David Livingstone

“It's like going to the movies. When someone asks you if you want to go...you go! It's a fun thing to do!”

We had just passed “God Loves You Pork Chop Joint”. Not too far up the road was another crooked stand “Majestic Pork Chop Joint". Our guide was explaining the spontaneity and thrill of going to a Joint with a friend.

“Is it because pigs are more of a rare speciality here?” I asked.

“Exactly. People raise plenty of cows and goats...” He was interrupted by the sight of a baby goat trotting through the brush beside the vehicle. “Hmm, when I see him, I see a little piece of steak running around.”

Awww! The baby goat was so cute and helpless. PETA would be all over that in North America. I suppose we're a nation who has way too much to eat, so we start to make excuses to cut our portions and uncontrolled habits away, getting picky and passionately silly over minor things. We have all sorts of diets that would be against eating baby goats – start with Vegetarian and Vegan...

“What is a “Vegan?!” Fred was confused. I explained.

“Do they...you know, pass on in life earlier?”

I'm not a vegan or a vegetarian, and if sugar was an animal, well I would probably still eat that everyday. I don't consider myself a “meat lover”, but when you're in the Pearl of Africa, you eat most whatever is put before you (as long as you can chew it and swallow it – there is that difficulty sometimes). There is not much room to be particular. I remember someone saying recently, “I'm trying to imagine what it would have been like if Jesus were trying to feed the crowd of 5000 with the loaves and fish, in this century...”Gluten free, please Jesus!”, or “Sorry, is this low fat fish?” Whatever happened to “Give us our daily bread”?

Therefore, when my roommate tossed half a Cadbury chocolate bar on the bed the other night at 9pm, I gratefully accepted. We sat there munching and chatting, like two sugar-deprived children. I dropped three of the uneaten squares on my bedspread and for a while, was propped up on my elbows typing away on the Dell. When I sat up again, I had a funny sensation of something thick and warm on my outer forearm, and looking down I shuttered. My first thought was a marmot had dumped on my arm while I was engrossed in the virtual world. When the smell of Cadbury hit my nose, we burst into laughter and proceeded to look for the mess on the covers. There was none. It had entirely reached up and stuck to my arm and melted there, suspended inches in the air. Oh well – I licked it off. Rations.

“Sweet Dream” Lauren had said.

I had laughed and pulled the Cadbury-free Covers over my head.

Thankful it's Chocolate

The van turned off the main road and headed down a steep incline. When I first heard about African massages, I was rather sceptical, but turns out that they are unavoidable. They leave your stomachs lurching, joints wobbling and head bobbing – I don't think there was a part of me that wasn't moving. I am now certain the package deal comes with every car ride.

We were headed towards “Bbera”. This was one of their three Watoto Village, containing 1000 children, not far from Suubi Village.

“How much longer?” One of the older volunteers asked, grimacing, 10 minutes into the ride.

“Not much longer now!” Our guide smiled

Thirty minutes later we pulled up to the gate.

The houses were arranged in groups of eight, standing in circles to form a sense of community. The ninth house was built slightly on the outside, and was where the “grandmother” and essential leader of that circle lived. Each of the houses held plaques, containing the names of individuals, groups, churches or communities that built or contributed to making the house. The village had a primary school and high school, as well as playgrounds and pretty circular grassy areas in the centre of each housing cluster.

Our group entered a home, whereupon we met “Mama Jacky”, the mother of the home; and therefore, the mother of eight children. If you saw one house, you'd seen them all. A simple kitchen and bathroom, each having running water. A small living area with a dining table inside. A room for the girls and one for the boys, with metal-framed bunkbeds and malaria nets overhanging each mattress. All cement floors. I spotted a paper bag labled “Clinic” on it, and turned my head to see a young-girl, maybe four, lying on a couch in the corner by a small window. She peered out from underneath the covers, a little plate of chopped oranges next to her.

“She's not feeling well today.” Mama Jacki explained. There was a tender compassion in her eyes as she looked at her daughter.

