From under a mango tree in SS

(writing gives me outlet and helps me process, SO here is my life and thoughts about it on a chilled out monday night)

After a long day of meetings with governement officials, NGO reps and assessing the situation of various human rights violations (pretty much) I'm exhausted. My hut is hot and forces me into a comatose state. Yes forces ;) One problem though. Two, four, no six beaty little eyes that just sit and stare at me. Occasionally i'll hear "sandula, sandula" from the mouths just under them and they'll jabber something at me in Arabic. Through my complete exhaustion I mustter a smile and try to decode their message.
Before long they heat become to much and I head outside for more air. The women are preparing dinner and without escape I prepare myself to eat. See normally I love eating. I really do but in our culture we eat for fun, for recreation, as delight, for social enjoyment, but here the pleasure flees at times as, strange bowl of green stuff countered by strange bowl of orange stuff (or is the orange stuff the same as the green just with more oil?) just doesn't hit the spot. (Though it does hit my hips ;) We all sit around the bowls and clumps of Ugali, someone says a quick prayer in Arabic that I nod to in faked comprehension and we dig in. Their hands, my hands, orange goop mixes with green. My only comfort is that I can de-worm in a month. lol. I finish early and debate a quick lie down in my house before my ride come to pick me. (He said he'd be gone an hour...it's not been three)
My house. OH boy. It's actually quite nice i'm just adjusting to the no privacy. As in less than.. One concrete room with some metal sheeting on the roof. Three shear panels divide where we sleep from the living room/lounge/entrance way etc. Yes "we". Four of us, a mama and her two babies, six and eight, sleep in two beds. As the Mzungu I'm lucky and I sleep alone. As a communal house however, anyone at anytime feels they can come in and chat. If we don't speak the same language, no matter, they're fine with just watching me.
My bags are stacked on a hamper of some sort and on my bed, so I sleep around them at night. It's cozy and I don't mind to much but I can't find anything and part of me would at least like to unpack my toothbrush.
I start to plan for tomorrow. More assessment and more meetings. Nothing can be implemented until we fully know what's out there. What's being done, what needs to be done, how we can partner. Assessing to me can be exhausting if I'm not careful. It's just like looking and evaluating how crappy the quality of life really is. The meeting aren't so bad. The NGO's actually seem happy about my vision an open to the "wide eyed blond" that "sees the glass half full" Honestly part of me looks around at everything and it's like "Meaningless, meaningless, everything is meaningless." Not in a negative way, just thinking "This too shall pass".

Honestly the first couple of days here were really hard. Culture shock FINALLY set in and looking around at the situation I had to ask myself "Am I really this hard core?" haha. Like really though. Life in the village, no int'ls, missin my friends, 'back to the stone age' some Sudanese say. So has love and hope for a war zone driven me here, or have I lost it?
After sulking and stewing in my whirlwind emotions, all in all just confused, I feel Jesus' response. "So what are you gonna do?" Uh. lol. Really? I know exactly what He means tho cause we've been here before. =) This is the part where I chose where I'm gonna sit. Cause technically I'm "seated with Christ in heavenly places" I live with a superior reality. Like a H.S. football cheer " You see death, I see life, (death-life, death-life) You see lack, I see abundance (lack-abundance...)" (Haha, sometimes I type like I think and it doesn't translate, sorry)
So with much struggle I chose another reality. I see the joy of my now life in the village and the beauty of surrender, Jesus comes and I'm now doing great!
As soon as I deviate my eyes away from His I get overwhelmed though. (Hundreds of babies sleeping in ditches can do that to you) But that's what brings me to the meaningless. All that matters is his face. I love Africa, yes it's where I want to be but, I miss my black stilettos (to say the least) and I realize once again, no matter what "world" I live in (first-third)All...that matters...is His face. It just doesn't matter if you develop "huge life saving programs" that "solve world hunger", or if you clean toilets. "This too shall pass". I dunno, when constantly confronted with sickness and poverty and problems, with no escape I'm brought back to my first love and I can't say it enough. Him in all his beauty is ALL that matters.
(Yes I'm full of cheese but He is pretty much amazing and there's just no way I could do this w/out him lol.)

