Chapter XXX

Uganda Chronicles Chapter XXX By April Dobbs


11 August 2008

Saturday night we received an e-mail from our son Joe that our grandson Rickey had been in the hospital all week due to an exacerbation of some emotional problems. It was right before supper was being served and I cried so hard I couldn’t eat anything. I love my grandchildren so intensely that whenever something happens to one of them I feel like it happened to me. I want so much for all of them to be happy, at peace, joyful and fulfilled. And I feel emotionally very linked to Rickey because I think he gets a lot of his feelings and emotional responses from my gene pool. Rick and I found out later that we had both prayed to God to take the disorder out of Rickey and give it to us. We would both so gladly take it from him! Then, we both got sick—Rick more so than I. The next morning, Sunday, Rick was preaching at the church service and spoke of God’s great love for us. He told of how much we wished we could bear Rickey’s pain for him and that God had done that for us. Everyone prayed for Rickey.

Today, Rick and Fr. David will meet with Bishop George regarding a date for the dedication of the orphanage. I also had a long talk with Fred a few days ago. I wanted to know the truth about him and Jackie and Treasure. Fr. David is so disappointed, and told us a number of things from his perspective. Now that I have talked to both of them and to Jackie, a different picture evolves. Evidently, Fred and Jackie met while both in the choir at St. John’s Bugongi. They became very good friends and remained so after Fr. David was transferred to Nyabushabi. Meanwhile, a friend of Fred’s from college became the favorite of the family as a future wife for Fred. She comes from a good family while Jackie is an orphan whose mother died when she was young and whose father (a Moslem) deserted her soon after. Her mother was a relative of Fr. Jonathan, so she grew up in his family and was baptized and brought up as a Christian. After she was in college, about 2 or 3 years ago, her father suddenly showed up to claim her. Because he was now back, Fr. Jonathan turned over responsibility for her schooling fees to the father. But about that time, Fred had made his choice—he loved Jackie and not the other girl. According to him, he had many well thought out reasons including their respective choices of profession. Jackie wanted to become an office worker, the other girl wanted to go into the hotel and catering industry. Fred didn’t want to be married to someone in that line of work. Fred and Jackie became more deeply involved and she got pregnant. They both know and admit they sinned and want to get married legally. But there are cultural obstacles. They cannot have a civil marriage without casting a shadow on Fr. David as a priest. They can’t get married in the church without a lot of pomp and expense which they can’t manage at this time. Fred says he can’t even discuss it with Fr. Jonathan and family without starting a snowball of events rolling—meetings, discussions about bride-price, committees being formed to plan things. He said that as soon as he approaches anyone about it it will careen out of his control and he just wants to marry her so his family will be legal and right in the eyes of God. So, the situation remains in limbo. Jackie maintains a small room in town but she and Treasure live here with Fred. Everyone just ignores the proverbial elephant in the living room. So, at the moment it’s a stand-off, the family still hoping for the whole culturally accepted ceremonies. The family seems to be softening toward Jackie, and no one can resist Treasure! She is a little doll. Hopefully, there will be a wedding soon. Jackie is a very nice girl, well educated, warm and friendly and a good mom, and she loves Fred very much.

