This is My Prayer

This is my prayer...

That each would have basic needs met.
Every child a chest on which to rest.
Every heart and bell full;
A chance to go to school...

This is my prayer.

To know the love of family.
To see equality.
To know the end of war.
To see peace and love more and more.

This is my prayer.

That my joy will be complete,
Knowing God has met my needs.
To persevere with courage and with hope
Through whatever life may throw.

This is my prayer.

To be given a vision
For movement and redemption.
To serve and to save.
To boldly proclaim Your name.

This is my prayer.

To be completely changed.
Until I no longer remain.
To be the difference shown.
To be a transformation known.

This is my prayer.

I Want to be About More

I want to be about more.
Not sure of the life you have planned,
Have in store.
I want to be about more.

I want my eyes opened to things anew.
I want to break over the things I see...
Shape me into who you want me to be.
I want to be about more.

I want to be your hands.
To touch, to feel, to leave your mark.
To breathe with your air, to love with your heart.
I want to be about more.

I want to be brave.
Ready and waiting to take the next step...
Fearing not the width or the depth.
I want to be about more.

I want to be blind.
To the things of my will, the things of my mind.
Walking by faith and not by sight.
I want to be about more.

I want to be about more.
Not sure of the life you have in store.
Try to stand tall, stand bold.
Anticipating as your plans unfold.
I want to be about more.

I Am One

I am one.
But they are many.
Their smiles bold, spirits bright.
They are brave.
Stand up each day to win their fight.
They are strong.
Carrying on through all,
All that is right and much that is wrong.
They are beauty.
Honest joy, simple hope.
And yet they hurt, they need.
Each moment is a battle,
A will to survive.
And I, I am just one.

I am one.
Not enough to save them all.
But You are faithful to sustain...
I am tired.
Not awake enough to take it all in.
But I have been given a snapshot of all You are....
I am small.
Not big enough to do your work.
But You asked me to follow...
I am scared.
Not brave enough to take a leap.
But one step at a time I find in you...
I am weak.
Not strong enough to carry the weight of all I have seen.
But in it I boast to show You great...
Yet, I am willing.
Not enough for the work to be done.
But I am one.

6/8/09 - QUEEN ELIZABETH, UGANDA

Slept like a baby last night and the beauty of the world around me put me in a fantastic disposition. That and realizing this is our last real day in Uganda. Tomorrow we will travel and tomorrow night we will fly out. This is VERY bittersweet. I am ready to go home. Very ready. And not at all ready to leave this world, their people, my team of people, behind.

I could comment more on the wildlife. I could talk more about the 650 different species of birds found in Uganda. How the crested crane is never found alone in the wild and mates for life. Or the disappoint of many that we would see no giraffe on our trip, safaris and game drives because of the long and terrible reign of Idi Amin. Or I can leave what may be my last Ugandan journal entry with the only answer I feel like I’ve been given...

In my quiet time with God on this trip, I’ve come across a lot. More that I wish I would have written about in my personal journal if I had the time. But I was streaming through Philippians today, it’s one of my like top 13 favorites. And chapter 1, after initial greetings, starts with these words “I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” I have to believe that God started a good work in me. And I truly believe, then, that Uganda was another small good work...one he fuelled in me from the very beginning. Made me excited about. Helped me fight towards. But, perhaps, the actual Uganda experience was only a piece of the good work God has in store. I leave my CCS Uganda journal confident that he who began a good work in me will carry it through until the day of completion...

6/7/09 – MBARARA TO QUEEN ELIZABETH NATIONAL PARK, UGANDA

Drove from Mbarara to Queen Elizabeth this morning. We will spend the last day or two of our time in Uganda as tourists. For a moment or two, this bothered me. Despite the many “resort” type places we passed on the way to our own destination, the streets are still lined with half-clad children and the wandering goat. Is it okay for me to be “living the good life” for two days when children a block away may or may not go to bed hungry tonight? Is this not what I do everyday in the United States? I am excited to relax and to spend time with our group for another day but parts of me still want the assurance that is okay. I don’t know that it is an easy question to answer. (Good, another one!)

But I don’t want to miss out the opportunity I am in, regardless. So, on any account, we are at a remarkably beautiful resort in West Uganda. The view is incredible and the accommodations more than just “ok”. Our game drive and boat ride to see the hippos and other wildlife today was an added treat. The animal lovers in our group are having a hay-day. Uganda has a wonderful array of wildlife and we were privy to much. We spent the majority of our trip with people and for me, at least, it was easy to forget that for as much as Uganda’s most intense beauty has been in the faces, Uganda is that much more. There is something breathtaking and incredible about watching elephants cross in incredible majesty in front of you. Something amusing about having to close windows to keep baboons which are indeed “that” close from jumping in. Something dumbstrucking about watching a hippopotamus open his mouth and realizing it is big enough for you yourself to fit inside. Something perfect about the symbiotic relationship between the water buffalo and the bird. Something fantastic about watching as some of God’s most impressive creativity is being unveiled before your eyes. Something humbling about realizing, again, for the millionth time, that God is so much bigger than the box I try to fit in him in. Including the box which says my questions for and from Uganda must have answers...

6/6/09 – Bubbles

Exert from my personal journal

The kids here love bubbles. Simple entertainment. One of us will open a container only to have a dozen (minimum) children flock. They want to chase, catch, blow. Mostly they just laugh and run in circles shouting “Come! Come!” As the wind blows them away.

I feel like I spend my life like these kids...chasing bubbles. “Come! Come!” I shout as I run around in circles willing the smallest of the most fleeting to be mine. But, if and ever I catch up with it, with them, I find it pop under my fingers’ grasping reach. Disappointment fades to my next ambiguous pursuit.

The thing is, however, eventually I get tired. The chasing exhausting and the attainment nill. And I wish for great things to fill my time and attention. The fascination falls to tears. When I stand still for just a moment I am no long amused, but empty. Need more in my life than just bubbles.


Longing to just be.

6/6/09 – MBARARA, UGANDA

I am feeling very chewed – but not spit out. Like a piece of Andrea’s day old chewing gum. I have lost both my flavor and my elasticity but yet continue to be the object of continual crushing. Being spit-out sounds like such sweet release! Maybe then I could make sense of all things trying to take residence in my thoughts and mind and heart. I should probably spend more time talking about the things I’m learning and seeing and experiencing specific to today and Words of Hope but “I” keep getting in the way. And, admittedly, I am really struggling today. Somehow the frustration of yesterday has managed to build...and it’s not even the same frustration...but I feel like I am going to burst. The warning light is flashing and beeping and something sounds wonderful about letting it all fly out and turn into something. Actually, this sounds like a great time to cry. I feel like my experiences on this trip have cracked me, but not broken me. It hasn’t been enough to leave me in need of being put back together. And it hasn’t been enough to make me cry. I am a terrible crier but my prayer was that God would bring me to the point of tears, to allow that for me, while I was here. With just a few short days left, I have to be allowed that escape. In the meantime, I just feel so discontented. The questions without answers are gurgling barely below the surface and I fear they will never rear their ugly heads in order to show what is causing me such distress. I can see pieces, shadows, but not enough to even guess the picture.

