Sleeping is a hard
fought battle for the ADD brain. You lay in bed and either fall right asleep,
or you sit and replay your to-do lists and the day of activities in you brain.
My second night on the ground and I shut my eyes around 2:30 AM our time and awoke
at 3:30 to the sound of stampeding elephants on a tin roof, or rather a
tremendous rain storm with thunder that could give conclusions. Startled and
amazed by God's majesty, I listened for the next hour before deciding that
nobody could go back to sleep without knowing the final score of the Notre
Dame. I had passed out when the score had been 20-12 and we were losing. Never
fear though, we are still undefeated, no matter how ugly we play.
I obviously could
not go back to sleep, and I will probably suffer later, so I decided to explore
our very loud hotel. I had never seen so many workers in one hotel, scrubbing
marble and tile and milling around cleaning up the rushing water from patio and
baking the absolute best smelling bread ever. Quite contrast from the nasty
sugar plant we saw smelled/saw yesterday). The smell of it baking fills the
whole hotel around 3 am daily.
After quick
shower, I was downstairs and packed at 6:30, reading in the lobby. After some
very good hibiscus current tea from Kenya, I was joined by Nap and then Father
and then Jeff. We reviewed our day, printed some documents we need for filing
our NGO status and checked out. The hotel quality was ridiculous for how much
it cost. It was $100 a night, but it was not nicer than a bad Holiday Inn
Express. However here, Father said that a hotel's quality is based on the
services it provides. You pay for the bomb inspection of your vehicle when you
pull in - although it is rather cursory after day 1. You pay for the ability to
have a secure front gate, the ability to purchase a fresh breakfast, for having
a fridge, a hot pot, and wifi. But even with the security, there is still
ugliness and crime. One of our travel mates had $500 stolen from his safe which
was obviously very upsetting. But of course there was nothing that could be
done because the hotel would not investigate. Ugh, a total inside job. I triple
checked the safe every time I went in and changed the code twice, but that does
nothing if they have a master code.
We left at 9:30 and
headed to the country's national shrine of St. Jude. There is a friend of
Father Michael's whose niece was to be baptized by Father who said the whole
Mass with a seminarian deacon to assist. Father had never been invited to the
Shrine to say Mass, so it was an experience. Of cultural note, the family of
the child brings huge donations of live chickens, tea, Coke, two whole huge
bunches of bananas and other goods as a donation to Father for saying the Mass,
but our car was too full of luggage so he donated the tithe to the church.
Also, if you are a
guest or friend of the priest and at the baptism, it is customary to bring a
gift, so I riffled through my bags until I found a teddy bear that Matt had
relinquished, a child's book on 'Jesus, the Good Shepherd' that I had in my
possession for maybe 20 years and a dress from Judy Barranco. All in all, it was
a great gift. I am not sure that I met the 12 month old's mom, but I had met
her father's brother Philip at our radio meeting, and had the chance to meet her
aunt Stella, who was beautiful and gracious and her father.
The Mass music was
a mix of traditional Ugandan church songs and songs I learned at Franciscan
University - so pretty charismatic. Upon leaving, we were embraced by tons of
children seeking hand shakes and hugs and prayers, and smile and candies. Want
to make a child's week? Give them a tootsie roll. They also wanted me to take
their pictures. It was great, and overwhelming. I was trying to remember names
but their voices were so soft, and when they introduced themselves, they said
their African name followed by their Christian names. This was a practice that the
French "white men" introduced, and that the British mission priests
continued.
We also met the
new National Director of the shrine, the new parish priest and the choir, as
well as Father's friends and contacts. Jeff was our
main "spokesperson" and did a great job. He shook hands first,
introduced himself immediately, was always asking questions, was kind,
courteous and always handed out schillings to people that Father recommended as
a sign of courtesy, respect, and thankfulness.
From there, we
went to Cafe Javas, an Indian run coffee chain that had an excellent of
African/ American/Indian food. For instance, I got a chicken teriyaki wrap that
boasted of sweet and sour chicken. It was a huge Indian style wrap filled with
teriyaki chicken, pineapple chunks, and cucumber vinegar and onion slaw. It was
huge and great and served as a lunch and dinner for us at 1 pm. You really should only
drink boiled or bottled items so cokes and coffees or bottled waters are the
only way to go. My poor body that never is exposed to coffee or coke (which has much less carbonation and therefore no hiccups for me - yay) has no
idea what to do with the caffeine or the sugar. Yuck.
