Thursday, July 19, 2012

From Centurion, South Africa


South Africa has been full of wonderful opportunities, namely: ministry in the local community, preaching in numerous churches, and fun with friends.  God is good.

My wife, Amanda, and I spend lots of time at Ditshego House of Laughter,
a children's home.  Here we are on an overnight retreat with the kids.
It's cold down here!
About to preach at Elim Methodist Church, in a formal settlement.
Vuzumuzi was an incredible translator,
especially when I talked about South African soccer.
We had a great time at the Springboks rugby game,
when South Africa beat England, 36-27!
They played at Ellis Park, site of the 1995 Rugby World Cup title game
(see Invictus).

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Hello Duke family!
Finally feeling ready to blog. I haven't been able to think of something to write about... or maybe I've had too many thoughts in my head to get any of them straight. The latter sounds more correct.
For those of you who know me, you know I really don't like the pop singer Taylor Swift. I've always said that she needs to "get a real problem" as she sings about breaking up with her boyfriend of one-week. I feel like now I'm saying that same phrase to myself after having lived in Kenya for this month's time.
I am going to make a conscious effort not to complain unless truly appropriate. Here, for example, are some things I would complain about in the States:

  • I don't want to do laundry
  • Ugh, I have to empty the dishwasher
  • There's too much traffic
  • The Duke University bus system gets me to class late
  • There's nothing on TV
As I reflect on my lifestyle in the US, I think, "was I really complaining about these things?" Did I complain because I haven't known a different life? Living in the village really puts a lot of things into perspective and I realize that the things that I was once complaining about are things of luxury and not of sufficiency. I feel like I complain about things not being easy and accessible instead of focusing on the fact that I even have running water and electricity! Even in my time in Latin America, I don't think these flaws surfaced before. We, in the US, don't have to spend the whole day scrubbing our laundry in the yards, as our backs ache. Many, if not all, have their own cars so they don't have to cram into a matatu or walk on dirt roads for an hour to get to school/work, and we're lucky to have electricity (something I'm living without now).
I've always known that I am privileged but as I bucket bathe in the mornings and eat dinner by latern-light, I realize just how lucky I am.
It's hard for me not to feel angry when I think about how America lives in excess. People here give ALL the can; they feel that they have given/tithed/etc because of the amount given. In the US, I feel that I give from excess. Do we give until it hurts? Do we open our homes to people or go out of our way to serve others? I can tell you that the people in Kenya do. Even if they can only afford a soda, they will serve you and even if they don't have any shillings to give to the church, they will give a chicken as a donation. This isn't to say that I think we all should live in poverty, but I think some mentalities (mine) should change. The next time you're internet goes out, just be glad you have access to it and your own computer! When you're stuck in traffic, thank God that you have the means to afford car payments, gas, and insurance. When you go to the doctor, don't complain about the wait but be blessed that you're going to get great care (believe me.... you don't want to go to the Chulaimbo Health Center). Again, this is not to say that we should sell all of our things... or that everyone should be called to African missions. I am going to thank God for the blessings and opportunities that I have and give back 'til it hurts. I will be more mindful of this when I return to the States and share my experience with others. To be honest, I'm not sure how to do this. Do I just encourage people with my own personal actions/changes I'll make to my life? Do I share my stories and reflections? Can anyone understand what I've been here? Will I get sucked back in quickly to an American lifestyle of consumerism? Will I grow bitter towards the US, my friends and family?
I don't know how my life will change upon returning to the States in a mere 2.75 weeks but I pray that I (and my team mates) are forever moved and changed for the better.

Friday, July 6, 2012

Visitations

originally posted on http://pilartimpane.tumblr.com/ - June 8 2012

We're on a long road. 

The past few weeks have been filled with visitations. We celebrated the Sunday when Mary, fully pregnant, dashes over hill and rock and whatever else to visit her cousin Elizabeth, to tell her good news. The stomach of Elizabeth leaps with joy, the world shakes and welcomes its visitor.

We made pilgrimage to Namugongo. A throng of pilgrims coming from far and wide arrived to celebrate the Saint's Day of the Uganda Martyrs on June 3rd , who included some of the very first Ugandan converts to Catholicism. One of the most famous names is Charles Nwanga; a man who became a convert to the French missionaries and then converted others to the new faith.

The whole event was sponsored by the parish where we were staying, so it was a very big year to be attending indeed. We arrived at 5am and sat chilly and nodding off while the sun rose. We sat next to Nigerians, who came stocked with yams as big and muscled as arms and in front of South Africans who all wore baseball caps with their country's name and flag. Kenya was also represented, Rwanda, America, Tanzania, Germany, and more. Pilgrimage to Namugongo is a huge deal here in Uganda - many of the kids in the schools where we have been teaching could not attend, and asked us especially to pray for them. When we

got back, they wanted to know if we had collected "holy water" from the murky lake surrounding the altar on an island in the center. We hadn't, but we had watched hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands of pilgrims reach into the greenish-yellow water and fill bottles, jugs, gallons with the stuff to bring home. Many believe in its healing properties. 

