You've Got a Friend in Me

With my friend Sylvia, and my Uganda Cranes Jersey :)

Well, it’s time for the World Cup. All I can say is: Where are you, Uganda, where are you?
I went to the bank today, wearing my Uganda Cranes soccer jersey. This was the conversation I had with the bank teller:

Teller: [observing the jersey] Oh! Are they in the tournament?
Me: No. Well, I don’t know. I don’t follow that. I just really like Uganda!
Teller: Do you have family or friends there?
Me: Yeah. A lot of friends.

It was interesting that he never asked further, because my last response just begs the question of “how did that happen?!” One friend? okay, no big deal. But to have a lot of friends in a small African country 9,000 miles away? There’s probably an interesting story behind that.

So let me tell you!!!

Although I am living in Arizona, I still have one foot in Uganda. I don't think a day goes by when I do not think of my family there; indeed, many of my activities here are done with them in mind. And I receive emails from Ugandan friends weekly.

Since I returned, I have met with a University professor to discuss current models of bilingual education and tips for teaching students who are English language learners. I have been sending ideas to St. Anthony’s as I come across teaching tips and fun ways to structure activities in the classroom to help promote English language development. In addition, I met with Mark Hart to discuss Bible study resource ideas for one of the Holy Trinity members who has just begun an adult bible study at the Community in Bisanje.  

 

On the other side of things, Paul has begun planting passion fruits at St. Anthony, in order to harvest and sell them to support the school and his family.

 

Students helping to plan passion fruit seeds

He works incredibly hard, even closing off a room at the school in order to sleep on site and oversee the progress of the projects there.



P.6 classroom, closed off to create a sleeping area

Although they have lost at least 30 students due to a new school opening nearby, they continue their daily labor of love for each of the 100+ who still faithfully attend St. Anthony’s. 

Students with a visiting religious sister, Sr. Mary Lydia

Paul and Mary send me continual updates on how things are going at home and at school, including pictures and handwritten letters from their children and students. I love reading what they have written and seeing their little faces! I receive emails from priests and other friends telling me of challenges they are facing, reasons they are discouraged, and intentions they need me to lift up in prayer. And they pray for my intentions as well: for a new job, for my family's health, for discernment, even for one of our teens, Stephen, as he battles Leukemia.

Even though my Ugandan brothers and sisters are so far away, they are very close, and the affection in their words shows me that they still feel close to me as well. This kind of love and affection means a great deal.

This kind of love is transformational.

I did not go to Uganda with a whole bunch of money and build a new school for these students. I did not show up with thousands of pounds of rice and beans and feed the street children of Nyendo. I did not come with 50 free Bibles to hand out. No. I just came as I was, and I wanted to get to know them as they were. I did not come to teach; I came to learn. And what I learned is this: It is Paul who is building a new school for his students, little by little, one passion fruit and one brick at a time. It is Moses who feeds the street children of Nyendo, regularly giving them cups of porridge, or a small coin, or a word of encouragement, even when this requires him to "give all he has" [see Mk 12:44]. And it is Jude who is sharing the Word of God, even though he is not an Scripture scholar or a "Bible geek." If I arrogantly came to the country assuming it was my duty to do these tasks, I could put these others out of a job, or inadvertently demean them or take away their personal initiative. It is the people of Uganda who can, must, and do develop their country and build the Kindgom of God by their tireless and passionate service to His people.

Then what can I do?

I wanted to be able to do something for the people of Uganda, something sustainable, something meaningful, something that would really help them. The answer: friendship.

Friendship is more than just throwing a bunch of money or "stuff" at someone and imagining that it will make their life better. Friendship is more than wishing someone well or offering a short prayer for someone when they are suffering, but then returning to your comfortable life without giving them a second thought. 

A true friend allows the other into his life, his heart. He allows the other's joys and sorrows to move him, to pierce his heart, and he even desires to share those experiences with him, to walk with him, to support him, to encourage him, to suffer with him, and to celebrate with him. A true friend loves, and my favorite definition of love is this: "To love is to will the good of another, and to take effective steps to secure it" (Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI).

And as we know, "Greater love has no man than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends" (John 15:13).

Let me tell you, it is easier to give a donation and walk away than to commit yourself to a person, to a community. It costs more to give yourself.

But the poor (be they in Africa or in your own backyard) do not need benefactors as much as they need friends. And, don't be mistaken, we need their friendship as much as they need ours.   

Goodbyes

A farewell dinner for me at Holy Trinity Community

St. Therese, as a child, was heartbroken by the fact that this life seems only to be a series of continual goodbyes.

I felt that yesterday morning. When my plane touched down in Amsterdam, I stared to cry. I cried because I suddenly realized that I had left my father in Kitovu. I had left my children in Kalisizo. Indeed, I had left countless friends, new and old, saying, "But when are you coming back?"

Yet, three months ago, I was crying because I didn't want o leave my children in Chandler, or the teens and CORE at St. Tim's, or my friends and family.

It seems I have come to know one of the bittersweet realities of mission life: To live in a foreign land affords me the beautiful opportunity to know and love many more people than I otherwise would, but it also means having to leave people I know and love, both in the beginning and at the end.In a way, it is necessary to say goodbye to one place in order to prepare to settle in to the other. Otherwise, I would be continually homesick. But it is a painful process.

Such is life. Life is a mission. As such, life affords us with the beautiful opportunity to know and love many people, but it also presents us with a series of goodbyes. It is painful because we love, but somehow it is necessary to say goodbye, to help us detach little by little from this earthly place, so we can prepare to settle in to our true Heavenly Homeland.

Heaven is going to be so awesome! Time and space will no longer separate us from all the people we love. I can run and throw me arms around my dear Saint Alphonsus just as easily as I can dine with all my other priest-papas from around the world. I will find my children all grown up and marvel at the good things God has done through them. I will love my friends and family perfectly, and find that my heart is overflowing with love for the countless others I never even knew in this life. May God, in His mercy, allow me one day to experience that joy!

I want to thank all of you who have prayed for me and for this mission these past few months. As you have been reading, God has been pouring out many graces upon so many people, including myself. In addition, I have been free from major injuries and illnesses, which I am truly grateful for. If you would like to know more about any particular part of the mission, please send me a message and I'll be happy to share.