15 August 2008

Early this week we went into town to get a few things. We got postcards, coffee, and still are trying to find the good tea we like, the Africana brand. No luck there yet. When we got home, a nephew of Fr. David’s was waiting to meet us. He introduced himself as Willy and told us his story. He has been HIV positive for several years now and is the leader of the local TASO (The AIDS Support Organization) sub-group. He asked if we would come to their meeting the next day (Wednesday). We agreed, so at 11:00 on Wednesday we arrived at the Kabale Hospital where Willy was waiting for us just inside the gate. We walked with him to the meeting which was taking place on a lawn behind the small building that houses the TASO office. The group has over 500 members and about 75 of them were there. They come from great distances on foot and some are too ill
to make the trip. At the meeting they discuss how they cope with living with HIV/AIDS. They talk about the fear, the stigma and discrimination they face, especially in being able to find work. Many have small children who will eventually be orphaned. Some are grandparents caring for kids already orphaned. We spoke to them about how we have the same epidemic in the U.S., how much money goes to research to try to find a cure and how they face many of the same problems they face here in Africa. We told them we are proud of Uganda for reducing their incidences of new cases so drastically be stressing sexual abstinence before marriage and fidelity within marriage instead of “safe sex.” We also told them about the orphanage. As we were leaving, a woman stopped us and told us her story. Her son and daughter-in-law have recently died from AIDs. She is left caring for their three children, 9,6 and 4. She is also HIV positive and doesn’t know how long she will live. Her husband is dead also, and she is renting a tiny house for herself and these three grandchildren. She begs us to take her name and keep in touch with her so that if she gets too sick to care for the kids, the orphanage can take them. As we left her, a nurse who had been waiting to talk to us came forward to tell us there is a three year old girl in the hospital whose mother left the hospital without her and hasn’t been seen since. The little girl and her grandmother had been hit by a motorcycle. The little girl sustained head injuries and is just regaining consciousness after several weeks. The mother had come to see her when she found out, but then left and disappeared. The staff thinks the mother knew she didn’t have the resources to care for an injured child. The nurse wanted to know if the orphanage could take her when she is ready to be released form the hospital in about three weeks. The really touching part of this story is the care given to the child, Prossy, by the parents of other children in the ward. Kabale Hospital is a public hospital which means it is technically free to anyone. However, that means the hospital also doesn’t provide meals and even some medications. The relatives of the patients bring in all their meals and if the hospital prescribes a medication they don’t keep in stock, they have the relatives go to the pharmacy in town and purchase it. So here was a little girl whose father is gone, the grandmother has a broken leg from the accident (and is also an alcoholic), and the mother has disappeared. The doctors and nurses have her on a feeding tube and are graciously providing the nutrients to keep her alive. Prossy lies in a bed with a rusty frame and a futon-like mattress. The sheet is wrinkled and coming out from under the mattress. All the sheets and blankets are of different colors and patterns. The pillow on her bed is covered with a crocheted cover. Folded next to the pillow are a pair of shorts and a blouse, all her clothes in the world. The window behind the bed is open (no screen), and flies and wasps float through and cruise around the ward. On the sill of the open window sits a toothbrush and a medicine bottle with a syringe sticking in it. Ants crawl across the window sill around the toothbrush and medicine bottle. Several women are clustered around Prossy (not staff) giving her a sponge bath, rubbing her body with herbal jelly to keep her skin soft and supple, and exercising her hands, feet and limbs to keep them from atrophying. These women are angels, taking care of this lost sheep as if she were their own. One tries to feed her a little milk from a bottle to stimulate her to start eating orally again. Prossy doesn’t respond very much. Her eyes are open but she looks around aimlessly and cries a little. When her bath and therapy are finished, the women wrap her in a blanket and place her in bed on her side. They are careful to turn her periodically. I gave her the doll we brought for her by placing it facing her in the bed and touching her hand to it. She didn’t respond, but as I began to move away from her, her eyes followed me. I almost cried, I’m so sure she must have sustained some brain injury and her eyes following me gives me some hope. The boy in the bed next to Prossy starts to cry. He looks to be about 10 years old. He broke his ankle in a bicycle accident. No one is there with him right now so one of the women comforts him. I also talk to him for a moment although he probably doesn’t understand me. The next day we visit Prossy again, and give loaves of bread to the women caring for her. As we walk out, I see a boy of about 2 or 3 with both legs in bandages which are probably casts. Both legs are in traction, held up by a rope tied to a hook in the ceiling. Several beds in the ward have the foot elevated by placing blocks of wood under the legs of the bed. Others have the patient’s head elevated by placing a rolled up mattress behind the patient’s head. Nurses and doctors check the patients regularly, but all personal needs are taken care of by relatives. Just before we leave the room, a father takes the cover off his son’s knee and show it to Rick. Rick said yellow pus was running out of a wound on the boy’s knee. As we walked down the sidewalk we saw people visiting patients by leaning through the open windows at the heads of the beds. Just as we got in the van, an old man came up and told us through the window that he is bleeding from the rectum and there is no doctor available to see him today. He says he has nothing to eat. He has strange looking sores all over his neck. Fred gave him enough money to buy a loaf of bread. Fred told us the sores on the man’s neck are common with AIDs sufferers. We drove home in silence, each lost in our own thoughts.

Chapter XXIX

Chapterm XXVIII

Uganda Chronicles Chapter XXVIII

Still 31 July 2008

Later on, Rick and Fred went to pick up the van. Our plan was to leave this morning. However, when they got there, the van was still minus the back four seats. Those are supposedly being installed as I write this. We are supposed to check out of here by 10:00 but they have given us an extension until noon. If we can’t leave by 13:00, we won’t be home before dark anyway so we’ll have to stay another night. So, I sit here, room filled with packed suitcases, waiting to see if we will be able to travel today. Rick and Fred will call the Guest House by noon. If it looks like we’ll be able to leave today, the people at the Guest House will help me carry all the bags downstairs where I will then await Rick and Fred’s arrival. If it looks like we won’t make the 13:00 window, they’ll let the Guest House know we need to stay another night. I am so anxious to get home to Kabale! We have a lot to accomplish in a short time and I hate just sitting here. There really isn’t anything to do here in Kampala unless we want to pay for a lot of taxi rides. So, I sit here and pray we can leave today.

01 August 2008

My prayers were answered! At exactly noon yesterday Fred and Rick returned with the van, seats in, servicing done and ready to go. We packed up and left immediately. The trip was more tolerable in the van than in the little car, but still rather hellish. I have renamed the Kampala-Kabale road El Camino del Diablo. However, we managed to arrive home just at dusk. It was a joyous reunion—especially with Fred returning home after a six month absence. Emilly was crying, Addah and Constance were jumping up and down. Fr. David just kept smiling and hugging us. We finally got into the house, brought in the suitcases and sat down to dinner. After dinner we talked and brought out gifts. It gave me such joy to see Fred bringing out the things he had so thoughtfully purchased for each person. The girls went nuts over the skirts, blouses and shoes I brought. We showed the slide show I made for Fred. We had to show it on a laptop since the DVD player we brought two years ago has quit operating correctly.

