We crawled into bed at around 2:30 a.m. on Friday evening/Saturday morning hoping that our erratic and poorly planned sleep-catching on the way over wouldn’t doom us to a long adjustment period.  Joline and Joshua were up by 7:00, while Jessica, Jennifer, and I slept in until around 9:00.

A bit about our accommodations — Over the course of our planning for this trip, we had been given some valuable advice by numerous missionaries, former missionaries, and children of missionaries.  To a person, they all encouraged us to secure comfortable and safe housing so that we would have a place of respite that would feel at least somewhat like home after spending the day working in unfamiliar and uncomfortable surroundings.  One thing that had really stuck with us was the advice from children of missionaries – they told us that while their parents had chosen to be missionaries and to live in a developing world, the children had not made this choice, so we should try to ensure that they were comfortable.  Perhaps this is justification/rationalization on our part, but we heeded this advice and secured comfortable accommodations at the Royal Suites in Bugolobi.

The Royal Suites is basically a three-story hotel (more of a motel) with one, two, and three-bedroom flats that are also rented on a long-term basis.  We have a three-bedroom flat with Joline and I in one bedroom, Joshua in another, and the girls in the third.  There are three bathrooms (all three have showers), a living room, and a kitchen (with a microwave, oven, stove, and decent-sized fridge).  Each of the bedrooms has a wall-mounted air conditioning unit and the living room has an upright fan.  As pictured below, each bedroom has netting around the beds to keep the mosquitos (here pronounced moss-quee-toes) out.

There is a rather large outdoor pool, a fitness center (three treadmills, three stationary bikes, one elliptical, one universal weight lifting set, and lots of free weights).  There is wireless internet throughout the complex, and there is 24-hour armed guard protection, in addition to the barbed wire-topped retaining wall encircling the complex.  The hotel has its own generator that kicks on within a minute or two of the regular power outages in Kampala.  Since the Royal Suites are situated next to swampland, they fog the grounds with mosquito repellant each evening and spray the inside and outside of the mosquito nets around the beds.  The housekeeping crew cleans the flat every day.  In many ways, this seems to be an oasis of luxury amidst an ocean grinding poverty.  For the privilege of living in western-style accommodations, we are paying western-style prices.  Once again, while we are painfully aware that this may be a rationalization, we feel like this is the right decision for our family on this trip.  (Besides, the promise of these accommodations helped me convince my family to leave Malibu for Africa).

On the way home from the airport on Friday night, we had learned that the man driving us to our flat was to be my court-assigned driver during our six months here.  He had offered to come get us on Saturday to take us shopping for the food and other items we would need during our time here.  So at 11:00 a.m., we headed into town (Bugolobi is about three miles southeast of Central Kampala).

Since I first started coming to Uganda in January of 2010, there has been a noticeable improvement in the shopping options and choices.  A second shopping mall has been completed next to the first — and previously only mall — in Uganda.  The grocery stores have most of what one would find in the United States, though noticeably absent are salsa and chocolate chips.  We stocked up on staples (literally and figuratively), and bought a printer, water cooler, and a soccer ball.  During the half-day shopping trip, Joline and the kids experienced their first real taste (and smell) of Africa, since it had been dark the night before.  I suspect that they will be posting their impressions relatively soon.

That evening, we discovered the bugs in our flat (again, literally and figuratively).  The “wireless internet” requires an Ethernet cord that looks suspiciously like a “wire” (we have been assured that they are working on fixing the wireless part), but having all-you-can-eat internet is a blessing that most Ugandans cannot afford.  (Since Jessica is taking classes from Oaks Christian online, we need reliable and limitless connectivity.  More rationalization?).  When the power went out at around 8:00 p.m., the generator kicked on a minute later.  Almost.  We soon discovered that air conditioners don’t work when the generator is providing the power.  So when we went to bed, the fan found itself in our room (parental privilege), and the kids found themselves a bit uncomfortably warm.

