African Driving

Driving in Africa is completely different from driving in the States. It’s not just that you are more than likely driving a car with an automatic transmission, which is new for me, driving on the left-hand side of the road, and sitting on the wrong side of the car, with all the gears and controls, down to even the turn signals, backwards from where the should be. The hardest part of driving in Africa is making sure you don’t hit some kind of livestock, or, heaven forbid, a person.

In the US, it’s pretty well understood that if you’re walking or on a non-motorized vehicle, you need to stay out of the way of objects on the road that are bigger than you. Roads are territory that primarily belong to cars, trucks, and other vehicles that average speeds over 25 miles an hour. Most drivers are careful when they do see pedestrians, but the walkers pretty much try to stay out of the flow of traffic, if at all possible.

Not so in Africa. Here, a paved surface is an easier path to town or to the village, so that’s the best place to walk or bike. The roads belong to everyone, and the cars and trucks, and even motorcycles, are usually vastly outnumbered by walkers and bikers. Non-motorized vehicles generally stay on the outside of the road in whatever direction they are traveling, but they are also usually 2 or 3 deep, which leaves about a lane and a half in the middle of the road for larger vehicles… like me.

And this is usually not a problem. Until you meet another vehicle coming the opposite direction. The African unwritten road rules then say that the walkers and bikers must move over to give the two cars (or, in some cases, my small pickup truck and the enormous transfer truck coming on the other side) room to pass. Those on foot are supposed to yield to the larger vehicles. Supposed to.

I have learned in the short time in Africa that defensive driving reaches to a new level here. It’s not enough to watch the few cars or bicyclers in front of you. You must always be aware of what’s going on up ahead, as far as you can see. You have to have a plan, some kind of idea of what you’ll do should the oblivious biker in front of you swerve into your path. You have to know what’s coming. And honestly, I sort of like this kind of driving. Even more, I like this kind of life.

I want to know what’s coming up. I want to see what lies ahead. The thought of having to change direction on short notice scares the fool out of me. (Even though my life at this point has consisted of more changes of direction than a ride through the Blue Ridge Mountains!) And even though knowing what is coming is comfortable and safe, God keeps reminding me that I can’t live like that. I can’t live my life expecting to know what things will look like years, or sometimes even months, in the future. I have to focus on the right now, on the “where I am.” Right now where I am is Uganda. I am here until next October. After that, who knows? I don’t have the foggiest idea what the Lord has in store for me after next October… but I don’t have to. All I have to focus on is being here, and doing what He has for me here.

And trying not to run over random pedestrians.

So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. Matthew 6:34

Scovia

Our first True Love Waits presentation was at Mandela Secondary School in mid-February. During the presentation, we make our case for saving sex for marriage, explaining that:
• God’s plan for sex is one man and one woman for life
• when you have sex with someone, you are also connecting yourself to everyone they have been exposed to, including their partners’ partners (people you may have never even met!)
• condoms do not provide effective protection from diseases, especially when they aren’t used the right way every time, as is usually the case with teenagers.
At the end of each presentation, we tell students when we will be back on campus to talk to them about making a decision to remain pure, and to talk to them about any questions they have.

After the presentation at Mandela, a young girl named Scovia came up to me to ask for advice. As she explained her situation in Ugandan English, which is nothing like American English, I pieced together that she was in a sexual relationship with a boy from home. She said she knew she needed to stop, but she was afraid that he would pressure and force her if she tried to end the relationship. Completely at a loss, I told her to be up front with the boy and tell him she wanted to end that part of their relationship. If he refused, she should talk to someone at home to try to help her. Of course, she was worried that her mother would be angry with her, but I tried to encourage her that if her mother knew she wanted to end the relationship, she would try to help her. (And all the time, I’m praying that I’m telling her the right thing… talk about on-the-job training!)

We went back to Mandela a couple of weeks ago for our small group, and Scovia came. (It was the first time I had seen her since that first day.) Before the group started, she came over to me and told me that when she went home, she talked to the boy and told him she didn’t want to be involved any longer. She was also honest with her mother, and her mother was encouraging and helping her! Praise the Lord! In the times that we’ve been at Mandela since then, Scovia has been in the forefront, and is being open about her decision to follow God’s plan for purity and to try to live as a Godly young woman. She is one of the leaders in her class, and she and her friends are part of the core group of young women we work with on campus.

