Some Other Stuff

So this blog is as long as it is unimportant. Please do not feel like you have to read all of it (or any of it, for that matter). I thought it might be good to catch whoever is interested up on the more day-to-day happenings here in Africa. It is randomly organized for your convenience.

A True Story From Iganga, Uganda

I was in the tiny backseat of someone’s compact SUV (comparable to a Tracker), when the driver tentatively pulled onto the road, attempting to make a right turn (which, because Africans drive on the left side of the road, meant getting across one lane of traffic before joining the flow of traffic moving from our left to our right). The opportunity he took to execute this maneuver would probably not even be classified as an “opportunity” in the States. There was a boda boda (motorcycle taxi) headed straight for us as we edged out onto the road. However, in Africa, forceful driving is the norm, and I trusted this would be another success story. As it turns out, it was too aggressive even for Africa. Perhaps if we had stepped on it, we would have given the motorcyclist the easy decision of slipping past us to our rear. Easier still would his decision have been if we had just waited, allowing the motorcycle (and its two riders) safe passage in front of us. As it were, there was complete indecision. It was like the street version of all of those awkward instances you’ve had in hallways where you and the person you are trying to pass going the opposite direction step to the same side. You then stop, but so does your counterpart, only to move again (but to the other side) at exactly the same time you do. Our driver, realizing he had made a bad decision in pulling out at all, hesitated, as did the motorcyclist. Upon seeing this, our driver accelerated a bit, and the motorcycle also sped up. At this point, we resolved to stop completely. The motorcyclist swerved to his right and accelerated even more, attempting to make the pass in front of us. However, as you may have guessed, these differences in resolve, to stop and to go, came too late. The motorcycle clipped our front bumper, taking off one of the lights as it toppled over on its side. Both the driver and the woman he was carrying hit the ground. I held my breath and then opened my mouth (which I quickly covered with my hand).

We then finished our right turn, and began to accelerate again! I and the other American in the car urged our driver to stop and make sure no one was seriously injured. He muttered something about driving to the police station before heeding our advice and pulling over. We waited for a minute or two, and then the motorcyclist (having picked up his bike, started it, and turned around) pulled over in front of us. Then they began to deal, and the man, his leg bleeding, got compensation for his ripped pants (which were his main concern). They settled on 40,000 schillings, I think, which is less than 20 bucks. This was double the price it would have been if there had been no Americans in the car, but since we are made of money, the ante was upped. The woman who had fallen off the back of the bike was apparently fine, because as the deal came to a close, she walked up and handed us the light that had been knocked off of the car.

In our driver’s defense (and before you think him to be a heartless felon), I later found out that you are actually supposed to drive to a police station after an accident. This ensures safety, because people here tend to take things into their own hands (like settlements) and can get angry, violent, and dangerous. Bystanders then often eagerly leave their peanut gallery to fight for justice, themselves being the judges, the jury, and the sentence-enforcers. This is especially true when mzungus are involved.

A Couple Of African Fun Facts

Uniquely Kenyan is sheng, their slang language that is a crude mixture of English and Swahili. I was told that younger people (my age and below) began speaking it so that their parents could not understand them. It has its own expressions, such as, “Otherwise…,” to which you are supposed to respond with a bit of mundane news. It’s like saying, “What’s new?” Kenya has a bad reputation for having horrible Swahili (according to Tanzanians), and I suspect sheng to be one of the reasons why,

The Massai tribe is a people group that lives in both Kenya and Tanzania… and quite possibly Uganda, but I didn’t hear of them. The Massai live mostly in rural areas, practicing their animistic religion and strongly clinging to their African culture. Why? Tribal pride. They don’t want to be diluted by modernization, losing their historic traditions, beliefs, and practices. They live in small family groups, many practicing polygamy. A lot of them still educate their children in schools, but the Massai still dress in traditional African garb, many carrying large staffs. Some can be seen in big cities, driven to take up jobs there as security guards by the Rift Valley Fever, which struck some years ago. If you recognize the name from one of my earlier blogs, yes… they are the same ones who took advantage of me in the Nairobi market. These Massai were certainly not out of touch with society, for they knew at least enough to get a comparatively immense amount of money out of me as I naïvely and helplessly cooperated.

Also, Barrack Obama is wildly popular in every African country that I have been to. In Kenya, it made sense. His dad was Kenyan… but as it turned out, his popularity reached to Uganda and Tanzania as well. There is paraphernalia of all kinds, ranging from belt buckles to t-shirts, and everyone asks me about him when they find out that I am from America.

