Raise your hand if you hit a boda driver this week while driving to work, sending him tumbling off of his motorcycle into the intersection right in front a police officer who was directing traffic during rush hour.

What?  No one else?  Am I the only one with my hand raised?

With less than two weeks to go, the memorable events continue to “pile up,” so to speak.  After I waited about seven minutes as the third or fourth car in line at a controlled intersection, the traffic cop started waiving us forward, allowing vehicles to either go straight or turn right.  A mass of bodas (motorcycle taxis) swarmed forward like Africanized honey bees so I started slowly and tried to let everyone clear.  This left a pretty large gap in front of me as I began to proceed straight through the intersection.

As I picked up speed, a boda on my left side (remember, the driver is on the right side of the car) tried to pass me in order to turn right.  Unfortunately, his back tire clipped my left front bumper, causing him to spin out and then go down.  Hard.  With his bike on top of him.  Right in front of my car.  Since I saw the whole thing happen, and since I was going no more than 15 MPH on impact, I was able to stop before running him over.  Though dazed, he didn’t appear to be injured as he lifted the bike off of himself and slowly rose to his feet.  His already-beat-up bike seemed to be OK, other than the fact that the seat had bent over to one side.  He put it back in place and then looked up at me.  We made eye contact from a distance of about five meters.  On the other side of the intersection was a gathering of about fifty boda drivers waiting for their turn to enter the intersection.  Seeing them brought instant flashbacks to several criminal cases I have worked on where boda drivers formed a flash mob and beat the living posho out of those who angered them.

Gulp.

As I looked at the guy I hit, I lifted my hands and shrugged as if to say, “My bad, you OK, dude?”  He simply shrugged back as if to say, “You are lucky I am not hurt or fifty of my closest friends over there would beat you like the step kid of an ugly goat.”  Just over the shoulder of the boda driver, I noticed the police officer in the middle of the intersection marching toward me, angrily blowing his whistle, and shaking his finger at me as if to say, “Forget the boda drivers.  I have a stationhouse full of police officers who will skin you like a goat at a wedding feast if you don’t . . .”

What did he want me to do?  I just stared at him frozen.  It was then that I realized the huge herd of cars behind me were furiously honking because I was holding up traffic.  The cop then over-exaggerated a motion that clearly meant I was supposed to go around the boda driver and proceed on my way.  So I did.

About three hours later, my pulse finally began to slow.  I am not sure I can handle any more excitement over the course of our last two weeks here.

A few updates before I close.  The final juvenile was sentenced on Friday, which officially ended the J-FASTER session.  All fifteen of the juveniles’ cases in the Pilot Program resolved prior to a verdict.  Two of the four cases that also involved adults are wrapping up this next week.  At the same time, I am feverishly trying to finish the final report and recommendations for how the structures can be changed so that no juveniles in Uganda will ever again be warehoused while waiting for trial, and so that the integration of plea bargaining into the adult criminal justice system can dramatically reduce the backlog of cases and thereby substantially reduce the waiting time before trial.

On Wednesday night, we had celebrated the Fourth of July at our place with most of the Pepperdine law students (and a Regent law student) who are over here right now working for various members of the Ugandan Judiciary.

On Thursday night, Joline, the kids, and I spoke to all 200+ soon-to-be-graduating students at Henry’s school.  Our assignment was to compare the U.S. educational system to that of Uganda and to discuss what potential opportunities there were for Ugandans to go to college in America.  Fortunately, we had with us a graduate from that same secondary school who had just finished his sophomore year at Pepperdine.  We had a great time and the students seemed to enjoy having us there.  At the end, they gave us all nicknames:

Joline was given the name “Kirabo,” which means “Gift.”

Jessica was given the name “Birungi,” which means “The Beautiful One” (she was quite popular with the boys there).

Joshua was given the name “Rukundo,” which means “Love” (he was quite popular with the girls there).

Jennifer was given the name Sanyu, which means “Joy” (they thought she was adorable).

And I was given the name Habomugisha, which means “The Lucky One.”  It was clear to them that I was blessed to be married to Joline and to have Jessica, Joshua, and Jennifer as my children.  Amen.

In Uganda, like the rest of Africa, storytelling is a highly valued and important part of culture.  Consequently, conversations with Ugandans usually last longer than with westerners because they tend to add details that, while unnecessary to the story, provide additional color and flavor.  Accordingly, when a lawyer asks a witness a question in court, the answer is often lengthy and larded with irrelevant asides and impertinent context.  And when the lawyer’s questioning is being translated from English to Munyonkole, and when the witness’s answer is being translated from Munyonkole to English, and then from English to Luganda so the defendants can understand the evidence being offered against them, the trial can proceed unmercifully slowly.

