#1 Travel Destination in the World?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next post – my two biggest heroes of 2011.

Adopting (In) Uganda

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Pepperdine first became involved in Uganda in 2006 when Bob Goff invited two of our students to join him for a conference he was hosting for the Ugandan judiciary.  On this trip, these two students (Matt Kraus and Lizz Alvarez) learned that unlike their US counterparts, Ugandan judges do not have law clerks (recent law graduates) or legal interns (current law students) to assist them in their work.  When the students returned from Uganda to Pepperdine, they met with Dean Starr and a plan emerged – Pepperdine Law School would adopt Uganda.  I can remember a speech Dean Starr gave to incoming students the next fall, reminding him how blessed they were and how their legal training would allow them to make a huge impact around the world if they chose to reach beyond themselves.  As he closed, he encouraged them to adopt a country.  Just pick one in need, he said, and look for ways to help in the coming years.

Recently, Jay Milbrandt, the Director of Pepperdine’s Global Justice Program, elaborated on the idea of adopting a country in his blog.  Jay has adopted Thailand.  I will confess to being a bit of a skeptic at first about the whole idea of adopting a country.  It wasn’t until my first trip to Uganda in early 2010 that I became a convert, and now I am an evangelist.  It turns out that one can be of assistance in ways that are beyond one’s own area of expertise.  I am a Torts professor and my law practice and scholarly efforts have focused on this area of civil law (people suing other people or corporations for money damages).  Since getting involved in the Ugandan legal system, my work has focused on the criminal and juvenile law side of things.  Since Uganda is a former British territory, their legal system is somewhat similar to ours.  Consequently, it didn’t take long to get a firm grasp on the pertinent legal principles involved in the juvenile justice projects.  Then last month, my focus expanded into Ugandan family law, which turned out to be equally accessible once I delved into it.

When I met a couple from Santa Barbara (Andy and Sara) in Uganda in early November, I learned that their planned four- to six-week adoption trip to Uganda had been involuntarily extended to nearly nine months, and there was no end in sight.  I wrote briefly about them last month here.  Due to the war in Northern Uganda and to the devastating impact of AIDS over the past thirty years, Uganda is a country of children.  The median age of the Uganda population recently increased from fourteen to fifteen.  Consequently, Uganda has an estimated two million orphans.

Nevertheless, the Ugandan Children’s Act prohibits foreign nationals from adopting Ugandan children unless the would-be parents have foster parented the child for three years in Uganda.  The Children’s Act also alludes to something called “Legal Guardianship,” but does not elaborate on the requirements for getting legal guardianship over a child.  The Act also provides that the “best interests of the child” shall be of paramount importance.  Consequently, the practice among many of the High Court (trial level) judges has been to grant applicants (usually, but not always, American couples) an order naming them as legal guardians over the orphan child.  After receiving an order of legal guardianship, the parents can secure a Visa from the US State Department and then travel back to the US with the child, where a US adoption can be completed.  This, of course, effectively circumvents the Ugandan law prohibiting adoption until after spending three years in Uganda with the child.  Accordingly, some judges refuse to grant legal guardianship orders.

Andy and Sara had been granted legal guardianship by one High Court judge over a young Ugandan boy, but had been denied legal guardianship by different High Court judge over a young Ugandan girl.  They were devastated, but because they were convinced that God had knit this family together (including the young Ugandan girl), they were determined to do everything they could to keep the family together, including staying in Uganda for three years, if necessary.

At the time I met them, they were waiting to get a hearing date from the Ugandan Court of Appeals.  It took only a few moments of interaction with them and their two Ugandan children, along with their biological son, to recognize that this was a family that belonged to each other.  While I didn’t know jack about Ugandan family law, I did know where to find the law.  I also knew those responsible for scheduling hearings before the Court of Appeals.  Within a few days, they had a hearing date and I had familiarized myself with the relevant law.  Over the next couple weeks, one of my former students and I prepared an appellate brief and oral argument outline for their lawyer.

Last Wednesday, they had their day in court and Andy and Sara are reporting that it went well.  We are all now praying not only for a favorable ruling, but also that this ruling will come quickly so that they can transition home to be with loved ones over the holidays.  One way or another, they will adopt these Ugandan children and give them a home.

Only thirty-seven more days until my family and I arrive in our adopted country.

