Kamuli, Uganda

Right now I am deep in the bush of Uganda, a place called Kamuli, about two hours from the commonly known town of Jinja- where the source of the Nile is. This is an amazing country. The centre is full of happy kids, jack fruit trees, bananas, noisy birds and steamy jungle plants. I bathe from a bucket of cold water that I pump from a small well (however, many times the children want to do it for me). The toilet is a hole in the ground all ‘facilities’ are hidden behind a cement walls, but the shower is open air and has no door on one side. We sleep when the sun goes down, and wake up when it rises. At dawn and dusk the children pull out their massive drums and start beating them until all 133 of them are dancing and praying. They are truly amazing.

Uganda Orphans fund is a hidden treasure in the middle of Africa. It is such a pure hearted place that is becoming a habitation of kids hungry for miracles. The children have little else to hope for. They fast and pray on their own so much that they would put Western spiritualists to shame. I am sure their treasure in the supernatural realm is astounding. The most amazing part of it to me, is that other then Inger, I am the only other Mzungo (white person) out here. I cant believe how much I love being the minority skin color. I feel more comfortable staying at a place like this, then any other place in the world. This NGO is staying true to the culture of Uganda and it is untouched by Western ideals. I spent a long weekend with Duncan Hill, the founder of Uganda Orphans, and also some time with his team from Montana. It was wonderful to get to know them and talk about their vision. I have an invitation to go back there again with them, and I just feel super blessed to be here with such great people.

My time in Uganda has been fantastic, however some things have changed and I will be flying to South Africa early. Until I say goodbye to everyone at Kamuli at the end of the week, there is still a lot of fun to be had with the children. Hopefully I will teach them some songs if we have time… some of them can sing so well. I cant wait to sing with them.  It has been healing and deeply encouraging to meet these children and also the local adults who assist in running the orphanage. They are such kindhearted people and they are taking such good care of me. Its so humbling. I wish I had more to give them.

My good friend Christine, who we call ‘Madame’, says she does not want me to leave. She takes care of the children. Her husband was taken by Kony rebels and killed 3 years ago and so she lives at Kamuli with her 3 year old son Dan Dan…she tells me that she will fast and pray that I come back. How can I leave when there are people who say such nice things!? So it will be a teary day for me when I say goodbye. Each time I leave the place just for a few hours, it seems that I return to at least 80 kids running up to hug me.


Christy

Hope for a Nation

I’m almost at the end of my time here in Mozambique. On Boxing Day I saw off my travel companion, Manda, who went back to Australia. In just a few more days I will be saying goodbye to some of my closest friends, some that I will see again and some that I may not.

I’ll miss Domingo, the guard who sits just outside my room. I’ve had so many funny conversations with him. Somehow we have bonded through my broken Portuguese. It makes all other random conversations boring after living in Mozambique with a friendly Maconde guard that calls me “little girl”. I speak to him most days, so now I know about his family, the places he’s traveled to, the languages he speaks, the differences between Macua, Swahili and other tribes…we talk about animals, the weather in Pemba compared to Australia. I’ll also miss Laura, our cleaning lady. Yesterday I walked out of my room after a desperately needed sleep in, and because I’d been away for the past week, they didn’t realize I was back in Pemba. Everyone started yelling when I opened my door and walked out. “Ahhhhh! Mana Christina!!! Voce voltar!” (you return). Then I was inundated with questions about Ilha de Mozambique.  It was a challenge to my language skills, but nothing else compares to how alive one feels when immersed in another culture.

Two days ago at 5am I was leaving Ilha de Mozambique, the island that was the capital of this country for over 400 years when the Portuguese were here. I was sitting in the back of a chappa (a small bus), crammed into the corner so tightly that I now have bruises all over me. I had my big backpack on my lap and my shoulder bag jammed behind my neck as the locals continued to pile in and as men outside continued to pile ridiculous amounts of chickens, goats, suitcases, rice and mangos on top of the chappa. I tried not to think of 5 days before when we’d seen another chappa tip on its two right wheels and nearly topple over as it turned a corner.  They either rock like they’re about to tip over on their side, or they look like the tires are about to pop under the weight. I relaxed and thought that it was probably better to not know or even think about how high they’d piled things on top this day.

Three hours later we made it to Nampula. We got off the chappa and our ride came straight away to pick us up. I got in the car, and then a police officer with a massive chip on his shoulder told me to get out and wanted our passports. He was angry…for no apparent reason, but he’d been watching us since we got off the chappa. I was with three other friends, two of us had white skin and in the middle of hundreds of dark skinned people, we stood out as a financial opportunity for the police. I was covered because I had my passport, but immigration had messed up my friend's passport that previous month, so it was back in another city 500kms away. Oh dear. So with no choice but to pay a corrupt officers yearly salary, or my friend face getting beaten up by angry police officers, the money was handed over. This is Africa.

