Goodbyes

Our alarms rang this morning, bringing on the feeling of dread. After reaching home at around 12:30 am from the festival, we all agreed that it somehow felt like we hadn't slept but a few hours. This would be quite normal back home, but one of the nice things about living here is we had all been fairly consistent about closing the day around 9:30-10 pm. Lacking two hours deemed recognizable. Maybe it was that, or perhaps the fact we were bidding Mardi goodbye today.

Late nights to early morning, for lasting friends

I let the doctor know I would be in a little later, and pulled the chairs around the table. Mardi, Kelly and I sat around the end, tea mugs and “Nice” biscuits in hand, swapping pictures, sharing stories and living out the last moments before the departure vehicle came. The last tea time, like the old people we were. Even after a month and a half, it somehow seemed like a lot longer for us. A future road trip across Canada was booked in Mardi's plan, and surfing in Australia was added to my bucket list.

Mardi stopped by the clinic on her way out, for a final goodbye. I had heard that many long-term volunteers, or even locals, do not get close to people, knowing that they will only have to leave. I believe that this in itself is a loss – a loss of someone you could have known, made memories with, learned from, someone who could come to impact your life in a positive way, or even be an answer to prayer. I never wanted to leave Watoto feeling impartial to those left behind and my only joy found in going home. Why go at all? It should be difficult to leave and harder to say goodbye. That signifies time well-spent and days that were worth the while. Anything worth living and experiencing will, in no doubt, be felt on leaving. Moreover, meeting new friends, but discovering sisters, will undoubtedly be felt on separation. Yet in this, there is no loss, but gain.

We should not be afraid to live, for fear of what we will lose. Rather, according to Christ we're often told to “pour out” and lose our own lives, in order to fully live. Loss is inevitable, but serves to demonstrate that there was room for gain and fulfilment in the first place. Leaving Watoto will be difficult for who I have met and what I have learned, yet it is because of the blessing that it has been. Regarding friendships, I trust that the God who joined those distances in the first place, will bring back together in His own timing.

Qualified

The past few days have been very busy at the clinic with lots of sick children and mothers. The treatment room has become a full responsibility  dressing wounds, stitching, giving intramuscular injections and inserting intravenous lines, while Stella manages the pharmacy. As much as possible, I have tried to prepare for overseas, clinic or emergency situations, yet from the vast number of responsibilities within the career of nursing, I have excelled in some areas more than others.

No matter how many times I tried, I was continually inconsistent at putting in intravenous lines – difficult when it has become a part of day-to-day duty. Moreover, each time failed is another time causing someone discomfort while you try...yet again. Few times successful  sometimes almost getting in, but “almost” deems never enough, as a misplaced cannula is used just as much as one that was never inserted.

Frustrated, I concluded this was not my skill or strength, and God needed to help me pass these lines. It is not the first time I knew I was not going to be succeeding on my own. God has shown me before, that the things I am deemed unqualified for, if woven to His purpose, He will be my qualification. It had been a praise for 2014 – the opportunity to study and graduate from Liverpool Tropical Nursing, when I was entering an already-filled classroom with people of far superior experience; and if He wanted me to succeed here, it would be His own working. A simple request for a small task. Therefore, I prayed. Then no longer frustrated but expectant, I passed the next six intravenous lines of the morning, from young boys, to bigger mothers, to chubby toddlers. I dare say, I almost did not believe it due to my inconsistent record, but it shows that God is consistent and does not hesitate to be the qualification of the my “almost” areas and the strength in the middle of my weaknesses.

Following work, Mardi, Kevin and I caught a bodaboda down to the main road, where we flagged a taxi and headed for Kampala's Rugby grounds. Watoto holds a yearly Christian music festival there - some African and some African American artists.

Riding the Matato - Mardi, Kevin and I

"Da' Truth"

It was a classic evening. Chipates, pork sticks and coca-cola being sold on the side-lines. Thousands of people excited, clamping and dancing, leaving not many square inches on the grass. A mass gathering under the East African sky to a stage, lights, sounds, music and hopefully with hearts for Christ. A classic evening, while half-way through the performance the power cut. Darkness. Silence. Then people yelling for more of Jesus, while the media crew determined the generator situation. A classic evening, where a man walked strangely close to Kelly, and she swung around and caught his arm, just as a bright spotlight suddenly shown directly on the stunned stranger, who dropped her phone to the ground. 

