well, it's something.

sometimes, you don't quite know what to do with information. with facts. with statistics.

I just finished reading the book, Race Against Time by Stephen Lewis, the former UN special envoy for HIV/AIDS in Africa. It was lying around the house I'm staying at in Waterloo and, what with having little to do, I picked it up and began reading. The reading of this particular book follows closely behind the reading of another fantastic book; one that I must read again: 28 Stories [of AIDS in Africa]. Okay, so it's not a fantastic book. Well, it is. But it's a book that brings the statistical fact that 28,000,000 (that's million) people in Africa live with HIV/AIDS down to an individual level. This woman has HIV, this husband does. This child.

And yet, in this world so far removed from the one in which the epidemic exists, they remain just as they are written: stories. Stories of survival, despair, and hope. Stories of another time, another place, another life. If we choose it to be so. For these stories are of today, and are of our world, and are taking place in our lifetime.

Still, it seems we do nothing. And by 'we', I do not necessarily mean you. Or I. As individuals it is difficult to put a dent into an issue as complex as AIDS in Africa. The issue itself, at the core is not the problem. There are 28 million humans living with HIV/AIDS in Africa. That part is simple to understand. What is difficult for the individual to understand and change is Western government policy, apathy, budgetary commitments, and backsliding. Granted, governments have a responsibility to its own people that it must commit to. And even there, it fails. What government does not have a single complaint against it from one of the thousands of sectors of it's society? But perhaps, what we fail to realize, what I have come to understand further through reading this book, and perhaps what the point of this post is this: our governments have made commitments to the developing world. Commitments that it continually neglects, postpones, and vacillates endlessly on.

There are a few links that I have put up on the side of my blog. They have been there for some time, with the expectation that one might stumble upon it, scroll the cursor over and click. I will now emphasize a few of them. 1) The UN Millenium Goals. Read them to understand what our governments have jointly committed to doing to improve millions of lives in the developing world. 2) Human Rights Watch. Understand a little about what's happening to human lives here and around the world. 3) Micah Challenge. Sign the Micah Challenge to hold the UN and it's member states to it's commitments with the Millenium Goals. If you're not a fan of the Micah Challenge, go to Make Poverty History. 4) Free the Drugs. I was told about this one recently, and am not positive about it's validity so it's not on the sidebar yet. Read it to understand what it's about, and sign it if you understand and agree.

I don't attest to know all the ins and outs of the UN, it's policy-makers or it's member states. Nor do I know a lot about the epidemic of HIV/AIDS in Africa and other developing nations. What does seem to be consistent, however, in the small amount of books I have read that mention these things, is that not enough is being done. And that profits take precedence over humanity. With that in mind, I end with the final paragraph of Lewis' book. I was recently asked if I am a pacifist. Perhaps, for this reason alone, I will become one:

In 2005, the world will pass the trillion-dollar mark in the expenditure, annually, on arms. We're fighting for $50 billion annually for foreign aid for Africa: the military total outstrips human need by 20 to 1. Can someone please explain to me our contemporary balance of values?

a Rwanda in the making

there exists in Africa a country directly south of Egypt called Sudan. undoubtedly you have come across this name through blips in news reports, the scrolling marquee of a 24-hour news station, or an article hidden in the back pages of your local newspaper. with each report, you may have come across one of many catchy, but ambiguous phrases such as 'Save Darfur', or, 'the worst humanitarian crisis in the world today'. Sudan, with it's western Darfur region, rests two countries north of another name you will have undoubtedly heard: Rwanda. it is being said that the crisis in Darfur is reminiscent of the atrocities that occurred in Rwanda in 1994. some similarities are clear: an unco-operative government that perpetuates war, rebel armies, ill-equipped 'peacemakers', strife between ethnicities, millions of displaced locals, hundreds of thousands killed. and first world nations that base decisions on their bottom line.

like me, you may be asking yourself: what can i do about it? here's what you can do.

starbucks

While passing through the Starbucks today, I noticed the weekend edition of The Globe and Mail. Weird.

Updated

Back in Canada. If you've kept up with my blog...I just added a number of posts. Start down the page with Africa pt. 4 and work your way back to the top.