Namugongo has been the talk on everyone's lips. But after the quiet retreat home, I got the chance to visit a new mother in the parish. Prisca had just given birth when she was planning to head to Namugongo! Luckily she lives around the corner from the health center so she just waddled over. Her new baby, Charles, sat in a mosquito netted basinet and slept quietly. Prisca and I are the same age and she works here at the church. This is her second baby. She was telling me how she didn't know for sure what the child's name is, and she asked our opinion. "Should he be named Charles? He will be a martyr!" I looked at his face. Charles would be a good name, but I didn't know how much I wanted this 4 day old baby to be a martyr - not any time soon I hoped. 

Besides this baby I held tightly in a swaddle of blankets, I had several other visitations from new and budding creatures. Walking up to Prisca's, I came across a family of ducks. The father duck was guarding his lady duck and their 4 ducklings, scrambling over the dirt road and poking their mini-bills around for food. While walking my goat that same morning (yes I have a goat here - her name's PeeWee!) 

we came into a clearing where I thought we could find her some ferns that she likes but we stopped short - an orange tabby leapt and dove under an empty boxcar sitting in our lawn. But two little kittens, orange and white like creamsicles, sat frozen, staring at PeeWee and not moving even an inch. PeeWee on the other hand was busy relieving herself and did not notice the kittens for even a second. 

The final visitation, I have to say is one that has meant the most so far. I went to visit our housekeeper Daisy's family on Friday Evening. Daisy and I had been planning this trip for about a week, and I truly had no idea where she lived or how we would get there. We eventually decided on boda-boda, transport of champions in Uganda. The motorcycles hold up to three passengers besides the driver, and no one is wearing a helmet (don't tell Duke.)

When we got to Daisy's village, passing over a long red dirt road to arrive there, we were greeted by children from every direction - muddy kids with tattered shirts and barefeet and super big grins. They were very happy to see us and ushered us under banana tree after banana tree, Daisy suddenly had lost her shoes and was leading me down narrow red paths through the thick green foliage. When we arrived at her family's home, we bent down on our knees before her grandmother - the typical greeting for an elder. I hadn't yet kneeled down for any one person here; it's all felt rather strange and unusual. But as Daisy got down on her knees before this grinning, grey haired woman in a huge green taffeta dress, I felt the instinct rise up in me and I also hit the ground.

And welcomed we were! The grandmother talked to me most, kids kept appearing from every door and direction - each belonged to another woman, one was Daisy's son who I knew we would meet that night. They danced, wanted pictures, told me their names one by one, asked about my parents (also typical), and asked me lots of questions about America (do you swim there? how is it? can I go? How is your mom?) 

I then found myself marched out again onto winding, narrow trails through corn and kasava plants, under banana leaves, each new plant we passed was announced to me. "Those are Irish potatoes" they said about 5 times. The sun was dipping on the horizon, and coating the world with the golden red rays of evening. 

I watched Daisy's family members slash leaves and take down jackfruit and mangoes from high limbs on trees; her grandmother was leading the pack and telling them to gather things all along the path. I was lost in the present moment; I would look to the gold sun and then back on this lovely family showing me around their property, using whatever English they could. We greeted another neighbor on the way who was "digging" as the proper term goes here - hoeing her field. 

The light was dying and I knew we had to get back soon, so the group requested a few more pictures and then we went out on the road. As we waited in the near darkness for our seminarian friend to come pick us up on another motorcycle, the family dropped a huge package filled with corn, greens, and banana leaves on the ground next to us. This whole time they had been gathering food from their gardens for me to take home. I felt tearful and was glad the sun was mostly gone so they wouldn't misunderstand my emotion! They also had two gigantic jackfruits which alone were individually too large for my arms to carry. I thanked them profusely, embraced the matriarchs and promised to return. We ended up having to bring back two motorcycles - one for our bodies and the other for our cargo. 

The ride home was the stuff of dreams. Maybe all people have experienced this while visiting the hidden worlds of rural Africa, but at some point you must essentially let go. You could die, fall off the rushing motorcycle that is moving swiftly over bumps and swerves on the red dirt road, narrowly avoiding oncoming headlights of other boda-bodas on the route. You could run the risk of offending someone culturally, saying or doing the wrong thing, not accepting grace or gift as a sign of your own stoic desire to be just. You also run the risk of losing your rules, while the bike is passing houses with wood fire smoke entering and exiting the lane, and the bugs sounding off and dark brown arms and legs suddenly lit up on the side of the road and then wide eyes and a man on a bike and then gone behind you, you could let go of all that is in you and melt into the seat without a care to hold onto. You could learn how in all the world there are some few people whose lives are kept still like secrets, secrets that the earth is holding onto in places where the footstool of heaven still resides. Places like this one, where the sky meets the earth in every direction. 

As we rode on, the faintest scent would rush across our paths and fill my nose with the sweetest perfume I have ever experienced in nature. I sensed purple, I drew in the cool evening air each time the scent rose up on the way. Little lights appeared in the deep blue sky, and suddenly as quickly as we had been in the village surrounded by sloping banana leaves and palms, we returned to the town, our cargo arriving soon after us. I walked up to my room elated and fell into tears. Our cooks unloaded the greens and corn gleefully and carefully dissected the giant jackfruits, splitting open the bulbous prickly casing to reveal a gluey pod filled with intricate yellow fruits that are smooth the the touch and peeled away to reveal a large pit within. 

A night to remember to say the least.

And all these, the gifts for the visiting guest within the house, the restless stranger who knocks and asks, and receives.