Our preparations for six months in Africa have generated more than a little stress as we attempt to ready our house for five renters, line up the kids’ school work, and determine what we will bring with us in the two suitcases we each get.  As a consequence, the five of us have taken to doing shots together.  Unsurprisingly, Joline was the clear winner.  It wasn’t even close.  I was the biggest lightweight of all of us.  But to be fair to me, I had already done quite a few shots over the past year, so I already had a head start.

I am, of course, talking about the vaccinations that we have had to get in advance of our travel, which is now less than two months away.  Last weekend, we ventured to a shot doctor to make sure we had all the shots recommended by the US State Department.  In order to be permitted to enter Uganda, one has to have proof of being vaccinated against Yellow Fever within the past ten years.  It is also recommended that travelers get a series of Hepatitis A (two) and B (three) shots.  Add that to the polio booster, the Tetanus-Diphtheria-Pertussis, and seasonal flu shots, and you have the makings of pin cushion.  Wash it all down with a four-pill series of live Typhoid virus, and we are set to go.  Well, except for the daily (constipating) Malaria pills we will be taking for seven months (including the month after we get back).  The good part is that none of it is covered by insurance, so there goes $2,500 . . .

I am planning on laying out naked at sunset, drinking from a public toilet, getting a half-dozen tattoos from a street vendor, and licking my fingers every few minutes when I am visiting the children’s prison just so I can make sure to get my money’s worth.

Next Post: Waka Waka

As usual, I spoke with Henry on Wednesday morning.  He is now back at home in Hoima, Uganda with his family, after having finished the final term of his S4 year (“O” Level) and after having completed the national exams, which consist of about a dozen subjects taken over the course of three weeks.  Henry scored well on the practice exam, and hopes to focus on the sciences for his “A” Level education.  The results of these exams are scheduled to be released in February.  After the results come out, then there is a mad scramble to apply for admission to “A” Level schools where students focus on a smaller number of subjects for the their S5 and S6 years.

I am pleased that we will be in Uganda when the results come out so that we can assist in his efforts to get admitted to a strong school.  Selfishly, we hope he is admitted to a school in Kampala so he will be nearby, but the schools in Kampala tend to be the strongest anyway.

In the meanwhile, Henry is working for his parents’ envelope business during the day, folding and gluing plain paper into the shape of envelopes for use by the local pharmacy.  When I spoke with him on Wednesday, his family was all gathered around the phone trying their best to understand my mzungu English.  Not so much.  He was in good spirits and repeatedly reminded me how surprised he was that I had come for his graduation.  I had told him I wouldn’t be able to attend, so I guess it is a good thing that he is surprised that I was lying to him.  I also talked to him about the price of cows in Uganda, since his family had been forced to sell their small herd of cows (seven or eight) when Henry, his brother, and his father had been arrested and then were confined to jail for two years (prior to being exonerated).  He told me that the price depended upon the gender and size, but that they were approximately 1 million shillings each, which is just under $400 using the current conversion rate.

I also had a chance to catch up with Bob Goff yesterday, who was back at Pepperdine to teach his final Non-Profit Law class and to speak at an undergraduate gathering.  He was running on “pop tarts and coffee,” having stopped through DC with Hero and Darla on their way back from Uganda.  Hero absolutely loved the Oval Office and had his picture taken while sitting in Obama’s chair.  Too bad the President was out of town that day, or Hero could have sat on his lap and told him what he wanted for Christmas.  From DC, they traveled to Los Angeles, and spent Tuesday at Disneyland.  All of it started to catch up with Hero who got a bit emotional, but he caught a second wind after he spoke with his mother on the phone.

Bob dropped Hero off with the family with whom he will be living for the next six months while the surgeries are taking place, the first of which is scheduled shortly after Thanksgiving.  I really wish I could post a picture of him and tell you his real name – he is so innocent and precious.  He is also a hugger and considers no one to be a stranger.  It is simply heartbreaking to know what happened to him, but heartwarming to know that Cedars Sinai is stepping up to the plate and doing its best to make him whole again.

