Some days are good days…like when
I run around with the kids at our home and tickle them and get tickled back
until we are all shrieking and laughing and out of breath. Or I teach a lesson at school that gets all
fifty children in my class screaming with excitement and cheering wildly. Or God arranges a beautiful, divine
appointment and I unexpectedly meet someone amazing in this crazy city.
Some days are bad days…like when I
drop my earrings down the school latrine or get sprayed with mud while walking
down the road or I can’t sleep because the worms in my stomach are causing so
much pain. Or I see a rat scurrying
inside my house or have to perform an insect massacre in my bedroom or hand-wash
my clothes for hours only to find them fallen in the mud right after I’ve hung
them up to dry.
But even the worst physical
challenges are somehow surmountable. I
can deal with rats and bugs and worms and even losing my earrings in our
latrine. I’ve learned how to throw my
shoe so that I can kill bugs on the ceiling, and I now know what supplies I
need to booby-trap my room for rats. However,
other challenges aren’t quite as simple to conquer. Something I’ve had to face this month is the reality
of living in a culture where I have no rights.
I love Uganda – don’t get me wrong – but the way things are run here and
the way I’m sometimes treated can be pretty stretching. People can do what they want without any
consequences, and the police can target me as a source of money any time they
desire…and I’m powerless against them. Being
white sometimes feels like there’s a big target on my back, and I know that
there’s nothing I can do to change that.
I hate feeling so powerless, but maybe even in the midst of the mess,
God is teaching me something.
* * * * *
A few Saturdays ago, I was
walking down the street in my village, a typically non-threatening
environment. Normally, the scariest
thing I encounter is a bucking goat or a herd of long-horned cattle blocking my
way. The people are overall friendly
and curious. However, as I passed down our
little dirt road on that particular Saturday, something was different. A strange man approached me and stared. As he looked at me oddly, I decided to say hello
to attempt and knock him out of his trance.
He received my greeting as an invitation and stood right next to me
while he extended his hand and grabbed my chest. Horrified, I jumped back and began scolding
the violator. “What are you doing?!” I
shouted. He looked quite startled that I
had stood up for myself and slinked away in the distance apologizing while I
continued to yell, “Don’t ever touch me like that!”
Shaken up, I continued walking
and tried to forget about the way I’d just been touched. I met up with some old friends for lunch and later
headed into the center of Kampala to meet up with the girls I work with. They’d asked me to meet them at Garden City,
a large mall near the city center. I
traveled via motorbike, and my driver dropped me off across the street from the
mall. In order to cross the road and
enter the mall, I needed to cross over a grass barrier that divided the road,
something I’ve done a million times and have never thought twice about. However, after crossing the street on that
Saturday, a police officer with a rifle in his hand approached me and said,
“Madam, someone is calling you back across the street.” I turned around to see a man motioning for me
to come back to the other side. I
figured I must have dropped something and went back to see what I’d lost.
As I approached the man, he
greeted me with these words. “Excuse me,
madam; do you see that grass you just walked across?”
I looked at the grass and
nodded.
“And do you see that there is a
cement pathway that you could have used instead of crossing over the
grass?”
I looked to the left and saw that
there was, in fact, a cement path and realized that this man had called me over
to scold me for stepping in the grass. Woops.
“I didn’t realize that. I’m
sorry,” I apologized. “I’ll use the path
from now on.”
As I tried to walk back towards
the mall, the man stopped me. “Madam, the
city is trying to keep the grass in good shape, and you’ve just done a terrible
thing. You can’t go back to the mall.”
I looked at the grass patch
again, a sloppy mess of grass and mud.
Rainy season began about a month ago, and half of the city looks like a
mudslide. Nothing is neat. There is trash, mud, and filth
everywhere. The grass patch looked ugly
before I stepped on it and still looked ugly after I stepped on it. I did nothing to change the appearance of the
grass and wasn’t sure why I was being accused of being a malicious destroyer of
nature. “I’m sorry,” I repeated,
surprised that a city with no rules and full of litter suddenly cared about one
random grass patch.
