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Uganda - Part One "The Beginning Days"

Walking into my 2 bedroom apartment in Naples, Florida after returning home from Uganda, feelings of sadness, gratefulness, relief, and nostalgia all swirled together in my mind. My dog Panda, jumping up and down to greet me was a wonderful feeling, one I had been waiting for all day, but as she eagerly jumped up to lick my face I instantly remembered hundreds of orphans in Masaka, swarming our van and greeting us with smiles and laughter, and I longed for those children even more than the whimpering gladness of my five year old faithful friend. The first thing I noticed upon walking inside my apartment Saturday afternoon was that the temperature seemed freezing cold. I went to the thermostat to check, and it was set at 78 degrees Fahrenheit, just how I left it. I went to the bathroom and looked at myself in a mirror for the first time in two weeks; yikes. Greasy hair and blemishes stared back at me. There in my bathroom was a toilet that flushed and a shower head with hot water waiting for me. The water for that first shower back in the states seemed way too hot. For the past two weeks, our means of showering consisted of collecting water in five gallon buckets from a water tank, and then using a small pitcher to dump the cold water on our heads at the end of the day. I'd grown accustomed to cold water bucket showers. Suddenly, my full sized bed that first night home seemed enormous, and it felt weird to run a fan, so reluctantly I turned it off. I didn't have to tuck in a mosquito net around my tiny, less than twin sized bed for the first time in days, and I didn't have four other women crammed into a small room next to me sleep talking throughout the night, (the nightly mutterings were hilarious). Needless to say, I didn't sleep as well as I thought I would in these new luxurious conditions. It is amazing how quickly one can adjust to new living situations, and even more amazing that it became normal enough to make my first night home feel strange. 

The trip to Africa was a trip of firsts, but more importantly, a trip overflowing with love. God could not have picked 9 better humans for me to spend these last two weeks with and I am forever grateful for the friendships formed, the lessons learned, and this newfound love in my heart. This is "Part One" of our trip and I'll do my best in the paragraphs below to share with you our experiences, but no words can fully describe just how special Uganda and its people really are. All I can say is, you MUST go yourself. You'll be forever changed in the greatest of ways.

 Our flight departed from Fort Lauderdale Saturday night on the 4th of May. First stop Dubai. The flight was 14 hours long, and I was placed in a middle seat between two students, whom I would come to know well over the next two weeks. By the end of the flight my legs were swollen and my ankles had somehow disappeared. As one of the students, Colin, put it, "my kankles had kankles". My calves were huge and my feet throbbing. But we were in Dubai and it was time for a tour of the richest city in the world. We exchanged money at the airport and caught a shuttle to our hotel where I purchased a night tour that would begin at 10pm. We dropped our bags off in our rooms, grabbed some food at the buffet, and hopped in a van to begin our adventure around the city. Wealth was everywhere. Although we couldn't understand everything our tour guide was saying, the one detail that stood out to me that night was regarding a 7 star hotel and the amount of money it cost to stay there. Cheapest rate, 8,000 dollars per night. Most expensive suite ran for 28,000 dollars a night because of the ridiculous amenities included, one of which was a 24 karat gold toilet. Ironically, we would be using toilets that didn't flush for the next two weeks. We stopped at several monuments including the tallest building in the world, the Burj Khalifa, which stood an impressive half mile tall. All of this luxury and showiness set us up for the poverty we were about to experience once we stepped foot on Ugandan soil. A complete opposite of sorts.


The next morning we grabbed breakfast at the buffet at 5:30am, and caught the 6am shuttle to the airport to make our five hour flight to Kampala, Uganda. I accidentally walked out of the hotel with a cup of coffee and was abruptly greeted by two men who told me I had to throw it in the trash because it was the first day of Ramadan. Whoops. Time difference from the states was 8 hours ahead, so most of us didn't sleep much in our hotel rooms. When we reached Kampala, we exchanged our visa and were granted access through customs where we would spend the next two weeks. Anyone who wishes to enter Uganda must have a yellow fever vaccination, and a visa, to enter the country. Luckily, we all passed the test and stepped outside into the world of Africa. Father Joseph spotted us right away and we were introduced to his sister Stella who came with him to pick us up. When we arrived at the van, we all wondered how all of our luggage, plus our tired bodies would cram into this 8 passenger vehicle. We all had brought with us a carry on bag that was donated by a family in Ave Maria to orphaned children. These bags, plus our own, plus our bodies needed to fit in this little white vehicle. We made it work, but it was at this moment that luxury and comfort were left behind, and the beginning of getting to know each other, quickly reached a whole new level. 


