Uganda after Lira trip

Friends and Family,

Hope this email finds you all doing well. The past week I have been thinking about many of you as the days have gone by quickly. I wonder what all I have missed and how in the world I’m going to go about the task of sharing or even processing this grand adventure. My nights have become restless over the last week or so because of the expectation of the arrival of Audrey on Friday and the time I’ve spent pondering the questions above. The last time I wrote was over a week and a half ago. There is much to tell so I will stop jabbering and go on with the stories.

We pick up with the “tale of the crocodile.” On Thursday, week before last, we received a call that one of the villagers that works for Tim and Colleen had been eaten the night before. The story went on and we found out that after fishing in the evening the man went down to clean off a bit before going home. He went down to the water’s edge and was taken by this troublesome croc who had already been building its reputation. Tim, Moses, and I pilled in the van and drove 3 1/2 hours to the piece of land that is referred to as “the peninsula.” We carried a coffin and some other things for the family down the road that had been severely washed away. Actually we couldn’t even make it down part of the road and had to walk a spell after getting stuck a few times already. When we reached the water’s edge we were surprised to see the croc just chilling only a few hundred yards from where the man was taken. All of us, feeling the adrenaline pumping crept closer to the shore for a closer look. After it had submerged we all froze as we peered across the lake. Then about 40 ft away the croc came up and splashed its tail, making it very known it wasn’t intimidated by us. It was a large croc which added even more excitement to our “crocodile hunter” experience. (moment of silence for our good friend Steve Erwin)……….. Nothing could been done about the croc, especially by two foreigners, because crocs are no longer legal to hunt. This being stressed by the villagers traveling with us, we hiked back up to the van after surveying the land only to spend 3 hours trying to get our van back up to the main road. A group of onlookers quickly gathered and began to share their input as we jacked the van up placed rocks underneath and of course play with the children . It made our 3 1/2 hour trip extend to about 6 1/2 hours before it was all said and done. Quite an adventure!

The next morning I packed my bags and headed for the bus station. Lira, in northern Uganda, was my destination. This is the area that was most affected by the LRA and insurgency that was taking place only 5 years ago. The plan was that I was to meet up with Rev. Martin in the north and stay with him and his family in Lira for a week. Traveling around to different places meeting the youth, sharing, teaching, visiting schools, and doing home visits. I met Stella (Martin’s daughter) at the bus station and we traveled together the 7 hours across some of the worst roads I had been on thus far. We were in a full size bus that looked like it had taken one to many trips down this road. I was the only Muzungoo on this bus and I quickly learned that in the north were Louo is spoken, “white person” is actually the word Muno. The bus ride alone was quite an adventure as we swayed this way and that while trying to avoid pot holes, people, and other traffic. Every time we stopped people would run from their roadside shops to lift fruit, water, roasted meat, cassava (kind of like potatoes), and a wide variety of other things to the window, hoping to make their money for the day. I ventured to try some meat on a stick which I’m sure wasn’t the best idea, but it looked well enough cooked (probably too much). It was quite tasty though.

Anyway I spent a week in Lira meeting wonderful people, hearing stories of so many who had been displaced because of the war, hanging out with Myla who is a Candian missionary, wondering around the town, and playing with the children! The first full day I was there I played soccer on a concrete courtyard with two of my immediate friends (my age) and ended up burning my feet. The whole week, and actually up until tonight the bottom of my feet have been tender and full of blisters. I was very grateful that they remained closed and painless as most of our transportation in Lira was by foot. Immediately I learned a path to town, a path to church, and a few of my friends numbers in case I got lost . After preaching on Sunday and playing a little soccer that evening we headed to a village on Monday for a special time of sharing and singing. We drove 2 1/2 hours into the bush with a truck full of people to Aloy. We shared with the people, listened to their awesome music, heard their stories, shared a meal, told the children stories, played with them, and then I was taught how to play the udungoo. It is essentially a hard made with raw materials and a few structural modifications. I guess the best way to describe it is a mix b/t a guitar, drum, and harp. They come in all shapes and sizes and sing beautifully together when played in unison. Before I left Lira Rev. Martin bought me my very own Udungoo, a smaller one of course. All the Ugandans are completely shocked when they see me carrying one around and kind of mock and jeer until they challenge me to play it. Their mockery turns to amazement when they hear the one song I know how to play. Then they usually say something to the effect of, “I’ve never seen a white person play one of those.” It is an instrument that is used widely in the village and is sadly on the decline in city churches as keyboards usher in a new era for church worship. You think worship wars are only in your church? Only in your state? Only in your country? Continent? Nope it reaches the whole world as we try to find the balance between the sacred and secular. As we ask questions about what’s important and what the outcome of submission will do.

