Love Wins Battles

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. 

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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.  ♥