“Well, I regret to inform you
that you are under arrest for what you’ve just done.”
“What?!” I cried. I wasn’t sure if this man was serious. “Under arrest? For stepping on grass?”
“Yes,” he declared. “You’ve committed a serious crime, and I’m
going to have to take you to prison.”
Now I thought he had to be
joking…or maybe was just trying to get money out of a white girl.
“This is ridiculous. I’m meeting my friend in the mall right now,”
I declared and began to walk away, hoping I could call his bluff and get away
from him.
Unfortunately, the man was not
about to let me off so easily and chased after me. “Madam, you are now becoming defiant. If you disobey my authority, I will seriously
MANHANDLE you!” There was a nefarious
look of rage in the man’s eyes, and I realized this wasn’t a joke. “I’m going to take you to prison for two
nights, and on Monday, you will have your court case. You will be fined 300,000 shillings for the
damage you’ve done.”
I hadn’t damaged anything – especially
not 300,000 shillings worth of damage. I
hadn’t intentionally done anything to defy the law. I had unknowingly crossed the road in the
wrong spot and was about to be thrown in jail for it.
“Please, sir,” I begged. “I didn’t know that it was a law to not cross
through the grass. It was an honest
mistake.”
“The law has been announced on
television and on the radio,” he stated, showing no mercy.
“I don’t own a T.V. or a radio!”
I cried. “I live at a children’s
home. I’m here to serve kids, not to
break the law. Please don’t throw me in
prison. This isn’t right.”
Yet, the man would not
relent. After going back and forth for
far too long, I told him that I needed to call my ministry leader, who fortunately
happened to be right by the mall’s entrance.
She came over immediately and brought along one of the Ugandan men who
works for our ministry.
The two of them begged on my
behalf for a long time, while the official continued to show no understanding,
no mercy - no nothing. I felt tears building
in my eyes as I realized he was seriously going to take me to Ugandan prison,
and in two days, I would have no choice but to fork over a hefty sum of cash.
Yet finally, somehow, the man
began to soften and realized that I truly had committed this “crime” in
innocence. I gave him one final plea,
begging him, “Sir, I have learned my lesson.
I won’t do it again. I will
always use the cement path. Forgive me,
and please let me off with a warning.”
As I begged him, I saw two
dark-skinned men crossing the grass in the same spot as I had moments prior…but
this time no one so much as batted an eye.
I pointed at the men who were currently committing the same crime as I
had and realized that the official had targeted me solely because of my skin color,
hoping for easy money. He looked at the
men crossing the grass and then at me and finally told me I could go with a
warning.
As I walked away, my building tears
were released, and the injustice of the day hit me in a flood of emotion. I was reminded that I have a perpetual target
on my back, and the threat of future harassment overwhelmed me. Our sweet Ugandan staff member realized my
fear and squeezed my hand as he told me I was okay now. He locked his fingers around mine, held my
hand while we crossed the street (on the cement pathway), and let go when I was
safe on the other side.
Two days later, I was still
processing the fact that I am powerless in this nation. A police officer can accuse anyone of a
ludicrous crime and throw them into prison whenever he is hungering for a
little extra cash. When the police are
corrupt, there’s no one to turn to for help when you’re being violated. It’s a scary feeling.
