Adventures In Da Bush!

A couple of weeks ago, I took a trip to Northern Uganda with four friends of mine –Ashley, Christie, Simon, and Sunday.  Ashley and Christie are from the States and have been my roommates for most of this year.  Sunday and Simon are Ugandan friends of mine who I met in 2006.  At the time, they were young boys who had been removed from Northern Uganda and relocated to an orphanage in Kampala.  I lived at their orphanage and helped take care of them for one year.  When I was reunited with Simon and Sunday this year, a now very grown-up pair expressed an interest in returning to Northern Uganda and helping people there.  The region has been at peace for many years now, and Simon offered to bring us to his village.  Our friend Pastor Robert lives in a different region of Northern Uganda and runs a successful ministry that provides aid to orphans, widows, and vulnerable people.  I figured Simon and Sunday could learn a lot from Pastor Robert, so we planned for a visit to both Simon’s village and Robert’s village.  Ashley and Christie were excited to come along and get to spend some time deep in the bush, so the five of us headed out from Kampala for our adventure.

The week was incredible but was also very…well…African.  Our transportation was a nightmare.  Our timetable meant nothing.  Our plans were a joke.  BUT our hearts were full.

Here’s a glimpse of a week full of mud, mess, laughs, and love:

Monday

5:15 a.m.:  My alarm goes off, and I begrudgingly open my eyes.  I am sure I didn’t fall asleep until around 4 a.m., and I am not super pumped about starting the long journey ahead on one hour’s sleep.

6:00 a.m.:  The driver we arranged arrives at our house, and I am shocked that he is actually on time.  We load up the car and direct him to drop us off at the local bus station.

6:30 a.m.:  Ashley, Christie, and I arrive at the bus station.  Normally it takes us over an hour to reach this part of the city, so we realize we will have a lot of time to kill before we leave for Gulu.  I exit the car and am immediately greeted by a man who is calling me “baby” and stroking my arm.  I shake him off of me and push past a crowd of men to get to a bus.  We find a decrepit bus that is headed to Gulu and claim five seats in the front.

7:45 a.m.:  Sunday and Simon arrive at the bus station.  I’m glad they aren’t running on African time today.

9:15 a.m.:  We’ve been sitting on our bus for a long time.  We finally pull out of the station while a fight ensues outside of our bus.  Then we sit some more about twenty yards from where we started.

4:00 p.m.:  After a bumpy but uneventful ride, we arrive in Gulu town.  Simon assures me that we can hire a driver to take us to his village from the main town – just a one-and-a-half-hour ride from here.

4:45 p.m.:  The car we’ve hired breaks down.  The driver says the part he needs to fix the vehicle is back in Gulu town where we just came from.  He will need to ask a boda boda (small motorcycle) driver to go back and get the part and bring it to us.

8:00 p.m.:  It is now pitch black, and we are still waiting for our car to be fixed.  Sunday has told me that we are about to leave at least three different times now, but we haven’t gone anywhere.  Despite our breakdown, no one is frazzled.  The stars have now completely overtaken the sky, and we stare at them for a long time.  Ashley, Christie, and I sing songs about stars and start composing our own music to make the others laugh.

9:00 p.m.:  We are moving again but not for long.  I’d thought our first breakdown would also be our last, but I had no concept of how bad these roads would be.  Rainy season has taken its toll.  Everything is flooded.  Our car is struggling.

10:00 p.m.:  We stop in front of a river and realize the river and the road are one in the same.  We don’t think we can pass.  The driver makes everyone get out and accelerates as fast as he can and goes flying across the river onto the other side of the road.  Smoke pours out of his hood, and I’m certain the vehicle is done for.  Two seconds later, he invites us back into the car, and it is running normally.  We are driving again.

10:00 p.m. – 11:30 p.m.:  We start and stop multiple times.  We exit the car, push it out of the mud, and keep going.  We keep thinking each obstacle will be the last, but the roads only worsen.  Men emerge from the village and try to help us push.  We get nowhere.

11:30 a.m.:  Our driver announces that he is done with this journey and cannot take us any further.  The local men push his car for about thirty minutes before freeing it from the worst mud yet.  The driver disappears in the direction where we came from, and we are left deep, deep in the bush with nothing but our belongings.