Next post: Our Twin Family

At some point in the middle of the night, a huge thunder strike hit that sounded like a bomb blast.  I remember waking up briefly, and then nodding back off.  My over-active subconscious quickly transformed the thunder strike into a bomb blast and built a dream around it.  In the dream, rebels seized control of the Ugandan government, and my family and others were trying to find a way out of the country through neighboring Rwanda.  The daily Islamic calls to prayer at 5:30 a.m. were integrated into the dream as rebel force warnings against leaving the country.  It was a relief to finally regain sufficient consciousness to recapture a hold on reality.  I hope God wasn’t trying to tell me something through that dream . . .

A few hours later, I met with Justice K at my hotel for a farewell breakfast.  During the course of the conversation, my resolve to drive while in Uganda next year solidified.  The court-supplied driver will take me to and from work, but the car will remain with me and I will drive in the evenings and on the weekends.

After breakfast, Tango picked me up for a day of meetings.  This was the first time I called Tango back since he was a no-show three days ago.  I really like Tango and know that he, his wife, and two year-old son really need the income, so I decided to give him a second chance.  After he picked me up, I gently questioned him about why he didn’t show up last time.  He was in jail.  On his way home the prior evening, a Boda Boda driver ran one of the few stoplights in Uganda and hit Tango’s front right corner.  The Boda driver suffered some scrapes and bruises, the car suffered a broken headlight, and Tango suffered the indignity of being arrested and taken to jail pending the outcome of the accident investigation.  At noon the following day, the police declared him to be innocent of any wrongdoing and gave him his car and phone back.  When I asked him why they had arrested him, he simply replied: “This is Uganda, the police do what they want and you can do nothing about it.”  I, of course, felt like an idiot for using other drivers for three days as a punishment for him not showing up.

As we were heading to town, I called John Niemeyer to find out how getting 9 year-old Hero through the airport security went, and found out that it had not gone according to plan.  After Cedars Sinai had agreed to perform the surgery to reconstruct what the witch doctor had damaged, a visa for Hero and his mother was secured from the US Embassy.  Hero’s visa says “Minor Traveling with Mother” or words to that effect.  Later, it was determined that his mother was unable to accompany him, but the visa still has the restriction written on it.  Bob had been assured by the US Embassy that this was merely descriptive, and not required so he would be fine as long as he had the paperwork granting him legal guardianship from the Family Court.  Wrong.

The airline refused to allow them to fly without his mother accompanying them.  But Bob was not to be denied and was able to track down a US Embassy official who convinced the airline to reverse its decision, saying that Embassy official would personally guarantee that they would have no liability for allowing them to fly.  Whew.

Tango brought me to the Garden City mall where I picked up a book for the American couple trying to finalize their adoption (A & S).  The book contains The Children Act, the law governing foster parenting, legal guardianship, and adoption in Uganda.  (I had purchased this book for myself on a previous trip to Uganda).  From there, I met A & S for lunch and we talked about their appeal, the statutory and case law governing the issues in their appeal, and got to know each other a bit more.  Their Ugandan attorney and I are in contact and I hope to be able to assist them in the briefing before the appellate court.  They were in remarkably good spirits for a couple who had planned to be in Uganda for less than a month, but have now been here for about eight months.  This peace comes, I am sure, from an abiding belief that God has knit together their family that now includes both the boy over whom they have already been granted legal guardianship, and the girl they are also seeking to adopt.  As we departed, I told them that I hoped never to see them again in Uganda.  Under a best-case scenario, they could be gone by Christmas.  Under a worse-case scenario, they would have be here another two and a half years.

While we were eating, the skies opened up again in ways that I will never get used to.  Accordingly, the trip to the Naguru Remand Home was more like wading than driving.  The good thing is there is never a chance of hydroplaning in Uganda – the texture of the road is way, way too uneven for that.  I spent about forty minutes talking to the Assistant Warden Moses at Naguru about the status and makeup of the children in this prison.  There are 18 girls and 155 boys.  Only about 10, however, are charged with capital offenses, so there does not seem to be a significant backlog at the High Court right now.  There are several, however, who have been held there awaiting trial in excess of the statutory limit.  I hope to be able to remedy that when I return.

After a quick stop at the craft market to buy souvenirs, we headed out for the airport.  I wanted to get there plenty early, and arrived about three hours before my flight.  I could tell the pace of the week was finally catching up with me when I was completely perplexed by the lack of urinals in the men’s restroom in the airport lounge.  I stood there about ten seconds trying to figure this out, and then saw distinctly women’s shoes under the door of the stall.  Oops.  I got a few nasty looks as I exited the clearly marked “Ladies” room.

