Meet Kirit

Kirit is a key person in our Ugandan lifestyle. He’s calm, efficient, knowledgeable and very reliable, and we’ve been depending on him for most of the time we’ve been in Uganda. The only problem is that Kirit is based in Kampala, and so on occasions we’ve had to find Aruan substitutes. Fedele and Enoch have filled that role in Kuluva, but there are some things that even they can’t do, and so we have to make an appointment with Kirit. For example, Fedele was excellent when it came to shock absorbers, but as far as the on-board computer was concerned neither Fedele nor Enoch could handle it.

Kirit (he's the one on the right) is our car mechanic/advisor. He gave our Land Cruiser the once-over before we bought it, and has done a service on it every time we’ve visited Kampala. We got his name from an AIM contact, and he’s been great – a God-send.

For some time before travelling to Kampala to collect Jo from Entebbe in April, the car had been misbehaving badly. It’s an automatic (not what we’d normally choose), but in Kampala traffic it’s ideal. But the gears had started changing somewhat idiosyncratically. The problem had begun on a trip back from Kampala on a very hot day when the car was packed with goods and people. For two months we nursed the poor beast about the place, not knowing whether it would survive. Both Enoch and Fedele shook their heads sagely, rather in the manner of a doctor with bad news to deliver. Ringing Kirit though, gave birth to some small rays of hope. “Bring her in when you’re in Kampala. But treat her gently on the way”, he advised. So, a short while later when we travelled to Kampala to meet Jo, we travelled gently – not the way Anne normally drives(!!) – Ouch!

We took the car straight to Kirit who diagnosed a computer fault and assured us that it should be easy to fix. Later that day, sure enough, the problem was solved. It had been the computer, and we felt confident driving to Entebbe a couple of days later for our rendezvous with Jo.

The same day we collected Jo, in the late afternoon (rush hour), we decided to go out for a meal. Travelling down a busy dual carriageway in Kampala, we hit a bit of a traffic jam, slowed down – and the engine died. Try as we might, the engine simply wouldn’t start again. The rest of the traffic moved – except us, and the traffic queued up behind us. But Ugandans are very forgiving people, not a single car horn was heard. Fortunately, where we had stopped the road went slightly downhill. We freewheeled a few hundred yards down the hill – struggling with the power steering which wasn’t, and finally having to stand on the power brakes which weren’t – and managed to steer into a sort of lay-by.

It was 6.05 pm. Five minutes after Kirit’s garage usually closed. We tried his number and held our breath – and much to our relief and delight he answered. Yes he was still there and would send out a low-loader to collect us. Fifteen minutes later we spotted the low-loader and enjoyed watching it having to manoeuvre the wrong way through voluminous traffic before reaching us to start the painstaking process of hauling us up on the vehicle. Sadly we had no camera to take pictures of either the process or the entertainment our predicament provided for passers-by!

We travelled to Kirit’s garage in the car on the back of the low-loader. It was a little like a royal progress, and many people waved as we passed. Kirit waited until we arrived. He couldn’t understand what was wrong, but promised to discover the problem and sort it for us.

The following lunchtime he rang. Problem solved. It was the fuel pump. Everything was now in order. We returned the car he'd kindly let us borrow (dodgy brakes, but otherwise functional), and collected ours. He felt so sorry for us he only charged for the pump – no labour. Since then our fuel consumption has reduced by about 20%. What a man!

We’re now returning to the UK for a month and giving the car a rest. It’s unlikely that we’ll post another blog until mid-August, but hope you’ll be patient. To all, thanks for being interested in what we’re doing. To those who pray – it works!

Three Days at Moyo

Early morning at the archdeacon’s compound in Moyo was a magical experience. The peace was palpable. Never mind that there was no electricity, no running water, no tasty food for a western palate. Never mind that we had gone to bed the night before with a headache from the day’s driving on terrible roads and the dehydration of a day spent in the heat. Never mind the rock-like pillows and the need to venture out under the stars (with who knows how many beasties lying in wait) when, despite the dehydration, the need to empty the bladder became irresistible. Stepping out of our grass thatched guest room at 7am and into the morning air was a tonic that lasted all day.