I want to conclude with a beautiful composition which was written for me by Louis Muhereza, one of the members of Holy Trinity Community in Bisanje (shared with permission). It sums up so perfectly the emotions and experiences of the past three months, and each of you may even be able to apply it to this earthly mission that is life. Thanks, Louis! Enjoy!

Good Bye - Welcome

The day you landed into a new land, we said welcome, Webale Kujja, feel at home and settle here with us. The people welcomed you, warmly and made this your new home. It's been months since you left home, it seems like ages and at times you even forgot what the home you left was like. We made this your home away from home, and under the service of the Lord all homes are the same.

But even when you landed, a date was already set for you to return. But it's been months, never bothering about the date, you settled in, savored the love, the new relationships and the good the country offered. You never talked about going back and even when you did it was just in passing, like it was ages away from happening.

Time flies, the ages now turned to days and then hours, it dawns on us that you have to leave; the date fast approaches, the evening hours of your stay have come.

All of a sudden, you develop a sudden overwhelming rash in your body. The adrenaline is pumping and the nostalgia kicks in. You start thinking of home and how it will be like after months of being away. It seems like it's so many days until it happens but my friend, you can cheat anything, people, but you can never cheat time. The day is here.

Then you start to look at the people around you, the bond you have created, the new friendships you have enjoyed and laughed with, the time you spent with the community, the children and the life you shared.

A sadness now engulfs you. You feel sad and you almost want to cry or even cry. A lump in your throat doesn't want you to say goodbye even though it's only for now. The word goodbye alone sends shivers through your body and tickles your eyes to water.

Mindful that the people feel the same way, you hug them passionately. The small children cry, "Bye, Mzungu!" You have no escape; a tear runs down your cheek, you quickly clean it off, feeling sad that they are feeling sad. You loved them, but you have no choice for you have to go. Inside you seem to say, "If it was in my power, I would stay."

All you do now is promise them you will come again; it's the only way to give them hope and comfort but some don't want to know or hear it. All they want is at least another day with you. The old take it with hope, and cannot wait for you to come again. They cannot wait for another day you will write to them saying, "I'm coming back again." They are actually envisioning it, reacting to it in imagination and welcoming you back again.

It pains to leave a people, a community that you have shared with a lot, learnt with and laughed with and had a lot of fun and warmth around. But truth is, life has to go on. You have to go. The journey is a short one. But when you think of the joyful moments, the laughter, the screaming, happiness, the shared meals, the children and how you enjoyed teaching and learning from them, the smiles and the name Mzungu wherever you passed from both young and old, you cannot help but let the tears flow down your cheeks; you don't even dry them. You are alone in that moment oblivious of the person seated next to you on the plane; you let the tears of joy, happy memories and images play in your mind like you are there with them...Oh! How beautiful, how lovely, how....BOOM!

The intercom runs, waking you up from your sweet dream; it's the stewardess telling you to buckle up and get ready for landing. oh! God you want to cry out but no please; it's now the WELCOME signs that greet you. It's a different story...another happiness and joy engulfs you....now not of the goodbyes but of the welcome you receive....

Julian

Scholastica and Julian

One evening, I was walking Paul and Mary’s children home from school when Scholastica, the woman across the road, stopped me and said, “Come closer. I have something to ask you.”

She began to tell me about her daughter, Julian, who had just completed secondary school and desired to continue with her university studies, with the hope of becoming a nurse. She pulled out an envelope containing the university acceptance letter, to show that she was telling the truth. However, she said, the tuition payments (roughly $644/semester) were too much for the family. She explained that she had seen me at morning Mass, so she thought that I might be willing to help her to find a sponsor for her daughter.

As I had all the children with me and I wanted to get them home, I tried to kindly end the conversation, but did not promise her anything: “I will pray for you. I will see what I can do. Let me get these children home.”

Over the next several weeks, I kept my promise to pray for her, and at the same time I prayed about her request. Finally, I ended with a novena to St. Therese and asked her to help make it clear whether I should help this woman. I came across more than one rose that week (God knows I’m slow; one rose is not enough).

So, I called Scholastica and asked her if we could meet again in person and discuss more. She invited me into her home and I asked several questions about the school, the financial situation of the family, what Julian hoped to do with a nursing degree, and how to contact her. She produced bank statements, pay stubs from her job, and receipts from the university registrar’s office. She was committed to finding support for her daughter’s education. Feeling confident in the fact that the Lord had shown his support, I agreed to look for a sponsor for Julian.

Today, I traveled with Scholastica to Mbarara University to meet Julian. She has been studying at the university since the fall. However, her first semester was paid for by a loan which Scholastica will be paying back until at least 2016. The second semester had only been half-paid, from the contribution of a friend and the proceeds from having sold the family pig. Scholastica pays for Julian’s room and board with whatever she can manage from work and other donations from family members. I brought with me $260 (left from the donations all of you wonderful people had given me before I came to Uganda) and paid the balance from this semester’s tuition.

Julian happily showed us around the campus, to her lecture halls and the nearby hospital where she practices as a nursing student. She hopes to someday work with AIDS patients. She described her joy at being able to study and talked about her favorite classes the different things she is learning. She stays at a hostile nearby, and is even able to attend Mass every morning at the campus.

Please pray for Julian and her family. As well, if you are able to sponsor a semester or a year of school for Julian (or know someone who can), I ask you to prayerfully consider this and let me know (you can contact me at liguori0728@yahoo.com). I will send you details, pictures and contact information for mom and daughter, so you can communicate and pray for them. As well, Scholastica will happily send you the receipts from the university as tuition is paid. I thank God and you for your generosity. May God return the blessing one hundredfold!

You are Good to Me

The long-awaited P5 stick hockey rematch

So I have now been in Uganda for more than two months. I am entering the homestretch, but there is still much to do and discover. It seems the Lord is not done with me yet. Last time, I posted some glory stories.

Well, sometimes consolations help to prepare you for desolations… J

This weekend, there was something I was looking forward to very much, something I thought would be a great opportunity. Instead, it was bittersweet. In fact, I cried myself to sleep. Then I awoke before my alarm, still dispirited, and instead of dwelling on the hurt, I began to softly sing:

You are good to me, good to me.
You are good to me, good to me.
You are good to me.