“Feel better” I gave her a little wave and smiled. I'm glad they had a clinic in the village, for the kids.

Mama Jacki and one of her boys

As we headed back out of the village, we passed by a group of children playing. Some were taking cardboard pieces down the hill on their bottoms, as if they were sleds in winter. “Byebye, Mzungus! Byebye, Mzungus!”

“What does that mean?” The elderly lady in the front exclaimed.

Fred laughed - “Goodbye, White People!”

“How rude!”

The van turned the corner and a naked toddler was seen, playing outside his home. Our elderly friend spotted him.

“Oh, LOOK at that CUTE BLACK baby!...stop the car! I want to get a picture!”

A child from a nearby Community

Another African Massage. The final village to visit – Suubi. Because Suubi was built on a hill, the houses couldn't be in circular clusters, rather they were on tiered levels of the land. We were shown one of the sustainability farms. To this point, Watoto has been started and flourished off many donors - incredibly generous people. Each child requires 8 sponsors to make it through College level. As they pass highschool, it really starts getting very expensive; and with about 3000 children across the Watoto villages, you can only imagine how many sponsors are needed.

“Our goal is to make Watoto entirely self-sustainable.” Fred explained

We were shown the goat farm (which now entirely supplies all the Watoto baby's milk). We were also told of the agricultural farm they are continually working with, in hopes to supply all the villages with food, and sell to surrounding communities.

Trees in Bbera Village

I was able to jump out at the clinic and have a look inside. In the dimly lit interior, a woman came towards me and extended her hand.

“You're the nurse?” Her face broke into a big smile and she ushered me into her office and closed the door, telling me about the clinic, the work to be done and the excitement of having a few of us volunteers. She proceeded to lead me around the pharmacy, laboratory, treatment room and holding room, explaining to me the procedures until Fred finally came in to show me back to the van. Lord Willing, I hope to start there next week.

We headed back through rush hour into Kampala. It's common to see Taxis and stores labled with “Jesus Cares” or “God Loves you”, even “God is my Shepherd”. I thought back to the history lesson I'd received on Uganda: In the early 1900s, the British had taken rule in many African counties beside the Nile. Africa was the last of continents to be explored and built up, and the River provided a good source for imports and exports. This included British rule in Uganda, wherein they built hospitals, schools and roadways. Their goals in coming to the “Dark Continent , as was called, was much like those of David Livingstone. Convert the people, commercialise and start civilization. Unfortunately, some of the British motives behind converting were strongly linked to the next two goals. Soften the hearts of the people through religion, then implement their agenda. If the people don't comply...
Of course, not all were like this, but now it is not a surprise when much business and commerce is linked to references of God.

“What do you think of David Livingstone?” I'd asked him.

“I think he had good motives - a good heart.” Fred said that although he perhaps didn't accomplish everything he set out to do, others followed suite, taking after his motives to share Christ, end slavery and help build Civilization in Africa. It must have been difficult for Livingstone to have such a vision, such a passion for this country, and not see much fruit for his labor. Perhaps not all his decisions were rationale or fair, but in reading of him I sometimes think people are too hard on the man – not considering the people who picked up the torch of his vision, after him.

When David Livingstone passed on of malaria, his body was sent back to West Minister Abbey, but his heart was taken and buried in Zambia, under a Mvula tree, near to where he died. The Missionary Doctor's heart had always been towards the people of Africa and therefore, his heart would stay in the soil of it's treasure. It makes me wonder, what is my treasure? I know Christ says, “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Matthew 6:21. Therefore, What is in the forefront of my thoughts? Where do I invest my time and energy? Essentially, where your heart is will reveal what your treasure is to you. These words are a good reminder to ensure that my heart is invested in a treasure that will last, a treasure wherein there will be fruit in Christ for my labor, whether, like Livingstone, I see it or not. And I do hope that one day, people will know the Person wherein my heart is established, and therefore will be secured, forevermore.