Slow Down

ONE DAY while I was teaching the P7 students, I had a short worksheet for each of them to complete. Before starting, I gave them the instructions: “I want each of you to write one sentence for each homophone you have on your paper. Then put all the words from each sentence in alphabetical order so we can practice what we learned this week. When you are finished, you may sit quietly while the rest of the class finishes as well. All right?”

I was met with blank stares from all ten students sitting in front of me. “Do you understand what you need to do?” I asked again. Confused faces all around. As I opened my mouth to repeat the directions, Veronica piped in, “You need to talk slower.”

So that was it. Not that they couldn’t understand the directions themselves—they just couldn’t understand me! That day, I learned to slow down when I speak to Ugandans. Tonight during my Luganda lesson with Uncle Daniel, he told me I pronounce everything correctly, but I need to say it all slower. “You’ve probably noticed,” he said, “that Ugandans don’t speak fast… ever. So in order for these words to sound right you need to slow down.”

Slow down. You all know me. When was the last time I heeded that command?

LAST WEEK, I wanted to make a quick trip to Mukono during lunch. After leaving Noah’s Ark, there is about a half-mile walk up a hill to the main road where I can catch a boda or taxi into town. Just outside the compound gate, I heard three sets of footsteps running in my direction and turned around to see three young students from a nearby school rushing toward me. They were on their way home and wanted to walk with me. One grabbed my hand and the others talked and smiled and we went on our way.

It was agonizingly slow. I could have crawled. Or slept for a while and then crawled. If I tried to hurry them a little bit by walking faster, it would only put distance between us, not encourage them to pick up the pace. It reminded me of my grandpa, who can take five minutes to dance a sort of shuffle down the driveway, sometimes for his own amusement and sometimes to infuriate the person with whom he is walking.

Everyone from the western world walks faster than Ugandans. I pass people all the time when I am walking around Noah’s Ark, especially as I plow my way up the big hill between the school and my house. But if I want to walk with them, I have to slow down.

Slow down. It can be agonizing. Think of all the things I could have accomplished in the time it took me to get from Point A to Point B!

I ARRIVED at Noah’s Ark in the late morning on a Saturday, way back in September the day after landing at Entebbe. Immediately upon arrival, I brought my things to my new room and Daniel gave me a tour of the compound. At the end of the tour, he brought me back to my room, told me what time to come to lunch, and turned to leave.

“Wait!” I said. “What am I supposed to do this afternoon? Is there a program for me yet?”

He laughed. “No, no, not yet. For the first three days, we just want volunteers to relax and settle in, and then we’ll figure everything out.”

Three days? To relax? That was not what I came here for! However, I was emotional, and I was homesick, and I was a little bit scared, so instead of immediately leaving to explore, I did just what he told me to… I relaxed. I napped. I read. I played cards with the Canadian volunteers across the way.

And you know what? Even after getting involved with several programs with the church and school and teenagers, I am finding time to relax. A testament to this is that I have read 14 books since I left home. I love reading, but I don’t make time for it at home like I have been able to here. I am busy, but I’m not busy all the time. I have slowed down.

Slow down. I can’t say I am very good at it yet, but I am learning. It is a skill that comes naturally to some and must be learned by others. I think in America it is too criticized and in Uganda it is too normal. A happy medium would do both countries well and I am gradually learning what that looks like for me, although it comes with a fair amount of frustration and impatience. Slow down.

And then God tells me to be still and know that He is God.

Have you ever tried that? Literally tried to be still and simply know that God is God? Not just slow down. Not think about what is happening for the rest of the day. Not pray to Him. Not open your mouth in worship. Just know that God is who He says He is.

I challenge you to try it. I can almost guarantee you will fail miserably. But that doesn’t mean it won’t be worthwhile.

This is possibly one of the most difficult things He expects of us. Following the commands, sure—do this, don’t do that—but wiping away your mind of everything except the fact that God is God? Wow. Good luck.

The point is not to congratulate yourself for thinking of nothing but God for a minute, five minutes, an hour. The point is not to get really good at meditation. The point is that when we are busily going about our everyday lives, whether in America or Uganda, we get so distracted by ourselves and other people and we start to take control. It’s amazing how our minds so easily trick us into making us think we are our own gods. We have power. We have control. We are not needy… right?

Can we know that God is God while we live life? Of course we can. Brother Lawrence, in the book The Practice of the Presence of God, said that he felt closer to God while he was in the kitchen peeling potatoes for the monks than when he sat down for his devotional time everyday. He learned the art of living not only for God, but with God, the skill of remembering God in every moment of every day, in every activity and conversation and service. He knew that God was God all the time.

But we are a society who is constantly running out the door and in the scramble for keys and purses and grocery lists, how would we ever remember to bring God with us too? Be still and know that I am God. He is not asking us to slow down—He is telling us to stop. Stop moving. Stop making noise. Stop trying to plan a future that is in His hands anyway. Stop fiddling with your phone when you are pretending to spend time with Him. Stop running out the door on your way to the next thing. Just stop. Be still. And know.