Transportation

I already shared with you an unfortunate transportation story from Uganda, but allow me to briefly list the transportation woes from Kenya and Tanzania. From Nairobi to Molo, we had to stop for repairs three times. Needless to say, we arrived much later than we had planned (but we also left 5 hours after we had planned). On the return trip from Molo, we got a flat tire. In Dar es Salaam, as I have mentioned before, the traffic is horrible. As Brittany and I were on our way to a college to help with registration for a conference, we got stuck in traffic. Our driver would turn the 1986 Toyota van off every time we stopped to conserve diesel. One such time, it would not start again, and I helped push the van to the side of the road. After tinkering with some parts, making some calls, and talking with some bystanders (who were helping so that they could receive some compensation), our driver found the battery, knocked off some corrosion, poured some water on it, and hit it with a wrench. The van started and we have used it as-is ever since.

This also reminds me, getting gas in Africa is different. There is always an attendant who pumps the gas for you and handles the transaction. Half the cars here take diesel, and the gas stations are called petros stations. Petros is fuel for cars. Gas is fuel for cooking.

Food

Kenya – People here “take tea” more frequently than in the other two countries. I really enjoyed this. They made it with half milk and half water, and usually put in a lot of sugar. At least three times a day is the norm, although this is often greatly surpassed. A staple dish in Kenya is ugali. Ugali is a white cake that is made of maize. It has less taste than white rice but a similar thick and sticky consistency. They eat it with their hands, mashing other food together with it. It isn’t bad when you do this, but it gets old for my taste buds. Maize is sold here as corn on the cob on the side of the road everywhere. People roast it over hot coals and sell it for a cheap price. If you’re lucky, you can find a stand that has chili seasoning which you can apply with a piece of lime. People eat corn almost as often as we chew gum, a quick, convenient, and on-the-go snack. I really liked this.

Uganda – The staple dish here is matoke. Matoke is steamed mashed bananas. It isn’t bad, but odd for someone who has only ever eaten bananas raw or dried (unless banana Runts also count…).

Tanzania – While I have yet to discover a food that is uniquely Tanzanian, rice is served daily, which is more than it necessarily was in the other two countries. Fish is also a favorite, although this too, I had eaten before arriving in Tanzania. Fish in Africa is served eyeballs and all. Mom would love it. One time here, Brittany and I were served mashed yams (which neither of us really loved).

Other African favorites are beef, goat meat, chicken, chips (french fries), buiscuits (closer to vanilla wafers), stew of all kinds, steamed or boiled vegetables, sugar cane (for another side-of-the-road snack), really good juice, oranges, beans, nuts, etc. I have enjoyed it all for the most part, but miss the unhealthy snacking between meals.

Sunday, 07/18

Just took a swig of Kilimanjaro drinking water. That’s right, it “originally fell as snow or rain on top of Africa’s highest mountain, Kilimanjaro,” (according to its label). It’s in a 1.5 liter bottle. 1,000 schillings… which amounts to less than 75 cents. Today, Brittany and I got to go to the beach. It was pretty nice. There were huge cargo ships in the distance that were waiting for permission to dock. By the way… Dar es Salaam means Port of Peace. Makes sense… shalom, salaam. I am in my motel room again, so chances are, when you read this (at least when I post this), it will be much later and I will no longer be sitting here. We’ve got church in the morning, and it starts at seven, so I’ll be brief.

Not much has happened since my last post. I’ve read a couple chapters in The Hobbit. We’ve been to Dar es Salaam University College of Education a couple of times to help register students for a conference. It was exam week, so students were cramming all over the place, but there was not a laptop to be seen. I may have mentioned this before, but driving here (for any untrained American) is out of the question. Like Kenya and Uganda, the traffic is nuts. A couple of times, I have caught myself pressing the floorboard with my foot, in hopes of bringing the vehicle to a quicker halt. And when the traffic is at a standstill, a regular occurrence, vendors walk or pedal up and down the road, in between cars, trying to sell stuff… stickers, gum, pieces of sugar cane, apples, sodas, even children’s books.

I am beginning to seek my purpose for being here. The Lord brought me here two weeks early for a reason (not just because of what happened in Kampala). Until now, I have been somewhat idle, just kinda’ chillin’. I catch myself looking forward to the fall, being back in the States, and the rest of my family getting here. And I am looking forward to all these things. However, I needn’t be focusing on them. As a Wise friend encouraged me, I ought to be focusing on my purpose here and now, moment by moment, however small or big it may be. So I suppose I need to keep in step with the Spirit and be ready for any/everything.

