“What do they teach you?”
“Lots of things.”
“Like what?”
“Selflessness, compassion, forgiveness, grace, being joyful no matter your circumstances. I think that’s the big one. You’ll notice with most of the people you meet here that no matter what they’re going through, there’s still a joy about them. It’s that idea of ‘in all things, give thanks.’”
The kids started singing. I stood with the baby still on my shoulder and walked to the yard. There, I stood watching the children and patting the baby’s back until an hour later, when the children went back inside to clean up for their dinner.
“This is one of the most powerful things I’ve ever witnessed,” she called out.
I turned to face her. “What’s that?”
“Watching you. You’re changing, Cabot. I don’t know if you realize that. But you’re most certainly changing.”
•••••
“Will the children ever be adopted?” I asked as we drove back to the mission house that night after dark.
“Not likely. Non-Ugandan citizens aren’t permitted to adopt.”
“So none of these children will ever have a home?”
“Unfortunately not.”
The fact made my stomach ache. “What will happen to them?”
“We’ll care for them until they’re old enough to be on their own.”
“And then?”
“Hopefully we’ve been able to provide them with an education and they can find work somewhere. That’s what much of our donations are spent on: this home and the care and education of these children.”
“They’ll never have a family,” I muttered as I looked out the window and into the darkness. “How many are there?”
“In the home? Forty-eight.”
“No. In Uganda. How many orphans are there?”
“The latest numbers we have are from two years ago.”
“How many?”
“Two million three hundred thousand. Within just a few years, they think the number will be two million five hundred thousand.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Two and a half million children like the ones I played with today?”
“Yes.”
When I didn’t respond, she took my hand in hers.
“Can we go back tomorrow?” I asked.
“If you wish.”
“Yes, I wish.”
I rested my head against the window and didn’t speak again for the rest of the night. There was nothing I could say, but I really didn’t need to say anything. Kei understood it all better than anyone else could.
C H A P T E R
21
Subject: Trip of a lifetime!
To: RollingMamaStone
From: YardballChamp07
Date: November 29, 2007
Mom,
Afoyah! (That means “Hey.”)
I can’t believe I’ve already been here for four days. Time seems like it’s flying by, and while part of me is exhausted from emotional and physical overload, the other part of me can’t get enough and wants to get back out there and see and do more.
For breakfast, we usually have boiled eggs, a crepe/tortilla-type bread they call chapatti, and instant coffee or hot tea with sugar and powdered milk. I really like the bread a lot, and Kei said that she would teach me how to make it when we’re in Asheville. We need to have her teach Dad sometime too.
Kei’s dad drove us to the fourteen acres of land they are hoping to use to build a Bible college and a children’s village. The hope for the children’s village is that they will build homes that house eight orphans and one woman who has lost her family. In these homes, they create their own new family. The children get a mother, and a woman finds purpose in raising children. As the plans are drawn, there will be four groups of four huts. At the center of each pod of four small huts there will be a central cooking area. Their hope is to raise enough money to begin building by the first part of next year. That would mean that more than 140 orphans could have a new mother and a new home by the end of next year. They plan to build as many villages as they can purchase land for. I’m hoping to get some time to sit and talk to Mr. Sallee about it some more while I’m here. I’d like to partner with him and see what I can do to help.
We spent time at a local prison. Next to visiting the hospital, this was the one thing that I was most unsure about. I tried to act like I wasn’t worried. I figured if Kei could go, I could too. I wasn’t sure what to expect but ended up surprised that I never had anything to worry about. We were completely safe. We leave tomorrow morning for an IDP camp called Opit. The next day, we’re heading to another camp called Amoro. It’s a thirty-mile drive, but Kei said it will take about two hours to get there due to the roads. She also says that Amoro is the second largest IDP camp. There are about 45,000 huts, so more than a hundred thousand people in all. We will be staying the night there, so I’ll be out of reach for a few days.
I now understand why Kei took so long to respond to my e-mails. No matter how good the wiring is, the Internet is sketchy. Then, sometimes, all the power in the city will go out and you never know when you’ll get it back.
Btw, you would love the view of the stars at night. With little to zero electricity in the homes nearby, there’s nothing to obstruct your view. It’s amazing.
Pass this on to Dad and the girls. I’m sure they want to hear all about what’s going on.
Prepare yourselves. I’m bringing all of you back with me sometime, and I know you’re going to love it.
Honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever be the same.
Talk to you soon.
Cabot
C H A P T E R
22
My first look at a Ugandan IDP camp, Opit, was unforgettable.
When the van pulled into its spot, dozens and dozens of children ran up to it and started pounding on it, laughing, smiling, curious. When we finally climbed out, they were everywhere and hardly gave us any room to maneuver. We took their pictures and then would turn the camera around and let them see themselves, which, of course, made them laugh. Kei said the majority of them had never seen what they look like.