Fortunately, the judge presiding over the J-FASTER Pilot Program runs a tight ship and did her best to keep the lawyers and witnesses on task.  Nevertheless, due to a lack of training among the lawyers, and a lack of discipline among the witnesses, trial on Monday proceeded painfully slowly.  We got through two witnesses over the course of three hours in a murder case against two adults – the juvenile had already been dismissed.

On Tuesday, the lone trial (among fifteen cases) against a juvenile was dismissed by the prosecution because they were unable to locate any witnesses who could place the juvenile at the scene of the crime.  From my review of the police report, however, it appeared that there was plenty of reason to believe the child had been involved in a robbery that went wrong such that the victim ultimately died.  Accordingly, after the case was dismissed, I asked the probation officers if I could speak directly to juvenile, whom I knew spoke English.  I had also been told he had been a leader at the Remand Home, serving as a pastor (of sorts) for the others over the past year.

I asked the prosecutor, who is also a person of faith, to join me as we first congratulated the boy on having his case dismissed.  He was naturally quite pleased and accepted our congratulations gratefully.  The conversation then turned serious.  I explained to him that we had read the file and that it appeared to us he had actually been involved in the crime.  He looked down in apparent shame, not at all contradicting my suggestion.  I proceeded to tell him I believed the had been given a second chance at freedom and now had an opportunity to distance himself from the life he had previously led (apparently involved in a gang).  I told him I also believed he had been given this chance for a reason, that he was meant to be a leader for good in his community, and that he needed to live like the man of God he had become.  The prosecutor chimed in with her own words of admonition and encouragement.  The boy’s response was exactly what we had hoped – he agreed and accepted the fact that he needed to live differently and promised us he would.  I pray he will do just that.

Before heading to the airport, I met with Abby, the Regent Law school student I am working with who is interning at Sixty Feet in Kampala this summer, and with Mark Riley, the Welshman working for UNICEF with the Ministry of Gender.  Mark and I have become rather close friends over the past six months as we work toward the common goal of helping Ugandans implement a system for ensuring that orphaned Ugandan children are not improperly/illegally/unethically placed into inter-country adoption.  To be fair, Mark has been doing this work and I have been trying to connect him with the lawyers who practice in this area so that a consensus can be reached on how to accomplish this task without shutting down the entire process.  But our meeting was not about inter-country adoption.  Instead, we met to discuss a project Abby and I have been working on that would create a database to track all children in conflict with the law in Uganda so that no kids would ever slip through the cracks again in juvenile prisons.  Abby has taken and run with the project, and Mark has been very helpful in guiding us on how to navigate the governmental bureaucracy so we can get the Ministry to sign off on it.  He has also connected us with an organization who has agreed to create the interface for this database free of charge.  We hope to launch this pilot program at the Naguru Remand Home in July.

Later Tuesday evening, I flew to Kenya to join my family for the remainder of the week at the compound of a Christian Organization called “Made in the Streets” (MITS).  MITS recruits kids living on the streets of Nairobi (typically living as thieves, drunks, and/or glue-sniffers) who want to have a different life.  After demonstrating their seriousness by attending church and other gatherings over an extended period of time, the children are allowed to come and live at The Farm in Kamulu (outside of Nairobi), where they resume school and are taught a trade – catering/hospitality, sewing/tailoring, woodworking/carpentry, computers/information technology, salon/hair care or farming/agriculture.  The lives of these otherwise hopeless children are transformed in amazing ways.

On Wednesday morning, I joined the University Church of Christ youth group and a few of the parents on a trip to the streets where the children in MITS used to live.  We accompanied one of the graduates of the program, who now works for MITS, to his childhood home.  To call it sobering would be embarrassingly Pollyannish.  The jagged nail-laden metal roofs hanging over the narrow pathway between the aluminum-sided shacks adjoining each other rendered the labyrinthian walk through the mud rather precarious.  The stench of urine and feces as it meandered along the nearby ditch was thick enough to taste.  When we finally reached our destination, the ten of us passed through the curtain into the 8 foot by 10 foot shanty.  Nine people lived there when our guide was growing up.  The rent is 1,000 Kenyan Shillings a month — $12.50.  Even that pittance seemed like highway robbery for this “home,” which had no electricity, running water, or toilet facilities.  Inside were a couple beds, a few chairs, a bench, a table, and a pot for cooking over a small wood-burning stove.  I have seen grinding poverty in Uganda, but Mathare Valley here in Nairobi (where 2.5 million people live in three square-mile area) eclipses what I have observed by a comfortable margin.

