Christmas Carols to Olukus

Tonight our team gathered for pizza and down time after the long AIDS Day.  Nathan started playing the guitar, and we all drifted into singing Christmas Carols around the piano, a pretty amazing experience.  We are small in numbers, but both of our men can SING and Sarah breaks regularly into angelic descants.  God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen was drawing to a close as we heard clapping and flutes out on the road, and then all sorts of wildness erupting next door.  So we flowed out of our house and gathered in my neighbors' yard.  Tomorrow they will celebrate the "Final Rites" for the late John Mukiddi.  Because he was an old man and respected elder when he died, they have waited months to make a big deal of the final ceremony which rests his spirit.  The process began after dark (days start at sunset) as his clan members paraded up the road and began to dance.  About two dozen men, some shirtless, danced around the open fire, their shadows wavering against the wall of the house. Each carried a single-tone flute which they blow in a very distinctive rhythm and four-tone pattern, swaying and jumping, while two men beat waist-high drums right by the fire. The individuals were blurred in the shadowy darkness and the drifting smoke, the line an organism in itself.   Our whole team watched for about an hour.  How many people in 2008, I thought, wander next door and witness authentic traditional dance and music in an under-the stars  not-for-tourists ceremony?  Well, I guess lots of Africans do, but not many outsiders.

The down side is, that to truly honor Mukiddi and protect the rest of the family, they will keep this up ALL NIGHT a few yards from our bedroom.  And remember that we live practically outdoors anyway, screens and no glass, no sound barriers.  It is now 10 pm and the flute-playing men have given way to a teenage choir singing at double pace and double volume every Lubwsis song we've ever heard in church complete with pounding drums and whooping women and shrill whistles.  Think pep rally.  The crowd increases hour by hour, and we are weary.  I think we may go down and sleep by the cows, which I suppose is in the Christmas spirit.

One Life, One Wife

Dec 1--World AIDS Day. Where else can one see pygmies dancing with flutes and feathers and bells? For the first time in two years, Bundibugyo managed to pull off the official celebration on the actual day. The ceremonies started FOUR HOURS late, but at least it was still Dec 1. It was a classic official function: UNICEF tents and plastic chairs, dusty heat, milling people, everyone waiting and wondering when it would really start, coming and going, bustling organizers, hot cokes, an intermittently working sound system, schools and dance troupes waiting on the sidelines, ridiculously late arrival by the "big men", the nagging sense that no one really WANTED to be there, the three circling mentally ill men who occasionally hassled presenters and whom no one dared to confront. There were a few innovations. Save the Children put together some educational games, people played with bottle caps and dice. Pat's Peer Educator Groups offered HIV counseling and testing on the spot. Once the ceremonies got under way, a half dozen HIV positive people stood up and gave testimonies of the normalcy and health of their life, of thriving on treatment. This was followed by a primary school where girls in grass skirts danced suggestively with miniature boys, bizarrely counter-message, while singing songs with lyrics along the lines of "AIDS has finished our lives, AIDS is a terrible disease, AIDS is taking our children, we are sick." I found the paradox of the messages interesting: do not fear and discriminate, we people living with AIDS are just like you, we are healthy, we have children, we are OK. And: AIDS is fatal, AIDS ends your life, be careful, don't get AIDS. Both messages are true, and necessary, the first to combat discrimination, and the second to soberly warn against promiscuity. Like many true things in life, they both need to be said, loudly, with music and dance and color and vigor.