Moyo is in the north eastern corner of the Diocese, 180km from Arua along roads that hardly deserve the name. At one point on the journey we got stuck in cloying mud and were dug out by two local farmers who, barefoot and armed only with hoes, cheerfully rescued us by digging away the mud around the wheels and laying down straw to provide some friction. They were delighted with the UGX1000 (about 30p) we gave them each for their trouble, but they would have done it anyway. For several onlookers we provided the entertainment of the day. But the last few kilometres of the journey reward the persistent traveller with views of rocky mountains and green valleys that in any other country would be a hub of the tourist industry. Here are no tourists, but many humble families living in simple huts growing maize, peanuts, mangoes, cassava, keeping goats and chickens, and bringing up their children as best they can.

We were there to visit Church of Uganda health centres and Archdeaconry Training Centres for pastors and lay readers. Allan had brought along some copies of the ‘Africa Bible Commentary’ donated by supporting churches in UK to hand over to representatives from two of the archdeaconries. Anne was making a first visit to the two remotest health centres in the Diocese. We met with church leaders and health workers who spend their lives in this place with almost no resources to work with. Buildings are basic and sometimes crumbling, equipment is minimal and often not functioning, communication is (to western ideas) impossibly slow and uncertain. Mobile phones are a godsend, when you can afford the airtime. The archdeacon himself lives in a house that might pass for a barn in England, but which was amazingly welcoming. We sat up till past 11pm one night (we are usually tucked up before 10) discussing the nature of evil spirits and related theology with the archdeacon and several local pastors by the light of a solar powered lamp and sitting on chairs that left you with the impression of the slats they were made from on your nether regions. But no matter – who needs comfortable chairs and TV? This was much more stimulating!

Three full days during which we drove 500km and were able to do such a rich diversity of things. We visited a bee project in Yumbe and a luxurious fishing lodge in the middle of nowhere (where we were able to make the most of the western loo it offered!) We crossed the Nile on a ferry that looked ready for the scrap heap and bought a huge, freshly caught catfish which had to be transported back in our vehicle complete with smells, to be eaten that evening. On one journey, dried prunes accompanied by digestive biscuits and water became a surprisingly delicious feast when other food seemed unlikely to materialise. We held impromptu teaching sessions under a tree and in a church, and we prayed with our Ugandan colleagues on every conceivable occasion - at mealtimes, on meeting people, on saying goodbye to people (and in between), on beginning the day and before retiring to bed.

After such a trip we returned to our (seemingly) luxurious home here in Arua feeling amazingly refreshed and encouraged, still with many questions, but more aware of God’s goodness, care and calling than for many weeks.

A Visit from Dr Jo

We had been looking forward to the visit of our daughter, Jo, for some time. We’d not seen her since we left the UK in August, so it was going to be a great reunion. But we also wanted to celebrate her success in her medical finals. In fact, apart from coming to Uganda for 7 weeks to visit her APs (Aged Parents), she was also coming for her medical elective at Hospice Uganda in Kampala, followed by a visit to our home in Kuluva, and to Kuluva Hospital.

It was great to see Jo’s flight land at Entebbe Airport and to greet her in Arrivals. We met her with our welcome notice – ‘Parentius’ Travel Services (a subsidiary of Famile Enterprises) welcome Dr Jo Lacey’. It looked fine and very professional beside all the other hotel and taxi welcome notice-holders. They looked at us slightly warily, wondering perhaps whether Parentius’ Travel Services represented a threat to their continuing business.

A few months earlier, Anne and I had spent a wonderful, peaceful and unwinding couple of days at the Kingfisher Safari Lodge in Jinja, near the Source of the Nile. So we had planned a similar relaxing weekend there at the start of Jo’s visit to us.

As we drove the 80 km from Kampala to Jinja we felt our spirits lightening. It was going to be a good weekend we knew, and certainly Anne and I needed a break. Arriving thus, full of expectation, we discovered to our horror that the Lodge had, to all intents and purposes, been taken over by the Kampala International Church for a Parish Weekend, replete with oodles of children who filled the swimming pool and watched noisy videos late into the evening.

