True Poverty is the Lack of Love

There's a woman named Jesca who lives in my compound. She's 28 and University educated. She is a social worker at the local sub-county.
I came home from school one day earlier last week and she asked me to come with her on some field work. On the way over she explained to me the situation of the 3 children we were going to visit. Their mother had many children with different fathers (None of the fathers stuck around). The mother died two years ago. Some fathers came to get their own children leaving 3 boys behind; an 8 year old (Simon Peter), a 10 year old (Robert) and a 14 year old (Simon Peter)....yes she gave two of her children the same name. These children had no where to go and the mother's family did not want them because of a dispute in the past with the mother. They were starving, eating plants. They wandered into Kapelebyong about a year ago and took shelter in an abandonded hut (since peace, people have been moving back to their villages). They became beggers of their neighbors until the 14 year old starting making charcol and selling it. (Of course I now buy my charcol from him).
As Jesca and I continued walking farther and farther into the bush, the grass was growing taller than me and grasshoppers were scattering everywhere.
We finally arrived and I saw the condition of their hut....about collapse. All three were very shy and quiet. The youngest, Peter, spoke for all of them with a small voice.
Their clothes were so dirty (no soap) and barely covered their "special areas". In fact, the two young ones were sent home from school because their clothes were so dirty and they hadn't bathed. Robert wouldn't speak at all or even smile. I wondered if he was sick (later to find out he has typhoid which we're treating now). I asked them to come over for dinner the next night to talk with me...and I also took their school clothes to wash them...I mean, they are my students (Both P.1, 1st grade).
The next night Simon (14years) was staring out the door at the rain in Esther's room as we were cooking; quiet, maybe nervous. Jesca came in and he began their story speaking in Ateso.
How do we begin to provide for children in this extreme condition; no orphanges around,no NGO's.
Ojada, Esther's 10 year old son who's been fighting cancer the past 2 years, walked in with one of his shirts and gave it to the boys; Dacus gave them washing soap; Scovia gave them another shirt. I almost started crying watching the spirit of giving. The poor giving to the poor.
I told the headmaster of the primary school of their situation. Schools get more aide the more orphans they have.
I'm going to provide a goat for them. Goats produce quickly and can provide a lot for them.
Everyday life in Uganda.....
Scovia's grandmother got her a bag for school but not one for Ojada (she's not the most loving woman). Ojada saw it and said (at 10 years old), "I don't mind if she didn't get one for me, my God will provide for me."
"It is not true that God wants to teach us something in our trials: through every cloud He brings, He wants us to unclean something. His purpose in the cloud is to simplify our belief until our relationship to Him is exactly that of a child..." -Oswald

When will we learn?

I’d be lying if I said I had no fear. I’ve become so comfortable in this place that I forget it’s a war zone. A gun shot here, death of a Ugandan neighbor there; but when there is a death (a murder) of an American you know, one your age at that, it hits closer to home….it becomes real again. It strikes the fear chord in your brain; the one you try to tell, “Perfect faith casts out all fear”…but who has perfect faith?; especially when fear overwhelms.
“When I speak of fear, I mean merely animal fear, the recoil of the organism from its destruction; the smothery feeling; the sense of being a rat in a trap.” –C.S. Lewis
As the bombs struck in Kampala one week ago, killing over 80 Ugandans (educated ones; but should that matter?) and Nate Henn, it reminded me that Uganda is a time bomb; a volcano waiting to erupt. War ends, and then it begins again. Will we ever learn? Those who pick up the sword die by the sword….but so do those who don’t pick up the sword. Why do swords have to exist at all?
All I can do is pray in weakness. Prayers flow from my lips that I don’t even know how to translate. I pray for those trapped in the lies that they are slaves to; lies that killing others and yourself will give you blessings from Allah. All I can do is love my enemies; to wake and thank God for the breath He is giving me. Because no matter what happens here, it is under the will of God…and God forbid I be anywhere else.
“Knowing that the Good Shepherd is watching and protecting me gives me courage to go through the valley of the shadow of death. Even in the presence of my enemies, I can enjoy a rich feast because God is with me. Faith in God leads to can-do boldness and daring action.” –Paul Miller
Pray for the families that have lost their loved ones; for their hearts to turn away from anger towards forgiveness. God, show us how to forgive! Pray for their deep sorrow; knowing they can no longer kiss the lips of their loved ones…can no longer hear their laughter.
"Islam is a religion of peace and does not condone violence. Those who killed people in the Sunday bombings should be condemned. It is wicked to kill innocent people and Islam does not allow suicide bombing." Sheikh Yahya Ssegganga, leader of Old Kampala Mosque
"Al Shabaab made a big mistake. This is all out war!" President Museveni
"How long, how long must we sing this song....Sunday, Bloody Sunday"-Bono

Sounds in the night...

Where do I being? If you and I were sitting together one on one, I would tell you so many stories…but as for now…I must condense.

Almost everyone in my village has typhoid….and the Ugandan government could care less about cleaning the water. Even the teachers, doctors and nurses have it. Baby Amelia has been fighting it all week.

A local soldier was shot and killed by a Karamajong rebel last weekend about 20km away from me. His family lives next to me. I stood there watching his mother, wife and brother wailing, convulsing, and crying thick tears for the loss of their loved one. I couldn’t help but cry with them…watching as his new born baby screamed. It’s rare to watch a grown Ugandan man cry. One of his brothers is a student of mine. My male students always come of as so strong….but he just laid there on the ground in tears. That was just the second day of me being back in Kapelebyong.

I’ve been working in the hospital assisting in births. I stood next to a woman who was in labor for two days…only to watch her give birth to a still born. The mother was bleeding internally. The baby laid there lifeless…a really human baby…with no movement….a baby girl. The mother just laid there crying…9 months…and nothing. In this culture, the family was ashamed of the mother and left her at the hospital by herself disappointed in her…as if she had control of the situation. I just sat next to her, crying with her and praying over her…lucky enough, she is still alive and recovering.

There’s an orchestra that performs in the village at night. The mosquitoes humming outside my net preying for dinner, crickets and their violins in my walls, the frogs boasting their deep croaks; then the roosters start crowing around 4 a.m….far before sunrise (stupid birds), the calming coo of the white dove, the cows grunting as the herder awakes them to graze…the babies crying because their mother’s have awoken them to a cold bath…locals greeting, “yoga a to porauch” (good morning). In 2007, the sound of the rooster at 4 a.m. was a calming sound to me. Back then there would be gun shots all through the night. There was even a man shot and killed outside my door. So I’d lay there awake with my heart in my throat fearing being killed. So the roosters crowing meant dawn was near…which meant safety….which meant a few more hours of sleep….