Scott's speech was filled with data on HIV in Uganda and in Bundibugyo, acknowledging the good news on progress in treatment and stability of  prevalence in Africa over the past few years, but then challenging everyone to realize that a steady prevalence in an area with a doubling population means twice as many AIDS patients. He quoted  a professor from Uganda from the Lancet: "We can not treat ourselves out of AIDS."  Meaning that access to medication will not stop the epidemic without changes in behaviour. And he ended with the "One Life, One Wife" campaign, modeled on the national bird which pairs exclusively, the Crested Crane. Preaching monogamy in Bundibugyo is a bit like preaching the holiness of poverty in Northern Virginia, it is a counter-cultural message that seems to deny people the very thing of value towards which they work: progeny. But our prayer is that in a safe and exclusive relationship they will discover the truth, that love lasts longer than multiplicity. I find it interesting that though the Uganda campaign for ABC: Abstinence, Be Faithful, Use Condoms, could be seen as an attempt to change culture .. . the practical outworking of the public health party today was to preserve culture, giving a forum to traditional dance and song and language.

Someday a World AIDS Day will not be necessary. Meanwhile the dust will fly from the stomping of belled legs, the skirts will swish, the heads will nod, the drums will throb, as another celebration draws to a close, and we hope that a good percentage of the onlookers go home challenged if not yet changed.

Angels' Desire

The angels, I am certain, were hovering around Bundimulinga church
this morning in an expectant shimmer of trembling mystery, desiring to
look in (1 Pet 1). Suffering and glory and faith tested by fire,
these are the beauties which angels are said to marvel over, and which
have been improbably encased in the mess of human stories. This
morning's service was long (and felt longer because we were awakened
at 5 am by an emergency call, woman in labor bleeding to death, come
quickly . . . but by the time Scott got down there the woman had
amazingly delivered a healthy baby and both survived. Good news but
little sleep). And today's service was hot. Very hot. Dry season
is here in full shining force. Luke is longing for the coolness of
Kenya, sweating through his shirt without even moving. There was a
fundraiser for the choir to buy uniforms which generated an hour of
auctioning off the various gifts people donated: mostly sugar cane
stalks, pumpkins, oranges . . . but also one very small live white
rabbit in a cardboard box (went for 2,000 shillings) and one brand new
bright yellow Kwejuna Project T shirt donated by Scott (by far the
most popular item, went for 12,500 shillings!!). There was the usual
singing and sermons, greetings and announcements, and we were
admittedly tired and less than comfortable. But the show-stopper of
the day was the testimony time. A primary school head teacher, who
looked familiar to me but whom I do not really know, stood up front
with his Bible, and proceeded to give the most beautiful testimony of
repentance I have ever seen in any church. He began by saying that
though he had become a Christian in 1992, he felt he was truly being
born again today. He read several Scriptures to show that he needed
to repent to God, to the church, to his children, and to his wife.
Then instead of the vague "If I have done you any wrong please forgive
me" kind of weak semi-repentance, he boldly told his story, saying
that he had pursued two extra-marital sexual relationships over the
last few years, and describing the terrible impact on his wife, and on
his life. He actually got down on his knees, and his wife came up
front, and when he asked for her forgiveness she granted it. The
elders came forward and prayed for both of them, and their young
child. Bhiwa hugged the man so hard he lifted him off his feet, and
the women in the congregation were cheering they were so amazed. When
it was all over the wife stayed up and asked if she could sing. She
was too overcome to speak, but she stood in front of the church and
sang solo a song about Jesus on the cross while a tear rolled down her
cheek. Then in the prayer request time three other men stood up, none
with specific repentances like this but all three asking the church to
pray that they would be convicted by the Spirit and change as this man
had!

I can say that in many years of going to church, what we saw today was
very,very rare. We enter this season of Advent looking for Jesus, and
today I think we had a glimpse of His reality and presence. This is
what the angels long to witness, the birth of the baby and the battle
being won, the defeat of sin and the power of healing. Pray for
Vincent and Jane, for the long process of rebuilding trust and forging
a real marriage from these broken pieces.

Christmas Goat Giving

We are so thankful for more than 100 families who received dairy goats in 2008, funded by the generosity of our friends and supporters in America.  Once again this year we are offering the Give-a-Goat opportunity.  For $130 we can purchase and transport a specially bred dairy goat here in Uganda, train a family in its care, give them a few tools for constructing a simple shed, and then allow them to take the goat home.  Thanks to this project, many children who otherwise would have starved, can thrive—drinking the calories and protein they need.  Most of our recipients are babies whose mothers have died, or whose mothers are infected with HIV/AIDS and therefore need to wean them from potentially infectious breast milk. 