After a quick Skype call with Joline and the kids, I caught up on some e-mail and college football scores.  I learned that Bob and Hero made it safely to London.  After they landed in London, Hero asked Bob if they could just walk the rest of the way back to America.

I slept most of the nine-hour flight to Amsterdam, which means that I am guaranteed to have my sleeping patterns messed up when I get home on Sunday around noon.  I am sitting on the floor outside of the KLM lounge in Amsterdam.  I have now gotten it down to a science — wander into the check-in area at the lounge, present them with my Delta Sky Miles Card, have them politely reject me for entrance because I am not important enough, leave having memorized the wireless code they have posted, then sit on the floor outside the lounge and connect to the internet.  Is that wrong?

It will be good to be back in the States, but I am excited to return and introduce my family to this wonderful country.  I hope to be able to report tomorrow about Hero’s very cool two-day stopover on the way back to Los Angeles tomorrow.

When I am 90 years old and having trouble recognizing loved ones or even remembering my name, I will still remember this day like it was yesterday.  It began like the others this past week — up early catching up on e-mails and world events.  The prior evening, I learned why Tango (my driver) hadn’t come the day before – he had “knocked” (had an accident with) a Boda Boda driver that morning.  His car was damaged, but no one was injured badly.  Maybe I shouldn’t drive here next year after all . . .

The driver took me to the Naguru Remand Home where there are currently 160 juveniles of both genders between the ages of 13 and 17 imprisoned waiting for their trials.  I met briefly with the warden and one of the social workers I have gotten to know.  I also saw the ladies from Sixty Feet joining arms and singing with some of the girls.  They are living Matthew 25:36, “I was in prison, and you came to visit me.”  I wasn’t able to stay long myself – I hope to be able to return for longer on Friday.

Bob Goff and the rest of the team were returning from a safari at Murchison Falls, and I was scheduled to meet them at the Family Court for a very important hearing.  Waiting outside the courtroom was Hero and his mother.  As described previously: http://www.throwingstarfish.com/2011/11/surprise/, Hero is a nine year-old boy who miraculously survived a witch doctor ritual last year, and bravely testified against his assailant.  On the calendar that day at the Family Court was the final approval to allow Hero to travel back to the United States with Bob for a six-month series of reconstructive surgeries by one of the top doctors in the world.  Hero and his mother remembered me from Saturday and they told me where to find Bob.

As it happens all too often in Uganda, the judge was late in arriving to court.  In fact, the 11:00 a.m. hearing was spontaneously postponed until later in the afternoon.  This threw the day’s itinerary for a loop, but after a few calls, a switch was arranged – we would head directly to Luzira right now, have lunch with distinguished members of the Ugandan Judiciary at 1:00, then come back to the courthouse for the hearing.  Unfortunately, this timeline meant that we would have to leave the rest of the group behind because there wasn’t time to get them from the hotel, so we set off for Luzira.

Luzira is the maximum security prison outside of Kampala where the Witch Doctor (WD) who carved up Hero was incarcerated.  When Bob had told me a few weeks ago that one thing he wanted to do on this trip was to go visit WD in prison, I wasn’t all surprised because I already knew that Bob was nuts.  In the car with me were the driver, Margaret’s pistol-packing female body guard (who looks fifteen years old), Bob, and Margaret.  Margaret is also nuts.  She was the Registrar in Masindi when Henry was convicted and she played an instrumental role in securing his ultimate freedom.  She is now the Family Court Registrar and she is also a pastor who has no fear because God is on her side.  Just ask her.

It took about twenty minutes to get through all of the various security check points, but we finally ended up in the Warden’s office.  The Warden’s office was nice and spacious, and had plush red carpet to match the furniture upholstery.  Bob and Margaret took seats just on the other side of the desk from the Warden and I sat behind them on a small couch.  They explained to the Warden who they wanted to see, and after some back and forth, he sent a guard away to retrieve WD.  While we were waiting, the Warden told us that they had 3000 prisoners at this facility that was built in the 1920s to house 600.  They have recently reached a point where more than half of the prisoners have been convicted of serious crimes – the others are still waiting for their day in court.  Until just recently, more than half of the prisoners were on remand, just waiting for something to happen on their cases.