Africa pt. 6

Last Day
Currently: flying between Kampala, Uganda & London, England: 11:30am (Uganda Time)

The journey is over, the experience complete. The thoughts still brew. I have left a world of lack and have already re-entered 'normal' life. A personal TV screen stares back at me blankly, offering its multitudes of entertainment choices: drama, comedy, thriller, action. I choose not to watch it now, not because of what it represents following a three week third world experience, but because the movie I was watching bored me. And I was too far in to switch stations. So now I sit with the airplane radio caressing my ears with the sounds of The Verve. I have missed music. Already I have made a plan to listen to one of two U2 songs when I return home: 'One' or 'Where the Streets Have No Name". It's one of the first decisions I will make as I return to the driver seat of my car.

It's hard to say what kind of an impact these past three weeks will have made on me. I fear that I will remain unaffected. That I will drive along a pothole-less highway through the clean air of BC. That I will not notice the lack of children on the street, holding out their hands as I drive by. That I will return to a house that does not require a gate, or barbed wire, or bars, or a generator. That I will again drink water from the tap and even open my mouth in a warm shower. That I will play my radio and forget the beautiful, energetic, rhythmic sounds of the African Children's Choir who awed us with their version of 'Lean on Me'. These children, hand-picked out of a life of poverty to enjoy a top-rated education that wouldn't even get recognized in Canada...these children sang. They clapped. They danced. They sang.

"I just might have a problem that you'd understand..."

I try to understand their problems, but have only witnessed them.

I do not know what effect Africa will have as I return home. I return home thankful, though. Thankful for going. For seeing. For doing. I return home with a glimpse of a bigger world...just a slice of a bigger world. I return home wanting to see more.

Africa pt. 5

Sunday, July 2
Currently: Guest House Balcony, Kampala: 8am

I guess I can choose 1 of 3 options as to why I ended up in Fort Portal. 1) I'm a sucker who simply can't say no to desperation; 2) It was chance; 3) God. Maybe God knew I wouldn't say no, so He rigged it up that Mark would be in the same city on the other side of the world at the same time. And then He changed our plans. Neither Mark or I know why things went the way they did. I now sit here three days after returning to Kampala, trying to figure out God's purposes in all of this. I don't know. Fort Portal was an experience, though. After five hours of driving on what could possibly be the best road in Uganda, we arrived at the local government leader's office. Our mission for the trip: meet the leaders and check out the work that David and his wife Linda had been doing the villages through the organization. After engaging in some small talk with the government officials, we hopped in David's Toyota Corolla and headed to the villages. Roads do not exist, so we went offroading along the foot paths, traveling from house to house. The organization has been working on providing goats and pigs for the villagers for financial and physical assistance. Our first stop was Dorothy's place. She lived in a typical village house: small, 20' x 10', mud enclosed, tin-roofed building. The mud was cracking off the house, revealing it's supporting latchwork of bamboo sticks. Dorothy lived with two orphaned boys and an elderly lady. And Dorothy was crippled. Here the kids did not smile. All four of them sat on the back step of the house, waiting for the westerner to arrive. The westerner arrived, shook hands, attempted conversation and was quickly led away to check on the pigs. They were alive and well. And so, like the Canadian tourist I had just become, we walked away from the pigs, past the family to the car where we drove to the next project house. And at each house we stopped at, the westerner was told about the tragic situation of those living within its walls, and how more funds were needed to better their lives.

I, the westerner, appeared to have dollar bills dancing around my head. I had become the sole target of a fundraiser, representing the material wealth that is North America to the material poverty that is Africa.

Midday, we stopped for lunch at a local house, where I was treated to the new tastes of millet (sp?) and chicken gizzard. My stomach held firm. Following a few more house visits and fund requests, we came to another project. Along a dusty Ugandan road was a small brick-making operation by some of the youth of the village. Here, before funds were even available, a young man by the name of Robert had organized a mini operation. And through a little ingenuity, an elderly man had built a water system and mud stomping machine to help in the process. It was my highlight of the day. Here were people putting their minds to work without financial assistance. Of course, the fund request came, but it game me an opportunity to understand a concept brought up at the conference -- the best resource is the mind. Ingenuity, practicality...thought had gone into this operation. It was here that I saw hope for Africa. A young man and an elderly man had put their minds to work to give them purpose. Asking for an opportunity to speak, I commended the two for putting their minds to work, for working together, for not waiting for the funds. And to the crowd that was gathered, I daringly advised them that their minds and their hearts is where to start progress, not with outside funds. I pray those words do not fall on deaf ears.

