D-Day minus 1

Last early morning walks and bike rides: me with Heidi yesterday, Scott with Travis right now, drinking in the cool air, showered by damp grasses shedding dew on the sides of the paths, slipping in treacherous mud, climbing, the dawn loud with weaver birds and complaining roosters, the mountains emerging in outline as the day brightens, taking time to say a few of the things that should be said, but mostly just one last time out in this beauty. Please pray for today. Our official list of guests: 590. Food for: 700. Pray that God would be glorified by a small picture of the Kingdom as choirs from several denominations and schools participate, people from many tribes and religions, young and old, rich and poor, black and white, all come together to acknowledge what He has done. Pray for rain to hold off for one day (unless that would somehow bring God glory!). Pray for us to communicate our thankfulness, commitment, and love in a way that helps people grasp God's care for them. And pray for Pat, the committee, our family, our team to work together well for the next challenging 12 hours. Amen.

D-Day minus 2

Last NHC Staff meeting: We liked Deuteronomy 29-31 so much I did it again. It was very encouraging to me, and to all I think, to articulate what God has done at the hospital, which is why so much of the Bible keeps repeating those stories of God's victory: a pediatric and maternity ward, clinic buildings, operating theatre, lab, staff housing, protected piped water, electricity, cessation of cholera cases, staff growth from 3 to almost 40, one of the first PMTCT programs in the country, a national quality-assurance exercise in which this was rated as a top health center 4 in the country, innovation in nutrition programs, partnerships with UNICEF, NuLife, WFP, a mama-kit program that became a model for Uganda, escalating health-unit-based deliveries, innumerable life-saving blood transfusions, longitudinal preventive care for sickle cell disease, countless mosquito nets delivered, more than a decade in range of rebels but staying safe from attack, staff increasing their qualifications as many have been able to go back to school, and even answered prayers when people ran into walls of corruption. The list went on an on as long-term staff had their say. My favorite, though, was the sense that our staff Bible studies gave people staying power, that the encouragement of sitting together to be fed spiritually and heard communally had value. In the middle section on today's challenge: choose life, we went over the spiritual challenges they face with witchcraft, fear, greed, pressure to do evil, and looked at the way Moses tells the people that they are not powerless, that their choices have consequences, but that the road to life is always open through the return of repentance. And then again, chapter 31, looking ahead. I asked what people fear about the future: the demoralizing effect of trying to treat patients but not having the medicines and supplies that we've provided over the years to fill the gap; the loss of the referral service of connecting patients to help and programs elsewhere in the country, the ever-growing responsibilities with ever-smaller staff (due to study leaves, maternity leaves, no-shows to work, etc.), and lastly just missing each other's counsel, exhortation, CME, Bible study, friendship. Moses points to Joshua, and I did point to Heidi and Travis, to the hope of Jessica coming, to the stepping up that Assusi and Biguye and Costa and Olupah and Rose have done, to the young men in medical school. But the real answer is not to fix our fears by handing them on to the next leaders, but to say that GOD GOES BEFORE YOU. I mostly wanted to leave them with a vision for prayer, for their direct access to the power of God, so that they turn to Him to solve the sorrows and problems of life at a small rural underfunded health center. I think they got it, because as I said my goodbyes, they were encouraging ME that GOD GOES BEFORE ME too.

Last visits from hopeful people: everyone still has one or two problems they'd like Scott to solve. Hard. Keep praying, especially for him. Last yard sale: well, almost the first, though Debbie F did one once. Quite successful actually. Though it has been mentally exhausting to decide what is so worthless or potentially harmful it should be burned, what is nice enough to be presented as a gift to a specific person, what is potentially useful to our team to leave here, what we might want to use in Kenya, what we might save (yes, the doll-house made by Scott's dad and the rocking chair made by my great-uncle are in storage for my grandchildren now), what we need to travel with to America . . . and what we want to purge out but might be useful to someone else. Over the last few weeks we've filled a large side room of the community center with the latter. Team added and subtracted a bit. Then Friday morning we opened, and cleared within 30 minutes (!), ALL the junk. And raised just over 100K shillings ($50) for book shelves in a new library. Not a bad start.

Last day of RMS: Miss Anna put together a brief and sweet commencement, with certificates and a speech and funny awards in honor of Jack and Julia's nine (?!!) years at RMS. And more importantly, made chocolate cake! We are so grateful for, as I put it, the great cloud of witnesses, the many other RMS teachers represented by Anna. We could not have lived here without them. I am grateful.