Before I stop writing for the night, I’d like to thank all my family and friends (and acquaintances… shoot, even some people I’ve never met) for all your support and prayers. They mean the world to me, and the Lord has used y’all in a mighty way. I have been encouraged and spurred on, loved and challenged, and I’m sure even strengthened in ways of which I am unaware through your prayers. Thanks for reading this blog. I so appreciate your comments, both here and on facebook. Thank you all.

Post-Sunday Thoughts

I write this from my small, yet nice, motel room in Tanzania. Brittany is just a three to five minute walk away. We are near the city of Dar es Salaam. Things have been weird since Sunday. I’ve hand-washed my clothes (with some good help), played with orphans, watched some movies (bits and pieces, at least), flown in a plane, seen both Mt. Kilimanjaro and the Indian Ocean (both firsts), and lost my phone (and gotten a new one). I’ve also had a radio interview with CNN. As I told him, in one respect nothing will change, while in another everything will be different. Life has gone on and will continue to. I am still on a mission to preach the Gospel (as are all Christians). However, I have a renewed sense of purpose, a new attitude, and a new perspective. I have a new story to tell. And yet, it is also the same story I have been telling all along: the Lord is faithful. That has been my testimony up to this point and will be now as well. On Sunday morning I gave a word of encouragement to some boys at a boarding school, saying, “Trust in the Lord. He is faithful.” I referred to Psalm 37 (although I accidentally blended it with Proverbs 3), and the pastor then used his message to expound upon this truth. I will urge you as well… trust in the Lord. All the time. With all your heart. Don’t lean on your own understanding. Commit your way to Him. Trust in Him and He will act. Rest in His sovereignty.

He is sovereign over all and even manifested His control on my flights from Uganda to Tanzania. On the first flight (to Nairobi) I sat near a woman and her family who had also been on my flight from Nairobi into Uganda just over a week before. I shared what had happened with her, and she asked if she could use my story as she shared on her mission trip in Kenya that week. She said she had been kind of nervous and unsure of what she would say, but that she now had a story. On my second flight, I sat next to a guy named Ken. After talking with him some and sharing my experience, he opened up a to me a little bit, saying that five years ago, he had been the sole survivor of a car accident in which four or five others had been killed. His immediate question upon hearing my story had been, “Why did God not save the others?”, and it now made sense why.

And that is the question. Why did He protect us so miraculously while letting other people, believers and non-believers alike, die? When speaking with the first woman, the Lord gave me a truth that I was able to share with her as we parted: God is not faithful because He protected us; He protected us because He is faithful. His faithfulness is the constant. His will always prevails, and it is different at different times, but this too is the will of the Lord. His faithfulness does not depend on our safety. Had any of us been injured or killed, the Lord would still have been faithful. From our earthly perspective, it may not always make sense. It does now – there was a bomb, and God faithfully protected us from harm. But it isn’t always obvious like that. It isn’t always “happy.” But His ways are higher than our ways, and we can rest in His Word, that all things work together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose. The “good” does not always look the same, even bad at times. But we know that to live is Christ and to die is gain (Catherine’s status on Facebook during the attack). God’s children are in a win-win scenario. In Genesis 50, Joseph spoke to his brothers who had acted against him, saying, “Do not fear, for am I in the place of God? As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today.” So to the families of those who lost loved ones in the attacks, God will use what they meant for evil for good. May the events of Sunday night be used to bring it about that many live… as new creations, born again – of the Spirit, called according to His purpose, children of God, and heirs together with Christ in the Kingdom of Heaven. So when it seems that all things do not work together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose, we know that we can trust He is accomplishing His glorious purposes. That is why when we delight in Him, we can rest in knowing that we will get the desires of our heart, his purposes being accomplished. I don’t understand it all, but I trust.

Sorry for the long sermon, haha. Night is weird. I can make myself freak out if I think about it, but I’m alright. I’m super sensitive to/perceptive of my surroundings and take much care. I find that I do not trust people that I do not know and am skeptical of all strangers (this may have little to do with the bomb and everything to do with the anomaly that is my complexion ☺). I am more easily frustrated with cultural differences… it will be good to be back in my zone, haha. Please pray for humility and selflessness again.