With that said, the crowds dispersed and we headed for our home in Fort Portal. We stayed with Charles, a youth pastor in the local Anglican church, and his wife. It was a joy to stay with this couple, he an amazing man of God. ...hard to describe. The next day we visited the local market where everything from soap to cows were being sold. It is here that the tradesman, the crafters, entrepreneurs and farmers gather to buy and sell, eeking out a living on their hard labours. Following the spectacle, David and Linda dropped me off outside of the Anglican church to walk home while they visited a family. As I walked back to the house, I noticed a small cemetery behind the church. About 12 gravestones covered the small plot, dating from as far back as 1906. One grave was for the first black Bishop in North, East and South Africa. As I left the graveyard, I seemed to have walked onto a scene from a movie. Walking past the church, I heard the sound of a small choir resonating from inside its walls. Curious, I removed my hat and walked into the tail end of a time of fellowship. As the service ended, the people joined in song as they greeted eachother and left the sanctuary. I spent some time with the dean, who greeted me, and returned home with Perez, a local, and Sandra, a friend of the family and missionary from Colorado. Some of the neighbourhood kids were playing in the front yard as we returned. While they played, and while we talked, I picked up a girl about 2 years old and held her in my arms. She was as content as could be, so I wasn't too keen on letting her go. After a while, we went inside where Sandra and Charles showed some of the pictures of their work, and the children left for their own homes. At 9pm, we had bread and tea. An hour later, we had supper. We ate our meal under the glow of an oil lamp as the rolling brownouts had left Fort Portal in the dark. By 11pm, supper was over and it was time for a shower. Running water is not existent there, so my shower consisted of a bucket of water, a washcloth and soap.

The following day consisted of more visiting, more fund requests, more chicken gizzard, and a party in my...er, Ginger & Mark's honour. There were speeches, there were dramas, there was dancing and there were songs dedicated to Ginger and Mark. The villagers had prepared so long for their arrival that it just made sense to sing their songs as practiced. None of us had planned a last minute change. It was a privilege to observe the event as it played out, to speak on behalf of Ginger and Mark, and to receive gifts on their behalf. I'm glad the hen was for David. The final drama gave a clear and disheartening picture of how the villagers viewed their own situation. While tsks of acknowledgment echoed beside my years, I watched as a poor father confronted the fact that his daughter had become pregnant..a direct result of his inability to provide for her education. This, followed by the monologue of the mother as she confronts the beast, whose name is 'Poverty'.

It now leaves me with the question: will a people who see themselves as poor ever recognize the riches they have in their mind and their heart?

The drama was meant to break my heart over the state of their poverty. It didn't. What breaks my heart is that they see me as their only solution. Western money will not solve the poverty of Africa. This I have heard from the church leaders of Africa. This I have come to know from my experiences in Fort Portal. How can a fatalistic people ever see past their material poverty? By recognizing that the root of the poverty is in their minds. To quote Darrow Miller in "Discipling Nations", the mindset I have seen in Fort Portal is this: " 'I am poor. I will always be poor, and there is nothing I can do about it.' (fatalism) Or, as many say today, 'I am poor because others made me poor. They are going to have to solve my problem. I cannot' ".

So now, today -- Sunday -- this leaves me with the question: what do I, as a North American white Christian male do about the poverty in Africa? How can I support them without supporting their mindset of poverty and need for Western money? How does an entire nation come to recognize the wealth in their minds? In Uganda, I have observed this: a country desperately trying to become 'Westernized' by culture, by wealth, and by religion. I see a country not economically or infrastructurally capable of obtaining this goal...and in fact, I fear them achieving it. The western world has lost our path...and we are leading the rest of the world astray. I saw more joy in Uganda than I have ever seen in Canada.