Please pray for Scovia, that she will continue to pursue purity and become a young woman who chases after God.

Ruth

I believe that names are important. I believe that a name carries significance, both in the meaning of the name, and the people who have carried that name in the past. Maybe my life would have taken the course it has no matter what my name was, but this morning God put a spotlight on some things that I think are very interesting.

My middle name is Ruth. I’m named after my grandmother, who very well may be the Godliest woman I’ve ever met. I consider it an honor to bear her name. And you could probably guess that I’ve always loved the book of Ruth in the Bible. Like most women, I have always seen it as an amazing story of love, friendship, honor, and, above all, God’s providence. When I was in high school and college, I discovered the book, Lady in Waiting, which pointed to Boaz’s pursuit of Ruth as the ideal in courtship. I was even more enthralled by the romance of the story. (Although I was later told that guys in college hated to hear that their girlfriends were reading the book-- were there unrealistic expectations, or simply too much pressure?!?) And, as a chronically single woman, I confess that I have been waiting for my Boaz—waiting patiently for whatever the Lord brings my way, if He sees fit, but still waiting. Don’t get me wrong- I’m not waiting for my life to start. I have definitely lived, and I’ve been trying to follow the Lord wherever He leads, doing whatever He asks. But deep down inside, I have also been waiting for my Ruth story to start.

What I didn’t realize is that I’m already in my story. As I reread the story of Ruth for the umpteen-hundredth time, it struck me that Ruth’s story didn’t start when she met Boaz. It started long before. Boaz wasn’t the first man Ruth loved. Before Boaz, there was Mahlon. Ruth loved Mahlon, and had planned for a life with him. He was her future. He was her hope. She looked at him and saw a man whose children she would bear, a man whose home she would keep, a man who she would grow old with. She had no idea that all those dreams for the future would fall apart.

When Mahlon died, Ruth’s plans for the future fell apart. Who was she? What would she do? Where would she go? She could have done anything. She could have stayed at home, could have continued where she was, could have mourned Mahlon forever. But she didn’t. She picked herself up, heard the Lord calling her to a new place, a foreign land, and she went. She looked to see where her opportunities were. She followed. She served. And she continued serving until God changed her future again.

I am Ruth. I loved a man. I planned a life with him. I chose names for our children. I had a future.  And I watched it all fall apart when his love for me and for the Lord died. I was broken. I was lost. And yet, I knew that God was faithful and His love for me was neverending. I committed, like Ruth, to simply follow Him. To be faithful and listen to where He was calling me. I left my home and moved to a foreign land. I have learned that God, and God alone, is my Hope and my Future. So it is in this foreign land that I serve my Holy God, my Hope, my Future.

I might not ever marry. I might not ever have children. As I was reading Hannah’s story in 1 Samuel this morning, God spoke to me in Elkanah’s words to Hannah: “Am I not better to you than ten sons?” (Or daughters? Or a wonderful husband?) And I had to say, “Yes, Lord, You are better. You are what I desire more than a husband, more than a family, more than a houseful of children. If I am single for the rest of my life, I will still love You. I will still serve You.”

Do I still long for my Boaz? Absolutely. I want my story to end the way Ruth’s does. But just as God was faithful to her and provided for her exactly what she needed at exactly the right time, He will be faithful to me. He already has been. My story is beautiful. And I can’t wait to read the Author’s next chapter.

Safari

Monday and Tuesday of this week, we took our volunteers to Murchison Falls National Park. We were looking forward to some quiet and much-needed days away from the craziness and ever-changing “routine” of life in Arua. My prayer as we left town was, “Lord, I want to glory in what You have made. Help me to love You more because of what I experience here.” And I have walked away praising Him, loving Him, and somehow changed by what I have seen.