Your donation is a gift to a family which is about as close as one can come in 2008 to that of the homeless and wandering parents of the infant Jesus, living on a slim margin of survival.  The first 100 donors will receive a hand-made African Christmas tree ornament which symbolizes the real gift of the goat.  Please put it on your tree to remind you that Christmas is all about incarnation:  love in bodily form, God becoming human and needing milk, your generosity translating into a real live animal and its milk.

The mechanics:

1.     Use the "Give-a-Goat" button on our sidebar (or at www.whm.org) to donate by credit card.  This is the simplest and fastest method, and allows our colleague Ginny Barnette in the Sending Center to quickly confirm your donation and address and mail you the ornament.  Here is the direct link : http://whm.org/project/details?ID=12375

2.     Send a check to WHM Donation Processing Center, P.O. Box 1244, Albert Lea, MN 56007-1244, writing "Goat Fund  12375" on the memo line.  Since the processing and return of the information to Ginny could take a couple of weeks, you may want to email her (GBarnettte@whm.org) in order to be sure you receive the ornament before Christmas. 

3.     If you would like the ornament mailed to a DIFFERENT address than the one on your credit card or check, you must also communicate this to Ginny.  A card will be included with each goat describing the program.

 

Four Thanksgivings

Four more things for which I give THANKS: Luke, the loyal-- He touched down on the airstrip today with his mop of 3-months-away-from-home thick hair and his ever-taller frame, giving hugs and receiving the enthusiastic greetings of family and team.  His first term grades show us that in spite of his peculiar and patchy education, he had managed to learn something and can hold his own in an American system, though in some classes the teachers commented that it took time for him to adjust.  We got to read a children's illustrated story he wrote for Creative Writing class (about Hasty the Chameleon), and see a 99% grade on his BC Calculus final.  His photo and graphic design were chosen for the invitations to his class's major social event in February, the Senior Banquet.  He's growing up, in full-term spurts that are all the more evident by his absence. Caleb, the healed one--I am thankful for quiet healing.  In a nothing-short-of miraculous way, he is suddenly growing.  For those who have known us, you may remember that Caleb suffered serious illness from chronic gastroenteritis during his first two years of life in Uganda, and completely stopped growing for a while.  After a major Hopkins work-up including intestinal and liver biopsies and growth hormone testing, the conclusion was that he was just like most African kids, preserving his life and his brain at the expense of the rest of his body in a sea of sickness.  So we settled in for a life of shortness, as he re-set from being a huge baby to a slight child.  Suddenly, though, he's growing.  On Thanksgiving Day we measured:  5 feet 7 and 1/4 inches, taller than me, pretty much exactly where Luke was at the same age, leaving the 10th percentile way behind and closing in on the 90th.  I thank God for this amazing gift of healing. Julia, the brave-- Yesterday Julia and Acacia took Wibble the goat back to his pen at the Massos after our rodeo.  Suddenly Acacia cried out, Julia, come, help. A baby goat named, somewhat confusingly, Cow, had fallen into the Masso's trash pit and could not get out.  Trash pits in Africa are not nice places.  I have never actually been IN one, and never hope to be.  But the goat was in trouble and her friend was distressed, so Julia climbed down into the hole dug deep for trash, lifted the little goat named Cow, and managed to push him up and out.  Our heroine, the shepherdess. Jack, young Abe--Also at our party last night, Barbara had the idea of asking Jack to recite the Gettysburg address.  He had memorized it for school this year, and reminded us of the values that make us proud to celebrate Thanksgiving. Bravely he stood in front of the crowd of 29 and delivered the famous speech.  Jack has had a tough year, the youngest in the school, injured and unable to play sports, desperately missing his brother.  It was good to see him able to speak, to laugh, to gnaw on his turkey leg with his friend Ivan by his side, to dazzle us all with his articulate rendering of the address. These are four amazing kids, I know I'm not objective, but today I just want to be thankful for them.