Next morning after breakfast, we went to see the orphanage building. Fr. David got several phone calls and by the time he was ready to leave, Fred was out pacing by the gate wanting to know HOW MUCH LONGER before we could leave. So, we walked down the pathways, over the creek, past houses and people saying hello. But when we came around the last fence and saw the building it was like being in a dream. Men were working mixing mortar, laying the top layer of brick under the trusses, sawing lumber, cutting bricks to size, plastering walls—all by hand. The bricks are cut with a machete after being carried to the site on someone’s head (it is taken off the head before the machete is used). After the brick is cut, it is tossed by hand from the ground to the top of the wall to be installed. There is no sound of power equipment or delivery trucks.

We came home from the site and Fred and I went to town to get some money out of the bank and to purchase a few needed items. I show Fred what I need. Then we leave and he comes back later to buy it. Otherwise I would be charged a lot more than the normal amount for each item. Someday, when I learn the language well enough, I can do my own bargaining. Until then we do it the complicated way. Being at the market was fun, especially seeing Fred greet friends he hasn’t seen for six months.

This morning before we left for the orphanage, we were standing by the gate when a man came up the road leading a group of about eight boys whose hands were all tied together. They all looked between 9-12 years old. Some were crying. We asked what this was all about. These boys were all caught smoking marijuana. Some were orphans with nowhere to live, some had run away from home. I’m still not sure where they were being taken. Fr. David went to them and said any of them who wanted to could come to him and tell their stories after their punishment was over. None of them did. On the walk home from the
orphanage building, we were stopped by a man walking with a boy of about three years. When he saw us he took the boy by one arm and one leg and swung hem toward us saying, “You need to take this one—his mother just died and I am unable to care for him.” I think he was the child’s uncle. Fred said he would talk to him later to hear the whole story.

While we were still in Kampala, we saw little children begging in the streets—some as young as two years old. Their parents put them there in a certain place on the street and teach them to beg. They are told to stay there until they are come back for. The children are usually scared and crying. The woman at the Sanyu Baby House told us they once took in some of those kids believing they had been abandoned. The next day their relatives showed at the gate with sticks and stones threatening to break down the gate if their children weren’t returned to them. They wanted back their source of income.

Today I spent all morning figuring out how to send pictures in between network crashes. And now, that finally accomplished, I can write and just relax. The neighborhood kids are all out in the front yard playing. The women are cleaning and cooking. I have to do laundry and ironing but not just yet. Ironing is done on the floor and I have to psyche myself up to it.

04 August 2008

Sometimes humidity is a good thing. All the things I thought I would have to iron seem to have had the wrinkles “hung” out. Yippee! The past few days have been interesting. I was wondering when attacks would begin—and, as usual, they are from a completely unexpected place. It seems Fred has been married for about two years now and has a fourteen month old daughter. Fr. David and family are not pleased with his choice and very disappointed that he will not be having the traditional Ugandan wedding. Rick and I are also feeling a bit caught off guard, and disappointed that Fred didn’t trust us enough to tell us about it until I guessed the truth a couple of weeks before we went back to Uganda. It is so hard to cross cultural walls with any kind of grace and tact. Fred was afraid to tell us because he was embarrassed and had no idea how we would react. Fr. David didn’t tell us because he was embarrassed also and because he was hoping things would still work out differently. Now we are faced with the family we love being in conflict with each other. Everyone has taken turns getting me alone to tell me the “real” story. Fr. David insists that Jackie, Fred’s wife, is a Moslem. She says she is a Christian. The family is upset because Fred married Jackie in secret and not in the Church. As a Priest, this is really hard on Fr. David. Fred spent an hour telling me why he did this, and I will have to say he seems to have made a prayerful, mature decision, but one that is being taken very hard by the family. Meanwhile, we have a limited time here and a lot to accomplish and this family is our lifeline here. So, I pray fervently for healing and forgiveness on all sides here. The little girl, Treasure, is absolutely precious and my biggest prayer is for her to not reap the fall-out of the family conflict.

We will soon be out of funds to go further on the orphanage. The walls will be up and finished, floors in and roof on. Water is piped onto the property and everything ready to run wiring. Doors and windows will be in. Then, it’s up to God where we go next.

I am feeling a bit of a spirit of oppression this trip. I’m not sure where it is coming from or how to pray against it. It could be as simple as the fact that the weather hasn’t been the sunny and bright type usual for this dry season. It’s been a bit gloomy and last night there was a thunder and lightening storm that knocked out power for a few hours. Or, it could be from the constant underlying realization that Rick and I have put everything we have into this project, and yet it is really out of our control. Satan always manages to throw in the doubts. Is this what we’re really supposed to be doing? Have we made the right choices? We feel so indebted to so may people who are supporting this project and don’t want them to be disappointed. I guess I am (once again) feeling idle and useless. Fr. David has given me a pile of receipts, so I’m going to make up a spreadsheet to record them on. On a happy note, church yesterday was amazing as usual, and we will be celebrating Rick’s two year anniversary of quitting smoking tomorrow.

