Just thinking of some priceless moments that I have forgotten to blog about
.. . . .

Naomi, Quinn and I, slipping through the fence behind our house and down
through jungly jungle single file paths, sliding as we go because of the
steepness, following the rushing sound of the water – our personal tributary
of the Nile. There is a beautiful river down there, only about waist high,
lined all along with a deep blue clay. The girls I was there with stripped
off their clothes and before I knew it they were all swimming like dark fish
in the water – completely at home. I marvelled. The heat made me want to
join them, but I held off to wait for a bathing suit.

Another day a neighbor came by offering me fresh sombe to buy. I bought it
from her, two big bundles of sombe for 200 ugandan shillings (approximately
10 cents American). Not knowing how to cook it (it is somewhat like
spinach, and is a dark leafy purple-green plant with long stems), I thought
I would place it in my refrigerator till later (having bought it more as a
favor for the woman needing money than anything else). The kids who were
hanging out on the porch had other ideas. They helped me to locate the
special pedestal bowl and big stick to pound it with (sort of a very
oversized mortar and pestle) – Naomi and Quinn had a blast learning to pound
the sombe small. But first we had to pick all the stems off in just the
right way, then pan fry the leaves, then pound then cook with water and oil
adding garlic and curry powder, tomatos and onions. The final product??
DELICIOUS!! Definitely the way to get your greens. Naomi and Quinn happily
ate it for dinner.

Also . . Fifty children gathered in a huge circle in our yard, Daniel, my
translator beside me. I teach them duck, duck, goose. They have never
heard of a goose, they do not have them here. The Lubwisi word for duck is
far too long to use in this game. So instead the children go around saying
“duk, duk, duk” with little to no understanding. But they had such a great
time chasing each other around the big circle, and especially catching me as
I ran.

Having my nails “enna’d” (henna’d) by Farida, a local village girl who
attends Christ school. The muddy and very strong smelling henna applied
just to the ends of my nails and then left on for several hours to dry. The
result is a nice nicotine-looking yellow stain. And a truly wonderful
memory. Naomi got hers done as well. ( her comment? “this smells like
barbecue sauce!!) Then I enjoyed painting my one pot of beautiful coral nail
polish onto Farida’s toes.

Early mornings, I sneak outside before the children wake, pulling a chair to
the middle of our lawn. The air is perfect, crisp and cool and dewy. I
am surrounded by greens and flowers. The mountains silhouetted against the
pink morning sky, circle around me feeling large and close. I look to the
hills and know that my strength comes from the Lord. Truly we are blessed
to live in this place. “MOMMY!!” and truly I am blessed to have my two sweet
little ones, wanting me. . . .

In America, I was not the mom with the cleanest house around. I may have
had one of the most interesting houses. You never knew what you’d find on
the dining room table when you came for a playdate. Perhaps a big skeleton
set with all the organs strewn around, waiting for assembly. On other
days, some sort of home made cooking show with piles of fragrant herbs
assaulting your nose as they clashed in unexpected ways. My house was more
creative than clean, but certainly safe and clean enough.

Here, I find my sanitation standards dropping by the day. Since I arrived,
a whole month ago now, I have been trying to make a home of this house we
are in. The kitchen has kicked my butt. Between rats, ants of all sizes,
water leakage, it is a job. Trying to find places to store all the food
that will keep rats out is a job in itself. Making sure all those places
are clean enough to store food is another. Every morning, anything left out
of a truly closed cupboard (of which we have only one) is liable to have
dead bugs, rat droppings, and lizard poop on it. In america, should any
one of those be present in my kitchen, it would mean the end of my eating
anything for breakfast. Even a dead fly on the counter would spell doom to
my appetite. Here, just to get breakfast ready, I have to wade through all
kinds of disgusting stuff. Another thing I quickly discovered, is that my
American habit of cleaning up disgusting things with something disposable
(like a paper towel) doesn’t work here, where we have no such disposable
things. Gross. Also, we don’t have anything but COLD water unless we heat
it on the stove in the big kettle. There goes one of my other favorite ways
to make things clean easily, nice hot water and lots of cleaning agents
(also in short supply here.)