I see in Africa a people who have so much unrecognized, unacknowledged potential, only being told by the parent what it should do, how it should do it, and then given an allowance to do only what the parent wants and thinks is best for the child. And while these discussions take place, I have seen in Northern Uganda a people at war with itself. But it was there, in Kitgum, at the FHI base that I saw hope for Africa. A people determined to not be wiped out. A people determined to see change, to see lives transformed -- not by money, because money would have no use there -- but by recognizing one's own potential to create change. By recognizing that a healthy spiritual life is not the end all and be all. It's where one starts the process of renewing the mind, the heart, the soul and strength. There is hope for Africa. Pray for it.

Africa pt. 4

Day 11
Currently: Hotel Room, Kampala: 10:30pm

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a bit cynical towards the church. And anyone who knows me well knows that I have no answer to the question: What are you passionate about? I have been asked that time and time again over the past couple years and have never been able to provide an answer. Sometime last night, either in those vague thoughts that cross your mind right before you fall asleep, or in those thoughts that pop into your head at 2am during the few minutes you find yourself awake, a realization dawned. As I have been given time to think about it while fully awake today, I've discovered that this realization has potential. And a formula: Positive Cynicism = Passion. Negative cynicism allow me to sit back and criticize where as positive cynicism forces me to get up and do something. I'll have to test this formula back in Canada.

Day ? -- Saturday, June 24
Currently: Hotel Roof, Kampala: 10am

One can see pretty far from the roof of a hotel. I'm watching a hotel employee cart a wheelbarrow full of garbage into the bushes beyond the neighbouring parking lot. No surprise...garbage in Kampala is like people in Pidibe -- who cares where it ends up, as long as its out of sight.

Day ? -- Sunday, June 25
Currently: Hotel Balcony, Kampala: 12pm

Well, I've lost track of the days. I guess that's what happens when you don't keep up with a journal. We’ve been at the hotel for a week now and have gone through 18 sessions dealing with culture and Biblical Worldview. And tomorrow will begin our week of training. It's a rare treat to get away from here though, as we live at and are taught here. But we did hit a local Chinese restaurant the other night to experience new flavours. Rice, potatoes, mashed bananas (matoké), tough beef, boiled eggs and chicken have been our staples for the past week -- breakfast, lunch and dinner. But we're alive. Mark's suppose to fly in from Ontario tonight, so we're hoping to have a mini superfriend reunion in Kampala, Uganda tomorrow. It's a small world.

The conference is host to about 8 countries, all African except the US and Canada. It hasn't quite sunk in that I sit among church and youth leaders from some of the most tumultuous countries in the world. Sudan, Congo, Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda, Ethiopia and Rwanda are all represented here. To sit beside and listen to a guy my age tell me that twelve years ago in his country, the majority of his family of nine were killed by the Hutus in the genocide of Rwanda is really a profound thing. To hear how his surviving sister died two years later, but that he now has friends who he considers to be his sisters & brothers is an amazing thing. And to hear him say he is happy is a miracle. True happiness comes from the heart. I will never ever fully understand. I can read books, I can watch movies, but I will never understand.

Wednesday, June 28
Currently: Youth Pastor's Home, Fort Portal: 10am

There's been a bit of a change of plans here in Uganda. As I finished writing the last sentence on Sunday, there was a knock on my door. Someone was here to see me. It turned out to be David, the contact Mark was to meet up with here in Kampala. David was in a pickle. Mark had to cancel his plans to come to Uganda at the last minute, leaving a panicked David with a program set up, but nobody to join him. Mark's intentions were to come with a friend to see the work accomplished through their support of a local NGO. And so now I find myself in Fort Portal, 5 hours west of Kampala, filling in for Mark and his friend for a few days.

Africa pt. 3a

Saturday, July 1
Currently: Internet Cafe, Kampala: 4pm

I'll update more in a few days when I get back to Canada...computer and internet access has been limited over the past while, and I had a last minute change of plans that sent me five hours west of Kampala for a few days. I'll fill you all in in a couple days...back to Canada July 3rd.