Chapter XVII

Uganda Chronicles Chapter XXVII by April Dobbs

28 July 2008

Finally ! It’s time for us to go see the orphanage for real. We’ve been getting pictures from Katie, our first “missionary” to the orphanage who went to help build for one month. It’s amazing how fast that building is going up now that it’s started.

We arrived at Entebbe last night about 20:00. Fred was there to greet us and had arranged for a taxi to take us to Namarembi Guest House (the Diocesan guest house). It was so wonderful to see Fred there. Only three days since he left California and already I miss him terribly.

At the taxi began the trial of packing three large and two small suitcases into the “boot” (trunk). When it became obvious they weren’t going to fit, I suggested we put one of the larger ones on the back seat where one of us could sit on either side of it. Three men, two black and one white, one from half way around the entire globe from the other two, looked at me with identical glances of dismissal that told me, “there, there, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” So, for about the next fifteen minutes they tried every possible way to stuff the suitcases into the trunk, even tearing a piece of the rubber seal around the edge of the trunk. Then, one of them (can’t say which) brilliantly suggested that we put one suitcase on the back seat. That accomplished, we were off to Namarembi—about a thirty-minute drive. After thirty hours of travel, when we left the airport I felt numb. But as we drove along I began to smell the smoke from charcoal fires, the incense of local flowers, and to hear people talking and laughing as they walked along the sides of the road visiting and stopping into small roadside businesses. Through one door I saw a group of women, one sitting in a chair and the other two braiding her hair. The light inside the room was that peculiar orange glow that comes from one low wattage light bulb and some candles. Vehicles veered around each other honking horns. Out the window, I could see the amazing Ugandan night sky, bejeweled with millions of stars visible even over a major city like Kampala. The travel weariness was replaced by a sense of home-ness, happiness to be here again, happy to be with Fred, happy to hear my husband transforming into the master negotiator/problem solver. His survival skills, street skills, whatever I can call them are even more valuable here than in the U.S. Once again, in this place so totally different than my place of origin and residence, I feel that total dependence on God and the love of fellow Christians settle over me. I am in control of nothing. Praise the Lord!

29 July 2008

Last night I couldn’t figure out what time it was to set the clock. My cell phone has a world clock on it, but amazingly, Kampala isn’t one of the cities mentioned, and, of course, there was no clock in the room. So I chose Cairo mistakenly thinking it was due north of here and in the same time zone. Wrong! It is an hour later here, so if Fred hadn’t knocked on our door at 08:15 we would have missed breakfast which is served from 07:00 to 09:00. He then left us to go further negotiate the day we can take delivery of the car he has purchased. They are telling him the paperwork will not be completed until Friday (four days from now). Last night, at Rick’s suggestion, he called the car dealer and offered him some extra money to have it ready by tomorrow (Tuesday) and is going there in person this morning to further expedite. Rick and I must remain invisible or the price of everything will increase as we are perceived to be wealthy because we are from the U.S. I suppose we are by most standards in the world, but we are certainly not wealthy by U.S. standards. The money we have donated to Shepherd’s Love to purchase this vehicle was our only savings—a really paltry amount when you think of our ages and what we would need to live on when we retire, but savings nonetheless. But the faces of the children are ever before us, and the voice of God Who has been in charge of this from the beginning is always in our ears. We are being obedient, and it has brought peace and happiness for the most part—mixed with periods of sheer terror and uncertainty.

But our God is a God of wonder, adventure and creativity and we are part of that. Life will never be the same again for us, we can never again just go to work, come home, watch a movie and do it all again the next day.
We can enjoy periods of time like that, periods of “normalcy,” when we are home in California. It’s very sweet, like a hoarded piece of candy left from Christmas and eaten in March when I was a child. But soon enough it’s time to get back to work planning, teaching, fund raising—and loving it because that too is sweet and good.

30 July 2008

Monday, when the car guy said the car (van actually) would be ready by Tuesday, we moved Fred into our room to save the expense of having two rooms. The room has two twin beds. Well, last time Rick and I shared a twin bed there was substantially less of both of us. Needless to say, it wasn't a very restful night for us (Fred had a great sleep though.) We finally figured out that if we each slept with our heads at opposite ends of the bed we had more room. I had just fallen nicely asleep in the wee hours when I was rudely awakened by the minaret loudspeakers (a mile away) announcing the first call to prayer for the day. This five times per day blast on the nervous system is hard to get used to.