The song was written by Audrey Assad, during a time when her husband had been recently diagnosed with cancer. In other words, it is a song praising God’s goodness and faithfulness in trial and pain.

It was raining this morning so, rather than going to daily Mass, I made my holy hour at home. I cried and I prayed, and I told God why I was angry with Him, and it was good…but it was not over. Even at school, I had to slip away one time (to the latrine, of all places!) and allow myself to cry and tell the Lord how I felt. And He helped me to accept that this has nothing to do with the person who I feel hurt by or angry at, but everything to do with the fact that this is all in God’s plan. And He is good to me.

There is nothing that cheers me like a child. When I come to school sad because I am missing friends or there is some pain in my heart, they bid me to forget it. I find them giggling and smiling and trying to poke me. They look at me with their bright little faces and want me to teach them something new. We had our hockey rematch with the P5 class today, and as promised, I captured some video footage. As well, one of the P7 students came to me after school and said, “Auntie, you are the one to give us homework today.” What? Let me get this straight: you WANT homework??? Okay, let it be done. As I wrote their English homework on the board, they spoke Luganda to me and asked me to speak American English to them. When I returned to Paul and Mary’s house after school, their three year old son was there wanting to play and be tickled, and he was screaming and having a great time. The Lord brings joy even in times of pain, especially when we are willing to still give of ourselves in those times.

So, if there are more tears, let them come. God’s timing is perfect, and with only three weeks left in here in Uganda, He has allowed my heart to be pierced so the graces can continue to flow for this mission. He often saves the best for last. Sometimes we don’t view the Cross as something good, but without the Cross there is no Resurrection. Without suffering there is no glory.

Sometimes desolations help us to appreciate, to receive humbly, the consolations.

“Lord, give us joy to balance our affliction.”
- Ps. 90:15 -

“You have turned our mourning into dancing.”
- Ps. 30: 12 -

Lord, you are good to me, good to me.

Glory Stories

There have been a lot of beautiful moments in the past week, so today I just want to share some “glory stories.”

Firstly, I thank you all for your continued prayers. If you were not aware, there was a Mass offered for you (my benefactors, supporters and prayer partners) and your intentions last Thursday morning at the parish here in Bisanje. I am very grateful. On Friday, I gave a series of four talks on intercession to the members of Holy Trinity Community, a Catholic Charismatic Covenant Community where I usually stay three nights a week. The topic of the talks was intercession: What is Intercession?, Why do we Intercede?, Who is Called to Intercede?, and Hearing God’s Voice. About 9 people were present, those who live at the community and a few others. It was perfect for me because I love small groups and it allowed us to have a more intimate discussion rather than feeling like I was preaching to them. We also had the opportunity to do an intercessory meditation and pray a decade of the rosary together. I found out after the fact that 4 or 5 of the people who attended were leaders of intercession teams in Masaka. But they told me the ideas I presented were new to them and they were very grateful. As well, there were a few times they asked me challenging questions about discernment or prayer and I was at a loss for words. So I prayed silently, “Holy Spirit, what do you want me to say?” And by God’s grace, I was able to offer them an answer. Your intercession carried me and helped me tremendously, so thank you!

In the Life Teen office, learning to play paper football

On Sunday morning, I wanted to make it to 7am Mass at Kitovu (where we meet for Lifeteen), but it was impossible because this required me to leave at 6:30am and it was pouring down rain. Welcome to rainy season! At 9am, some of our teens/core members here were going to Skype with some of the teens/core members from our sister Life Teen program at St. Tim’s in Arizona, so it was essential that I made it Kitovu on time, and with a computer that was still functioning! Therefore, I decided to go to 7am Mass nearby and then take a motorcycle taxi afterward. Here in Uganda, after-Mass announcements usually take about 20-30 minutes, so by 8:35am I was squirming in my seat and begging God for patience and trust, saying to myself, “You’ll be fine. You will make it.” After Mass, I practically ran out of the church and down the street, hailed the first boda-boda driver I saw, and we made it to Kitovu just as their 7am Mass was finishing. I found Moses and we went with 2 other CORE members and 2 of the teens to the Life Teen office, to call the teens in Arizona, who were on retreat this weekend and had just finished their late night Adoration. We were 15 late for the meeting, but praise God, we had an excellent internet connection, and everyone enjoyed seeing each other’s faces and asking some questions and just shooting the breeze. God is faithful!

P.E. with the P.3 class

Finally, the rain let up a bit today, which was wonderful since I am the P.E. teacher at school. When it is raining, P.E. is either cancelled or we have to find some fun thing to do inside the classroom to give them a break from their studies. But today, armed with some fun group game ideas I got from the internet, I gathered my P.5 class (5^th grade?) and took them into the courtyard. I proceeded to write the word “hockey” in the dirt and explain the game. Then, we began with a wadded-up piece of paper and some large sticks from the trees, and we went to town! After some time, the piece of paper had had enough, so I handed them a passion fruit instead, and said, “Go!” Some of the boys were dissatisfied with the passion fruit puck (which eventually was turned into passion fruit juice), so they began pulling some trash and banana fibers from the trash pile and putting them together to make a small ball (this is commonly how kids make balls to play soccer). But, even that ball was destroyed by their heavy beating, and they finally settled on an old plastic bottle to be their puck. It was hilarious to watch and the whole time I wished I had my camera. They were chasing each other around the school yard laughing and laughing. The girls were beating the boys 5-0 when the lunch bell rang, so the boys insisted that they switch goals (because we all know it must have been the direction that was the result of their success, not the fact that they were actually more talented ;) ). The boys did, in fact, manage to score one goal, and then I sent them to lunch, with the girls chanting, “We are the winners! We are the winners!” I am sure there will be a rematch in the near future.

This weekend we are putting on a retreat for the parents of the students. The topic: trusting in God in our daily lives. Please keep this in your prayers, and know that I am praying for you!

Part of the Family

Dragonflies over Lake Victoria

This past weekend, I had a mini-vacation. I traveled to Kalangala, the largest of the Ssese Islands in Lake Victoria. The woman I stay with, Betty, had invited me to come for a family gathering there, as it is the village where she grew up. Every year they gather to remember and pray for the soul of her mother, who passed away in early March several years ago. She tries also to plan the event on March 8^th, which is a special day in Uganda, as it is the Woman’s Day, a national holiday in which the achievements and advancements of women in Ugandan society are celebrated. It is a beautiful tradition.