God is God, and as simple as that may seem, it holds a million mysteries and promises. I am not God. You are not God. He is God. It is perhaps the most baffling and comforting and powerful knowledge your brain will ever hold… if you are still enough to know. 

Teenagers

God broke my heart last week. It is not the broken heart of unrequited love or losing someone special or anything like that. It is the heartbreak of an overflow of love for people on two different sides of the world, two sides that I cannot, in my tiny mind, imagine ever converging.

Believe it or not, the source of this heartbreak is not the nursery school kids or the darling babies or my reading students or even my hilarious group of girls I read with each night. It is the teenagers… and this surprises me more than anyone.

I have been leading a group of about thirty teens twice a week for the past two months. On Sunday mornings, I work with two other Ugandan Noah’s Ark staff to lead Bible Class, which is the equivalent of Sunday School for the secondary students. We have been going through the book of Romans and have talked a lot about what it means and what it takes to become saved. On Tuesday evenings, Christian (a Dutch volunteer) and I lead Teen Club, which is a themed Bible study for the same students. We started with a series on becoming the people God wants us to be and just finished a series on how to deal with feelings such as anger, fear, unhappiness, and guilt.

For much of my time with them, I have felt like an outsider come to try to fit in and take over. When I arrived early to Bible Class, I would awkwardly sit in my seat and speak when spoken to but not reach out. To them, I probably looked arrogant and hostile. I have dreaded nearly every Bible Class and Teen Club and have been embarrassingly intimidated by this group of young people. They could be fun at times, but often they were a source of frustration and anxiety.

Then last week, I fell in love with them.

I don’t know what God did. Perhaps several circumstances converged to produce this effect, but it is powerful. After working with these students for two months, they are opening up more. I have spent more casual time with the teens in the last week, time not in the context of a leader and students, putting us more on a peer and friendship level. And now that there is only one more Bible Class and one more Teen Club, we are at the point where things are starting to look not as bad as they once were and I can even mourn the ending of those things I never particularly liked anyway.

One thing that has helped bridge the gap between the teens and myself was an unexpected bit of encouragement I received from them last week. During testimonies in Bible Class, Hannah thanked God for the leaders and said we had a really good discussion. Then in church that day, Michael also thanked God for the Bible Class leaders and prayed that God would bless us more than the teens could themselves. It’s hard to imagine a better blessing than hearing those words.

Last Thursday we had an African Night (as the mzungus call it), or a Mzungu Party (as the Africans call it). Noah’s Ark puts one on when we have a group of volunteers to give us a taste of Ugandan culture through music, dancing, food, and interesting facts about their traditions and way of life. While we were eating our meal, the hut was divided awkwardly but intentionally into Noah’s Ark children and teens on one side and white volunteers on the other. I got bored listening to everyone around me speaking Dutch, so after awhile I crossed the hut and joined Rebecca, Tamara, Isca, Brian, Sarah, and some others. I was amazed at how much more comfortable I felt on that side. We talked and laughed and ate and at that point I knew for certain that I have friends in Uganda. Yes, friends!

Since then, I have spent much more time with them and have loved it. Five of us presented a song during Bible class last week. A few students come by my room every afternoon with a guitar and we worship with any other volunteers and children who happen to stop by before supper. Last night as I was walking by the boarding girls’ home I heard them singing together, so I went in and joined the fun. As it turns out, I had just walked into a birthday party to which I had not been invited, but was then called the Guest of Honor and gently forced to make a speech to the birthday girl.

Now instead of feeling out of place around the teenagers, I gravitate to them. I want to sit with them in church. I want to stop and talk to them on my way to school, not to Be Intentional but to hear what they have to say. God has filled me with a love for them that is deeper than I thought possible for teenagers.

On one hand, I am thrilled we are becoming such good friends because that has been my hope in spending so much uncomfortable time with them in the last two months. On the other hand, all this love hurts my heart because I am leaving in two weeks and don’t know if I will ever have the opportunity to come back and see them again. It makes a statement when I have teenagers begging me not to leave, doesn’t it?

I feel awful. Who am I to step into their lives for such a short time and then just as quickly step out of them? This was always a concern of mine when I was looking at a short-term mission, but the reality is worse than I expected because I not only have sympathy for the people I’m leaving behind—I love them and don’t want to cause them any unhappiness and would really love to be a part of their lives for much longer than this.

And that is how my heart has broken and ended up on two different sides of the world. It would have been so much easier if the teens had intimidated me until the end and I could leave with relief, not tears. If I come to Africa and don’t make a difference, why would I come? But if I come to Africa and make a difference, why would I leave?

It was easier when I wanted to help The Children. That can be done through collecting books for the library. Or sponsoring a child. Or periodic visits to bring baby clothes and sports equipment.

But it’s different when I have fallen in love with Uganda in person. It’s different when it’s Uganda with a face. It’s different when it’s Agatha. Rebecca. Augustine. Brian. Sarah. Timothy. Vanessa. Deborah. Hannah.