Blown Away By Generosity

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I have been blessed over the course of my twelve years at Pepperdine to have a front-row seat to numerous selfless acts of kindness by my students.  About seven years ago, one of my students was struggling to meet the minimum GPA necessary to graduate.  He had one semester left and needed to have his best semester ever to make it.  He had plenty of financial resources and was willing to pay handsomely for a top student to tutor him.  I connected him to Virginia, who was a stellar student and an even better person.  Virginia agreed to tutor him.  I later asked him what hourly rate they had settled upon.  I was so touched and inspired by what he told me: Virginia said that her payment would be seeing him walk across the stage with her at graduation.  Unsurprisingly, the struggling student had his best semester in law school and Virginia received the agreed upon payment – she was clapping louder than anyone when I read his name at graduation.

This last year, I had another student ask me if he could assign part of his academic scholarship to another student who was more in need than he was.  The only condition he insisted upon was complete anonymity.  We honored his request.  I could tell dozens more stories of selfless sacrifice by my wonderful students.

But what happened yesterday topped them all.  One of my former students, Holly, has been following along with my relationship with the Ugandan teenage boy I met at a prison in rural Uganda in January of 2010.  She knew that my relationship with Henry has been an important catalyst for my decision to relocate to Uganda for six months beginning next month.  She had also read in my post last month that Henry, his brother Joseph, and their father were arrested for a crime for which they were completely exonerated after spending nearly two years in prison, and that during that time, Henry’s mother had to sell the family’s small herd of cows just to survive.

Unknown to me, after reading that post, Holly set out to raise among some of her fellow alumni enough money to buy one cow (about $400) to give to Henry’s family.  Within a couple weeks, nearly forty of my former students contributed to this effort to help someone they had never met who lives halfway across the world.  Yesterday at church, Holly presented me a check for more than $3,000!  I was blown away and completely speechless.  I teared up immediately, but (barely) held it together in the church parking lot.  (I still have a silly grin plastered on my face and chuckle every few minutes).  I cannot wait to back up a cattle truck to Henry’s house and start unloading them one by one.  This generous and compassionate act will restore self-sufficiency and hope to this hard-working and God-loving family – this will be truly life changing for them.

I promise to take (and post) lots of pictures and video.

P.S.  I am exceedingly grateful to Mary Ellyson Buxton, Dan Coats, Wendy McGuire Coats, Julie Wainrib Connelly, RJ Cornell, Julie Dilworth Cornell, Max Czernin, Rachel Dickey Czernin, Aaron Echols, Courtney Echols, Kevin Ferguson, Meghan George, Chris Gaspard, Kristin Heinrich, Randy Herndon, Christie Herndon, Brent Kampe, Miles Jennings, Wes Krider, Rebecca Lee, Brian Link, Nic McGrue, Meghan Milloy, Narguess Noohi, Lexie Norge, Lisa Ottomanelli, Holly Phillips, Amy Poyer, Jeremy Shatzer, Joel Sherwin, Brian Simas, Emily Smith, Ricky Steelman, Erin Tallent, Brett Taylor, Melissa Thornsberry, Chelsea Trotter, Matt Williams, and Jeff Wyss.

Transitions

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In March of 2005, Dean Ken Starr asked me to join Pepperdine Law’s administrative team for a two-year term as the law school’s inaugural Associate Dean for Student Life (Dean of Students).  After nearly seven years in this position, today was my last day in the Deans’ Suite.  After I return from my African sabbatical, I will resume full-time teaching.

These past seven years have been the most rewarding of my professional career.  I am profoundly grateful for the opportunity to serve Dean Starr, Dean Bost, and Dean Tacha in this role.  I am also grateful for the opportunity to work with the students on a daily basis in all aspects of student life.  I have learned so much and have been touched deeply by the relationships that emerged from this role.  But life consists of chapters, and after lots of prayer and consultation with my family, it is time for a new chapter to begin.  I am eager to see how God directs our lives in this chapter.

I am very thankful to Dean Tacha for her leadership and for her willingness to embrace my decision to close this chapter.  I am also thankful to her for allowing me to participate heavily in the transition planning.  I have complete confidence and trust in those who will succeed me in serving our students.