In the culture here, when someone’s mother dies, another in the family steps into the role and is called mother. So Betty introduced me to her “mother” and immediately, I was confused. (Aren’t we celebrating a Mass for your mother’s soul?) As well, people oftentimes call their cousins and other relatives “brothers” and “sisters.” So I was told, “This one is my brother,” and I was thinking, “How many brothers do you have?!” No matter. I am pretty sure everyone on the island is related to each other somehow. The man we traveled with was the half-brother of Teo, the young girl that lives with us in Kalisizo. We also met his full-brother and another half-brother of his. As we passed a home, Betty announced, “That is where so-and-so’s mother lives.” Then we would stop somewhere and she would say, “There is a relative here I want to greet.” When we were waiting for the ferry to come, a man walked past and she said, “That is the son of the woman whose house we have just visited.” I gave up trying to understand the family tree.

Before we had Mass at Betty’s home, we had some time to introduce ourselves to the rest of the family, to state who we were and how we were related. So, as Betty’s daughter was not present at the event, I stood up and said, “My name is Nakato Lindsay and I am Betty’s daughter from the USA.” They were happy to receive me into the family. In fact, they told me that I should stay in Kalangala and raise my family there. I replied that I had no husband. At that, they offered me a piece of land if I would marry one of their sons. Hmm….a piece of land in Kalangala…. ; )

Some of my Kalangala family: Grace, Betty, Sandra, Jejje (grama) and Richard (from left to right)

A week or so ago, Betty and Teo and I were saying evening prayers together after dinner and Betty began by singing, “This is the day ”. Then she added another verse:
This is the fam’ly,
This is the fam’ly that the Lord has made
Let us rejoice,
Let us rejoice and be glad in it

Praise God! I had to smile and reflect on that for a moment. Teo is not Betty’s daughter; she is her neice. And me? I am just some American missionary who ended up at the house. Why is it that we are living under the same roof? What kind of strange series of events has brought us together? It is the Lord, and His Providence, His plan. Now, I have a large extended family in Uganda. My brothers from another mother. And it is all due to the amazing plan of God, who has gathered us together from every village and every corner of the earth to meet each other and know each other at this particular time in history.

The family of God is a great mystery. I have brothers and sisters I have never even met, hidden in towns and cities and villages all across the world, related to me by the Blood of Christ, adopted and grafted onto God’s family tree because of the sacrifice of Our Lord on the Cross. This is the family that the Lord has made. What a strange, yet beautiful family. Let us rejoice and be glad in it!

An addendum: Thank you so much for your prayers for Sr. Regina’s recovery. She is back at the convent now and continuing her healing at home. She is doing well and moving around much more easily. 

Maasa Awo!

A Ugandan taxi

In this part of Uganda, the main languages spoken are English and Luganda. English is taught in all the schools, but among those in the villages or those with less education, Luganda is the language of choice. I am trying to learn some bits and pieces but it is difficult for me because it is not like anything else I know. My background in Spanish is of no use to me here.

Let me give you a taste (spelling may not be 100% accurate):

Good morning, madam – Wasuze otya, Nnyabo
Good afternoon, sir – Osibya otya, Ssebo
How are you? – Olyotya?
Fine – Jyendi
Good/well - Bulungi
Well done – Jebale (ko)
God bless you – Mukama akuhe mukisa
Thank you – Webale
What is it called? – Ogamba ki?
What are you doing? -  Okola ki?

Simple, right? That’s what everyone tells me.

Nonetheless, I have made some rather embarrassing mistakes in my efforts to learn some Luganda. On a minor scale, for a few days I was greeting people by saying, “Wasuze bulungi,” which I suppose would have the effect of saying, “Good morning, I’m well.” I don’t care how you are, but I just want you to know I’m doing fine.

Then, the other day, I wanted to clarify the phrase for “What is it called?” and I said, “Osamba ki?” which, instead, means, “What are you kicking?” Um…..

By far, the fan favorite here seems to be my misuse of the phrase “Masa owu.” Those who know this story love to retell it or remind me of it, much to my chagrin. See, my goal was to learn some words and phrases that would help me to get a taxi or boda boda. So, I learned some numbers (good for bargaining for prices) and the phrase “Drive slowly” (Vuga mpola mpola) as well as phrases that might help me tell the driver when to stop. Evidently, this phrase “maasa awo” means something along the lines of “there, up ahead”, which is useful if you see the place coming and you want the driver to slow down and let you off. However, I erroneously believed that the phrase was translated as “right there,” and it was the only good phrase (I thought) that I had in my Luganda vocabulary. So, one day, I was traveling by taxi (15-passenger van) from Kalisizo to Bisanje (How many kilometers? I don’t know. About a 15 min. ride). The taxi was going on to Kampala, but I had told the conductor that I needed to stop in Bisanje. I knew he didn’t understand me, so I was watching carefully for the place where I needed to get off. We were going very fast, so by the time I had spotted the place, we had already past it. Pointing backwards, I said to him, “Bisanje, maasa awo!” He was understandably confused and did not know what to do, since I was pointing behind and saying “up ahead.” Finally, I just shouted, “STOP!” I got out and walked back to my destination. (This all happened in a full taxi, mind you.)

As Providence would have it, the next week when I was traveling to Bisanje, it was the exact same conductor and driver who took me there (of all the hundreds of taxi drivers in the country). This time, I didn’t have to say anything. He just looked at me and said, “Bisanje?” and he stopped at exactly the right place.

I guess, sometimes, it’s not so much about the destination, but the journey. Sometimes. In this case, I am just glad I made it to Bisanje.

On a related note, I am asking for prayers for my friend, Sr. Regina. You may remember that I mentioned her in a previous post (Derek and I spent a day traveling around with her bringing Holy Communion to homebound members of the community). Last week, Sister was standing on the side of the road in front of her convent, waiting for a taxi to bring her to town, when two cars collided in front of her. Trying to avoid the collision, one of the cars hit her. She is now in the hospital with a broken rib. My friend, Cashmail, and I visited her on Sunday, and she is doing well, considering. She has some stitches but no significant head injuries, which she counts as a great blessing. Also, she has a good appetite, which is always a great sign. Still, she is suffering much from chest pains because of the broken rib, so if you can please pray for a quick and full recovery for her, I am sure she would greatly appreciate it…..and so would I!