We started our
long drive to Masaka from there. The roads are horrible. Just awful. Huge pot
holes, mud pressed roads washed away by rain and no side supports. Awful. It
makes for a long, harrowing and cumbersome journey. Some holes were so deep
that the Land Cruiser would stall and die when the under carriage was scraped
or when we tried to use too much power getting out of the hole. This presented
several concerns, such as our maintenance like oil change and transmission
flushes to replacing shocks, having spare tires on hand, etc. All Father does is drive, all day long, and because the roads are not smooth, it takes an hour to go 20 miles.
We stopped once
for Father to buy 4 grilled bananas for 75 cents from a child selling them on
the street. They were crisp and slightly blackened on outside and mushy on the
inside. They are called gonja. Our understanding of Father's verbal communications is very comical
sometimes. He kept saying that we were going to Jinja (pronounced Jean-jah), but when he said it, it
sounded like he was trying to pronounce ginger with a mild African accent -
like gin-gah. Nap even asked if it was because there was so much ginger that grew
in that area. Father looked at us like we were crazy because he did not understand the
basis for the question.
We had to make a
pit stop at two places. One was a parish that has an on-site boarding and
commuter school. We met the pastor and picked up a package for another friend of
Father Michael's. This priest received the package in Germany and carried it
with him for this other priest. We shall deliver the package to the friend some
time this week. The campus was beautiful and had just been under some
reconstruction because there was a huge fire. We met two beautiful
girls who were running around with a huge knife, not a panga, but large - apparently
they had been playing in the vines and sugar cane. They graciously took
the candies Nap offered through the window, curtsied and ran off with a smile
on their faces.
Then Nap wanted to
find the equator, the real one. There is a monument, but it was made without a
satellite guided GPS system. Nap says the monument is off by 20 ft, but Jeff
claims that the monument is right part of the year but because of the axis,
spin,and tilt, it is off at this time of year. We are supposed to submit our
research to Nap when we get internet access. I ended up taking photos of them
with the Chappy's banner (which we should have had on the Nile) on the real and
not so real equator. We did not stay long because we were trying to get to some
Bishops Cup games, so it was literally 'pull off the side of the road, snap
pics, and dash'. Father said that we could could have bought items from
the stand and that the profits go to orphanages.
I wanted to race
to watch the soccer games, but Father knows me very well, and suddenly hung a
u-turn across the highway and said he would try to get us into this hidden
orphanage. Why hidden? To keep it from being attacked by child predators
and abductors. It was about 3 km off of the highway, past rows of shacks, down
very muddy, nasty roads and the entrance to the compound was in the back of the
building unmarked. We had to go slowly because of the mud and lakes int he road
(from pot holes) so we were able to give candy to children out the windows.
Nap was the best grandpa ever - the joy from seeing these children simply
exuded out of him. The children are trained so well not to come up to to
cars offering candy because of the kidnappers, so it took a moment for Father
to tell them that he is a priest and to come take the sweets.
The high cement
walls of the compound were covered in broken glasses in cement to stave off
people who might try to climb over its walls. There was a beautiful statue in
the middle of the compound that had walk ways branching off of it. The
Sister who let us in was very gracious. My first question was numbers and ages
of the children, about 120 children ages 4 to p7 which appears to be maybe 11
or 12? It was hard to decipher. They have a little school,
dormitories, kitchen (a dark room filled with smoke, buckets, and fire pits to
boil water and could over wood stoves, and a closet to through fire wood so it
can dry) and dining room, and a center to teach crafts, and make small chapel
and playground.
After passing out
candies to all of the kids (several pieces for most), the men were whisked away
to chairs so the kids could sing and perform, and I, being a woman, was sent to
the craft room where I was ordered by a young man to finish a beaded crocodile
that he makes and sells to pay for his school. He had been working for 7 hours
and had finished 7. I thought about purchasing one for each of my children, but
had left my money under lock and key of Father's car. I was disappointed
to not be watching and listening, but I understand my gender role in areas of
Africa.
After the
performing, children did run over to me, but the Sister took Father, Nap and
Jeff on a tour of the facilities and I wandered aimlessly taking pictures of
the children who kept smiling and begging, "One more, please, one
more." They would pose and smile, I would take the pic, and show it to
them, and they would beg for more. A camera is such a novelty. The only
pictures we ever saw where prints in metal frames of the Pope, Cardinal, and
two bishops and maybe the occasional priest or Our Lady. (Pope John Paul the
Great was the only pope to step foot in the Ugandan Martyrs Shrine and
Basilica, and only the 2nd to come to Uganda.)