Fingerprints

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There is a rather famous story about footprints in the sand, and how during our most difficult times God carries us.  But my time in Africa has gotten me thinking quite a bit about fingerprints.  Scientists tell us that everyone has different fingerprints, and law enforcement officials tell us that most hard surfaces we touch bear imprints of our fingerprints.

On my first journey to Africa in early 2010, I was struck by the fact that most of the African children I met wanted to touch my skin or hold my hand – many of them had seen very few mzungus (white people) before.  To be sure, none of them left any fingerprints on me or my clothing.  I have this inescapable feeling, however, that they left fingerprints on me of a much more enduring nature, on a part of me that is much deeper than my skin.  After I returned from my first trip to Africa, I noticed that fingers played a prominent role in many pictures I had of the children.

It seems to me that we leave our metaphorical fingerprints on the lives of those with whom we interact, and them on us.  As I looked the other night at Hero, the young Ugandan boy who just had major reconstructive surgery in Los Angeles after being carved up by a witch doctor, I could see the fingerprints of many people all over him.

I could see the fingerprints of his loving, but uneducated and simple mother who gave him life.  I could see the fingerprints of the witch doctor who tried to take his life.

I could see the fingerprints of Justice O, who fearlessly presided over the first trial in the history of Uganda applying the trafficking in human body parts laws.  I could see the fingerprints of Margaret, the court registrar who took Hero into her home and gave him care and protection after the trial in which he so bravely testified.

I could see the fingerprints of Bob Goff, who facilitated and coordinated the prosecution, showed up and filmed every day of the trial, successfully petitioned the Ugandan courts for legal guardianship of Hero, arranged for Hero’s reconstructive surgery, and transported Hero to the United States.  I could see the fingerprints of Dr. Sherman, the surgeon whose skill and training restored to Hero much of what had been taken from him.  And I could see the fingerprints of Ted and Fayanna Worrell, who are giving Hero a family for the three or four months he will be in the United States.

That evening, I couldn’t help but wonder whose fingerprints were all over me.  I have the fingerprints of my supportive and God-loving parents, my wonderful siblings, my fabulous wife and kids, and my friends and colleagues all over me.  I also have the fingerprints of my former and current students on me.  About two weeks ago, a group of students at the weekly law student Bible study at Tim and Lucy Perrin’s house closed the semester by praying over and for me.  I can still feel their fingerprints on me as they gathered around to pray for our upcoming trip.  Those moments don’t fade quickly.

I can also feel the fingerprints of my Maker, as he continues to pull and push me into new shapes, some of which feel very comfortable, others of which will take some getting used to.

All of this, of course, has caused me to wonder where my fingerprints are.  Unlike the witch doctor who wounded Hero, I haven’t ever cut anyone with my hands.  But I am painfully aware of the times I have cut others with my words or actions.  I am confident that there are many more I have cut that I don’t even know about.  My fingerprints are on those wounds; I wish I could wipe them off.  There is only One who can.

As I interact with students on a daily basis here at Pepperdine, and as my family engages with a new culture, my prayer is that our fingerprints will be most visible on cups of cold water delivered to those who are thirsty.

Joline made this video shortly after I returned, which captures how and why Africa is calling us:

They Both Used Knives

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The day began with Bob Goff leaving San Diego at 2:00 a.m. on his way to Cedars Sinai Hospital.  Bob had convinced nearly everyone involved to allow him to scrub up and assist with the operation, but alas, he couldn’t get past the hospital’s final line of defense – the lawyers.  Lawyers too often mess up the fun.  Unable to complete a last-minute reversal and get into the operating theater, Bob was there in the waiting room when I arrived at 7:30 a.m.  Bob had spent some time with the surgeon that morning and had presented him with a framed picture of Hero, the 9 year-old Ugandan boy on whom the surgeon was preparing to operate, hoping to at least partially reverse the damage done by a witch doctor now in jail for the rest of his life.  Bob and I caught up for a few minutes and then connected with Ted and Fayanna Worrell, the husband and wife with whom Hero is living while he is here in the United States.  They are volunteer host parents through Mending Kids International, a wonderful organization that, well, mends kids from around the world.  The Worrells had just left Hero with the operating staff and they reported that while he was a little nervous, he was quite brave.