Africa pt. 3

Day 6

Currently: Hotel Room, Kitgum: 11pm

Too much seen today. Too much to know how to process. It was a busy day as we visited two IDP Camps as well as the night commuters of Kitgum. A quick history as I understand it will help explain:

There has been a war going on in Northern Uganda for the past 20 years between the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) and the Ugandan Military. Eighty percent of the LRA consists of children who have been captured and forced to join. The children are trained by force and threat to kill, maim, rape and terrorize their friends, family, and neighbours. They are the Acholi people. The LRA consists of Acholi, and the majority of the Northern Ugandans are Acholi. In 2002, the Ugandan Military was given permission from Sudan to enter its country to seek out and defeat the LRA who had been hiding just inside Sudan’s border with their leader, Joseph Kony. When the attempt failed, the LRA increased in brutality, killing more in that period than in it’s entire existence. Kids were forced to kill their own people. As a result of the increased violence, many Acholi families fled to the bigger cities for protection, where they camped. The government of Uganda stepped in and established Internally Displaced Peoples (IDP) Camps for the protection of those fleeing the violence, and eventually forced all the villagers into the IDPs, where they remain. Out of fear, many children now walk to Kitgum and other major cities at night for the protection from the LRA that a busy city brings. They are called night commuters. There is much more to the conflict in Northern Uganda, but this is enough to understand.

The first IDP we visited held 16,000 people. Humans. Mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, daughters, sons – from babies to as old as they can survive in these conditions. Huts barely 6 feet in diameter spread across the camp, 2 feet apart from eachother, 1 house per family. Kids holding kids. Shoeless, bloated stomachs, runny noses. It seemed unreal to me. I was walking through a sponsor-a-child commercial. That is exactly how it felt…except here I saw smiles. Kids always smile. It’s the teenage mothers, holding their young child, telling their stories of abduction, torture, forced marriages, rape, forced marches and escape who don’t smile. Words cannot describe, pictures cannot speak a thousand words.

The next camp in Pidibe held 41,000. A majority of the huts lacked their thatched roof due to a massive fire in February. Here we hear more stories and see more suffering, all the while passing through row upon row of houses covered in plastic tarps labeled ‘Unicef’.

The houses here are not homes.

Driving from camp to camp, complete with a military escort, we caught glimpses of life as it had once been. Crops, streets, fringed with people walking, carrying their means of finances on their heads. And homes. The homes of those in the camp dotted the plains, overgrown, empty, abandoned. The huts had not thatch, the brick houses slowly crumbled to piles. Some homes had been obviously burned, possibly the result of an LRA attack. Just one of many attacks that led to the IDP camps and the displacement of hundreds of thousands.

And yet, there is hope for the camps. While we were in Pidibe, several leaders within its churches were being trained at the FHI base so that they can return with the ability to recognize the signs of depression and psychological challenges faced by the girls who have given birth to the child of a rebel while in captivity. These girls will in turn get the counseling and life skills training they need. It’s hope. It’s a start. It’s something.

We returned to the Food for the Hungry (FHI) base to join the trainees in an African tradition of sorts. With a campfire blazing, we joined in music, dance, jumping, clapping, drumming and sweating before enjoying the cooked meat of a couple of goats we saw walking around the day before. Then, as the stars came out above us and lightning lit up the clouds far in the south, we enjoyed stories told, songs sung, skits performed and some traditional singing by the trainees of Pidibe, the Acholi people.

We then left to observe another Acholi tradition of a completely different sort – the night commuters. Kitgum plays nightly host to over 9,000 children. Children. Children who walk miles for the relative safety of a shelter, only to return home in the morning to carry out daily life. They are the night commuters. I asked Justin, a 17 year old boy who has spent the last 5 years walking every night back and forth, “What would make you happy?” His simple answer is all the Acholi people want.

“For there to be peace.”

These are some of the experiences…the feelings stay here.

Day 7

Currently: at the computer, day 9

Friday was our last day in Kitgum. We spent the morning with the trainees at FHI before being given an hour to process. To reflect. To answer the question: what is it that God would have me take from Kitgum. An hour later, it came down to a deeper question for me: Why do I need God? I returned to Kampala with that question in my mind, and there it still sits. I do know how to find the answer, though. That’s where the hard part comes in.