and I'm left with mystery

I'm in Kampala! I left Gulu yesterday with a friend and have been enjoying life in civilization. Last night a couple of us went to a nice Thai restaurant, followed by a fabulous Irish Pub. Oh the luxury and delight. I'm back in the big city as I'm preparing to leave for Juba tomorrow. I have to laugh at my excitement to be going "home". It's so strange that you can love a place so "out there". Sorry but Sudan really is. I'll probably live in a hut with a family of Arabic speakers paying way to much money for beans and rice, maybe a lil oily cabbage.
Yet I'm excited all the same. It's so unknown, so random. Before I came, Juba wasn't even on my map, it was only after hearing rumors of hundred of tough street kids thrown away that my interest was caught.
Because street kids are a "menace" often they're randomly beat, set on fire, or even shot at. Primarily at night, basically just cause there's a lot of anger going around. Mix that with a disgusting amount of corruption.. (Enough so that Juba is one of the most expensive places to live. Ya, for $100 a night you can rent a MUD HUT. And as "romantic" as a mud hut sounds, they're not awful, BUT they are dirty and spider infested and after a while the honeymoon wears off) Anyway on top of all that the kids only eat what they find, don't go to school or work and there's hundreds of them. So yes, my plans as of entering the country are targeted toward street kids. (but plans do change, this i know)
So. Also in collaboration with the unknown I've been in debate of whether or not I need to put together an escape plan. Life is safe now but say the rebels show up and decide they want to wipe out the city of Juba. How do I leave? Do I leave? If I develop a family of street babies how do I get a few hundred kids outta danger? Heck how do I get two kids safe? With access to an abundance of perfect strategy and lets face it, very little fear, I don't know how to plan.
So I won't for now. Ha. For now I'll enjoy my Kampala hideaway, complete with dozens of monkey's and flapjacks (that don't really taste like flapjacks) =) (an english...'delicacy', lol that my english 'mum' would make my flatmate and I when we'd visit them in Oxfordshire)
This blog's random but I'm bored. Sorry they often seem sorta 'down'.
Things are going amazing tho, really. God's been giving me sweet kisses that bring joy beyond words. For instance: I had cereal this morning for breakfast. Cornflakes =). Oddly enough one of my favourite foods is cereal. (haha) and it's to expensive for me to buy it day to day but my guest house offered it so I was thrilled.
Haribo. In kampala you can buy Haribo. My favourite German sweety. So yeah. I ate Haribo today too.
What else...
Thai food. Red wine. Ice cream. All simple things that make me blissfully happy. FREE INTERNET. A dozen monkeys playing out front of my room. A park!
We're just so loved. I'm always in awe of how God loves me with the little things. Big things too but it's the sweet little gestures that somehow capture my heart the most. So I try to reciprocate thinking how can I out love him? You can't ever, I know but... to love him like Haribo. To love him like cornflakes. The secret things in his heart that you only know through day to day lovin. How can I tug his heart strings like he pulls on mine? lol. It's a mystery. Just adding them to list I guess.

The Story of John

So a couple of posts ago I mentioned a lil boy John, who to me, represented such injustice that I couldn't even talk about him. Well, in honour of John.

Orachi John
January 1 2002 - September 7 2008

I met John in Tororo, Uganda while on a medical outreach. He was brought to us by his mom just fighting for his life. The six year old was gasping for air and when we met him his body was oddly deformed. John's arms and legs were skeletal yet his torso was bulging and extremely swollen. His feet were also swollen, along with his lips and his eyes-so much so he could barely see. He was so weak he couldn't move, just occasionally whimper in pain. The worst were these awful holes he had on his body though. They were big, some were deep hollowing out his bone. Around the wound was black and as every breath sounded like his last I wondered how he was still alive.
The team gave him basic Tylenol 3 type drugs and then sent them to the hospital as I moved to the back room to bawl.
Later we followed up on him in the pediatric ward. Now, the doctors are suppose to give free medicine to extreme cases such as these but due to corruption they were with holding for 8,000 shillings. (about 4USD) Disgusting? We're not done yet.
His mom couldn't afford it.
She didn't have 5 bucks to save her sons life. So we bought the medicine and as we were "visiting" him I got in his face.
I started canoodling over him (sp? lol) Just telling him how fabulous his existence was and how much we loved him etc. etc. and for a moment, a crack in his lips almost formed a smile.
So who knew love would cost so much?
I found out John died. Just the other day. It was to late to see his body by the time I would have hopped on a trillion buses to reach. I don't know what to say. Or at least how to express. Am I more sad, or just pissed? (pardon my french) It feels like I'm being stabbed in the heart and that my massive tears will actually change something.
The injustice against kids and women is so blatantly obvious yet we walk around as if Hitler was never in power. Or... as if John's short six years didn't matter. (Hitler's tirancy (new word?) and ability to murder hundreds and hundreds of Jewish ppl was based on the fact that so many believed his lie that Jews weren't human. Thus enabling them to kill so freely. So to see women and children still so devalued, I just have Holocaust flashbacks)