Now, when receiving my tray of fresh eggs from the market, I barely notice
that all but one or two has a healthy serving of fairly fresh hen poop on
it. Just part of the atmosphere of my kitchen. Those eggs will sit out on
my counter (no refrigeration needed for such fresh eggs) long enough to add
rat and lizard poop to the hen poop and of course some bugs will expire on
them as well. That’s why you cook eggs, you know. Just brush it off and
crack them right into that pan. Yum.

These will have to be word images since the photos aren’t gong through yet.

Each afternoon our yard is filled with the shouts and laughter of between 20-40 village kids, enjoying active games of football (soccer) or quietly intense Lego building. We have set out a large table on our back porch. Each afternoon we set out one of our collections, perhaps our big bag of Legos, or Playmobil – we don’t have many others. One day I taught two bright children who spoke some English, how to play checkers. They also enjoy Uno, once they catch on. Our yard it quite big and full of grass, such open space is a rarity in this jungle village and the kids take full advantage with games of chase and football. They are enamored with our bright new soccer ball and even more so, the pump that fills it fresh each day. They come for the pump when the ball begins to have the tiniest bit of softness!

The kids are so creative with what they have. Thick, long branches are quickly pulled down from trees by collective energy to serve as goalpoasts on each side. Someone has brought an old cracked but functional whistle which makes the game “real”. When thirst hits they find another long stick and working together they knock down lemons from a nearby tree. People here seem to go most of the day without drinking anything, despite the heat. The little children, too young to enter the game, have wandered to a palm tree against our back fence and are digging out some kind of nut from its roots. They set up a nut station, digging, pounding the shells off with rocks, then eating the nuts. These nuts seem to have very little in them that’s edible as the children chew and chew them then spit out copious amounts of chewed up but indigestible nut.

After the nuts are exhausted and the football players as well, the children all come to rest on our back porch. They sit and sit. The attention spans here would amaze any American. Culturally, sitting together in silence is highly valued. Even the smallest children sit for hours with nothing to do at all. They will sit there even while we are in the house, with nothing particular to look at or listen to. Just waiting.

If Daniel has come I will head out to the back porch to sit beside him and tell some Bible stories while he translates. I ask lots of questions. I am trying to get past the stories and to the heart of God, and their own hearts. They all listen eagerly for as long as I will talk. The little one year old nodding off right their on the cement floor. I pull one or two onto my lap. They unwashed little bodies don’t smell so good, and they don’t feel much like the soft children I am used to holding and touching in America. Their bellies huge and hard, their legs with several festering ulcers. Their clothes filthy and ragged, their teeth often small dark stubs. I sit enjoying, they are HIS precious jewels, I am so privileged to touch them.

Mrs. Agnes David. I had just opened the blank airmail envelope so commonly
delivered to our door and received by Daniel, our indoor worker. No name on
the outside, the inside addressed to Mrs. Agnes David. Couldn’t think of
anyone I had met here by that name, though Agnes and David are both familiar
English versions of names around here . . . A moment later it hit me – I’M
Mrs. Agnes David!! I remembered the way some of the local people have been
trying to prounonce Annelise and realized it did indeed sound quite a bit
like Agnes. Once again, a request for a loan . . . I read through it and
prayed for wisdom.

