How He Loves

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This past week, Monday through Thursday, I went with my school to Arizona. By the way, this is my first post since we returned to the US about two months ago. Nothing in my life has really been “blog worthy” until now. This wasn’t just a camp where we learned about nature and went hiking. No, this was a learn-more-about-yourself-and-your-savior trip. Just to let you know, I was tempted to write saviour instead of savior, which is the Ugandan/British way to spell it.

I feel like I really understood the point of the trip. The verse for the week was Ephesians 4:1-2 which says, “As a prisoner for the Lord, then, I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received. Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.” This verse pretty much tells us what to do to live a life worthy of the calling of God. When I was in Uganda, I was sure I was living the way God wanted me to be living. Since I’ve gotten back, it’s been harder to do that. I’m at school from 7:15 to 5:30 most days and I don’t have time to do anything. Or so I think.

 

One of the first nights in Arizona, we sang the song How He Loves. It tells us point blank how God loves us. Before Arizona, when I was singing that song, or any song, really, I would sing but I wouldn’t really hear the words. What I mean by that is that I would sing but I wouldn’t get anything out of the songs. I certainly wouldn’t apply it to my life.

 

You see, I think that I don’t have time to live a life worthy of the calling of God, but I do. While we were in Arizona, a girl told a story that broke my heart. On the last night, everyone on the trip was sharing something either that they learned about the week or really anything at all.  Her grandfather died from drug use and her mom would’ve, but she turned to God.  She was diagnosed with diabetes when she was four and is now twelve. Her parents recently told her that they were getting a divorce and that she has to tell her little sister. My friends’ sister looks up to her and she knows that it will break her heart when she finds out.

 

As you know, I’m a crier. I don’t know if I’ve ever shed that many tears in one night. Certainly not from one story. This showed me that we all need to love each other no matter what, and especially when one of us is going through a hard time. While at school, I can live a life worthy of the calling of God simply by showing compassion to others. I never knew it could be that simple.

I hope that everyone reading this remembers this. Whether young or old, a believer or a non-believer, rich or poor. GOD LOVES EVERYONE!!!! I wish I could make the words jump because that’s how much those words mean to me.

“He is jealous for me. Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree. Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy.

-How He Loves David Crowder Band

 

 

Love Always, Jennifer Gash

 

 

The Coolest Gift I Ever Received

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I have received many really great presents over the course of my lifetime.  A train set.  A bike.  Lots of ties.  A trip to Vegas.  And when I turned 40, my wife even bought me a car.

But I have never received a cooler gift than I got last night.  And it wasn’t even my birthday.  The really cool gift?

A door.  Yes, a door.  And not a new door.  It’s an old door.  But it’s not just any old door.  Let me explain.

When our dear friends Tim and Lucy Perrin left sunny, breezy, beautiful Malibu for parched, windy, desolate Lubbock this summer, Joline and I inherited the weekly law student Bible on Wednesday nights that used to meet in Tim and Lucy’s home.  Each week, the group of about seventy students meets to worship, pray, and hear an encouraging word from a speaker, which is typically a member of the law school faculty.

The first gathering was last week, but it was more of an informal get-to-know-each-other kind of thing.  We sang and prayed, but didn’t have a featured speaker.  We wanted to have the first speaker be someone who started the school year off right and who would draw a crowd.  We also wanted to have someone who personified this year’s theme of “Living a Life Worthy of the Calling We Have Received.”

For the four or fifth year in a row, Bob Goff and his law partner Danny DeWalt are teaching a non-profit law class on Wednesday nights.  Since Bob is one of my personal heroes and is perhaps the best storyteller I have ever heard, we asked Bob to kick off the year.  We happened to catch Bob at just the right time in his busy speaking schedule – he is in huge demand to speak all over the country in the wake of the release of his NYT Bestselling Book called “Love Does.”  It is must read.

Bob Goff Speaking to Pepperdine Law Students

True to form, Bob was awesome.  He encouraged the students not to be typical – to use the gifts God has given them to serve others.  He talked about how blessed he has been by those he has met during his travels to Uganda, where he operates a school in war-torn Northern Uganda.  He also talked about how inspired he was by “Two-Bunk John,” who was the Uganda country director for Bob’s organization Restore International for the past five years.  Two-Bunk John (Niemeyer) is now a first-year law student at Pepperdine and is in my Torts class.

