The Answers Are Simple

I went for a walk today. I thought I was going to exercise my muscles, but now my brain hurts.

After church, two Canadian volunteers and I went for a walk up the road past Noah’s Ark. We have been to the town of Mukono multiple times, but we had never ventured in another direction. Being told it was safe, we went out to explore and get some exercise.

It’s amazing to see the difference in how two different families live, even neighbors. There were a whole variety of houses and living conditions along the mile-or-so stretch of road we walked. Many houses were made out of bricks with a tin roof. This seems to be the standard middle-class house. They are small, but they are sturdy. Some were merely a wood frame with cracked mud walls with a roof made of sticks and grass. And then there was one that looked more adobe-like, with painted walls, glass in the windows, a nice curtain in the doorway, and even an antennae for I-don’t-know-what.

The land surrounding the houses was also divided into three main uses. For some, it was simply dirt. Dusty when it is dry, muddy when it rains. Families can do whatever they want in that area—hang laundry, cook, play games with kids. It’s a dirty blank canvas. The second use is to farm it. Beans, bananas, mangoes, avocados, and other fruits and vegetables are not hard to find here. The third way we saw land used was to make bricks. This is purely economical and not remotely aesthetic. If you dig far enough into the ground, you will reach a clay-like substance that serves as the main ingredient in bricks. One house we passed had a yard that looked like it had been rototilled ten times over in the pouring rain. The family said they dig up a section, add some water, and make bricks to sell. They felt very blessed to have such good land to support them. We silently wondered how they could live in such filth.

I don’t react to these living conditions in the way I expected I would. When it was all in my head, imagining these houses based on pictures and stories, the solutions seemed so simple. They just needed better houses. Or they just needed more money. Or an education. Whatever it was, it was always something we could swoop in and do, or at least tell them how to do it.

What I hadn’t considered was that even though these people would love to improve their lives or situations in some way, they have also been living life like this for a very long time and are quite good at it. It’s not like they sit in their Eeyore-houses waiting for someone to come promote social justice and give them a hand. They farm. They set up fruit stands and sell food to passers-by. They do laundry. They have a rhythm and method that, for the most part, works. This is their life and even if they don’t have material comforts like me, they seem comfortable in their ways.

I am not as comfortable here. This is not what I am used to. I thought that coming here would make me feel even guiltier about everything I have back home. After seeing poverty firsthand, how could I ever go back to having a car and an apartment full of stuff just for me? How could I ever go on dates or spend money on a vacation? How could I ever live more than just a small step above what these people do?

I have found that not only could I go back to it all—I long to. (Keep in mind that I have only been here two weeks. There are still ten more to go.) I long to be in the place I grew up. I long to have the familiarity of my routine. I always thought living in America and serving the poor around the world was halfhearted. Is it okay to be comfortable while I am serving those who are not? Am I still doing what God asks of me if I am not right in the middle of the need?

The answers might be simple, but the solutions are not. Yes, these people would do well with better houses, but who is in a position to provide that? We have so many reality TV shows back home where professional designers and carpenters come in and remodel houses that we call dilapidated. Everyone’s favorite part of the show is at the end when the family sees their brand new house for the first time. They are ecstatic, they cry, they laugh, and everyone lives happily ever after in big houses with color schemes and lots of toys for the kids.

What I wouldn’t give to see the looks on a Ugandan’s face when they walk into a brand new 12-foot by 14-foot house with room for beds and a table and an overhead light.

They say the world is getting smaller. If that is so, how do we still take so much for granted? If the world is getting smaller, these people are our neighbors and family more than ever before… so how do we help them? What changes would be for the better and what ones would destroy their culture and livelihood?

Peter and Pita would be the first to tell you that change starts small. They started with a house in Kampala and one child. Now they run a full-blown organization in Mukono and have 155 children. We can’t focus on how to change the face of Uganda and ensure better lives for all its citizens. We can focus on that one family down the street who needs more firewood today or money for their children to attend school next year.

The answers are simple; the solutions are not.