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.

And now for the real story....

If you give a girl a muffin....

....she will want some tea to go with it.

So you'll bring out some black tea.

She will ask you for some honey to put inside.

This will remind her of the hot milk and honey a friend once gave her in Uganda.

She will probably start to cry. 

When you ask her why she is crying, 

she will tell you it is because she has no matooke to eat.

She will probably ask you for some. 

And since you can't get matooke in America, 

you will have to travel to Uganda.

She will want to come with you.

So you'll go online and look at airfare.

She will want to use her frequent flyer miles, 

so she will insist on flying Delta.

When she sees the Delta logo, she will remember the odd-shaped triangular tea bags in your box of Chai Tea.

She will probably ask you for some.

And chances are....

if you give her the tea, 

she is going to want a muffin to go with it.