Tuesday

12:00 a.m.:  We walk.  We have no other choice unless we want to sleep in the bush.  It is cold considering the clothes we are wearing.  The temperature is probably in the 50s even though we are dressed for 80s.  We did not pack for this type of trek.  In fact, we loaded up on gifts for our host family, large water bottles, etc. to bring into the village depending on the fact that a car would be transporting them.  Left with no choice, I move forward with my heavy hiking pack strapped onto my back.  I am wearing a long skirt and girlie dress sandals.  These are the only shoes I have with me, as I assumed the only walking I’d be doing was visiting some houses in the village.  My shoes are getting stuck in the thick mud, and I am certain the little straps are going to break.  I am having trouble moving at all, because the mud is sucking me into it.  I am wobbly with my heavy pack.  I am glad I am not new to Uganda, because I am used to things going wrong, and I am not afraid.  Even though we are deep in the bush at midnight, I know I am safe.  The African boys are completely unfazed by this setback.  Christie and Ashley are still singing and laughing.  Attitude is everything, and I could not ask for a better group right now.

12:20 a.m.:  We start to walk through patches of fire ants.  They start biting my feet, and I am too stuck to quickly brush them off of me.  Their stings are quick and sharp.  My skin hurts – badly.  I’ve laughed at the setbacks for over eight hours now, but suddenly I’ve reached my limit.  These ants are the last straw.  For a second, I want to cry.  It’s not funny anymore.  I am exhausted and in pain.

12:25 a.m.:  I look at the sky again and snap out of my brief moment of self-pity.  It is breathtaking.  I’ve never seen a sky like this in America.  There is a perfect black backdrop scattered with endless glittering stars.  It is stunning.  I ask myself, Who gets to do this?  Who gets to see this?  I remember a prophecy I received many years ago about going to places where others are not willing to go to.  I remember the backpack I am wearing and that it’s accompanied me to almost thirty nations.  I traveled more in my twenties than most people get to in a lifetime.  I can only imagine the decade ahead of me.  I am a blessed woman.

12:45 a.m.:  We arrive at the village “center” which is nothing more than a few tiny buildings.  By the grace of God, a boda driver is still awake and tells us he will drive us into Simon’s village two by two.  Even though we have been told we’re going just “one more mile” for the past hour, we find out that Simon’s village is still a few miles from here.  I am grateful for the boda.  We wait at the village center while the boda driver begins his first trip with Simon and Christie.  Sunday, Ashley, and I start to feel the cold again while we wait since we are no longer moving.  I notice fire ants crawling up my body.  One has gotten underneath my clothing and made its way up my torso where it bites me with a painful sting.  We stand outside for about thirty minutes until the driver returns and instructs the next two passengers to hop on.  Sunday says he is comfortable waiting alone at the center and that Ashley and I should go next.  I have a flashback to 2006 when I helped take care of Sunday, and he was just a little boy.  I look at him now, tall and strong, a brave young man that is now taking care of me.  I thank him for his chivalry and get on the boda with Ashley.

2 a.m.:  We arrive at Simon’s village where we are greeted excitedly by many.  I cannot believe anyone is still awake.  I hope we can go to sleep immediately but quickly realize the family is getting ready to serve us a meal. 

3 a.m.: Sunday arrives, and we eat the meal that has been prepared for us.  We are going to sleep in the mud hut where we are eating, so we won’t be able to sleep until everyone is done.

3:30 a.m.:  People clear out of the hut, and a mattress is laid out for us.  Christie, Ashley, and I are told we can go to sleep.  We happily share one mattress.  Simon and Sunday head to a different hut to sleep.  I am desperate to close my eyes and pass out instantly.

10 a.m.-4 p.m.:  We wake up, get dressed, and sit outside.  We sit for a long time.  That’s what people do in the village.  They sit.  They talk sometimes.  They play cards.  We are at a bit of a loss since we don’t speak the language.  Ashley starts drawing in the dirt and tracing the kids with a stick.  They think this is the greatest thing they’ve ever seen.  Constant laughter erupts from brown little faces.  I convince a small boy to trace a dog lying in the dirt, and this generates a large crowd and more laughter. 