After breakfast, we walked down to the Sanyu Baby House which isn’t far from here. What an experience! This home for abandoned babies was established in 1929. They can care for up to fifty babies at any given time and had forty-six here today. They take babies from birth to three years old. If a home hasn’t been found for them by the time they are three they are transferred to an orphanage for children over three. The administrator, Barbara, told us the history of SBH. She said the children are brought there by police and social workers mostly. The babies are found abandoned at taxi parks, dumps, even stuffed down pit latrines. They are brought to Sanyu sometimes infested with maggots, mal-nourished and sometimes brain-damaged. She showed us one baby who had been brought in still with his umbilical sack attached, probably about one hour old. She showed us a little boy they think is about one year old. He was brought in recently weighing only about six pounds. His little legs are still skinny and he has to have them gently exercised every day because they were stiff when he arrived. Each baby is examined by a staff nurse upon arrival. Some are taken to the hospital for a few days before they can return. Each baby is given a name and his or her own crib. They are clothed, fed and loved by a number of volunteers and some paid staff. Even the most physically pitiful baby there was responsive to us, most smiled. It was obvious they were well cared for. They are kept in the first stage room until they are able to sit up on their own. Then they are moved to the next area. At this point they go to “class” during the day in a room much like a nursery school room in the U.S. A teacher is always with them and they are encouraged to learn to play, crawl and walk. The toys are rotated daily so the children become used to a variety of toys and also so no one starts to claim ownership of a particular item. This process is true for all age levels. All the babies greeted us in some manner, the ones who could crawl came to us for attention or to share a toy. When a child becomes proficient at walking, they are moved to the next stage where they are taught to use the toilet, clothe themselves, clean up after themselves. They each have an assigned seat at a school table and begin to learn it when they arrive. They are read to, they paint and learn colors etc. There are three teachers in the room. There is a schedule: Breakfast, potty time (the kids are all placed on little potty chairs lined up in a bathroom), devotions, class, lunch, potty time, nap, physical play time, potty time, dinner, night prep and bed time. The SBH also operates a guest house that helps to raise some of the funds for operations. If you stay at the guest house, you are allowed to help care for the babies. We will most likely stay there next trip! They have a laundry room, a clothing repair room and a kitchen. There is also a craft store that sells crafts locally made by volunteers to help support the Baby House. Mainly they rely on donations though, like any other place like it. I was really impressed with this place. It also helped to give us some ideas for Twinomujuni Orphanage. We asked Barbara about adoption procedures for international adoptions. It is a really rigid system in Uganda, but one that insures the children a home where they are really wanted. A potential adoptive couple needs to meet the child, express the desire to adopt, and then visit the child regularly over a three year period (or live in here in Uganda as a foster parent for three years) before the adoption can go through. We left with our hearts and minds very full.

Chapter XXVI

20 September 2007

Today is our last day here in Kabale. The day was mostly spent finishing up laundry, packing, going to take video of the land we had purchased and saying good-bye to various friends who showed up bid us farewell. That evening, we had dinner, and then stayed up to visit. At some point, Emily came in with a large plastic jerry-can and Fr. David started singing. Emily used the jerry can as a drum to accompany the singing. We sang several songs. There were fourteen people in the room including two babies. The songs became faster, and suddenly Patience got up to dance. This time, I couldn’t resist. I joined her. Immediately, Constance got up too. The three of us were dancing around the room while everyone sang a praise song to Jesus. Soon almost everyone was dancing. Rick was trying to video the whole gathering under the light of one 60 watt bulb hanging in the middle of the room. The video came out very shadowy, but actually authentic to the way it really was. I still watch it often, remembering that “last supper” and the joy and closeness of our adopted family in that totally foreign place.

