly there have been scores of people with kind hearts who have welcomed us into their homes and lives. They have shared and trusted us with their stories…there is a lot of pain in this country. We look around and see extreme poverty and hardships. But they say, "this mango is a gift from God; This morning’s rain was a shower of mercy upon us; My healthy child is a miracle. Perhaps tomorrow we will not have such things, but our hearts are so full of God's compassion. He is my portion."

The children whose sweet and adorable faces grace this years Christmas card are not the faces of our own kids that are far away from us this year. These are children that God has put into our lives that we’ve hugged, cried over, prayed for, prayed with. They have taught us to not "be consumed." With God’s grace, and all of you back in the states, we have been able to sow into their lives with health workshops for their families, school fees, beds, medical supplies and equipment for medical clinics, first aid training, food, mosquito nets and HUGE amounts of love and TLC. That’s what God’s been doing in less than three months! The near future holds more trainings, marriage conferences, a new medical clinic, latrine construction (thank God!), vocational trainings and some exciting economic development programs.

We deeply miss all of you that we know and love…who know, yet still love us! But God continues opening doors for us in Africa to touch and be touched by people and stories we would never have known. We hope that somehow in our sharing of them, you feel connected and part of their lives, part of their future. Drop us a line sometime…we’d love to know what’s going on in your lives too! Hope to see you all when we visit in July. Merry Christmas and a wonderful New Year to you all!
Mwebale nnyo! (thank you very much)

With Much Love,
Mike and deb

note - our Christmas card and letter was mailed from Uganda over three weeks ago. But since no one has yet recieved it, we decided to post it!

Everyone Travels By Boat

I'm a chicken.
This does not come as a revelation to anyone who even sort of knows me.
Not this kind of chicken...

I watched the neighbor fatten this guy up for a few days before he mysteriously disappeared. I knew what was going to happen. I even tried to talk Mike into a late night rescue of the poor guy. But alas, he became Christmas dinner. I've stopped giving names to the chickens, cows, goats and roosters that hang out by our kitchen window. They will be someone's meal.

The kind of chicken I'm referring to is the new reputation I have in a fishing village across Lake Victoria that Mike and I visited earlier this week.

The fishing village is maybe 30 kilometers from Kampala.
By boat.
Have you seen the boats here? Well, truthfully I hadn't either, but that makes no difference. I've seen how other things are built and maintained.
And if the boats are ok, why did our host give us an option...by land or by sea?
I chose by road. I may have chosen wrong. I don't know how many kilometers it is by land; it can't be that many. By boat the trip was 15 minutes.

The journey began perfectly. It was a beautiful day, pretty much like all the days here. Many of the cities folks were still out in the villages visiting family for Christmas, so traffic jams were not a problem. The road was nicely paved and a pleasure to drive on. Mostly.

Just as we were moving along at a pretty good clip, Godfrey, our host let us know that we were about to turn on a road that was not “as nice.”

About 50 kilometres out of town, the pavement was turned off like a tap. We had turned onto a horribly washed-out dirt road.

You have to envision this…deep mud ruts ground into the red clay, loose stones that make you slide, boulders blocking clear areas that weren’t axel deep holes, parts washed out so much we weren’t sure if we were still on the road or a path through the jungle; twisting turns around hills on a path barely wide enough for one vehicle. We’ve been on some bad roads here, but this was so bad that no amount of skill, no weaving, no speed variation could dampen the blows.
The Big Horn was traveling in a controlled fall bouncing from spot to spot.

Bouncing up and down for over two hours of our trip kept us praying for a decent bathroom and soon. Though by the looks of our surroundings, it wasn’t promising.

After three and a half hours of spine wrenching insanity, we had arrived.

The Orphanage we pulled up to was like an oasis in the desert. Neatly built houses, grass covering the front yards…and there…gleaming in the sun, pit-latrines. The one they unlocked for us must have been a special “guest” bathroom as the others weren’t locked.
I don’t really want to imagine the others.

Immediately, those in charge of the orphanage we’d come to meet with began inquiring as to the method we traveled. Seems coming by land is simply unheard of. To avoid too many explanations, I simply answered, “I’m not very comfortable on the water.” (not a stretch, by the way)

By the time the director of the camp found us, a highly-educated, well spoken native Ugandan moving around the hills and rocks of the camp via wheel chair, my ‘fear’ had preceded me. He very seriously focused on Mike and asked, “Do you have a pool at home?” Mike replied, “In Florida we did.” “Well then, you must immediately cover it, for your wife is not comfortable on water.” I didn’t know what to make of his comments as this was the first time we had encountered a Ugandan with an American sense of humour.

December and January in Uganda is like the American’s “summer vacation.” So while on a break from school, this village was hosting a ‘summer camp.’ Some 5000 children are sponsored into one camp per year. They’re doing awesome work in this village. This particular day, a pastor was very boldly delivering a message on premarital sex, STD’s and HIV/AIDS. His candidness was even making me blush.