I remember hearing from my parents growing up, that being rich isn’t all
it’s cracked up to be. It’s a big responsibility. We’re feeling that here.
Though we have a very small salary by American standards, compared to the
locals here, we are rich, successful and important people. The kind of
people who truly have endless money just waiting to be given away. They all
come asking. I find myself stretched constantly by the requests. Requests
for a mosquito net, a mattress, food to feed a ten year old boy and his
siblings who have no parents currently at home, money to fix broken shoes,
money to relieve pain from terrible periodontal disease, requests for food
and clean water from local children. If I gave meals to all the children at
my door I would be feeding 50 regularly. I say no. I don’t like saying no.
We are confronted constantly with these requests and rely on the Holy
Spirit’s guidance. Please pray that we would not try to fall back on our
own wisdom (which basically means trying to meet needs in a way we consider
sustainable), but instead rely on God’s, case by case.

Pray for Katusabe, a slave to witchcraft but who also uses Jesus name when
it comes in handy; for Barungie William, a thief who needs Jesus.

Pray for our hearts to be soft, patient and gracious with the locals and
with each other.

Feeling too overwhelmed right now to write anything interesting, but life itself is constantly interesting so I will just share the events of our Sunday here.

1) attended the village Pentecostal church beacause of Daniel, the pastor, and our new indoor worker. The service was 2 1/2 hours long and we found out part way through it that I was the featured preacher!! Talk about a surprise. I gave a short text from Jeremiah, the part where God tells Jeremiah to go out and speak His words and Jeremiah protests that He is only a child and has nothing to say. I told them, vulnerably, how like a small child I am here – I do not know the simplest things about how to survive here- and how I argued with God about coming. I told them that God loves them so much and that He sent us here as a constant reminder of His great love for them. I prayed hard through the whole thing so I pray that the Spirit will use it in people’s hearts.

2) Lunch at home with Bright Patrick, a ten year old boy who told me that he has been watching out for his four siblings while his mother is in the hospital. He had no food in his home so I sent beans and rice home with him.

3) greeted visitors needing loans or wanting money for seeds, etc.

4) fended off mountains of local children while trying to have some family down time

5) Were taken by Nekson to see his cocoa trees and the rest of his property, greeted his extended family in their homes or yards, saw cocoa, coffee, sweet potato, and sugar cane growing. Got to try our first sugar cane in the home of him and his wife.

6) walked home and checked in with team friends who had found a six foot long black snake in their home that day!! Saw the hole in the ceiling where the snake had come through. Locals claim it is a cobra but we are not sure. Feeling creepy crawly last night and today. Our ceiling is half exposed and the former resident of this home claim to have found a big snake skin in the attic. The snakes like the heat and the rats in the attics here. Pray for us to have peace about this!

7) enjoyed a late dinner of roasted pumpkin and made from scratch pigs in a blanket with real American mustard!!!!! (wow, and I never used to like mustard but it tasted so . . . Well, American!!)

curled up (all four of us, the family bed is great when you need it!) inside our cozy mosquito netted bed and were swallowed by the deep darkness of the night here, heard a large and loud owl calling from the back yard as we drifted off to sleep

This post goes back, to probably a day after my last post. Sorry for being absent. We were away on a team retreat weekend (yea, I know, can you believe we are retreating already??! – wasn’t for us really.) and then back in Kampala working out some of our living issues (maybe.) Now we’ve been back in Bundibugyo district (back in Bundimelengo as I should say it, the little village area we live in goes by that name), only since Friday night.

We were “interviewing” a man named Daniel, as a possible houseworker. He is a pentecostal pastor here, just 24, married three years with a two year old son and beautiful wife. We got the tip off from someone that Daniel was looking for work and were pleased to find that his English is quite reasonable. He also has a sweet and compassionate heart and loves children. Through the prayers and advice of a team friend we decided to hire him to spend two hours in the morning doing indoor worker type things (washing our clothes by hand, sweeping out the house daily (you wouldn’t believe the dust!), and a few other things. In addition, he will come back two hours in the late afternoon to act as sort of a yard facilatator for the local children who come to visit and play with us. He will help me to learn the language as well as translate and monitor the situations (it gets really crazy when you have 30 children of all different ages, economic situations, and family situations and when the adult present doesn’t understand their language at all. Stuff comes up.) So, as we were making this decision about Daniel . . . He spent a day or two just hanging out in the yard, I think trying to make an impression and hopefully have us hire him.