I met John during my first trip to Uganda in January of 2010, which had been inspired by a talk Bob Goff gave in October of 2009, along with some heavy encouragement by Jay Milbrandt (author of “Go and Do”).  I met John at a juvenile Remand Home (prison) in Masindi, Uganda.  Over the course of a week, John, Jay, and I, along with three Pepperdine Law grads, interviewed the 21 juvenile prisoners and prepared legal briefs on their behalf, which helped them gain access to justice, and eventually freedom.  When I was back in Uganda earlier this year, we went back to that same prison and helped the 22 new prisoners there get access to justice as well.

As Bob was telling a bit of this story last night, I saw John slip out the back.  While I momentarily wondered where he was going, I thought little of his disappearance.  Near the end of his talk, Bob explained that he and John had gone to the juvenile prison in Masindi and ripped off the doors, adding a symbolic exclamation point to the idea of setting the captives permanently free.  (They, of course, bought and installed new doors to replace the ones they took).  As Bob concluded with a flourish, John re-emerged carrying a door.

I immediately recognized that door as the one that detained the female prisoners since the prison was built in the late 1960s.  I got goose bumps, and once again marveled at the power of Bob’s storytelling – he told a story about setting the captives free, and then he brought the door that had been ripped off the hinges in the process.  Genius.

And then the nickel dropped.  Bob turned to me and said, “John and I have been talking about it and we want you to have this door.”  Words on a page are incapable of describing the emotions that overtook me.  I concede that it sounds silly to be blown away by a gift of an old door, but I was.  I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t breathe, and I could barely see as tears welled up.  I eventually composed myself enough to join Bob at the front to receive the coolest gift I have ever received.

Bob, Jay, Jim, and John with the Door to the Masindi Remand Home

Joline, the kids, and I have figured out the perfect place for the door and will be posting a picture of it when we get it installed.

Welcome!

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I can hear the cheers through my kitchen window this morning as I wash the breakfast dishes.  It is New Student Orientation week at Pepperdine and the new freshmen are arriving.  Every time a car drives up the dorm road, the NSO counselors cheer so loudly that I can hear it from my house, which is located in the neighborhood next to campus.  This is their way of saying, “Welcome to Pepperdine!  We are glad you are here!”  We hope to hear those same cheers next year as we drive our daughter Jessica across the street to Pepperdine when she begins college.  How did she grow up so fast?

In Uganda, we often heard people say, “You are welcome” when we arrived at their home.  They said this before we said “Thank you” so we were a bit confused at first.  But we learned that when they say, “You are welcome” it simply means welcome to my home.  Ugandans do their very best to make visitors feel welcome.  Many times when we visited a home, we were served cold sodas and a meal that included some kind of meat.  Sodas and meat are luxury items there, so it meant a lot to us that they would spend their limited resources to treat us to something special.

Our kids started school last week at Oaks Christian School.  Lots of food was involved in welcoming them.  Jennifer is a new 7th grader there, and enjoyed a nice lunch of pizza, chips, and cookies for new middle school students.  Joshua is a new freshman, so he attended the mandatory ice cream social.  Why does it have to be mandatory?  If you serve it, they will come.  Jessica is a senior, and went to the In-N-Out Burger night for high school students the night before school began.  They all felt welcome and were excited to start school on Thursday.

First Day of School

What would my kids think if, when they came home from school today, I cheered at the top of my voice and handed them a cold drink?  They might think I had lost my mind!  Or they might just feel special.

Our friend’s mom passed away last week.  I bet she received a welcome in heaven that was better than anything we could imagine.

Even Faster Than J-FASTER

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Delivering the Final Report to Chief Justice Odoki

One of the hardest things about leaving Uganda three weeks ago was the fact that the Masindi J-FASTER session for children imprisoned at the Ihungu Remand Home was scheduled to begin the following week.  While the Kampala J-FASTER session had taken the full 90 days we had allotted for it, we believed we could deliver justice to imprisoned children even faster.