Last dinner with Melen: darkness falling, then rain falling thunderously, drenching, lightening and thunder, as we dug into hot kahugna and matoke and chicken and sombe, sitting in the building she has constructed in Nyahuka. Melen presented us with a whole bag of gifts, outfits for all, and we hugged and cried and prayed. We will miss each other, greatly. It has been an honor to walk this hard road with her.

And last hairstying session: I am being plaited. That is the term used for hair-braiding. It is a celebratory way of entering this culture and showing I value their sense of beauty . . and also a great slow-down way to spend a day with friends. So for about six hours today I sat on a woven reed mat on the cool floor of Assusi's house while Olupah's house-helper patiently teased out tiny stands of my thick long hair to tame by braiding it into long neat strands. Olupah sat with me with her kids, and we prayed for staff and patients. Assusi joined in the braiding, and we talked and reminisced. At other times I was alone with the hairdresser, and read my Bible and thought. A patient and his grandmother visited, and a young woman whom I paid one years' school fees for many years ago who is now a primary school teacher, just coming to sit with me. Three of the staff little-girls whom I enjoy sat close, watching, for long periods. Except for my scalp being tugged and the floor getting a little hard it was a lovely, African-women-way to spend one of my last days. Only problem is, at 5 pm, Olupah checked in and shook her head, and said "oh, doctor, I don't want to discourage you, but . . " and then I knew that there was no miracle coming, that the six hours invested had brought me 2/3 or 3/4 of the way, but not quite far enough. So tomorrow they're all coming up to my house to finish.

Three roosters, six outfits of clothes, and a pineapple. . . Packing gets trickier by the hour.

D-Day minus 3

The nice thing about a blog: no one HAS to read this. So we can mourn and treasure and examine every moment of our departure, and you can choose to listen to it, or not, and we don't need to know. . . and some of you can wake up in the night moved to prayer, and rescue us (thanks Mrs. D!). Helpful all around.

Julia has been communing with her cows, a way of saying goodbye, as she strokes their noses and they nuzzle up against her.

Jack has been reading Redwall and hanging out with his dog.

Yesterday CSB let out for midterm. Some of Julia's friends from the football team came to visit, play a game, take a snap, give a hug and a homemade friendship bracelet. Sweet.

Our boys sat on the porch and we reminisced. These are the people it is hardest to leave. Their presence is a beauty and a wound. Gracious letters to every member of our family which we will keep and treasure.

Last day of rounds felt very normal. Keep praying for Assusi whom God seems to be giving vision and strength for the tasks ahead, and Biguye who had taken on the task of fixing the broken ward door hinges himself . . . a symbol that we won't be solving those kind of problems anymore. Hauled a sack of years of stuffed animals into the Pediatric ward store, but could not bear to be the one to hand them out to the kids on the ward, they are like familiar little family members being sent into foster care. Will have to be done when I'm gone.

Heavy-hearted through team meeting, pizza, and a dance party. Tried to make my feet move with some joy, but gave up when Aidan welcomed my lap. Letting go.

Moment of panic when we checked on our Monday departure flight time, and in spite of an email a month ago telling us we were confirmed the flight had not made it into their scheduling books. Frantic phone calls and gracious MAF pilots and we're set again.

Torn hearts too, as Caleb tries to take exams from the infirmary where he's having the same high-fever flu Luke just survived, and Luke is getting information about his residential college placement at Yale, simultaneous worlds which we need to inhabit emotionally while we say goodbyes here.

To end the day, the bike Julia's been riding (an old one of the boys') was stolen last night during team meeting/pizza time. Harsh reality, that for many we are merely an opportunity for enrichment.

Woke this morning remembering what I'm preaching to others: God goes with us.

