Wholly Cow$

Today was a day I have been anticipating for nearly two months, and it went even better than I could have hoped.

Henry met us at our hotel at 7:15 a.m. and rode with us to his church, which actually started with a time of worship at 7:00 a.m.  When we walked in, the place was hopping.  Literally.  The song leader was hopping up and down as he sang about raising Jesus higher.  There was also a mother with a baby in her arms jumping around between the front row and concrete stage.  The song leader had a microphone that kept cutting in and out and two female background singers dancing behind him.  To the side was a keyboard player who was doing a good job adjusting to the leader’s irregular improvisations.  We were ushered to the front row, presumably so the congregants could watch us struggle to keep up and keep the rhythm.  I went 0 for 2.

After the praise time, the pastor asked if anyone had something for which they were thankful that they wanted to share.  Henry was third person to take the microphone.  He was kind in his words of gratitude to us and in his welcome for his “visitors.”  When he handed the microphone back, the pastor feigned confusion about the “visitors” and pretended to search the audience for the elusive guests.  Everyone had a good laugh about that.  And yes, we were the only mzungus at church on Sunday. (In fact, I didn’t see a single mzungu in Hoima the entire weekend, but Joline and the others saw and talked to an American missionary girl they met at the hotel while I was with Tango and Henry searching for Elsie, Bessie, and Bevo).

Henry’s mom got up next and also thanked God for her guests, with special emphasis on the possessory element.  A few minutes later, it was go-time.  The pastor moved the podium to the center of the stage and invited Joline, Henry, and I to come forward.  Even though this was the “English language service,” the pastor wisely called upon Henry to interpret our mzungu English for the congregants.  In fact, I started out with a quick attempt at humor regarding having an interpreter for the mzungu at the English language service.  Half of the laughter came when I delivered the punch line, and the other half came when Henry interpreted it.

Jim and Joline Sharing, with Henry Interpreting

After I introduced myself and Joline and brought greetings to them from Pepperdine and the University Church of Christ, Joline introduced our family, and called Jay Gregston up to bring greetings from his church in Oklahoma, to introduce his family, and to briefly describe the medical missionary work he and his family are doing in Uganda.  Joline then brought greetings on behalf of the Community Bible Study in Malibu and told them that this group of women prayed often for Henry, Joseph, and their father while they were in prison.

Over the next twenty minutes or so, Joline and I alternated as we shared some scriptures and words of encouragement.  It was a good thing Henry was interpreting because the periodic pauses allowed me to (barely) keep my composure.  I choked up a couple times, but avoided any on-stage sobbing.  I couldn’t help but think back to one of the first reports Henry gave me after he had been released – he had taken the same stage and poured his heart out with gratitude to God for sustaining him during his two-year imprisonment.  Toward the end of the service, the pastor encouraged the congregants to say a blessing over us.  It was quite special to have a handful of total strangers fervently praying (in Runyoro) while gently touching our heads, faces, and hands.  We won’t soon forget this.

After church ended, a make-shift receiving line formed as many members of the congregation filed past us greeting and welcoming us.  As we walked out, we had a chance to approach some little kids and interact with them.  Only a couple of them ran away screaming at the sight of our white faces.

From church, we dropped off the Gregstons, Joline, and the kids at the hotel.  Tango (the driver who is originally from Hoima District), Henry, and I then set out in search of some Grade A Ugandan beef.

Wisely, Tango had targeted the butcher of his home village (which was nearby) the day before and let him know we were looking to buy cows.  Naturally, the butcher had a pretty good sense of the expendable cows within a 10 kilometer radius.  The day before, this butcher had put us in touch with a local farmer and we had agreed to pay 750,000 shillings for a medium-sized cow (about $350 at the current exchange rate).  Since it didn’t make sense to buy and transport one cow yesterday, we agreed to come back today and complete the deal.  In exchange, the farmer agreed to ask around for others interested in selling cows to a mzungu with a wad of cash.  My cover had been blown on Saturday, so I no longer pretended to be invisible.