The Best Thanksgiving Rodeo Ever

Tonight we go to bed tired but full, not only of food but also of the blessing of community. From the dramatic sacrifice of the turkey this morning (spouting blood, wings firmly held down by the scalpel- wielding Scott) to the last hour of the late night, sitting out on our brick patio by candlelight guffawing over Heidi's acting and Nathan's chagrin as we played "basket of nouns", it was a day to remember. Hospital rounds were as quick as I could make them (this is after all NOT a Ugandan holiday) and then the rest of the day was devoted to cooking and cleaning. The clan gathered at 4, all 29 of us, team and visitors reciting a Psalm of Thanksgiving responsively (136) and then delving into the feast. It is truly amazing what creative and motivated people can come up with in the way of American traditional cooking in Africa: apple pies to mashed potatoes and gravy, we had it all. Barb decided to inject some Texas culture into our mix, and with barely an hour of digestion we were out in the yard as the sun sank into pink, for sack races, an egg toss, tug of war, even a game to capture the flag of a bandana tied to a real live goat. A couple of Ugandan friends stopped in and got drawn into the fun, and dozens others were quite entertained from the path I'm sure. Then dessert, the first official Christmas movie of the season (Charlie Brown Christmas), a short goodbye and thanks to the Ryans, some washing up and at last the game. I am thankful for our team today.

Thanksgiving

The original Thanksgiving was a raw sigh of relief, an acknowledgment of survival, and a tribute to the cross-cultural relationships that made it possible. Amen.  Like the pilgrims, we can look back on this year and soberly reflect that survival was not a given.  We can remember the colleagues that have fallen at our side, some to death like Dr. Jonah, others to illness, attrition, weariness, and changing life plans. But also like the pilgrims, we can say that, by God's enduring mercy and unfathomable disparity of action, here we are a year later, even though some others are not.

 Last night the Pierces hosted a party in their yard, the entire staff Christ School and our team circled in the lantern-light to give tribute to the year gone by, and to say goodbye to Madame Betty, deputy headmaster and faithful teacher for the last 5 years.  There were skits and speeches and the requisite food, starlight and cake and an ending song of praise.  Today we will have a more American Thanksgiving dinner at our house, the live turkey a few hours ago causing a ruckus being chased by the dog who was being chased by the kids who were being chased by me . . . I am struck by the way that feasting occurs right on the edge of death, by the courage of the pilgrims to initiate a banquet having so closely averted famine.  Sharing food and wine and fellowship in a place where disaster hovers . . .that seems to be in the spirit of Thanksgiving.  And in the spirit of the Lord's supper, the intermingling of eating and drinking with the impending reality of death and sacrifice.  So today will be another poignant milestone.  Two years ago the Pierces were brand new to our team, and Dr. Jonah ate Thanksgiving dinner with all of us in their home, he had not yet moved his family back out to Bundibugyo.  I remember him seated by Julia, participating in the game of telephone we played with messages around the table, laughing.  Last year we were aware of the mystery disease, but the announcement of ebola was still a week away.  This year we have much to be thankful for, perhaps even moreso because of our awareness of the nearness of that line between survival and sadness. Give thanks to the Lord, for his mercy endures forever.   And nothing else really does.

Through the river and through the woods...

Sunday morning Skip and I (Scott) mounted our trusty steed (Honda 200 XL) and hit the dusty trail.  Ten kilometers of weaving between mud holes and even fording a small stream.  To do that we shared the one pair of boots that I wore -- first Skip traversed the stream and then threw the boots back across the stream so I could use them to push the motorcycle through!

We trekked to Bundikyora New Life Church, the last stop in Skip's Sunday Sermon Series.  The small mud-walled, tin-roofed building held a capacity crowd who came to swivel and sing, twist and shout in praise of God.  At one point in the service the entire sanctuary was one big cloud of dust from all of the  gyrations and jumping.  Skip (who has written a book entitled Worship) said he had never experienced more joyous worship.