Accordingly, the Masindi session was fast(er) tracked.  Our goal was to reduce by 30 days the time it took to get the children through the process.  The Pepperdine lawyers flew in from Malibu and the Pepperdine students drove up to Masindi from Kampala to interview the kids and prepare their cases in mid-June.  As mentioned previously, joining the Pepperdine team was Abby Skeans, a Regent Law student who was also spending her summer in Uganda.  While in Uganda, Abby served as a legal intern for Sixty Feet – a Christian NGO headquartered in Atlanta, Georgia.  Given my close friendship with the Sixty Feet team, and given the good relationship Pepperdine enjoys with Regent, I had the privilege of “supervising” Abby during her eight weeks in Uganda.

From the beginning, Abby blended in easily with the Pepperdine students.  She was also very proactive and eager to get things accomplished.  For example, Abby took Pepperdine’s idea of creating a digital tracking system for all juvenile prisoners in Uganda (so that no kids would ever fall through the cracks again) and ran with it.  She and I initially met with the various Ministry of Gender officials who could approve such a project, and then she took the baton and sprinted forward.  Since I left Uganda, the final approvals for a pilot database project have been secured, and the database has been developed, thanks in no small part to computer wiz Dan Owens of Sixty Feet.  We hope to have the database project in place in the next few weeks.  A more complete description of this program and its current status is here in Abby’s blog.

Since Abby came to Kampala a few weeks later than the Pepperdine students, she was also staying in Uganda several weeks after we all left.  This meant that she would be around when the Masindi J-FASTER session started.  Additionally, a court official named Sarah, who had worked very closely with us in the Kampala session, also agreed to travel back and forth to Masindi in order to ensure that the J-FASTER procedures were both understood and observed by the court officials in Masindi.  Sarah’s expenses were covered by Sixty Feet.  An additional bonus is that Sarah had previously worked closely with the High Court judge who would be presiding over the Masindi J-FASTER session.  This same judge had worked closely with the Pepperdine team that had first traveled to Masindi for a juvenile justice project in January of 2010 during my first visit to Uganda.

As I experienced during my time in Uganda, it is foolish to expect everything to go according to plan.  That simply never happens.  Indeed, in Masindi, plenty went wrong.  For example, the lawyer who was supposed to represent the children went on leave the week before the trials were to start.  Fortunately, Abby was able to cajole her back from a different part of Uganda just in time.  As with the Kampala J-FASTER session, Sixty Feet generously funded the costs of the session so that these kids would not continue to languish in prison – some had been there for more than two years just waiting for someone to do something.  Additionally, as the session began, some “irregularities” developed with respect to the funds that had been deposited with the court.  Abby, Sarah, and others got this straightened out and recovered the “misplaced” funds. Abby and Sarah also gently, or not so gently, urged the rest of the players to complete their tasks – the role I had played in Kampala – and the session finally got underway in late July.

Just before I left, I had traveled to Masindi with Sarah, another Ugandan attorney, and two Pepperdine law students for a plea bargaining session with the prosecuting and defense attorneys. During that meeting, we had reached plea agreements on approximately three quarters of the twenty-two cases.  At that time, the lawyers agreed to continue discussions about the others.  When the court session began two weeks ago, however, they attorneys had reached deals on all but one of the cases.  Accordingly, the session moved forward with virtually no work to be done by the trial judge.  The following week, almost all of the children were sentenced, mostly in accordance with plea deals had been reached.  Most of these kids are now being resettled back home as I write this.  While each case is unique and tragic, one case really stands out from the others.

One of the boys, call him Sam, had been charged with murdering his father.  There was no dispute that his father had been killed, the question was simply who did it.  Prior to his arrest, Sam was in school and doing well, even though his father had moved his family from place to place about once a year.  Sam’s father was a physically abusive alcoholic and dabbled in Ugandan traditional healing (witch doctor stuff).  The family’s frequent moves were usually occasioned by his father being driven out of town by the locals.  From everything we could gather, it appeared that either Sam or his mother had killed Sam’s father after a particularly brutal series of physically abusive episodes against Sam and his mother.  After Sam was arrested, the police say that Sam initially confessed that he had killed his father, but he later insisted that he didn’t do it.  While in the Ihungu Remand Home, Sam had become the spiritual leader of the boys.  He also ached to resume his education.