This short summary doesn’t do my trip to the village or Lira justice, but I guess it will have to do for now. I guess my favorite part about the week was spending time with the family who were so warm and welcoming, and spending some time at Hoffman Primary school. The school is on the grounds of one of the churches there and is filled with nearly 400 students all under P6 (system is a little different). The whole campus seemed to be interested in some strange white guy (me) the two days I was privileged to visit. I messed with them by throwing my Frisbee while 50 children chased it to possible be able to run it back to me. Finally by the end of the day they were beginning to throw it back… quite funny. Some of the children would laugh, some would cry, and some would just stand there. These children have forever found a way into my heart as their innocent smiles seem to never get enough exercise. I want to pick every single one of them up and just hold them in my arms to share with them God’s love and favor toward them. “Let the children come to me” -Jesus This just kept coming to mind as I watched throughout the week all that these children had to deal with. Many of the young ones had to watch even younger ones, some were abandoned street children, many couldn’t afford school fees, some were sick, some were even beaten, and all of them are precious in God’s eyes. I’ll never forget the look in the eyes of each child as we played together. The week went quickly and left a lasting impression as I climbed back on the bus to head back to Kampala by my self. It was 6am and Rev. Martin hooked me up with the bus conductor who was supposed to take me to Kampala. Just after Rev. Martin left the conductor approached me and told me that I was actually going to travel on this other bus. I surveyed the move quickly and looked carefully to see if the other bus was going to Kampala, knowing that I could be in for quite a time. It was labeled Kampala, and so I grabbed my things and climbed unto the second bus. Once traversing the last step I looked around to see once again that I was the only Mouno in the sea of faces that was before me in this crowded bus. It was as though I was in the bus scene from Forest Gump as I proceeded down the aisle. “Seat Taken” I heard glaring eyes say to me as I passed row after row heading to the back of the bus. Finally after stepping over a few people and turning every head in the bus, I reached my seat. It was the very last row, the very middle seat… I sat optimistic kind of laughing about the whole ordeal as people were everywhere packed into every nook and cranny. We began down the dark road as the guy net to me said “I know you.” I turned to see a guy that I have never seen before, wondering what would come next from his mouth. He explained that he was actually one of the chefs from the restaurant a few of us Short Assignment Missionaries had gone to eat at one night. He introduced himself again and I complemented him on the meal. About 30 minutes into the journey we ran across the rain that quickly disrupted what little rest I thought I was going to get. Before I knew it there were people scrambling as some of the windows revealed that they weren’t exactly waterproof. It was an interesting journey as the bus again swayed from one side to the other. On this return trip I found myself being catapulted time and time again from the strangely placed Ugandan speed bumps. I spent some time talking to my new friend, surveying everyone I could, listening to music, praying a lot for safety, and I even got a chance to “pee-pee bush.” (A skill I learned in Virginia when I was a child– encouraged by my mom and her family ) We reached Kampala after 7 hours and got stuck in a major traffic tie up as the rain had caused all kinds of problems. The bus began to empty little by little while we moved 4 blocks in an hour. They off-loaded every one else and I found myself being guided through the crowded muddy streets by an older Ugandan Angel who only had 6 teeth. She walked me about 6 blocks to meet up with some of my friends to catch a boda back to Kasubi to meet up with Colleen. Needless to say it was quite an exhausting day. I was so happy to be back to a familiar place with familiar people as life, even those few hours north was so much different.

It was a great experience and I met so many great people, but coming back to Kasubi just felt like a homecoming as many hugs were exchanged and I was able to show and tell a bit about the journey. Okay… wow…. I forgot how intense some of these experiences were. I think I’ll stop there for now. In the story it is Friday Feb 8th and I’ve made it back to Kampala. All is still just dandy here. I have really appreciated the emails that I’ve received this week. They have given me the encouragement and taste of friends and home that I need to push through these next few days before Audrey arrives. There is more to come about this week’s activities and the journey that preceeds us as we prepare to go to Rwanda next week. Grace and Peace

Love God love people,

Joshua Weiger Proverbs 3:5,6

Ps– some pictures are attached