5 p.m.:  We gather with members of the village who all want to say something to us.  Then it’s our turn to speak.  I thank everyone for their hospitality and explain that I have known Simon and Sunday since they were children.  I am honored to finally see their village.  I now realize what the kids left behind when they were taken to an orphanage in Kampala all those years ago.  I see the joy that being with Simon brings his family.  Aunties and uncles thank me for taking care of Simon and Sunday all those years ago.  I almost start crying because of this incredible honor.  I am humbled beyond words.

6 -9 p.m.:  We visit homes in the village and pray for people.  We meet a young girl who is burning up with fever and whimpering.  Sunday holds her, and we pray.  Her fever plummets.  Her mother feels her forehead and gasps when she feels how cool her daughter has become.  She has been completely healed in a matter of minutes.  I am amazed. 

But I am also exhausted.  I need someone to pray for me so that I can stay awake. 

10 p.m.:  We eat dinner back at our mud hut and go to bed by eleven.  I have no control over time or meals here.  I.  NEED.  SLEEP.

Wednesday

10 a.m.:  Simon greets me good morning and tells me to come outside.  The villagers want to slaughter a goat for us.  They force me to watch, and I don’t know whether to cry or vomit.  Ashley names the goat “Saul.”  Saul is murdered and hung on a tree in front of us.

11 a.m. – 3 p.m.:  We visit homes again.  People continuously tell us that they once were Christians but aren’t any longer.  The local church told them that if they sin once, they are no longer Christians.  The pastor told the elderly people that if they cannot walk to church, they are no longer Christians.  People want to be part of the church but have been shunned.  Righteous anger begins to boil inside of me.  We tell people they are being fed lies and that God loves them no matter what people may tell them.  I am desperate to see a church that teaches truth in this village.

4 p.m.:  We are back at our hut, and it’s time for food.  I find Saul on my plate.  I try not to think about how he died.  But I must admit, he tastes really good.

5 p.m.:  We gather the kids outside, and Ashley creates an impromptu children’s program.  I give the kids candy and stickers.  A little boy shows up too late, and all the candy is gone.  He stares at me waiting for candy.  I tell him I have none, and he doesn’t believe me.  He keeps staring.  I feel terrible.  He looks at me like I have just murdered someone he loves.   

7 - 10 p.m.:  We sit under the stars next to a fire and share stories.  The children teach us a few words in Acholi and giggle each time we fail to pronounce them properly.  Simon’s grandfather, one of the oldest men in the village, tells stories of the war in Northern Uganda and how he survived the attacks of the Lord’s Resistance Army.  Others chime in with similar stories, and it seems everyone has somehow narrowly escaped death.  I am amazed anyone is left to tell their stories. 

Sunday goes into details of how he was abducted by the LRA as a child.  He was only five when he was orphaned and lived alone for almost three months, figuring out ways to take care of himself.  This is surreal.  When I lived with Sunday and Simon, they were still learning English, and they could never fully express themselves.  The children tried to explain their histories to me many times, but I was never able to get the full stories.  Sunday is now fluent in English and explains the details.  I finally understand what they were trying to say all those years ago.  It is absolute, unbearable tragedy.   

Thursday

6 a.m.:  We are awake and ready to go.  We need to get out of this village and travel to our next stop, Soroti.  We know we cannot depend on a car, so we have to rely on bodas to get us out of the bush.  We have asked five boda drivers to pick us up at 6 a.m. sharp so that we won’t miss our bus.  We stand and wait.  And wait.  And wait.

7 a.m.:  The boda drivers begin to arrive.  The first driver is extremely pleased with his “punctuality” even though he is an hour late.  I am annoyed.  We will undoubtedly miss our bus.  Our only option now is to travel further than planned on the bodas to a different town that has regular taxis to Soroti.  This means two hours on the bodas.

7-9 a.m.:  With no choice, we ride through the bush on our motorcycles.  My bulky bag makes it hard to fit on the back of the motorcycle, and I position myself quite awkwardly to stay on.  The ride is simultaneously wonderful and horrible.  I am so physically uncomfortable that I am tempted to cry.  My tailbone is aching.  I know I can be tough if I have to be, so I pull myself together and pray, pray, pray.  Yet at the same time, I don’t want this ride to end.  I am on a motorcycle rolling through the dirt roads of Africa.  I am deep in the bush, where so few people travel.  The sun is rising, and the African plains are breathtaking.  I feel like I am driving through a photo from National Geographic or a scene from The Lion King.  Again, I ask myself, Who gets to do this?  Who gets to see this?  This is not a place for tourists or even for mission teams.  I am in a world so few people ever get to be a part of.