As we sat out in front of the house in one of our typical situations, N and Q have gotten tired of playing chase and being watched and have collapsed on my lap. All the children collapse around us and watch intently for the next excitement. The children begin talking amongst themselves. We sit, I try not to think for several minutes . . . . But there is Daniel beside me and he says, “the children are wishing that you would tell them a Bible story”. I was so surprised. I had no idea that they would be thinking that. So after a moment I told them the story of how Naomi got her name (the Ruth and Naomi Bible story, which nobody here seems to have heard of) while Daniel translated phrase for phrase and the children listened and “eh”‘d. I was able to share with them about Jesus and his love for them and his plan of salvation as I explained that Ruth was the ancestor of Jesus. They then asked for another and I told the story of Magezi’s (Quinns) name. I told them about King Solomon and how he became wise. At this point Quinn had wandered away and started crying so I told them to come back for more later.

I cannot describe to you the gift it was to be able to share these truths with these children. As I explained to them about Jesus and his love for them and told them that was why I had come to Uganda, to tell them of Jesus love, I started to well up. What is that quote? Something about our calling being where our desires, gifts, and passions intersect with the needs of the world. Bingo. Thank you Daddy-God for knowing me, loving me, and calling me . . . . .

I am up early today to try to do a little before our day starts with a visit to the local primary school at eight. But it’s dark here still and we have no power so I am using the one thing that is easy right now – the computer! Thankfully David has found a way for me to send my blog posts by email so I can type them now and send them whenever we get a chance to log in during internet hours at someone else’s house.

Saturday was the big market day in Nyahuka (our local village). Pat, a missionary friend, took me down with her while another friend kept the kids and met us at the end. The market is just jam packed with people. When we talked to the chairman the other day he estimated that there are about 500 heads of households in this area, which means about 2500 people including moms and babies. Of course for market day people from other areas may come. Some of the people selling things at the market were from Congo.

The market has the East African version of lemonade and hot dogs. Chipatis (sort of tortillas), cooked bananas, roasted g-nuts (peanuts) by the handful, and little baggies of kool aid type stuff. Apparently those little baggies of drinks are a sure way to get VERY sick. We didn’t test them since they certainly didn’t look appetizing!

The foods at the market don’t look terribly appealing. Next week I will try to take a picture. Nothing has been dyed or waxed to appeal to the consumer, as have the things on your local grocery shelves. They come as they are and they taste pretty good. Our local oranges are a brilliant green color and completely sour but not bad with sugar, I have heard. We found some mangos, much smaller and greener than those I have eaten before and are looking forward to trying them. We bought onions, tomatoes, and a gorgeous huge avocado also. I am still thinking about that avocado which I devoured immediately, so pleased to find it already perfectly ripe.

I also went to Iddi’s shop. He is a Muslim man who travels the road back and forth to Fort Portal to buy supplies such as flour, salt, sugar. I stocked up on those items to begin baking our bread and making muffins, pancakes, etc. We also picked up some posho, which is the local cornmeal. Yummy. A big ripe pineapple came home with us too.

Before you feel jealous of all our wonderful foods here, let me just tell you about my brief foray into the meat market . . . . I arrived to encounter some men trying to hack a hoof off a cow leg with machetes (in rereading this, I see that it would be helpful to mention that the cow is dead). Huge pieces of beef hang from hooks, and this stuff has literally just come off the cow. Most of it is being attacked by flies and it is hard to see ourselves eating this, but apparently it is okay to eat if ground up. Too tough any other way. I am craving protein which we have had so much less of since we got here (send protein bars! ). Meat and dairy items are hard to get, even in Kampala now because of the frequent black outs, the stores that used to carry such things as chicken are not able to anymore. Of course there are live chickens all over the place here. At the market you buy them live and carry them home to kill and pluck for your dinner. Not an easy job; the carrying, the killing, or the plucking. Sort of makes you think twice about chicken for dinner. Plus it’s apparently VERY tough – so free range, you know. And did I mention, organic??