As always, thank you for your prayerful support. Please know that I am praying for all of you and your intentions. If there is anything specific you would like me to pray for, please let me know. J

The Ugandan Experience

A sign they made for us at Holy Trinity Community

So, I am sitting here on the floor of my room and wondering what it is I am going to write about. A thoughtful soul told me that I did not mention my twin brother (waiswa, as he is called here) in any blog posts, so I set out to rectify that mistake. But as I looked back, I see that he has lied to me. Indeed, I mentioned Derek in two posts. ;)

Even still, maybe some of you are wondering what his experience was during his time here. Well, you will have to ask him! I invited him to write a post as a guest blogger, but he declined. As you recall, Derek came with me for the first two weeks of my trip. He wanted to accompany me while I traveled and also to be able to meet some of the people I would be working with and see the places where I would stay.

I will say, it was very good to have him here for those two weeks. It gave me a sense of security and familiarity, while I was settling in to a new place. It was also nice to have a fellow mzungu to talk and joke with. It is good that we get along well because we were with each other all the time, even sleeping in the same room, and he kept using my phone airtime and internet data to send messages to people back home! But many months ago, I prayed and fasted, asking God to find me someone to travel with. And so, in answer to that prayer, I know it was He who chose Derek….and He had a purpose in doing so. Not only did Derek’s service here make a great impression on all those he met (they often ask about him), but I know that God was working in his heart at the same time, through the unique experiences, the holy conversations and the many daily Masses he attended with me.  

I also tried to make sure that Derek got the full Ugandan experience. Let me explain what I mean – maybe it will provide a better snapshot of the country and culture here, which you might also enjoy.

•  In Kampala, he was overwhelmed when we stopped the car in town and it was swarmed by 25 street vendors all shoving food in our faces.
•  He took a picture at the Equator.
• He ate chapatti (fry bread), as well as a “rolex” (eggs wrapped in chapatti). He also enjoyed ground nuts, matooke, posho, cassava, pumpkin leaves, papaya, and jackfruit. Unfortunately, he didn’t get to eat any grasshoppers, because it’s not the season for grasshoppers…..and because he’s a vegetarian.
• He rode a boda-boda (a motorcycle taxi - common means of transport) with 3 adult passengers and a driver. Feeling claustrophobic? In Rwanda, this would be illegal, but in Uganda, if you can fit that many people on the motorcycle, more power to you! Boda-bodas can also be seen carrying just about anything else: pigs, chickens, bananas, pineapples, couches….
•  He bargained with a store owner in order to buy a flash drive. Prices on most things are negotiable. The first shop told him a ridiculously high price, the second shop was slightly more reasonable, and the third started high but was willing to strike a deal when Derek turned to walk away.
•  Every Saturday and Sunday, he had no electricity.
• Every day, he wondered if we were going to be fed dinner, because dinner doesn’t begin until at least 8:30pm, but usually later than 9.
• He was woken up every morning by the beat of an African drum.
• He washed his clothes by hand.
• He used a pit latrine.
• He saw Lake Victoria….from a few different angles, I believe.
•  He went on a safari at Lake Mburo National Park, and saw zebras, impalas, warthogs, baboons, monkeys, waterbucks, antelopes, buffalos and hippos in their natural habitat.

Should I keep going?

Remember, Derek:

When the mosquito bites, when the wasp stings, when you’re feeling sad… Just think of a few of these wonderful things…..then you won’t feel soooooooo bad!

I know you all were praying for him, so on Derek’s behalf, thank you!  I know he enjoyed his time in Uganda. Maybe some of his experiences will entice you to come too. J

Hehehe....

Hi, Mzungu!

Last week, in the Scripture readings, there were a few instances where Jesus was caught trying to go somewhere without being seen, and every time the people found him and came to him with some need. It says that they “ran throughout the whole region and carried to sick on mats to wherever they heard that Jesus was” (Mk 6:55). I imagine Jesus became pretty tired sometimes and wanted to just slip away unnoticed for some alone time with the Father. But He never said, “Come back tomorrow.” Whenever they came, He ministered to them. Sometimes the trick is knowing how best to minister.

I can sympathize with Jesus plight of not being able to get away. This past December, when my friend Michael (with whom I went to Africa in 2012) asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I told him, “Black skin and a Ugandan accent.” This is not because I don’t like my skin color, but more because, in these parts of Uganda, a mzungu (white foreigner) cannot go anywhere undetected. There just aren’t enough white people around.

I can’t go for a leisurely stroll through the town without hearing, “Mzungu! Hi Mzungu!” Usually, it’s the children, and they are waving excitedly, so I wave back happily and say hello and I’m on my way. When the adults do it, though, I never know how to respond. Sometimes I am unsure of their intentions, especially when they try to prolong the conversation beyond just saying hello, as with some groups of young adults who think it’s funny to say things to me and then laugh at me because I can’t understand, or some who men who seem like they just to flirt or get something from me.  No, thank you. But this whole phenomenon of shouting “Hi Mzungu!” really puzzles me. In the U.S., if a child shouted, “Hey, black person!” they would be slapped. I guess here it is culturally acceptable to yell, “Hi, white person!” but it makes me feel less like a person and more like just a color. It makes me feel like the one speaking does not care about who I am as a person, only about some idea that they have about me based on the color of my skin.

Once when I was walking home, I came across a boy who was about 7, who greeted me with “Hi mzungu.” So I kindly said hello. They he continued, “Give me some money.” I very simply said, “No, but I will give you my hand, and you can shake it.” I shook his hand, and then he turned and ran away.

Just last night, I was on the front porch with the girl I live with (a secondary school student) washing my clothes when several of the neighbor children walked by carrying jerry cans (for fetching water). Seeing me, one of them shouted, “Mzungu! I have ten jerry cans!” Um….okay? I could tell she wanted something, but I didn’t know what she was getting at. So I yelled back, “That’s very good. Are you going for water?” “Yes.” “Okay, great. Have fun!” I continued washing, then the younger boy came closer to the house and knelt down (a sign of respect), and said, “I want sweets.” Ah! So that’s what they want! I told him I had no sweets. Shortly after that, the first girl came and knelt down and asked for sugarcane. What?!  I held out my empty hands and told her I had no sugar cane. She pointed at the sugar cane which (apparently) grows in our yard. (Note to self: know what is growing at your house.) I said to her, “That is not my sugarcane. That belongs to the owner of this house. Come back when she is home and ask her.”