On a lighter note, my motel is called the BS Motel. Funny. I saw the Indian Ocean again as we were driving this morning… pretty sweet. Talk with yall soon.

News Update

Last night I experienced a terrorist attack. It is still surreal. You always hear about unrest and violence in third world countries on the news, and, if you’re like me, afford little thought about the tragedies. We’re so removed from the reality of it. Reports of such a kind are sad, sure… but that kind of stuff is always so far away. Last night, it wasn’t; or rather, I wasn’t.

I have been in Iganga, Uganda for the last week, a town that is about a two-hour drive from Kampala, Uganda’s capitol city. I was told that I would be returning to Kampala on Monday morning, after the mission in Iganga was completely over. However, I was informed after church on Sunday morning that the plans were changing and I was to go back that day, right after lunch. I was totally fine with this. I was looking forward to getting back because I was going to meet up with some of my American friends who were doing mission work in Uganda. They were Catherine Wise, Tori Kalmberg, Jay and Carrie Clark (siblings), Allen Nunnally, and Mason Holt. I was to stay with them the whole week, and we had plans to go whitewater rafting on the Nile on Tuesday.

We were supposed to eat dinner at 6:45 so that we could get over to another restaurant early. Although we were not eating, this second restaurant had a big projection screen, and if we got there early, we would ensure good seats, front and center, for the World Cup Final. However, we ran late. A combination of things, including traffic and picking me up, led to a late arrival for dinner and, consequently, a late arrival at the second restaurant. We were ushered into the side room with the little TV screen. We met another American there, a guy named Matt who they had met there during a previous game. The eight of us watched the first half in peace, most of us enjoying Mountain Dews (which, in Africa, are sweeter and better).

As soon as the second half ended, a bomb went off in the courtyard where the projector was. Of course, we had no clue what was going on. The moments immediately following the blast were a complete blur. We got all the girls against the wall and crouched there for a few moments, I’m not sure how long. Then we saw people clearing out as quickly as they could. We began to uncoil. We checked, and it seemed that our group was okay. As we began to make our way from the little side room in which we had been seated to the street in front of the restaurant, following the crowd of panicked people, I perceived very little. It was as if I had tunnel vision. Here is what I did see. Two white people, one holding the other and splattered all over with blood. The leg of one was mangled and covered in blood. People were crying and screaming. There was blood all over the floor, and many in our group later said that they were slipping in it. I hesitated. These people were badly hurt. Allen said not to touch anyone (blood was everywhere), and heeding his words, I proceed out.

We got out unscathed. All seven of us, eight including Matt (who stayed behind to help). Allen got a single tiny cut on his leg, and a few others got nicks that were scarcely the size of paper cuts. God was looking out for us. We found out later that 15 died in our restaurant. Almost 50 more died at another restaurant that was attacked with two bombs. You can read about it on any news source. President Obama has even commented on it. We were at the Ethiopian Village. People right behind us died. The bomb was detonated in the courtyard in which we had planned on viewing the game, just feet away from where we were seated in the side room, behind a wall. His timing is perfect. He is faithful. Had I not come, or had we been on time, we could have sat in the main room. Catherine and I were about to get up and walk around outside, but delayed. Allen had just gotten back from the bathroom (wanting to beat the halftime crowd). The curtain in front of the window prevented the glass from hitting Allen, who was sitting in front of the window. We are all beyond humbled and thankful. We should not be okay. People behind us died. People had parts of their body missing. Once outside, it was pandemonium. One man was bawling… his brother had died. Mason and Jay saw a man stop breathing.

We made it safely to the Sozo, Intl. orphanage and haven’t left since. Flights have been booked. We are alright. Reports blame Somolian terrorists that had been trained by Al-Quaidda. At the other restaurant, it is even suspected that it was a suicide bomber. God has a plan for us. I have peace, and although not unshaken, I have the whole time.

Thank you for your prayers and concern. Your prayers for our safety have been answered. It’s amazing to be in the Body of Christ at such a time and to see people from everywhere praying and helping. Thank you. I thank God for all of you and the love He has given us. To Him be the glory.

2 Posts

I wrote these this past week but am only now able to post them... read if you get the time, no big deal.

