Water, water.........not necessarily everywhere

Thunderstorms here usually seem to happen in the middle of the night heralding a period of sleeplessness maintained by crashing thunder and torrential rain. Today it waited until 6.30 when we awoke to the sound of distant thunder, and the skies which had promised dawn, darkening again as heavy spots of rain began to fall. Soon the heavens were open, with forks of lightning striking terrifyingly close to our house. The claps of thunder were awesome.

Sheltering in the porch we found our local mat and basket maker. He was delighted to be offered a cup of tea, a banana and refuge from the storm. We hope he also enjoyed Richard Strauss’s Alpine Symphony which we were playing in celebration of the thunder storm.

Anne and I arrived in Uganda last year in this same season of dramatic thunder storms and heavy rain. But the irony today is that, whilst we are experiencing frequent deluges, the UN is warning of drought in the Horn of Africa, including Karamoja in NE Uganda.

Here in Africa, water is king. Of course, that is true everywhere, but here it is much more obvious. Too much water, as in West Nile at the moment, and crops are ruined; too little, as in Karamoja, and the land remains arid and unproductive - both result in hunger and/or increased food costs.

Then there is the question of water quality. Water spells the difference between sickness and health, life and death. Here in NW Uganda many people still have to walk to the local river or spring to collect water where quality is far from certain. A spring or borehole protected by a concrete enclosure is best, but even this can be a source of disease. The college at Ringili has its own protected borehole, but there have been suspicions that this water-source may be responsible for cases of typhoid.

In Kuluva we are just over the hill from Ringili. Here we are blessed with a ready supply of water pumped from the hospital borehole to a tank in our house. Sometimes, though, even this runs out. Then we have to rely on 25 litre jerry cans. Lucy is a great asset as she transports these heavy yellow cans on her head from an alternative borehole on the site.

Having to decant water from jerry cans for every use is very tiring and annoying. It makes you think twice about having a shower (or a ‘pour’ as it actually is), or even flushing the loo. Water shortages can go on for days, and it is a great cause for celebration when we hear water beginning to pour into the tank in our roof once again. The only downside to this is that it tends to start in the middle of the night and wakes us up. It’s a bit like a thunder storm and torrential rain really.

We’ll see what the next 24 hours has in store for us.

A Week In The Life Of.........

It was about 7.45 am on Saturday morning when my phone rang. Normally we set the alarm for 6.45 but on Saturday Anne and I can have a lie-in. Sometimes one of us will get up to make a cup of tea, but otherwise we enjoy the chance to come to slowly - as slowly as possible. The sound of the phone was unwelcome. Who would ring at this time on a Saturday morning? I contemplated ignoring it, but reluctantly I negotiated the mosquito net to retrieve my phone from the living room. I’d left my glasses in the bedroom, so with some difficulty focussed on the screen to identify my anti-social caller – Robert Arua 2, it said.

I’d met Robert in December on our tour of the archdeaconries. He was a young pastor in a rural parish in the Arua Archdeaconry and a tutor at the Archdeaconry Training Centre. Robert had impressed both Anne and myself as a bright, enthusiastic and thoughtful pastor, so when someone suggested I should spend some time ‘shadowing’ a pastor in his parish for a few days, Robert came to mind and when I approached him he readily agreed. But that had been in May, four months before this phone call.

I answered the phone and heard a cheerful African voice at the other end. “Hello. I’ll meet you at Jaiko at 9.30 tomorrow morning. There’s a communion service at Omoo church at 11.00 and we’ll sort out the programme from there. Sorry not to be in touch earlier. I’ve been in Kampala. By the way, you are preaching.” My brain was only half in gear, but in the dim recesses of my memory I recalled my conversation with Robert and our agreement to get together at the end of August.

At 7.45 that Saturday morning I regretted the arrangement, but in the event, the week that followed was an experience I shall not quickly forget.

I met Robert at the Arua Archdeaconry HQ at Jaiko the following morning, and drove some 8 km along one of the worst roads I've encountered in Uganda, finally arriving at Omoo, one of the eight churches which make up Robert’s parish of Mingoro. Each church is in the charge of a Lay Reader, and this Sunday it was Omoo’s turn to have their pastor present to lead a communion service.

It transpired that the whole parish had been looking forward to my arrival because Robert had announced that I was coming some three months earlier. All eight Readers with their Churchwardens and other senior laity were present, and before the service began – summoned by the beating of a drum – we met together in a rondavel for a meal of beans, meat, rice, enya, a boiled egg and sweet tea.