Day 8

Currently: in the sun, Hotel in Kampala: 5pm

It’s a lazy day here in Kampala…a day of rest. It’s kind of nice to have a day of nothingness. Doug, Macklin and Peter have gone white water rafting on the Nile while the rest of us stayed back at the hotel. So, three Setter’s games and one chess game later, here I sit with the sun beating down on my back. As much as this would have been my only chance to raft the rapids of the Nile River, I figure such an experience can be had anywhere. It’s not the rafting I think I am missing out on as much as seeing the Nile. Mind you, I’m not too keen on swallowing it after being thrown overboard in a whirlpool. I like lazy days.

Sometimes it feels like we’ve been here for months, sometimes for days. So much has happened since we’ve come to Uganda. So much seen, heard, felt, experienced. I wish we had more time in Kitgum. It feels like we only saw the tip of the iceberg. I feel like I’m just beginning to understand the magnitude of what is happening in Northern Uganda. As we flew back down to Kampala yesterday I couldn’t help but wonder if the houses we were flying over were abandoned…they’re owners huddled in a hut in an IDP camp, longing to return home. I would have liked to spend more time with the people there, to hear more stories, to ask more questions to…understand. Understand…I had to search for that word, but I still don’t think it’s what I mean. It’s more than that. I want more than to hear their stories. I want to care for them. It’s important to hear the stories, but I think that’s where I get the impression that it’s just the tip of the iceberg. It was too fast. Twelve people listening to the horror stories of a young girl does not seem like enough, and I think our whole team would agree.

Africa pt. 2

Day 4

Currently: in my room @ the guest house: 5pm

More touring today. We visited a number of churches today to get a glimpse of how the DNA conferences have impacted the mission of these churches in Kampala. This will be the same conference we go to next week. Amazing to hear how the churches have begun to impact their community simply by recognizing the mission God has placed on the churches. To them, it’s become more than just preaching, but living, caring, loving. I look forward to the conferences to get a glimpse of how Canada’s churches can be impacted in the same way. Touring has gotten easier to do, and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because we’re in a van with tinted windows. Maybe it’s because it’s simply gotten easier. I’ve learned to wave and smile as we drive by and to enjoy being waved and smiled at in return. That uneasiness returns when it comes to photographing…I find that I need to take pictures discreetly as often as I can. If you’re in the right place, the instant you pull your camera out you will quickly find yourself surrounded by kids all eager to have their picture taken. And I feel a tinge of guilt as the shutter snaps. It’s a bit of an irony. I know part of the reason I am here is to see life as it is in another country…in the third world. In Uganda. But I don’t want to be seen by the people here as just that. I’ve seen enough pictures of smiling black African children. I don’t need to be taking them. So when us ‘whites’ pull into a parking lot and are quickly discovered by children, I feel a tinge of disgust when the cameras come out and kids are told to give a thumbs up so someone can get a perfect picture.

I want to know these children.

So as the pictures were being taken, I walked down the fence separating the parking lot from the street and sidewalk. It didn’t take long to be spotted by a young boy on the other side, and he walked over to me. Soon, he was joined by others. I love that Ugandans speak English. As an old, withered, crippled woman sat begging beside the street, I talked to these children. I find I have become indifferent to the reports I have heard abut the plight of children in Africa. I have heard over and over that they are orphans, and I found myself this morning wondering if what I hear is as true as they say, or if they are stories told simply to pull at heartstrings. I found myself this morning wanting to know the truth…to hear it for myself, not to hear it from a voiceover on an AIDS video or a sponsor-a-child commercial. And so it came to be today that I met David, and four of his friends on the street in Kampala. As perfect pictures were being taken further down the fence, I found out that David, who is 13 and his friends, who are 9-13 hold their hands out for food. I found out that they do not know their father. The nine year old girl is a true orphan…both parents dead. When I asked where they slept at night, they all pointed to a building across the street. But when the word they said didn’t connect with where I saw them pointing, I shifted my eyes from across the street to the middle of it. While two infants sat bare-bottom on the dusty street of Kampala, five feet away from who I imagine to be their sister waving her hand to passing cars, occasionally reaching out for a donation, I asked the kids, “Where do you sleep?” Turning around, with their fingers in the air they replied, “Roundabout”. And there, surrounded by swarms of cars and vans was their bed – a dirt and grass roundabout in the middle of the city.

“Do people in Canada live here?” asked the nine year old girl, pointing to the street.
“Yes, but they are usually much older – not many kids do.”
“If they do, they are picked up and taken away to live somewhere else?”
“Usually,” was my answer. Pause “What do you think of that?” I asked.
“I think people from there should come here and pick us up.”