In all this, one man stood out centre stage. Not by what he wore, how he looked or the attention he received, yet by words he spoke:

“one of the most dangerous terms in English diction...

two words designed and strategically combined

to form the biggest oxymoron in the history of mankind

ALL-MOST...

see, 'almost' is no stranger to Satan. Here's proof:

he only tells lies when they're almost the truth

and it's amazing in our incompleteness we find complacence

but if almost is one of Lucifer's many traits

then we are inadvertently good Satan impersonations

But on the contrary, Christ did his job fully

and he proved he was God when he died on the cross like it was his duty

and to pardon my iniquities that I committed rudely

he resurrected from the grave just to tell death to excuse me

...

See, an almost Christian looks right but lives wrong

Can't stand the conviction in Romans so they sit down to be comforted in Psalms

Never understood worship but loved to sing songs like I surrender all. . .MOST

...

So now all God sees is a pile of ISHmael's when he intended for Isaac's

...even by earthly standards it would be highly insane

to start spending all of your money days before you almost get paid

like parents, you wouldn't send your kids to a school that's almost safe

and ladies, would you really date a man who claims he's almost straight?

and this is the very thing about God that we all try to get around

but his standards are like between two mountains--no middle ground

so a halfway life is unprofitable to you

cuz after all the Sunday service, Bible studies, and prayer meetings

and everything that goes between, God will say I never knew you

But that's not even the worst part of living your life as neutral

it's that you were once arctic but it is your lukewarmness that is causing him to spew you

and this is the very thing that had me

I was bound and held down by the unforgiving gravity of my spiritual reality

I was a Christian, or at least I portrayed the fantasy

With a filthy personal life but a "God bless you brother, how you doin' sister?" personality

I was a male enveloped by guilt because I was stamped a sinner

My message couldn't be received because I didn't represent the sender yet I was almost delivered

Till that one day when I totally, absolutely and completely surrendered

...

You can ask Umar Abdul Mutallab, he'll tell you the same--

you don't almost go to jail when you almost blow up a plane

like you don't almost go to hell when you almost get saved

despised the cross that he was slain and thus the cause for which he came

but don't worry i'm almost done, but before i leave this stage

we have all worked in sin and death was minimum wage

but if it wasn't for Christ we would have almost got paid”

-Almost: By Ezekiel Azonwu

Truth is, I was never qualified to be the person I am now. Not even almost. I was born unqualified through sin's curse, but God knew this long ago and ordained to change that through His Perfect Son. And if He cares about my very soul, does He not follow through in detail, filling any empty jars of surrender I offer, to qualify what I alone lack. As Paul would say, “By the grace of God, I am what I am.” An unqualified man in sinful deed and in character, yet Paul knew best that God's Strength is made perfect in weakness. We sing about God turning ashes into beauty. Yet when even the ashes are gone, God views our lack as quality – a void that God fills and enables, being the perfect qualification through us. “Now unto Him who is able...”

The Heavens Declare

As much as possible, Watoto tries to contact any living relatives or parents of the abandoned children brought to them. Sometimes they find both parents have died and there are no relatives present, other times the remaining family members sign the right of the child to Watoto. If any way, the organization will try and integrate a child back with their families. In some cases, this may happen years later.

Ray came to Watoto as a pre-mature baby, her father long gone and her mother suffering from severe mental illness. She is now around 8 years old, and her mother has contacted Watoto and wants her to come back. Although this is the only life she has known, the situation has been investigated by social workers, and she is leaving Friday. Therefore, today Mardi, Kelly and I went down to her house to say goodbye.

“She thinks she is going on holidays.” Barbra, her village sister told me.

“You haven't informed her?”

“We have, but she sees other kids going places for Christmas (some visit family members who want to see them, but can't care for them), and she thinks she is like one of them.”