I am definitely at the “so what?” stage of the journey. I t was an easy question to ask with weeks left to the trip and days of experiences to encounter but just days to come up with a guess, I feel panicked. For all I’ve learned and all I’ve seen and all I’ve done and all the little ways I’ve seen myself grow, I’m still trying to come up with why it matters. I was absolutely insistent for reasons I couldn’t understand that I HAD to be in Uganda. I fought so hard to be here and now I’m wondering why it was so important. I wouldn’t trade in my trip for the world, but I am stuck. I haven’t don’t anything that is going to make any sort of lasting impression on Uganda (not that it was the intention) and I’m having a hard time deciding what has been profound and meaningful enough to really leave an impression on me. To REALLY change the life I live. I’ve been in Africa three weeks...so what? My family and friends will be excited to see my excitement but they won’t actually care. I can’t make them care. What if I myself have given up on caring? I know I haven’t but I’ve reached that level where I just can’t take any more in. I don’t know how to care anymore, it no longer comes natural. If I can’t naturally care about Uganda, right now, as I watch women infected with AIDS spend four days to make a basket that will sell for $2. As I watch dirty children run around seemingly without a care chasing bubbles in wild circles. If I can’t care about that...why should anyone else?

I’ve been trying to make a plan, give myself something to endeavor towards because of Africa. The list is short. I draw a continual blank. I want to be able to walk up to people and say “I spent some time in Africa and this is how it changed me...” I have decided, however, I am coming back. Before I’m 30...so in the next 8 years. Perfect. But I don’t know why. I don’t have a plan or a mission or even a good reason. I just know I’m coming back. Great, Anika, sounds like a life changer. I don’t know that I came wanting so many answers but I wasn’t prepared to leave having so many questions. Longing for something to easy my discontent...a peace that passes understand and an ability to surrender all I do not know and cannot understand.

6/5/09 – MBARARA, UGANDA

I was frustrated today. Maybe mostly with myself. Though I was more so in the end than the beginning. I guess, when all was said and done, much...some of it...could be calked up to missed expectation. I was warned about that. I warned myself about that... I guess, in hearing about Words of Hope, I thought maybe I would be DOING something. I thought I was going to be expending my energy, investing in something. And I didn’t. I waited 45 minutes to get to location (the wait itself didn’t bother me as much as I was eager to be about something, getting my hands dirty) to follow very seven very excited women around to stare at them as I met in their homes. I honestly don’t know what I was supposed to be doing. My translator was originally assigned to another project group for the day and was as confused as I about what was going. With no basis, she provided little insight. I was interested in the projects but we had already heard all about them. I had few questions and a hard time trying to make some up. As we did home visits, my partner asked about number of rooms in the home and kids in the family. I honestly didn’t care. Not about rooms or even really kids. What difference did it make to those ladies and what difference did it make to me? But, I no more knew what I was supposed to care about. I wanted what I was doing to matter. I couldn’t tell what impact the experience was having on me or anyone else for that matter. Later, I was asked for e-mail address by kids I had never met and whose names I demanded before I would write mine down. (Something the would never use as very few if any have internet access, let alone e-mail addresses) My presence made no more difference in their life than that of a celebrity. If I met Barak Obama and got his autograph (which is what I felt I was giving out) the most I would have gotten out of the deal is a signature and a story with which to impress my friends. I’m at a point where I love Uganda, so much. But if I am going to be here, I want it to mean something. I want something to care about. I want to do more than continually take in information like a glutton and have no where to process or to feed out into from all of the things I am taking in. So I’m frustrated. Maybe mostly with myself. And I am not quite sure what to do next.

6/4/09 – KAMPALA TO MBARARA, UGANDA

*Habitat for Humanity International...now in Uganda. What does this program look like here? How do you get involved?

So, we’re driving today, which seemingly leaves me with little to discuss. I enjoyed watching scenery – the beauty of Uganda. The bumps were an adventure to say the least. Much more intense than the potholes (I am amused that drivers are more apt to swerve for manholes than children or goats). Developing infrastructure in a developing country is key, if not huge, in making strides towards progress if that is what they want. So that could be an important observation although I can’t say the bumps were un-amusing. Also, I appreciated the dynamic of “religion” this morning. Proof the body of Christ is not limited to a border, a country, a denomination, or even (necessarily) a “Christian” label. The man who prayed for us this morning was not a white evangelical Christian but an African Believing Catholic. His love of Christ was both evident and meaningful. It was bonding, bridging. A good reminder that we can’t allow those sort of divisions when we are called to partner in the work of the gospel especially as we endeavor towards of couple of days that appear to be little if not ministry. Jesus is the ultimate glue that binds us all together. In sees ridiculous while in the states and especially outside that we have so many denominations. They have them in Uganda, but they are little but a name. No one says “I am Methodist!” They say “I am born again!” That’s what matters after all. People just want to know that we love Jesus. It’s actually given us a level of acceptance in a few situations. One guy we met in the slums I think was a little stand-offish and very defensive until he looked directly at one of us and said “Do you proclaim the message of the good news of Jesus Christ?” When one of us said “yes”, his whole demeanor changed. We were welcome in the slum because we proclaimed and lived for a message which stated we were not out to harm or to exploit. Travel, infrastructure, Jesus. Meh. I choose Jesus.

6/3/09 – KAMPALA, UGANDA

It was kind of a low-key day and I found myself a little homesick, which surprised me. Upon noticing I decided I wasn’t so ready to be home as much as I was to have particular people with me. I actually it was the craft village. Haha! I was shopping and bartering and buying souvenirs for my sisters and friends (I thoroughly enjoy shopping for other people :D) and then I couldn’t wait to give it to them and then I wanted to know what was going on and wondering what was happening at home and I started to think about how I wished they were here to experience it wall with me. It was a thought reflected on more as we met with Vickie and Kathleen. Two single women doing great things by themselves in a country very much a part from their own. I may be called to be single – which is cool, that doesn’t bother me. Although I truly do not believe my life is being set aside for over-seas missions. Either way...I couldn’t be anywhere very long without my family. My sisters and brothers are my best friends. And my other “best friends”...could I survive a lifetime in a country far away without them? I don’t think I could. I continually say I’ve given God control over my future but it is very hard for me to consider abandoning my “mother and brother”. The idea of sacrificing them to be about God’s plan for my life is a very hard concept to fathom.

But I thank God for those who have been humble enough to accept the fact that God’s plan may not have been their own. The work those two ladies are doing is nothing short of incredible. I could have sat and listened to them for hours and hours more. I loved talking to them...perhaps because they were so real, authentic, and down to earth. The government officials gave us “facts” but these women gave us reality. I learned so much! Regardless of what I a being called to do, I pray I can be found as faithful with just as much passion and zeal.

“If we live our entire life on the mountaintop, then there is no need for faith”
“...but God is able...”
“God doesn’t call us to succeed. He calls us to be faithful and follow.”
“If you’re not tested then you’re not negative, you’re ignorant” (they were talking about HIV, but I thought it could apply to so much more!)
“You keep doing what called you to do and I’ll take of it” (‘God’ talking about uncertainty)
“You say you’ve surrendered everything, but you’re still telling me what to do!” (‘God’ :D)
“Do you think God would like to be our best friend too?” (asked by a couple of African boys who watched the lifestyle of the missionary, noting that she acted like God was her best friend)
“If that’s what you believe, that’s what you’ll behave”
“Judge yourself and love others. That was the instruction. But we’ve got it backwards”
“We want to throw money at things but we were supposed to give our hearts”
Fear keeps us from doing the things Gods says we have no business not to be about... (AK)
Be Real...