Sunday here in Bundi. So far Sundays are the hardest days. I miss our home church and all the friendships there and the worship and the fellowship and . . . Well, now I’m crying so I better get on to the news.

We joined the community church this morning. The preacher is a local man named Charles. He has a beautiful countenance. I really enjoyed his sermon and felt my heart drawn to God through it ( there was a translator as most of the missionaries attend there). I kept remembering throughout the service the many Psalms that talk about “the nations” praising God and marveled that I was seeing firsthand this faraway nation knowing and praising the one true God. It really took my breath away.

When we got home many children were waiting for us. Some from next door and others from farther in the village. The ones from farther away brought us two small pumpkins. They are older children just ending primary school next year, around 12 and 13. Between the five of them and about 16 from next door we had quite a crowd. One of the older ones speaks English quite well and we played Uno with some of them. What ended up happening was that the older ones pushed the younger ones from next door away. Before I could even understand what was happening a real power dynamic had begun. The older ones trying to protect us from the younger next door children who they declared “fieves” (thieves). I kept trying to explain that they are welcome to come and sit with us. Up to this point we had not invited any local children inside our home. We have been playing outside and in groups. Well, while I was helping Quinn, the older five children went inside with Naomi locking all the other children out. I was a bit at a loss. I could not allow all of them in and . . . .well, longer story shorter, some of the younger kids ended up running into our home, grabbing some of our things and running out again while I was saying “weisaloe” (goodbye) to the older ones. I caught one of them with things in his hands, just little dinky things that mean nothing, but I was so sad that he had taken them from us. I called him to me and opened his hand and took the things out and he just looked up at me and I held his head and said (though he did not understand me) ” I love you so much, but you may not steal from us.” I think some of the other children took things that we did not get back. I had the older girl translate for me and told the children that we want to trust them and we can not trust them if they steal, but that no matter what they do we will keep on loving them just the same. I told them that Jesus loves them even more, and that He says not to steal. The children all listened solemnly and said “eh” in serious tones. They all seemed very surprised that I did not punish anyone or turn them in to their elders for punishment. That is the way here. I know if I told their fathers or uncles or grandfather they would be beaten. That is the way they handle things here. I am trying love, we will see how it succeeds. . . .

Naomi and Quinn and I came inside and prayed for the kids. Naomi said ” it was good that you told them you loved them even when they stealed”, the kids both felt sad for the neighbor children and I was glad for that. It is easy to feel angry and betrayed and perhaps they will next time if it is something they care more about. We prayed that God would give us wisdom to know how to love they children, and the older ones too. And show us how to treat them.

I have thought over and over today about some difficult neighbor situations God gave me while we lived in the States, and thanked Him for those times that I always saw as such a tribulation. In reality I can now see how they laid some good foundations for the situations with children here. I never cease to be amazed by God’s plan, so vast and so intricate. How is it possible??

You have seen the pictures of our house. We live inside a fence, with a gate that we close at night or when we are out of the district. (“the district” refers to Bundibugyo District which would be similar to any state in America.) In through this gate come our next door neighbor children to visit, play or just watch us whenever possible. To them, our lives are fascinating. There are about 25 kids in the family group next door, so it can get to be quite a crowd. Right now there are about six outside playing with the kids which seems like a nice, manageable number. They, of course, speak no English. The play is quite entertaining to watch. They will hover around Naomi and Quinn as soon as we walk in through our gate or out of our front door. Today they are repeating over and over “Magezi” which is their word for “wise one” (Quinn is an unknown name in their language, but means wise so they call him Magezi instead.)

