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...