6/2/09 – Community Impact on Individuals. Huh.

Exert from personal journal.

It is no secret; I spend some time almost daily being sick. It is a lifestyle I have become so accustomed to in the last year, it almost didn’t faze me. Yet, I was terrified of being sick on the trip. Before I left, when people asked how to pray for me in Uganda, I would beg them to pray I wouldn’t, by some miracle, get sick. That somehow I would keep food down. Either people forgot to pray or God chose a different answer. Because puking I’ve continued to do. It has frustrated me; it’s exhausted me; it’s got in the way. But no more so than it did at school. I am no sicker and actually, in ratio to the food I’m eating, keeping more food down than at school. I have been baffled by the fact it has been so much a part of my immediate focus. What makes this different? AM I sicker than normal? No. I am around more people. At school, no one noticed when I didn’t keep lunch down or wasn’t feeling up to par. I was accountable to me and I gave instructions to suck it up and move on. It just occurred to me that I’m not used to having people notice. Having people care. Having people ask how I am feeling so that I would actually have to evaluate to give an honest answer. Have to be honest with them and honest with me. I almost laughed when of my new friends looked at me the other day and went “Anika, how are you feeling?” “Alright. I’m pretty good.” That’s the answer I always give myself and I hate giving the impression that I am anything less than fully capable, that I’m complaining, that I’m the sick kid. It wasn’t a lie. Normally the doubters give me an eyebrow. Most go “that’s good”. But when you spend your days shoulder to shoulder with people who have been watching you as closely as you watch them... She turned to her neighbor and went “that’s what she always says and it’s not the truth!” Oops. I was caught. Life changes in community. I think I’m okay with the fact that people notice.

6/2/09 – KAMPALA, UGANDA

Today was such an awkward day! I don’t know even know where to think about “processing” it accurately or what is most important to glean from it. Topic, on the other hand, is easy. We had just one mission from breakfast past dinner: St. Lawrence. We met at the university where we talked with students who were there because they wanted to be. School was out for break and they were recruits brought in to talk to us. Prop to the college kids for coming. I actually found the dialogue with them to be enjoyable conversation. We’ve done a lot of talking to people in the last few days. We want information from them, the purpose is to learn and glean – which is good but this might be the first group just as interested in us as we were in them. It was dialogue rather than lecture. Some of the students were a little, hmm, interesting? (I want to say “creepy” but that might be a little harsh) as the day wore on but, in general, it was cool to spend time with the group. Lunch at Horizons [the first of five secondary schools] was cool too because I got a chance to chat with a couple teen girls who reminded me a little of the teen girls in the states. Spunky with ambition and dedication. [In the states, teen girls are my favorite.] But, in talking to them and realized the obvious...despite the clear gender separation, being in Kampala – Uganda – doesn’t mean girls don’t have dreams. They both [the girls] wanted to something about these dreams but also believed it wasn’t a possibility. I and the other girls from our team sitting near by encouraged both girls to pursue them anyway – to get as far as they could before thinking they had to give up.

After lunch, however, the show got old fast. I like meeting with the students but I hated being put on display – I couldn’t think of an equivalent in the United States and it made me uncomfortable. I came to resent the Mzungu parade. I was even more comfortable to have many, but three specific girls, swarm me asking for e-mail addresses and phone numbers They were asking question about applications to my university and how much it cost and how many I could send there/support to bring over. “Whoa, wait, what?” I was so confused unless I was somehow the impression they had a ticket to freedom. Much more uncomfortable than being an involuntary celebrity was being the representation of fake home. In Jinja the hope is simple and pure. Kampala shows something much more westernized. Their hope was in things much more complex, abstract, and lacking the substance of merit. Either place (Jinja or Kampala) I am unqualified to be their saviour. The hardest is realizing both may have caused me to leave that impression.

Aside from the experience, some of the information was valuable. Or, at bare minimum, interesting. Realizing state school is more expensive and prestigious than private. At least within the university although we then went to five affiliated secondary schools where the children seemed to be of privilege. They had fresh manicured lawns, pressed uniforms, and beautiful buildings. A difference of night and day from Mengo Youth Development in the slums. The stark contrast between the two is almost revolting. There is a contrast in the US for sure, but it is hard to see THAT severe of a difference. Maybe I’ve just grown up in too many small towns where the difference is negligible. Either way, how can you justify the difference?

Also, time 977, more proof that everyone wants to be an American. The best part? They don’t even really know why. Try to explain the U.S. isn’t perfect and we have many problems that make many citizens very sad that we want to see fixed was impossible. Staring into their eyes it was like telling an ant that it’s not that cool to fly. For a people who have spent their entire lives on the ground, explaining air pollution didn’t make a bit of a difference. It is equally difficult to explain the intense beauty and good we’ve seen, the parts we love about Uganda. Your government helps pay for health care! They are doing a wonderful job at protecting some natural resources! Your lack of technology, in many ways, has provided for a creativity and an ingenuity or imagination American kids have long since forgotten...if they ever once learned. How do you tell a person who dream of going to school and living in America where “everything is wonderful and people are happy” that some days I would much rather be a Ugandan?

6/1/09 – KAMPALA, UGANDA

Politics. Ech. They say you can’t without them but I can barely survive with them. I’m not the biggest fan and it is way far down on the general interest list. Not that I don’t find the things they deal with on a daily basis fascinating, intriguing, appalling, confusing, otherwise worth my tie...but I often think of only the “appalling and confusing” when the political framework is thrown in to the mix. It was hard to listen to questions being asked and wonder if weren’t getting straight answers because they didn’t understand what we wanted to know or because they had no intention of letting us know. Health, specifically malaria, and the LRA’s activity. Central focuses for today’s discussions with the Ministers of Health and Youth respectively. I could have tried harder...but I came out no more enlightened and all the more frustrated with the topics at hand. As near as I could glean, they are both doing things and solving nothing. Tackling symptoms without addressing the fact the country is sick. Again, like yesterday, I’m sure some of the same could be said of the US. Which, on that note, if I had any doubts about how others felt about America before, doubts erased. Our new Islamic friend’s soap box style tirade was both intriguing and infuriating. We make bad choices in US, believe me I know, but I am not the president. Some people think those things about you – but I am fact am not one of them. Some are abrasive and cruel but would you stop looking me in the eye like it is all personally my fault! It gave me a peek into Arabs in the US, however. How they must feel to be turned into a representation of all that is wrong with their faith, their country of heritage, their allegiances. To take the blame on behalf of others’ bad choices, leaders’ destructive calls. Being American doesn’t make me the beloved or hated George W. Bush or Barak Obama for the matter anymore than the Egyptian sitting down the table yelling at us was Osama Bin Laden. I think the more culturally sensitive we become, the more we realize the faults in the culture of our own.

5/31/09 – Personal Reflections

Exerts from my personal journal...