The two seats in the back of the van were facing each other and we sat four and five across on each bench with our legs awkwardly all crammed in the middle. I sat closest to the door and was barely able to slide the door shut. It was here in this hour and a half van ride we were properly introduced to our new "family". Hadyn pulled out his ukulele and began playing random tunes while we all chatted eagerly and looked out the windows at all the new sights and sounds. Driving in Uganda is what I call "organized chaos". Father Joseph got a kick out of this, but I have never seen driving quite as hectic as I have here. The driver sits on the opposite side, as well as drives on the opposite side of the road. That in itself was a confusing change of pace. There were rarely stop lights or traffic signals, just people aimlessly weaving in out of each other, horns honking, brakes hitting, and "boda boda's" scurrying in out of the larger vehicles. A boda boda is a motorcyclist, and these drivers are one of the bravest, yet most idiotic in Africa. Father Joseph was not a fan and called them "so stupid", on several occasions throughout our adventures. He said these guys die daily because of their dare devil driving tactics and most of all because they think they always have the right of way. 

We stopped in Kampala for dinner and exchanged our money for shillings. When we pulled into the compound we were greeted by "Ja Ja Clementine", the gatekeeper, whose sole job is to guard the gate of the entrance. She was an older woman, always smiling, and took her job as gatekeeper seriously. The gate was a big metal door that locked on the inside to keep intruders out. When we pulled up the driveway that evening we were greeted by several children and a few of the Sisters waiting eagerly for our arrival. Stepping out of the van was indeed a heartwarming experience as the children hugged our waists and even picked up a few of the students off the ground. We were complete strangers to them, yet their joy upon seeing us would have fooled anyone watching this greeting from afar. 

Journal entry from May 6th: As soon as the side door opened, little screams of excitement were heard, followed by hugs and joy filled laughter. One of the best welcomes I think I've ever received.

We were then shown to our new homes for the next two weeks. The women's room had two tables, and six beds covered in mosquito nets waiting for us inside. You could not walk two steps in any direction without hitting either a bed or a table, so needless to say walking around in our new room was like doing a sidestepping dance at any given moment. The tables would be where we would eventually have our cherished "family meals". Each girl picked their new bed and the sixth bed was used to put everyone's luggage during our stay. My bed was in the far corner by a book shelf, and getting to it was much like going into a child's fort, weaving through mosquito nets and carefully shimmying by the other beds. Each bed was no more than two feet from the other. We were told the five gallon buckets we saw full of water in the bathroom would be our new showers, and were also to be used to flush the toilet. This meant whenever we used the toilet, instead of the good ol' American way of pushing down a lever on the back of the toilet, we lifted a five gallon bucket to dump water down the toilet to flush. I for one, was ready for a shower. Dumping that first pitcher of cold water on my head made me gasp but honestly, after riding in a hot sweaty van for 2 hours, it was refreshing and much needed. 

The rooms were not air conditioned so the windows were kept open during the night to let air circulation in, but because of this, each bed was draped with a large mosquito net that needed to be tucked under the mattress. Somehow I tucked in a mosquito with me on that first night. After taking some melatonin, I laid on top of my blankets in the 80 plus degree weather wondering if I would fall asleep, while listening to the annoying buzz of a mosquito near my ear. The night of our first stay brought with it a big thunderstorm. I woke several times throughout the night and one of those times was just to sit and listen to the rain and thunder, and watch as lightning lit up the room. If you know me at all, you know thunderstorms are my favorite, so I thanked God for his warmest welcome and nestled my way back into my less than 6 foot long bed and drifted back to sleep as the rain brought with it some cooler air. 