It took about thirty minutes, but we finally made it the twenty or thirty yards to the medical camp. There were at least fifteen hundred people lined up, hoping to get medical care.
It was there that I met Griffin, the guy Kei had told me about. His parents’ mission was the one that organized the medical teams.
Even though he was obviously upset about it, Kei insisted that she and I work together. He didn’t argue, but he kept a very watchful eye on us while we questioned the patients and sent them to the right station.
We found out their names, ages, tribes, villages, and current medical conditions. There was a woman with both AIDS and syphilis. Many women had vaginal discharge problems, which was more than I wanted to know, but apparently, due to the lack of clean water, they were susceptible to a lot of things, and very serious female problems was one of them. There were also a lot of ringworms, infected feet, tooth problems, and infections due to cuts and burns.
All of the stories were difficult to hear, and every time we’d process one, I would look back at the line and see that it didn’t seem to help. The people just kept coming and coming, and there was no way we were going to help them all that day. The children sat quietly in line, never fussing.
The most memorable patient of the day was an elderly man. He had vision problems, and he was hoping for a pair of glasses. When Kei asked him why he needed glasses, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded-up piece of paper. He unfolded it and showed it to us. It was one page out of a Bible, one page. He told her that he needed to be able to read God’s Word.
Not only did I want to make sure he got his glasses, but I wanted to get him a complete Bible. I asked Kei if we could get one to him, and she said that there was no way to track him down after he had left the medical camp. There was no organization to th
e huts, and he would be nearly impossible to find again. I made a mental note to myself to buy as many Bibles as I could and bring them with us in the van just in case.
After a few hours of working with the medical team, Kei and Gregory took me out to walk around the camp. She started calling me the pied piper. Children literally followed us everywhere, and they did it by the dozens. One little girl followed us for over an hour until I finally figured out that she wanted the empty water bottle I was carrying around. As soon as I gave it to her, she smiled and ran off.
We passed two witch doctor huts, looked at all the items for sale in the market, and visited many people inside their huts.
I was asleep in the van within fifteen minutes of leaving the camp for the day.
Amoro was very similar to Opit, but much, much larger. We were still followed by children and Griffin, who was now with us at all times. We spent the night in tents and then woke up the next morning to attend church services. They broke us up into teams and sent us to different churches throughout the camp.
Kei, Griffin, and a new couple were on my team. We sat at the front of a small church made out of branches. The walls weren’t solid, but it was enough to get a little bit of shade from the very hot sun. Even in the early morning, the heat was almost unbearable.
Our church was called Deliverance Church and was led by Pastor Saul, and it was packed completely full with adults. All the children stood outside and tried to look inside through the slats. It broke my heart that the children weren’t allowed inside. Honestly, part of me would’ve rather been outside with them.
We sat in the front and faced the crowd. They sang us a song of welcome, honoring us, and then the church service began. Kei and an interpreter tried to tell me what the pastor was saying, but they had a hard time keeping up.
They asked me to speak, so I nervously told the story of when Jesus said, “Let the children come to me.”
While we sat and listened to Griffin talk, I noticed Kei get out of her seat and walk over to a girl. She was probably ten or so. Kei whispered in her ear, and the girl shut her eyes and nodded her head. Kei prayed with her and then stood up and walked back to her seat.
“What was that about?” I whispered as she sat down.
“She needed prayer.”
“How could you tell?”
“I saw the look on her face. I’ve seen it when I look in the mirror and would recognize it anywhere.”
“What look is that?” I asked.
“Shame,” she whispered.
Just then, the service ended and people started to line up to be prayed over. It was several minutes into praying that I witnessed my first demon possession.
The girl was a teenager. She thrashed around and spit on Pastor Saul. After quite a bit of prayer, they carried her away, and Griffin went with them to continue praying for her. Then, just as she left, they brought a girl up who had epilepsy. She was nine years old and broke my heart not because she had epilepsy, but because it was obvious by the look on her face that she felt like she had no worth. She never looked up, showed no emotion at all. She just sat there, looking hopeless.
She was followed by the girl that Kei had walked over to pray with. It turned out that she was nine years old and had been sexually assaulted by a group of men a few days before. Kei was right. Shame was written all over her face.
Just when I didn’t think I could take any more, two children walked up, dropped to their knees in front of us, and offered each of us a glass bottle of Coca-Cola. The church had taken what little money they had and purchased the Cokes at the market and presented them to us as a gift. I didn’t want to drink it. I wanted to give it to one of the girls, but Kei said that the pastor and his congregation would be offended if we didn’t drink it, so we did. We sat and drank the warm soda while the people of the church watched. Many of them had probably never had a Coke in their lives, but they were honored to give one to me, a person who could have all the soda I’d ever want, a person who had never had to go without, a person who had everything a person could ever ask for yet never truly appreciated any of it.