I woke up at 4:30 a.m. on Sunday morning and realized the power had come back on, so I got up and turned our A/C on.  Being the wonderful father that I am, I proceeded to scare the holy posho out of Jessica when I snuck into her room to turn the girls’ A/C on.  She had also awakened and was just walking about of her bathroom when I walked in.  Her startle reflex, in turn, sufficiently jolted me that I was now up for good.  Not wanting to keep Joline awake, I relocated to the living room with my computer to get some things done.  Within about five minutes, I had fed a small family of moss-queetos their breakfast, second breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert for a fortnight.  I only managed to kill one of the little buggers while the other two actively mocked me.  Who knew that African moss-queetos actually have fingers?

At 5:20 a.m., I heard the call to prayers from the local mosque and took the opportunity to join them in prayer, albeit through a different Mediator.  At 6:30, Joline got up and the two of us headed to the fitness room to run on the treadmills.  (We have made an irrevocable commitment (unless we decide to revoke it) to get back into shape (like we have really been in shape since the mid-1980s) while we are here).  Apparently, “opening at 6:00 a.m.” is a Lugandan phrase that means “opening when we decide it opens,” which was apparently at some point after 6:40.  So we decided to run through the neighborhood.  One of the good things about living in Bugolobi is that it is far enough from the main city that the smog from vehicles, which are unburdened with any sort of smog filter, doesn’t impede normal breathing like in the city.  Still, the unrelenting smell of burning wood flavored our jog.  When we returned, we encountered three Uganda Cranes the size of fourth-graders.  No wonder the Crane is their national symbol – they make our Bald Eagle look like the runt of a hummingbird litter.

Later that morning, Michael (our driver) picked us and delivered us to Watoto Central Church.  We met our new friend Steve there, who is an agricultural economist from Oklahoma.  Since Steve is volunteering his time for a few weeks with Watoto on one of their agricultural programs, he is a Watato VIP.  This, in turn, meant that he was given VIP seating at the packed-to-the-Tilapia-gills worship service.  This VIP seating was in the second row.  Since we were with Steve, we were on the second row.  Since one of cameras projecting the service onto the mammoth screen at the front of the auditorium was in the back, the back of my mammoth mzungu head was often prominently on display for the 2500 assembled.

Further distracting the parishioners was my utter and complete lack of rythem.  In fact, I can’t even spell rythem (pun intended, mom).  I (we) stuck out like albino elephants, and our skin color was but a minor factor.  They sang, danced, and praised the Lord like he was there with them.  I think he actually was.

The preacher then brought it like it had never been broughten (again, mom, this is a literary device – I am not quite as dumb as I sound, though I do blame you for my hereditary lack of rhythm).  He made us laugh, made us cry, and made us ponder what God has prepared for us to do to serve Him and others.  One of my Biblical heroes is Esther; so, too for the preacher-man.  He reminded us of Mordecai’s words to Esther – “And who knows but that you have come to [this] position for such a time as this.”

We believe that God has brought us to Uganda “for such a time as this,” and we eagerly look forward to God revealing all that “this” will entail.

Answers to prayers come in many shapes and forms – sick people are healed, loneliness is alleviated, jobs are secured, those in harm’s way are protected, etc.  More often than not, God uses people to deliver these answers – doctors administer treatments, new friends enter our lives, others come to our rescue, etc.

Occasionally, we are granted the privilege of embodying the answers to another’s prayers by acting as a tool in the Maker’s hand – we get to deliver the cold cup of water, we get to set the captives free, we get to be the friend to the lonely.

Later this week, we (finally) leave for Uganda.  Our family’s prayer is that we will clearly see the opportunities we are presented to be the answer to the prayers of those we visit in prison and in orphanages, and otherwise encounter.

The Gash family is currently in Cancun, Mexico vacationing with five of our answered prayers – our Twin Family from Oklahoma about whom we have posted previously.  Their family is eerily similar to ours and they will also be spending six months in Uganda, arriving exactly one week after we do, and living right below us at our apartment complex in Uganda.

A couple months ago, they invited us to join them on their mid-January Cancun family vacation.  We leapt at the opportunity to spend some time getting to know them in relative comfort before sharing our lives together in a developing country.