During the plea discussions, the attorney representing the children reported that Sam would not plead guilty to a crime he did not commit.  Since he had been at Ihungu for less than a year, and since the maximum sentence for a juvenile is three years, he very likely faced more than two additional years in prison if he was convicted of the crime.  After I returned to the United States, I learned that a plea deal had later been reached that would result in Sam serving only an additional ten months in exchange for a plea of guilty.  Reluctantly, Sam accepted the deal, even though it is increasingly clear that he is taking the fall for another family member who actually killed Sam’s father.  Sam’s plight had so captured the attention (and heart) of Sixty Feet that they had agreed to sponsor his continuing education after he finished serving his additional sentence.  Earlier this week, I learned that after hearing about Sam’s case, the sentencing judge rejected the plea deal.  The judge had been so impressed by Sam, and had been so touched by Sixty Feet’s willingness to sponsor Sam’s return to school, Sam was sentenced to . . . time served.  Abby reports that upon hearing his sentence, Sam dropped to his knees and began offering a prayer of thanksgiving to God.  He has since been transported to Kampala where he will resume school in two weeks.

Here are a couple other quick updates.  First, the trial in the final case in the Kampala J-FASTER session concluded just before I left, but the judge had not yet entered her verdict.  The two adults charged with murder in this case (the juvenile had been dismissed from the consolidated case) were convicted and sentenced to 40 and 35 years, respectively.  Had they accepted a plea bargain, they would have saved themselves about twenty years each.  Hopefully the word will spread around the prison so that more will be willing to plea bargain.

Second, Henry has now finished his second of three terms of his Senior 5 year.  He continues to very much enjoy school and has lots of friends.  It is difficult to tell for sure how well he is doing because the school intentionally grades the students very hard the first two terms.  (Henry’s understanding is that he is somewhere near the middle of his class in the top school in the country where he is studying).  Only two of the two hundred in his class met the standard that the school says it will require everyone to meet next term in order to advance to the final Senior 6 year of secondary school.  I understand from numerous sources that the top schools routinely give low marks in the first two terms as a motivational tool for their students.

Final Dinner with Chief Justice and Deputy Chief Justice

My intent is to resume posting once or twice a week from this point forward.  In my next post, I will add my perspective, for what it is worth, to the recent debate about Chick Fil A, free speech, and marriage.

So what now?

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I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who’s thinking this. I know some of Throwing Starfish’s readers are wondering, “So what now?” Believe it or not, but some people checked our blog every day. The truth is I don’t know what’s next. Ever since I got back, I’ve been wondering the same thing. I feel like I have this part of me that’s screaming at me to go back.

Back where I feel accepted. Where I know that someone loves me. Where I know that there is a little boy who will be so grateful for medical attention that he will stick around the building until we leave just to say thank you. Someone that will run and grab my hand and never ever let go. I want God to hold my hand and never let go. Please, God, don’t ever let go.

I know that God is always with me. I know that. Sometimes, there are certain places where the signal sort of gets weaker. The signal is the strongest in Uganda. Back “home”, or at least what’s supposed to be home, I don’t feel God with me as much as I want to. I want to feel like God is always sitting right next to me in the car. And I just don’t feel that.

When I look outside at the mountains to my left and the ocean to my right, I feel truly blessed. Even though I missed my ocean in Uganda, I still yearn to go back to the place where I left half of my heart. To the Pearl of Africa. I’m very proud of Uganda as a country. Since the genocide, they have had to rebuild what was torn down. The Ugandans have built facilities that help the woman who have had their lips cut off during the genocide. They have received new lips. Those women are gaining back their confidence.

I was watching the Olympic opening ceremonies last night, and when Uganda walked across the stadium with their flag, I was proud of them. Even though there were so few competing for Uganda, I’m glad they came. I think it’s amazing that those men and women can represent their country. Uganda is a beautiful country with beautiful people. And they deserve to be recognized.

So what now? I hope that this helped you to see “what now.” I know that a part of me will always want to return to Uganda. I’m sure that I will someday, I just don’t know when. But for now, I’m stuck in California. I guess I’ll just have to see what God has planned for me.

Thanks,

Jennifer Gash

Final and Fond Farewells

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We made the most of our last few days in Uganda.  On Sunday, we visited the Kampala Church of Christ for the first time, and got to say goodbye to a couple of good people we met shortly after we arrived.  We also spent two hours with Justice Kiryabwire, who runs the Pepperdine/Uganda Judiciary program from Uganda’s end.