This village is run by a church just across the lake (had I opted to go via boat, I would have seen the church I was told…a few times), and sponsored by donors in Texas and California. The neatly built concrete and brick homes sat on tidy grounds, and inside were 3 bedrooms, a living room and an eating area. The homes hold 16 children and a house mama. The bunk beds were stacked three high.

The children currently living here are from 6 to 19 years of age; orphans, or children who do not have families able to care for them. Children that weren’t part of the camp this day were busy washing their clothes in wash tubs and hanging them to dry or preparing the mid-day meal in the kitchen houses (separate buildings to keep the smoke out of the main homes.) They were neatly dressed, clean, busy, and had clearly been around white people enough that few spent much time gawking at us.

Here, there is an agricultural program in full swing, a medical clinic (with doors and windows, equipment and a real nurse), family garden plots where much of the families meals come from, schools, boreholes, a method for safe water, a generator which keeps some lights on and refrigeration of some foods.

Awesome. What were we doing here?

Before joining our host and his wife (both teachers at this school) for lunch in their sweet, humble home, about the size of one of your closets (and they care for three family members, have one baby and one on the way), Godfrey wanted to take us to visit the fishing village. We were feeling pretty good about this place! Lead on!

This time he gave me the choice of walking or driving. Which is funny only because there is NO way to get a vehicle through this area and down to the fishing village.

After about 10 minutes into our walk, we saw children running towards us…lots of children yelling “mzungus.” The children in Uganda always put a smile on our faces. They are beautiful, curious, and loveable. Except those that have never seen a white person. That happened on our drive in. A young girl about 10 got a glimpse of our white faces and with a horrified expression on her face, grabbed her baby sister and ran!

We were immediately guests of honour. Africa is like that. We arrive and instantly, betrayed by the color of our skin, are assumed to be members of the super-rich. It’s difficult to adjust to being a spectacle. White people here are loved as givers of gifts, misled by scammers, reviled for a history we didn’t condone, envied by the disenchanted motivated.

You must be careful to not develop an unintentional haughtiness because without question you are more knowledgeable and richer. That jab of uneasiness we feel is comforting, reminding us that this is unearned respect…not automatically due. It keeps us humble.

As we began walking through the village, time seemed to slip out of gear. Everything was happening in slow motion.

The children had grabbed hold of Mike and I. Two little girls had a death grip on each of my hands, and they weren’t letting go. They tried to shoo the other little girls away, but they weren’t easily dissuaded. The same was happening to Mike with the little boys of the village.

They all just wanted to put a hand on us. Just touch us. As I stood numbly, and helplessly staring at a young woman with scabbed over cuts and blue and purple swelled bruises all over her face, I felt one of the girls rubbing my arm; one putting her little hand up my sleeve. They wanted to touch our skin.

The pastor was speaking to the woman in a language we weren’t familiar with. She sat stoically, answering his questions, while keeping a suspicious eye on us.

The huts were partially washed away, some completely gone. The floors covered in cow dung, mixing with the odors of raw sewage, trash and dead fish was almost more than we could bear as we walked through.

These children had everything. That is if you count lice, ringworm, hookworm, scabies and malnutrition. I can’t deny that for a few minutes my mind was trying to think of ways to protect my skin and hair from the things oozing out of their skin and heads. As they desperately tried to communicate in their language, or with their eyes, or smiles, or curious expressions, you can’t help but fall in love with them.

The little girl who had grabbed my left hand apparently needed to run and fetch something. She and the little girl on my right had a brief conversation as she was moving my left hand into the other little girls hand. The pastor laughed and shared with me that she was getting her friend to “save her place” with my hand…not to let anyone else get my hand until she returned.

We could barely walk with the number of kids clinging on to us. Suddenly a wildly excited man came running over yelling something to the people and the pastor in a still unidentified language. The pastor talked with him for a moment before the young man moved away. He explained to us that the man was high on opium. Something available in the village. Home grown. He had cut off three fingers of his left hand, “just because he could.” Possibly the happiest man in the village.

He freaked me out a little when he came back up to me, grabbing my hands and shrieking something. The children all laughed. He seems to have made a joke. I was glad I didn’t understand. He was covered with sores and his eyes were yellow, red and glassy.

There is no school here. A couple of the fortunate ones are sponsored by the village down the hill to attend school; sometimes their mothers let them go. None of the children speak English. They don’t have medical clinics, beds, mosquito nets, medicine, soap, water, or enough food. They don’t know how to farm. It’s a fishing village.

The men beat the women, and the village people mind their own business. The men leave for months at a time to fish different waters, leaving the women and children to fend for themselves.

HIV/AIDS is rampant, as is every other illness and disease you can imagine.
The pastor grabs a few shillings from our host and buys some fish from one of the fishermen. The eyes of the dead fish blankly staring are remarkably like the eyes of most of the adults in the village.

It’s hard to talk the children into releasing our hands and head back down the path to their homes as we start traveling the opposite direction. Just 10 minutes from hope. 10 minutes from civilization. 10 minutes from the 21st century.

We spent the rest of the evening trying not to think about them. But every night they’re in my dreams. I move between despair and seething at their condition. At the lack of assistance; the lack of care; the lack of opportunity.

We’ll visit them again soon. Probably by boat.