“Look! Look! We’re growing MIRACLES!!”
So said my daughter the night we planted MARIGOLDS – not miracles – at her Girl Scout meeting.
It was exactly two weeks before my departure for Uganda, I was incredibly underfunded and overwhelmed…and God spoke to me through the eyes of my little girl.
I’m in the miracle-growing business, my child. Trust Me, and you’ll see. I can grow miracles in other places than a terra-cotta pot on your back porch. I can grow miracles in your life. All you have to do is believe that I can.
Thus began this incredible journey – dare I say miraculous journey – of faith. And each day I’m here, my eyes are open and my mind is curious: what will today’s
“miracle” be?
The day began in its usual, not-so-miraculous way: Mr. Alpha Rooster with his 3 AM wake-up call, Tiger mourning pathetically for his freedom, and the joyous sounds of exuberant worship at 6 AM.
Okay, so I didn’t really make it to worship at 6AM, but Trace did. I enjoyed the sounds from my comfortable perch atop a bunk bed in our mud hut. After a fitful night’s sleep, I enjoyed the opportunity to catch a few more winks before acknowledging the new day.
After our morning breakfast of french toast, bananas, and coffee or tea, we had our team devotions. I had requested to bring the devotions early in our trip, so here was my opportunity. I had printed out pictures of Crisana’s “miracles” to bring and put in our journals, to encourage us to keep our eyes and ears open to the miracles God would work in and through us. My scripture focus was the following:
You did not choose Me, but I chose you. I appointed you that you should go out and produce fruit and that your fruit should remain, so that whatever you ask the Father in My name, He will give you. John 15:16, HCSB
I put those pictures in a safe place for travel, a place I’d be sure to have them handy when the time came to share my devotional, a place I could find them easily. And of course, I couldn’t find them. *sigh* So my awesome devotional became reduced to merely “great”. God finds new and creative ways to keep me humble, that’s for sure.
We now had the opportunity – and the go-ahead – to assist the house mothers with their morning chores. Elizabeth and I headed up together to see where we might be needed. We stopped to greet Catherine at Mercy House and offered to help cook, or wash dishes, or whatever. “Already finished,” she said, though we could see she was hard at work cooking breakfast. “Tomorrow,” she assured us with a smile.
We moved on to the next house we came to – Kindness House – where Grace and Consy, the house mothers, were more than eager to teach these muzungas some real skills. We began with mopping, African style. No string mops with handles, no wringing buckets, no sponge roller mops and sinks filled with pine sol. No, you begin with sweeping – with a broom made of long grasses tied together with string and no handle.
Then, once the floors are all swept – and mind you, the ENTIRE house has concrete floors, inside and out – you begin mopping. Using a towel. And two basins: one with soapy water and one with “clean” water. By the time you are finished, it’s anyone’s guess as to which basin is which.
We started in the bedrooms and hall, where Kristie joined us for our African housecleaning lesson.
We started in the back bedroom and worked our way down the hall, mopping the bedrooms as we went. And then, in one of the bedrooms, I discovered this:
Rachel and Mary, 4- and 5-year-old cousins, the daughters of Consy and Grace, and the two biggest highlights of my visit. Just right for me to play with. So I did, for a few minutes. We played hide-and-seek under the mosquito netting, and then I joined them for a little “sleepover”.
But truly, there was work to be done, so back it was to mopping. After we finished the hall and bedrooms, it was on to the sitting room and kitchen. And then, much to my surprise – and the dismay of my hamstrings – outside.
Here I am in the kitchen, just getting ready to start on the “porch”…of course it’s wraparound…
And here I go. I imagine these women have elastic hamstrings. No wonder their bodies are so long and beautiful.
The house mothers from Victory and Courage joined Grace and Consy for a watching party. Apparently, watching the muzungas mop is must-see entertainment. There were great cheers all around when we finally finished. A one-person job that takes them about 30 minutes took 3 of us nearly an hour to complete. But you would have thought we’d won the gold medal. They were so proud and required that we take a picture to celebrate our accomplishment.
Consy returned to her job cooking breakfast.
Yes, you heard that correctly. They’ve been up since 6AM, worked outside in the schoolyard, done chores, and had 3 hours of school…all before breakfast. Made me change my tune about hankering for a mid-morning coffee break. Especially since I don’t even like coffee.
Breakfast is a simple affair of hot porridge. It is served in cups with a spoon and a bowl. The trick is to pour some into the bowl to allow it to cool faster. I sat and visited with the girls while they ate.
Grace offered us a taste of the porridge and produced FULL, steaming mugs of the hot cereal. Sweet and creamy, with the texture and taste of Cream of Wheat, it was delicious, but really too much for us to finish. We ended up throwing most of it away and hoping no one would be offended.
We stayed to help wash the dishes while the girls returned to school.
No one else had any chores for us so we relaxed under a shade tree for a bit. Catherine arrived with a bowl full of onions for Trace to chop. Nighty showed her how to use this massive knife to slice the tiny onions just so to flavor the beans. We all supervised in fascination as Trace completed her task.
By the time she finished, it was time for our lunch. We enjoyed a full spread of posho (much like a dumpling, made with flour & water; looks deceptively like mashed potatoes but tastes an awful lot like glue), rice, beans, cabbage (YIPPEE!!), and pineapple. From Rose’s influence, I am learning how to “sauce” the posho with bean gravy and stew to flavor it up and make it edible. While not exactly South-Beach friendly, this menu provides the basics of complex carbs, protein and even a little fiber that the children and staff need to keep their bodies going in a demanding environment.