Monday was delivery day for the sixty-five page Final Report I had wrote about my work over the prior six months.  I felt like a paperboy as I drove around town dropping off copies of the report and saying goodbye to those who had worked so hard to ensure the program was successful.  The day culminated in a very nice dinner party Chief Justice Odoki hosted at the Serena Hotel for me, my family, and the highest ranking members of the judiciary.  There were lots of speeches, gifts, and fond farewells.

On Tuesday morning, we got up early and drove out to the Naguru Remand Home, which is the juvenile prison with which I have been working.  I had a chance to say goodbye to the officials and to give the kids there a final word of encouragement.

Talking to the Kids at the Remand Home

With Probation Officers Marie and Hussein

On the heels of our successful Crocodile Farm trip the prior weekend, we ventured out to the Snake Park out near the airport in Entebbe.  We brought with us Sarah Nassimbwa, with whom I had worked closely at the court, and her five year-old son.  Sarah took him out of school for this educational field trip.  We saw pythons, cobras, and other dangerous snakes native to the region.

The Kids with Sarah and her Son, Rayan

I had called the week before to make sure we were there at feeding time, but they had inexplicably fed them the day before instead.  Accordingly, we saw lots of fat snakes and several lucky baby chickens who had barely survived the carnage from the day before.

Later that afternoon, we visited Henry one last time at his school.  We cherished the time we had to pray with him and his wonderful physics teacher.  Henry’s end-of-term exams begin next week, so prayers are welcomed.

The Gash Family with Henry and his Physics Teacher, Jonathan

We ended the long day at my driver’s house with his family.  They killed the proverbial fatted calf for us, and fed us his liver.  Apparently, nothing says “welcome to my home” in Uganda quite like a plate of liver – Henry’s family had done the same thing when we visited their home in Hoima in early February.  My family doesn’t like liver, but we did our best to gratefully accept what they offered.  In fact, Jessica repeatedly told them that “this is the best liver I have ever had,” which was true, but seemed to be leaving out some important other details.  Michael informed us that we were the first Mzungus ever to visit his house.

Joline and I with Michael's Family

On Wednesday, we loaded up and set off for the airport in the afternoon.  The flights were uneventful, and we landed in San Francisco at noon on Thursday and were greeted at the airport by my folks and Joline’s folks.  As I type this on Friday morning, the kids are still sleeping so we have adjusted well to the time difference.  Later today, we will celebrate Jessica’s 17th birthday.  Later this month, we will drive back down to Southern California to resume our lives in the United States.

We are grateful those of you who have kept up with our adventure, and who have prayed for us along the way.  Your prayers were felt and very much appreciated.  We are eager to catch up with you in person, and to hear about what we have missed.

We intend to continue to provide updates about the ongoing work in Uganda and how our time there has changed us.  God bless you.

Goodbye, Uganda

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I can’t believe I already have to say goodbye. It seems like just yesterday I was boarding a plane to come here. The good thing is that I feel like I’ve accomplished what I personally came here to do: #1-Make a difference in someone’s life. #2-Strengthen my relationship with God. #3-See the beautiful things in nature that the Lord has created (ex. The Great Rift Valley, Murchison Falls, and all the breathtaking animals on safari.)

Making a difference in someone’s life may seem like it’s hard, but it just wait until you’ve come to Africa. I’ve realized that I’ve not only made a difference in a Ugandan child’s life; I’ve made a difference in mine. I know that might sound a little cliché, but it’s true. It seems the worst part about leaving is knowing you’re never going to come back. But I am. For sure!

I also wanted to thank all of my readers. You have been very helpful and supportive! Sometimes your comments make me tear up, though. But not because I don’t like them; they’re beautiful. Thank you all for praying for us and I know that you are with us every step of the way. We need extra prayers tonight. At eleven thirty, we’re going home. Well, to one of the many places I call home. It just amazes me how fast time flies when you’re spending it with God and people you love and cherish.

Love Always, Jennifer

Of Equatorial Crocodiles and Road Meat

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This past week was a busy one, as I worked to complete a final report of my six months in Uganda.

