saying goodbye to uganda 12.29.09

What has made the farewell process of leaving Uganda so difficult both times I have departed is the fact that I have no idea when and if I will ever return. The journey to Africa is expensive and long, yet it is home to the people, places, foods, and experiences that I so dearly treasure.

For this trip’s last blog entry, I’ve decided to name the top 4 things that I will miss- and NOT miss- about the Pearl of Africa.

What I will NOT miss…

4. It seems that water, power, or gas run out at the most inconvenient of times. Right before getting onto the computer to watch a movie, power goes. When one is ready for a shower or set to do dishes, the tap is dry. And when one prepares for breakfast- chopping an array of vegetables, purchasing eggs from the store down from the driveway, and oiling the pan with an empty and vocal stomach- the gas for the spits out its last and final burst before going out.

3. As I have mentioned several times, I am terrified of the steep downhill routes that boda bodas and matatus follow. I have had frightening experiences even in the countryside of America, sailing downward at a speed in which my stomach drops. I think such experiences produced a new fear, as I don’t recall investing much thought into the transportation here on my last visit. Nonetheless, I welcome the flat and boring surface of the Midwest upon my return.

2. It’s risky to rely too heavily on the fact that the foods on a menu will indeed be available. When one orders “peas” or “pumpkin” or “sweet potatoes” it’s not uncommon to hear a faint “Uh-uh. Finished.” What a tease.

1.Uganda is dusty. I imagine my pores and lungs have had their fill of orange soot. When rain sprinkles to the ground, an incredible and unavoidable layer of muck coats the entire surface. People march around with an obvious pattern of speckled mud up the backs of their legs and across their shoes. I sometimes wonder about the actual color of my feet these days…I doubt they are really this dark and brown…

- - -

What I will miss…

4. I love the colorful energy that pours out from African music and dance. Ugandans can groove with the best of them. I’m one who loves to dance [no matter how foolish I look] and can always find someone willing to sway and twirl around at any time and in any location. And the East African rap and worship music are my two favorite genres. Amazing.

3. There is something to be said for learning to communicate in someone else’s native language. I love learning Luganda phrases and words so that I can surprise people with my ability to properly respond or cleverly exchange slang with a harassing boda boda driver. I am encouraged when I can successfully hold a very basic conversation with a native Ugandan. I wish Luganda was spoken in Illinois so that I could practice…

2. Oh, the tasty Rolex is so unique to Uganda, made of chapatti wrapped around grilled egg and vegetables. It was the first meal I had when I arrived here- Sarah, Ivan, and Benon brought me one for when I stepped off the plane. They know me well. It was the last meal I had before Peter drove me to the airport.

1. I will miss my friends the most. I have met so many wonderful, beautiful spirited people through my Africa travels. Ugandan. Kenyan. Tanzanian. English. American. Canadian. I see GOD in them all and am blessed to have had the chance to form friendships with these people. They have changed my life. I hold them all close to my heart, and hope we will all meet again some day.

…And if not in this lifetime, it will be when we all sing Hosannas for our glorious LORD in HiS Kingdom.

tacos. in uganda. 12.28.09.

Because everyone had left for camp in Jinja, Patrick, Tara, and I had the flexibility to get creative with dinner. This blog entry is dedicated to instructing a Uganda visitor with the resources and knowledge to recreate a fantastic dish:

Cheese. In my opinion, one needs cheese for tacos. Tara and I went to Quality Supermarket and I went straight for the tiny cheese section, opting to pay for the treasure with my own money so that it didn’t eat up our organization’s dinner budget. Cheddar cheese goes for about 3,000- 12,000 Ugandan Shillings [$2-$6]. It’s worth it.

Tara and I explored our options for “tortilla chip”. We randomly found some Dorritos on sale, which could do the trick.

With minced beef also in our cart, we waited in line for a very long time. The queues here move so casually- no sense of urgency to eliminate accumulating lines of customers.

Our next stop was the market- a travel clinic’s nightmare, I’m sure. With raw meat juice trickling down from the wooden butcher stands and into the mud where vegetables are on display, I think about what the nurses would think. I imagine the absence of hand washing, the bare and mudded feet that stomp upon beds of cabbage, and the chicken feathers and waste that scatter out from the overcrowded cages do not paint the picture of sanitation that the travel clinics encourage.