D-Day minus 4, messages from Moses

Last chapel at CSB: Scott asked to preach, and went through Moses' goodbye speech in Deuteronomy 29-31. LOOK BACK (see what God has done, amazing wonders, taking our school safely into displacement when rebels attacked, providing a hundred thousand dollars at a time of desperation, the best scores in the district, the first teams to compete nationally, students graduating from University and coming back to teach, students becoming pastors of churches locally). LOOK TO THE PRESENT and CHOOSE LIFE (there are two paths before you now, life and death, and your choices have consequences . . and the path of repentance and forgiveness is always open when you choose wrongly). LOOK TO THE FUTURE with courage (we won't be with you as you move into new territory, but GOD WILL, and he's sent new leaders). Scott pulled Travis and Deus up as the two Joshuas, the Chairman Board of Governors and the Head Teacher who will now lead the school. We have been part of CSB from the days of dreaming, through the first classes and buildings, first graduates, all the way up to today. All of our children have attended. When we feel discouraged about Bundibugyo, CSB is the place we see hope, the next generation, the seismic shift in soul that will change this place. When we came home from chapel one of my former cell group members, a m'lm girl who became a Christian in our group, was waiting to say goodbye. Much of our souls have poured into this place, along with the Learys and the Barts and the Pierces. We are grateful that Travis and Amy have the vision and love for the school that will take them over the Jordan and on to victory.

Last day of class for Jack and Julia at CSB: and their classmates presented them with a letter of goodbye, complete with Bible verses, a few drawings, and pithy saying. Surprised and thankful that they thought of that. As a pair J and J have added quite a bit of spunk to that class, challenging questions and writing up problems on the board in down time to explain things. They will leave a big hole.

Last ultrasound clinic: Scott decided at the last minute to fill in because Travis had to go to the bank . . and had a blast scanning 40 pregnant women with Antonina, a neighbor, faithful church member, and friend from the very beginning of our time here.

Last dinner with Pat: which was actually our FIRST dinner on the lovely patio that Elwoods helped construct behind the Duplex last year. Pat presented us with a hand-made table cloth that will be a treasure. The life connection forged over 17 years will never be replaced, so we can only reminisce and be grateful and sad.

Last World Cup night: our satellite TV subscription runs out before the final, so we have to watch that elsewhere, but what a fun way to end a month of great games, watching Spain beat Germany, Jack was so pumped he could hardly settle down at midnight.

And on the menu for today: Last Pediatric Ward rounds, last team meeting, and who knows what else.

Read Isaiah 53 this morning. Jesus leads the way in soul-pouring, in bruising, and yet encourages us that he saw the labor of his soul and was satisfied. In the evening Ndyezika dropped by with his little son Arthur, just to visit. A good father and husband, caring for his son. I enjoyed showing him the cows being milked by Scott and Julia, and then Ndyezika's phone rang: he was being called from the hospital because a child needed a blood transfusion, and he asked very professionally "is the cannuala in and read to go . . " and then hailed a boda to take Arthur home and go down to the lab. A glimpse of satisfaction for me, this young man in the position of responsibility, a child's life preserved by his care, no longer needing to have us in the loop. A little glimpse from God that all shall be well.

D-day minus 5: Naming the Losses

The TCK book, which I am speed-re-reading as if I can minimize the damage to my kids in this last week, says that Third Culture Kids' (those that grow up in a culture different than their parents', and yet are not fully part of it, so they create their own "third" culture from their origins and their hosts) losses are so often hidden, which makes them hard to mourn.  No one dies, there is no funeral, and for Jack and Julia no graduation ceremony.  Yet they are getting on an airplane with one suitcase and leaving behind their entire life, in a place that is rather inaccessible and completely removed from day to day reality in America.  They won't run into their old friends, or sit on their old furniture, or speak their old language, in their new environment.  Ironically, there was an actual example in the book about a "rock collection", and within a few hours of reading it we came across Jack's bag of rocks.  Which we then packed.

So last night we talked a little about the losses.  For them:  their best friends at school, Charity for Julia and Ivan for Jack.  Star, our dog.  The cows, DMC, Truffle, and Oreo.  Their teachers, especially Miss Anna and Master Desmond right now (found out they made him a card on their own, and presented it to him today).  This house.  Their bikes (though they won't miss being abused on the road as they zip by).  Their school.  Playing football.  That's about where their attention span ended, but we pray that we remember to take time to keep naming.  (They didn't mention their books, but their primary coping strategy seems to be reading, hours a day, all their old favorites, like visits with friends they will soon leave behind.)

As we name the losses, we also look forward, and hold on to the paradox that longing to see grandparents does not negate their love for Bundibugyo; that missing their home here does not minimize the value of their relationships with their cousins.  That being hopeful about a house with fewer roaches and bad smells does not mean we are not content with this one.