I wish I could speak the local language better, so I could have a full conversation with the children about why I wasn’t giving them what they asked for. If I give money or sweets to the first child, I have to give them the other five, and by doing so I only reinforce the idea that that’s what mzungus do, that’s what they are for. It is an act of love to say no, so that perhaps they may also learn to love more perfectly, to value the other person for who s/he is and not what s/he has, and so that they may develop their own personal initiative and potential rather than depending on the handouts of others.

The people came to Jesus wanting something from him – some healing or help. Sometimes they came just because they were “starstruck” or curious. I am sure that many of them did not really care about who Jesus was or about having a relationship with him. But He didn’t ask for better treatment. He didn’t demand that they first be baptized. Sometimes He said no to the specific request they had, but He didn’t give them a lecture about how selfish they were for having requested it. Instead, realizing that this mission was not His own, He just referred everything to the Father and said, “Your will be done.” If You want to heal, heal. If you want to feed, feed. If you want to do something else instead, do it. “Behold, I come to do Your Will.”

I am not yet holy like Jesus. I still often get annoyed at being called mzungu, at being thought of as the “hot item” or as a money or sweet dispenser. But this is not my mission; it is His. In everything, my aim is to do His Will and to make Him known, even as I wave happily to a child on the street or respond with kindness to a stranger who just thinks it’s cool to talk to a white girl. Maybe that happy wave or kind word will become for them an encounter with the Lord which will change their life. I pray that Jesus would help me to be humble enough to accept being the nameless mzungu so that His Name will be known.

The True Pearl of Africa

Moses Kasozi, Life teen youth minister

Two weeks ago as I was pondering Patrick’s question about the opportunities, the potentials, in Uganda, I took it to prayer. I asked the Lord what the greatest treasure of Uganda is. The answer He put on my heart? The youth.

I don’t think you can walk ten steps in this country without encountering at least 5 children. I don’t know what the actual statistics are, but I would imagine there are more people under the age of 25 than there are above.

On Sundays, I travel to Kitovu, Uganda, to help with the Lifeteen program there. (For those who may not know, Lifeteen is a Catholic youth ministry movement).This Lifeteen program was started by Moses Kasozi a few years ago, when he was still a teenager. It is the only Lifeteen program in Uganda and one of only a handful in all of Africa. At present, Moses works full-time, is finishing a degree program, and spends all of his spare time doing ministry. The man is on fire. I am always concerned that he isn’t getting enough rest, and he just replies that he doesn’t need to rest because this is his passion and this is what gives him life.

This past Sunday, I ate lunch at Moses’ home before heading over to the parish hall to set up for the life night. We spent half an hour talking about the youth of Uganda. One of the priests at the cathedral where Moses works recently expressed his desire that Moses would soon become the “director of youth ministry”. I was thinking to myself, “Isn’t he already?” But Moses shared that, here in Uganda, those aged 25-38 are typically classified as “youth” (what we would call “young adults”), and everyone under that age is often simply discounted.

Moses went on to share his own story with me. When he was finished, I was crying. I said to him, “I wish I could have recorded everything you just said.” I think it bears repeating. And though I won’t say it as well as he did, he gave me permission to share.

Moses is one of 6 children. Many years back, the family was renting a home in a village when his father decided to leave his mother for another woman. Of course, he could not support his large family plus his new home in town, and so Moses’ mother struggled to make ends meet, to provide food and pay school fees for the children. Moses described many nights of starvation which were very difficult for them as his mother sold matooke (bananas) to try to earn money. Eventually, she succeeded in buying a plot of land in town and building a small home. Then, not long after, she passed away, leaving the 6 children with no parent to care for them. Some relatives told them they should return to the village and work on the farm. At least there they would be fed. But they decided that, though it would be extremely difficult, they would stay in town where at least they had a home which belonged to them. Moses’ older sister was just completing nursing school, and said that she would become the mother to them. Moses went on to share the story of one of his own teens and how his involvement in the Lifeteen program took him off the streets and brought reconciliation in his family. He told me how many of the teens in his program have no parents and are the sole providers for their younger brothers and sisters. He said that when you have parents, people care about you, and they ask how you are doing. But when you have no parents, they forget you; you are on your own. And since he knows what it is like to be an orphan, he wants these children, these teens, to know that there is someone who cares about them and who is there for them, someone who recognizes that they are a treasure.

Many people look down on the young. They imagine them to be thieves or hoodlums, or perhaps just nuisances. Here in Uganda, there is little support for programs and movements like Lifeteen or EDGE (for middle-school age) that work with teens or younger. Parishes do not see the importance, so there is no hope of gaining paid employment for such ministry. At the cathedral, Moses is recognized for the incredible work that he does, but the parish will not even take up a collection to help fund the program. (The choir, yes. The youth ministry, no.) They rely entirely on the providence of God and the goodwill offerings of others.

Please pray that church leaders here in this country would begin to recognize more and more that the real treasure of Uganda is the youth. Please pray that their hearts would be open to desire and to implement programs like Lifeteen and EDGE, to provide a place where these young people can encounter Christ, build community, and find support in time of need. Because if we wait until they are 25-38 to evangelize and catechize them, it is already too late.

As well, if you are interested in helping to support Moses and his program in any other way, please contact me and let me know.

Uganda is known as the "Pearl of Africa." I think we should be more specific. Where is the true Pearl of Africa?

It is here:

Rose and Gloria

And here:

With the nursery class at school. Practicing writing names.

Don't Quit

A picture which hangs at the convent next door

This past Tuesday, Derek and I went to visit St. Anthony school, in a small village called Kasanje, where I will be spending most of my time. I was introduced to this school last time I visited Uganda, and it made a great impression on me. The small staff at the school is passionate and dedicated, although none of them are qualified to teach. The owners of this school, Paul and Mary, have faced a continuous struggle in their efforts to keep the school afloat, but as the children are unable to pay their full school fees, they have often been left with large debts. In addition, there are disputes about the land which make them fear losing the school property they have worked so hard to build and maintain. To many, the situation seems hopeless.