Meanwhile, back in Uganda on Wednesday, the last two juvenile cases were resolved without trial, and two of the remaining kids received their plea-bargained sentences.  Next week, everything will be wrapped up and I will begin frantically compiling the final report, which I intend to distribute before we head home . . . three weeks from now.

It struck me today that my time in Uganda is coming to a close.  We are “wheels up” four weeks from today.  I am frequently asked whether I am ready to leave and/or looking forward to going home.  As is usually the case toward the end of lengthy trips, the answer to such questions is complicated.  We certainly miss our family and friends and look forward to reuniting with them, but we will very much miss Uganda also.  Before we go, though, much remains to be done, including in court.

Today was the last day the court was hearing cases this week, and it was every bit as interesting as yesterday.  The first case called involved a boy whom everyone (including his fellow prisoners) is convinced is mentally unstable.  I know jack about jack in this area, but it seems to me that he is autistic.  When I first met the boy, it was immediately obvious he was several shillings short of a full dollar.  He was noticeably detached and he assiduously avoided eye contact.  His emotions and body language failed to track that of the other boys when we spoke as a group.

According to the police report, the facts of his case are undisputed.  He allegedly confessed to brutally and premeditatedly murdering an employee of his family’s metal working business.  He had purportedly snuck into the hut where the man was sleeping and unleashed a flurry of furious panga strokes that spilled the decedent’s guts out onto the ground.  The apparent motive was fear that the decedent would take over the family’s business after the boy’s father died, which had just happened.

When the session started two weeks ago, the judge granted the defense’s motion to have the boy examined by a doctor to determine whether he was fit to stand trial in the murder case against him.  Accordingly, his case was adjourned to the following week.  While he was being examined at the mental hospital, however, he requested permission to make a short call (number one).  Instead, he scaled the wall and disappeared.  That was a week ago Sunday.  The next day, a matatu driver (public taxi) called the police and reported that there was very strange boy in his taxi that was headed to Naguru.  While detained by the police, the boy told them that he had escaped from a mental institution, found his way to his family’s house where he spent the night, and then was on his way back to the Naguru Remand Home because he was due back in court the next day.  It is thus clear that the boy is picking up what the judge is putting down, even if that doesn’t appear to be the case.

When his case was called again last week, the probation officers reported that due to his escape, the doctor hadn’t finished his evaluative report.  It was promised by the next day.  Accordingly, the case was again adjourned until today.  Unsurprisingly, when the case was called again today, the report was still not finished – adjourned to next week.

The second case called today was another murder case against a juvenile and an adult.  During our plea bargaining session at the end of May, the lawyer for the adult had indicated that his client would plead guilty to murder and would exonerate the child who had been charged with him.  The prosecution had accepted this tentative deal.  Before court started today, however, there was some serious waffling as the defense tried to convince the prosecution to drop the charges from murder to manslaughter for the adult.  The prosecution held firm, so it appeared that the case would go forward against both the adult and the juvenile.  Bummer.  When the charges were read, we all held our breaths until the translator said “guilty” shortly after the “how do you plead?” question was asked by the judge.  Over the next few minutes, the juvenile’s case was dismissed and the defendant was sentenced to sixteen years.  Had he chosen not to plead guilty and had been found guilty, he likely would have been given a death sentence.  (Uganda hasn’t actually executed someone in several years, but the sentences are still being delivered).

The third and final case called involved two adults and one child being charged with the murder of herdsman in what appears to have been a cow-theft murder scenario.  The juvenile had been released on bail several months ago and now was nowhere to be found.  The court dismissed the case against the juvenile, and the case against the other two proceeded.  As I mentioned previously, the judge in this session is no-nonsense and was not at all pleased with the proficiency of the direct examination of the prosecution.  She repeatedly interrupted the questioning in an effort to keep the questions both relevant and succinct.  I felt sorry for the prosecutors as it was clear that they had not received proper training in questioning witnesses.  The bigger problem, however, was one for which there is no ready solution.

