Monday, January 31, 2011

Brenda's Message

Brenda is a tiny little sweet-spirited pastor’s wife who gave a short message of introduction at New Song Christian Fellowship church on Sunday. She told a story about Sarah, a talented young Kenyan woman currently working for her at Jacaranda Creations. When Sarah was just a few weeks old her mother died. A short time later, as is so common in Africa, her step mother hid Sarah in an ash dumpster and covered her with ash intending to snuff out her life.

A very old granny lady sensed something in her Spirit, heard Sarah’s cries with her two ears, and used her two hands to pull this tiny baby out of the ash dumpster. This granny didn’t have any money. She didn’t have any food. She didn’t have anything to offer. She simply obeyed the Spirit by using her two ears and her two hands to rescue Sarah. She had no expectation beyond that moment of rescue. She didn’t work out in her head how the scenario would play out in her future. She simply stepped forward and lifted that lid.

Sometimes we look at a problem and think we have nothing to offer. We have no way to help. We can’t (or won’t) give money, time, or commitment. We don’t want to change our plans for this new and unexpected thing of today. But the most important thing we forget is that in the community of Christ we need only be obedient. God can and will use us in a variety of unexpected ways – amazing, wonderful ways. If you don’t follow the Spirit you are robbing yourself and others the opportunity to have life and to be surprised by hope!

God is so good and he will accomplish so many things in this world. He does not need us to accomplish his will. Even so, he is waiting for you to respond…to partner with him. He is waiting for “divine-human cooperation.” Will you learn to sense the moving of the Spirit in your life so that you can work with God to breathe life into hopeless situations?
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Saturday, January 29, 2011

Eunice's Story

Eunice is a young married mother of two who lives in Kitui, Kenya. The dimple in her right cheek adds this adoring kind of look to her already sweet demeanor. During the 2009 Bible School in a Briefcase held there, Eunice served as cook for the 38 pastor-students. These pastors raved of her abilities even after being served.

Over the past several years Eunice has been moved to tears by the conditions in which she finds so many children living. Over time she’s taken on many of these children – 17 to be exact – in a foster care type of situation. She’s always worked, as much as work was available, to help provide for these children. Serving as cook enabled her to feed the children using leftovers from the school meals. But the school doesn’t go on forever.

This year Rosslyn Academy, the international school the Johnson’s girls attend, adopted Eunice and her kids as part of their Christmas project. The kids at the school raised money, food, and other things to help Eunice care for these kids during 2011. The Johnson’s have agreed to be Eunice’s shepherd-mentor over the next year to help her learn to budget her money and to begin some long-term planning for her very large family.

The three-hour drive to Kitui resulted in warm greetings from all the children. Take a look.
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Thursday, January 27, 2011

10 Steps to Doing Your Own Laundry

1.      Prepare materials: 1 jerry can, 2 clean basins, laundry soap, laundry scrub, semi-clean bathroom (i.e., move all of Lauren’s “soaking” laundry out of the way).
2.      Fill one jerry can full of water from across the yard where the faucet shoots water in every direction while filling the can…but the water is free. Replace the red cap.
3.      Lug one full jerry can of water from the outside faucet, through the house, to the bathroom without dropping the jerry can and splitting it wide open so as to spill its contents all over the living room floor.
4.      Dump one-half jerry can of water over the clothes piled in the clean green basin. Replace the red cap.
5.      Dunk all the clothes until they’re all soaked, give up trying to keep the bathroom dry (including yourself). Try not to kill yourself on the slippery floors.
6.      Pour a teaspoon or so of liquid Tide onto one of those fancy Thule-like bushy, scrubby things.
7.      Choose the first item of clothing and start scrubbing until the lather runs down your elbows and legs and gets on the clothes you’re wearing. Scrub every inch inside and out. Wonder how automatic machines ever get clothes clean at all for the good job you’re doing.
8.      Dunk the first item of clothing in the basin water and give it a general ring to get most of the moisture out. Toss that item into the second clean, green basin.
9.      Repeat for all items of clothing. Wash the important things first because the later items will be lucky to get a twirl or two in the now-dirty water because your arms will be tired from scrubbing the bejeebers out of the first items.
10.  Empty and rinse the first green tub and swap for the second green tub containing soapy, semi-wet clothing.
11.  Dump the last half of the jerry can of water on the soapy, semi-wet clothing. Replace the red cap.
12.  Swish the soapy clothes around in the clean water, gently wring, and swish some more.
13.  Wring the adequately rinsed clothing until: (a) the elastic is stretched way out of shape (as attested to in the post-dry fit) or, (b) all the non elastic strings holding the clothing together have snapped.
14.  Try not to pass out when standing given that you’ve been crouching for the past half hour.
15.  Consider showering since you’re now wet and covered with laundry soap. Don’t want to waste water or soap.
16.  Carry the clean green basin full of wrung clothes to the outside community clothes line.
17.  Negotiate with neighbors about who has the right to use the line on any given day.
18.  Return to the house with the clean green basin full of wrung clothing and proceed to hang them from small hooks around the living room. Hang undies in the bedroom in case company comes. Try not to hang things near the electrical outlets.
19.  Turn on the fans…if the electricity works.
20.  Wonder why your clothes are so worn out and don’t fit anymore.