I know i'm emotional and dramatic. But I feel it's an injustice to "shut-down" at life's realities. Only pansy's 'self-protect' ;)
Goodness. All week I've been wrestling with how much love hurts and how much it cost us. The price is so stinkin high, guess because it's so valuable. Right?
But instead of recoiling, John's death is like a fire under my booty. That even though loving him hurt and it was hard, I refuse to sit back and just watch "Johns" die. How is that ok?
I'm so ready for Juba. lol I'm going angry now. Or at least fueled.
Street kids are considered the worst. The hardest. Heck, they are the hardest.. So here we go! Off to the babies who could probably kick my...booty, was it? lol. I leave by weeks end for a whole new adventure. "Pioneering" is taking on new levels as, rumor has it, all other groups have given up on street kids in Juba cause corruption is too high.
What this new movement of powerful free walking in the kingdom street kids looks like...not 100% sure yet. But I can tell you this... my curriculum, ya it's pretty much amazing ;)

p.s. For all you worried souls out there, yes I had malaria last week. I'm doing better now, still tired so i'm taking it slow.

Ramblings of Gulu, France

Note: I used to try to keep this thing religion neutral but I’ve failed so much that I give up. This might be way out there but really. It’s not that bad. ;)

Sometimes when you don’t know where you’re going next it can be good to look back at where you’ve been and how you got to where you are now.
So. Gulu.
If I fully went into details of how I got here ( as in, last minute decision, twelve hour bus rides, middle of the night taxi), many of you might be a little..shocked. But I just had to swoon as I read my journal from the past few weeks.
See in part, lol, or well total whole, my journey has been following God’s voice. Words, phrases, inside jokes, and it’s never worked out better. Well for Gulu he hadn’t said much, so I was following him into the complete unknown. (as in I really knew almost nothing or nobody until the bus ride there) What He had said about Gulu however was “You’re really good at this tho!” (in responce to my opposition) And instantly I had been reminded of my vaca to Paris in 2007; an invitation for romance that had led me three days alone with Jesus in the city of love. Didn’t make much sense to many, but was oh so fabulous for me. And here, now a year later in Uganda and I was given another invitation. Rather this time Paris, France was Gulu, Northern Uganda but the idea was the same. A chance for romance and an opportunity to step where I’d never walked before.

For clarity, the parallels of the two are sort of summed up in two moments from the Paris ‘weekend’. lol.
Day One: Upon arriving in Charles De Gaul from London (where I was living at the time) I dumped my stuff in my hotel, got dolled up in my cutest clothes and headed to the Eiffel Tower. With a chocolate crepe in one hand and a Diet Coke in the other I sat in one of Paris’ most famous parks, totally swooning like a faily tale that I was/am, well, his favourite ;)
Last Day: Lost. (Go figure) In a pair of jeans and a t-shirt wandering down some back street looking for Chinese food. (my FAVOURITE) Blistered feet and exhausted I finally found some and plopped down on a curb to eat. Still lost, yet blissfully content with my dinner.
Both days were so utterly perfect and wrapped up in God. Both days so totally “us”, and it’s like Gulu is like the back streets of Paris. Lol. Slightly messy, but completely brilliant.

So why on earth am I posting this? Well, I leave in a few days and once again God hasn’t told me yet where we’re going or how we’re getting there. After walking out the last month and seeing that I couldn’t have timed out each day better myself I’m not really worried. Excited a little. Still aware of my state of homeless. (My beastly bags won’t let me forget that) But I guess what I’ve been thinking…learning, is that life is like a “Paris”. Just this gorgeous, spontaneous journey that’s all about love. All about Him, “Us”. And sometimes you get a front row view of the Eiffel Tower and sometimes you walk to the back streets but either way you’re in love. You’re with him. And you’re in “Paris!”. That to me is amazing, and my thoughts of the week.