The weekend became a prelude (in the Wagnerian sense) to the next seven weeks as poor Jo witnessed some of her parents’ anxieties and frustrations, and was given the opportunity to practice her counselling skills on them!

Jo had, in any case arrived at a slightly difficult time for us (ref. “Be Prepared for Culture Shock” blog), although we did feel we were now emerging from the truly low point. But whether Jo’s arrival simply reminded us of the life we had left behind (CMS do say that it is inadvisable to have visitors from home in the first year), or we had been overly optimistic in our earlier self-assessment we do not know.

During Jo’s four weeks in Kampala which she enjoyed immensely, Anne and I back in the north, were experiencing increasing frustrations. Most of all, since it transpired that Ringili had no theology students in the new semester, I had no students for the Hermeneutics Module I had been spending long hours re-writing. I wasn’t aware of this until the morning teaching was to begin, and even then nobody at Ringili was able to confirm whether anyone had registered or not. To say I wasn’t happy would be an understatement of cosmic proportions! Anne, too, was experiencing significant stresses and strains at the School of Nursing. These particular events coincided with Jo’s arrival in Kuluva.

In fact, Jo had a really good time at Kuluva Hospital, and was warmly welcomed. She was able to assist in the Theatre, work in the Outpatients Department and in the Nutrition and Medical Wards. She even did some teaching for Anne’s nursing students. But one thing is certain, and that is that she now has no romantic illusions about what it means to work overseas as a Mission Partner.

Together we were able to work through many issues, and Jo proved an able catalyst, facilitator and counsellor in all of this. At the end we went to the Murchison Falls National Park and finally found the rest and refreshment we had been longing for, as well as something of the experience recounted in the later chapters of Job. The challenges remain, but things are moving on, and God remains faithful. Often we don’t understand what he is doing, but listening today online to an ancient sermon on 2 Cor 1.3-11 by Michael Baughen has proved hugely helpful, and without doubt Jo has been part of the ‘comfort’ God has provided for Anne and I over the past few weeks. We thank God for our family and can’t wait to see them all when we return to UK for Jo’s graduation in July.

A hundred pairs of gumboots

Back in February, our community health workers’ (CHWs) regular monthly meeting had a talk from Gloria, a visitor from Kampala. Gloria works for Uganda Protestant Medical Bureau (UPMB), an umbrella organisation that acts as advocate, fundraiser, advisor and much more to mission hospitals and health centres all over Uganda. UPMB also provides essential services to green Mission Partners needing to get their air freight through customs, Ugandan nurse registration, and other bureaucratic nightmares. (For those of you with long memories of our blog, Anne’s nurse registration is still not confirmed, though we are promised the precious piece of paper in the next month or so….)

Gloria had come to ask us to evaluate some health education posters that have been produced for this region, in the local language. Their message was about family planning, and the whole thing was part of a project on sexual and reproductive health financed, in part, by the UK Big Lottery (no comment!). But the highlight of Gloria’s visit was some freebies for the CHWs – tee shirts and caps, all bearing a suitable message about empowering women, wearing condoms, accompanying your wife to the labour ward or other such worthy sentiment. There was only one problem – Gloria had expected twenty CHWs, but there were actually nearly one hundred people in the room. This was a major disaster.

CHWs are essentially volunteers – they receive no remuneration for their work, but after two weeks’ training deliver all manner of health advice in their own villages, hand out free malaria tablets for children, mobilise communities to take part in immunization campaigns, perform drama shows about HIV/AIDS, organise video shows … the list is endless. Their only reward is the occasional tee shirt. Twenty tee shirts and twenty caps does not divide at all well between a hundred poor people, for whom these were relative riches. But Gloria said no problem, there were more supplies at UPMB if only someone could come to Kampala and collect them (just 500km away…). The CHWs refused to take any of the goods until everyone could have them – and nobody was willing to take the responsibility of looking after them in the meantime for fear of being accused of allowing ‘leakage’ – the euphemism for corruption. So the muzungu (that’s me) was asked to take care of the goods until there were enough to go around, as well as being charged with collecting the additional ones.