Right, it’s not exactly 10 steps but it’s a lot more work than you’d think.
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Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Ssese Island Honey

Another organizational development ministry opportunity came in the form of honey. The beekeeping group began in 2006 with three members. Vickie’s Aunt Robina started the group from her home in the Kalangala District of the Ssese Islands. She has notebooks full of visions, plans, notes, agreements, goals, expenses, sketches, and more. The women started with a system of contributing money and that was 5,000 UGX ($2.50 USD) per member per month. Each member was given one month 15,000 and at the end of the month she had to bring back the money with the interest of 5,000. They did that for a year. After that they thought of rearing bees out of the profit they had collected.






The stated vision is to train the ladies in the Kalangala district to:
1.      At least we should make sure that we encourage them to have one beehive in each family.
2.      A lady can get that honey from one beehive that works as medicine in the home.
3.      She can get honey out of that beehive and get money which can help sustain her in the home. That is to say that will help the whole district to have ladies who have some money on them and are not depending on their husbands all the time.

These ladies have accomplished much since their inception including having achieved the #4 position for Uganda’s best honey. Their honey is sold in retail stalls throughout the island. I must admit, pure honey tastes much better than the kind that comes in a plastic bear. Gabriel and Vickie can attest to that. Watch for Aunt Robina’s Ssese Island Honey coming to the internet soon.


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Tuesday, January 25, 2011

The Three Jajjas

As we emerged on the other side of this hilly paradise called Bubembe Island, we came upon Vickie's three jajja’s (grandmothers). The middle jajja is her biological grandmother, but all are treated with the respect. These 80-something ladies warmly welcomed us. Jajja Ida prepared her elder and younger sisters for our arrival – visitors are unheard of beyond the wood-housed, lakeshore camp.

We removed our shoes and were seated in the place of honor, the two chairs, while the jajjas sat atop mats on the floor. Picture taking ensued as did gift giving. These ladies almost never have the benefit of a little rice as none can be found on this island. Four kilos brought big smiles. I was urged to empty my bag for these ladies and so produced two blankets my sister made for some children. Jajja Ida is a midwife and Gabriel thought perhaps she could give the blankets to her clients. Instead she and the elder jajja wrapped themselves in the blankets with glowing smiles on their faces. Meanwhile youngest jajja (remember that I am also the youngest of three sisters) graciously went without. She said she still had many years to go and could wait for a blanket for herself. Well, this won’t do. My sister got wind and said the third blanket is already made. Darling, I love her so.




We supped on the MOST delicious tiny pineapples in Africa – and remember the pineapples here are all fantastic – as well as some sugar cane. Gabriel is a master craftsman when it comes to cutting up the small fruit. He skillfully waved his knife and dropped bite-sized slices onto the plate without dirtying his hands. As our visit came to an end the three jajjas walked with us down the path toward the jungle as the three guys packed out stalks of sugar cane and pineapples as if they were Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. I find myself in awe of these beautiful old women who sustain themselves on this tiny island in the middle of a giant lake.