With the exception of my sermon, the service was conducted entirely in Lugbara (the local language), but one of the chief wardens – a former policeman – had good English and was able to translate for me. Robert translated my sermon to the congregation which had steadily grown in number from about 50 to 250 during the first part of the service. Members of the congregation have to travel considerable distances by foot or bicycle to get to the church, so it’s not too surprising if they’re not all there at the beginning

I sat down after the sermon, to some extent relieved that my rather hastily-prepared offering was over. But towards the end of the service (about two hours later), I was surprised to be asked if I had another message for the church.......Ugandan Christians seem to have an insatiable appetite for listening to speakers and sermons, with absolutely no time limit on worship.

At about 2.00 pm the service finally ended and I was steered back to the little rondavel (via a large group of children from the service who wanted their photograph taken) for yet another meal of beans, meat, rice, enya, a boiled egg and sweet tea accompanied by much good humoured conversation in a mixture of Lugbara and English.

Towards the end of the meal I could hear people again gathering and the sound of drumming and singing coming from the church about 100 yards away. It was the start of the Fellowship Meeting. We made our way back to the church and took our places at the front. Singing and dancing were in full swing. From time to time the singing would give way to one of the church leaders speaking (or shouting) to the congregation. This would then be interrupted some few minutes later by someone else starting to sing – and more dancing into which one was propelled, like it or not. And at the end I was invited to come and deliver another message to the church.........

I left Omoo at around 5.30 pm, arriving home with much to think about and wondering what else the week might hold.

Laceys (not) in Arua

Back home now after our holiday in UK we have been received with enthusiastic welcomes by so many of our friends and colleagues at Kuluva Hospital, the Diocesan HQ in Mvara and staff at Ringili. It has been hugely encouraging, and we are glad to be able to settle down for the next two years in what we are pleased to be able to call home.

Of course, we do have another home which we were able to enjoy during our holiday. It was so good to see our little house in Leicester again, and to be able to visit family and friends all over the UK. All in all we can look back on a busy, but very successful and enjoyable trip.

It began with a trip to Sheffield with Jo, where we stayed with our son, Ben and daughter-in-law, Bethan in their new home. Joining them in a cold and windy walk up Mam Tor reminded us of one of the things we missed about Britain. We were reminded of other things too as we, first, joined with the congregation accompanied by the splendid organ in Sheffield Cathedral, spiritedly singing “And can it be”, and later visited The Strines Inn (real ale!) in Derbyshire.

St Mary’s, Andover was a late link church for us before we came to Uganda, so we took the opportunity of a trip to the West Country for a short holiday in Exeter and Lynmouth to visit them en route. It was good to be able to put some faces to names and to have a chance to thank them for their support of us and the ATC Library Project in Madi/West Nile. We also managed to sell the Vicar some stoles made by one of the pastors at Ringili – anyone else interested in buying some? They’re excellent value and much cheaper than anything you’ll find in the UK!

We had a great welcome in our home church at St Denys in Leicester. It was wonderful to be made to feel so much at home there, after all we’d only had a few weeks at the church before we left for Uganda. We were encouraged by their enthusiasm and prayers for us, and their desire to establish a link with our home church here in Kuluva Parish.

London next, staying with Allan's brother David and his wife Muriel, and meeting up with Anne's sister Cathy. Two Promenade Concerts provided some cultural nourishment for us, as well as providing an excuse to spend a day in London with the myriad tourists. We walked around Westminster, past the Abbey and Houses of Parliament, over the Thames and along the South Bank, later having an hour in Hyde Park. After a year in Africa all of this, and in particular the extraordinary Albert Memorial provide a bit of a contrast!

But of course, the great highlight was Jo’s graduation back in Leicester – the result of five years’ hard work. It was a splendid day of celebration with Jo together with her friends and their families, enhanced by a short, pithy and very amusing speech by Bill Bryson in response to the honorary DLitt he received at the graduation ceremony.

A short time in North Wales (cold and damp weather, but warm welcome from Allan's other brother, Keith), made us ready for the journey back to Uganda where we engaged in our first exercise as travel guides, accompanying our friends David and Di in Kampala, Murchison Park and Arua. David is Head of the secondary school in Allan’s last parish and whilst in the UK we had been able to see the progress on their new school building. It was a good way to return to Arua and we enjoyed their visit immensely.

But now the work begins. There is much to do and as we settle here again we hope to be able to share with you more of our experiences here in NW Uganda, more of its sights and sounds, as well of its delights and frustrations. We look forward to the future whatever it holds.

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.