We only know our lives, our culture, and our world, until we experience another. Perspective is so crucial to understanding and empathizing with others. To know their needs. To pray for them and with them. To come alongside the body of Christ and truly be one. So I want to paint the picture. I want to give you a little insight into the lives of the people and into what we got to be a part of while we were in Uganda specifically.
We spent two weeks in Uganda at a trade school, which is run by a powerful woman of God named Olive. There are about 15-18 students ages 15 to mid-twenties who live at the school and a dozen or so more that come to classes. The school offers four courses, automotive, electrical, cosmetology, and fashion design, where they tailor and make clothes. Not only does Olive want to provide a way for the students to learn skills, she wants to disciple them. So throughout the day are times of teaching and being together in the Bible. Olive loves God and loves these students well.
In the culture, the people are never in a hurry. The majority of people, about 70%, live in villages. These are rough places, with dirt roads and huge potholes. Transportation looks like walking or getting a little motorcycle taxi ride. Many people live in small dirt huts, have no running water or electricity, and have their “bathrooms” as pit latrines somewhere outside near their houses. Many people are extremely poor and have a survival garden, meaning it’s simply so they can eat food. Corn is a major crop and is used in their staple food, ugali, a bland cornmeal water mixture. Life happens outside the homes. Washing clothes is an outside task; cooking, playing, etc, all happen outside. Many times, the homes are broken. There are a lot of single-parent houses with multiple children.
But the people are so welcoming. They will invite you in and give you what little food or tea they have, giving up their only stool to their guests. They are honoring and respectful, with vibrance in their lives. The praise is truly beautiful. Here, in America, we mostly play worship music. There they truly praise, with music and clapping and often a dance team. It is beautiful and fun and full.
Let me take you on a day with us. It’s a Tuesday in Uganda. You wake up at 7 am and look out of the top bunk. Someone in your room has the door open so they can see in and through the open door, you see the sun cresting the hill with tea growing and the sun rays cascade over the sugar cane plantation and bathe the banana trees with light. You climb down the ladder and throw your skirt over your sleeping shorts, grab your toiletries, and walk a few minutes to the one bathroom you all share. But hey, at least it’s a toilet with running water in the sink and shower, even if it is always freezing. You get ready for the day and walk back, noticing the sugar cane workers noisily going about their tasks in one of the many sugar cane fields. They'll work today and get paid $1.50. This field is just one of many that cover the beautiful red dirt of Uganda. Some foreign people bought up the land and turned it into sugar cane plantations. Since the people are poor and mostly uneducated, there are not many other job options outside of working the sugar cane or tea fields. Though I did meet one 9-year-old boy who dug holes for banana trees to make money.
You sit on the sidewalk and open your journal, thank the Lord for another day, open your Bible, and read. Then it’s time for Devo at 8 am. All the mzungu- white people - and the students that board at the school gather around. Everyone sits on mats that have been rolled out, the girls are mainly wearing skirts, as is the cultural norm. Someone is the facilitator and chooses how to start the time. You listen to a few worship songs on someone’s speaker and then pray. Someone reads and teaches a little lesson, then the floor is open to anyone who has something to share. Something that God is teaching them. Occasionally, people get called out and put on the spot. This encourages each person to be diligent with reading their Bible and seeking the Lord. You end around 9 am and stay hanging out, the students go to class. The mzungus are fed a breakfast that varies but mainly is eggs and avocado, often fresh pineapple or mango, and possibly if you are lucky, chapati.
Then, it's time for the day, it’s 10:30 or 11 and you are hanging around the school building. Tomorrow, you will go to the primary school for the day to teach and love on the kiddos. But today, you are staying. You walk to the cosmetology class. The girls are busy plaiting hair and joking about doing yours. They are eager for love, for attention. You know some of their stories.
One of them knows the Lord and her parents came to know Christ about 4 months ago. Her brother is a witch doctor and has two wives. You are praying for her and their family. One of the girls just got there. She is 15 and quiet. You learn she used to be scared of white people. Your heart aches for her. She is so young and is so far from her family. She lives at the trade school, but you know she must feel so lonely and frightened. You hold her hand and smile. Sometimes that’s all you can do.
After spending time in their class, you walk next door to the fashion design girls. They are busy sowing school uniforms for the kids in primary and singing praise songs. You see them each. Their lives, their backstories, their scars - the physical ones, marring their bodies and being a reminder of their pain but also the joy in their lives now, and the ones of the heart. They are so strong and so bright for having such hard lives and being so young. You can learn a lot from them. You leave their class and walk to the office to sit on the ground and have lunch.
We mainly eat the same things, posho or ugali, beans, g-nuts, sometimes fish, steamed plantain, sweet potato, yams, and rarely chicken or beef. The food is nothing like you are used to. It's all grown from the earth and cooked and eaten daily. They don't have refrigeration. Every day you are blown away by something. You are constantly reminded by the children in ragged clothes that walk to get water, that your life is easy. They are so strong from carrying jugs from the well, their multiple siblings, and the weight of the world on their shoulders. You want to scoop them all up look them in the eyes and tell them they are so loved. You want to let them be children, laughing and singing and dancing, carefree and lively. And so you do. Any chance you get, you give them a hug. You squeeze them. You dance and sing and teach them that it's okay. Some open up quickly, beaming with bright white smiles on their ebony skin. Some are more shy, needing more encouragement and more love to be shown that they are truly precious.
At 4 pm, all the students and mzungus have fellowship, gathering together for a time of worship and the Word. Someone teaches and it's basically like a church service. It's beautiful that nearly every day there is an option to be in the Word of God together. You end the night with dinner and wind down. The days start early and go long. One night you stay up and share testimonies. As you lay in your bed, with a pillow and blanket, you think of the kids that don't have, the jajas (elderly people) like Kolola that are laying on a thin mat. You are torn between the thankfulness of abundance and the sadness of their lack. So you give it to God. Every day, every hour, every minute, you give it to God. You give it to God so you don't burst into tears. You give it to God so you don't explode in anger. You give it to God because He cares. He is still holding them in His arms. His thoughts for them still outnumber the grains of sand. He still loves them. And He is bringing them hope through His Word. Through the trade school, through the primary school. Through Olive. And thankfully through you too.
And then it's time for you to come back. To come back to the US and try to live. To be driving and remember the children, tattered and tired, so seeking love, that you used to wave to. To be at church and hear in your mind the joy and praise of people that know what it is to be rescued and saved by Christ. To hug your grandma and feel the skin and bones of the jajas, who have lived long, hard lives. And so you keep praying. And you keep believing that God is working miracles. You've seen them. This is why we share. This is why we go. Because despite the hopelessness and the darkness that comes against the people of this world, despite the poverty and hunger, God is redeeming His people. He is filling them with unexplainable joy and endurance. He is moving. And so we all are too.
Shalom from the Gospel Coffee Crew
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