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Bubembe Island

We life-vest clad passengers carefully balanced our way across the wooden seats of one rickety canoe to step into another rickety canoe so as to avoid getting our feet wet on the shores of Lake Victoria. Eight people tagged along on this missionary-sponsored ride to Bubembe Island along with enough gear (food) to sink a ship. The one hour ride under cover of grey mist was undertaken on choppy waters. I enjoyed the front most seat on the motor powered canoe and if it had been proper I would have bounced up and down and yelled, “faster!”



Once we left shore the maze of islands confounded me. I felt like I was on a small lake surrounded by land. Instead the archipelago of islands created the mirage of singularity. Which direction to head, I hoped this unknown skipper knew.














All passengers arrived safely and—except for Vickie and I, who ran to shore through the water after having removed our shoes—dryly. Vickie led us through the fishing camp filled with wood plank shack-houses—timber is plentiful on this island—where children and adults alike stopped to stare at the mzungu. After visiting V Kids newly enrolled children, we headed uphill (as all islands are) past the vacant, community-built school. Into the jungle we trod. The temperature cooled, darkness encroached, vines hung low. It was as if at any moment Tarzan might appear.

Emerging on the other side we came upon the village where Vickie’s jajja lives with her two sisters.
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Monday, January 24, 2011

A Day in the Life of a Girl

A blue plastic basin with a just enough water in the bottom served as the starting point for this girl. She carefully scrubbed her green plastic shoes to remove what looked like three years worth of dirt. Very likely, however, the dirt was only from today. She proceeded to scrub her feet and her lower legs – no point in putting dirty feet into clean shoes.

After dumping the basin full of dirty water, she proceeded to pick the clothing from the line (there’s another line to the right of this photo). Clothing hangs everywhere all the time in Uganda. People are very particular about being clean and with all the red dust staying clean can be quite a chore. She folded each piece with her tiny hands until the stack was tall. Returning the clothing to its proper place inside the home she took up the basin work again.

Filling the basin until it was almost too heavy for her to carry, she made her way back to the same spot where she washed her shoes and legs. Unfortunately she tripped on the edge of the grass and almost landed face first in the basin. Several shouts of “sorry” toward that young girl left her unfazed. Now she was aware of all the attention on her and the next chore left her feeling a little embarrassed.

She removed her shirt, skirt, and panties and began scrubbing each piece with care. Clothing here can’t last long given the hand scrubbing methods we use. As the last piece came off she tended to remain in a crouching position so as to cover herself just a bit. Now hung on a line, her clothing would dry in the evening sun while she proceeded to wash herself and put on some of the clean clothes recently removed from the line.

I’m not sure why this scene struck me so. Perhaps because in the United States no four or five-year-old child would be fully responsible for washing themselves and their clothing unsupervised and uncriticized. Her manner was very adult-like and I wondered what other responsibilities were hers at this farm-based home.
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Sunday, January 23, 2011

Bubembe Children

We could scarcely come to Bubembe Island without visiting Vickie’s jajjas. Because there is no communication on the island, they were completely surprised and delighted to see us. They fussed over us for hours as we rested and chatted after having climbed the island to reach their hilltop retreat.


During the last visit I delivered a blanket to each of the two older jajjas (the eldest is in her 90s and she had been digging in the garden all day) and the younger went without. I promised on behalf of my sister to return with another blanket for her, although I’m sure she never expected that I actually would. Today, she was away and I could not visit with her but the middle jajja promised to deliver the treasure.

We exchanged gifts – we brought soap, rice, and sugar for them. Although nothing was expected, they gave me a hen and a pile of pineapples. They chose this particular hen because, they said, she was mzungu like me. I recorded the chase but cannot upload video from here. I’ll have to add it when I return to the states. Amusing.

Fresh pineapple, passion fruit, wild passion fruit (yuuuummm), and a meal of cassava and g-nut sauce. Wow! After tasting all these delicious foods, Vickie and I were ready for a nap. Rolling out a mat on the grassy ground, we snoozed for a short time.  The life of a missionary is such hard work.