After about ten minutes, the guard and WD entered through a door to my left.  WD looked nothing like how I pictured him.  More specifically, he looked exactly like I thought he would look, but I pictured him in cuffs, leg restraints, chains, or something that would restrain his movement.  Nope.  Just bright yellow shorts and a bright yellow short-sleeved shirt with something bulky in his breast pocket.  As he walked in, he slumped to his knees on the soft carpet and looked submissively at the warden, who said something to him in another language.  Bob and Margaret turned their chairs to face him, and he looked at me and then looked at the couch.  I was sitting on the right side of the two-person couch and nervously patted the seat next to me, motioning him to join me on the couch.  He did.  Gulp.

It was clear that he remembered Bob and Margaret.  Bob had sat with the prosecution for WD’s entire trial and provided critical support and assistance to the prosecution.  Bob also arranged for the entire trial to be captured on film.  This is going to be a phenomenal book someday, and I am confident that Bob will get it written.  Our meeting with WD will be at least a full chapter, but here are the quick highlights.

Bob asks WD how he is doing, and WD responds through Margaret, who is interpreting, that he is OK, but prison is hard.  WD tells Bob that he is not angry with Bob and holds nothing against him.  Bob tells WD that he hopes he knows how much God loves him and that God will forgive him for what he has done.  WD gives a barely perceptible nod.  Bob tells WD that he talks to Jesus every day and that he often prays for WD, praying that someday WD will come to know Jesus as well.  I, of course, am riveted, and no longer nervous about WD pulling out some chicken feet and shrinking my head.

WD says something to Margaret as he reaches inside his breast pocket and pulls out a small Bible consisting of the Psalms and the New Testament.  Margaret interprets that WD has been given a Bible in English and has attended some of the church services at Luzira.  Bob asks WD if he can see his Bible.  WD hands it to him.  As Bob is flipping through it to see if it has been highlighted or marked in any way, he asks WD if he has any favorite verses.  Psalms 23 and 91.  Bob then asks if WD wants Jesus to be the Lord of his life.  WD responds that while he has been reading the Bible and thinking about it, he has not yet decided if he wants to follow Jesus (or words to that effect).  Bob leans in and asks, would you like to make that decision today?  WD pauses, then nods.  Would you like to ask Jesus into your heart right now?  Pause.  Nod.

I, of course, start crying (though quietly).  Bob moves his chair close to WD and reaches out to hold his hands.  Not wanting to be left out, Margaret and I place our hands on theirs.  With Margaret interpreting, Bob walks WD through his confession of faith and acceptance of Jesus as his Lord and Savior.  My eyes and nose are leaking so much that I think WD was wondering if he accidentally put a spell on me, but I kept my hands on his until it was finished.  Afterward, Bob stands up and opens his arms wide.  WD stands up and Bob hugs him, telling him that they are now brothers and friends.  Monkey see, monkey do.  I, the monkey, hugged it out with WD also.  Bob then arranged with the Warden to get WD a Bible in his native language, and we gave the Warden some money for WD to be able to purchase some things at the prison canteen.  Bob got instructions on how to write to WD and promised him that he would.

As we were leaving, I was still trying to process what had just happened.  Even now, I am still trying to process what happened.  I confess to being a bit of skeptic when I hear stories like this, but I will testify under oath that the foregoing is true and accurate in all respects.

From Luzira, we drove to a really good Chinese restaurant to meet up with some special friends.  Our group arrived before the others, and I tried to tell the rest of them what had happened, but I couldn’t really talk about it without choking up.  Shortly after we arrived, Katie Davis arrived to join us.  I was really hoping to meet her on this trip.  She, like pretty much everyone else in the world, is a friend of Bob so she drove in from Jinja to meet up with us.

The reason I was hoping to meet Katie was that I had just finished her new book before I left for Uganda on this trip.  It is called “Kisses from Katie” and it is a fantastic story about a girl who moved to Uganda after graduating from high school in Tennessee about four years ago and has decided to stay.  She currently has more than a dozen orphan girls she is foster parenting and runs an organization that educates hundreds, and feeds over a thousand.  Her organization is called Amazima Ministries and you can learn more about it and the NYT Bestseller book here: http://www.amazima.org/index.html.