After an early breakfast and many hugs and tearful goodbyes, we pulled out of the yard. Our plane was to leave at 18:30, so we insisted we be on the road no later than 08:00 – English time. It’s a 7 hour drive under the best of conditions. Well, we got about one third of the way there when then inevitable happened. While driving about 60 mph, Rick was confronted with three rapidly approaching potholes, any one of which would not be good to hit. However, there was no way to avoid all three of them without running off the road and into an embankment on one side or having a head-on collision with a vehicle coming the other way. So, Rick chose the least of the potholes to hit, thereby netting us only a flat tire instead of something much worse. We pulled to the side and went about the adventure of changing a tire on the two-foot wide shoulder of a winding mountain road. Fr. David rushed to put rapidly collected bush branches in the road (the Ugandan version of those little orange cones used in the U.S.) Fred and Rick took off the flat tire and put on the little donut tire that comes with most cars the last couple of decades instead of a real tire. We proceeded to limp into the next town, and stopped at a tyre shop. Three attendants swiftly ambled out to see what we needed. It took much consultation to figure that the tire itself wasn’t really damaged – the impact with the pothole had bent the wheel and broken the air pressure seal of the tire thereby rendering it flat. The stem had also broken off. So we needed a new wheel which they had there, but they didn’t have any stems. A contingency was dispatched on foot to run down the street to buy a stem from another shop. They returned about 20 minutes later, it took about another 20 minutes to replace the wheel and put the tire back on. We had now lost 45 minutes of our precious time. We got on the road again. Now, the brakes had been not working right for the last two days. In order to stop the car, Rick had to pump the brakes and sometimes even pull up the emergency brake. This is very exciting when driving down a mountain. We were about two thirds of the way to the airport when I noticed a police check-point coming up. I said to Rick, “you better start slowing down for the police checkpoint.” He replied, “Oh – they never really stop anyone.” At which point they stopped the car in front of us. Rick wildly pumped the brakes, time distorted to slow motion, the car stopped with the side mirror on my side of the car (no exaggeration!) 2 inches from the back of the car in front of us that was stopped for the police checkpoint. I could have reached out and touched the trunk of their car. The police quickly waved the other car on and came to my window. Leaning in the window, he said, “Is there something about this car that makes it unsafe to drive?” I stared stonily ahead while Rick and Fr. David simultaneously said, “Oh – no, of course not!” The policeman then proceded to look at the insurance documents which are placed on the windshield in Uganda, and came back to the window. “Did you know the insurance on this vehicle has expired?” he said. “Who is the owner of this car?” Fr. David, who was fortunately wearing his clergy collar (a status still respected in Uganda), leaned forward and said he was the owner. No, he was unaware the insurance was expired but he would take care of that immediately upon reaching Kampala. The policeman then turned to Rick and said, “Well, it’s illegal to drive a car with expired insurance. It doesn’t matter who owns the car – the driver of the car is responsible to check if the insurance is current before beginning driving.” Looking right at Rick he then said, “Can you give me any reason why I shouldn’t take you to jail right now?” Dead silence reigned in the car. I finally looked up at the policeman to give him a desperate look, falling back on female tricks I hadn’t consciously used in decades. Inside, I was dying to yell at him, “I don’t care WHAT you do with this guy who wouldn’t slow down when I told him to – just let ME go so I don’t miss my plane!” But, remembering my wedding vows, I just gave him a pleading look. As I looked him in the eye, I noticed a distinct twinkle and a barely contained smile. He was playing with us! I had to look down immediately to keep from breaking out laughing. He kept up the suspense for a few more minutes, and then gave a final warning and let us go. We made it to Kampala with no more adventures. When we were just outside of the city, Fr. David phoned ahead to get a driver to meet us at a gas station just inside the city and drive the car the rest of the way to the airport. Driving in Kampala is only for people who have grown up there, people with no fear and most importantly a really quick horn honking reflex. Even Rick, an extremely expert driver anywhere else, didn’t want to drive there. And so, we arrived at the airport with one hour to spare.

Chapterm XXV

Chapter XXV (still at St. Luke’s)