It was a moment in which I couldn’t say anything…and I felt like I couldn’t do anything. And even now, I’m not sure what emotions I’m feeling. So, I removed my hand from David’s constant grasp…and waved goodbye.

Grabbing my camera from the van, I managed a picture of the infant on the street before being surrounded by smiling kids, thumbs in the air. Faking a shot, I returned to the van where the others joined, and we drove away. Whether in Canada or Kampala…life must go on. There is much more to see.

Day 5

Currently: at the computer: 7:30am

Been awake since 4:30. Obviously not the only one, as the moment I walked downstairs an hour later there was a Settler’s board set up and three of the team waiting for a fourth player. Perfect. Hm. Now, after yesterday…it’s weird to think that we sat at the table with our coffee, far removed from yesterday’s experience. Today is the day we head to Northern Uganda, to Kitgum. We will be visiting Internally-Displaced-Peoples Camps as well as missions set up for children who have escaped the Lord’s Resistance Army. Easy enough to type…not sure what it’ll really be like until we’re there. It’s gonna be a long, hard three days.

Africa pt. 1

Day 1

Currently: Flying over the Hudson Bay: 9:45 pm (BC Time)

Not quite sure what to think at this point. I’ve met five of our team: Dave, Macklin (an English chap), Jason (?), Jeff, and Doug (old roommate). Had some interesting conversations so far. It seems I am in the presence of greatness. Macklin has the highest respect for Dave, a ‘humble man, who truly deserves an award from Canada for the work he does’. I have been told straight out that this trip will change me…this in the midst of discussions on business, finances, and other matters beyond my depth of comprehension. The sun is just barely skirting the horizon in the deepest shade of red I have ever seen the sun in. As we soar atop the world, I suspect the sun may not even set before night falls in London. After a bit of thought and reflection on, among other things, a phone conversation with my brother…I’ve decided to focus on praying for three things during this trip: 1) Eyes to see what God wants me to see; 2) Ears to hear what God wants me to hear; 3) Wisdom to do what God wants me to do.

Day 2 or 3 (not sure)

Currently: About to land in Entebbe, Uganda: 7:00pm (BC Time), 5:00am Uganda Time.

It’s technically been 24 hours since this trip started, but I’ve lost 10 hours of my life with the time change. I’ll catch them on the way back to Canada. Our layover in London proved expensive. Doug and I took off to see the city, since neither of us had ever been. $150 Canadian later, we managed a train ride, a local beer from a local pub, complete with the best plate of nachos ever had by man, and a whirlwind walking tour of a small section of London – which included a stop at a park where the locals sunbathed in the thick grass like it was a beach. Between their expensive way of life and their peculiar habits, I may never understand the Brits.

Day 3

I’ve discovered it’s Monday, so that officially makes this Day 3.

Currently: in my room at a guest house in Kampala: 10:30am (Uganada Time)

I’m pretty sure the local rooster’s internal clock is as screwed up as mine, since it started it’s morning crowing at 10am. Our group is now up to 10, with the London addition of Peter, Paul, Marg and Robyn. And Jason’s name is now Simon. We drove for an hour and a half from the airport in Entebbe to the capital, Kampala. I felt like a rich, white tourist. The scenery is beautiful – the poverty obvious. Somehow I didn’t expect to see the shacks, the garbage, the dirty streams of water flowing between houses quite yet. Not so close to a capital city, at least. Mexico x100. By the time we were on the road, about 6:30am, there were tons of people out – standing, walking, scootering, biking, sweeping, selling. Many of the kids in school uniforms…a number of young men in military uniforms, some with a gun strapped to their back. And they all stared as we drove by, looking out the large windows of our bus – 10 white folk and 4 black. I felt like they looked at us as though we were on a tour of a zoo, safely protected from the animals in our ‘tour bus’. I hope that’s not what we are to them…but it was the sense I got as we drove by. Then again, maybe that’s what I am. We go on a tour this afternoon…I’d rather not go if that is how I am seen. I’d rather get to know the people, not drive past them. It’s nearing the end of the rainy season. Today’s rain just started.