The witnesses in these cases are quite poor and thus cannot afford to come to the prosecutor’s office to meet in advance of the trial.  Likewise, the prosecutors cannot afford to spend their own money to travel to villages to meet with the witnesses, and they are not “facilitated” with funds to allow this to happen.  Moreover, the prosecutors are not given phones to call witnesses, so any calls to witnesses would have to be paid for out of the prosecutor’s own pocket.  And since their monthly salary is 850,000 (about $340), they cannot afford the pre-paid airtime minutes.  Adding insult to injury, many of the witnesses don’t speak either English or Luganda, so there is often a third party needed to interpret.  As a result, the prosecutors wait outside the courtroom until the witnesses arrive, just hoping for a chance to talk for a few minutes before direct examination begins.  The combined effect of all of this is a less-than-succinct presentation.

We got through two witnesses before the court mercifully called it quits for the day.  Trial resumes on Monday.

One prayer request before I close.  Over the past week, Henry has been wrestling with his second case of Malaria this year.  He thought he was getting better, but then took a turn for the worst.  Yesterday morning, I received a call from his school asking me to come pick him up to take him for immediate treatment.  So after court ended, I hustled out to his school to get him.  He was asleep in the nurse’s office and looked like hell.  I had called Joline in Kenya and she had remotely arranged for me to bring Henry to the medical clinic with which the Gregstons and my family have been working this year.  They saw him immediately and gave him a different kind of Malaria medication than he has been taking.  I haven’t heard from him today, which I am choosing to take as a good sign.

It was another full day of interviewing the juveniles out at the Remand Home for most of us.  Unfortunately for me, I was on administrative duty for most of the day and spent precious little time with the children and the students.

The day began quite well with a 7:00 a.m. meeting with an American law enforcement officer who lives in Masindi and provides much-needed training at the national law enforcement training center in Masindi.  I briefed him regarding Pepperdine’s activities in Uganda since we started coming in 2007.  Fortunately, these sorts of meetings are becoming more and more common as the word is getting around that Pepperdine has a special relationship with the judiciary and various other legal-based governmental entities.  Over the past couple of weeks, several opportunities to collaborate more closely with the United States Embassy and other foreign-based legal organizations have emerged.  Nothing is final yet, but things look rather promising.

After breakfast, we went out to the Remand Home to resume the interviews.  Since my driver Michael was a necessary party for interviews (so he could translate), I drove a group out to Ihungu before returning with a couple of my “teammates” to town to meet with the prosecutors about getting more police files.  Here are the teams:

Team One – Samantha Placeres, Jacob Franz, Amanda Martin, Abby Skeans (Regent Law), and Michael Mudgett (lawyer/pastor)

Team Two – Morgan Franz, Ashley Cook, Jenny Arnold, Jay Milbrandt, me

Team Three – Megan Callaway, Rachel Robinson, Nathan McKenzie, Steve Dixon, Carol Chase (Associate Dean)

We were able to secure permission to get copies of nine more police files (we got six over the weekend), but the copy machine at the prosecutors’ office wasn’t working.  Accordingly, we “hired” a clerk in that office to accompany us to a local photocopy business to have copies made.  She initially was quite miffed at having to leave the office, but after I bought her a Coke and two Chapatti’s (bread) we became BFFs.

In Uganda, the fancy brackets typically used to keep paper organized in legal files look eerily similar to string.  Consequently, removing documents, copying them, and replacing them is quite an ordeal.  Accordingly, it took about three hours to get the copies made.  Each time three were finished, I drove them the fifteen minutes out to Ihungu to deliver them to the Teams who were reading the files and interviewing the kids on the fly.  It actually felt quite good to see that my highest and best use for most of the day was as a courier.  The students are really into it and they are doing a fantastic job on the first draft on each of the twenty-two briefs we are preparing.

I spent a good portion of the afternoon meeting with the defense lawyers, prosecutors, and court officials making sure that everyone was on board with the path forward.  I will return in two weeks and we will see how many of these cases we can resolve prior to a trial session beginning.

As I type this, the students are gathered in the hotel restaurant finalizing the first draft of the briefs.  The lawyers will then begin the editing process.  Tomorrow, a few follow-up interviews will take place (we finished all of the first interviews today), and then we will feverishly work toward finalizing them before the group returns to Ihungu for a final goodbye in the late afternoon.

During the final goodbye, we will present them with photos we took of them, show them the briefs we have prepared, and pray with them.  All of this will take place after the most important part of the trip – an epic soccer match: USA vs. Uganda.  I am betting heavily on the kids of Uganda beating the lawyers and law students of the United States.  Unfortunately, my driver and I are leaving for Kampala at 5:15 a.m. tomorrow so I can be in court when the J-FASTER pilot program resumes.  I am sad to miss the farewell, but I would probably only get hurt in the soccer match anyway.