The next morning, right on cue, the roosters in the compound began to crow as the sky began to turn pink. I was the first awake and threw some clothes on, pulled my hair up, and brushed my teeth while staring at a wall instead of a mirror, then headed down the hill for 7am mass. Walking into the tiny chapel was a sight. Nine sisters were all sitting on the floor in front of the altar as some of the children and a few "aunties" sat on the three benches behind them. The children called the volunteers that helped take care of them "auntie". We would soon be assisting the aunties in their daily duties. After mass our group gathered in the girls room for breakfast where the sisters brought us hot water, bread, and bananas. After breakfast we washed our own dishes at the water tank. The water tank outside of the men's room had a gutter system from the roof that drained directly into the tank, so it was fair to say we washed our dishes using the rain water from the night before. 

After breakfast it was time for our daily chores. Every day the auntie's duties were to sweep and mop all the floors and wash all the children's clothes. The children were up around 5am every day. Most of them could not control their own bowels, so they were changed every day at noon after eating lunch, and bedding was washed every morning. I will add here, ALL clothes and bedding were washed by hand, so chores lasted at least two hours every morning. My job every day was to hang the clothes on the clothes line to dry. The compound was separated into two sides. One side was for the girls and the other side for the boys. The boys did the same chores with the male volunteers on the other side. 

After all the clothes were hung to dry and the floors and chapel were mopped, we went outside and saw that a group of almost 100 people had gathered. One of the sisters saw us and motioned for us to come help them. She explained to us that these people were locals and were coming to collect donated items. The sisters sat them all down in an enclosed area beside the "kitchen" where the food was prepared, and preached to them in their native language about trusting God and thanking Him for his gifts. While Sister was speaking with them, the students and I separated over ten bags of donated clothing items into piles to be distributed to the people. The aunties helped with this and also began preparing small bags of rice for each person to take with them. Separating the clothing took us nearly 30 minutes, and after we were through, we went to introduce ourselves to the visitors and talk with them as they awaited their new items of clothing and food. 

The students sat amongst them and visited, singing them songs and bringing smiles to all their faces. Most of them could only speak a few words of English, but somehow conversations were still able to be had. I, being the designated "documenter" of the trip, snapped pictures and recorded the students singing. One of the women saw this and asked, "Will you take my photo?" This was the first of several times throughout the trip that a person would ask me to take their photograph. Most of the people we encountered had never had their photo taken or had rarely seen themselves in a photograph or a mirror so it was a major privilege to have their photo taken. Once I learned this information, I began to ask people if it was okay to take their photo. I rarely had anyone deny the invitation.  

One woman in particular I encountered that morning, left a lasting impact on me. She was in her late forties and spoke English very well. She had a college degree and had five children. She explained to me that she was HIV positive and could not find a job because of the strong stigma placed on people who have the disease. She acquired it at 14 when she was raped. Her five children, thankfully, were all negative. Her husband and one of her sons were both shot and killed. She had with her, her five year old daughter. She gave me her information and asked that I help her. I still have her name and number on a crinkled up piece of paper, and looking at it brings me such heartache. 

Journal entry from May 7th: I'm not sure what I can do for her but she has so much hope now that a white American woman has taken down her information. She said to me, "I am strong, by God's grace I am strong."

Many of the people stayed behind and wanted more items. The sisters explained they gave all they had and the people must be grateful for what they received. Two women were bartering over a baby carrier and which one of them should receive it. I admired Sister for having to decide which woman would get it as each had a baby on their hip, obviously both in need. After they all departed it was time for lunch. We all ate and rested and reflected on our morning. The children all took naps until 2pm and then they rose for prayer at 3pm. We all gathered in the chapel (there is one chapel in the sister's home where morning mass is held, and a chapel in the children's home, where daily prayers are held) It was the 3 o'clock hour so the Blessed Sacrament was brought out and a divine mercy chaplet and the rosary were said each day during this time. This prayer time lasted an hour, and all the children sat quietly and prayed. The prayers were said in their native language, and although we couldn't understand, as a Catholic, it was comforting to still be able to follow along and know what prayers they were reciting. It was extremely peaceful.

As I stared at the Eucharist, tears started forming in my eyes. I suddenly felt the presence of one of my former players Emily in the room. I looked around and saw the kids smiling and thought to myself, "these children see angels every day, and I know they can see you Em." I felt her smile in agreement, and it brought me so much comfort. I cherished the hour of prayer that first day.