And I'm listing as well.  The data-base I keep of HIV-affected children.  413 names, from a few weeks to 16 years old.  Many who represent a big investment of my heart, many whom I barely know, all in need of an advocate.  As I updated and printed today to turn it over, I felt like crying.  Then Assusi told me that she had just come from a workshop on early infant diagnosis, and planned as of next week to start setting up a screening point in the Wednesday clinic to track these kids!  That would be wonderful.  Pray for her!  And Costa, who labors on in spite of this marginal system.  Our team can not just swallow up all our burdens, they have to be carried by Jesus and shared with others, like Assusi and Costa and Olupah.

And so another departure paradox.  Acknowledging that only God can care for Bundibugyo, whether we are here or not.  But also looking back to say that those hours and days and years did mean something, that choices had consequences, often for good.  That our team's actions here DO indeed bring the Kingdom, and that the inevitable cutting back on some of that effort is real, and sad.  Change for good, but not all of the change is good.  A loss that needs to be named.

D-day minus 6

D as in Departure, not Disaster or Destruction or Dissolution, I hope.

Monday we went to our last BundiNutrition Meeting, a nice time of closure to thank Pauline, Lammech, and Baguma Charles for their work. These three competent, committed, skilled people are the hands of World Harvest in our community in many ways, following up on goats, teaching about nutrition, weighing and screening kids, distributing local ready-to-use supplemental food, supervising chickens and eggs and demonstration gardens, encouraging and exhorting. They work hard, and bless many, and we are very grateful to have been their colleagues.

Monday evening, we had a "last supper" with our two houseworkers and their families. Baguma and Saulo smooth out our life here, washing clothes and the breakfast dishes, mowing the grass, keeping back the jungle, sweeping, advising, caring for us most mornings a week. We would not do much else besides survive if we did not have their help. Each of them uses their salary to support a wife and four kids. Though we've left them with an investment to help them become self-sufficient, it will not be easy for them when we leave.

Today we're preparing for our "yard sale", meeting visitors, praying, settling financial details. Still to come this week, last CSB staff Bible Study, last CSB chapel, last team meeting, last NHC staff Bible study, last day of school for kids. Last meal at home, last times with friends. You get the picture.

Please keep praying. God has graciously given us the sense that the timing is His. So many things have fallen together. We are overwhelmed with things to be thankful for. But this is, after all, still the Kingdom frontier. Luke has been quite sick with a fever high enough to cause mental confusion at RVA. Caleb is also not feeling very well. Got word today that one of our key supporters, who had planned to visit in July, had to cancel his trip to have heart surgery on Wednesday! And we sense the need for prayer to have words from God as we say our goodbyes.

So, D-day minus 6, and still very much in need of prayer.

Independence Day, the 4th of July

The infusion of new Americans, the spirit of the World Cup USA National team, and our impending return to visit America for the first time in 3 1/2 years . . .all led to a 4th of July celebration such as has not been seen since the days of Joanna Stewart. Amy did face paint and provided the party, Anna had the kids make headbands and batons and march to a Wee Sing America album, the team pitched in creatively to come up with hamburgers and cole slaw and baked beans and watermelon and even home made ice cream. There was a hoola hoop contest and a three-legged race in which Julia + Anna-the-intern narrowly edged out Jack + Anna-the-teacher. No one but Aidan wanted to run with me, so we had a good time cheering on the sideline.

Since the day fell on a Sunday, Travis asked us to think of songs and Scriptures along the theme of "freedom". And the song that keeps running through our minds with that word is a Michael Card ballad about various disciples leaving their fishing nets to come to work with Jesus . . "It's hard to imagine the freedom you'll find, from the things . . you leave behind." That's the freedom we're pursuing, the freedom in Luke 14. It's the cost-counting freedom of choosing discipleship over any human relationship, or community, or work, or income, or place. It's the freedom that still feels elusive, though I'm down to one 16-kg red duffel to carry with me, and about five trunks of random papers, books, clothes, pottery, sewing and art materials, and other stuff to come later on our first trip back.

How does freedom from the tyranny of possessions fit with American Independence Day? I think the link is . . war. Something besides God always wants to dominate our time, our hearts, our thoughts, our priorities. And freedom-to (worship, vote, work, move) only comes after freedom-from. And the freedom-from only comes with struggle. That's the cost we count. That's the war that was fought by colonists, not that they did everything right, but that they were willing to lay down lives for a cause they saw as just. That's the daily taking up the cross, the boldness to say that something intangible is more real and more important than whatever we're called to crucify.

Independence is not really the goal of our lives anyway, but dependence upon the right things: prayer, friendship, community, family . . truth. Jesus said: you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free. So this process of purging is really a process of truth, the truth that our life is not found in this stuff, the truth that following Jesus is worth more than keeping hold of this life we've worked so hard to carve out.