When we arrived in the village at around 10:00 a.m., we had several interested sellers waiting for us.  Since Tango had transported us and Gregstons from Kampala in a van, and since we had dropped everyone but me and Henry at the hotel, we had plenty of room in the van for the numerous villagers who kept jumping in to direct us to their farms, or those of friends.  Several just came along for the adventure of it all.  The first farm had only one fairly young cow, but it looked healthy so we entered negotiations.  I use “we” somewhat loosely.  I simply bounced my gaze back and forth between Tango and Henry on the one hand, and the would-be seller on the other as they verbally jousted in Runyoro.  After a few minutes, my curiosity got the better of me and I asked where things were.  We were at 600,000 and he was at 700,000.  Since Tango had told us that there were going to be three other cows for us to look at where the one we had agreed to buy on Saturday was, and since my expectation was that we would buy three or four today, I stepped in and forthrightly declared that either we bought the cow for 600,000, or we left to look at others.  We were on a strict timeline and I made that clear.  Unsurprisingly, we got the cow for 600,000.

When I tried to count out the money into the seller’s hand — one 50,000 note at a time — he waived me off.  Tango grinned and explained that they have their traditions (meaning superstitions), so Tango counted the money in his own hand, and then gave it to seller, who did the same.  Lesson learned.  Once word got out that the mzungu was definitely paying cash (and likely overpaying), those in our growing entourage started dialing and their phones started ringing.

Next we headed way off the beaten path (which is saying something because the path we had been on was only lightly trodden to begin with) and tracked down a guy way out in the bush who had two female cows and one young bull.  He also wanted 700,000 for each.  Since they were young and relatively small, I told him I would give him 1.1 million for the bigger of the two cows and the bull.  Deal.  The problem, however, was that he was a good five kilometers (three miles) from the village center and we were on a timeline.  For 20,000, he agreed to run the cows to the village, cash on delivery, including the 1.1 million.  I wasn’t about to hand this guy that kind of money on the promise that he would bring them.

(Parental guidance suggested for this next paragraph.)  We knew we needed a big bull who was fond of cows so we could grow the herd.  Accordingly, we headed back to town and across the main road to look at such a bull.  He must have sensed our interest in his virility because as we approached him, he approached a nearby cow and unsheathed his manhood.  It would be unforgivably unfair to him to describe what he had as a baseball bat.  It was more like a jousting pole.  He reared up on his hind legs and buried his lance.  “I’ll take him!” I exclaimed.  Needless to say, this probably undercut my bargaining position, but I didn’t care.  I got him for 900,000 and he was worth every inch, I mean shilling.  At the risk of being accused of, well, compensating, I named him “Big Jim.”

We now had four locked up and we were on a roll.  We finally headed back to original place we started the day before.  When we arrived, there were four cows waiting for us, including the one we had verbally bargained for the day before.  After some dickering, we had the lot.  In fact, one of the sellers asked us to wait while he fetched another cow.  This confirmed what I thought – we were likely overpaying for cows, but both Tango and Henry thought we were getting good prices so I didn’t feel too ripped off.  It was also clear that the sellers had virtually nothing other than their cows so if they got a few extra shillings in their pockets for their families, then it wasn’t the end of the world.

It turned out to be more of a challenge than we had hoped to secure a truck to haul the cattle from the village to Henry’s house.  Additionally, we were informed that we needed to get the village chairman’s permission to take the cows from the village.  Really?  Yep, but it was as much for our protection as anything because he gave us a stamped letter that traveled with us so that if we were stopped by the police and questioned about why we had a truck full of cattle, we could show them the “official” letter.  This set me back 45,000 shillings.  While we were getting the certificate, the other cow one of the earlier sellers set off to fetch showed up and we bought her also.  This gave us nine cows (two of which were purportedly pregnant) for a grand total of just over 7 million shillings (including transportation, loading, and other commissions and fees).

When the truck arrived to transport the cows, I learned how to load cattle in Uganda.  As pictured below, the truck has a skeletal cage of sorts over the top that allows the cattle to be tied in place during the transport over the rather uneven roads.  But that assumes the cattle are in the truck.  How tough can that be?  Just walk them up the ramp.  What?  No ramp?  You are going to lift them into the back of the truck?  With your hands?  Seriously?

Four dudes.  Two in the truck, two on the ground pinning the cow against the back of the truck.  One in the truck gets a death grip on the tail, while the other in the truck pulls with all of his might on the rope tied around the huge horns.  Meanwhile, the two dudes on the ground with the huge quadriceps deadlift the cow until it skids onto the bed of the truck on its side.  As you might expect, the cow doth protest much.  None as much as Big Jim, but when they finally got him into the truck, he soon discovered his awaiting harem and sought to, well, introduce himself more formally right then and there.  After a bit of wrestling (and lots of rope), Big Jim was tied down in a prone position such that the introductions ceased.