Journal entry from May 7th: Because their hearts are so pure, they have a vision of heaven we cannot even grasp. I started to cry as I witnessed this, knowing that when we are in the presence of Jesus, miracles happen, even when we can't see it.
After prayers we went and spent the rest of the afternoon with the children. When I say children, I mainly mean "childlike". Many of these children are not children at all but have some sort of disability that makes them incapable of taking care of themselves. It was truly fascinating watching them and the way they took care of each other. Each child assisted the other in whatever area they were lacking. Some could not speak, some could not walk, but each could communicate to each other and to us in a special way. The ones that could not speak had a voice in the ones that could speak, as the ones that could not walk, were carried by the ones that could. Amazing to see them take such care of each other, all out of love and compassion.

Ida, one of the leaders of the group, immediately noticed my gold chain necklace with a miraculous medal hanging around my neck. She motioned to me that she wanted it so I took it off and placed it around her neck. I would later call Ida the "Beyonce" of the group. She had so much sass and spunk, and grew to be one of our favorites. Later Ida took me to her room and opened a cabinet by her bed. She dug around in her belongings until she found a small silver miraculous medal. She placed it in my hand and motioned that it was now mine since I gave her my own necklace. I will cherish this medal and the exchange we had that day.

Later that evening the students, Father Joseph, and I, left the compound and walked down the road to find a fruit stand in the neighborhood. Most people's livelihoods depend on selling fruit, vegetables, meat, and other goods on the sides of the roads. The dirt we walked on was so red, my Nike's now have permanent remnants from the African soil, something I'm not really sad about. Children were wandering the streets every which way you looked. They all smiled and waved at us as we walked by; we stuck out like sore thumbs. Animals roamed just as freely as the children. Chickens, goats, rabbits, and stray dogs all could be seen every few hundred feet. Many of the buildings we walked past looked as though they were abandoned or unlivable, at least in "American terms", yet as we walked past them, it never failed, we'd see a child's head pop out of a window, a baby sitting on the porch, or a woman standing in the doorway. It would take me a while to fully grasp the living situations of the people there.

Finally, we found a pineapple stand and picked up 6 pineapples for 20,000 shillings. This was a little over five American dollars, so a very cheap price. We took the pineapple back to the compound and Father Joseph cut it in the grass outside of our room. The best pineapple I've ever tasted. Writing about it now has my mouth watering and now I'll never be able to eat pineapple here in the US without comparing it to the ones I tasted that evening. Suddenly I now feel fruit deficient.

And now it is the time in my story to mention the German Shepherds. There were three faithful dogs that guarded the compound and were let out each night by the sisters at 9:30pm. Anyone who was not in their rooms at this time would more than likely make a hospital run after meeting the jaws of one these guard dogs. The only people on the planet they will listen to is the sisters; everyone else to them is a threat and they have full permission to attack. We were warned, "Stay in your rooms between the hours of 9:30pm and 5:00am". That evening like clock work, the German Shepherds were let loose and could be heard barking at the windows of anyone who had left a light on. Our room happened to be one of those windows. Earlier that evening I had accidentally left out some mosquito spray on the window sill. One of the German Shepherds found this mosquito spray and each time he jumped up in the window to threaten us, we saw him clenching a bottle of "OFF" between his jaws. This dog quickly earned the nickname "Skeet" from me, and each night from then on when he would come to our window, I would yell in Sandra Bullock style, "Down Skeet Skeet German Shepherd!" Regardless, the sisters never have problems with intruders and the children are more than safe with the three dogs prowling the grounds throughout the night.

I awoke the morning of the 8th at 6am and started my morning routine of a quick face wash and teeth brush and was out the door soon after to have some quiet prayer time before mass. Father's homily that morning was about loving people despite their capabilities and what looked to be "their faults". I instantly thought of the children we were going to encounter that day. I'll add here, these children were not wearing name brand clothes, and although they were well taken care of, it was impossible for the sisters and the aunties to tend to each one at any given moment, so much of the time one would have snot running down their nose, slobber coming out of their mouths, or flies swarming around their heads. This was because, they did not give off the best smell. This was a huge adjustment for me. I will admit, smells to me are important. I love to smell good, and I love when my house, car, laundry, and all the like smell good as well. An American luxury so many there did not have. It would take patience and an extra amount of love for me to see past this and love the soul behind the eyes instead of the smell behind the body.