The surgery started at around 8:00 a.m. and was scheduled to last for eight hours.  The plan was for the surgeon to use most of the skin and tissue (including blood vessels and a nerve) from Hero’s left forearm as the donor skin and tissue, and then to take a skin-only graft from his right thigh to be placed over the new void on his left arm.  We spoke with the Worrells for twenty minutes or so and then set out in search of some breakfast.  We fanned out at the coffee shop and worked separately until the early afternoon when we reconvened for lunch.  Bob and Ted each received a text message from the surgeon at the halfway point and he reported that all was going according to plan.  We were later joined by one of the coordinators for Mending Kids and we all waited and tried to work for the last couple of hours, checking the clock and wondering aloud regularly when the surgery might be over.  Finally, at 4:00 p.m., we left the coffee shop and returned to the waiting room.  About a half hour later, the doctor came out.

I will stop short of declaring that what the surgeon did with Hero today was a miracle because only God perform miracles.  I will say, however, that God worked powerfully through the surgeon to take a huge step toward restoring to Hero what the witch doctor took away from him.  As the surgeon explained to us what he had done and how he had done it, I was struck with the realization that he and the witch doctor had both used knives to accomplish their purposes — another reminder that so many things we encounter in our daily lives (including our words) can be used to destroy or to restore.

After another two hours of waiting, we finally got to see Hero.  At first he was asleep and had tubes down his throat.  Within a few minutes, however, he started coughing, so the nurses removed the tubes and let him breathe unencumbered.  We gathered closely around him and offered a prayer of thanksgiving and blessing on him.  About ten minutes later, he started opening and closing his eyes for a few seconds at a time.  He had that faraway look that we all know and have seen in post-operative patients.

A few minutes later, he started focusing and responding to our encouragement and well wishes.  At one point, he said “I got this.  I have been cut with knives before and I have the strength to endure.  I was made by a God much bigger than you realize and I know he has plans for me.”  He didn’t say this with words, of course, but he communicated it in the way that many Ugandans, especially children, do.  I had been with Hero enough to see him do it about a dozen times – a barely perceptible nod (simultaneously jutting his chin slightly, raising his eyebrows just a hair, and tilting his head a couple degrees).  That was all we needed from him tonight – he came through it wonderfully and was able to let us know that he was OK.

We also learned from the surgeon today that he had been able to accomplish the whole thing in one shot such that unless there are complications, there will be no more surgeries.  This was an unexpected surprise for all of us and means that he will likely be able to return home to his mother within three months, rather than six.  He will be in the hospital for the next five days and has numerous checkups and tube removals ahead of him in the coming weeks, but our prayers have all been answered.  God is good.

A Year Later

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After moving cities, going to the suicide funeral of a middle school friend, preparing to leave the country, and truly learning the meaning of “miscommunication,” I know that God is good. Usually not in the ways that I expect or even want, but God is good. God was good when I sat in my car crying before and after school because the taking of life is an evil and painful thing. God was good when I would go into the bathroom before dinner to “wash my hands” and literally get on my knees and pray that I could stand another 30 minutes pretending to be enthusiastic about a trip that was breaking my heart. God is good on the days when I apologize for my selfishness and unwilling heart because it’s just so hard to leave. God is good because He is there. God is there when you scroll through your contacts, looking for someone to unburden yourself to. God is there when you try to drive and cry at the same time (BAD idea). God is there whether you ask him to be there or not. God is there whether you want him to be or not.

God was there for me in the license plate that said “this too shall pass.” He was there when he answered prayers I didn’t even know people were praying for me. And he’s here right now when I feel hopelessly inadequate to go play missionary for 6 months.

What I’m saying is, people who go on mission trips DO NOT have it all together. We’re some of the most broken people you will find. We just realize that we will never be fixed and we’re wasting God’s time sitting around and waiting for pixie dust to come and fix us. Don’t stay at home because you don’t think you’re good enough. I can tell you right now, you’re not. But that’s why God chose you. If you were good enough, how could you connect to the broken?

Tests

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I feel like I have been surrounded by tests these past few weeks.  My former students recently received bar exam results, the vast majority of whom passed this intense test and will soon be admitted into the practice of law.

On Saturday, my oldest daughter Jessica took the SAT and hopes to receive a good enough score that she won’t need to take it again her senior year after we return from Africa.  Thereafter, she hopes these test results will be strong enough to be admitted to the college of her choice.  Also on Saturday, my youngest two kids took an entrance exam for Oaks Christian School, where they hope to join Jessica when we return.  In Africa, we are anxiously waiting for Henry’s national tests results (Uganda’s SAT equivalent), hoping and praying that he scored well enough to be admitted into a really good secondary school in Kampala.