Jeff and Nap were
so loving and kind and always had the right words. They were asked to speak to
the children after their performance and although I could not see it from the
art room, I could hear bits and pieces. The part that got a lot of applause was
when Nap said he was a Grandpa and that he would love them like he would love
his grandson Max or granddaughter Gracie who was also their age.
I did have to tell
myself repeatedly that I was there to make the children smile, and I must be
mortified and act humbly, and serve God as a tiny child...not a person of power
and position. And in areas of Africa woman are so ignored in public settings
that it is natural for them to ignore me. And to be quite honest, I am neither
eloquent or graceful. I was trying to be refined and not over step my position
by being my talkative take charge self. I am not quite sure how to act.
The kids were
playing with a completely deflated soccer ball, trying to juggle it, and I told
Father I wanted to give some balls to them, but he assured me that there was
greater need in Masaka, which is his home.
And even with the
hour long stop, we still made it to one of the Bishops Cup games and met
Francis and Francis who are both. We had a good of time going through their set
up, player passes and licenses, their whole set up, and their problem and
needs. There are a total of only 26 teams, each from different parishes.
There are 52 parishes in 11 deaneries, and each deanery can move on 2
teams into the larger Bishop's Cup. Last year, there were more teams
registered, but only 24 actually competed because they had to drop out because
of lack of rules, funding, jerseys. Anawim Uganda started the Cup under
the Archbishop, fund the Cup, and provide or try to find ways to provide more
opportunities for teams to compete. The program is comparable to the ODP
program in the United States, but with the bonus of evangelization - like Mass
or prayers.
Our biggest
problem is coach training. We need a certified coach from America to come
for a few days and run coach training programs here in Uganda. It would
be a matter of hiring a coach to come out here and train the trainers who would
go into their deaneries and train the coaches and put on their own
clinics.
Ahhhhh. Anybody know a coach with a week off, who would be
willing to come here and train? I need a
donor to fund his trip, and someone to take the trip.
We then went to the most popular boarding school that houses
around 1200 students. Teacher Percy had arranged for Father to stop by and
bless the children and pray with them before their p7 national exams tomorrow.
The children were, of course, beautiful and gracious. They wanted to touch out
hands, talk tombs and introduce themselves. And then Father eased their
worries, raised up their spirits and self-confidence. I have never seen such
faithful and mature students before. It was beautiful and they wanted Father to
bless everything, from their quill pens and ink dobbers to their compasses and
rulers. It was beautiful and inspiring.
They were in a little hut, hands raised, eyes closed singing, “God is
good, he is so faithful…” I recorded it on video, even through a 3 minute power
outage. It grips your soul, the purity
of their faith and love.
When we left, we
headed straight to our hotel to rest and get a jump on tomorrow. However there
was a huge and very loud concert being held in the lot in front of the hotel. A
very loud and pot filled concert that lasted until 4 AM, with people milling
around outside my window – and window would be a very loose word. I was shown my room which was a Motel 6 downgraded
about...well, a lot.
I would rather be camping in a tent than in this room, which is
horrible and ungrateful of me. My room
is nicer than Jeff and Nap’s, but their bathroom is better, - think a spicket
coming out of the wall, and a drain and a tiny sick, plastic bucket for rinsing
clothes, and a yellow plastic jug full of water, which may or may not be boiled. I tried washing a tank top in the bin, and
hung it to dry. We shall see in the morning.
When we got here,
Father's friend Noelle, a woman from Michigan, was waiting for us.
She was here to catch up with Father. Because she is an American who has
been here for the 2.5 years and works with programs on their leadership
development, we decided that we should just leave the hotel for bit and talk
with her. We went to a hotel bar and restaurant and chat. Some of us snacked on
chips (aka French fries) and we talked through some big issues. We parted ways
around 11 PM and headed back home to the music concert.
And now it is past
midnight and there are no real windows so I hear everything going on outside.
And being that I slept three hours last night, I could really use the REM
sleep, as Jeff says. But when I turned off the light, I heard something move
around, so I turned on the light, stripped off the damp blankets from the bed,
wrapped the mosquito net around me tighter, and slept with the lights on. I woke up around 4 AM because the music stopped
with the rain, and again for good at 6.
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