Late last week, I went to Masindi for the last time to finish the work that the Pepperdine students, Pepperdine lawyers, and I started in an effort to help the twenty-two juveniles currently imprisoned at the Ihungu Remand Home awaiting their day in court.  I brought with me two Ugandan lawyers who had participated in the J-FASTER session in Kampala that just ended.  The two lawyers served as the mediators for the plea bargaining discussions between the prosecuting and defense attorneys that took place.

The goal was for me (and the two Pepperdine law interns that joined us – Samantha Placeres and Jacob Franz) to sit back and observe as we handed over responsibility for plea bargaining to the Ugandans who would remain here when we left.  The key is sustainability.  It was difficult for me not to jump in when things stalled a bit, and I ended up talking more than I intended to.  In the end, however, we reached plea deals on almost all of the cases.  Happily, the judge who will be hearing the cases is the same one with whom we worked in 2010, and he isn’t waiting around – the juvenile session begins next week, and he scheduled it for only one week, confident that the plea bargains will hold.

My good friends from Sixty Feet (including Abby Skeans, a Regent Law student with whom I have been working) will be attending the court session and helping in any way they can.  I have given them all the forms and background they need to make sure it goes smoothly.  I really wish I was here for one more week so I could be there to assist, but since the goal is to train them to do this on their own, God’s timing for my departure is better than my own.

One distinctly African delicacy I have wanted to taste for a while is what is fondly called “Road Meat.”  At the junction where one branches off the main road to Masindi sits Uganda’s version of a truck stop.  Rather than Pizza Hut, Subway, and Burger King, however, there are about 150 individual hawkers selling fried bananas, chapattis (essentially tortillas), water, warm sodas, and Road Meat.  The Road Meat consists of chunks of meat (unclear what kind) that are skewered onto long wooden sticks and (allegedly) cooked on the wire grills over open fires alongside the road.  My friend Jesse who heads the IJM office here in Kampala has been telling me for six months how good it is – best meat he has ever had.  He has only gotten sick once, and it was worth it, or so he says.  My friend Bob, however, has only had it once, and he got sick.  Real sick.  The way he described the immediate aftermath (and I mean immediate, and by math, I mean multiple exit points) I was pretty sure I didn’t want none of that.

But I was hungry.  Real hungry.  And I was leaving Uganda soon.  Real soon.  So when we reached the junction last Thursday, I told Michael to pull over – “Road meat for everyone – on me.”  Each skewer is 1,000 shillings.  The fact that a stick of meat was only 40 cents probably should have been a hint as to its quality.  One tip Jesse had given me was to insist that the meat be put back on the fire for a few minutes before eating it, so I purposed to do so.

When we pulled over, the masses descended.  There were at least thirty people shoving handfuls of sticks into our windows and begging us to buy from them.  I got out, pushed through the crowd, walked over to one of the fires and declared that I wanted six sticks of meat put on this fire.  The quickest one got the business.

Road Meat

Jesse was right – it was good.  Real good.  It was heavily seasoned, and kinda fatty, but delicious. My guess is that it was goat, but it could have been dog, for all I knew.  On the way back that evening, I stopped again for more Road Meat.  Happily, there was no leakage.

Speaking of exotic meats, my family and I ate four “crocodile wings” on Saturday.  A few months ago, a former student of mine introduced my family to a young lady whose family owns and operates the only crocodile farm in Uganda (actually, in all of East Africa).  We have been talking about going there since then, and finally did so this past weekend with one of the Pepperdine interns who is still here, Jenny Arnold.

Needless to say, I had never been to a crocodile farm before.  They had about 60 stalls that were packed with crocs of roughly the same age and development.  Our guide told us that having them the same age allowed for roughly equal competition for food at feeding times.

“Feeding times?  Um, when are those?”

“On Mondays and Thursdays.”

“Shoot, we missed it.  What do they eat?”

“Beef, fish, and chicken.”

“Are the chickens alive?”

“Of course.”

“Um, if I bought a chicken, could we feed one to them?”

“Sure.”

“Where can I get a chicken?  Now.”

I immediately gave the guide money for the purchase of two live chickens.  Within a few minutes, we had the chickens.  I felt guilty sacrificing these chickens for the amusement of my family, but I am a really good dad and it was all about the children.  I am quite a bit above the juvenile pleasures derived from watching animals eaten alive . . .