When we arrived, the children welcomed us with a short drill and some songs. I have heard the routine before, but they really captured my heart in a new way this time. My eyes welled up as I listened to them. I want them to succeed. I want to see those bright little faces at P-7 graduation, and not to see them among the 63% who never complete primary school. I want them to become physically, mentally, and spiritually mature young men and women, able to develop to their full potential.

But how can they get a quality education without qualified teachers? And how can the school secure qualified teachers (or help teachers gain qualifications) without money to pay them? And how can they get money if they children cannot pay their school fees? And how can they make the money to pay their school fees? What comes first: the chicken or the egg?

Tuesday's Gospel reading was the story of the woman with hemorrhages. We read, “There was a woman afflicted with hemorrhages for twelve years. She had suffered greatly at the hands of many doctors and had spent all she had. Yet she was not helped but only grew worse...” (Mk. 5:25-26) Believing that some cure is available and possible, she invests her whole self in searching for it, but instead finds only greater suffering and the added problem of debt. I am sure, to many, her situation seemed hopeless.

But she continues to have faith, and her great faith is rewarded when she meets the Lord. She touches his cloak, and in a single moment, everything changes.

Similarly, the Lord has inspired Paul and Mary with great faith to persevere despite many challenges, setbacks and sufferings. He knows the plans He has in mind for these children, plans to give them a future full of hope. As His heart was moved with compassion for the woman who came to him for healing, and as He desired to grant her heart’s request, I am sure He is so moved by the prayers and heart-cries of the students of St. Anthony.

This poem hangs on the wall of the woman I stay with. Seems very fitting:

DON’T QUIT

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will
When the road you’re trudging seems all uphill
When funds are low and debts are high
And you want to smile but you have to sigh
When care is pressing you down a bit
Rest if you must, but don’t you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns
As everyone of us sometimes learns
And may a person turns about
When they might have won had they stuck it out
Don’t give up, though the pace seems slow
You may succeed with another blow

Often the struggler has given up
When he might have captured the victor’s cup
And he learned too late when the night came down
How close he was to the golden crown

Success is failure turned inside out
So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit
It’s when things seem worst that you musn’t quit.

Sharing our Gifts

At the home of our friends, Peter and John Bosco

Hello, Uganda! It is wonderful to walk on your red earth once again!

So, today marks one week that I have been here in the Pearl of Africa.

On the airplane from Amsterdam, I sat next to a very friendly woman named Juliet, a Ugandan who has lived in North Carolina for the past several years, who was flying in for a wedding. We had some great conversation about everything from culture to faith to family, and before I got off the plane, she had invited me to the wedding! Hahaha. This is what I love about Uganda: the people are so welcoming. I asked Juliet to help us navigate the airport (which is tiny compared to any international airport in the United States), because I had visions of airport personnel who would mob us and take our luggage claim tickets, like they do in Haiti, and insist upon finding our luggage against our will, then require a $200,000 tip. She laughed and assured me it wasn’t like that at all, but she would help us find our luggage, so no one took advantage of us. And even though it took us 45 minutes to make it through customs, she was still waiting for us on the other side. J

We have been told that people here are generally not rude to visitors. (Though I think I can safely make an exception for certain boda-boda (motorbike taxi) drivers and street vendors who are rude to everyone.) They said, “Some people may try to cheat you, but they will not be rude. If you need something, they will try to do whatever it takes to accommodate you.” In fact, I think sometimes they go out of their way.
In Entebbe, we spent two nights at a retreat center. After Mass on Sunday, one of the women of the community offered to drive us around for a tour of the city. She took us to the beach, to a few shrines, to her home, and even to the zoo! In addition, when we asked about some information – even just to make conversation – the brothers would go and look up the answer, if they didn’t know it. If we make mention of some food (again, mostly because we are just sharing some story), our hosts go and get some of it so we can have it to eat. Even at a small restaurant here in town, where we ordered two omelletes, a water and a donut, we were thanked profusely for coming to dine there.  

I think this is one of major gifts of collectivistic cultures. Yesterday, we were riding in the car with Patrick, one of the leaders here at Holy Trinity Community where we are staying, and he asked Derek, “So, what are the opportunities you see in Uganda? Some people come and comment that we have such good soil. We don’t notice because we see the soil every day. So, what are some things that you see that have potential for our country?” We spoke at length about various exports, and what could be exported that would be popular in other countries. But somehow, I don’t think the real potentials in Uganda – the real gifts it has – lie in its cash crops or its unique art or music. What needs to be harvested and shared somehow is its spirit of hospitality and its collectivistic mindset. This is something we need so desperately in so many places in the world. 

From two separate people, I have heard about the need to be job makers, not merely job seekers. Again, it is not simply about what I can gain, but how I can help others, how I can meet a larger community need, how I can be of service to others with the gifts God has given me. This is what it really means to be Church. 

Sr. Regina bringing Holy Communion to a sick member of the community

This past Thursday, we spent the whole day making home visits to the sick and to community members in the homes surrounding HTC, both with a local religious sister and then with members of HTC. At one home, we met a woman who had a growth on her back which made it difficult for her to walk. I felt moved to pray over her, and so the four of us present laid hands on her and prayed for healing. Then, at almost every subsequent home we visited, I was asked to lead the prayers for the families or sick patients. It seems the Lord is calling forth the gift of intercession in me on this trip, which is something that in many ways I have hidden or discounted in past years. I pray this time here in Uganda will help me to further discover, acknowledge and share my own gifts, as well as to see and help bring out the gifts of others.

“The body is a unit, though it is made of many parts; and though all its parts are many, they form one body. And so it is with Christ…”
- 1 Cor. 12: 12-31 -

“Do nothing out of selfishness or vainglory; rather, humbly regard others as more important than yourselves, each looking out not for his own interests but [also] everyone for those of others.”
- Phil 2:4 -

What Not to Do.

Last night I went to 6pm Mass at the Newman center with Matt. He didn’t make it to my send-off party and, loving the Fitz brothers as much I do, I just had to meet up with him once more before I left and say a proper goodbye.

(It was kind of reminiscent of the time we all went to morning Mass with Ken before he took off on his first African adventure.)

We spent a few minutes in Adoration after Mass, and then headed to our cars. Matt asked what he could pray for, in particular, and I asked prayers for docility, and of course safety…..that I wouldn’t do anything stupid.

