I sit, legs forward, on the lawn. In the bright sun I wear a shorter skirt than usual, it is up to my knees in parts and I display my legs, chastely, to the view of the sun, hoping to keep the brown-ness I earned at the beach . . . . . My visitor is speaking and I listen again to the words: ” I need your help”, ” I have a problem”, ” You are my friend.”

Funny thing is, she isn’t, really. My friend, I mean. She is a woman who approached me once, three years ago, for a job. She approached me many more times for help with a tomato garden. Once, I helped. It was a disaster. And in the mean time I have learned that her husband has a consistent local job which will never make them rich but does at least earn a paycheck. Oh yea, and he drinks, which explains why they have little disposable income and few friends who will loan them anything.

I say “no” to helping this friend, and then I must say it again and again and again. In all she asks seven times in the course of twenty minutes. A wearing experience for me. Towards the end, I drop the gracious calm of my refusal and state flatly that she is being rude. That friendship is about so much more than money and that I am not required to help her in any way.

This, a dazzling display of typical relationships for me in Bundibugyo. Someone needs something; and I am the solution.

Here at Christ School, relationships often go far beyond this basic level. I have been blessed to get to know some great friends. Our intimacy is strained by some aspects of crossing culture, but overall we continue to keep trying to move forward, hesitantly, towards each other.

Sadly, as we enter Term 3, many staff are feeling hostile and put out towards us. As best we can gather, there is a sense of not being listened to, not being heard. A sense that decisions are too top-down, not democratic enough. And so we seek to understand, we invite them to speak, we find time to listen in community. And we pray that God will tear down walls.

I crave the life that these staff relationships offer. I crave harmony, peace and joy in community together. And I seek the best we can offer to students and to staff; not false peace but real progress, together. Pray for us all.

We spent much of yesterday at the American Club, a haven of safety in the midst of a bustling third world city. We love Uganda ( the kids cries of “we’re HOME!!” as we crossed the border assured me of that) but Kampala is, like any large metropolis; smoggy, dirty and hectic.

It’s also full of experiences our kids don’t get for most of their year (we travel here only about every three months.) Both kids sat in front of the satellite TV for hours, and commented that The Disney channel is “funnier in American accents than the British ones we have here.” We headed to the mall, where Quinn wanted to ride the escalator over and over and over. Both kids got lost in the bookstore for an hour, poring over comic books and high schooly short novels that relate to the life and world they know through movies and visitors and notes from friends.

We went to see G-force at the theatre in town, a special treat for Quinn who loves all things high tech and high gear. The preview ads (made in Uganda) were so funnily constructed that we laughed hysterically before the movie even got started, and the pounding in the background from a renovation occasionally interfered with the watching, but overall it was a moment of family fun not soon to be experienced again.

We shopped for food as a family too, rushing madly around in an attempt to get it done before the movie started (daily deadlines and beating traffic are another anomaly in our lives, thankfully.) At the large, American-style grocery store we faced the normal dilemma of what to buy for the next three months. Overwhelmed by the availability and the ease of buy-eat (i.e. convenience) foods we must take a step back and look at what is actually appropriate for our lives. Bags of chips (no, not what you’re picturing, they are thicker greasier made-in-Uganda “crisps”) run out fast when used for daily snacks. This food must last for three months, or at least be used to make food that lasts for three months. And then there are the prices; I saw one can of a kid-style knock off of chef boyardee for $9/can! Cereal boxes maybe don’t cost much more than they do in America these days but at $5/box for the cheapest, they are a real splurge. ( I got some anyway for those mornings when I’m not up to baking scones, or when nothing else sounds good to Naomi’s stomach.) As a mom with a low-weight kid, shopping for months ahead can become frenetic and panicked, a feeling of carrying a huge burden on my shoulders. By God’s help I was able to let that go, to pick things that are nourishing, high calorie and fun, to leave out a lot of expensive stuff and to get plenty of the basics that I will later turn into sloppy joes, soft pretzels and brownies. The kids got little life lessons as we went and they wanted some of EVERYTHING. No, we cannot buy grapes at $10/bunch. Yes, we can get a pint of strawberries which miraculously cost only $2/pint!! (we got several!) We checked “tinned” food prices and bought the cheapest that still taste good. The kids did some simple math; I remember doing this in American years ago with them but nowadays we haggle at the market instead!

We finished up with dinner at a “fast food” joint at the mall. Titled, ” Pizza HOT” it was an obvious copy-cat with a triangular pita above the words instead of the typical “hut” found on another famous pizza franchise’s signs. But this was nothing like the one you find in America. Totally delicious (best we’ve had in Africa),made on pita bread by a Lebanese owner and concocted with the most incredible sauce/spice mix. And best yet, it’s all halal!! We even got to enjoy watching a Muslim man remove his shoes to pray facing Mecca while standing on the bench behind us as we ate!

A little slice of life as an American-African kid. The child counselor at Tumaini took the time to interview our children about their lives in general. What she took away was this: our children love BOTH their lives and want to stay connected to both Uganda and America. Their sense of safety is in us, their parents, not in a geographical location or safe haven. And their list of fears about their lives are remarkably short! That was a gift for us to hear, to hear that our immense prayers and efforts to providing them with security, praying over their fears, and talking through the suffering and hostility around us is working. That God is breaking through for them in ways we would never be able to on our own. And that, in the ways true to their own winding stories, they are thriving. To know that; well, it lets me keep going for a little longer.