It was just the other night in Kampala, long after everyone at the Red Chili backpackers place had gone to bed, where I laid outside under a blanket of stars and started to cry. Can I do this? Round two in the bush, no communication, no basic amenities, hot and dirty to say the least. Am I able to stand, really stand, on the promise that Jesus is enough and thrive in a recovering “war zone”? It wasn’t long though ‘til the tears turned to giggles and still with minimal understanding I knew it had nothing to do with me. He’s enough. His love..Enough. Even for Sudan, and even for the one’s who face it’s giants.
-Step back- My parents are leaving the country for a months and so with me being in Sudan unable to phone chat it was looking like we weren’t going to have contact for three months. That’s a lot for a mothers heart who’s “baby” lives overseas. In attempts to change that I was trying to find a way to get out of Juba, bumping up a later trip to Uganda so we could at least have endless conversations for a day or two before they left. Looking into flights all planes were expensive or booked so I weighed my last option, a 12 hour bus ride from Juba – Gulu, Northern Uganda. ( I can hear the gasps from those who know the route. Lol. ) Traveling on a poor excuse for a road, I was recommended by locals that air was the better way to move. However with my parents d-day fast approaching I glanced at Jesus for the green light and got a one liner about protection. SO, I hopped on the early 7 o’clock bus late last week. Now I don’t feel a blog is the best place for…”bus stories” but I’ll just say it was quite the adventure. Lol. At one point we came across a large sign in the middle of the road “STOP! DANGER! Road closed. De-mining in process!” My driver waves to the soldier by the sign, the soldier, clutching his AK-47 under one arm waves back with his free hand and without a wince or probably a second though we proceeded past the sign on to Gulu. Travelling through the south I kept trying to figure whether there were more soldiers patrolling the area or whether there were just more guns, as those often carrying the AK’s weren’t dressed with the same camouflage as most SPLA. The ones dressed up did seem to have more purpose though. Focus maybe. About half a dozen standing on the back of a “pick up” type truck, a couple of them manning a “big shooter” (lol, no idea what it’s called. The large da-da-da-da-da gun bolted to the bottom of the truck?) They seemed like they were ready to shoot at any moment, which is strange considering we live in peace. Guys and guns I guess. Haha ;) (maybe not so funny to some ;)
Anyway, I arrived safe in Gulu and was able to surprise my parents with phone access and the sweet sound of my voice (lol. Who let me get a blog…?)
From there a friend and I took another treacherous yet much safer bus down to Kampala. Uganda’s capital. It was such a delight to laugh and joke together while getting $5 pedicures and eating cakes and curries. She’s fabulous.
Kampala’s luxuries (electricity AND running water) made me realize though just how much I love civilization and really forced me to question whether I could move back to the ‘bush’. Which is good. It’s good to be challenged and to be certain…lol. After a semi difficult ‘yes’ to the great unknown before me the grace kicked in. Oh how we love the grace! I’m now back in Juba with “renewed focus”. (It’s not that I don’t love Sudan it’s just a little difficult at times is all) But as soon as I stepped off the plane ( Yeah I was NOT taking the bus ride back) it was as if everything was beautiful. If we were on a play ground I’d be getting my butt kicked as I was like “That’s fabulous” “What a lovely trash pile!” “Gorgeous latrine!” It was as if all I could see was potential. It was pretty funny. (Sadly that’s now sort of passed as the latrine wreaks, as does the trash pile)
Well I have no clue how to end this. No clue really what it’s purpose was. Just random ramblings perhaps. Perhaps just the nature of most blogs sometimes ;)
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Monday, October 6, 2008
lil bit of girl talk
One of the FAQ's from strangers that I meet who hear about my adventures in Africa is about marriage. "You're doing this single?!?". lol. I smile and sort of shrug my shoulders, my answer usually depends on my mood at the moment but all in all the freedom of being single can be bliss. HOWEVER, i'm not looking for anything serious right now, BUT if anyone wants to be a stand in fake bf, i wouldn't turn it down. ;)
The problem started late one night with my house mamma telling me of plans. Tired and sort of spaced I just nodded as she told of ppl "coming around" in the next few days-weeks. Suddenly it dawned. She's only named men and their professions. Whoa! "They're coming cause they just want to be friends right?" She smiles.
We then go into a debate on why she should not try to marry me off in the next few months. I'm pulling everything i've got but in the end it amounts to nothing, and so, the awkward "blind meetings" and persistent suitors began.
I feel I could write a book on bad pick up lines. Including "Sandra... one day...you and I , could be one". lol...Something to look forward to. The men come at all hours announcing their presence with "I have come". (as if there should be trumpets) NOw I don't know if it's "love" that blinds them or if they're just not that bright but they sort of figure anytime is the right time for..."romance".