Also joining us for lunch were Benjamin Odoki, Chief Justice of the Ugandan Supreme Court, Alice Bahigeine, Deputy Chief Justice, Yorokamu Bamwine, Principal Judge, Geoffrey Kiryabwire, Head of the Commericial Court, and Stella Arach, Court of Appeals Judge.  All of these judicial officials have made recent visits to Pepperdine.  It was great to renew our friendship with them over a good meal.

After lunch, Bob, John Niemeyer, and I set out for the courthouse.  Unsurprisingly, the judge was still not ready for the hearing, so we waited with Hero, Hero’s mom, and Hero’s little brother.  Hero is such a well-adjusted and friendly boy that one would never suspect what he has gone through.  Eventually, Bob, Hero, Hero’s mom, and a Ugandan attorney Bob hired went back into the Judge’s chambers.  Two hours later, they emerged with all the documents necessary for Hero to come to the United States to have his operations.  Praise God.

We left the courthouse at around 6:30 and it took us about 45 minutes to drive the two miles to the hotel where we met up with the rest of the group for dinner.  I was finally able to tell the whole story – Bob is too modest to tell it himself, and he is also a crier so I am not sure he could have gotten through it.  We ate at the hotel’s restaurant called “Spur” and I had a good burger and great milkshake.  Justice Benjamin Kabiito (Civil Division), whom I have gotten to know well on my trips here and his trip to Pepperdine, also joined us also.

It was a long and exhausting day, but one I will never forget.  I suspect tomorrow will be the same, as Bob and Margaret have convened a national gathering of witch doctors to try to educate them about the human trafficking laws and to warn them that they will be prosecuted if they persist in ritual mutilation of children.  For Bob, however, this simply means trying to make them his friends.  It should be another memorable day.

Tuesday was an action-packed day of meetings with Ugandan Judiciary members and Ugandan lawyers.  It began early again – I can’t seem to sleep past 4:30 a.m., but I am going to bed early each night so all is well.  When I got up this morning, I had quite a few documents waiting for me to review relating to the American couple who is desperately trying to bring home the two Ugandan children who have become as much a part of their family as their biological son.  I never expected to become an expert in international adoption law (or even involved in it), but God has ways  of putting you where you can be useful.  And I feel like I can be useful with this, so I have delved headlong into learning all that I can about this stuff.  The metaphor of drinking from a firehose comes to mind.  While I am nowhere near being an expert yet, I am getting my arms around it faster than I expected.

After about four hours of e-mails and adoption law reading, I met up with Shane Michael at the Commercial Court.  Shane is a 2011 Pepperdine Law graduate and is serving as a Pepperdine Nootbaar Fellow for one year in Uganda.  This program is named after our dear friend and benefactor, Herbert Nootbaar, who turned 103 on Sunday.  I was quite disappointed to miss his birthday party, as he has become a good friend.  Shane is embedded with the Commercial Court and is serving as a Court-appointed mediator.  Shane is also a utility infielder of sorts and will be helping with the juvenile justice projects on which I will be working; he has also jumped in to help the American couple seeking to adopt.

Shane and I met briefly with Justice Kiryabwire, the Head of the Commercial Court and liaison for Pepperdine’s relationship with the Ugandan Judiciary.  It is always good to see Justice K, and I had the opportunity to deliver to him a computer he had ordered during his trip to Pepperdine last month.  Justice K gave me an update on the logistics of my visit also, confirming that Shane and I will be sharing the huge office Shane currently occupies, and that they have been able to secure a car and a driver for me so I can get to and from work.  I had briefly considered trying to drive myself, but five minutes back in the city confirmed that this would be a horrible idea.  The road conditions, the fact that there are two stoplights in all of Uganda, and the fact that they drive on the other side of the road would be a recipe for disaster if I got behind the wheel.