The sisters were sitting in a circle on the dining room floor, eating there beans and rice. We had been blessed in eating with this family, twice now, and they held a special place in our hearts. We bid the girl goodbye, and I sincerely hope that it goes well for her.

Towards evening, Mardi, Kyra and I stood at the top of Suubi hill, catching another sunset over the valley. Jess and Anika had run off into the bushes, and seconds later, came back – something squirming under Jess's fingers. I jumped back, as it looked like she was dangling a rat, then quickly realized it was a baby kitten. It was matted, all of it's bones were imprinting his layer of fur, it's eyes were blue and open and it was meowing. He was tiny - not more than two weeks old.

“We just heard something meowing and found him tangled in a bush...” Jess was saying.

Thinking there must be more where that came from, we headed back. No noise. I glanced five feet to the left of where they had found the kitten. A cardboard box...and some sort of burlap brown sack...

I figured I knew what had happened and my suspicions were confirmed. The securely tied sack had a nasty hole on the end, and stiff white paws were poking out. However, the hole was not big enough and it was clear the mother had died while trying to stick her head out. Somehow, her baby had escaped – who knows how much time had passed.

Kevin took the kitten back to his home, while Anika got milk and a syringe to feed it with. The concern is small in comparison to many things that happen around us here, everyday. I can't help but think that God is Someone who also cares for detail, and considers the smallest of things. At the Grand Global Hotel, where I first stayed, the manager had found a pigeon on the roof with a split in it's abdomen, sewed it shut and cared for it, until it could fly. Rare, but sweet acts of compassion.

As night came, we hulled our mattresses onto the roof of the Baby Home. There are staircases on either side going all the way to a levelled out deck on the roof, running across to the middle and into the centre that widens into an open and flat area. The clear visibility of the stars shone directly above, and were a reminder of our Cell study with the security guards, the previous night...

“The heavens declare the glory of God...”

We had met with the security guards for study and the Cell leader, one of the guards, had talked long and passionately about God's glory in creation. He and the others are hired through their company, and their company is hired by Watoto. They make under 100$ a month, yet once again I saw them show an excitement for a God of goodness, a God of provision and proclaim a God of absolute glory. There did not seem to be a doubt that a God who proclaimed His glory and power in creation, cared about the everyday details of life.

“The heavens declare the glory of God...”

Looking up, I know that If this is only a demonstration in declaration, I cannot even begin to imagine the true essence of His glory.

Cell group with the Security Guards

The Good Gift of a Friend

When I look back at the times that I have gone somewhere on my own, I am amazed at how God has been constant in providing a good friend each time, within that destination, and without fail. By no means is this required of Him, or is it something He promised; rather, I am reminded that He is a Father who loves to give His children good gifts. "Every good and perfect gift is from above and comes down from the Father of Lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning." James 1:17 And what better gift is found than in that of a good friend?

Whether it was schooling for my Nursing degree, Liverpool school for Tropical Medicine, a medical missions conference in North Carolina, or working in Uganda, I have been thankful beyond words by those I have met, spent time with, and learned from. Not knowing anyone from the start of these occasions, I have come away changed by the new sisters and friends He has led me to - some halfway across the world.

Of the girls living at Suubi, Mardi was the first to meet me - the new girl from Kampala. We had just been receiving a tour of the Watoto Villages and on return, Kelly asked her what the new girl was like. I had been in the van, sitting next to the elderly volunteers and being friendly with them, thinking I would be sharing an apartment with the older ladies when I arrived at Suubi.

“So what is she like?” Kelly had asked Mardi when she returned back to their house. (I was to arrive at Suubi in a week).

“She's nice” Mardi replied.

“And...”

“She's kind of like an old person.”

However, plans changed and I was relocated with the younger volunteers, and soon unpacking my bags in the Suubi apartments above the Babies Home. I pulled out a book I had found during my stay at the Grand Global Hotel, “Diaries of a Pupil Midwife.” Seemed nursing enough, and something informative to read on slower days. I glanced over at Mardi who was quietly sitting in her own corner like an old lady, a book propped up on her knees. “Tales of a Midwife.”

