Of Chicks and Politics

Picture a PhD from UNC, fresh from academic rigor, schedules, deadlines, research, intellectual challenge and stimulation, now as a mother hen hovering over her baby chicks. Yes, Stephanie’s day-old chicks arrived on Thursday night. Two hundred of them! Our Kwejuna right-hand-man Donato traveled to Kampala to bring them back in crates, on a bus. After extremely hot (90 plus IN my house) dusty weather, a thunderstorm broke that evening. His truck was delayed as the cold air front blew in. Stephanie waited anxiously to receive the chicks into their newly constructed dwelling, a mud-walled building that had been prepared over the last few weeks for this purpose, with a barbed wire fence protective perimeter and coffee hull flooring and watering containers. As the hours passed we feared they would all be dead from the cold air or the rough jostle of the road. Several team members stood nearby for moral support, while Stephanie and her Ugandan chick helpers unloaded the crates late that night. All 200 had survived! It was our pizza night so Scott gathered all the hot coals from our oven and took them down in a wheel barrow to add to the clay pots set up in the shed, for warmth. The young man who we hired to be their primary caretaker slept with them for their first night, adding his body heat to the clay pots as the chicks huddled. I saw them the next morning, fluffy yellow chirping cheerful signs of life.

It is Spring in America, and probably commercially already chicks are appearing as symbols of Easter and life. We pray that these chicks will also be signs of the Resurrection. Signs of life to children who are malnourished, as their eggs provide protein. One did die yesterday, so we would appreciate prayers that a large percentage would survive and thrive and lay eggs. Maybe as you see Easter Chicks on decorations, you’ll be reminded that real children are depending on real chicks to become egg-laying chickens in a real place in this world right now.

>From chicks to politics . . . Most missionaries don’t dream of nurturing goats or poultry, nor do they anticipate political struggle. But we found out that the man who has faithfully worked with the Kwejuna project in a distant corner of the district was punished by an unwanted transfer to another area. It seems that when the Kwejuna project provided a motorcycle to assist him in gathering data and coordinating care between several health centers that are 10-15 miles apart (work he had been doing on bicycle or foot) jealousies were aroused. And it didn’t help that this nurse is also a pastor and has spoken publicly against corruption in the district. Scott and Pamela found themselves yesterday pleading for his reinstatement . . . On politely deaf ears it seemed, though we heard later that the decision to transfer him may be reversed. All those Psalms that cry out to God to change the hearts of rulers feel very real at the moment. What could a movement of prayer for justice do in Bundibugyo? Food for the poor, and integrity in the process? Stay tuned!