Naomi and Quinn enjoy the chance to spend time with these kids. They ask to stay out and play with them. Since I have time to sit and supervise, I say yes. Naomi gestures widely to them as she suggests a game. All the kids imitate her perfectly waving their arms around and giggling as she grows even more animated in her explanations. They are not mocking her, merely doing their best to join in when they know nothing of what she explains. Soon, she starts running and they all chase after her shouting with laughter. This seems to be their only real game together I discover, after much watching. Naomi and Quinn run, the Ankolimpe children chase. At the end of the afternoon they turned it around and Naomi and Quinn were finally chasing some of them which was fun for all. They will copy anything N and Q do, such as falling down and rolling up into a ball – soon there are seven children rolling with their feet in the air! Or hopping like a frog . . . .

We ended our afternoon by offering them to come sit up on our porch. They were so honored to sit in chairs. The families here usually have one or two “chairs” or stools or something resembling that are saved for honored visitors. Today the Ankolimpe children were our honored visitors and I enjoyed sitting on the floor while they took the chairs to their great surprise! We passed each one a piece of small origami paper and I showed them how to make an origami cup and how to pretend to drink from it. There was much slurping. I pretended to pour them all tea and they slurped it up. They are all dirty and many have horribly runny noses. None have complete clothing and one small sweet little girl wore just a towel tied up around her neck – pray for her, her name is Jabelle. We brought out our pitcher of fresh, cold clean water – such a treat for them – and poured them some in their origami cups and sat and drank together in silence for a long time (this is cultural). Then I used my one new Lubwisi phrase “Li na wi nigai noui” (not the right spelling, I am spelling phonetically!) to as what their names were and we went around saying our names until I had learned some of theirs. It is surprisingly difficult to remember their names and keep them with the right faces. They enjoyed this game quite a bit. After a long time we said “webolai” (thank you) and weisaloe (see you later) and calle calle (bye bye) and they all silently left the porch and walked out of the gate with their small origami cups tightly in their hands.

And this is my question for the day . . . . What is it to show love, and how can I be Jesus love poured our for the lives I touch in passing this day?? Here I am at the edge of the world, here for them, because He asked me to walk beside them. Now how do I show His love, be His face in the midst . .
. .

Once you get out of Kampala, you travel one small paved road for miles and miles and miles past village after village, small town after small town and beautiful rural scenes. We sampled Ugandan “fast food” at Mubende, where you drive into town and slow down while locals run up to your car selling chicken on a stick, chapatis (like tortillas), and cooked bananas. The kids went crazy about the food – it was quite good. When I can I will post the great picture I have of Quinn enjoying it. We have heard it is risky to eat there (but we did not hear that until afterwards!) fortunately we had no after effects. After about five hours of this driving, and perhaps one potty break on the side of the road (no rest stops here, believe me) we arrived in Fort Portal. Fort Portal is the closest city to us. It is where the mail you will send us (pretty please! PO Box 383 Fort Portal, Uganda) will come. I took a picture of the teeny tiny post office too, will post soon. Our team has a missionary family in Fort Portal. They are sort of our logistics people. They can manage communication and business issues that are difficult for us as we are so much father out.

After Fort Portal we began our drive into the mountains. We pass between the mountains through a much lower spot. Apparently the highest elevation on the Mountains of the Moon is 19k feet, so they are not small mountains. The roads were all dirt, very dusty and narrow. They were not as bad as city driving though. We did not make it through before dark and after dark was a bit scarier. The views are thousands and thousands of feet high and are gorgeous. I got a great picture of us overlooking Congo which I want to post. We saw Colobus monkeys and a troop of baboons. We found a baby chameleon which was fun.

You really have the feeling you are driving past the end of the world. The road is dirt and keeps getting more and more isolated. We saw some World Vision rural development project signs and I thought, we are farther out than World Vision’s projects. That felt so odd as I have looked so often in their catalogs and thought those projects so far away. Now I am hear close by them.

Then we arrived at the beginning.