It was awesome!  The guide chose a 30 by 80 foot pen with two huge crocs, aptly named Romeo and Juliet.  When he threw the first chicken in, Romeo moved quickly.

Romeo Giving Chase

Henny Penny barely saw him coming.  Romeo got a death grip on her and then took her under water.

Captured!

We weren’t sure if the strategy was to drown Henny, or just to help wash her down.  The second chicken learned from his friend’s mistake and high tailed it into a corner.  Juliet seemed a bit thick and didn’t seem to realize what was happening.  She just chilled next to Romeo as he choked down Henny.  After a few minutes, our guide got a bit impatient and jumped into the pen to grab the chicken.

This got Juliet’s attention and she hustled out of the water in the middle of the pen and started scampering toward our guide, whose back was turned as he was grabbing the chicken.  Even I am not sick enough to enjoy that kind of sport, so I was rooting for Ugandan dude to get out in time.  He grabbed the chicken and in one motion, whirled and threw it toward Juliet as she got within ten feet of him.  The chicken glanced off of Juliet’s snout and skidded into the water behind her.  Juliet was momentarily torn between the tasty morsel of a chicken, and the fully satisfying meal of the guide.  Her hesitation cost her dearly.  As dude scrambled out of the pen, Romeo pounced and treated himself to second breakfast.  When the whole scene was over, I felt like I needed a cigarette or three.  It was that satisfying.  But it was all about the kids.  At least as far as you know.

After that show, it seemed a bit anti-climactic to hold a croc, but it was still cool.

Holding the Baby Croc

Even Jennifer Held the Croc

Our friend whose family owns the croc farm arranged for them to cook us four crocodile “wings.”  They don’t actual serve croc meat there, so it was a real treat.  Guess what they tasted like?  I guess it is true that you are what you eat.  We all had some, but my youngest daughter Jennifer when to town, eating more than any of us.

From the croc farm, we drove a bit farther south to the Equator.  It reminded me of a road stop in New Mexico or Arizona where the Native Americans sell their wares in makeshift stalls by the highway.  There were lots of African trinkets, but there was also a line on the road that ran all the way into a shop.  That was the Equator itself.  Not an estimate of where they Equator might be, but the exact place where it was.  And the owner of the shop proved it.  There were three bowls, each with a hole in the bottom set up.  One on the Equator and one each five meters on either side.  For a mere ten thousand shillings (four bucks), the shop owner poured a bucket of water into each bowl, one at a time, to demonstrate that, indeed, on one side of the Equator, the water drained clockwise, on the other side counterclockwise, and on the Equator, straight down.  It was really cool, but I didn’t need a cigarette afterward.

Equatorial Fun

A Fitting End to a Wonderul Adventure

Made in the Streets

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A few weeks ago, we left for Kenya. We went to Made in the Streets, or MITS, as everyone calls it, with our youth group from Malibu. MITS is an organization that takes in street kids from slums like Eastleigh and Mathare Valley. MITS is just outside of Nairobi in a town called Kamulu. It consists of a Tea House, Hair Salon, Boys Dormitory, Girls Dormitory, Learning Center, Children’s Center, Computer Lab, and Skills Center. All of these are spread out in different parts of Kamulu, all are still within walking distance of each other.
The process of learning from the streets to graduating is rather simple. First, the child has to be between the ages of 12 and 15. They have to go to the Made in the Streets compound in Eastleigh. There are weekly bible and academic classes for the kids. They also get fed and play soccer (they call it football). If they come each week for six months, then they start the process of going to “The Farm” (The MITS place in Kamulu). They have to get a parent or guardian signature letting them leave to Kamulu.
Once in Kamulu, they start classes. They do English, Bible, Math, Science, and even computers. After a few years (the time varies), they have to pass a high school equivalency test. Once they do, they begin more specialized training.
The skills center is where most of them go. It consists of a tailoring class, catering class, and woodshop class. They can also pick computers, hair dressing, and auto mechanics, all of which are in Kamulu, but not at the skills center. After about two years of specialized training, they graduate. They are given an allowance for a while, while they find a job, then they’re on their own. Many come back to work at MITS a few years later.
There are over thirty girls and over fifty boys. The girl’s dormitory has a special place for mothers with children, as a few have children when they come to MITS. The babies and children go to the children’s center during the day, along with the staff members’ children, and get to be with their mother at night. The children’s center is basically a preschool for young children. It is run by two mothers (not students), and there are about ten children there. They learn basic English and numbers, and they are very happy. The oldest is six, and the youngest is about nine months old. I spent most of my time there. (for me, the love of God was almost tangible)
We did a four-day VBS program for a few hours for the first week, went on safari for a few days, then did a week long soccer camp ending in a tournament and feast. During the days, we would help out making lunch for the students, teaching them, visiting the skills center, and helping out at the Children’s Center. (my favorite)
Leaving was hard, but I plan to go on future mission trips there.