Happy 4th of July.

Sails to the Wind

This quote came in a prayer-email from Rose Marie Miller this week:

"I am seeing more and more that we begin to learn what it is to walk by faith when we learn to spread out all that is against us; all our physical weakness, loss of mental power, spiritual inability--all that is against us inwardly and outwardly--as sails to the wind and expect them to be vehicles for the power of Christ to rest upon us.  It is so simple and self-evident--but so long in the learning." ( Lilias Trotter, missionary to Algeria. A Blossom in the Desert.)

This leaving process has been a journey into weakness.  We are exhausted.  And treading territory we do not know.  We're irritable and discouraged a lot. We know we are letting a lot of people down.  Scott found a file that included the proposal we wrote up in 1992 prior to coming, when our vision was to have trained a thousand community health workers and ten doctors within 20 years.  Reality has not quite matched our dreams, and much of that feels like our failure as we pack up.

But Rose Marie's quote from Lilias Trotter boldly states that all that weakness, physical (another trunk to lift!), mental (decisions, decisions) and spiritual (sadness and mistakes) forms a huge billowing sail, which we raise and spread to catch the wind of the Spirit.  Perhaps God is about to blow into this place in gale force.  Or into us.

So, sails to the wind, we display all our messiness, and hope.

President Museveni Visits Bundibugyo

Last night we heard rumors that "the President is coming" . . which seemed unlikely since we knew he had been in Congo the day before for their 50th anniversary of Independence, and since the rebel situation across the border in Congo makes traveling that route a bit risky for a Head of State. But when Scott was at the bank this morning the town was abuzz with preparations. And though he had no intention of going to the rally, a persuasive friend convinced him to stick around, which we would normally do as our good-citizen-NGO-representing duty, but this time he felt like he just couldn't manage to spare the time. But this guy pushed him hard to come, so he went to the market to buy a quick pair of decent pants (he was wearing jeans, definitely not OK for a presidential visit), and hunkered down in the crowd to wait for the Big Man.

Before long, however, he'd been escorted to a front-row seat in the "religious leaders'" section. And then assigned to give the opening prayer! So a week before we are to leave, Scott found himself in the center of Bundibugyo in front of a few thousand people and the President of Uganda, praying for God's blessing on this place, and for integrity in leadership. Such a prayer is not just a token speech. It is a real opportunity for impact, for good, for change, for the Spirit. I decided at the last minute to join the Johnsons and the Anna's in driving up to town, but we arrived late (the Johnson-mobile seems to have caught the dread flat-tire-every-outing disease we struggled with for so long). As we stood on the fringes of the crowd we listened to President Museveni speak in Runyankole and Rutooro, related languages to the local one here but a bit more difficult for us to follow. He stood on a platform on the back of a truck, wearing his characteristic floppy sun hat and a dark suit, relaxed, making jokes, enjoying the crowd, telling proverbs and emphasizing his points. The masses were kept at bay by well armed soldiers and careful protocol. We were just enjoying the scene, seeing Scott sitting up front. But my ears perked up when Museveni started talking about ebola. He turned around and pointed at Scott and said "yes, and then I called Dr. Scott and talked to him about it . . ."

Well, let me tell you that if you live in Bundibugyo you are pretty excited when the PRESIDENT mentions someone you know by name, and even admits to having talked to him. Our friends took it as a personal affirmation that the President knows their doctor.

And I have to say that we asked again for prayer this morning, because it's been a hard week. Scott went into the day very discouraged by a combination of things (issues with CSB staff, loose ends on contracts, the oxygen concentrator dying, the already-evident dip in morale at the hospital and exodus of patients, struggling to lift a bunch of trunks into an attic and finding more stuff there that we thought we'd already cleared out, sadness of throwing away files that represent years of work, that kind of thing). He told the team he was in a "funk". So we sent a quick pray-now request to a short list of people. And what an unexpected answer, to be allowed to pray for the country and to be affirmed by its leader. Doesn't God do the most out-of-the-box things to answer prayers??

At the end of the ceremony we all stood to sing the Ugandan National Anthem as President Museveni left. It made me teary again. "Oh Uganda, may God uphold thee . . ." , singing the familiar words with thousands of people, and really meaning it, and knowing we won't be in the middle of such days again for a long time, if ever.

Love Languages

From two cards stuck into random files, found yesterday.