Yesterday, I took money out of an ATM in town so I could pay for a flight to leave for Tanzania on Tuesday and the ATM shortchanged me... Africa.  The pressures of underdevelopment here are obvious here.  I should probably just be grateful there are ATMs at all! 

White bread, processed biscuits and coke are all easier to find here than water and there are no public latrines anywhere. The corrupt police are just a reflection of other greater issues.  I’m sure this will be channeled through many essays to come.

I leave Pemba on Tuesday 8th and fly to Tanzania for two nights in Dar es Salaam, and then fly to Entebbe, Uganda on Thursday where I’ll be staying with Uganda Orphans Fund in Kamuli, about an hour from Jinja with a missionary friend. I am hoping for safe travels for the next week, especially because I’ll be on my own. I was originally going to pass through Kenya, but rearranged my plans because of the election and war that has broken out there.

This time I leave Mozambique with the thought that we should be concerned about exposing corruption. We should be concerned with stopping child trafficking.  We should try and change the stone hearts of proud wealthy Westerners who don't want to see how most of the world lives.
Through the power of unconditional love, the same spirit that inspired people like Gandhi, mother Teresa or way back - Jesus. 

Christy

Wheelchairs

Hi!,
Just a continuation on that previous short blog…

The wheelchairs have been appreciated!   Rainha had not been going to school and was just dragging herself around her house in the dirt when we got here. Now we’ve been taking her out a few times a week, she was even on the stage singing at her church. Manda, Octavia (who is a long term missionary that cares for Rainha) and I wake up at 4.30am Mondays and Fridays and take her down to the beach for some hydrotherapy. We have to go at that time because the wheelchair draws too much attention and we’d be mobbed by hundreds of kids. We still draw some attention even at 5.30 when we arrive at the beach. It’s a 20 min walk, and of course it takes time to load her in and out of the chair and make it up and down the terrain here on the compound. Nothing is easy or smooth running here, but this chair is far better then any other one would have been.

We also have Carinho, an 8-year-old village friend who we believe has cerebral palsy among other disabilities. Anyway, he looks about five and he has a really enlarged head which apparently common when mothers are malnourished during pregnancy.  So he also cant use his feet or hands. His hands are getting worse, his fingers are curled in and his condition is deteriorating. Doctor Ange from the mission base looked at him and said that medically, this condition will just get worse and worse until he dies.

Some naughty village boys we know from a year ago came with us on our first visit to Carinho’s mud hut. His mother works in the kitchen at Arco-Iris five days a week. She’s a sweet Macua lady, only 25 and I love her!  It was Manda's idea to bring them a wheelchair from Australia.   I told her she was crazy to take ANOTHER chair as well as the first one, as it was very hard to transport it across and involved lots of letters asking for leniency from Singapore airlines, but now its here.  I’m so glad she didn’t listen to me…Carinho is so happy, and it has been amazing just to see his face light up.

I took him swimming the other day. He never usually speaks, but he just talked and talked the whole time I was in the water with him.  I only wish I had worked out some before I came here so my arms could cope with the weight of carrying a child for longer. The African mamas are strong!

So that’s just a really brief update on the wheelchairs. Some people have become very angry with us for not buying them wheelchairs and they’re jealous that we’ve helped the others.  So wish we could have brought more...  As it was, not only did we spend all the cash we personally had to buy them and get them on the planes here, but others kindly donated money to purchase them also.   I can't even imagine finding enough people to donate enough for more wheelchairs.  The need here is huge.


Christy

Planning to go again

This time a year ago, I was living in a humble home shared by eight others, who were similarly embarking on a life journey that would answer the calling of a 'drum' that was beating in our hearts too loudly to be ignored. After months of showering from a bucket of dirty water, months of being served goat entrails, rice and beans (with bugs and rocks), months of facing digestive problems, scabies, malaria, ant bites, snakes and spiders, and months of 40 degree heat... I can still hear the African 'drum' that beats within.  I am not 'dying' to get back to Africa any more, but I am living to get back to the land of mud huts and banana leaved roofs.

 At the orphanage many are broken and abused, hurt and dying, confused and inconsolable. They have never seen any example of true unconditional love and often, particularly in the children who first arrive at a centre, they just cry, bite, or kick or scream. One little boy I met last time in the toddlers house at Iris was about three, and he had never once smiled, spoken or shown any expression but utter sadness on his face for months of being there. No one knows what happened to him to have caused so much sadness. I desperately hope to see a change in him next month when I arrive back there.

Amanda my missionary friend and I, are nearly ready to leave for the cruel but beloved continent to embrace the culture and to befriend the unlovely. 

The tentative plan is to spend six weeks at the Arco Iris mission base in Pemba. Soon after the new year, I travel north to Dar Es Salaam -Tanzania, then by bus pass through Nairobi -Kenya and into Kampala -Uganda. From Kampala, Uganda's capital.  I will then head south to Kamuli and will be staying at a very basic orphanage. Some of the children there have come out of the Lords Resistance Army and have endured that of the most immense suffering that humanity can face. I am so looking forward to meeting them. 


Christy