Pictures from Africa

We hope that these pictures will help you catch a glimpse of the things we tried to capture with words.

This is Kato with baby Jordan. Jordon lives at the children's home with his younger brother Jackson. We fell in love with this little guy.

Whenever you go to the slums, you attract a lot of attention. While making our way between two houses, we looked behind us and snapped this picture.

Here's a few more of our friends from the slums. The look in their eyes do not reflect the conditions in which they live.

This is the street kid that I wrote about with the green gasoline rag.

Sometimes an image captures things words can't describe. I'll never be the same after this day.

A special thank you to Susie Typher of Colorado for the last two pictures and following photos as well...her ability to capture images amazes me.

This is Emma, he was the first baby we got to know and was the one who Katie was holding in our Cold Water and Naked Babies blog

If you can find a picture that proves me wrong, show me. Until then... here is the first Slip 'n Slide ever in Uganda.

If there is an orphan Eden, it's Busi Island. We have not stopped talking about these kids since we met them. This was some of them greeting us as we arrived.

A friend of ours is still in Africa working in Malawi. She posted a email entitled "Have you ever wanted to be famous." The attention these kids give you make you feel famous. She says that if you want to feel loved, important, cherished, come to Africa and let the children love you. This is Regan and he made me feel famous.

There you go, 9 pictures and a billion memories. Please pray for our friends.

thank you for everything,

Katie and John

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

over too soon

its been quite an adventure.

there are a million things running through my head right now, and a million more that need a ton of processing. i have a lot of consideration to do about what i saw and what i learned in Africa.

but to the point, my dad and i are home safe and sound. we didnt die, so yay.

the blogs will continue, but i hope that if youre reading this, we'll get a chance to tell you in person about the trip.

thanks for supporting us, praying for us, and continuing to stand by us in this crazy thing.

love.
katie

The Thought That Haunts

The second day we were here we went to the public hospital to visit people there. If you saw the movie the Last King of Scotland you will recognize the place, it was shot there.

The place resembles what you would think a hospital looked like at the turn of the century. Large wards with thirty to forty people in each laying in old metal hospital beds. This hospital is for the poorest of the poor. Families sleep on straw mats next to the beds. If you don't have a family, you will die for no one takes care of the patients here except for the families. They feed them and wash them.

Initially patients are admitted and stabilized, perhaps diagnosed and if the family has money, then the person is treated. If not, they lay there until they get better or die. It's a cold hard place.

The very first patient I met was a young boy around twelve. He had been there about a week. He had been working cutting firewood with his family. As this boy was standing beneath a tree, he was struck by a very large branch that had been cut from above. The boy was pinned underneath the branch until enough people could lift it off his back. He was then loaded up and taken to the hospital. That was the last time he felt anything below his waist or could move his legs.

As we stood there listening to our Ugandan friend translate this boys story, I could only be grateful that my son is healthy and doesn't have to help me feed my family by being a lumberjack. My other thought was that this kids prognoses didn't sound good.

The family said the doctors did all they could do and unless the family had money, no specialist was going to come in. So he lay there. His mama was crying. His sister was asleep on the concrete floor. At the boys head were his X-rays.

"John you have medical training, could you please look at them. The family doesn't understand what is happening. The doctors haven't explained it very well. Please look at the pictures."

I said no.

I didn't want to give the false impression that I could help. I didn't want to give that mama any false hope. No, no, no...

The very first X-ray I looked at shattered any hope I had for the situation. The lower vertebra of the spine were at right angles to each other. With my most basic understanding of anatomy I know the spine should be stacked like blocks, not twisted and bent. I could only imagine how painful this kids life was this moment. I wondered to myself just how long this boy would have to suffer.

What do you say at a moment like this?

"This is bad." The biggest understatement of my life.

I talked about the little I knew about spinal injuries. I made a few suggestions. I prayed with the family. I watched as my daughter and the other girls struggled to hold back the flood of tears. I felt useless and stupid. The reality of the situation jumped up and slapped any altruistic thoughts out of my American "do-gooder" head.

I am such a shit.

I have never been back to the hospital.

peace,

john

The Ying and Yang of Orphans

Update Uganda: rooster is still alive but he doesn't have that pep in his walk since i hit him with a shoe the other morning. He had the nuts to start crowing right outside our window a couple of days ago.

I do not have the ability to come to Africa and not be overwhelmed by contrasts and contradictions.