I could be in bed, middle of the night, early in the morning or sick decked out on the couch, and they could care less. Some speak english some only Arabic. I find them both equally....amusing. Some with poor english will have phrases they've rehearsed to which, no matter your response answer "thank you very much".
Ex:
"Sandra...I wish to travel with you to Canada"
"Sandra...I want to meet your father."
or my fav.
"Sandra...I will follow you today." lol.
Oh but it gets better. Some are sweet and will come with gifts. The smarter ones find out what I like and bring that specifically. But others, they think a little more from the heart and come with song. But not just one, oh no. They come with and entire hymn book. One man, i'm sure a really nice guy, said He wanted to sing for me. I protested and told him I was busy but a woman's words have little value here and he pulls out his book and raises it high. Then from 'Hymn 67' He starts to belt out "I have decided to follow Jesus". Lol. I bite my tongue not to laugh. Harder but it doesn't work. Thinking of sad things, war- famine. Nope.
Hymn 92, 27, 36...Oh my goodness FINE i'll date you if you stop! ( Where's shawn bolz's dating blog when you need it?)
Now I know this may sound rude and these are probably great opportunities to "learn to love" but really, sometimes it's just too much. I've tried your forward, i'm busy plz go, but they answer "I don't mind just watching". I've tried picking up a book or my journal, but they just keep talking. One time I interrupted, shook his hand, thanked him for coming and said i'd see him later and left. Half an hour later I returned to see him still sitting in my house "Sandra, I have waited". Lol. NOOO!!! Hahaha. Dang it, where's my foreign internet lover when I need him?
At first it was funny and I was easily amused, now though, it's gotten old.
I've spoken to my house mamma seriously and I think she's putting a stop to the more persistent ones. But I just thought I'd give you all a glimpse into my love life and bid any single lady travelers a word of advice "get yourself a fake man before you venture out. Take a picture with him, keep it in your wallet and don't lie to ppl but if they ask questions, show them the photo and leave the room immediately" =)
The problem started late one night with my house mamma telling me of plans. Tired and sort of spaced I just nodded as she told of ppl "coming around" in the next few days-weeks. Suddenly it dawned. She's only named men and their professions. Whoa! "They're coming cause they just want to be friends right?" She smiles.
We then go into a debate on why she should not try to marry me off in the next few months. I'm pulling everything i've got but in the end it amounts to nothing, and so, the awkward "blind meetings" and persistent suitors began.
I feel I could write a book on bad pick up lines. Including "Sandra... one day...you and I , could be one". lol...Something to look forward to. The men come at all hours announcing their presence with "I have come". (as if there should be trumpets) NOw I don't know if it's "love" that blinds them or if they're just not that bright but they sort of figure anytime is the right time for..."romance".
I could be in bed, middle of the night, early in the morning or sick decked out on the couch, and they could care less. Some speak english some only Arabic. I find them both equally....amusing. Some with poor english will have phrases they've rehearsed to which, no matter your response answer "thank you very much".
Ex:
"Sandra...I wish to travel with you to Canada"
"Sandra...I want to meet your father."
or my fav.
"Sandra...I will follow you today." lol.
Oh but it gets better. Some are sweet and will come with gifts. The smarter ones find out what I like and bring that specifically. But others, they think a little more from the heart and come with song. But not just one, oh no. They come with and entire hymn book. One man, i'm sure a really nice guy, said He wanted to sing for me. I protested and told him I was busy but a woman's words have little value here and he pulls out his book and raises it high. Then from 'Hymn 67' He starts to belt out "I have decided to follow Jesus". Lol. I bite my tongue not to laugh. Harder but it doesn't work. Thinking of sad things, war- famine. Nope.
Hymn 92, 27, 36...Oh my goodness FINE i'll date you if you stop! ( Where's shawn bolz's dating blog when you need it?)
Now I know this may sound rude and these are probably great opportunities to "learn to love" but really, sometimes it's just too much. I've tried your forward, i'm busy plz go, but they answer "I don't mind just watching". I've tried picking up a book or my journal, but they just keep talking. One time I interrupted, shook his hand, thanked him for coming and said i'd see him later and left. Half an hour later I returned to see him still sitting in my house "Sandra, I have waited". Lol. NOOO!!! Hahaha. Dang it, where's my foreign internet lover when I need him?
At first it was funny and I was easily amused, now though, it's gotten old.
I've spoken to my house mamma seriously and I think she's putting a stop to the more persistent ones. But I just thought I'd give you all a glimpse into my love life and bid any single lady travelers a word of advice "get yourself a fake man before you venture out. Take a picture with him, keep it in your wallet and don't lie to ppl but if they ask questions, show them the photo and leave the room immediately" =)
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
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.)
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.)
Friday, September 12, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, August 29, 2008
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.
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.
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