Greetings from Heathrow Airport

“When I was 43 years old I went to Africa with my daughter on a trip that altered the remainder of my life.”

What if in twenty years I was to write that? What if it was true in the most romantic and real way? As I write it now, I sit in England waiting for my connecting flight on the final leg of our journey home. Surrounded by Hugo Boss, World of Whiskey, and the Perfume Gallery Store, there is anything I might want a very proper Brit to sell me; I can’t help but be a little nauseous from the flood of lights and sounds.

Less than 24 hours ago I was rushing to finish a concrete walkway; the last of numerous projects I naively undertook during my three weeks in Uganda. I spent considerably less time actually performing the work than I did traveling, purchasing, explaining, negotiating, waiting, hauling, fixing, alternating, and just plain working out the logistics for five or six simple “fix it” or “just build it” tasks.

A couple of phrases will describe our time in Africa, (They may even help to define Africa come to think of it).

“It’s just more difficult in Africa.”

What’s more difficult you ask? Let me explain:

The other day I woke up early to take a shower and get a clean start to a soon to be full day. Padding over to the bath with my toiletries in hand, I turned the switch to heat the water and waited the ten minutes for the water to warm. As I turned the spigot, only a groan came out deep from the pipes; no water today.

“OK, roll with it, this is Africa.” (Another over used, often stated phrase.) I got dressed and made a cup of tea with the hot water the house girls had heated over a charcoal fire before I had gotten up.

My new friend and brother Moses was coming over early so we could get a start collecting all the equipment we needed to drill six holes in concrete and four holes in a steel pipe. Sounds easy right?

That’s because you are a foolish American like me….

My friend Moses is a soft spoken and extremely calm Ugandan man of 24 years. He is the only Christian in his family who are all Muslim. His father died when he was a boy and his mother runs a tiny yellow metal food stand sandwiched between two big buildings on a busy downtown Kampala street. His father’s multiple wives split up all the property when he died, so all Moses has are the few belongings he fits in his tiny room. Moses graduated university last year with a certificate in agriculture. But without any money to start a business, he took the Assistant Manager job at the children’s home, (orphanage) that we work with.

Moses is a deeply spiritual man who is going to be nominated for Ugandan sainthood, particularly for putting up with me over the last few weeks. I once asked Moses to tell a man to bend over because I was going to shove a pipe up his ass if he didn’t return the 140,000 shillings we paid for supplies that he now was not going to deliver. According to Moses that is not the sort of thing someone says during business negotiations and it is considered offensive. On the other hand, Moses was not offended by the flat out thievery …go figure.

Back to our day….we had made arrangements the previous day to secure a generator to power a drill (also to be rented) to take to the kid’s house to drill the six holes in concrete, blah, blah, blah. Not only was the water out in town this morning, but the power throughout town as well. That meant that every generator was now being rented out to the highest bidders to run their businesses. No generator for us.


Here’s how the rest of the day unfolded:

-a mob surrounded Moses and me because while I was driving, an accident occurred behind me. But, because I am “white”, the offended party made contact with me and insisted that I pay for the damages.

-waiting on the side of the road for an hour and a half while a woman on a “boda”, (motorcycle taxi) traveled back and forth from the shop with the wrong size drill bits three times.

-sitting in a hot truck, (Moses insisted that I no longer exit the vehicle) while he negotiated with a pub owner for the use of his generator. I ended up having to pay rental for both the generator and the pub owner’s nephew who came along to supervise and operate the generator. After a half hour class (taught by me) he could operate it very well.

-renting a power drill; this went actually very easily except that this time I had to rent two supervisors and the drill caught fire during the drilling of the holes.

-I bought a round of coca-colas for everybody: I can be a total ass to supervise.

Ten and a half hours later, we felt good about our six holes in the concrete and four holes in the steel pipe.


Sitting in this airport is actually pretty comfortable. The thickly padded red vinyl chair I’ve been sitting in is nice. I’m going to grab a cup of coffee as soon as I finish this. I doubt I’ll have to negotiate the price or hire a “supervisor” to watch me drink it. Other than the five hour lay over, life has suddenly become “easy” again.

I asked a friend of mine to try to explain why things in Africa seem so much harder to do there than in America.

“Everything back home….. just is.”

What she explained was the very thing that I missed the most about home; the predictability. The price listed is the price you’re going to pay. Turn the knob and water comes out. Flip the switch and power comes on. Open the fridge and food appears. This is the law of god-blessed predictability. I believe in America, we have it because we have come to expect it.

The inverse of this law is what Moses and all my Ugandan friends have lived by all their lives. Over the last three weeks, I’ve come to realize that the best I can do is tolerate it.

I shared with a new friend named Jasper my desire to simplify my life, to actually own less, make do with less, to live poorer than I do. Jasper grew up in Northern Uganda as a son of a cattle herder. In the early eighties, raiders from the north made off with his fathers cattle. Jasper went on to explain to me how the thieves then proceeded to kill those that they robbed from.

Jasper smiled at my naïve ambition.

“John, it is easy to be poor, to have nothing; it is considerably harder when someone wishes to kill you as well.”

I believe my spirituality resembles the predictability of my American way of life. It just is.

It’s easy for me to surrender my life to Christ and to mentally agree that widows and orphans are important to God. It’s considerably harder when it costs me my life. Maybe this is why I actually came to Uganda.

“Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it…….”

God’s economy has become remarkably clearer lately, even before we left to Uganda. Jesus’ words seem so revolutionary to me now. I say this after twenty-five years of actually “having a personal relationship” with Jesus. I used to think it was about sin and salvation but now I realize it’s bigger than that, better than that.

The Good News is that those getting pushed and shoved to the back of the line are in for a big surprise. It’s bigger than an economic stimulus tax check, it’s a promise, and it’s an announcement. Jesus twice says in less than a few paragraphs, that unlike what we see in this world, in his economy the line starts at the back.

“But many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first.”
“So the last will be first, and the first will be last.”

“When I was 43 years old I went to Africa with my daughter on a trip that altered the remainder of my life.”

I’ll be honest; I don’t know how true this statement will be in twenty years. But I promise you one thing.

I will know more people at the back of the line than I do now.

peace,
john