This vacation has gone even better than we could have hoped.  Our kids immediately bonded and have been inseparable for the four days we have been together.  They have become as close as cousins and we are confident they will become lifelong friends after our time together in Africa.  Joline and I instantly connected with Jill and Jay, and look forward to traveling this journey together as brothers and sisters.  Their family website is cleverly titled due unto others.  When we first met, we each presented the others with t-shirts we had brought – they gave us “due unto others” t-shirts, and we gave them Pepperdine Law t-shirts.

This morning, we gathered in their room (they are Vacation Club members and have a sweet suite) to start our Sunday by worshiping the One we serve and who brought our families together.  It was a special time of singing, praying, and communing (it was Jennifer’s first communion after her immersion one week ago today).

We are grateful for the continuing prayers so many of you have lifted up on our behalf.

One of the many wonderful things about teaching at a university is the whole notion of the sabbatical.  Every seven years, professors are eligible to apply for a leave from their teaching and committee responsibilities.  Contrary to popular conception, however, “sabbatical” is not synonymous with “vacation.”

At Pepperdine, like other universities, the application process for sabbaticals is a competitive one.  Because the classes taught and committee work applicants would otherwise be covering would need to be covered by one’s colleagues, applicants are required to submit a proposal detailing how the sabbatical would be spent in order to justify shifting the load to others.  The typical application proposes substantial completion of a scholarly writing project, such as a law review article (about 100 pages with 400 footnotes) or a new edition of a textbook.  At Pepperdine, professors can seek a sabbatical for one semester with full pay, or for a full year with half pay.

Shortly before I first became eligible to apply for a sabbatical (in 2005), Dean Starr asked me to join the law school’s administrative team for a two-year term.  When I agreed to become the Dean of Students, I knew that this would delay my sabbatical, but I didn’t know it would be delayed six years.  After Dean Starr became the President of Baylor in the summer of 2010, I finally applied in the fall of 2010 to be on sabbatical for the spring of 2012.  By that time, I had succumbed to the irresistible magnetic draw of Africa, so I asked my family how they would feel about spending an entire year in Uganda.  Predictably (and understandably), they were not thrilled with the idea.  (I have previously posted here the heart-felt and well-written reaction of Jessica, my oldest daughter).  After lots of discussion and prayer, my family sufficiently warmed to the idea of a one-semester sabbatical that I decided to apply.

I was still not convinced that this was what I should be doing, so I only partially completed the application while I continued to pray.  There had been a few e-mails the prior month about the upcoming deadline for sabbatical applications, but I still thought I had several weeks to finish it.  One night in middle of the fall semester, I had trouble sleeping in the middle of the night, so I went downstairs and turned on my computer.  Whether it was my subconscious remembering the deadline, or whether it was a different kind of prompting, I decided to finish my application.  I fully understood that my proposal to spend a semester embedded with the Ugandan judiciary, working to help them implement plea bargaining and other projects to improve their criminal justice system, would be unorthodox and likely wouldn’t result in the completion of the usual scholarly article or book.  Nevertheless, I hoped my colleagues would believe that this project would be sufficiently valuable to justify them carrying my load during this semester.  I finished the proposal three hours later — just as my family was waking up — but did not submit it to anyone because I still thought the applications weren’t due for another couple of weeks.

That afternoon, I was looking for Carol Chase, one of my colleagues in the Deans’ Suite, so I asked another colleague where she was.  “She is at the Sabbatical Committee meeting – she should be back shortly.”  “Crap” (or worse), I thought (or maybe said).  I completely blew it.  A few minutes later, Dean Chase came to my office and said, “I just got back from the Sabbatical Committee meeting – I thought  you were going to apply for one.”  Me, too.  When I explained that I had actually completed the application, she encouraged me to send it to the members of the committee immediately because the final decisions had not been made, but would be made via e-mail that afternoon.  I did, they were, and I was granted a sabbatical.  I am confident that had I not had insomnia the night before (rare for me), I wouldn’t be headed to Africa in a few weeks.

Over the course of the next year, our plans solidified and we decided that we could be more useful if we were there for six months, rather than for the four months we had originally been discussing.  And as we looked into the flight schedules, and as I familiarized myself with the Ugandan judicial calendar, we decided that it made the most financial and logistical sense to leave for Uganda near the end of January, returning in late July.  But since we were renting out our house at the beginning of the spring semester, we needed to move our home base to Santa Rosa (where my parents and Joline’s parents live) for the first three weeks of January.  And since we had this time before we left, we decided to do a bit of traveling in the interim.