I felt prompted to take the initiative to serve the kitchen staff by washing our dishes after each meal. These women work tirelessly all day in a HOT hut over a wood fire, making enough food to serve a small army, and are left with massive clean-up three times a day. Even if all I did was wash the dishes for our team and a few of the workers, I figured, it might ease their burden some. So I started today. Kristie joined me and we enjoyed some nice conversations over the nasty grey water, which helped keep me from thinking too hard about the gross factor.
Friday afternoons provide the opportunity for a school-wide assembly. We had been invited to attend as special guests.
The children file into the multi-purpose building (called “church” on Sundays) and sit on the floor. All 200 of them.
The teachers sit in front and even bring papers to grade! A teacher’s work is never done.
The children received praise from the teachers on their conduct and effort over the past week. One child per class was honored for being an outstanding student and received a special prize which each of us had the opportunity to present. We taught the children our VBS song and presented them with our salvation bracelets and re-introduced ourselves. I’ve started going by “Deborah” here at the village; “Debbi” seems difficult for them to say, and they are already familiar with Biblical names, so “Deborah” it is. I like the way it sounds when they say it. I like having a special name for them to use.
After assembly, the older children headed back to school and chores, so we had the opportunity to play with the P1/P2 children for a bit. We batted around a volleyball until the group grew too large to manage.
While we were playing, we noticed a change brewing. The wind picked up. The sunshine dimmed. The air grew cooler. The children were outside the school, preparing for the return of Papa Mike and Mama Janelle. The van was close! But before it could arrive, we found ourselves caught in an African rainstorm – a torrential downpour that appeared almost out of nowhere.
You know it’s bad when even the chickens take shelter. The children scrambled to find a dry spot anywhere they could. Some ended up under the eaves of our hut.
Others found refuge in our dining area. And like all kids, enjoyed drinking the runoff from the roof or sticking their hands and feet into the cool, refreshing water.
After a good 30-45 minutes, the rain stopped as abruptly as it had started. The skies cleared and the sun shone brightly once again. Careenna and a few friends took the opportunity to kiss the rain as it bid farewell.
The children once again lined the entrance to the village and within minutes the van pulled up, carrying Papa Mike, Mama Janelle, their daughter Jenna, and three of her cousins from South Dakota & Canada, here to spend their summer break. I don’t know who was happier to see them, the children, the staff, or Princess Pepper the dog.
Just to clarify, the sign says, “Welcome Back Home, Mike AND Crew” with the Acholi phrase loosely translated “You are welcome” underneath. Mike and Janelle have a stepping stone engraved with that same sentiment outside the entrance to their hut. The love and respect these people have for Mike and Janelle is amazing. The impact of what they are doing is not lost on a single person, and it shows. He knows these children by name, he upholds the highest standards of integrity and workmanship among his “guys”, and in return he is given their love, admiration, and devotion.
There was some time before dinner, which allowed me to spend some time with the girls at Love House. Of course, that meant lots of pictures. First, inside the house.
And then, outside the house, in the garden that grows just beyond the front porch.
And then beside their house.
And then back inside, where I could get my hair braided. No, you’re NOT seeing an “after” picture.
Because of the rain, our scheduled movie night was cancelled. We ate dinner beside a very smoky campfire thanks to the saturated wood. Jenna and most of her cousins headed straight to bed after 3 days of traveling, but one cousin, Kayla, joined us for dinner. She is young – just finishing her senior year of college – so she fit right in to the dynamic of this group.
The children ended up going to prep while we finished dinner. Those of us who had been invited for sleepovers walked down during worship to meet up with our buddies. Franka joined me and we walked hand-in-hand back to the hut where she patiently waited for me to change into sleeping clothes and grab my pillow. She “helped” me by carrying that heavy pillow all the way back to her hut. I went into her room and next thing you know, she hands me a mango with the instructions, “Here. You eat.”
Yippee. For various reasons, mangoes rank right up there on my list of all-time nauseating foods with haggus, lima beans, liver and onions, and guava.
Despite my protests and offers to share, Franka kept repeating, “No. For you. You eat. More. All.”
Ugh.
What part of I can’t or I will throw up all over you is an acceptable answer? So with lots of prayer and remembering Phil. 4:13, I dove in. I can’t say I ate all of it, and I probably didn’t eat enough to satisfy, but I gave it my best try and even ended up with a few stringy souvenirs in my teeth for days afterward.
The fun continued as Franka then brought me a dish of simpson paste. Thankfully, I’d had a bite the night before so I knew what to expect. Though it looks an awful lot like baby poo, it has the texture of peanut butter with a taste of sesame. You eat it with your finger, and I was expected to eat a WHOLE BOWL of the stuff.
As you can tell, I’m thrilled by the prospect. Notice how Franka is holding the bowl close so I can’t wiggle out of this.
Yummy bedtime snack. And LOTS of it. Somehow I managed to convince Franka that she needed to help me eat it, though she continually protested that I wasn’t eating enough. And I continually dredged my finger through the gooey mess and stuck it in my mouth to prove that yes, in fact, I WAS eating enough.
Thankfully, mercifully the bowl was finally empty. Girls started collapsing onto their beds, falling sound asleep despite the noise and activity all around them. Then the girls got the idea that I should dance with them so we went out into the sitting room where they proceeded to show me their acholi moves and Trace and I taught them the Cupid Shuffle. We tried to teach them the Electric Slide but they said it was “too hard.” As if!
Soon, more and more girls were drifting off to their beds. Franka and I went back to her bedroom and crawled into her little bunk. I was asking questions of the girls around me, and they wanted to hear stories of life in America. Franka lay down and asked, “Do you want to go to sleep?”
Not sure what the polite answer would be, I said, “Sure.”
“Then you stop talking!” She replied.
Good point, Franka. And, apparently, good night.