People die here everyday from Malaria, AIDS, starvation and other preventable diseases yet everybody seems to own a cell phone. For a mere 20 bucks you get connected. The dark ages of diseases comes face to face with the technical revolution everyday here.

The other day Katie and I went on a roller coaster ride when we visited the polar opposites of childrens homes in less than a 24 hr period.

Hopping on a taxi, we went about an hour out of town to the Ugandan goverment run home for children. The general area around Kampala is beautiful green rolling hills. As you leave town the bush just continues to get thicker until you are sure no man could penetrate it. On a hill in the middle of an open area sits this childrens home.

The first word that comes to mind to describe this place would be "shithole". (that may be two words) The facility resembles a a run down WWII army barracks. At first glance I was sure that the buildings I was looking at were abandoned. Most of the windows were broken out, paint was faded and rust stained.

I had been told that this facility was used by the government to house children that had been rounded up during sweeps of the streets by the police. People described to me how when street children spot the blue government vehicles rumbling down the street, they scatter out of fear being picked up and tossed into this place.

I expected a prison; what I found were struggling workers forced to make the best with what they are given.

The middle aged fellow who runs the place named Paul explained to us that yes children are taken off the streets; but in hopes of saving them from a life of crime, drug use, and exploitation. The children are given a bed inside, hot meals and an education. Other kids are sent there by the court system because the are habitual criminals.

I watched as groups of older boys stirred huge pots of rice while others got the mass of boys into a line to wait for food. You can tell that this was a system that was played out multiple times a day. Many of the kids were shirtless even though the day was rainy and cold. I am learning that what may appear to me as chaos is really order sometimes. All the kids got fed, even the little ones were not neglected.

As we hopped on "bodas" back to the main road all I could think that this was no place for human beings let alone children. Are these kids really better off here than on the streets. I hope so.

We rode back into town, met up with our friends and got a ride down to the dock area of Entebbe. There we met Ronnie and his brother who were taking us out to a children's home on Busi Island.

Busi Island is located about an hour off shore in Lake Victoria. There about a hundred kids live in a village setting and is 100 percent Ugandan run. What I mean by that is the leadership is all Ugandan based and that is rare I'm finding out.

We were met by singing and happy faces on the shore. Kids waded out to grab the boat rigging and to help us unload our supplies. I promptly impressed them by vomiting as soon as we landed.

Where as the kids at the detention center appeared disconnected from life, these kids were full of life and so connected to us. None of us could carry anything because each hand was being held by the most adorable, loving kids I have ever met.

They sang for us, they danced, they worshipped....I mean they WORSHIPPED! Most of all they just let us come to their little isolated home and get to be loved by them.

I felt sorry for the children at the detention center. Not because of the conditions they are forced to live in....but because they seem deprived of the greatest gift to be given; the opportunity and ability to love someone.

peace,john

Street Kids, Slums, and Mud

"Papa, can you please kill that rooster?" That was my very weary, peace loving daughters first words to me the other morning. We had been listening to the ungodly honking of that f-ing bird for the last four hours...it was now six in the morning. It was already a very long day. ( I have full confidence that the college guys here have already planned a slow and torturous demise for that bird.)

The earth here is a beautiful red clay color that the locals make brick out of. It's a rich deep red that is really wonderful to see...awful to walk through if you live in the slums. These shanty homes are built on a hillside and when it rains it gouges deep troughs into the earth and through the front doors of the homes there. The crazy thing about the slums is it looks much like what you think a squatters village looks like, homes fabricated from anything you can find and of course some brick sided homes. Still people must pay to live here....crazy how at the very bottom there is still a profit to be made.

A couple of the college guys here befriended a lady whose house continued to wash away during the hard rains that come almost every afternoon. They decided to fund a new home in a better location to help her...that was great as long as they managed to pay off three of the "slum-lords" so that she could have their gift. If they did not pay the extortion price, the slum lords would take it out on our friend. It makes sense to me much more clearly why Jesus was such an advocate for the exploited. No one seems to give a shit...Is there actually a good reason why people live in such conditions? I sit on a stoop scraping sticky red mud from my shoes wondering what a smart bomb goes for these days?

on to the streets When they said we would be doing street kid ministry I thought yeah piece of cake...I grew up in Central LA, the hood's the hood right?

Wrong.