In Donald Miller’s book, “A Million Miles in a Thousand Years,” he quotes Bob Goff as saying that he writes down everything he wants to remember because if you don’t remember it, it is like it never happened.  One of the writing projects I have been working on for about a year is deeply personal to me and to Henry, the Ugandan teenager I met in a rural prison in early 2010 who is a big reason I keep coming back to Uganda.  The story that Henry and I lived over the course of two years as we struggled for his freedom is something neither of us ever wants to forget, so we are writing it down.  I don’t know if it will be worth reading when we complete it, but it is something that both of us are committed to completing.  Yesterday, I finished grading my Fall Torts exams.  Today, Joline and I flew to Miami where we will spend the next six days.  Over the course of these six days, I hope to substantially complete and edit this manuscript (with Joline’s help) so I can bind it and present it to Henry later this month in Uganda.

Next week, our entire family will fly to Cancun to spend five days with our “twin family” from Oklahoma (who is also blogging here) so we can get to know each other well before we spend the next six months together in Uganda.  (They surprised their kids with the Cancun trip as a Christmas present and invited us to come along.  I had been saving up frequent flyer miles, so it all worked out).

I recognize that six days in Miami and then five days in Cancun sounds more like a vacation than a working sabbatical, but we will soon be moving to a place that, while it has every bit as much sunshine, lacks many of the other creature comforts.

Sorry for the length of this post, and I promise that later posts will be shorter.  (It might have been even longer if the two year-old kid behind me on the airplane wasn’t about to set the world record in the “Up Down, Up Down” tray table game he is playing.  Parenting is tough – I get that – but c’mon lady, your kid is about to experience shaken baby syndrome first hand.  And if he says “I hate you, mommy” one more time, I am going to empty a squeeze bottle of Purell in his irreverent little mouth).

As our departure for Uganda nears (27 days), we are increasingly asked if we feel like we will be safe in Africa.  We are also asked about how our kids will do in a third-world country.  In fact, during our visit to Santa Rosa last week, one of our dear friends at my parents’ church asked us if we would be living in a grass hut (and she was dead serious).  We have assured our friends and family that while Uganda is a developing country, and while the material comforts we have enjoyed in Malibu are largely non-existent there, we will feel safe in the capital city of Kampala, that our kids will thrive there, and that we will actually be living in a relatively nice apartment.

I have rarely been accused of being ahead of the curve – in fashion, in hairstyle, in anything.  Accordingly, I was quite surprised to learn that Uganda has recently been named #1 in Lonely Planet’s Top 10 Travel Destinations for 2012.  Among the reasons cited for this selection, the editors pointed out that Kampala is one of Africa’s safest capital cities.  We are eager to go white-water rafting on the Nile and to explore “where savannah meets the vast lakes of East Africa, and where snow-capped mountains bear down on sprawling jungles.”

I was pretty excited about this #1 designation until I read a little farther down the list — #2 is Myanmar, which the United States won’t even recognize as a country because of the way the rulers of what was formerly called Burma came to power.  Coming in at #3 is Ukraine, where it gets above freezing two days a year.  And in at #7 is Castro’s Cuba.  I really began to question the desirability of Uganda’s #1 ranking when I read Lonely Planet’s Top 5 Dinner Dates of 2012:

5.         Venezuelan Beef with Hugo Chavez as he describes how to win friends in the free world;

4.         Triple Cheeseburgers with Michael Moore as he explains how capitalism makes America great;

3.         Chicken Kabobs with Iranian President Ahmadinejad as shares his secrets for identifying infidels;

2.         A doubled helping of rice rations with Kim Jong Il as he reveals his strategies for inspiring a nation to prosperity and happiness (recently cancelled); and

1.         Soft-shelled crabs with Joe Biden and Newt Gingrich with a lesson on how to ram your own foot into your mouth without chipping your teeth.

Maybe being #1 is not such a good thing after all . . .

Next post – my two biggest heroes of 2011.