However when I went to UPMB a couple of weeks later it became clear that the extra tee shirts and caps were still at the factory – in fact they might not be ready till April! So March’s meeting found me apologising for my failure to collect the goods. April’s meeting was similarly unrewarded but the next time we were in Kampala, at the end of April, a phonecall from Gloria told me the much awaited goods were available at last. Oh, and by the way – there were also one hundred pairs of gumboots (wellingtons to you and me)!

Knowing the delight they would cause back at Kuluva, we went to pick up the said tee-shirts, caps and gumboots. But our courage failed us when we saw the size and felt the weight of the four huge sacks they were packed in. We already had a car full of various workbooks and other goods for Ringili, and some essential foodstuffs for ourselves that are only available in the fleshpots of Kampala. But for Allan it was a challenge not to be shirked. Despite pouring rain, and helped by a couple of porters from UPMB who were a bit cynical, he packed, re-packed, pushed and shoved until finally emerging victorious with the doors shut, but only just!

So last Monday the glorious day came – one hundred CHWs received their new clothes and immediately donned them all – the photos tell the rest of the story.

“Be Prepared For Culture Shock”

“Depression – The excitement and newness wears off. It gets replaced by irritation at the hassles and inefficiency, and annoyance with your companions.......” (Dr Ted Lankester, ‘The Traveller’s Good Health Guide’, 2nd Edition 2002, Sheldon Press)

Soon after arriving in Uganda we wrote on this blog about a ‘Cultural Incident’. Despite leaving us tired after the loss of a night’s sleep, the incident had its amusing side, we could laugh it off. If that was what culture shock meant, then we were confident we could handle it. So when a colleague in Kampala asked towards the end of the year if we had experienced the ‘Six Month Low’ we wondered what she might mean – we hadn’t registered Ted Lankester at that stage.

Of course, six months is a bit of a generalisation, but nevertheless when we passed five.....six....seven months, we began to relax, until......... Until the car started to go (expensively) wrong, important planned meetings were cancelled (and those that actually happened started hours late)....... Until our hard-won job descriptions didn’t match the work we had started to do whilst waiting for the job descriptions, and we realised that there were no resources to fund the work we had to do...... Until we found that local expressions of worship didn’t meet our spiritual needs, and that we left Sunday services feeling more frustrated than when we arrived....... Until it seemed that most callers at our house wanted us to pay their school fees, or to borrow money for some reason........ Until the culture shock we experienced interacting with transatlantic muzungus began to create additional tensions we had never expected.......... Until it became clear that the ethos of other mission agencies conflicted with our own, and we found ourselves with no Regional Manager to talk to........ Until......

Of course, little of this was new. We had been experiencing what we perceived as inefficiency in the Ugandan system for months – late, long and cancelled meetings. We had resigned ourselves to the unprepared style of worship and preaching in the Church of Uganda – wasn’t that one of the issues Allan had been asked to come to help address? The roads had taken their toll on our car since we had bought it, and the rise in fuel costs (as well as the rise in value of the Ugandan Shilling against Sterling) had been increasing our motoring costs, and we knew we had a lot more money and material resources that most of the people we lived with......... Indeed the only new difficulties were with other muzungus, CMS re-organisation, and.........ourselves, most of all, ourselves.

Ted Lankester writes in his book about four phases of adapting to a new culture, Elation, Depression, Recovery and Acculturation. He says, “just being prepared for them can be helpful. You then realize it’s probably normal to be feeling the way you are, rather than wonder what on earth is happening to you.” We read these words in the midst of Phase Two and wanted to throw the book through the window; I suspect that was all part of the Depression Phase.

Another part is the inability to write blogs, or at least the inability to write blogs that don’t end up in the depths of despair; which is why we didn't write then, but can now write this. It feels as though we’re moving out into Phase Three: 'Recovery'. Praise the Lord! And we know that it’s only because of the faithful prayers of our partners and friends back in the UK that we didn’t buy a one-way ticket home.

“Of course.....you still have bad days”, writes Ted. Maybe so, but God hasn’t abandoned us over the last five weeks or so – nor over the past 50-60 years, so despite the bad days we’ll probably be fine!