I love you daddy and mommy cuse you love me.

I will try to couse no trouble to you. But I can't promese. I will oh bay you I will get everthing you nede.

From dinner last night, sitting around the table with a couple who have been loyal friends over these many years. . .

Bamparana and Donatina are about our age, though they've been married longer, and have befriended us since our arrival (he remembered meeting us in Kampala when we came in '93, Luke was an infant, we had gone to the only place to make an international phone call in the country, the Sheraton hotel lobby). Bamparana and his wife's memories of being loved centered on a time her mother was sick and almost dying, and Scott treated her, and the healing was a miraculous gift in their eyes. Another time when he was in a serious financial situation and Scott gave him a job. And the two years we spent paying one of their kids' school fees. Love in practical, hands-on, tangible gifts.

My outstanding memories of them . . .

After the disastrous Baptism party for Jack in which our hired musicians sang tribally divisive songs accusing the Bakonjo of being behind the ADF, and Jonah stormed out with his family . . Bamparana was the only church leader who went to say sorry, to smooth things over with Jonah. After Caleb had a horrific night of emergency surgery in Bundibugyo hospital, Bamparana was waiting at our house, praying when we came back. And when Scott's death was announced on the radio during Ebola and everyone was so afraid, Bamparana and Byarufu risked their lives (it seemed) anyway to come to our house and find out the truth. Love as loyalty, presence.

My love for the people of Bundibugyo . .

A paltry token of doing yet another day of rounds. Of bearing the burdens, making the phone calls, helping with transport, so Heidi and Travis can take a day away. Of noticing a little girl sitting in a peculiar way, patting her back and confirming that she had a classic deformity associated with TB of the spine, tracing her family and finding out she was a sibling of a newly admitted malnourished child whom we had suspected of TB, now the case was much stronger. Of another day of helping the staff not give up, of standing against apathy and dissolution. It pains me to see how quickly the care is diminishing as we at WHM pull back and give less input. I'm tempted to feel all was in vain. But I know it wasn't, that there is a slow but sure change in expectation, that the staff skills are triple what they were a decade ago, that this is a small step back that will eventually turn around again.

A patient's love for me . .

When I got back from the morning at the hospital, I remembered that one of my patients' moms had phoned asking to see me today, and had not shown up. But there she was in the kitubbi, waiting. I admit my heart sank. This child was born with posterior urethral valves, and the saga of obtaining surgical correction for him filled two years and untold phone calls, trips to Kampala, letters, contacts, complaints, threats. It put me up against a corrupt surgeon who for a while was the only person in Uganda with the requisite skills to fix Paulo. The story had a happy ending when HOPE Ward helped him connect with an alternative consultant at last, though I saw him a half dozen more times for issues in wound closure post-op. Anyway this is one of the most persistent moms in Uganda, and together we brought Paulo through a problem that could have killed him. Now he's a normal 6 year old. So I was dreading what could be wrong now. But nothing was wrong. She had dressed Paulo in a classy striped suit, and brought me a huge stalk of bananas, a live chicken, and a local woven chair her father made himself, to say thank you. I was floored. It was a gift from them, but also a gift from God, a representation of all the kids over all the years.

Community love for the hurting . . .

And finally, just back from a very depressing burial, the 2-and-a-half year old child of CSB's cook. He went to a semi-private health center for treatment of his sickle cell yesterday, rather than the hospital where he could have been transfused. And did not live long enough to be transferred. At the scene of mourning, this is what love looks like: body to body closeness, hips touching, scrunched, a small room, the boy's mother flailing her arms and hugging his dead body as she wails and faints, the no-nonsense take-charge touch of older women holding her up, spooning her sugar water, loosening her wraps, catching her wild arms. The house surrounded by more women, holding their own babies, quiet tears recognizing that they too are vulnerable. Men sitting a bit further back, in the shade of the cocoa, together on benches.

The love languages: words, gifts, focused time, service, more gifts, and physical touch. All seen here today.

But there are language barriers here, too. The Babwisi I believe are most fluent in the language of gifts. This is the way they sense love. Every relationship, from marriage to parenthood to neighbors is cemented by gift-giving. And their second language is touch, the no-personal-space proximity of the communal crowd. For me, the languages of focused time and words speak more clearly. Which can lead to problems, as we Americans resent being expected to give gifts and judge our relationships based on time and conversation, but our African friends use a completely different measure.

So as we leave we must try to communicate love in a way that is heard.