We purchased tomatoes, cilantro, avocados, onions, green peppers, jalapeños, and ginger from a few market stands before strategically weaving across the muddy high paths of the streets to the house. We first made a stop off to a woman selling gonja [roasted sweet bananas] wrapped in newspaper. Mmmm…. A snack before starting dinner.

A bit of bleach and water eliminated the memory of the environment from which our vegetables come. Tara’s mom had brought a precious can of refried beans on a visit, which smelled wonderfully as Tara cooked it on the stove, beside the pan of beef. Taco seasoning was another small item of incredible value that Tara had in her possession. I worked on chopping some vegetables for a salsa [which tasted incredible with the Dorritos!] as well as the guacamole.

Patrick went out to buy some chapatti from a street vendor to serve as tortillas. By the time everything was ready, we were delighted at the site. We wolfed down the delicious fiesta feast, with much of our conversation revolving around the food.

A little creativity, and a bit of compromise from one’s taste buds on occasion mean that one can create just about any American favorite dish! [Well, sort of…but Mexican dishes can DEFiNiTELY work out!]

seeing junior. 12.27.09+12.28.09.

In April of 2008, I helped out at a Compassion International youth camp. There, a small boy walked around my small group, aiding the other children with their English writing they worked on letters to their sponsors. It didn’t take long for him to impress me with his kind, quite spirit and intelligence. But then I began to ponder, “Why isn’t he working on a letter?”

Because Junior was 11 at the time, he was too old to begin in the Compassion International Program. His grandmother cooked at the camp for the smallest of incomes and would bring Junior with her to work. I thank GOD every day that she did, for that is how I met the small Ugandan boy, now 13, whom with I correspond and sponsor through Empower A Child.

This week, there is a youth church camp located in Jinja, the location for the source of the Nile. Some of the sponsored children were going to attend, so the all arrived on Sunday evening for an early morning departure on Monday. Many come from deep in the villages, so it was not realistic for them to begin travel to our home the morning of camp.

Among the group was Junior! I was so thrilled to be able to see him again. The reports about Junior that are passed to me through my Ugandan friends are all so positive, and I was looking forward to telling him how proud I was of his hard work in person.

I think the pictures Junior has of me from my last trip to Uganda burned that exact image into his memory, so when I first approached him, he didn’t recognize me! But Sarah rushed out and quickly blurted my identity to him in Luganda, and he came running inside the house and grabbed both of my hands with a shy smile.

It took him a bit of time to warm back up to me. Fortunately, Patrick, a brilliant Ugandan chef, and I were working on making a pizza for dinner [well, as close as we could get with the African materials we have here]. I invited Junior to join us in the kitchen while the rest of the sponsored children played outside. While we caught up on each others’ lives, Junior sprinkled chopped peppers, onions, and mushrooms onto the dough. I offered him some shredded mozzarella cheese, to which he responded that it tasted like blue wash bar soap! [He’s kinda right…]

He giggled as I explained some other odd foods that Americans name as favorite and classic. His facial expression following a taste of a tinned mushroom indicated his opinion of it, as well. I could tell he doubted our dinner!

I had a backpack with notebooks, folders, and pens to give to him as a Christmas gift. So I pulled him aside and presented the items to him. His face lit up. He immediately re-packed all of his items for camp in the backpack. :0) I also handed him a bag full of assorted flavored dumdum lollipops so that he could hand them out to the other dozen and a half children outside.

Before he went to sleep, he wished me a pleasant night and ran his fingers through the tips of my hair. The slippery texture of my mzungu hair is often explored by African children and youth with whom I come in contact.

The next morning, as the rain drizzled down from a dark sky, the children got ready for camp. As everyone waited for the bus to come take them to camp, I spent some more time with Junior.

I taught him a hanging arm dance move, to which he laughed through the entire lesson. The first time I met him, I introduced the game of “Rock-Paper-Scissors”- somehow that guy beat me almost every round this time we played!

I brought out my laptop to entertain us for while. I really wanted for my mom to see Junior, so I shared with Junior the concept of Skype. At the cost of my mom’s peaceful night of sleep, I was able to demonstrate video chats between continents to a fascinated 13 year old.