Minutes of Meetings

It is very easy to become frustrated with the way meetings are organised here in Arua. On occasions a meeting announcement will contain no time at all, which at least offers a degree of flexibility in interpretation. More often, however, the advertised starting time ends up by being wildly optimistic. Certainly half-an-hour’s divergence is not unusual, and on occasions the variance can be an hour or more. At its best this arrangement offers the opportunity to chat with anyone else who happens to arrive on time. At worst you can spend long periods of time standing outside a locked door in the sun waiting for someone to appear and wondering if you’ve got the right day.

Another feature of meetings is their length which, if they begin in the morning always includes lunch. Lunch too can be a moveable feast as with the clergy chapter meeting which began at 10.15am (it had been scheduled for 10.00, so this was not too bad). It was programmed to finish by 1.00 pm in time for lunch. In practice, lunch was taken at 5.00 pm, 15 minutes after the meeting actually finished.

As I said, this can be very frustrating, and you are driven to wondering how it is possible for things to be so inefficient.

A couple of weekends ago things became much clearer to me, and I found myself having to repent of my earlier very intolerant attitude. A meeting at the diocesan office, due to begin at 10.00 am, finally began at 11.00. We agreed that the meeting should, if possible, last no longer than 90 minutes. By midday we had managed to read the minutes of the previous meeting, at which time a late-comer arrived (people had actually been drifting in for much of the morning). I thought the usual muzungu thoughts about people who couldn’t arrive at meetings on time.

The meeting finally concluded at around 2.00 and, of course, lunch was served. I fell into conversation with the midday-latecomer and discovered that he had come from Yumbe, a distance of some 90-100km from Arua, and a very bad road which we had driven on our tour of the diocese. He had set off at 4.00 am by bicycle and it had taken him rather longer to arrive than he expected. He was cheerful, made a full contribution to the meeting and had two helpings of food.

I felt chastised and rather humbled by this commitment which made me realise just how ignorant and petty was my intolerance. It doesn’t necessarily make the waiting any easier, but so far as that meeting was concerned I know why it was so important to start late, and for it to last so long.

There’s so much here that makes you think twice, thrice or............

P.S. Pictures show the Diocesan Office and the road to Yumbe (a good stretch).

A day in the life

Let me introduce you to Lucy. She is our house help and works here each day from 9.30am till about 2pm. She has six children of whom the oldest is married and the youngest, Henry, is four and joins her here at our house after a morning at the hospital kindergarten. Lucy never fails to smile and say ‘Yes, I can do’ to any requests we might make. Mostly she washes clothes, irons them, shops, cleans the house and generally tidies up after us. Washing is done by hand outside in a big bowl, with hot water boiled on a charcoal stove, and a jar of ‘Omo’. The drying is no problem at all in this hot season. Then the ironing is done on the dining room table with a rather eccentric electric iron that frightens Henry with its hissing and spluttering. Even the socks get ironed.

Cleaning involves much brushing and shaking of mats, and once a week a wash of all the cement floors – bent double and using a floor cloth, Lucy spurns any sort of labour saving devices.
She has not spurned our electric breadmaker, however. After only a couple of lessons she had mastered this device, despite never having encountered such a thing before. She has also learned to make very respectable flapjack, currant buns and ginger biscuits in our somewhat temperamental electric oven.

At lunchtime she makes a meal for herself and Henry, if he is here, and on Fridays for us too. She is an expert at ‘enya’ – the local staple food made from cassava flour which will never capture the hearts of expatriates here. The photo shows her in full flow, stirring the sticky paste over the charcoal stove in temperatures somewhere above 30 degrees. She also makes excellent beans, rice, fish stew, and, our favourite, chapattis.

Then there is Michael – he comes once a week on a Friday to help us with the garden. At the moment he is sowing seeds which will, we hope, supply us with vegetables from our own back yard. In the full sun, and barefoot, he has dug the plot, made trenches, sown seeds and then made custom built rush mats with which to protect them from the sun until they germinate once the rains begin. Michael speaks little English but Lucy acts as an able translator. He also has a ready smile and never complains.

Occasionally Lucy collects the proceeds of any tree chopping that has been going on – and then carries the booty home on her head for firewood. Home is one hour’s walk away.

We think that, given different circumstances, Lucy would have made a pretty good president of Uganda.