And so ends the month of May. If it weren’t for journaling every day and keeping track of the date, I would have no idea and those words would be of no consequence. I’m having a really hard time with life right now. I LOVE Uganda, but constantly not feeling feel and being so ungodly tired is taking a tremendous toll on me. Furthermore, I can’t hide it. My team members can tell. Some part of me feels like I am letting everyone down and especially myself. I want to be here more than anything and yet the same kid who fought and argued that I was perfectly capable of handling this trip is sitting here, writing, wondering if I made the right decision. And so, while enjoying the country, today marked hump day and I realized I was counting down. I want to be here but I want to be home. I missed Amelia’s graduation today. I know she said it was okay – long, long ago. But I wanted to be there. Our family has been there for each other in everything...the good, the bad, the ugly. My siblings have always been there for me, no questions asked. I feel a little like I let her down. And so I’m discouraged. I know I wasn’t made for this new world forever, but now if I wonder I was meant for this world at all. The homesick part of me is curling up in bed with not enough hours until morning kind of wishing for someone to hug me goodnight and make me feel alright.


In everything, Anika...even when it’s not.
Anika, you are the most undeserving
“You are the one whose given me the strength to fight and carry on life...”

5/31/09 – KAMPALA, UGANDA

Passion. I feel like maybe I’ve heard someone make mention of it before – and I know I must have arbitrarily agreed. But today I really truly had this vibe for African passion. The heart and the soul they put into the things they do. Church this morning was remarkable – like a breath of fresh air. The songs, while unfamiliar, were in a slightly more vibrant although familiar style and it felt good to engage. The choir wasn’t a choir a choir but a group of worship leaders. They weren’t there to perform but seemingly because their own passion was oozing and the stage was a convenient place to share. The was heart and spirit in their words, in their voices. I saw this last week too although a language barrier meant I had to observe where as today I felt swept into the goings on. It seems curious that a country with such dedication, such “give all” attitude (evident in their church services, worship, hospitality, dancing, crafts, etc) has so many lingering problems. So many unsung and tormenting, ugly, disasters around every corner. Perhaps it is my extraordinarily western way of thinking, but I want to channel the passions and the energy of the people – the same energy at church in the smiles of the dancers at the Dance Troop tonight and somehow turn Uganda around (productivity?) It is not the passions and energies and heart and souls are being fed into bad things, but what if they could also go into other things? What if they could also go into education reform or bathrooms that don’t need to be paid for in Ugandan slums in Kampala or using their collectivism to farm in such a way that all can share in the variety but still sell mass market? It seems like there has to be a way to create jobs or stop the hunger or fix something in this country! Something tells me, however, an outsider walking in would say the same thing about the US... Which means nothing will change because we like things just the way they are.

5/30/09 – KAMPALA, UGANDA

“Our vision is for every child to have a chest to rest his head and a place to call home” – The vision and mission statement of Dwelling Places

I didn’t want to journal tonight – I was going to put it off until tomorrow. I just wasn’t quite sure what to write about. While I desperately needed the refreshment in the quality of care and the ministry taking place at Dwelling Places...while I was impressed and encouraged, I could not think of any instantaneous or profound thoughts to reflect on. The experiences today were new, but they felt familiar and their ponderings old, stated. And so I was going to let today marinate and hope for something brilliant in the morning. I changed my mind.

Discovering the culture of Uganda has been new and exciting. Sometimes stressful, occasionally uncertain and often irreplaceable. Discovering the unique culture which makes up our team has been much of the same. Perhaps it isn’t quite focused on Uganda – not specifically – but it is, sort of. A group of students who are placed together not quite at random but certainly not by choice to be students, playmates, missionaries, teachers, seekers, adventurers, explorers, and family together is not quite an everyday occurrence. Being in a foreign land together brings out both the best and, occasionally, the worst in people and is a fantastic area for primitive anthropology. For the most part, I love both sides...both the best and worst. The potential for both is there, it has always been there, but it takes ample opportunity and a certain comfortability, to see both. You see pieces of the worst of people’s days when they feel safe enough to let down some of those more covered layers. I like and appreciated the fact budding friendships have given away to an honesty and camaraderie – a teamwork. We’re all for one. It’s given opportunity to have conversations which show our rougher edges. Furthermore, it gives the freedom to ask the hard questions – and have real discussion about the things we’re all seeing and experiencing without fault or fear of ridicule. Our group isn’t perfect. It isn’t all peaches and roses, but I’m impressed. We are all so different but we’ve created an alliance. The easy laughter and “after-hour” bonding is evident of it, I believe.

Although, that isn’t always enough to relieve all of the tension. It is hard to realize sometimes is easier to love dirty African children that you’ve never men than that one kid who is just hard to understand at the moment. I feel like I’ve had a lot of people interaction with my teammates in the last day or two. It has been both refreshing and overwhelming. I’ve learned a lot and made a lot of assertions. For example, I decided I really appreciate our few guys. Small in number but quality for sure. I love the hearts of service and selflessness in our group – guy and girl. Yep, with different bents, wonders, dreams, processings, and realizations...we make an interesting bunch. For sure a culture all of our own.

5/28/09 MBALE TO KAMPALA, UGANDA

Today I was both surprised and disgusted. Somewhat on the same lines though separated by general topic. Spending much of the day on the road, my job, I decided, was to observe. I was surprised today by how much politics came up – both in conversation and advertisements (the focus of later, unrelated disgust) and in regards to both Uganda and the US. Obama was everywhere on our drive back to Kampala. His name and his face plastered at least four or five signs. And then, on top of it, he named stores and institutions. I was made both curious and a little jealous by this. First, they seemed to care more about my politics than I did! They all think Obama is so great for the world and there was the rub because I refuse to see any politician or political agenda as my saviour. Because of this I often, though sometimes wrongly, stay out of political matters. I wonder if I should care more about Obama. At the same time, however, for all of the vested interest in the US, I was curious about whether or not they care any for their own political system. But they seemed to. Everyone today had at least some option of the job being done. There were signs for voting and using their voice. I will be interested to see how politics continues to play out on our trip.

Aside from seeing signs for politics, however, much as in America, the advertisements I saw along the road led me to a place of disgust. I pouted and fumed in my coaster seat for quite some time. All of the advertisements are VERY western in my opinion. Furthermore, well, okay, so maybe in a twisted way a country that desires to be more western is influenced by western style...but to what degree is that true? How much do advertisements need to reflect the culture in order to convince and shape it? And besides, the people in the advertisements...grrr! I waited all day and looked around Kampala – on the campus and in the mall – for people I thought even sort of resembled the people I saw in the ads. I have yet to find anyone who comes close. Comes close to women with very pale brown skin, died red straight hair and a steady supply of make-up. I have yet to see anyone with hair done the way saloons advertise and clothes which are a fair representation of those even sold. In America, in the states, I have a huge body image soap box. One where I comfortably, and I believe accurately, place large pieces of blame on media influence for creating an unrealistic and unattainable standard of beauty. I’m in Africa of all places – poor and destitute with my eyes never before so open to both inner and natural outer beauty of varying kinds and we’re dealing with exactly the same things. I would love to know about women here in Uganda and whether they struggle with body image as well. And I would like to know who makes such revolting unnecessary advertisements. And then I want know if they work and why. I have a feeling they do but I find it highly unfortunate!
*side note...a few days later I found out that there is a rising issue with body image dissatisfaction in Uganda, mostly related to more industrialized cities such as Kampala where there is a heavy western influence. Women in the villages have no mirrors and without the media influence have little if any reason to think something wrong with themselves. Thank you media for messing up yet another people!
5/29/09 KAMPALA, UGANDA

It was a hard day to digest. We’ve encountered so many people and so many stories on this trip... I don’t know. I don’t think they’ve ceased to affect me and I don’t want to say I’ve become numb – I don’t think that is it at all. However, I am feeling a bit like a boy who’s spent all afternoon glued to a playstation. My eyes are buzzed and I’m having a hard time engaging as I could be in the rest of life. (This aside from being extra sick...that has only complicated). I don’t know how to process the things I saw and felt in the slums today. I couldn’t take anymore in. It was just too hard to care about all of them and all of the stories and all of the lives I couldn’t fix...