We walked back up the road to the church where people had begun arriving. The Lay Reader showed us what they have done with the donation from St. John’s Roseville from last year. They have bought a piece of land with hopes of expanding some day as the land their church is now on is small. They have also begun collecting building materials (brick and rock) for the permanent structure to replace the crumbling present one. Inside, they have concreted half of the floor and added pews so everyone can now sit in church without bringing their own chair from home. We began with prayer, speeches and song. There were not the normal amount of people since we were actually expected yesterday and today a Christian organization was handing out sacks of beans for planting and many church members were off receiving their beans. But there were enough for a couple of drummers, a shaker and a bottle cap instrument, and the music and singing was as heavenly as usual. After Rick gave a message, and Fr. David spoke for awhile, we gave the gift from St. John’s Roseville – another 860,000 UGS ($500.00). They erupted in joy – now they can continue building their permanent church. One of the men went outside and came in with a large chicken to present to us as a gift. This was the third gift of a live chicken since we’ve been here this time. The chicken, which had its legs tied together so it couldn’t escape, was put behind the pulpit while we concluded the service with speeches from the Lay Reader, the Senior Warden and the Head of the Building Committee. But then, someone else came in and presented us with a small wall hanging and a drum. I was really happy! I have wanted a drum since our first time here but never got around to buying one. This drum is a used one – much better in my opinion. Every time I touch it or play it I will be touching the others who have played it before me. I will feel the presence of the wonderful people of this poor rural church in the mountains of Africa who have blessed us so much. When we were leaving, the chicken went into the trunk of the car for the trip home. I don’t know if I’ll ever de-sensitize to hauling live animals around in the trunk of a car. After coming home for lunch (and freeing the chicken from the trunk to await his final reward as our dinner tonight), we went to St. John’s School at Bugongi to give gifts and see the library they built with our donation from last year. They had also been expecting us yesterday so were not prepared for our visit today. Yesterday the headmaster, Joy, had tea ready for us and the children were ready to perform. By now, Fr. David was getting anxious to get home to prepare for the Bishop and his wife to visit our humble home for the first time tonight. But the people of the school were not letting us off with a short visit. We presented our gifts from St. John’s Roseville Church and School, visited the library, and were entertained by the choir and a recitation of a poem about the importance of health and nutrition. They were as good as always and we enjoyed everything very much. As we left and started driving back down the road, we had to stop and greet Fr. David’s sister, Morrie, who found out we were in the area and climbed down to the road to intercept us. It was good to see her. On the way home through town we stopped at the Royal Market to get ingredients for the American dish I was requested to cook for the Bishop’s visit. It’s not easy trying to think up a dish that represents American cooking. Most everything in the U.S. seems to have come from somewhere else. Rick suggested macaroni and cheese, which I think was a good idea. I just hoped I could prepare it over a charcoal fire. I bought a small wheel of cheese, a little box of milk, some real butter and a can of Pringles potato chips (which cost $2.50). As I was walking toward the cash register I suddenly noticed on a shelf something amazing! Diet Coke! The first I have seen outside the capital city. We remembered that Laura, the Bishop’s wife, said she likes Diet Coke and wishes it would come to town. Se we bought 4 cans (at $1.75 per can) so there would be some for her at dinner.
When we got home, I began to strategize how in the world to make white sauce, grate cheese and drain macaroni in a kitchen with one dull knife, charcoal pots, no measuring cups or slotted spoons or colanders. I first brought the butter and the little box of milk from the refrigerator (power is on today – hallaleujah..) The milk box was one of those with the little straw attached to be stuck into a small hole on the top. So, after melting the butter in a pan, I stuck the straw in the hole to open it, removed the straw, and then “milked” the box which caused laughter to Constance and Emily who were watching my every move so they could learn to make macaroni and cheese. I had to ask them to start two charcoal fires for me because I have yet to master that skill. No Kingsford briquettes, no starter fluid – just a bunch of pieces of charcoal in a small clay pot. After they had the fires going, I started boiling water to cook the macaroni. Then I got everything else ready in a circle around me so I could do it quickly – there is no turning the burner up or down. There is one heat level – all the way hot. Fortunately, last time we were here I brought pot holders. I melted the butter in a large skillet, added the flour and milk mixture and began stirring to make the white sauce. Stir, stir, remove from the flames for a minute, back on the flames, stir, stir, off again so it didn’t burn. By now the macaroni was cooked but there was nothing to drain it in. So I held the pot with the potholders and poured the water into the white sauce – pour a little, put the pot down and stir, pick the pot back up, pour a little, stir. Finally, the white sauce was the right consistency and miraculously un-scorched. Now I began stirring in the cheese that I had “grated” with a dull knife, one little slice at a time. It stirred in nicely and the sauce was done. Since there is no oven to bake it in, this was stove-top macaroni and cheese. So I mixed the sauce with the macaroni, and then melted the remaining butter in the skillet and crumbled the Pringles potato chips into it. The resulting topping was spread on top of the whole thing. It was actually pretty good! As a reward for a job well done, Constance, Emily and I finished off the unused Pringles.
Meanwhile, the implacable Fr. David was becoming a nervous wreck. It was actually kind of fascinating to watch. I mean, it was just the Bishop and his wife coming to dinner. He (Fr. David) kept showing up in the kitchen door to see how things were coming. The kids (every one of them, even the adult kids) were banished to the “not seen OR heard” realm for the duration. Then there was the following conversation. Fr. David – “shouldn’t we have that stuff you have before meals?” (Appetizers) Me: “Why? No one ever has them here.” Fr. David: “It’s the BISHOP. Is ice cream a good appetizer?” (The power was on that day and he had purchased individual cups of ice cream which were in the freezer) Me: “Uh – no. Usually it’s cheese or crackers or cut up vegetables. Ice cream is a dessert.” Fr. David: “OK OK – how about putting out the drinks before dinner.” Me: “I’ll do whatever you want – this is your house.” Fr. David: “I want it like you do in America.” Me: “Alright, we’ll put the sodas and glasses out now for when they get here.” Etc. etc. Finally, the Bishop and Laura arrived. They were ushered into the room, sat down, and – everyone disappeared except Rick and me. Bishop George was his usual personable self, Laura delightful as usual and we had a nice visit, but where were Fr. David and Constance? After an African while, they appeared carrying in the many dishes that are traditional for dinner – always at least 6 or 7 choices. There was the macaroni and cheese, matoke, rice, green beans and a few other things. I had expected to help Constance while Rick and Fr. David visited with the guests. So then we got down to talking about Fr. David and Constance’s impending visit to the U.S. Bishop George and Laura told us some really funny stories about their first trips to other countries, and had some very useful advice for Fr. David and Constance. It was really interesting to hear their first impressions of things like key cards for hotel rooms, the one-knob twistable water faucets in the tubs, how it feels to be looking for a “toilet” and see nothing but “restrooms.” It was a really enjoyable time, Laura appreciated the Diet Coke, and we parted with hugs as usual. As soon as their car drove away, all the kids materialized to eat the rest of dinner. I know two of them had been sitting in Fr. David’s car but where the rest of them kept themselves for 2 hours is still a mystery.