One day early on, when the girls had left on an excursion, I spotted a jar of “Nutella” on one of the volunteer's shelves. I thought I could make it without during these months, and was trying to be strictly cultural. It was a lie to myself (and Steph Heron), and I resolved I was going to fess up to whoever owned the jar. It is easier to ask for forgiveness than permission (and this completely applies as they were nowhere nearby). The jar was Mardi's, of course, and from that night forward we started creating “snickers” with biscuits, peanut butter and nutella and double-creaming oreos with peanut butter (sounds disgusting but it is really not, and this is Uganda), and this later led into the traditional biscuit and tea evening. (I guess Mardi was not so off about the elderly lady comment, but perhaps it was a surprise to herself).

In meeting someone, you normally get down the basics and sometimes are surprised (yet it happens) at the things you have it common. Mardi is in nursing, specializing in midwifery, and me having been through nursing school could relate on these medical conditions. Moreover, same “financial” goals, travel aspirations, kitchen plans, we comment in movies all the time (that is the fun of them), are reading in the same book of the Bible, and strangely enough, have had the same prophesies spoken to us. The list could continue, but when I knew we would be friends was the night I offered her a leg in the pair of shorts I found. She jumped right in, and we made a spinning ground out of the room.

When Mardi arrived at the clinic after her work shift and we headed home, it wasn't a surprise when we found we were seeking God in the same ways, asking Him similar questions and looking for direct answers, frustrated that it didn't always seem to be as direct as we wanted. Yet able to pull from two perspectives, share experience on either side, and resolve to keep with each other in prayer, I was once again thankful for who God had placed in my life at this particular time. Moreover, I was reminded how He has done this over and over, showing me His goodness and encouraging me through another, time and time again.

I believe that God intends certain people cross paths, maybe for a season, perhaps for a lifetime, but always for a reason. Therefore, this isn't just to Mardi, but Steph Heron, Anne Galgano and Aleisha McPhail - Friends that I have once, and yet again learned from, in single hours of being with them. This is because God ordained the timing, having us all jump into experiences on our own, full knowing that we would meet another one of His own who would challenge, change and grow us for the path ahead. It is a reminder that we are truly not on our own, but when stepping out by ourselves, God provides with exactly what will we need and whom we need, in order to fulfil His purpose. This is truly a good gift, demonstrating that no matter what is ahead...He is a good Father.

Days Going By

My alarm rang early. This morning, there was a volunteer meeting for medical staff helping with the Watoto Christmas Cantata in Kampala. The Cantata is a Seasonal performance, put on each year by Watoto Central Church, and is for the city of Kampala. Oodles of time, effort and practice go into the night, in order to bring the gospel of Jesus Christ to the population. The church had wanted a group of people to be on site for any injuries that occurred with the performers, or audience. Usually they have some sprained ankles, sometimes severe headaches or other minor incidences– last year a woman went into labor. I had offered my help a week previous, so I was heading into the city with Dr. Job to participate in the meeting. Perhaps we would go through a set-up, expectations, or protocols. Sarah, needing to run some errands, was coming with us.

The sun was just rising in the sky, when the three of us hopped on bodabodas and rode down the hill to the main road. These motorbike rides have probably become a favorite part of being in Uganda. The drivers are extremely good at navigating the right areas of the path, and sailing them quickly down steep roads. While bouncing along the back of the bike at side-saddle, you catch glimpses over the valley, wave to the passer-byers and feel the breeze of the truly, great outdoors. For the cost, I would catch rides on them for fun. If I were here any longer, I would consider an investment.

From the main road, we caught a public matato into the city of Kampala. The drive is about an hour long, wherein you experience a loss of personal space, and increase in body temperature and a co-adaptation of smell. We were happy to arrive at Central Church.

Following devotions, given by Gary Skinner and his wife (founders of Watoto), I was introduced to the other medical volunteers who would be at the performance evenings.

“Write your name here, please!” A leader asked, in entering the room.

We jotted down our names on a sheet of paper, holding them up for the camera to see.

Click. Click.

I suppose, they wanted our pictures for reference as to who would be present. I waited for the next instructions, feeling slightly tired after the early wake-up, and the hour journey.

“Thank you for coming!” The camera man left.

