African Muzungu

Time has come for yet another Melody Moment. Here at my house, we have a watchman at all times. There is one particular one who is here most of the time, and others take shorter shifts to relieve him each day. So this particular guard is named Michael, but everyone around here just calls him Askali. Now I have been seeing Askali almost every day for the past 2 1/2 months right? And this whole time I just call him Askali like everyone else, and when someone says Askali I know exactly who they're talking about. So the other day I was asking my language helper Diana how to tell the taxi man in Luganda, "Stop there where the guard is." Diana replied, "Koma wali awali Askali." Slightly confused, I looked at her and asked how the taxi man would know who I meant. Slightly confused back, she asked what I meant. I tried again. "Diana, how will they know who I'm talking about? Do they all know my guard's name?" Understanding lit in her eyes, and laughter

The brisk evening mountain air fills my lungs as I leave the darkness behind and enter the blue florescent light of the small African church. In front of me sits a small group of young men and women, eyes closed tight and lips moving in muffled prayers. I silently slip into a wooden pew, setting my water bottle down on the dusty floor, and join the intercession. It's late on a Friday night, and we have gathered together to pray, sing, listen to the Word, praise, and worship 'til morning. One person starts to sing, and with one voice everyone calls back the response. The song of the believers fills me with joy, and I know that I am home. All through the night, we praise, dance, pray, and sing some more. Unexpectedly, I am asked to teach around 2 am, which I do only through the power and work of the Holy Spirit. When heavy eyelids threaten to close in sleep, we sing. and dance. and jump. and clap. and call aloud for the Lord to work in us. I join in singing all the s

Say hello to Brian! This precious little boy stole my heart right away, and I wanted you to meet him and hear his story. Brian lives just a hop step and a skip away from me in Namatala, the poorest housing area of Mbale. While I live in a 3 room carpeted, furnished, bug-free (mostly ;) ), beautiful apartment, it takes me only 5 minutes to walk to Brian's small mud and thatch hut where he lives with his mother, Regina and older sister. I first noticed Brian among all the many children of Namatala that swarm around the muzungus because of his clothing. That first day as Paul scooped Brian up in his arms, we were surprised to find that under the extra long, tattered, dirt encrusted, gray t-shirt, this bright eyed little boy wasn't wearing any shorts. I was later told that while he owned exactly 2 t-shirts, he didn't have even one pair of shorts or pants. Surprised, I determined to find out more about this little boy. Brian is the youngest of the 6 surviving children born to

Bout 2 of sickness successfully conquered! And before you ask, no, it was not malaria. That much anticipated event is still to come. It did however feel much like malaria, or so I'm told. Last week I woke up one evening with sever body aches, weakness, light headedness, and a fever. I waited a couple of days hoping that it would just pass since from what I had heard, my symptoms weren't serious enough to be malaria. Finally though, at the urging of my American and Ugandan families, I agreed to go into the clinic to be tested on Monday. The finger prick to test for malaria wasn't too bad, but I must say if I never have to give another urine sample on this side of the world, I would be most content! Since apparently collecting in a bottle the size of your thumb wasn't challenge enough, I was also gifted with outhouse accomodations and slippery floors in which to accomplish my mission. However, that mission proved successful since it gave me my diagnosis: kidney infecti