Otherwise, I’m not sure. It’s been an interesting day. The idea of education here has been a different sort of thought process all together. Maybe because I haven’t really given it much thought. In the US, there is such a distinct difference in test scores and colleges and everything based on whether you are from Detroit or Spring Arbor. It shows. I was curious if the same applied here. Do the primary educations affect the rest of life? Will whether or not they received their primary educations in the slums of Kampala or the villages determine how ready they are for secondary boarding school? Will slum children, if they can get to secondary schools, find themselves far behind? Which all plays into the conversations with Thomas at the university yesterday. Ironically, education seems to be both the answer and the problem

I wish education would fix the slums. I still can’t deal. They were so hard to walk through. The one we spent time in today, I couldn’t handle. The smell, the sight, the status. I didn’t want to go into another house. I didn’t want to come to grips with the fact that I felt myself reaching towards my inability to care about everything retreating to a decision to care about anything. I couldn’t break anymore and make it out alive. I wanted to get of there so bad. How can such conditions be tolerated? Why doesn’t the government do something? What CAN be done? How is it the government can give free health care and not work to prevent the things that are causing the problems? Can you treat the symptoms and not the disease? Frustrates me a little. And it this point, I can’t tell if my frustration is legitimate...perhaps I am unnecessarily so.

5/27/09 - MBALE, UGANDA

Sooo....confession time. Today? Yeah, I just wasn’t that into it. I woke up not feeling well again and had a hard time mustering up the heart to go love on a pile of people when I wanted to curl up in bed and sleep and let someone love on me instead. I wanted to get to the clinic, do what we had promised to do, and get out. But I did my best to plaster on a smile as another 300 patients came to our traveling hospital. Despite that fact, I found my disposition soften and my smile become less plastic as the day wore on. Sill, I was none too relieved when we had given away our last mosquito net, packaged our last envelope of pills, taken our last adult blood pressure and choked the last de-wormer down some poor child’s throat. And so we packed up our people and were getting ready to leave. It was as we sat in the van waiting to go that one of our doctors came. I feel as if he had a question for the driver but he stopped and talked to us as well. Kono looked at him after he thanked us and said “I hope we were more help than hindrance.” This doctor whom I experienced as gruff over the last two days changed his whole demeanor. “Oh no! You helped. You helped so much! We couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you for being here and for your hearts for Africa and your sacrifice these days. It has been such a blessing. And go home and tell your families thank you for their love and support as well...” Six of us just sat there with our mouths hung open as we thanked him and promised we would carry greeting home. Half of us were too choked up to speak. I gave half of my best for the day the thanks I received was twice I would I would have deserved giving 100%. It ties in a little to the fact I’ve seen far more people thankful for our presence, which isn’t a mission necessarily, than regret or resent it. People are so thankful for our efforts. So appreciative for our love and our hearts. We try to be genuine in our actions – does it show that much? Do the Uganda people have to act out of humility? In the United States, we are a bag and bungled of pride. We have this terrible staunch of independence (I went and explored the wild frontier of the west all by myself!) and we glorify those who are “self-made”. We would not ask for help and if we were given it – even if we really need it – you would probably have to force out a mumbled “thanks”. Is it a cultural thing to be so thankful, so willing to accept the generosity of others – or is it a personal thing? Both? What needs to change to make the United States a grateful nation?

5/26/09 – MBALE, UGANDA

“It’s one thing to give your life to Christ, it’s another to stay committed”. (On the youth in Uganda)

“What am I being called to do?”
- Be faithful
“Be faithful in what?”
- Just be faithful
...I’m not quite sure what this means but I know that it is my answer...

I’m not quite sure what tie it is, but I’m going to guess it is still today as I sit down to journal and dodge the raindrops that are steadily making their way into my tent. Today, around the church (where we doing the medical clinic), there were clay huts. We didn’t really see them in Jinja and I found them picturesque, quaint. Admittedly, after snapping a few prime shots with my camera, I thought little of them...until now. In some ways the great discrepancies between the United States and Uganda were a given. Or course their conditions were worse. Of course their clothes were tattered. Of course the babies in the orphanage sat around in just a cloth diaper which leaked all over wooden floors. Of course people lived in clay huts. But as I sit in my leaking tent, feeling damp, tired, and a little cold...I’m wondering how those clay huts are holding up. It’s raining hard outside. It’s storming. Is the thatch roof leaking? Are families huddled together? Are kids cowering in the corner? Is their some poor young mom on her mat, praying (as I have been) for the rain to stop? In some ways I expected this contrast to hit me in the face throughout the trip and to point it has not. I have been not untouched or unaffected but unsurprised by the difference in Uganda’s social structure, poverty level and poor conditions. It has, however, made me appreciative. I wanted to feel guilty. “The things I have that they don’t! How dare I!” but it was quite the opposite. “The things I have that they don’t...how blessed I am.” Today, for example, while not feeling my best and wanting to invest more in the medical mission we participated in, I was awed by what took place. Still, I couldn’t get past the clamoring for medical attention. These people wanted to see the doctor and who knows when the last time was or the next time would be! On the other hand, I complained my way to the last dozen appointments I’ve had in the states. The opportunity I have! The fact my sickness would kill people in Uganda. I am suddenly very grateful for all of my medical care. I wonder if this people appreciate it – what we helped give today. I would hope so but maybe they don’t. Hmmm. I think they do...

5/25/09 – MBALE, UGANDA

So, it’s official. I’m a big fan of electricity, plumbing, those fantastic western accomplishments I’ve become so accustomed to. I suppose things I could do without. When I make of “have to haves”...they’re often forgotten, but after freaking out to make it to the toilet in the dark last night, I can’t help but feel I’m a fan of the light...

In other news, however, yesterday (today, I mean, ha!) was an incredible sort of day...despite the many hours on a stomach churning road. The water spring well, the medical clinic, the fishing ponds, the baby grain porridge, the growing saplings. Sometimes in the United States I think it’s common for us as Americans to feel like we have all of the answers. The world’s best solutions. And here a group of Africans have created a solution far beyond what we could have made for them (or the money we would have thrown at them). I looked at these projects which were actually doing some good in these villages and wanted to say “In your face, America!” Further, what an incredible thing to have a vision and to carry it through. Dr. Patrick shared with us what brought him back to Uganda (Ugandan born – 13 years in the UK and US) and really, it was a vision for something more. A desire to walk to the throne of God and account for the life given and say “Here father. Here is what I did with the life you gave me and the gifts I discovered. Look! I have nothing left! I used all you gave me...” To carry out a vision. Hmm. Africans have visions to.