The last hour we waited, Junior showed off some of his new skills with typing on a computer keyboard. I pulled up a blank Word document, intending for him to practice a moment. That idea soon evolved into a conversation activity in which I would type a question to him, shift the computer, and allow him to respond. He caught on to the “Shift” and punctuation keys quickly. He and a few gathered friends laughed when I typed a question in Luganda, then filled with curiosity about the red squiggle lines that formed under each word, indicating my computers lack of recognition of the language!

When the bus arrived, I waited outside in the rain until they pulled out. Junior claimed a seat in the back of the bus near a window, so I talked with him while the bus was loaded. As they departed, Junior furiously waved with a smile. I think I matched, if not topped, his enthusiasm with my return wave.

I have been so blessed over the past year and a half through my sponsor relationship with Junior. I beam with pride when I receive updates about his performance in school. I save every letter I have every received from him, and love composing letters to him in return. It’s a significant commitment to sponsor a child, but after a lot of prayer and reflection, I believe GOD led me to one of the greatest decisions of my life. I am blessed by Junior.

Many of my Ugandan friends have been sponsored through programs like Compassion International, and they all speak so joyfully when prompted to talk about their experience. They love their sponsors and recognize the impact the program had in their lives. I’ve met and interacted with many of the sponsored children at Empower A Child - each one is so special. I encourage everyone to consider sponsoring a child, whether it’s through EAC, another organization; a child in Uganda or any other country. To learn more about sponsoring a child through Empower A Child Uganda, please contact me or visit the website at http://www.empower-a-child.org/eachome/SPONSORACHILD.html.

t.i.a [this is africa]. 12.26.09

Tara and I sat down and began a conversation about the differences in American and Ugandan culture. It’s almost funny, really, when one pauses to reflect on what is accepted as normal and ordinary in Africa, though very strange to transfer such behavior and etiquette to western culture.

The conversation inspired me to highlight a few of these observations in this blog entry:

:Critters:

A plethora of insects and other pests inhibit the house with us. I think I would have more concern about it if I were home. In Africa, however, it’s something that does not even phase me.

As I drifted off into sleep for a nap yesterday, I opened my eyes to reposition myself onto my side, just in time to see a mouse scurry across the floor. My only concern was whether he would keep my awake by tearing and nibbling on a plastic grocery bag underneath the other bed.

In the shower I often narrow my eyes in disapproval at a small gecko that leisurely approaches a ceiling corner to station himself. I don’t mind his presence, but I can’t help but feel a slight level of violation while I undress.

Opening the silverware drawer to find a variety of insects who quickly scatter out, down the counter, and behind the other glasses and plates isn’t something that gets the same attention if I were to be in America. Back home I would probably investigate the situation, invest in some sort of trap, and furiously scrub all the forks, spoons, and knives. Here, I don’t even acknowledge the presence of the bugs.

I feel a sense of personal victory every morning that I wake up and see a troop of mosquitoes perched outside of the net around my bed. Ha! No bites this morning, fellows!

:Babies:

The babies in villages can be found sitting outside on their own, contently playing in the dirt, and wearing nothing but perhaps a tattered tshirt.

Women carry their young ones bundled up in a patterned clothe wrapped around their middle, so that the baby is tucked tightly to his mothers back. It’s simple and convenient. I think about all the contraptions and accessories used by western parents- the child seats, the strollers that fold up and out, the carrying devices, the swings- the basic African cloth gets the same job done.

:Public Transportation:

The way that taxi services function in Uganda has a completely different set of etiquette…

The matatu taxi vans litter the streets, dodging across one another’s path and aggressively competing for passengers. It’s not uncommon to be tightly squeezed into the vehicle; sometimes having to host a stranger on half of one’s own lap, or perhaps be handed someone’s tiny babe as the mother exits the van.

The matatus invest just enough fuel to operate on fumes. So, one expects for the van to distract from its route, pull into a gas station, and force passengers to wait on the conductor [the one who collects money and recruits people to ride] and driver as they tend to their matatu.

Don’t plan on going anywhere until the matatu is filled with paying passengers. One can waste away in the taxi park, waiting in a suffocating heat as people walk past the matatu, ignoring the potential ride. Ugh. I pray and hope for people to quickly load into the van so that we can be on our way.

:Laundry:

Taking an American washing machine for granted is a crime. What a remarkable invention. Once one has hand washed clothes and felt the tiring hand pain from ringing out the toughest fabrics, such as denim, the washing machine becomes somewhat of a miracle.