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VKids Trust Uganda

Ida was a teacher, her daughter Rose is a teacher, and her daughter Vickie is a teacher. Vickie is a Ugandan woman who was raised by her jajja (grandmother) Ida. During her formative years, Vickie saw her jajja looking after a number of needy people. During her teen years, Vickie saw her mother looking after orphan children. Vickie grew up thinking that everybody has to help others.

Vickie received her diploma in teaching from Kyambogo College where she specialized in childhood education and she has more than 10 years of teaching experience. She spent 1.5 years looking after Kenyan orphans and in doing so felt touched to help Ugandans too. She first thought of helping the children at her childhood home, the Ssese Islands, because children are really lacking education opportunities there. Parents are fishermen and farmers. They fail to see the need of educating their children and have no money to send them to school. Those who are willing to further their children’s education find no schools or no teachers. This photo is of a school constructed by the community but no teachers will come.

Operating school can be seen in the tiny red circle.
In 2009 Vickie secured NGO status for V Kids, her ministry focuses on securing educational opportunities for the children of Ssese Islands. I was connected with Vickie to help her develop a website that will connect potential sponsors to the children in need. We first visited Bubembe Island, home of Vickie’s jajja, to enroll 10 children in her sponsorship program.
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Saturday, January 22, 2011

A Dolly on Lake Victoria

One promising young handful of a girl entertained us during the long ride. The story picks up where she tried desperately and only partly successfully to drink from her adult-sized bottle of orange pop. She wrapped her tiny lips around the giant mouth of the bottle and tipped her head back. I fully expected her to gag and pull the bottle out of her mouth thus dumping its contents down her front and thus started my video camera. Instead she returned everything from her mouth back into the bottle. Considerate little dear. Her mother entertained this active girl with all she could until I tried to provide some relief with a dolly.





What did she do first? Upside down went the poor dolly and the girl said, “poo-poo.” So that is what all the girls who’ve gone before her were checking for. There aren’t dolls around the parts of Africa where I’ve been so I suppose the question is natural. Little Sophia proceeded to dress her dolly in her own sweater, wrap her, rock her, and carry her on her back like other mommas do. Her new dolly provided at least an hour worth of quality entertainment for everyone below deck too bored to do anything else.

Another little piece of Ricky left on Ssese Islands in that tiny dress adorning this dolly.


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Traveling to Ssese Islands

Character-filled old fishing boats lined the shores of Lake Victoria in Entebbe. Little did I know one of those very boats (pictured) would be the one to take us on the three-hour ride to Bugala Island. Thankful for the canopy even with the overcast sky—so as to avoid adding sunburn to my list of miseries over which I have triumphed—the atmosphere underneath was stifling.




 

Although I realize we were a far cry from being packed in like a can of sardines, I couldn’t help but think of the pictures I remember from high school where slaves lined the bottom of those boats…given that I am in Africa on a boat filled with Africans (and one German).







 
The waters were calm and a quick but hazy shot of the Entebbe airport had me feeling a little confident (‘tis a no-no to photograph that sacred place). I’d stood on my bench and lifted the dirty but effective water flap that runs along the side of the boat to see what I could see. Feeling adventurous, I stepped carefully past a number of unfortunately placed missing floor planks, and maneuvered around some main beams threatening to either trip me or knock me out cold. Reaching the open air without injury, I climbed the staircase partway and enjoyed the breeze. I do believe a hammock dangling from the side of the boat would be the best way to experience this ride…sans the overexposure to sun and its reflection on the water.
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Ssese Islands

Organizational development seems to me to be a rather unusual approach to ministry. Yet God continues to affirm this direction by putting people before me who have a heart to serve but would like help in some aspect of developing their ministry. Vickie is one of those people.

Vickie grew up in this archipelago called Ssese Islands, in the northwest corner of Lake Victoria, Uganda. Of the 84 islands, just over half are said to be inhabited. The Kkome channel separates the two main groups of islands. Bugala is the second largest island and home to the Kalangala district offices. This island, our destination, measures 67,000 acres. Not surprisingly, fishing is the main industry in these islands and the Nile perch is delicious here. A few monkeys can be found on the islands if you look carefully.

