The imposed rule that I have set is that the first cryer of the day is responsible for writing the blog. This is usually in place by breakfast and today was no exception. The long day yesterday was a great way to gel the group but also wiped us out. The clinic took us way into darkness last night. What we planned to do in 2-3 days the local doctor tried to force into 1. The group did an amazing job. As the sun set the mosquitoes came out in FORCE so I took a break to see what was happening in the back of the house and lather in bug spray. Among the amazing sites: Blake taking blood pressure and pulse, Tamara working hand in hand with 2 doctors giving assessments and shots, Amanda giving mouth exams and photographing the many decayed teeth and Nicole doing eye exams in the DARK with flashlight on either end. The exhaustion has brought us to a new place in the trip..
There is a point in every trip here when the realization of how we are perceived here comes crashing on you in a very real way. For Ugandans we are called Mazungu. This term of endearment is one (mostly) of respect. There are very few white people in the villages so we stand out from a distance. In many ways our presence is celebrated. We are invited to sit and visit with strangers, we are invited to shop or buy from any vendor, and we are greeted by most who see us on the street - nearly always from the children. From the surface this word Mazungu has an endearing quality. Translated; however, the word means rich white person. In Uganda rich and white are indistinguishable.
This is the point in the trip where the cross of cultures hits home. I stood in John's (out sponsor child) room yesterday for about 20 minutes. The colored concrete floor had been hand swept before I arrived and I stepped over several pair of flip flops in my muddy running shoes to sit on one of the beds. The room has a standard size locally made metal door and a small window. The walls are plaster taped with notes, report cards and occasionally etched with some art and markings of one of the residents. The wood rafters holding the tin roof are covered with running shoes, back packs, drying clothes and lanyards of the mosquito nets that drape the 3 metal bunk beds. At 2 in the afternoon it was mostly dark in the room and there is no lighting or power. I sat and cried for a while at the contract of our worlds. This room would be unsuitable back home for 2 prisoners. Here six boys were proud to call it home. Proud because in this part of the world a plastered wall and a metal roof are nicer than the street or a mud hut. Proud to have a 4" piece of foam they call a mattress to sleep on. Proud because they come from the streets. I sat there thinking about the house I am building at home... 1 bed for every kid and a bathroom for each sex... A castle to anyone in this country. I was embarrassed. As I stood to leave the room I read the sign at the bottom of the door neatly written "Please remove your shoes".
Our kids eat 3 meal a day. For breakfast they eat porridge - a spiceless watered down version of our oatmeal made from corn. For lunch and dinner (everyday) they eat pinto beans and posho - cornmeal stewed into a mash. At the house we have been eating at a large wooden table covered with 2 table clothes. It takes the whole room to feed the 13+ of us leaving minimal room for a fridge, computer table, floor mounted fan and a cupboard with all of the plates, silverware and coffee mugs. There is a large window facing the front yard that has old white sheets with a blue floral print neatly sewn together and hung on a strip of bailing wire attached to a wooden window frame by 3 temporary drywall screws. Our meals have been different from the kids. WE have been treated to many favorites from here and home. Mac and cheese, fresh fruit and vegetables, fish, chicken, goat, beef and eggs. TO drink we have ice cold bottled water or a selection of Cokes and local sodas. At night when we eat we close the window sheets. I am told that it is to keep the neighbors from looking in. I have my doubts... I am fairly confident that the 6 foot tall plastered courtyard wall keeps their views blocked. Closing them seems to be a bad idea too since it stops the only real airflow into the room. Nevertheless, we close them. I HAVE noticed that they do a fairly good job of disguising what we are eating from the orphans playing on the other side in the front yard. I am not sure they would really mind or be surprised. The only place to wash food is in the back courtyard that connects the house to their rooms and their outdoor unplumbed bathroom. The only way into the house from the courtyard is through a see thru screened door that leads into the kitchen. Needless to say, I am sure they are aware of what we eat. Sitting in the dining room this morning, I really felt like an American as I "earned" the right to blog today. I felt like an American doing our part to "help" the needy hiding behind a transparent sheet.
The truth of our trip is that we have become more aware of what we have and what people here don't. By the time we leave I will have many new and strengthen Ugandan relationships, 11 new American friends and many stories to tell. My hope is that we can look beyond the things we "have" a gain an appreciation for what matters when you don't... Pride for what you do have, thankfulness, and a clinging to God's provision as though life depends on it. It really does regardless of what you "have". My prayer is that both cultures can find genuine discipleship in the process.
Your Kingdom Come
Brian
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