Skip preached from Matthew 4 on The Temptations of Jesus.  He tied in the Temptations of Eve from Genesis 3 and helped people to see that the temptations were basically the same...the lust of the eyes (we want what we see) and pride (we want to control our own lives, to be our own gods).   Finally, he exhorted us to see that Jesus is the only One who has ever successfully resisted temptation and we need to receive his success as our own by faith.

Afterwards we were seated in a small dank mud house where we ate a lunch of heaping plates of rice and beef.  We were left by our hosts to eat alone, surrounded by dog-eared  posters entitled  "Queen Elizabeth's visit to Uganda",  "Manchester United Football 2009" and "The last days of Saddam Hussein".  After a post-lunch debrief with the church leaders of all the challenges before them in leading and growing their small body of believers we headed home.  

As Skip dismounted the motorcycle upon arrival he said, "Now that we're home, I can admit that that ride was the scariest part of my Ugandan adventure so far..."

Our bizarre life

While we were welcoming Karen and the kids (see below) Scott was
attending to two Members of Parliament, who were making a tour of
Western Uganda and had selected Nyahuka Health Center as one of their
stops. The Honorable Jane, who as Bundibugyo's MP has been a strong
advocate for us and for CSB over the years, accompanied the Honorable
Christopher, who represents Kasese now, though he was born locally,
and is the brother of the King of the Bakonjo. So in one of the
bizarre twists of our normal life, Scott found himself called upon to
tour them around and then make a speech. He's good at that kind of
spontaneous problem-presentation, narrowing down to a few concrete
points which the politicians might actually be able to address:
change the formula for health center funding from catchment area
(geography) to patient volume (population), which would then give NHC
75% to 80% of the level of funds given Bundibugyo hospital, instead of
5%. And streamline the district service commission, which Scott
boldly identified as an epicenter of corruption and inefficiency. In
response, he got to sit in the public meeting and hear the Honorable
Jane tell everyone that it was "a miracle Dr. Scott is even alive" in
reference to our ebola experiences, and commend him for his work in
Bundibugyo over the years. Politics, yes, but also I think God often
sends these encouragements out of the blue when we shake our heads at
our problems and wonder if we're in the right place.

I thought I had dodged the whole hooplah, but as I walked into my yard
from Karen's welcome party the official vehicle carrying the MP's
pulled in behind me. They had decided to pay a personal visit to our
home, so we sat and chatted some more about ensuring Melen received
Dr. Jonah's workman's compensation, while they drank cold sodas.
Scott gave everyone Kwejuna Project t-shirts, and even sent one for
President Museveni to whom they will report the findings of their
visit on Monday.

We can be dressing the wounds of a widow, feeding an orphan, and
greeting a parliamentarian, all in the same hour, all in the same
space. Bizarre.

Reunions

In a life that contains way too many goodbyes, the reunions stand out, sweet and strong.  I can see now Julia hugging Acacia when she left, and when she returned yesterday.  Karen and kids touched down about noon on the airstrip, enveloped immediately into the community that has missed them.  Naomi and Quinn almost popped in the moments of anticipation, and the friends have been inseparable since.  Karen told us all the story of their first two weeks, with photos.  I think my favorite part was the way the airplane pilot making a landing mid-stay just "happened" to bring them a load of fresh vegetables, right when they had reached a low point of feeling desperate about the lack of food choices.  I remember only vaguely now the way Uganda was in the early 90's, the sense of burden in collecting and cooking enough calories to sustain a family, but this challenge looms large for Karen.  The diocese of Mundri has welcomed them warmly, and we rejoice to hear their opportunities and dreams.  Last night, we had the fun privilege of hosting ALL the team kids for dinner, and movies and cake.  A taste of the final feast of the Lamb, the reunion of all reunions.