Completely unrelated, I think it’s beginning to amaze me that I am the spectacle. Our group is on display. People stare at us. Anika is the minority. Woah. That might never happen again. It’s not normal to be in the “small crowd”. We’ve been in Uganda a week and I think that piece is just starting to affect me...

5/24/09 – JINJA, UGANDA

So, admittedly, I still want to be wring about my Saturday – not that all of it is completely applicable to “Uganda”. I’ve included the existing, however, because they’ve been beautiful pieces of my Ugandan experience. But Sunday means eventually I need to start journaling about the things I’ve learned today...

If I haven’t had a cultural wake-up call yet, I certainly did at church this morning! I watched in wonder as the service began and was enthralled by way in which different people had found a unique way to worship the same God. Shivers went down my spine as they began to sing. I had no idea what they were saying but I was still allowed to participate in the worship. But then, then we sat down. And I lost them. I had no idea what was going on. I couldn’t hear what they were saying in English or Lugandan and the translation itself was throwing me through a loop. And it was so long. I hated it. And I hated that I hated it. I wanted to love this church service but the wonder was shot as another small child climbed on my lap, did acrobatics on the bench next to me, and played with my scar (they were fascinated...running their finger back and forth on my neck). I had to decide that it was okay not to love everything. Different wasn’t wrong – that I knew and expected. Today was the first lesson in “different doesn’t also doesn’t always mean better”. I was glad, however, when it transitioned to the message – which at least I could follow. Surrender. She talked about surrender. (It reminded me a lot of my own journey with “Ultimate Surrender” that I recorded in “Glimpse” a year ago.) Anika, would you be willing to give up everything if it was asked of you? It was on my mind a lot today...including what would be asked of me for Uganda. It was interesting how the conversation seemed to continue at Kate and Peter’s tonight. I found some of my answers both refreshing and troubling. I was “afraid” I would get to Uganda and feel called to missions. I am both relieved and a little disappointed to realize, rather clearly, that I am not. The answer is “no”. But it leaves me with the “now what?” Where do I go from here? How does my life look different after spending almost a week in Uganda (with two more to go)? What do I do? What is God calling me to? And will I be willing to give him everything?

SOME OTHER PERSONAL REFLECTIONS FROM BUDUMBULI VILLAGE...

Helping Hand...
And she let me help. It was kind of the idea – the purpose of the home visit in the village – to get me, the student, involved in the day in and day out. But she really let me help. I was given a shot at skinning the pineapple. I helped chop much of the succa and dodo (greens) and shopped entire cabbage the Ugandan way. Food preparation is extensive. There is so much that needs to be done to put a Ugandan meal on the table (or rather on the floor). And she allowed me to be a part of every step of the process – pineapple through dishes. Mama Lukia continued to thank me for my work, tell me I was doing a good job and that I had “learned”. She was very excited and genuine in all of her compliments. Somewhere in the middle of the cabbage, however, it occurred to me...if Mama Lukia was doing it by herself (since only one person could be chopping at once) it would have been done so much faster and better. Regardless of the fact the goal was my participation, for me to be a part of it, a small piece of me was amazed by how much she let us (I was with a partner who was in this case my professor, Deb) do. Let me do. She let me help. It reminded me not so much of the culture of Uganda, but the culture of God. The fact that God doesn’t need me. Actually, he never has. He would be so much more efficient, much more successful, intensely better off if I wasn’t involved. I mean, I get the job done...even if I slice my finger and get a blister. I sort of can do the task at hand – but not like God does. And still he lets me help. Asks me to be part of his day in and day out life. Something tells me he takes the same joy Lukia did in the fact I am “learning”. He doesn’t need me but He wants me and He’s going to be with me every step of the way.

Beautiful Feet
Isaiah 52:7, Romans 10:15
The seemed to take pride in their shoes. They loved their shoes. But I was awed by their bare feet. Their dusty, dark, brown, bare feet. The way in which they so easily walked around on the hard ground without their shoes. Strong and hard they took on the world. I thought they were beautiful. I have on mermaid green toenail polish. My toes are gross and always painted and I decided on something a little more eccentric for my time in Uganda. Margaret saw them. She pet my toes gently and looked at me and smiled. “You have pretty feet”. Suddenly all I could think about was this incredible verse in Isaiah (and quoted again by Paul in Romans) noting the beauty of the feet who carry the news of the Lord. Instantly I wanted desperately to be one of those people and I pray, despite my lack of missionary status on this trip, to have beautiful feet in God’s kingdom too. To live a life which continually proclaims “God is Lord!”

Some other Notes
- Despite my desire to be culturally sensitive, my first instinct was to what was natural for me. I was given extra space to spread my legs...but I really wanted to cross them...that was what was comfortable. Comfortable was my first instinct, but comfortable isn’t always best...
- A lesson is to be learned from the mundane of life. To go day in and day out with dignity and resolve is not only commendable but a contentment like I can’t understand
- Lukia was focused intensely on the inside of her house. For as much as she wanted us to see every nook of the inside, she excluded the outside. We spent the entire day in doors. She seemed almost proud of the inside of her house – at least in comparison to the out. What an incredible thought...to endeavor towards forcing others to focus on the reality of your inside...

5/23/09 JINJA, UGANDA Budumbuli Village

First Instincts
The Mundane
Letting Us Help
Muslim to Adventist
Our Simple Gifts = treasured possessions
Food Preparation
Beautiful Feet
A Window Space between my hands and theirs
“Thank You”
Good-byes
The Contrast
Lukia – the Inside more valuable than outside (home and otherwise...)

I have many special thoughts related to all of the above lines. Little things I wish I could record – every inkling expound. But as I look at the time, after spending a significant amount of time recounting very special days with the team, I know I can’t talk about them all. But I feel like I have to detail at least one thought for the night...somewhat encompassing...
The coaster (bus type vehicle) had left and I was waiting with the remaining members of our team in Kate’s monstrous car. I had a surprisingly hard time saying goodbye. Like the orphanage, these kids were so very special and they had stolen my heart. We were supposed to be leaving although part of me wanted desperately to climb out of the all terrain and let kids hang on me one last time. Instead, they were hanging on the car. Climbing all over. Shouting and waving. They were not eager to have us go either and their attention proved it. I waved outside from my window...tired and torn with this whole idea of goodbye. I watched a dozen kids wave back instantly. In that moment I was confident if I was any bit of a crier – I would have. What do I do to say goodbye to a billion children who took hold of my heart strings in barely two days? I stopped waving and pressed my hand against the window. To which three hands instantly met it from the other side of the pane. I moved my fingers and one girl moved hers with it. Our hands were touching – palm to palm. The only thing separating us and my ability to reach her was the window. I couldn’t help but think it was just that. I wanted so much to be in their world...and I was so close. But something still separates. My world from their world, my culture from their culture, my life from their life. I didn’t get out of the car and jump into the mob and will the children towards me. I say inside my box and watch to the outside with the glass in-between and my hand still against the window. I wanted to be submerged but from the safety of where I was. Am I willing to drop, to break the “window” while I am in Uganda or will I survive the trip with me touching the world from the other side? Is this okay? And if it’s not, what do I do about it?