Add to this the final exams my current students begin this week and I am feeling surrounded by people whose lives and futures seem so dependent upon the results of tests.  I guess this is inevitable in an assessment-driven society where merit and achievement are used to decide who gets admitted to the exclusive clubs and professions.

I have also been reminded recently that being admitted into a family is decidedly not dependent upon merit or the results of any tests.  My new friends in Uganda (from Santa Barbara), Andy and Sara Ribbens, are desperately seeking to bring a new Ugandan orphan girl into their family who has not demonstrated any merit or passed any tests.  (We finished their appellate brief this weekend and will file it tomorrow in advance of their December 14th hearing date).

I am quite relieved that there aren’t any merit assessments to be admitted into God’s family either.  Our acceptance of God’s grace is the only condition of our acceptance into his family, and that grace is free – no tests.

The Power

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I tried to call Henry this week on Thursday at the scheduled time, but could not get through. While unusual, this occasionally happens due to cell phone network problems on the Ugandan end of things. I sent him a text via Skype telling him that I would try again the next morning. On Friday, he answered right away and apologized for not being able to receive a call the day before on account of a dead cell phone battery. This, of course, happens to all of us, but for a different reason than it happened to Henry.

Henry is home with his family waiting to see where he gets admitted to Senior High School for grade S5, which starts in early March. In Henry’s modest home in Hoima, there is no electricity. Ever. This is a simple fact of life for the vast majority of Ugandans outside of the capital city of Kampala (and even most inside Kampala). Over the past year, however, even Kampala has been experiencing rolling blackouts as the country struggles to produce enough power to serve the population, and then to manage effectively what power they do produce. It is not uncommon in many parts of Kampala for the power to be out three or four days a week (or more) for the evening hours, and a couple days a week for it to be intermittent during the day. Consequently, generators are critical for those who need reliable power. (Fortunately, the complex where we will be living is equipped with a generator that kicks on within a minute of when the grid goes down).

In Hoima, only a small percentage of families have either electricity or a generator. Henry’s family is not among them. So whenever his cell phone battery is running critically low, he needs to locate a source of power. Since the arrival of cell phones in Africa, a cottage industry of battery charging has sprung up throughout the unelectrified portions of the continent. The market rate in Hoima is 1,000 Shillings (currently forty cents) to charge a cell phone battery. This is not an insignificant amount of money for most Ugandans, so it behooves the residents to find alternative sources of charging when available. Accordingly, whenever Henry is in Hoima, he sends his cell phone with his younger brother to school once a week so that he can charge the phone from the outlet in the school library.
Unfortunately, the central grid in Hoima has been down for one full month. Consequently, Henry had to track down a battery-charging merchant with a generator and pay the 1,000 Shillings. This happened on Friday before I called him. We spoke for about fifteen minutes. He is continuing to work in the small family envelope business and has been looking for other odd jobs, but to no avail.

Meanwhile, the little Hero who was dismembered by a witch doctor and is now in the United States awaiting a series of reconstructive surgeries is doing well. His first operation will take place this coming Tuesday at Cedars’ Sinai. This operation is scheduled to take eight hours and he should be in the hospital for a while. The surgeon will be taking patches of skin from his forearms for the grafting. I am meeting Bob Goff at the hospital, and I am eager to see both Bob and Hero – I haven’t seen either of them since returning from Uganda last month. Please be praying for the doctor (Randy), and for Hero.

The power of prayer doesn’t suffer from periodic interruptions or rolling blackouts . . . it is on all of the time.

Joshua’s First Post

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Hi there everybody. I decided that it is time for me to start blogging. Recently, everyone has been asking about how I feel about going to Uganda. For the record, I haven’t for a second had any reservations about moving to Africa. I was thinking tonight on my way home from bible class about Africa. I know that I either have to jump into this journey with a completely open heart and mind, or not go at all. I decided that I will make every effort to ensure that I help as many people as I possibly can in Uganda. I think that God calls us to help those less fortunate in some way, whether that means moving to Africa for six months or supporting missionaries. I want to thank everyone for being so supportive of me and my family these past few months. 