What I failed to ask for is that Matt begin praying these prayers BEFORE I actually leave….

We got in our respective cars and parted ways. So...I’m driving down University and I see this guy in the back of a pick-up truck leaning into the truck’s window to talk to the driver as they drive. I said – out loud, I believe – something to the effect of, “If he gets in an accident, he’s really in trouble! Lord, please protect him.” At that, he sat down.

Then, I turned onto Price. Normally, I would peek and see what traffic looked like before deciding whether I just wanted to take the access roads home. But instead, I mindlessly got onto the freeway, before realizing that it was terribly congested. Apparently, there were at least 2 accidents. I decided I would get right back off at the next exit. Unfortunately, this didn’t happen as quickly as I would have liked. It was all stop-and-go and, at least once, I slammed on my brakes and thought to myself, “That’s all I need – to get in an accident 2 days before my trip.”

And then this happened….

Yep.

I can’t say the Lord didn’t warn me.

(But I can say I am reminded of the time a certain unnamed person got injured playing basketball just before he went to Africa. I swear I wasn’t trying to one-up him.)

Thankfully, I hit a Christian. At least, I know his son was a Christian. I hit an older gentleman, following whom I assumed to be his son (we can call him Larry). After pulling over, Larry immediately jumped out of his car, checked on his dad, then came over to my car and said, “Are you okay?” Apart from my being absolutely mortified, I didn’t have a scratch on me. (Thank you, God!). I apologized, and he said, “Cars can be fixed. Are you okay?” His kindness certainly took the edge off.

Just then, a highway patrolman pulled up behind me. No one had called him. (Thank you, God!). He got our info and started doing his thing.

Somewhere in the course of my conversation with Larry, I mentioned that I was leaving the country on Friday for a mission trip. He asked where, and shared that his son had just returned from a two-year mission to Japan. I tried to continue the conversation. However, at this point, I was on the verge of tears because I was grieving over my car and frustrated with myself and afraid I would owe money, etc. And yet! I didn’t want to miss a perfectly good opportunity to share the Faith.

Yeah….

Hi, I’m Lindsay. I just smashed your back bumper and possibly injured your father. Let me tell you why I love being Catholic!

EVANGELIZATION FAIL!

Ladies and gentleman, don’t try that at home.

I look at my car now and think, “Lord, what’s the purpose of this?” I could speculate that it is spiritual warfare. Maybe. I could blame Matt for eating dinner instead of praying for me. He probably was. :) I could beat myself up for doing something stupid. But I’ll refrain…

Most of all, I thank God for His protection (probably in answer to all of your prayers), and I hope he will help me (and you!) to learn from this experience, especially to learn to heed His voice. I thank God for the kindness of “Larry”, and I pray that He will heal his father of any injuries and make him better than he was before. I thank God for the gift of a sense of humor.

And I thank Him that I am not driving to Uganda.

And to you, Cujo, they tell me they might have to put you to sleep. You have been a trusty friend. You might have an awful paint job, but you've always been there for me. You will be missed.

Into the Unknown

Who is the patron saint of the unknown? 

Anybody know? ;)

I guess maybe the question is a bit strange….

The past few weeks have been a roller coaster. Let’s just look recap Sunday to Sunday:

• Baptism of my friend’s baby, and then reception. JOY!!!! I love this kid!
• Last Life night at St. Tim’s for a few months. So sad! I’m going to miss the CORE and the teens so much!
• Meeting with Jake to help me get my act together
• Spiritual direction to help me get my act together
• Dad’s birthday – Yay!
• Crying on the way to work – that’s always fun – especially when it’s right before a party they are about to throw for you to send you off on mission
• I miss my friend – I’m going to miss these people – I’m afraid – I don’t want to be alone – I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M FEELING!!!!
• Party time – quick, turn this frown upsidedown
• What's going to happen to me in Africa? Hmm….
• Babysitting: always uplifting! J
• Text spiritual director: “Please say an extra prayer for me! I feel so unsettled!”
• Send-off party – So good to see everyone!
• Workshop on healing and deliverance
• Maybe that last one is related, but I definitely feel much more at peace now :)

For several days, I was feeling so much unrest. It was unusual. I tried to explain this to my friend, Robert, who had sensed this and said it disturbed him as well. He noted that my attitude toward this mission seemed different than the others. I agreed, saying that I have twice been on international missions and I have also previously joined a religious community, and in all those instances, I felt peace, joy and great excitement, even when I was entering into it with the intention of committing my whole life. Yet, this time, when I am going to Uganda for 3 months (not a lifetime), I felt sad and afraid and other emotions I couldn’t even identify. (PMS? Indigestion? Anticipatory side effects of anti-malarials?)

On Thursdays, I work as a janitor at the City of the Lord community center. As I mentioned, they threw a little party for me to send me off, and as part of that they prayed over me. One of them invoked the intercession of St. Joseph, as someone who took a mission to a foreign land for the sake of Christ, asking him to go with me and protect me. I thought, yes, that’s what I desire: a protector. This same person stopped as she was leaving work and said, “God has his own plans for this mission.”

Perhaps that’s it.

This time, I am stepping into the unknown. On past mission trips, someone else always organized all the activities, and I just had to show up and follow directions. Furthermore, I have always had someone to go with and/or someone I would be with the whole time, someone who had some familiarity with the country or culture. And, typically, there was always a man around….or a group….or a group of men (ones that I knew and trusted, or ones that people I trusted knew and trusted). All of that combined makes for a pretty spectacular safety net.

This time, my brother is coming for two weeks, but after that….I don’t yet know who I will pal around with. I haven’t yet met the woman I’m going to be living with. I don’t know how often I will need to travel around by myself. I don’t know exactly what I’ll be doing each day, because I’m relying on God to direct me as I go. I don’t know much.

But God does. The unknown is not unknown to God. (Psalm 139)

He has been very generous in providing for this mission, and I trust that He will continue to be. He knows what He wants me to do each day, and I trust that He will let me know what I need to know when I need to know it. I will show up, and do my best to follow directions. Because I know that God is with me….and I know that St. Joseph will be too…..(and St. Alphonsus, through whom I am praying a novena right now)…..to be my father, my protector, and my guide.

St. Joseph, patron saint of the unknown, pray for me.