A ferry used to make its way between Entebbe and Bugala island but it’s been down since at least August, which severely limits the commerce transacted on the island. The current mode of transport, still boat, requires a three-hour journey among clusters of islands where one could easily find him or herself lost or misguided. I can completely relate to the crew and passengers from the S.S. Minnow and, at a stretch, might even see how they could so easily be overlooked for so long.

The hazy weather and multitude of islands made me feel as though I was on a small inland lake such as Reeds Lake and I couldn’t possibly see where one island met another or how there could have been any passageway between two different land masses.
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Thursday, January 20, 2011

A Dolly in Kajjansi

When visiting Olivia at her new school – All Saints Primary School – for the first time, I happened to have a dolly in my bag. I don’t usually carry the dolls around town although I often regret that choice. On the way up the stairs a small girl clung to her momma’s apron as she worked to sweep and scrub the floors of the open air staircase.

With giant eyes that tiny girl looked at me and accepted the gift. Hauling out the camera, for some reason, didn’t seem appropriate. Of course, now I wish I’d had the courage. Being the hands that deliver these lovingly made gifts is such a privilege.
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Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Malaria for Leslie

Fever, body aches, loss of appetite, chills, confusion, head pressure. I lay in bed almost moaning because of the discomfort. Before Lauren would give me medicine from Dr. Ds stash (thank you in advance, Becky), she wanted me to be tested. She called Gabriel and assigned him the task of delivering me safely to a medical clinic. He arrived via boda and instructed the driver to take me to the Edwardo Medical Clinic where he would meet me. Surprisingly, he was there waiting when I arrived and had informed the team that I was coming. He ran the whole way using the back roads.

The nice doctor (who knows really what his credentials were) asked me a series of questions including my age and then commented that he would have never guessed I was that old, uhum…young. I love Ugandans, they all say that to me. My temperature was 37.7 C (99.8 F) while my body was loaded with ibuprofen. I felt like it was closer to 110. He instructed me to rest on the bed thingy while we waited for the needle guy to return so he could draw blood for testing. I lay there and cried. Somehow it felt better to just cry.

The needle guy arrived and looked at my arms for a vein, then asked me to move to another room where there was more light. He tapped the inside of my elbow, my wrist, the back of my hand…then he said, “Is it always this difficult to find a vein?” Yep, ‘fraid so. He pulled a needle out of a sealed pack like in the States, but I flashed to what Lauren said about how they reseal the water bottles. Oh boy, all I could do is hope and pray the needle had been sterilized. About now I was wishing I had heeded Pastor Bob’s advice to have a few needles of my own on hand.

Gloveless, the needle guy wended his way around my small wrist vein to get the blood he needed. Then he proceeded to massage the insertion point after removing the needle, which created a giant bruise. Oh well, nothing new there.

Back on the waiting bed thingy I cried for a blanket because I was freezing and roasting all at the same time. None came. The medical guy finally returned with the results. He said, “I tested you for typhoid and malaria.” Typhoid? Yikes, I hadn’t thought of that. Move over typhoid, I have malaria. “It’s already turned into a bacteria,” he said, “so you need a quinine drip.” Not sure what that meant but…ugh. I commented that I had Lonart at home and he said good but it may not be strong enough. We’ll see.

The bill came to 5,000 UGX ($2.50) for treatment – tell me where in America you could see the doctor, and have blood drawn and tested right in front of you, for $2.50. Of course I may have also purchased the right to HIV, but I’d like to think a medical clinic knows how to handle such things appropriately. I am so naive.

Gabriel put me on the boda with instructions to take me home. I felt no better, maybe even worse. When I arrived a meeting was under way but Henry welcomed me and congratulated me. He said that to become Ugandan you have to have malaria at least once. Gee thanks.

Lauren, who will be a great mother, dished out the medicine and told me when to take the next dose. She reminded me to eat a little, to hydrate a lot, and to keep a puke bucket nearby. Oh yea! I had a few sips of passion juice, and about six Cheerios – God bless Marty for those Cheerios. I lay in bed tossing and turning until morning with only a few hours of actual sleep. The 2:00 a.m. medicine was accompanied by more ibuprofen and I believe the worst may be over. I’m still achy and miserable, but the fever seems to have abated or at least come under control of the Ibuprofen.