After the forty-five minute loading process, we left the village on our way back to Hoima.  We stopped and picked up the Gregstons and the rest of the Gashes, then continued to Henry’s house.  We made sure the cattle truck stopped around the corner until we could set up the surprise.  We gathered the entire family and I told them that we were aware that they had lost their herd of cattle and their chickens when Henry, Joseph, and their father were unjustly imprisoned.  I explained that one of my former students named Holly had organized other former Pepperdine students and had taken up a collection, along with my parents and sister, and that Henry and I went shopping that afternoon for them.

Setting Up The Surprise

They all looked at Henry and then back at me.  It seemed as if they sort of understood, but were not quite sure what to say or what to expect.  Cue the truck.

As the truck rumbled down the dirt road toward their house, all eyes (including about a dozen neighbors who had gathered) turned toward the truck.

Here Comes The Truck

As it approached, Henry’s mom saw the huge Ancholi horns over the truck’s cab and let out an “alarm,” which is a high-pitched warbling “Wa-la-la-la-la-la!”  She has high blood pressure and Henry was actually a little worried about her fainting when the truck arrived.  She didn’t faint, but her emotions were on full display.  Same for everyone else.  Including the grim weeper, me.

Henry’s whole family was overjoyed and we all watched as the unloading of the cows made the initial loading look high-tech.  One of the back legs was roped and then yanked and dragged until the cow literally plopped onto the ground from a height of about three feet.

High-Tech Unloading

Most quickly popped back up, pissed off and looking for someone to blame.  Big Jim fell harder than the rest and seemed to have the wind knocked out of him, but eventually recovered.

Big Jim on Impact

They tied him to a tree away from the others so he wouldn’t resume his enthusiastic “courting.”

Big Jim and Little Jim

After the cattle were unloaded, I brought Henry and his family into his house, closed the curtains and explained that there was still two million shillings (about $900) left over after we had purchased the cows.  I encouraged them to buy 100 chickens and all the chicken and cattle feed they needed.  I also asked them to use 300,000 shillings to pay the annual school fees of Herbert (the youngest in the family), who hadn’t yet enrolled in S1 because they couldn’t pay the necessary costs for him to start at the beginning of the term two weeks ago.  They were all elated, especially Herbert.  Henry’s mother insisted on leading a prayer then and there.  The only word I recognized in the prayer was “Jim,” but her gratitude toward God came through loud and clear.

Before I left, I reminded Henry that the big bull was to be named Big Jim and the biggest cow was to be named Rosella (after my mother).  Two other cows were to be named Holly (after Holly Phillips, who organized this shopping spree) and Julie (after my sister who paid for a full cow).  I also told Henry that the young bull that was still too small and immature to mate should be named Jeremy (after Jeremy Shatzer, who contributed to the fund and wanted to help name one of the cows – thanks for the help, Jeremy!).

We hugged it out and they sent us away with generous portions of papayas, avocados, bananas, jack fruit, and popcorn.

I am so grateful to all who contributed to this unforgettable day.  Your generosity has tremendously blessed a wonderful and God-fearing family with a Job-like restoration of all they had lost.  While it is impossible to truly make someone “whole” after what they have been through, this is as close as it gets.

We took lots of video and hope to edit it together in the coming week or so.

I had posted the names of the donors previously, but here they are again:

Mary Ellyson Buxton, Dan Coats, Wendy McGuire Coats, Julie Wainrib Connelly, RJ Cornell, Julie Dilworth Cornell, Max Czernin, Rachel Dickey Czernin, Aaron Echols, Courtney Echols, Kevin Ferguson, John and Rosella Gash, Meghan George, Chris Gaspard, Kristin Heinrich, Randy Herndon, Christie Herndon, Brent Kampe, Miles Jennings, Wes Krider, Rebecca Lee, Brian Link, Nic McGrue, Meghan Milloy, Narguess Noohi, Lexie Norge, Lisa Ottomanelli, Holly Phillips, Amy Poyer, Jeremy Shatzer, Joel Sherwin, Brian Simas, Emily Smith, Scott and Julie (Gash) Spicer, Ricky Steelman, Erin Tallent, Brett Taylor, Melissa Thornsberry, Chelsea Trotter, Matt Williams, Jeff Wyss, and Kevin “Cookies” Assemi (recent addition).