I learned more from that one small bottle of Coke than I’d learned in my entire life. I learned that it’s better to give than receive and that it means even more to give when you give your all.
Honestly, I didn’t think I could handle any more that day, but we had several hours still ahead of us. But it was in those hours that I saw something beautiful. In spite of all the hardship, all the sickness, and all the brokenness, I saw joy.
That night, thousands of people danced and sang as the team prayed over person after person after person. Even I joined in and, with an interpreter, prayed for the people who wanted it.
Even though I was the one who was doing the praying for them, I was the one being changed. There I was, trying to minister to them, but in reality, they were ministering to me.
Subject: Checking in
To: RollingMamaStone
From: YardballChamp07
Date: December 3, 2007
Mom,
It’s been the most emotional several days of my entire life. All I can say is that I love it here. The people are amazing, and I can see why Kei loves it so much.
I feel a lot different than I expected I would. I thought I would feel sad all the time, feel sorry for their conditions, and I do to some extent. There are things here that are heartbreaking, no doubt about it. The camps are terrible, and the living conditions are deplorable (based on America’s standards), but there is still a sense of joy among the Christians here.
The people who have been a major part of my day are totally amazing. I’ve felt completely loved and accepted by everyone, and it’s unconditional.
I find myself wanting what they have, not physically, but emotionally and spiritually. I’m jealous of them and the way they see the world and the people in it. I want what they have, and I’m hoping I can figure out how to get it.
Three of the boys who live in the mission house are orphans. Their parents were all killed by the LRA. Then, get this. Two men who also live in the house are former LRA soldiers, and both are no more than twenty-five years old. One was actually an officer. Can you imagine all of them living under the same roof and loving each other like brothers? I don’t think most people in America could muster up enough forgiveness and understanding to do it.
I asked Daniel how everyone can live together under one roof the way they do after everything that they’ve been through. How is there that much forgiveness?
He said that people forgive the former LRA soldiers when they come home and they accept them back into their community. He says it’s the ultimate proof of God’s love. Most of the soldiers were abducted as children and were brainwashed; they didn’t know any better, and they were fighting for their own survival.
I could have sat and listened to him talk for hours. Here he is, a guy my age, and he was one of the wisest people I’ve ever met, if not the wisest.
The more I think about it, the more I believe he’s right. When you suffer the atrocities these people have, what other option do you have but to forgive? Otherwise, the cycle begins and history repeats itself. He said that Uganda is a country of forgiveness. Maybe that’s why they are so filled with joy.
Before I sign off for the night, the words of a song they sing every morning:
From the rising of the sun
To the going down of the same
The name of the Lord will be praised.
I’m off to bed. My adventure continues tomorrow!
Love you!
Cabot
•••••
Subject: Re: Checking In
To: YardballChamp07
From: RollingMamaStone
Date: December 4, 2007
Cabot,
We are all glued to these e-mails and the pictures you’re sending us. What amazing, amazing stories! We wish we were there with you so that we could all experience it together.
We all watched the d
ocumentary you told us about. We cried and cried all the way through. I think it’s one of the most powerful things I’ve ever seen. It’s amazing what people can survive, and it sounds like the work that Kei’s family is doing, is helping. What a great gift for you to get to see that live and in person. We’re all very jealous of you and the experiences you’re witnessing.
I worry about you going all the places you are. Please be careful!
Keep on writing and taking pictures! We can’t wait to read and see more!
Give Kei a kiss for me. I’m sure you won’t mind!
Be safe!
Much love,
Mom
•••••
Subject: Dinner anyone?
To: RollingMamaStone
From: YardballChamp07
Date: December 12, 2007
Afoyah, Mom!
I killed a chicken today! I stood on its feet, broke its neck, and then cut its head off. It was awesome!
Several of the kids from the Joy House were at the mission house for lunch, and they watched. They thought it was hysterical. Kei videotaped the entire thing, so you can see it when I get back to the States next week. She’s officially become my photographer/videographer and is documenting almost everything we do. You’ll miss out on part of the chicken killing because she was laughing so hard she didn’t keep the camera still, but you’ll get the main parts, and the bloodiest.
I finished the chicken off by plucking it, or part of it anyway. The house ladies got tired of waiting and took over. They said that if they let me keep doing it, we wouldn’t have dinner tonight. Trust me. It’s a lot harder than you’d think.
I’ve also learned these new words. (I don’t know how to spell them. I’m spelling them by how you say them.):
Yang doody
=
shake your booty. (In honor of my chicken killing, I taught the kids the chicken dance. One of the older boys taught me the saying.)
Afoya matey
=
thank you
Mano or mzungu
=
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