Our time started by watching a herd of cattle sitting in the dirt overlooking the new construction project going on in downtown Kampala..not the same hood.

A soccer ball gets tossed out and things are looking promising. Ghetto kids kicking a soccer ball around a dirt field...this is more like what I thought I'd see. Suddenly the promise of a game stops. Two big thug kids dressed in one piece mechanic outfits have claimed the ball. Our Ugandan friend Mugabe and Jeremy (an American on staff here) go over and negotiate the release of our hostage ball.

Lots of yelling, pointing, puffing of chests...I learn my first Lugandan cuss words....the game is back on.

Standing on the sidelines I notice a kid with a really bad wound on his hand. I looks like an old wound that just not ever healed. This little kid looks like he is eighty years old. He could trick or treat as King Tuts mummy and not dress up.

I begin to clean and dress his wound...he show me two more ever worse. He says he got struck by a motor car. As I work on him, a crowd forms...everyone has nasty cuts and sores...all want "plaster"-bandaids place on their hurts. The crowd starts pushing and shoving. Head down, I miss the moment our camera gets stolen out of Katie's bag. I miss when a group of these kids surround one of our girls and start telling her "I want to sex you." I miss when another of our girl leaders gets felt up. I didn't see when a kid grabs another camera and makes a run for it. I didn't see the crowd chase after him intend on killing him and taking the camera for themselves. I did see and treat the kid who got struck in the head by a thrown brick. I missed when we had to pay ten thousand shillings to get the camera back.

Oh did I mention that all the while I treated this mummy kid's hand, he was huffing gasoline from a rag. He never released it. I bet if I took you to the slums tonight, he would still be hold that green rag.

He will die holding that fucking rag.

peace,john

bringing Young Life to Uganda.

Saturday was kid's day.

so, we were told that i would plan three activity days for the kids house. when we got here, things got turned around and Julie (basically our guide and manager of our time in Uganda) told us that we would be doing one kids day while we are here. and that was on Saturday.
So we took bodas (crazy motorcycles that go 60 on dirt roads and are both extremely fun and extremely terrifying) to the kids house. this would be our second time to see these kids, and being in charge of their day was sort of pressuring. we didnt expect much. at the least we expected chaos.
well, we got chaos. lots and lots of chaos. but the kids here, they appreciate the smallest things. for instance, we gave them colored strips of cloth to represent what team they were on. and they treasured their blue and green cloth to no end.
we brought beach balls for some games, and it was somewhat difficult to teach them the Young Life-based games, like passing it over their heads in a circle, etc. HOWEVER. they were SO excited. papa did a good job of getting them going crazy, and they went crazy...
so. using the balls, we played freeze tag. hands down, the highlight of the day. starting out we knew, there is no way they will be able to understand the concept of freeze tag. at first, they really didnt. they were all running, running, running and it was absolute CHAOS. but after about five minutes, you could really start to see them "freezing" when they were tagged, and people on their own team coming and tagging them, "un-freezing" them. not only did they get it, but you could see in their faces, that they loved it. they were all so happy.
the final activity was the slip 'n slide. yes, we dragged a three-person slip 'n slide all the way to Uganda. there was no hose, just us throwing water on it, and rubbing bars of soap to make it slippery. we tried at first (TRIED) to have it be somewhat organized. you know, one at a time, that sort of thing. within seconds, they were all jumping on at once, crashing into each other, piling at the end. but none of them had ever experienced anything like that. we gave up on trying to manage it and just sat back and watched thirty little Ugandan children cover themselves in mud and soap.
the reason i tell you the details of Saturday is because it was the most surreal day. in the middle of Africa, down a dirt road, miles from the city, we were able to bring joy to children who would otherwise not have it as they did. we were able to learn their names and see their faces and hear their voices. it was then that a lot of us Americans, here, realized where we are and what we are here to do. it was on Saturday that i knew that i was brought here to love "the least of these" and bring them joy and happiness.
i am continually learning everyday about life and love and god. me and papa laughed today, looking at the calendar, realizing that it is only Monday. wow. it seems like we have been here a lifetime, because so many thoughts, emotions, and experiences have been packed into such a small amount of time. but in the time that i have been here, it occurred to me that i was also brought here to learn from these people. they have taught me so much. i was brought here to learn about myself. and i have.
holy cow. i can only imagine what is in store for the next couple weeks.

love.

katie