The MSTs here dry out the undergarments and socks atop a small try within the compound. It’s funny to reflect on the concept. Should one find underwear lying out in a bush in America, the thought would be to immediately take it inside and wash it. Here, however, a sock drying out on top of the leaves symbolizes freshness.

There are many other comparisons I make on a daily basis, between Ugandan and America. I think for now I’ve highlighted some of my favorites to ponder.

christmas day! 12.25.09

When I woke up Christmas day, it took me a moment to emerge out of a sleepy daze. No snow on the ground. No decorated tree. But it was Christmas! And I was just as excited as I was for snowy Chicago Christmases!

We first went to church at Kymbogo, which lasted about 3 hours. We had to leave a bit early, however to head to Jayan’s home for a Christmas feast. When we arrived to her family’s house outside of Kampala, we found a banquet waiting for us.

A spectacular display of meats, Irish (potatoes), noodle dishes, matoke, g-nuts sauce, greens, beans, peas, cassava, apple pie, and brownies overwhelmed the table. I visited with Jayan’s mom and sisters for a while until the coffee table was cleared and the African music videos turned up. Yes, a dance party broke out. How amazingly perfect for me!

It didn’t take long for me to realize that my dancing stamina was miniscule compared with the Ugandans. I kept trying to sit back down on the couch to catch my breath and hope for some level of digestion, yet the sisters and neighbors would not allow for my absence on the dance floor.

We danced and celebrate Christmas well into early evening until we realized the time and had to depart in order to get to the cinema at Garden City for a seven o’clock showing.

Seven of us stood in line, holding a level of self-defense. I tried to form a pick to gain some space to breath against the crowd that increasingly filled the corridor. This is how a queue works in Africa. One stands in line and is shoved mercilessly to go to church. One stands in line and is shoved mercilessly in the supermarket the day before Christmas. One stands in line and is shoved mercilessly while waiting to enter the movie theater. Too bad our first attempt in line turned out to be the cinema for Indian translation!

When we finally elbowed our way through the hallway to the cinema, we took our seats in the second row to see Avatar. It was a perfect and relaxing way to end a Christmas celebration that was so physically demanding of my stomach’s capacity and leg strength!

Merry Christmas from Uganda!

christmas eve by candlelight. 12.24.09

The last time I was here, I had helped with the beginning stages of clearing raw jungle by slashing a machete on Peter’s new land. My second visit highlighted how long it has been since I had been here, as the land has been transformed.

Peter, an amazing Ugandan with a vision to serve a village, established a church and community center, using an existing building until GOD provides the funds to build a new one. I went with Peter, and a few Ugandan, American, and English friends to Kyampisi for a Christmas Eve church service.

We arrived after a winding drive about an hour outside of Kampala. A crowd of children gathered at the church building and we immediately began to decorate two trees that had been propped up in the corners to serve as Christmas decorations. We gathered wild flowers from the fields and jungles and brought them back for the children to place into the branches of the evergreen. Balloons also added color and festivity to the trees.

The Christmas Eve service was an incredible way to spend the evening. As the sun slowly set, Peter delivered a message to the people, had the visitors (including myself) briefly speak to the congregation, and introduced very talented and passionate choirs of children and adults, who sung so beautifully and danced so gracefully.

One each side of me, a small village girl sat. One fell asleep peacefully into my lap, the other held tightly onto my hand throughout the service. When the time came illuminate the church by candlelight as we sang hymns, the little ones spent most of the time exploring the melting and dripping wax, testing all the ways that they could manipulate the forming shapes on the concrete floor.

The service concluded with vibrant songs and celebration, tea and biscuits; with no source of light except for five dozen tiny flames.

Being able to celebrate Christmas with the village, and share in their joy for Christ’s birth is a memory that I will carry with me for a long time. I felt so blessed to return to this land and see the way the community has been united under the love of the LORD.

the numbers of uganda. 12.23.09

.12.

Africa is accustomed to losing power and water at any time of the day, any day of the week. I think the taps have gone dry about a dozen times since I have been here. No big deal. Substitute a couple of jerry cans and basins into the equation, and all is fine.

.7.