Journal entry from May 8th: I was reminded in that moment how since I've arrived here I have noticed that smells, especially good ones, are not luxuries we can afford in this place. My goal was and is to remove the vanity within me that deems smell as so important. 
After mass the sisters brought us hot cows milk for breakfast. I mixed mine with some instant coffee for a mocha and can officially say it was pretty good. Although I'm a farm girl, I had never drank fresh cows milk. I was impressed with the students willingness to try it also and admired how little anyone had complained about our new eating and living situations.

Then it was off to do our morning chores again. That day was particularly cloudy as rain was on it's way so it was nice to experience a cool morning. The weather in Africa is much better than in Florida. Although the days can get hot, it is not the humid hot we are used to in Florida. After the laundry was hung we went inside the building where all the children were sitting. There was an open square in the middle with a beautiful tile floor. Everyone was sitting along the outside walls because the roof in the middle is open to let sunshine in and more importantly help circulate the air. I decided on this day to find the children I had yet to speak to. There were children and people who had quickly become favorites because they were more interactive and welcoming. Others who were bound to wheelchairs or corner benches could not speak or move. My focus was on them that day. I do not think I had smiled so much thus far in the trip as I did spending time in silence with those children in particular that morning.

The first child I sat by was tied by her waist to a chair so she wouldn't fall. I grabbed her leg and placed it over mine and began to rub her legs and feet. I doubted they were used to getting foot rubs or any physical touch whatsoever but she didn't seem too startled. After a few minutes of this she started sucking her thumb and dozed off to sleep. I continued this for 20-30 minutes. When she awoke she flashed an enormous smile at me. Until that moment I didn't know she was capable of smiling as she had a blank stare up until that point. It was a wonderful moment. Next I went to another woman who couldn't speak and was bound to a wheelchair. She had some deformities in her hands and feet. She seemed somber at first until I went over and picked up her hand and smiled at her. A huge smile swept across her face and she thrashed about in her chair, throwing her head to the left and right and mumbling incoherently. So much joy. She squeezed my hand with what little fingers and thumb she did have and I stood with her just holding her hand for about 15 minutes. So much peace in those minutes, I cannot explain.

Journal entry May 8th: Our goal here is to be Jesus' hands and feet but looking into their eyes is like seeing Jesus himself. I think they are the ones who are teaching us.

After I had spent some time in silence with these two women, one of the aunties asked me if I would help some of the children in wheelchairs with their physical therapy. This was a big learning moment for me. There was a small room with a mat placed on the floor where the children were laid to stretch and strengthen their legs. I worked with "Princess", one of the children who cannot walk. Her name fits her personality perfectly as she is such a little diva. I took her out her wheelchair and placed her legs around my hips to help her stretch. She found such joy in being held. After stretching her legs I placed her on an exercise ball and rolled her back and forth. She giggled and screamed and wreathed in excitement. It was amazing to see the joy these children had under such terrible circumstances, yet they seemed to have no idea they were any less fortunate.

After physical therapy it was time for lunch, rest, and then holy hour at 3pm. Then, shortly after prayer Ida brought out her drum and made the girls do the Macarena dance, over...and over. The children loved it. After this we all went outside and played with a big parachute like we were in elementary P.E. class again. It quickly became monotonous to us, but I think the children could have lifted the parachute up and down for hours on end.

As evening approached we decided to go for another walk to fetch some more fresh fruit. This time for mangos, proving again to be the best mangos we'd ever tasted. At dinner that evening we talked about where we saw Jesus in our day. The reflections of each student were so heartfelt and touching. We talked about how easy it was to view the people here as less than us but in reality, we are the less fortunate ones. These children see angels and are living amongst them daily. Poverty of the spirit is indeed the greater poverty of the two and they were teaching us much on how to be rich in spirit.

Journal entry May 8th: Their place in heaven has to be so special, so great, so rewarding. The suffering they have endured here on earth is providing for them one of the best rooms in heaven. 

I'll conclude part one of the trip here. It is at this point in the story that hearts are beginning to open, friendships and bonds are forming, and our group is beginning to really internalize and wrestle with what it is we are doing in Uganda. In the posts that follow I'll go into more detail of our discoveries and adventures and how the joy of the people in Uganda left a lasting impression on all of us as we ventured out of the compound and into the streets of Kampala, and the countryside of Masaka. Much love to all of you that have made it this far in my post, thanks for tuning in. To be continued...


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