Job smiled. Always happy. Picked up his bag.

“Ready to go?!”

That was it.

Since we were already in the city for the very important meeting, Job thought he would stop in and check on a patient of his, at the “Case Hospital”. It was Geoffrey - a boy we had treated for Sickle Cell disease less than two weeks ago. Tests had shown his hip had become necrotic from the lack of blood supply to the area, and he was operated on to receive a prosthesis. The environment at “The Case” was fairly collected, organized and clean – a relief from what I had seen of “Mulago”. We were happy to see him doing well, and he should be home by the end of the week.

More than once, I have spotted Ugandans carrying umbrellas in the hot sun. It seems like a reasonable way to remain cool in the rays of heat. As we were headed back to the church on foot, to catch a taxi, it began to rain. Job quickly ducked under a tin-roofed shelter, with twenty other Ugandans, just as the water began to pound down. Suddenly, there were no umbrellas. Everybody waited in shelter until the rain died down. We were about 400 feet from the church building, and I couldn't see a single Ugandan walking. Those who had umbrellas were probably under shelters as well. I guess umbrellas are really for the sun.

“Um, how do you think the rain will last?” I knew Sarah was finished her errands, and waiting at the church.

“Ohh, maybe 30 minutes?” He smiled and glanced down at his watch.

No hurry, no problem and no worries. We would wait patiently until we could walk and not be wet, as there was seemed little point in running and being weary.

Back at Suubi that evening, our Bible study group met on the hill behind Maurice and Jeans, as they have returned to Scotland for holidays. Kelly baked a cake for Jess's birthday, and a watermelon was lugged along. It wasn't long after we finished discussing the 10 commandments, that we were slicing watermelon through the air with knives and making the most of the rinds in war. It carried part-way back to the pond near Suubi church, where Jess was caught a little too close to the water's edge, and the Ugandans, Daniel and Kevin, made the most of it.

“Happy bath-day!”

She was pushed into the middle of the pond, where the fish delightfully found her toes. I keep forgetting about this tradition.

Jess soaking, and the rest of us enjoying Ugandan life, we headed back down the hill, some stopping to cut through the bush and see what animals appeared in one's path at night. We made it back to the apartment without too many infirmities.

Sorry, Jess...

“Martha!” That is one of my names. The other one is “Mary”. They either hear the first part and stop listening before life gets too complicated. Or some faithful ones hear me out until the end, and try to put the “Mara-natha” together in a reasonable fashion – that's “Martha”.

“Hey, Kyra!”

“When are you done work tomorrow?”

That all depended. But we will get together if I am done work early. Sometimes we read. Sometimes we walk. Sometimes we scout out monkeys. It was a pretty good life in Suubi.

We found a baby Mango!

I headed back inside, aware that the party was not over inside. Lara and Naomi had trekked up from the city to surprise Jess for the evening. Pasta, tea, cake and Uganda stories. The latter are what kept us going further into the evening. It is hard to believe that in less than two weeks, most of us will have left for good – every current moment weaving itself into a story, and becoming a part of the past. Thirteen days left, and a lot of best day moments to happen.

Best Day of Moments

First there was one, then two, then we saw a family of three...no there were eight. In the end we could not count. The monkeys swung branch to tree and back again. They were light grey with black faces – none of us knew the type.There was even a little baby perched far above the ground, studying us from a distance. Another, perhaps his mother, walked up and wrapped her arms around the baby, then picked at him as he squirmed - perhaps trying to clean his fur coat.

Kyra and I had joined Sarah and Daniel, one of the boys from the catering school, on a walk around the outskirts of Suubi. The intention was to find monkeys. For being in Africa, I had not yet tripped across elephants, lions or zebras and was feeling rather deprived. (Though I am aware this is not expected for developed Africa).We had hiked through the woods, hoping to catch some monkeys swinging in the thick bush, but it was not until we were by the road, that they appeared. The guards we had past had been first to point them out – the daily entertainment from their post.

“This is one of the best day moments!” Sarah snapped away with her camera.

“Don't you mean best moment of the day?” I asked.

“No, day moments,” she explained. “You compile all the best moments in a year, so at the end of the year, the aim is to have 24 hours of best moments that make the best day.”