Kampala is known as the city of seven hills. … Seven hills that each hosts a palace for the king. Seven hill tops that present glorious views of the city below. Seven hills that threaten to terrify me every time I catch a ride on the back of a motorbike.

.800.

The cost of a rolex, a Uganda dish made at a tiny, shabby stand on the side of the street, should be around 800 Ugandan shillings. Of course, the mzungu price on my last purchase was increased to 1,000.

Chapatti wrapped around an omelet is something that I have not yet been able to perfectly recreate in the States.

.765.

The dirt roads that jut out from the main paved streets are dramatically uneven and littered with deep potholes, trash, and rocks. The drive across the surface rivals the Jeep commercials that boastfully show off the vehicle’s ability to handle off-roading. Try driving over 765 potholes on a quarter mile stretch. Watch your head.

.2.

To get home from the inner city of Kampala yesterday, it took about 2 hours. Our matatu failed to fill up with passengers along the way, so- we waited. We waited by the market, defeated by the better deals offered by competing matatu conductors who pulled ahead of us in line and recruited all who were headed to Ntinda. The waves of heat, dust, and exhaust filled our vehicle through the open windows, and I eventually gave up watching and hoping for passengers; closed my eyes, and accepted that we would be stranded for quite some time.

.52.

Despite sleeping with a mosquito net at night, I daily add to the collection of bug bites across my skin. It’s difficult to pin the exact number of irritating bites that speckle across my legs and face, but I’m going to estimate about 52.

Ugh. Ouch! [Slap] Make that 53…

1,265,739.

In Uganda, a white person has no name. The Swahili word for traveler instead replaces “Joe”, “Jane”, or “Dani”.

“MZUNGU!” is the word I hear as I walk to the store, down the alleyway where people loiter and lounge by the scrap yard. It’s almost become a runway catwalk to me, as I strut through that small stretch and endure catcalls and shouted Mzungu’s. I sometimes acknowledge the people shouting to me with a nod or an “Ogambaki”; other times I ignore it. The children run after me shrieking “Bye, Mzungu! Bye!”

I hear this term about 1,265,739 times a day.

cuddling babies. 12.22.09

While I have never been very fond of infants and toddlers, there is something about Sanyu Babies Home that transforms me into a baby’s number one fan. I have so many wonderful memories with the tiny ones who were at the orphanage when I was here the first time, so I could not wait to go back and visit!

Benon, Beth, and I traveled early in the morning by matatu and boda boda to Sanyu, perched high above Kampala on a steep hill, overlooking the chaos of traffic and activity below. We first passed through the rooms where newborn babies slept soundly. Those babies who come through Sanyu at this age are often discovered in garbage piles or latrines, abandoned by their biological parents. But under the supervision of the Sanyu staff, they are loved and cared for around the clock.

I was most anxious to go back to the classroom of those who are about six to 18 months old, where I had first fell in love with a baby named Elijah. I remembered the teacher when we entered the room and chatted with her for a while. I happily updated her on Elijah, knowing information through my mom who has become acquaintances with his adopted mother in Colorado. Their friendship began through letter and email correspondences, linked by their love for this little boy, and my mom was even able to meet up with the family and meet the tiny boy.

After catching up with the teacher, I dropped my body to the ground, legs stretch out, and two babies immediately discarded their toys and crawled up to me. One clung to the sleeve of my shirt as he balanced himself; the other nestled into the side of my leg.

A very gentle and curious little girl named Hannah approached me with a slow crawl, then stretched out her arms to offer me a yellow ball. I adjusted her tiny pink dress with the stained front so that it was not uncomfortably twisted, and whispered in Luganda that she looked beautiful. For much of the time, I sat with Hannah. Other babies crawled to me and then would move on to investigate a toy or pair of shoes left behind by a barefoot babe. But Hannah stayed with me, content by the simplicity of passing a yellow plastic ball back and forth.

Spending time at Sanyu is always a blessing. The babies are gentle and loving and beautiful; all waiting patiently for a home with a family. Returning almost two years later meant that I would not see the babies whom I had come to love so much. But a baby’s absence at Sanyu represents a warm and welcoming family who has taken her home to grow up with them. When I return again someday, I hope not to find Hannah.

tree planting. 12.21.09

The Empower A Child organization recently purchased land about an hour and a half outside of Kampala. The dream is to one day transform the jungle into a campus for primary, secondary, and vocational school buildings and perhaps a heath care center, as well.

