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.

a little creative action

Just a starter note: The kids of whom provoked me to blog a vent about humanity last post have had a slight turn around. It was fabulous as the other day I was sitting with them when they were drinking tea. They were emotionless, lifeless - as always and with no way of communication I started singing over them. Prophetically.. lil Kim Walker, John Mark, whatever and something broke. The atmosphere shifted and these sweet little kids started to laugh. (and not at my poor singing either. It was more when I stopped, really ;) As a good missionary I accidentally whacked one girl as she was sipping her tea, spilling it everywhere and scalding those near (oops) but it was still lovely as after they just looked deep into my eyes and it was as if there was someone there, for once. This is huge as often you'll look into the eyes of post war children and you'll see NOTHING. It's so bizarre but a coping mechanism for many.
So yes, our time together was bliss. By the end they were making fun of me in unison (maybe it was the spilling of the tea that started it) But I guess they thought my accent was hilarious. (lol no comments plz) and I just loved that they felt comfortable around me, even if it took a while. Anyway, just thought i'd add a happy part two. (Also they're on medication and their feet should be better in a couple weeks)

ON a similar note...last night a boy TOTALLY got healed from deafness! It was such such a treat. I guess I haven't shared the Tororo stories of all the healings there, which was fun too as God really busted a move, but this boy last night was so fun cause I just wasn't expecting it. (Sorry to say)
He was sent to me for prayer during a meeting. He was about ten years old and appeared very stoic and 'strong' doing a poor job of hiding his immense fear of the Mzungu. I grabbed a translator and we asked his hopeless looking mother what was the matter. "He's deaf. He was born deaf and can't hear a thing, not even a little" Crap. Now normally a part of me gets excited when I hear things like that cause I know the possibilities with God, however last night and seeing the look on the mothers face, I just wasn't sure if I was up for the task. I looked around desperate for another Mzungu or Ugandan leader but no one was free. "Don't you have faith?" My translator sorta mocked. Uh. Yes. So I went to start praying for this little boy. Maybe a minute or two passes and the boy gets a surprised look on his face, huge grin and starts nodding. No way, already!? We did some little tests and he could repeat everything from whispers to yells, laughs were exchanged and freedom broke out. COMPLETELY HEALED. It was a lot of fun. I love when Jesus does his thing! Shortly after some friends and I prayed for another man who was mute and he started speaking. He was such a sweety. Yay Jesus.

Spitting out the bad taste in my mouth

My vent from Northern, Uganda.

Uh, I’m so outraged, yet broken, FRUSTRATED but still raw – all at the same time. What is the value of a human life?
It’s not that high or at least not high enough, I can tell you that much. If you look around the evidence is everywhere and I’m almost out of Kleenex because of it.
Earlier this morning a family was brought to the mission house I’m staying at. Five kids under twelve. They had been living in a camp or “IDP village”. Their fathers an alcoholic, their mothers gone mad and they have no living relatives except an old frail grandfather. They’re in such bad condition they left the camp and were brought here. Just looking at them crumpled my heart. Their feet. Uh, their poor little feet had this fungus on them where their toenails looked like they had been repeatedly slammed in a door and the souls of their feet looked like sand paper. They had ring worm so bad it looked like it was eroding or “chewing off” one girls ear. Scabies COVERED their bodies, worms were in their hands not to mention their big swollen bellies. I felt sick and had to leave the room on occasion to regain composure.
My thought – love them and love them well. Uh. Right. The more time I spent with them the sicker my stomach felt. The two oldest kids went to a school in the camp and got one meal per day but as soon as they’d get it they’d run home with it and give it to the three smaller ones, as, well…it’s all any of them would see of any substance all day. And that’s in the camp.. where they’d run TO. So what have they run from?
I see individuals like this everywhere I go, I don’t know why this family is hitting me so hard. One little boy I saw a couple weeks ago, John. I still don’t want to write about him. But today it’s like, enough. What the heck. I’m just so frustrated at the state of...this.
It’d be soo much easier to look away or at least to separate my heart from the reality. “Self protection”. Mother Teresa always said to “pray for the courage to love” haha. Honestly I don’t know if I’m brave enough.
And I thought I could do Darfur. HA!
Maybe this is prep.
Everyone here has a story of war. Encounters with the LRA. Both locals and foreigners.
Man, no apologies though. I hate it when people tell sad stories to try to get money so in response I’ve often not told stories of families but this is reality (and I haven’t processed it yet so I’m taking it out online. Oh my goodness the cheese)
But really, this isn't a rarity; this is just one of a million. Everyday life. You can’t look at it that way I know, it really is all about the one. But uh. I dunno.
No matter how much I cuddle those kids, and no matter how many funguses I get from them, I still leave in two weeks. On to more faces and families.
I looked down at their maimed little toes once and then over at my French pedicured feet and it felt so..bizarre. Not that I’m apologizing for my pedicure lol it’s just.. Sometimes I realize how little I know of life. In all worlds. First through Third.
Anyways. We bought them shoes and fed them gave ‘em treats. The ministry here has now adopted them as well so their story's not over.
I dunno. It’s hard sometimes. I don't think this is coming out correctly. My written thought processing isn’t always to clear, I will apologize for that.
I should hop over to the market before it gets any later tho. The food here is TERRIBLE and expensive so I'm gonna go see what I can find from somewhere. OI. Life as it comes, the adventure of learning his goodness. Oh Jesus. :)

Fun little story from Uganda

So for the last week I've been travelling with a medical mission team from eastern Uganda. My last day on our way home we stumbled upon a tradition here with men. It was a group of maybe 15-20 guys sitting around a bucket of alcohol each with a long straw stuck in getting drunk. But it looks kinda neat somehow. So we pulled over and a friend jumped out of the car to get me a picture. Well, what started friendly soon turned sour as it turns out, a bunch of drunk guys didn't really want their picture taken and they started getting mad. In rabutle my friend states he's a christian, doesn't want trouble and goes to dive back in the car. Halfway down the street he tells us how they had actually softened when he mentioned Jesus and had asked if we could pray for them. What? So we turned the car around, jumped out and ran over to chat. A little shocked at us they said they didn't want Jesus but yes they'd still a take a prayer. haha, God can use that... I quickly shared about God's power and his love and they agreed that we could invite him to join us :) Well He did. A couple of us then started giving words of knowledge and prophesying over them (telling them things God wanted to say to them, things that without Jesus we would never know) They totally melted. Someone gave a call for healing and people started getting well just there on the side of the street. "Wait, I gotta go show my friends!" One guy told us after being totally healed. Now because of this people kept coming forward saying now they wanted this Jesus. It was great. As the adults were getting totally blasted the kids were watching on the side. So I go over and explain a 'lil, teach a 'lil and they join me in praying for the sick. Well the very first one they saw, a women with immobility and pain in her knees, jumps up and started stomping her leg.(I always like for them to REALLY try it out) Well, TOTALLY healed! Fabulous I say. We had creative miracles, aches and pains, blindness (no blind, blindness) and a whole lot of changed hearts, right there off the road. What fun. Here are the pics from the day. First the men, then me praying with the kids for a guy with stomach problems.