1 - Nairobi Airport

So Molo was really good. I stayed in the Waweru household with a Foxfire, Joseph. The Wawerus were awesome. Staying with them was a guy named Peter, a girl named Janet, and for a few days, a guy named Kevin. They were not immediately related to the Wawerus, but I think they were nephews and nieces or something. We were all somewhat close in age, and it was really good making friends with them. The mission itself was unlike anything I have done. It was an aggressive spiritual campaign for the town of Molo, including door-to-door, person-to-person evangelism, evening crusades, street cleaning, specialized meetings (couples, professionals, youth, single mothers, etc.), and school ministry. I was involved in each of these facets of ministry in one way or another. I spoke about things like career development and goal setting in front of hundreds of students, helped set up a projector/screen for a showing of The Passion on the street, and even got to lead a lady to the Lord!

I had tea like 5 times a day. And portions in farming town were always huge… if ever I were to gain weight, it would have been in these past few weeks. Maybe I did. After some sweet goodbyes, I returned to Nairobi with a small group of people, two nights before the mission officially ended.

And this is crazy: I met a Kenyan man who met my dad in a taxi in Cape Town and who has an office in the same building as Scott Dawson in Birmingham… my dad’s office. Crazy small world when God is in control.

Yesterday, my last full day in Nairobi, I went to Kebira with a guy named Jimmy. Kebira is the second largest slum in Africa (next to one that is in South Africa). Jimmy took me to buy some awesome Kenyan sandals that are made out of car tires. I got a very good price with Jimmy, less than most Africans. Then we went through the slum. It was humbling to say the least. A “house” in the slum can be rented for about $10 a month… basically the price of a movie. Jimmy introduced me to people as the future President of the United States, Obama’s replacement. Jimmy used to live in Kebira. He spoke of how rough an environment it was for a young person. Drug addiction and prostitution are just a couple of the many problems to be faced in there. But our Lord is faithful, and He has brought Jimmy (a former Fox Fire) out of the slums and the life he led there to follow closely after Christ.

As I write this (although I will not be able to post this until much later, when I attain internet access), I am sitting in the Nairobi airport surrounded by people from everywhere. I am not the only mzungu anymore. Nor am I the center of every young child’s attention, drawn by my unnaturally pale complexion and blonde, unshaven head. However, I am not in the majority either. It’s good.

I’ll be in touch from Uganda later. I pray all of us find our joy in the Lord, our hearts rejoicing at the work of His hands. Grace, peace, and love.

2 - Uganda

First full day in Iganga, Uganda. I have an enormous hotel room all to myself. Big bed. toilet, bath/shower (minus the hot water), and my own TV cable (the TV itself is MIA). I eat breakfast and dinner here at the hotels… good food made to order (goat meat, fries, some cabbage stuff, and water tonight… sausage last night). Today we broke up into two teams for school ministry, much like what I experienced in Kenya. Today, I was asked to briefly give my testimony (after the program at that school had already begun, literally a couple of minutes before I stood up to speak). My audience was a few hundred (maybe even a few hundred more than that… I’m a bad guestimator) primary school students. Ages, I would guess, ranged from 11 to 15 (maybe 12 to 16… I’m bad at ages too). We had a few praise songs, a couple of testimonies, a skit, a message, and an invitation. The majority of the kids made decisions, but I fear that they did not know what they were doing. As we were filling out information cards afterward, a few girls even asked me what to do if they were Muslim. I pray that the Gospel is so central here… Christ and Christ crucified.

Before going to the second school, yet after a lunch of matoke (steamed mashed bananas) and a bunch of other unpronounceable mushy foods, we acquired a guitar. So at the second school, after practicing in their “parking lot” before getting out of the van, I accompanied the worship team in a couple of songs, one of which in the wrong key for part of the time. At the third and final school, the headmaster was not around, so we left until another day.

Pray that I am humble (not just externally) and that God alone is glorified. Pray that I am selfless. Pray that I am focused on Jesus and guarded in every way.

As I write this, I am sitting in my hotel lobby with nine Africans (six of whom are enjoying a cold one) while watching the Netherlands play Uruguay in the semi-finals of the World Cup. Uruguay just scored to tie it at one all (I hear profanity). I am the only white person here, the only white person involved in the mission (even the other Americans are black), and aside from two random mzungus riding on the backs of a couple of boda-bodas (motorcycle taxis), the only white person in Iganga. This is how it feels to be a minority (although “sore thumb” might be a more fitting description of me here).

At this point, I feel like I overuse parentheses as a grammatical tool. However, I feel that they are highly effective. I was even tempted to put them around that last sentence. What do y’all think?