I am in awe of my amazing Creator! Seeing the pictures in magazines and watching video clips on TV and YouTube give you a beginning idea of what it is like, but nothing could truly prepare me for this place. To ride for hours through the wilderness, straining your eyes for anything that could possibly be a lion. (I think God taught termites to build their mounds to look like lions, by the way!) To have a family of elephants join you at the hotel for dinner. To watch a baboon hang out on the hood of a car. To ride in a boat down the Nile River searching for hippos and crocs… and find more than you could ever hope to count! To realize that gazelles are unbelievably beautiful animals, and are even more so when they run. To spot paw prints in the sand that are 9 inches across. To drive up on two giraffes about to mate right next to the road. (Shyness and stage fright took over, sadly!) And to walk right up the Murchison Falls, where the entire Nile River channels into a waterfall only 7 meters wide… to see such amazing power and beauty and majesty, to feel the spray of this water on your face, to glimpse the rainbow of the Creator’s promise of protection, to know that the One who imagined all of this splendor is so much bigger, that what you have seen and can barely comprehend is but a tiny fraction of what He is truly capable of.

When God created Africa, in its innocent, wild, untouched form, He was showing off. I think the Trinity looked at each other and said something to the effect of, “What should We put here? Let’s see just how impressive We can be.” And the result is miles and miles of savannah, scrub trees, palms, oasis, and some of the coolest animals on the planet… just because they could! How could anyone think that all of this, this amazing symbiosis of plants and animals, insects and predators and grazers and scavengers all keeping each other in check, this glimpse into what our planet once looked like, how it was intended to be, this all happened by accident? I just can’t buy it. Not after walking where I’ve walked.

Fresh Produce

I have to say, I have eaten very well in Africa. While I’ve still eaten my fair share of beans, greens, rice, and chapattis, (as well as a good amount of stewed beef and goat), there’s been a pretty good share of pasta, peanut butter, chips (a.k.a. French fries), homemade pizza, and other, really yummy, really American food on my plate. I am NOT going hungry. (And I’m losing weight to boot! Go figure!)

The best part of food in Africa, though, is the amazing availability of fresh produce. There is a huge market in the middle of town where you can get just about anything you want. And I do mean ANYTHING. From beans to fish to posho (finely-ground corn flour…. it makes the creamiest grits you’ve ever eaten!) to fresh eggs (which don’t have to be refrigerated) to carrots to cucumbers to loose leaf tea to pineapple to chicken and goat that are still walking! There’s one downside, though. A white person walking through the market turns on dollar (or maybe shilling) signs in the vendors’ eyes. They think, “Oh, here’s a rich mundu who will pay me twice as much as a Lugbara would.” So we figured out pretty quickly that we’re usually better off sending a local to do most of our market shopping for us.

Panina is our produce lady. It’s really what she does for a living. She gets the list of what vegetables we need. Some things she grows herself, some things she barters for, or she might buy them outright from the market. She charges us a little more than she pays, but still much less than we would pay ourselves. Everyone wins. Panina came yesterday with my first order. (When you ask for certain items, she doesn’t ask what quantity you need for each thing- she just gets as much as she can at a reasonable price.) The vegetables she brought me were absolutely gorgeous, and would have cost at least $30 or $35 in a US supermarket. My shopping list included:
2 heads of Romaine lettuce
3 bags of carrots
1 bag of Roma tomatoes
3 enormous zucchini (at least 10 inches long, 3 inches in diameter!)
1 beautiful, fresh pineapple
4 heads of garlic
3 cucumbers
1 large bag of Irish potatoes

The grand total for my produce? A whopping $8.25. This happy girl is eating veggies!

I’ve said it before, and I will say it again. I LOVE the African economy!!!

Mandela Secondary School

Last week we went for our first small group time at Mandela Secondary School. The school system here in Uganda is totally different from what we’re used to in the States. Even publicly-supported schools are not free; all students must pay school fees before they can begin attending the 3 terms each year. The first term officially began about 3 weeks ago, but classes started last week and this week. (It takes a while for all the students to report, because they are trying to get their school fees together.) Even after students report, if their accounts are found to be short, they may be forced to leave until they can bring the full amount. (As a teacher who dealt with what I considered overly-transient students in the US, I can’t imagine trying to teach with such an unsettled classroom situation.) Students go on a month-long break in April and September, and another round of school fees is due when they return. Most schools are strictly for boarders, so some students live on campus from the time they are 12 or 13 years old, even though home may be close enough to walk to school each day; there are few secondary schools that accept day students in addition to the standard boarders.