Six Ugandans packed into one of the EAC vans in the morning with Beth and me to travel out to Zirobwe. The final stretch of the drive was through a remote area, where dirt roads were barely wide enough for the van to pass. As we were tossed within the van like rag dolls, the car navigated over deep ravines and potholes. Pieces of brush and trees snapped off as the vehicle moved forward, grabbing at the car and reaching through the open windows.

When we finally arrived, we unpacked the contents of the car, along with 230 tiny pine and eucalyptus trees ready to be placed into the ground. Wilson, Empower A Child’s director who is currently living in California, instructed us to plant the trees along the parameters of the land to mark it in the future. Gayan remained behind to prepare lunch as the rest of us began a project that I had significantly underestimated.

Forty acres is a lot of land- especially when performing heavy labor under a merciless sun, deep within the jungle! I graciously thank GOD that I had the last minute thought to clip my water bottle to the belt loop of my jeans, as that was the one source of drink throughout our four hours of work. We carried the trees in a large pan, and a corrugated box; the weight seeming to increase with each step along the narrow path. We rotated positions of digging the holes and planting the tiny trees. Out of breath, and squinty sweat out of my eyes, I’d pass the hoe on to a person willing to dig for while. I did my best to relieve those who were struggling after a long run of breaking the ground, in return.

Thorns and weeds tore at our clothes and skin; soil sprayed over my entire body as I rapidly dug. On a rare occasion we would wade out of the shoulder-height grasses into a cathedral of trees that provides shade from the burning sun, through the ground would be more challenging to find.

We planted about 200 trees before returning to our vehicle where Jayan waited with rice and beans. Francis and I arrived first, around 4:45pm since we did not want to stop and eat jackfruit along the way. I dove into the rice and beans and swallowed with no delay.

By the time everyone else returned with jackfruit, I was teaching a clapping game to one of the shy village children. The others also wolfed down their well-deserved meal and we packed up for a quick departure.

ice cream voyage. 12.20.09

On a hot day, when the sun is aggressively beating down from an open sky and blowing orange dry dust creates a thick layer of paste across a sweating forehead, one wants nothing more than to find relief. This liberation comes in a simple and tasty form- ice cream.

After attending Watoto’s Christmas Concert church service in downtown Kampala, Patrick, one of the Ugandans in the house, Beth, and I began a voyage with a few friends to find ice cream.

We first walked about forty minutes along uneven sidewalks, up and down sloping hills, through matatu traffic jams; while dodging speeding boda bodas and constantly refusing the most determined solicitors along the street markets. By the time we reached Garden City Shopping Mall, I could do nothing but anticipate the moment my tongue could slide across a cold layer of coconut ice cream.

Not yet desperate enough. The prices were outrageous [as I had expected], so we decided to venture to Santos, a reliable ice cream parlor and restaurant on Kampala Road. This is were the others decided it was not worth continuing, and so we were down to three.

The steep hills of Kampala create a challenge for me in transport. I fear and despise the stomach-dropping plunges while on the back of a motorcycle. By my usual request, Patrick surveyed the cluster of boda boda drives lounging on their bike to find one who was willing to ride “mpolampola” [slow] for a silly mzungu. Fred was not only a gentleman in accommodating my unique request as we wove through traffic, but turned out to be a fantastic conversationalist; impressed with my Luganda vocabulary and knowledge of Uganda’s capital layout.

Patrick and Beth followed on a second boda boda until we arrived to Santos. I was unwilling to wait for the other two to receive their milkshakes, and immediately drove my spoon between my scoop of pineapple and coconut ice cream. The painful contrast of cold was worth it. I endured the headache and burning cheeks until I tossed my spoon into an empty glass bowl and slumped back into my chair with a smile.

african wedding. 12.19.09

One of the main reasons that I returned to Africa was to attend the wedding. Uganda wedding planning involves a committee of family and friends to sponsor and coordinate the event. I had attended the final [5 hour!] committee meeting on Wednesday with Benon to learn about our role as ushers, and was anxious to see how all the planning that commenced at that time and months earlier would play out on the wedding day.

Sarah and her 'maids were out the door by 4 am for hairstyling and makeup. We had hosted a barbeque party at our house the night before, so many stayed up all night. I was only able to fall asleep after the bride and her brigade had left.

