African Muzungu

I moved to the village. Well, as they say here, 'somehow' the village. As someone aptly noted, our office compound in Kamonkoli is "like town in the village." It’s not brick or mud huts with tin or thatch roofs. It’s not dirt floors, or pit latrines. It’s not cooking outdoors on charcoal stoves. It’s indoor plumbing, and normal (for here :) ) windows and doors. It’s the same furniture and decorations that I had in Mbale. It’s carpet in the bedroom, and a bathtub and shower. My bedroom But it is also hand carrying water in jerrycans. Because city water hasn’t reached us here in months so the only way to have running water is if the one and only firetruck in the region brings water to fill the tank. And even then, everything other than showering is done with jerrycans in order to conserve water. It is learning that a toilet needs 10 liters of water (a half a jerrycan, or more than 20 lbs of water) in order to flush...and learning how many times you ...

I've never seen such compassion in a child's eyes as I did that day. I had woken up on a Saturday morning feeling pretty awful but not wanting to miss AWANA that day. So I drove myself to Kamonkoli, determined to grit my teeth and push through the pain. By the time I navigated the mess of a 'road' we're calling a highway these days and arrived at the church, my endurance was already tottering. I climbed out of my Rav4 and weakly handed over the bags of supplies to one of my boys to carry into the church. The kids were already singing, jumping, and clapping in the sanctuary as they exuded the excitement that comes when our teams of western visitors are around. 10 minutes in, and I knew the tears converging behind my eyes would soon make a full appearance. Crying and tears are just not understood or accepted here, and I knew how uncomfortable they would make the kids. I stepped outside behind the church and vainly struggled to hold back the flow. Just then, two of m...

I’m 9 years old, lying in my bed with the blanket of darkness wrapping me snuggly. Many children are afraid of the dark, but not me. It’s the fear of something more sinister that has me paralyzed beneath the covers: demons. I’ve heard stories about them: people seeing them, hearing them, watching objects around the house be moved by them. I peek open one eye towards the door. I’m sure that any moment the form of a demon will appear in the doorway, and a chill runs down my spine. My only small comfort is the form of my sister, Melinda, curled up in the bed beside mine. Her presence brings temporary relief, and I fight to fall asleep in that moment. It’s this way every night. My fear of going to the bathroom at night and walking the halls in darkness surrounded by the spirits of darkness. My steps racing up the stairs to my bedroom, unable to simply walk in the darkness. My cover pulled high over my head, fighting to shut out any hint of demonic activity. At least in the day, I have the...

Of Blood Tests Trips into Kampala, the capitol city are always exciting for me. They promise wonderful food, fun shopping, and the satisfaction of finding things that are not available anywhere in Mbale. This past weekend's trip had one additional goal for me: have my A1C blood test done...for the first time in way too long due to my nervous procrastination. The A1C is a test used for diagnosing diabetes, and I had my first bad results while I was still in college. I still remember the shock of that initial phone call from the doctor telling me a I had diabetes. For over 4 years, I struggled to fix myself, but failed in every attempt. Then, without medical explanation, Jesus healed me. That was just over 2 years ago, right before I moved to Uganda. This time as I went for testing, I was super nervous. For one thing, I didn't know what to expect from the Ugandan lab, and for two I was desperately trying to keep myself from imagining what a bad result would mean. I should...