The following Monday, I was walking
down the street in my village once more, and the good old village drunk started
to stumble towards me. He occasionally
wanders around my village, and encounters with him are never pleasant. No please;
please not today, I thought to myself, as I began to pray that God would
keep him away from me. I tried to avoid
him by walking on the opposite side of the street, but my pale skin attracted
the drunkard like a moth to a flame. He
staggered towards me, got too close for comfort, and hit me on the arm. Luckily, he didn’t hit me very hard - but
still – the last thing I needed was a drunk man hitting me. Annoyed, I walked away and continued on to school
to teach my English class. Once inside
the school compound, I knew I was safe and felt a sense of relief. However, on my way home, I passed the drunk
man again. I hadn’t noticed his presence
this time until a huge stick was suddenly flying in front of my face. Startled, I stopped dead in my tracks as I
watched the large stick drop to the ground right in front of me. I turned to my right and saw the drunk man
acting like a gorilla across the road, proud of his barbaric attempt to strike
me with the stick. Thankful it had just missed me but also incredibly
annoyed, I called out to the man, “Are you serious?!!” I couldn’t believe that so many incidents had
happened in such a short period of time and felt like it was all just a weird,
twisted, mean joke.
Feeling incredibly violated and
unprotected, I contacted my teammate from South America, Taylor, who has become
a literal brother. I told him about the
fear I was battling, and his initial reaction was wishing he could physically protect
me. However, upon further prayer, he sent
me these words: I really feel God was telling me that if I fight battles with just
love, then I won't get backlash, because they can't fight love. But if I rebuke and quote scripture, then the
enemy knows how to dodge and throw another round back at me. All that to say, I don't want you to give in
to fear.....or even be afraid at all. You
are such a well of love. And I know
that some of these men could only run as you follow God in the specific ways He
tells you to love boldly. Let me be
clear....in my flesh, I want you to leave…but I know you have an abundance of
love that will conquer your fear, and the fear of others who try to lash out at
you.
It’s crazy how a few wise words
can change your perspective on things.
My circumstances had caused me to give in to fear, anger, and
offense. I had been fighting everyone
who violated me in my own strength. I had
tried to fight the man who arrested me by outsmarting him and calling his
bluff. I had tried to fight the man who
grabbed me inappropriately by scolding him.
And I had tried to fight the drunk man by first dodging him and then
confronting him with extreme irritation.
I wish I could say I’d tackled those situations differently, but regrettably,
I didn’t fight anyone with love.
Although I still believe it’s important to stand up for myself, I know
that asserting myself can only get me so far.
The best weapon against evil is love.
Taylor reminded me that even Satan knows how to fight with
aggression. Even the devil knows how to
pervert scripture and throw it back in my face.
Even Satan can come up with quick retorts and hard-hitting words. But he doesn’t know how to love. He is clueless when it comes to love. And even the most evil of people don’t know
how to fight back when all they are shown is love. They don’t know what to do with it.
While reading Taylor’s words, I
was reminded of a time in South America when our team met a man in a rehab
center who had been a gang leader for many years. Before coming to the rehab
center, he’d murdered many people. The
man had ended up in a wheelchair, which I assume was the result of being shot
during his gang days. A couple of people
prayed for him, but he was generally unresponsive. Taylor disregarded his cold demeanor and
boldly went in for a hug. As he embraced
this man, something changed. I caught a
glimpse of both Taylor and the man, arms wrapped around each other. Several minutes later, I saw that they were
still hugging, both now weeping. I
didn’t know what was happening, but I could clearly see that it was something
powerful. The old man’s heart was
quickly softening, and he began to cry out to God with desperation. After a while, he let go of Taylor and raised
his arms towards heaven, cheering and loudly praising Jesus.
We later found out that the night
before our visit, this very man had said he wanted to leave the rehab center
and declared that he hated God. He had
dealt with aggression all his life and only knew how to fight. However, he didn’t know how to resist
love. Instead of opposing his
malevolence with the hostility he was used to, Taylor confronted him with pure
love. His warm hug melted away the anger
and hurt, and this once bitter man was radically filled with the love of God.
So now, many months later, I am
reminded of the same principle here in Africa.
Love is the most powerful weapon the Lord has given us. I want to get to a place where my first
reaction to being violated is to fight back with love. I’m pretty sure I will keep fighting
cockroaches and rats with aggression, but I pray for the strength to fight the
rest of my battles with love. ♥