We were pleasantly surprised by the large group of girls who joined us for our first True Love Waits small group; we had 34 girls who showed up. (No boys, though… I wonder if the thought of talking about sex with 2 white women was a little much for them.) They were very open and had lots of questions for us... “How can I find a good husband?” (If I only knew!!!) “How can I find good friends?” “How can I stay away from bad friends?” “How many boyfriends should we have?” … which opened up a great discussion on what the “purpose” of a boyfriend is in the first place. The girls were amazingly honest in saying that they wanted boyfriends so they wouldn’t feel lonely. I was able to share that another person, who is probably also lonely, will never be able to fill that emptiness—only Jesus can. And He wants to. He wants us to turn to Him when we are sad, or lonely, or wondering. He wants that kind of relationship with us, where we know we can depend on Him to fill the emptiness inside of us. I’m not sure they all “got me,” (Ugandan for “understood what I was saying”) but I did see some lightbulbs start to come on.

I’ve been on the Mandela campus several times now, and one thing keeps catching my attention… and making me laugh. All over campus, the administration has placed signs to “encourage” students to make wise choices. The signs are a good reminder of just how big a deal the AIDS crisis is here, and how it has to be addressed more openly and matter-of-factly than at home. But the signs, especially to a Westerner, are just funny. Seeing them plastered around a school campus, even when they are addressing a potentially deadly issue, just makes you laugh. Under your breath. To other Westerners.

Check out some of the signs we saw this week:
~ Respect and listen to your teachers and parents
~ Avoid HIV/AIDS- live up right
~ Remember condoms are not 100% safe
~ Avoid dark places
~ Remember life is precious and costly
~ Avoid early marriage
~ Don’t die young
~ Say no to sex
~ Say no to gifts for sex
~ Virginity is healthy

The Darkness

Tonight Kelli and I walked to Evan’s house to watch Friday Night Lights. Evan and Trevor (who’s in Dubai right now to see his sweetie… it’s a rough life!) live all of a five minutes’ walk from our house… no big deal. But the streets in between our houses are more like dirt paths that are big enough for vehicles… sometimes more than one at a time. They’re rutted and bumpy and rocky and not at all level. Suffice it to say that for this clumsy girl, walking the roads around my house is difficult enough in the daytime.

But we walked to Evan’s tonight in the dark. And when I say dark, I mean dark. There are no streetlights. Most houses in the neighborhood don’t have electricity. (And lately, even the ones that are wired to the power company don’t usually have electricity!) And the moon has been rising later this week, so when we walked over around 7:45 it was pretty stinkin’ dark. Dark enough to see stars. Bunches of them.

I’m not afraid of the dark. I’m not really even all that concerned about walking in the dark. I’ve gotten familiar enough with the roads around here that I figured I’d be fine in the dark. (And after 31 years of being a total klutz, I’ve gotten used to falling, so that’s not really a big deal, either.) And I knew that, after a few minutes, my eyes would adjust to the darkness and I’d see pretty well. But Kelli decided to bring along her flashlight.

During our five minute walk, it dawned on me that the little flashlight we had with us made the darkness seem, well, darker. I’m not saying that it wasn’t dark to begin with, because it was. But that little bit of light that we had made the darkness around us even more noticeable. And life is the same way.

We know that the world around us is dark. There’s no denying it. But we talk ourselves into going out without the Light, and gradually we get used to the darkness. It somehow doesn’t seem quite so dark. It’s not so bad anymore. And we wind up stumbling over some rut in the road or a broken brick that we couldn’t see… because the darkness around us lured us in. How critical it is that, as we go out into this dark world that we live in, we consciously take our Lamp and Light with us. Yes, He makes the darkness seem that much darker… because it is. The absolute absence of Light creates a vacuum that He illuminates. The closer I get to Him, the more I realize just how dark this world is. It breaks my heart to see people willingly living in that darkness when they could have the Light as well. Oh, how I wish they could understand just how wonderful the Light is!

And yes, I did stumble just a bit on the way to Evan’s. My butt didn’t hit the ground, though, so I don’t think it really counts.