Tuesday Update: Rested well, laid low, eating good. On the mend...praise God.
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Ride Home from Karamoja

Henry and Gabriel predicted a 10 hour ride home rather than 14 hours. Wrong. A young woman was seated in the aisle next to us with three teenage girls and a toddler who was her son. I thought how sweet these sisters are traveling together. Henry informed me instead that this woman was taking these girls from Karamoja to sell as house girls and that she would be paid well. One chicken breast was all these girls had to eat in the 14 hour I watched them on this bus. No drinks. I suppose the idea was that the girls would have a better life outside Karamoja, but I struggle with the idea that a different culture means a better life.

Once upon a time Lauren warned that many roadside vendors refill water bottles and are quite good at making the bottles look sealed. In other words, don’t drink the water from roadside vendors. I doubted the skill of these vendors to render the water bottles looking new until I saw a woman with a pile of bottles in soapy water. Well, at least they’re getting washed. The question is whether or not the water is boiled before being served. We had chicken on a stick and roasted maize, but I was so thirsty Henry assured me that the water would be drinkable. Still…not so confident.

Around 3:00 I started feeling miserable. Who wouldn’t be after 14 hours on a bus in seats small enough for children alone and in unbearable temperatures with the sun on my side of the bus? I attributed the discomfort to the long, harsh ride. I was sure that if I could just get a shower and a good night sleep I would feel so much better in the morning.
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Monday, January 17, 2011

The Beautiful People of Karamoja











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Karamajong Feast

The ceremony concluded with a pumping of the well by the most high government official in attendance, after which we were all invited to a special feast sponsored by the elders of the community. Goats are common livestock in Karamoja and having one for this feast was a great sacrifice for this small village. Little did Lauren know that the goat she watched get butchered would be on her plate later that day. She had a tough time choking down the goat meat in either roasted or skewered form. I, on the other hand, was surprised by the good flavor and tenderness of this meat. I’ve eaten goat a dozen or so times and it’s always good but this time the flavor was particularly good. The flies were also mightily attracted. I’m sure the photo doesn’t to the problem justice. Tasting a bit of goat was equally likely to result in a bit of fly too.



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Karamoja Well Dedication

An anonymous donor sponsored a well for the Karamojongs living in Kokorio, one of the villages visited in September for a medical clinic. An official ceremony will be held in May when Laura, the founder of Mercy Uganda, is here. We held an unofficial ceremony this week so that the members of parliament responsible for this region and district could be present to witness the investment we’re making here and to verify our presence in support of Mercy Uganda’s international NGO status.

I was impressed by the resourcefulness of the Kokorio Karamojongs – when there are resources to be had – in that they’d already planted a few small crops near the well. This region is so dry that the fertile land often goes to waste for lack of rain. Even the aloe plants are all dried up. This well not only brings clean water to drink, but it also provides water for livestock and crops. What better way to spend $10,000!

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Welcome to Kokorio

Notice all the Musivini t-shirts,
incumbent presidential campaign
to a group who would have no political views
Getting to Kokorio was just a little different this time around. We had no rented taxi, no bus, and no car to get us to and from this place where no roads (and almost no paths) lead. I was enlisted to renew my boda driving skills and carry one of the four team members to Kokorio while Henry carried the other. Poor Gabriel, he drew the short straw. Alas the opportunity was snatched away by some good Samaritan who offered to drive us. Save my skin for another day.

Singing and dancing are an important part of the Ugandan welcoming custom and continue to make me smile. The women danced and sang. The children danced and sang. The elders joined at various points not at all afraid to make the crowd laugh.

Henry made several trips to this very remote, roadless location to deliver benches for our comfort. The almost five-hour ceremony rendered me thankful for all that effort. Officials from the church, from the government, and from the tribe were honored over and over again. The tendency to look at me when giving thanks and appreciation was somewhat uncomfortable. While I am a small part of Mercy Uganda, the work and organization of this effort was that of Ugandans, not Americans.
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