Chapter XXIV

18 September 2007 - Tuesday

This day began with another pouring rainstorm. I brought the laundry in (still damp) last night and I guess I won’t be putting it back out today. Fr. David was gone somewhere and breakfast was sitting out covered with a net. We ate and had coffee and watched the rain pour down. I was wondering how we would visit three different places up winding, muddy mountain roads in this downpour which had no appearance of stopping any time soon. Fr. David finally returned and sat down to eat with us. He explained that there was a clergy meeting at the cathedral that he needed to attend at least for a few minutes before we went visiting. We had an appointment with the attorney at 11:00 and were supposed to be at the school at Nyabushabi at 13:30. It was now 10:00. I asked David if we could come to the clergy meeting with him so we could just proceed on from there. He lit up and said he would love to have us come and observe a clergy meeting here in Kigezi. He said he had not asked because he thought we “feared” the rain. So we tromped out to the car in the rain. Rick and I both sat in the back seat because the passenger side window in the front seat was stuck in the down position and rain was spraying in. By the time we got to the cathedral it had let up to at least normal rain. We were introduced to several priests as we walked in. Fr. David asked the Sub-Dean, who presides over clergy conferences, if we could attend. He said yes, of course, and then joked with us that however most of the proceedings would be in what would seem like a “heavenly language” to us. The agenda turned out to contain, as item #4, the discussion of transfers of lay readers within the Diocese. This is a huge item as the lay readers can be reassigned by the Sub Dean each year and some are known to be much better than others and campaigning goes on to transfer away unwanted ones and get the good ones. So it was very important for Fr. David to be there because his Lay Reader, Richard, is one of the best and he didn’t want to risk losing him by not being there. When we realized how important it was, we told him to be there as long as he needed. So, we arrived at our 11:00 attorney appointment at about 15:00 because the clergy meeting went on until 13:15 and then they insisted we stay and have lunch with them. Fortunately we didn’t eat much because we then came home for lunch before proceeding on to the attorney’s office. We had to collect the property owner first. He owns a shop in the large marketplace so we had to drive back in through the narrow, muddy streets crowded with people walking, bicycles, motorcycles, delivery trucks and an occasional goat. After picking him up we went on to the attorney’s office. The attorney has his office in the third floor of a building just off the main road. We walked up several flights of very steep cement stairs and through a very interesting medley of odors. The attorney had the papers ready so we signed, took pictures, and accomplished a major step toward beginning the orphanage. From there we dropped the owner back at his shop, where Fr. David purchased two area rugs as a surprise for Constance to spruce up the sitting room and also because the Bishop and his wife will be coming to dinner tomorrow night. We discussed the best way to arrange the rugs – Constance wanted them side by side to form a square, but David insisted on putting them end to end through the middle of the room. So, we put them end to end. We had a little ceremony celebrating the new rugs where Constance and I danced down the length of the new rugs followed by David and Rick. A little later, David and Rick left to meet with an architect and a surveyor. While they were gone, Constance and the girls rearranged the rugs into a square (much better arrangement in my opinion) and they will most likely remain that way.
Fr. David and Rick arrived home several hours later having accomplished quite a bit. The architect will begin to design the orphanage per our desires, and the surveyor surveyed the plot and will register it and get us a plot number. This turned to be quite and unexpected expense. I hope there won’t be too many of these!

19 September 2007 – Wednesday

With urgent business taken care of, it was the day to have fun giving gifts. When we first woke up, the humidity was horrible. The sheets were damp. I took a dress off of a hanger and put it on – it felt like it was wet. Rick and I were also waking up with strange insect bites on us which I believe may be from bedbugs. These, along with mosquito bites, were itching and burning. I was so miserable I felt like crying. Again I began to wonder – why am I such a wimp? Other people seem to be able to work right through all their miseries and aches and pains, but when I am physically miserable I can’t even think. So I prayed to God to give me the grace to be a blessing to others even though I felt miserable and grouchy. God is so wonderful! About ½ hour later, the sun came out, and a breeze began to whisper through the eucalyptus trees across the road. I walked outside to put the still damp laundry out once again and it was so beautiful I stayed outside sitting on a low brick wall, eyes closed, praising the Lord for His mercy and grace and His love for me.
Soon, it was time to leave and go to St. Luke’s. We drove up, up, up over bumps and ruts. Fortunately, after Rick showed Fr. David how to clean the air filter on the car, it began being able to climb hills again. We had been concerned because it had been gasping and stalling every time we started up a hill the day before. So, we arrived at the beautiful Lake Bunyoni area. We were supposed to have been there yesterday so they were surprised we were there but immediately set about beating the drums to summon people to the church. While we were waiting, a young man named Andrew arrived. He is one of the students sponsored by someone at St. John’s Roseville. He was dressed very nicely and so happy to meet us. He spoke good English. He is very thankful for the opportunity to continue school. His parents have both died and he lives part time with an uncle and part time with his ancient grandmother, Beatrice, whose only son was Andrew’s father. Beatrice wanted to meet us so we walked down the road to her house. She greeted us leaning heavily on a walking stick and moved so slowly toward us I decided to go to her. By now she was trembling with effort. We greeted her and helped her to sit down on a small stool. As she tried to sit, she cried out in pain. Andrew explained it was her hip which has begun giving her a lot of pain recently. We laid hands on her and prayed the Lord to ease her suffering and heal her body. How she lives there alone most of the time I don’t know. There is no running water or power and she can barely get around. Family and friends do come to help regularly, but she must be very lonely. She blessed us repeatedly for helping Andrew. He said he wants to be an engineer or a business owner.