It sounded like a good philosophy to me, although I would have to figure out the approximate times for each moment, fitting them together into 24 hours for a highlight real. Maybe Sean could create an algorithm for a cellphone application. However, with what God keeps doing, I know I have already succeeded the 24 hour quota 2014. I do not doubt Sarah has as well.

Thinking back over 2014, there have been plenty of best day moments. Only in the past two months, I could probably compile a 24-hour reel. Realizing my love for passion fruits, meeting Calvin, riding bodabodas down dirt roads, stitching in the clinic, administering vaccines, sunrises over the balcony, eating a tub of ice-cream (the food I miss), biscuits and tea with Mardi, reading with Kyra, splunking under Sipi Falls...the list goes on. The days of the year are coming to a close, and I do not doubt that there will be many more moments - right up until midnight of December 31^st.

Eating a tub of ice-cream...each

Another Sunrise

Calvin, of course

Mark - These kids are the cutest

Kayla - my other love from Kampala Babies Home

Boldness for Him

“Have you had anybody try to harm you?”

“Oh yes...We had people chasing us for some time. Angry. Yelling.” He was smiling as he spoke.

“Oh my goodness!! What did you do...” That sounded terribly sketchy, especially considering we had missed the morning session due to volunteer hours.

“We are not afraid...We have God” He was casually strolling and talking. “We just told them they did not have to listen, and kept going.” Clearly...he was not fazed in the least.

Kelly and I had met up with one of the Cell Bible leaders and school teachers in Watoto. Every month, he tries to organize a mission weekend, where he and other teachers pick a neighbourhood  going door to door to talk to people about Jesus. Sometimes individuals. Sometimes large families. Anybody who wants to listen. In the evening, they have an outdoor crusade where they worship in song, preach the gospel and project a film for the village to watch. 182 had come to know and accept Christ the last missions weekend.

“The response is so good, that we only got one fourth of the area done...” He was saying.

“Anybody accept Christ?”

“30 people that we know of, so far”

I thought of the sheer boldness - planning on one specific area, and going door-to-door in a primarily Muslim area to offer the Hope of Christ. The desire? That was easy. Love.

I find it rare back home to still meet people of this boldness. People who not only see Christ as Someone worth sharing, but live their lives in action of this. It is not that the need is less back home, in fact, it is probably greater than here. With so many distractions and security in money, the awareness of a need for redemption lessens. Although the awareness is dim, the need is still the same and the work to be done requires more boldness and labourers to reach those who are blinded by what surrounds them. Moreover, we are taught to be tolerant of all religions. Fair enough, but this was not being intolerant, rather sharing a love and telling of gift offered to all. If we are told to live as Christ, He Himself displayed a life of boldness, never swaying from the truth or creating excuses. Rather for over twenty verses, he rebuked the religious leaders of that time for not practising what they preached, sacrificing what was nothing to them, and therefore, having their hearts far from Him. He said this, although He knew many would reject Him, and therefore, reject His offer of redemption and eternal life.

In listening to the Cell teacher, I was reminded:

“Blessed are you when people insult you and persecute you, and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward in heaven is great...” Matthew 5:11.

It was clear that these Watoto teachers were living in this light.

We turned up a rutted steep road, weaving between small clay and brick houses, and reached a courtyard. There people gathered from the neighbourhood  curious, to listen to what was being presented. For fear of the Muslim community, many only came out as dusk was approaching. Worship had ended and a teacher was talking about the way to reconciliation and a relationship with God. As the video showing “Passion of the Christ” began, Kelly and I began to head back to our apartment. It was dark, and travel was dangerous at night so we wanted to get a head start.

With the lights and gathering behind us, we hopped a ride with a bodaboda driver who happened to be a preacher himself. He too had meetings to invite others to Christ, and talked of God's love on the way back to our apartments. His name was a demonstration of who we all should be for Christ. Bright.

Kelly and I dismounted the bike at our village on the hill. The stars were out, and we could see that the power was on in the apartments. I pray that we could learn from the love and boldness here, and be a bright light wherever we live...wherever we are.