From there, Shane and I headed off to the court of appeals to see if we could get some more clarity as to when Henry’s appellate case would be heard.  This is a critical piece of information because my family’s arrival date in Uganda in January has not been set precisely because we don’t know when the argument will take place.  Since I am arguing the case, we will move here a week or so in advance of the argument unless the argument is in February or later.  In that case, we will likely come in late January.  Fortunately, one of my Ugandan friends is the one who sets the hearing dates.  Unfortunately, he was in meetings all day, so we didn’t connect in person.  We did, however, connect telephonically, and have set up a meeting for Wednesday morning.

From the court of appeals, we headed back to Bugolobi (the suburb where I am staying now and will be living next year) to meet with a Ugandan lawyer (Valentine) who is directing a huge juvenile rights project.  This project involves all aspects of Ugandan juvenile law, and is being overseen by the Chief Justice of the Ugandan Supreme Court, but funded by both public and private sources.  Shane became aware of this project a few weeks ago, and we have been asked to play an active role in the juvenile justice/criminal law side of the project.  I look forward to working closely with Valentine when I return in January.

While we were meeting with Valentine, the rains came down and the floods came up.  The streets turned to rivers.  When it rains in Uganda, it rains hard.  I wish I had filmed it – it is too hard describe in words.  Picture the best shower you have ever had.  None of this pansy spray or pin-prick strands of water, but streams as thick as a baby’s arm gushing from the faucet at you.  Then picture that as far as the eye can see.  The roads that are paved have asphalt about a quarter inch thick, with red mud yawning through the surface every few feet.  Add this to a national allergy to any sort of drainage system, and you get red mud rivers that would support kayak races.  As we were driving (wading) through these rivers on the way back to the courthouse, I asked Tango (the driver) whether traffic slowed down when it rained (like it does in the US).  Negative.  It actually gets much lighter because people just don’t drive in it unless they have to.  (Ugandans’ sense of being on time is another national allergy, so they just wait).

I arrived at the office of the lawyer with whom I am working on Henry’s appeal at about two minutes before our scheduled meeting time of 3:00 p.m.  They were stunned to see me, and told me that they didn’t expect me to arrive at 3:00.  As I was saying . . .  I had a chance to chat with another lawyer in the office about the case, and the lead lawyer arrived around 3:15.  We talked for about thirty minutes, much of which time we devoted to Ugandan adoption/guardianship law.  This lawyer is truly top-notch and I have connected him with one of my former students in Texas who is very seriously considering adopting a Ugandan orphan.  This lawyer has also agreed to meet on Thursday with the American couple here in Uganda to see if he can be of assistance to them.

On my way back to the hotel, I stopped in to see the Criminal Court Registrar, the lawyer who manages the criminal court docket in Uganda, and we talked about some of the work I will be doing with that court next year.  I also stopped at the grocery store in Bugolobi, somewhat near where I will be living.  Joline had given me a list of things I was supposed to look for, but I could only remember one – American peanut butter.  Check.  What they don’t have, though, is Diet Coke (Coca-Cola Light).  Fortunately, there are plenty of other places in Kampala that do have it.

Back at the hotel, I met with the apartment manager and got another tour of the apartment where we will be staying next year.  (Actually, the apartment I looked at was the one below ours, where some new friends of ours from Oklahoma will be living for the same six months we will be here.  God has really blessed us with built-in community with a family who is eerily similar to ours.  More on this in a later post).

After catching up on some e-mail, I went down the restaurant to order some dinner to eat in my room.  They told me it would be 25 minutes, so I told them that I was going to get in a quick work out in the gym.  About a dozen curls (with barbells I borrowed from a ten year-old girl), two full minutes on the stationary bike (I went an entire kilometer), a handful of lat flies (like I know what that means), and I was done.  I hate lifting weights, and I really don’t want to further feed the rampant rumor mill at Pepperdine that I eat Steroids like Skittles.  Back at the restaurant, the waitress said “Wow, you are huge – that must have been a great workout.”  Actually, she said “Back already?  Your food should be here in fifteen minutes.”

I enjoyed my club sandwich and fries – after all, my two minutes on the exercise bike burned more than enough calories to cover the meal – then resumed reading about adoption law until about 9:30 a.m.  Lots more meetings tomorrow.

As I look back at how long this post is, I realize that I have violated the important principle I learned at the Restore Leadership Academy on Monday.  This piece of paper was taped to the wall:

I will try to heed it more carefully with tomorrow’s post.