5/22/09 The Noise

Personal Journal Exert

“If you want to hear me in the silence you must first learn to listen in the noise”

I don’t know quite what this means. It seems backwards from everything I have ever been taught. And yet it rings surprisingly true. All I can think of is a mother in a crowded store or at a busy party. The one who hears past the noise around her to respond to the cry of “mom!” She has learned to listen to her child, to know her child’s voice despite the world around her. Does the same exclamation bear the same weight in her own home? Maybe it means more to her – after all she can hear shout so clearly without the bustling of individuals and circumstances around. But what of the child (or in my case, the voice of God)? Does something not register with the child that the mom who responds faithfully when her attention is his still responds, is still in tune with him, when her focus is diverted? Doesn’t he know not all will turn and abandon the task at hand in order to pay attention? Only someone whose focus is as much on the child as on the task – while submerged in the noise – is capable of giving any sort of true allegiance. For anyone can claim to hear God when the focus is completely on Him but the one who learns to hear God when attention is also on other things...to find Him in the racket and chaos, now there is one who shows true faithfulness.

Tonight I went outside to have some needed “quiet” time without the rest of my group. I thought about taking my bible but ultimately decided against it. It had been a busy few days in Uganda and I considered perhaps God and I needed some time to process, digest. So I say down next to the wall and closed my eyes. I was vaguely making notice of the sounds around me and I reflected on how hard it was for me to “tune out” the world around me in order to just listen to God. You know, giving God my complete, undivided and undistracted attention. My attempts are a constant fail. But no sooner did I again endeavor than ever so gently I heard “so listen to the noise.” Umm, okay.

The frustration of the inability to tune out the noise was multiplied by tuning into it. The very literal noise was suddenly almost oppressive. Barking dogs. A chirping bat. The hum of cricked and the screech of cicada. Muffled conversation and rich laughter from my teammates coming from the side and from below. The brief sound of a homemade broom bristling against the hard floor. I was bombarded by sound. So much noise! And I listened. Listened until the cacophony was something I could no longer take. I whispered sharply into the night sky “what in the world am I listening for??”

The response was clear. Almost too clear. Nearly audible. “If you want to hear me in the silence, you must first learn to listen for me in the noise.”

I was baffled by this admonishment. Dumbstruck and questioning I ran inside to write down the phrase at the top of my journal before heading back outside to hear my answer. I did what I always do...stop paying attention and start making my scenarios. What does this have to do with Uganda? That’s what we were debriefing together, after all. “Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with Uganda?” Of course it does, I’m in Uganda! And so I made up some stories. Good tries. Noteworthy attempts. And the more I questioned the more I began to realize indeed, maybe it had “nothing” to do with Uganda (I mean, it could – but it didn’t have to be directly intertwined) and more to do with me.

I don’t want to dis quiet time, time set apart, making time just for God. In fact – it is super important to have personal time, focused time. One on one time. Like the mother with her child, it means something dear and thing are, or can be, very clear. But some part of me has always cringed when we take and stick God into a schedule – not that I even do that well! I need to be that conscientious – at least! – of fitting God into everyday life – the business and the noise. It reminds me a little of the way Eugene Peterson phrases Romans 12:1-2 in the Message. (placed in my journal in entirety after the trip) “So here's what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. Don't become so well-adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead, fix your attention on God. You'll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what he wants from you, and quickly respond to it. Unlike the culture around you, always dragging you down to its level of immaturity, God brings the best out of you, develops well-formed maturity in you.” My everyday life includes the noise. And if I can learn to listen for his quiet voice and ever assured presence in the noise, then maybe I’ll know what I’m listening for and to in the quite and stillness...

5/22/09 – JINJA, UGANDA (Budumbuli Village)

Again I start another journal entry trying to decide where to begin! Where do you even begin to explain a day such as Budumbuli Village? How can I even start? There are so many things! Perhaps I will just bullet my most meaningful observation instead of writing a narrative. Or maybe I’ll narrate my bullets...we’ll see how it goes.
- Laughter, as near as I can tell (or speak of from my ever increasing cross cultural experiences) is universal. Real laughter, true joy, can’t be feigned, hidden, or ignored. Laughter in Uganda is just as legist as in the United States. Maybe more so. Simple, pure, honest smiles are irreplaceable – and worth every bubble I blew. Something about the excitement they had was real and beautiful. It meant so much to me – the listener and the viewer.
- Physical touch may not be so universal – but it is a very strong cultural aspect here. Especially among the children. Touch communicates, offers friendship, desires a response. The kids fed, literally gained their energy fro touching us and being touched by us. They wanted to hug and to hold. They wanted to be spun, hold hands...and fingers, and arms, and skirts. I once had seven children there on my arms as “cling-ons”. When one left another would take her spot. Only half of them demanded my attention. The rest just want to be near me. I had one girl who didn’t leave my side, my arm, my hand for over an hour.
- Perhaps the most meaningful for me was when the same girl, Kasacie, for about the 100th time wrapped my arms around her in a frontal hug. She would stand there, on my feet, with my arms wrapped around her watching the kids play soccer. I merely stood there with my hands crossed against her chest...held in her hands. This time, she had just finished running around in circles, dancing with my arms, jumping on me and laughing at my fish face she was trying so hard to replicate. She was breathing hard and with my hands against her chest, I could feel her heartbeat. I could feel her heartbeat. All I could think about as my hands felt for the rhythmic up and down was Kono’s prayer for our group before we even left the states...the first being that we would learn to listen for God’s heartbeat. My immediate thought was... “I’ve been trying to hear it...and now I can feel it.” The realization that the heart of God beat inside of that little girl. And before, before I could hear it too...it was in the singing which made half of our group cry, the laughter, the squealing. And I saw it in the smiles, the little boy carrying his baby brother on his back and the little girl who was eager to share her bubbles. All little pieces of God’s heartbeat. A heartbeat to be head, seen, felt...

There is always more to share. Part of me feels as if I should probably reflect on the homes, the dirty clothes, the quality of life we saw. But for the moment, it fails to compare. There is always more, but sometimes it’s okay for things to go unsaid...