True to African culture, the wedding ceremony at St. Kakumba Chapel in Kyambogo started late. And, of course, guests continued to arrive even an hour into the ceremony.

Sarah walked down the aisle to Hillsong’s “Mighty to Save”, following her maids who beautifully swayed and danced ahead of her. Much of the ceremony was similar to that of a traditional western culture wedding. There are some additional components, however, such as recognizing parents, aunties, uncles, friends, and employers in attendance. There is also a time to collect financial gifts for the couple.

The reception was held outside, with four tents set up in a square. One tent was for George’s guests, one for Sarah’s guests, one for the matron of honor and best man’s guests, and one for the wedding party. In the center was an impressive display of half a dozen cakes. Those of us involved with Empower A Child greeted and ushered guests to the reception area. When the time finally came for the wedding party to arrive, there was a procession of dance and then cutting of a ribbon before passing through the small canopy.

Half a dozen or so speeches from family, friends, and employers later, it was time to eat. A buffet line was set up to serve matoke [cooked plantain], g-nut sauce [a purple-y sauce made of nuts], meat, rice, beans, chapatti, and irish [potatoes]. After everyone ate, Sarah and George’s families each greeted the new couple formally, dancing around them and waving their arms. Sarah and George then presented each of the cakes from the display to the parents, extended family, employers, and friends of the couple.

The end of the night came with Sarah and George thanking the guests and wedding committee. Sarah graciously invited the Empower A Child group to stand with her at one point. A dancing celebration followed, to my delight. The party dispersed early, however, because many of the families had traveled from far away villages, so they had to leave.

Being able to return to Uganda has been so special, and even more so now that I was able to be a part of Sarah’s wedding day!

christmas cookies. 12.18.09

One of the MSTs from California, who has been here for about a year, had a package of cookie and dessert ingredients sent to her. Tara kindly shared the experience of baking Christmas cookies with us, as well as some of the neighborhood children.

Jovan and Leticia, 15 and 12, came over in late afternoon from their house that is just a few steps up the hill outside of our compound. Tara set Leticia up to work on the fudge, stirring furiously as it simmered over the stove. Jovan mixed sugar cookie dough in a Tupperware container across the kitchen. I rigged up my laptop using an extension cord and converter to sit on top of the refrigerator and blast Christmas carols throughout the house.

Meanwhile, little Louis, the 4-year-old son of a sweet woman who cleans the house, was excitedly running about the kitchen, opening and slamming the door shut, rapidly chattering in Luganda with an occasional outburst of English. The last time I saw him; he was quite shy- a lot has changed! Louis lapped around the kitchen, scurrying from spoons drizzled in chocolate to bowls of icing; demanding his tongue sample it all.

An anxious line of flies waited outside of the open kitchen door, occasionally testing our tolerance for their presence. Leticia, Beth, and Jovan carefully used cookie cutters on the rolled dough, though Jovan was later inspired to create his own shapes. Tara continued to oversee all of the baking projects, using creativity to adapt the recipe to Uganda’s ingredients. The sweet scent of warm sugar cookie angels and snowmen, crushed g-nuts, and bubbling toffee swept through the air. Louis gained more energy with each taste and lick of our utensils along the way.

With small beads of sweat gathering around my brows from the Ugandan heat and an irregular pattern of goat and cow calls throughout the hour, I treasured the moment; realizing how unique this Christmas memory is among my collection of traditional snowy holiday celebrations!

lazy day. 12.17.09

The pounding raindrops slapping against the pavement of the compound is a soothing sound this morning as I type on my computer in the dim dining room and sip Ugandan tea. The alleyway and streets surrounding the house have silenced with the absence of all pedestrians, vehicles, and vendors who have hid from the falling curtains of rain.

The top layer of the rusty orange soil has been transformed into a thick syrup, manipulated by the occasional dog footprint. Small pools have formed in the deep tire tracks and ravines of the dirt roads. The rain is heavy now, but I anticipate it lasting for only awhile.

With a sore throat and congested nose [likely picked up from the older gentleman openly coughing at me on my Chicago-Amsterdam flight] I have decided to spend the day embracing a lazy character and wishing to be well by tomorrow.