10 a.m.:  We find a taxi in town and are smooshed into a vehicle meant for six passengers but loaded with nine.  I sit next to Sunday and Simon and wish they were still the skinny young boys I took care of years ago.  Their shoulders are so wide now that my torso is doing very odd things to fit in a seat.  My whole body hurts.

2:30 p.m.:  We arrive in Soroti where we are greeted by our friend Pastor Robert.  He takes us on a brief adventure, feeds us, and lets us go to sleep before ten.  I am a happy girl. 

Friday

10:30 a.m. – 3:30 p.m.:  Pastor Robert brings us to a school where community members are gathered under a tree.  I immediately notice families from our previous visit in May.  They are cheering loudly when we arrive.  A woman who was once starving looks happy and healthy.  My heart rejoices.  We greet the crowd, then split into small groups with translators.  Today’s purpose is to hear the needs of the community.  One by one, families share their needs with us.  We explain that no resources are being distributed today; we are simply here to gather information.  We hope to help everyone soon, but we don’t know where to start. 

The needs start to become overwhelming.  We were planning to meet for just an hour, but four hours go by and people are still coming.  We finally tell them we have to stop.  We have enough information to keep us busy for a long, long time.

4:00 p.m.:  We finally eat lunch.  I feel like I am starving but also feel guilty for even thinking of comparing my hunger to the families we’ve just met.

5:00 p.m.:  We show Pastor Robert the website we’ve been working on to promote his ministry.  We have to share the stories with the world, and this is where we will start.

7:00 p.m.:  After resting for a bit, we meet with Pastor Robert to discuss sustainability plans for the ministry.  We talk until 9, eat dinner, then fall into a deep sleep.

Saturday

10:30 a.m. – 5 p.m.:  We visit families at their homes, and my heart is undone.  The first family is a child-headed home.  An 18-year-old boy is raising two young brothers and has been raising them for years.  Everyone else in the family has died of AIDS.  I look around their home and how they’ve creatively found ways to survive.  I am sure I would have died if put in the same position.  These boys have not yet crumbled, but they are desperate for help.  Children raising children.  My heart hurts for them.

We visit other homes, and the living conditions get worse and worse.  I don’t know quite what to do, but I know I need to do something.  We need to do something. 

We walk across a swampy area to get to a woman’s home.  I think about 2006 when I used to walk the little children at our orphanage to school.  There were so many streams to cross, and some of the kids were too short to jump across.  I would put one of my legs on each side of a stream, grab little hands, and swing them across one by one.  Today, my legs are too short to jump over the water.  Sunday and Simon, now much larger than me, grab my hands and swing me across.  This is surreal.

7:00 p.m.:  We have another meeting with Pastor Robert.  We make some plans for the future.  We try to figure out ways to help.  I know some good will be done, but it still feels like one tiny drop in a big, big ocean.

8:30 – 10:30 p.m.:  We enjoy a feast together at Pastor Robert’s house.  He honors us for the help we’ve offered, even though it feels so small to me.  I feel fortunate to be a part of this team.  I am not sure what I’ve done to be put in such a blessed position, but somehow I am here.  We thank Pastor Robert for hosting us, and I already start to plan my next trip to Soroti.  I can’t wait to be back, and I haven’t even left yet.

Sunday

8:30 a.m.:  We leave Soroti and travel back to Kampala.  I don’t want to leave.  I want to stay in the bush. 

5:00 p.m.:  I’ve survived the long journey back to Kampala.  I am exhausted to the core.  I enter my house and smile when I see the cozy bed I get to sleep on tonight.

A million thoughts are swarming around my head.  I can’t stop thinking about Northern Uganda.  That is the land I dreamt of so many years ago, desperate to make a difference until every door slammed shut.  Now doors are opening without me trying.  It is time. 

10:30 p.m.:  I go to bed.  My body is sleeping, but my heart’s still dreaming…