5/21/09 – JINJA, UGANDA

It is day two and it feels like we’ve been here for so long. Getting off of the plane two nights ago feels like half a life tie – making last semester feel a whole world away. And yet, for as much as there is most definitely a new world to be explored, Jinja seems strangely familiar – awkwardly both foreign and normal. Although our activities are far from normal. Do I write about the Baby Cottage, with the toddlers who stole me heart and made me want to never leave? Do I talk about our scavenger hunt and the comfortable way I approached strangers to ask questions and the way they responded? What about the rich conversations and contagious laughter with newly developing friendships? The attached realizations that I really do want to adopt someday. I am terrified of the process but spending the day with beautiful children in soggy diapers with regimented naps and play time and “mommas” to look after them...I wanted to take them all home. I would want to adopt from somewhere like Uganda. Or how about realizing in myself that I am more reserved in the familiarly unfamiliar? I am much more prone to shy away for a situation in the states that is out of my comfort zone than here, where technically everything is out of my comfort zone! I think, maybe, because everything is new I have no choice but to step up to the plate. And then, there is noticing today too the fact that it only takes a single common thread or a loosely connected bond to create an alliance. This has already been proven true in our basic conversations with the Ugandan people around us, but especially in our team. In a group of 18, with so many differences, we create similarities to keep our team strong. People we have no reason (and in some cases, no right) to talk to otherwise or back at school have become amiable conversationalist. And while I could talk more about any or all of the above, I won’t. What do you do with the realizations which fill more than a page...or even a day? How do you process that many things? Things which don’t seem so profound...but necessary. Crazy. What gets taken away from these busy days and what gets left behind? What can the mind continue to mull over and what thoughts simply take up space? Or maybe Uganda is a safe place to ponder everything...both culture and life.

5/20/09 – There’s a Light Switch???

Personal Journal Exert

We couldn’t find a light switch. Actually, we couldn’t even find the light. Being so close to the equator, it gets dark early in Africa...at least in sub-Saharan Uganda. Pretty much pitch black by 8:00pm. With no light...natural or otherwise...we had no way to see in the dark bathroom. We were a resourceful group of ladies so we went to the bathroom in the dark with door closed, brushed our teeth with an eerie mirror reflection and two girls showered with the door open (we had a shower curtain) just so that there would be a hint of light from our bedroom. “It’s Africa!” we said and so complacently and contentedly put up with our unfortunate surroundings and continued to stumble in the dark. All until Deb, our trip leader and 6th roommate came in. “Where is the light switch for the bathroom?” She asked. Upon informing her there wasn’t, she went from side to side of our bedroom, tried a few knobs and then promptly turned on the bathroom light. The other five of us sat on our beds with our mouths open. “No way!” We all seemed to chant in unison. “There’s a light switch??” We spent the next five minutes laughing at our own lack of astuteness.

And yet, I wonder how often we go through life stumbling in the dark – contented and resolved – assuming it is the only way. Sometimes the path really is dark and narrow. Sometimes we have to endure the night of life and its eerie reflections and uncomfortable situations and wait for morning to come and make all things clear. And sometimes we settle for the darkness when there is a light switch right around the corner.

Father God, for all the time I stumble through assuming “It’s life!” and assume that is all there is, forgive me. Help me continually seek out the light that is you as I walk through the dark and bumpy path ahead.

5/20/09 – JINJA, UGANDA

Today we drove from Kampala to Jinja. Already there has been much to note and much to see. I’ve decided not to try and record it all. Perhaps I’ll regret this later but without Gallagher (my beloved laptop) which allows my fingers to fly and my thoughts to come effortlessly to the page, the process of journaling becomes a tedious task. I’ll do my best to highlight moments or individual experiences instead. So, for example, today I had my first experience with the vendors. I was both successful and slightly traumatized. I enjoyed talking to one vendor who was eager not only to sell (and she was!) but to learn names and show off her daughter – Rachel. We were on our way down to the source of the Nile, however, and my group was far ahead. I promised I would return. She looked me in the eye and said again and again “You come back and I give you good price! You love what I show you!” When I actually did return, she was ecstatic. “You come back! Welcome back!” A promise is a promise no matter where you are. I’ve had people tell me vendors are aggressive (persistent at the very least)...I wonder how many people promised to “come back later” as a way to get this lady off their back? Aside from her, however, I was impressed by my successful bartering of a gift for my friend. I am typically pretty timid in these situations. I would rather you name a price and I’ll either take it or leave it. I don’t even make offers at garage sales! But, when I asked the price and heard his answer, without missing a beat I responded “too high!”. He came down half his price after informing my purchase was a blessing to him, his family, all of Uganda, that he wanted it off of his shelf – it had been there to long, he wanted me and only me to have it... (Vendors will often tell white customers a price twice the worth in hopes they’ll show without bartering...) At the same time, even though he came down, I made a purchase. Everyone on the strip seemed to know. They all knew I had money with me, plus...I was white. Mzungu. I continued to tell people “no thank you” and “not today”. It was hard to say “no” to the look on their faces. Half of them all sell the same thing anyway – how do you know who to say “no” to and who deserves your “yes”. Even Jesus didn’t heal everyone...he moved from town to town. Not everyone got his “yes” even though they may have all needed it. Putting aside the fact he was Jesus, how did he know who most needed his “yes”? Father give me the eyes and the heart, both in Uganda and back in the states, to discern between the two.

5/19/09 – KAMPALA, UGANDA

I stepped off of the plane only vaguely aware of my new location. We’re often chided not to be so focused on the destination as to forget the journey...but I was so involved with the mundane of my journey I almost disregarded the destination. The wonder of landing in Africa was an unfamiliar realization. But it hit me – suddenly and acutely – literally attacking every sense. First it was smell. Not foul or off but an increasing difference from the boxed air of the plane as I walked down the strip. I took in a deep breath and was struck by the inability to articulate just what I was smelling. And as the smell became stronger before leveling off, the feel came next. My sweatshirt needed for the chill of the plane suddenly felt heavy and oppressive. The sticky warm air clung to me and I was both relieved and shocked by the sudden change of my environment. The black of night left me unable to see my own feet in front of me and I was dumbstruck as we all piled onto the bus. So new. I was trying desperately to take in my surrounding without missing anything and failed. Never is it possible to see and experience all that is in a moment. It seems unfortunate but it occurred to me the trip had but just begun and there would be many an opportunity, an uncountable number of more moments to try and take in the most of what was to be had. I had to snap out of my trance, however, as I realized we were driving down the “wrong” side of the road. I panicked, needlessly, before remembering the left was indeed the “right” if not the correct side to drive on. Something tells me it will be just one piece I will see as backwards. It’s day one in Uganda and I can only imagine that my life, like the roads, is about to seem terribly backwards and to be flipped completely upside-down.

5/18/09 – PLANE BETWEEN DETROIT AND AMSTERDAM

I am so high maintenance! I never would have guessed or admitted to it. But, now, as I sit on the plane and think about how much STUFF I have with me, I keep trying to think of what I could have left back, left home. The worst part? I’m convinced right now there isn’t anything. I’m confident I need everything I took along. I’m sure the weeks ahead will reveal otherwise. I need so many items to be “content” and I wonder about the items I left so hesitantly behind. Will I make it three weeks without my own pillow and the stuffed animal I sleep with every night? But then too, I think about all of the “extra” things I took. The things not necessarily on everyone else’s packing lists. My medicines, my prescribed foot machine, my ace bandages and knee brace. The mouth wash I use after I puke. The other little things I need because I’m...sick? I never considered myself “sick” before. Honestly. Ironically enough, it was a label I claimed didn’t fit. Packing made me feel sick. Something about realizing that my day to day life is indeed different because of the last year and a half. Because of words and diagnoses. Makes me wonder what labels we give to the people of Uganda. What causes them to buy into the labels given? Mine might actually, unfortunately, be accurate...are theirs? On any account, I bet no one has ever called them high maintenance!