It’s what the Lord has done in me

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Let the weak say I am strong

Let the poor say I am rich

Let the blind say I can see

It’s what the Lord has done in me

I’ve been thinking about what the Lord has done in me while I’ve been here. In four days, I’m going home. But is it really home? Where is home? “Home is where the heart is.” Or maybe, “Home is where you feel the closest to your family and to the Lord.” The second one sounds more accurate. At least for me. When we were flying back from Kenya a few weeks ago, it was late at night. Just as we could see the twinkling lights from the city that I have called home for the last six months, I turned to my mom, with tears in my eyes, and said, “Mom, we’re home.” And I meant it.

During my time here, I’ve learned more than I ever thought would.  I learned about myself, my family, my friends, and my Lord. He has taught me to see sick children, and not to run away, afraid that I would catch whatever disease they had. God taught me to see sick children, and to run to them. To nurture them, and to not worry about whether I caught their disease. Even if I did, I would be treated with no hesitation by my pharmacist sister and brother.

When I first arrived here, I was hesitant to learn new things. It was sort of like I was trying to hide from something that would be a challenge for me. Now, I will eat or do anything that, in the US, would be considered, “dangerous,” or “inhumane.” In fact, yesterday, I ate crocodile. Yes, you read that right. Crocodile. And it was delicious! Another new thing I’ve learned: I see Jesus everywhere. In the little children, in my family, and in the homeless people on the streets of Kampala. But mostly in the little children. Sometimes, I just want to say, “Little Girl, you have some Jesus in your eyes. By that, I mean that I can just see Jesus when I look into her beautiful brown face.

“Let the blind say I can see.” My experience here has taught me how to see. Before, I was blind. Blind to my surroundings. I didn’t understand that there were literally millions of orphans who needed a mommy and a daddy to cuddle with. I was blind-or I guess you could say deaf-to the Lord speaking to me. I’m not saying that I can physically hear the Lord all the time. I’m just saying that I know what he wants me to do, and I’m doing it.

“Let the poor say I am rich.” Whenever we visit someone’s home in a village, we get to really see what poverty is. “Though I’m weak and I’m poor, all I have is yours. Every single breath.” The people really live that way. They just leak Jesus!  When I’m with them, in their houses that are smaller than my bedroom, I feel happier than when I am at home. Even though they’re poor, the people are more grateful than most Americans. They trust the Lord to provide them with food and water. They walk entirely by faith. At least the ones who can walk.

“Let the weak say I am strong.” When we were driving to church today, a man in a wheelchair (pushed by a teenage boy) came up to our window looking for money. This man not only had no legs; he had no hands, either. Even though he was weak, he was still smiling. He was being strong. Yesterday, I scraped my head on the barbed wire. Ouch! In that moment, I knew I needed to be strong. But I wasn’t really weak. Sometimes, we think we’re being strong, but really, we’re being tough. Being strong means having to fend for yourself. Being strong means being a seventy year old who doesn’t have a job because she can’t walk woman trying to take care of her daughter’s children.

When I go home, I’m going to miss a lot of things. Mostly my country, Uganda. But also the shrill cries of, “Mzungu, Mzungu!!” I’m actually tearing up right now just thinking about. Instead of thinking of it as a rude thing to yell at someone, I see it as a term of endearment. I know that the children don’t have bad intentions; they just don’t know our names. I will miss clinic work and children tugging on my skirt.  I will also miss sharing a room with my older sister. Did I mention I will miss my country?  Oh, Uganda, how you’ve changed me! It’s what the Lord has done in me.

Thanks for reading, Jennifer