…I have doubts about the throat lozenges I picked up from Good Price Supermarket early this morning.

back to katalemwa. 12.16.09

I was able to return to Katalemwa Cheshire Home to volunteer yesterday. I traveled by matatu to the children’s rehabilitation center with Benon, one of the veteran Ugandan Empower A Child staff members, and Beth, a seventeen-year-old Texan MST [Ministry Support Team member] who just arrived in Uganda shortly before I did.

The journey time was long, as we had to ride a matatu into the heart of Kampala, walk to the crowded and chaotic taxi park, load into another matatu, and drive back out of the city and through busy market streets and neighborhoods before riding a boda boda the last leg of the excursion.

Katalemwa is home to children with a variety of disabilities including Cerebal Palsy, clubfeet, Hydrocephalus, facial tumors, limb deformities, and many other conditions. Upon our arrival, the classrooms were jumbled with wooden crutches scattered across the floor and tables as children as children wrote letters to Father Christmas. I sat beside a teenage boy who asked me for some help as he pondered on what he wanted to receive for Christmas. As I listed possible gifts, he vetoed every one. I was taken aback by how humble he was in deciding an appropriate gift. Every potential item I offered was something he felt he did not need- a backpack, clothing, notebooks... We finally were able to settle on a Madrid soccer jersey.

One of the teachers requested that we organize a Christmas pageant for the children to perform later that week. Benon and I quickly drafted a basic summary of Christ’s birth in the corner of the classroom as the children finished decorated their letters.

I first shared the story as Benon translated my English version into Luganda. Then we assigned roles to the children. As we practiced the scenes, I loved watching the reactions of the classroom. The little Mary and Joseph couple was absolutely darling. Mary was probably eight years old and Joseph about nine. As an older boy, Ima, narrated the story Mary and Joseph acted out the parts. The little girl acting as Mary would shyly, yet playfully cover her face, as she was embarrassed by having to walk beside and shake hands with her husband, Joseph. When it came time for Mary to be pregnant, the teacher rolled up a small blanket of yarn and stuffed it into her shirt. The whole classroom erupted with laughter and Mary shyly hid her face again, giggling throughout the whole scene.

It was an adorable sight to see the children gently passing around the wadded up blanket, as they all sang a Christmas song to baby Jesus to conclude. After a few run-throughs in specific scenes, the skit was deemed ready for Friday and Beth closed our time there with a prayer.

Katalemwa is a wonderful organization that so lovingly serves and cares for East Africa’s disabled children and I am blessed to have had opportunities to be a part of its community. I hope to be able to visit there a few more times before I leave.

it was all so familiar. 12.15.09

The minute I stepped off the airplane, it was all so familiar. The scent of the Entebbe breeze blew across my face as I heaved my luggage down the portable stairs.

As soon as I saw the smiling faces of my Ugandan friends waiting outside of the baggage claim at the airport, I felt at home.

The tires tumbling over tremendous potholes and gorges during our midnight drive to the house, tossed me around in the backseat to a memorable African rhythm.

A sweet medley of sounds from the street performed a late night lullaby for which I could fall asleep: the loud motors of speeding boda bodas, muffled African rap music from a nearby bar, and the occasional high-pitched yelp from a defeated stray dog in the alley, likely fleeing with is tail between its legs and a temporary limp.

My battle with mosquitoes picked up from where we had left off from my last trip. Constant, annoying buzzing near my ears and head resulted in a collection of red splotches across my face and lips the following morning.

The city street scenes of Kampala matched the picture I have held closely in my mind- only busier. With the holiday season approaching, the street markets were jammed with eager shoppers, forcing a level of a self-defense approach in passing through it all. Pedestrians dodging matatu taxi vans, a new mother breast-feeding her baby beside a fruit stand, and strong men walking their loaded bicycles up the steep hills was a welcoming scene for my first day back.

The toddler down the street excitedly addressed me with an energetic wave and a shrieking “Mzungu!” greeting.

The snooping geckos lurking in the ceiling corners of the living room almost went unnoticed until one anxiously scattered along the edge to the other corner.

The constant stream of visitors and Ugandan friends in and out of the house is my favorite. It always has been. It’s familiar and warm and joyful.

I am looking forward to the next couple of weeks- rediscovering my love for Africa to its fullest, remembering the smallest of details that hold so much significance, and exploring new perspectives and experiences. :0)