It’s just different now. 

An Open Hand

One thing I love about talking with the other volunteers is the perspective we gain from those conversations and the perspective we share, being from the western world. (Okay, that was two. I’m an English major, not a math whiz.) All of us volunteers are asking the same questions and seeking the same thing in all our different ways… how do we help?

We are all here because we want to help in one way or another. We want to help put together the pieces that will give these children a hope and a future. In fact, we want that for all Ugandans, not just those who come through Noah’s Ark. But what will make a difference and where do we start?

Before coming, I had it in my mind that all Africans worked very hard to provide for themselves and their families and only took our assistance when they couldn’t possibly make ends meet on their own. For many people, that really is the case. There are women who work two jobs just so they can afford to send one child to school. There are aunties here, like Jessica, who works her butt off everyday and lives in a small room on the compound, spending years trying to save up enough money to build a house for her and her family.

Ineka, another volunteer, met a man who made a living baking bread. He admitted he didn’t know a thing about bread baking when he started and his bread certainly wasn’t the best on the market. However, he was creative and gave customers a little something extra—every time they bought bread from him, he sang them a song. With that strategy, he was able to sell enough bread to save enough money to get training in a better job later on and secure a better future for himself… because he worked hard.

But then there are people who know there are lots of people who want to help, who know that help often comes in the form of handouts, and who rely on that as their primary means of supporting themselves and their families. It is not uncommon for people here to have big families. This is both a symbol of status and, I suspect, the result of a lack of entertainment or things outside the home to occupy their time.

In the western world, we generally limit the number of children we have based on our ability (often financial) to raise them, care for them, and offer a good future. Big families are rare because with the cost of living, how could we raise ten kids? How could we send them to college? These are things people consider before even getting pregnant! In Uganda, however, they know that if they have many children, some organization will find them many sponsors and their kids will be able to go to school, be fed lunch everyday, and get birthday and Christmas presents. Why not have more kids if it won’t cost you anything?

Before volunteering here, Sara spent two weeks in a refugee camp in Sudan. The conditions were atrocious by our standards and these people had been there for something like five years. She said none of them tried to leave or pursue a better life because at the camp they were handed food to eat everyday. Of course someone had to worry about where that food was coming from (What a big job that would be!), but it wasn’t them, so being there was better than the uncertainty of being somewhere else. They also kept having babies and kept having babies and kept having babies, brining more and more people into the miserable situation.

A Ugandan recently vented to Ineka on a taxi ride. He was frustrated with the government for not putting more emphasis on education and providing good schools. He said that as well-intentioned as people around the world are, instead of helping pull Africa onto its own two feet, we are teaching Africans to sit down and hold out an open hand. Eventually we will come fill it.

Education is the key. However, the downside to focusing on education is that it will take a long time to see results. Several generations for lasting change. If we want to simply feed the hungry so they don’t starve, we can give them food today and they will still be alive tomorrow. But what does tomorrow hold for them? Waiting for another handout to postpone death by one more day? I’m not saying these people don’t matter or that they might as well die right away, but wouldn’t it be better to pour our resources into something more permanent?

If we educate someone today, she will not change the face of Uganda tomorrow. She will not have all the answers in a year. Ten years down the road, thousand and thousands of children-dead-from-starvation later, things might not be that much different. But in her lifetime, she will become more than a mother of ten. She will become more than a woman who sits at a fruit stand. She will become more than a prostitute.

Maybe she will become a midwife and help reduce the number of women who die in childbirth in her home village. Maybe she will become an agriculturalist and teach people how to get the most out of their land and take care of it so many people have more efficient farms and can make better futures for themselves as well. Maybe she will become a teacher and inspire other children to grow in knowledge and understanding so they too can grow up and work hard and multiply their efforts—and think of how much that would multiply hers!

Yes, education is so important, but how do we educate people without making that a handout as well? If a parent has a lot of kids, knowing they will rely on sponsors for their entire schooling, do we trust that the kids will become smart enough to not make the same poor choices? Is there any option that will not reinforce the poor choices of the parents, while at the same time not punish the children for their parents’ decisions?

How do we share our resources enough to make sure needs are met all over the world but hold back enough so that those who need help are challenged to put in some effort themselves?

I have had many people, both children and adults, say they want to come back to America with me in December. I was warned about that beforehand and even though they are all serious in their desire, I doubt any of them hold a real expectation. It seems to me that the people who don’t want to live like this want to leave. They don’t try to make change happen here. Maybe they don’t think change can happen here. How could they imagine a large-scale or long-term change if they have a hard time seeing past tomorrow?

It would make sense why they might have such a hard time seeing the big picture. At any point in their lives, how many of them have any sort of capacity to affect the big picture? They can’t send money to an improve-the-schools-in-Uganda organization when they can barely afford to send their own children to school. They can’t travel around teaching entire communities about AIDS prevention and treatment when they spend all their time caring for a sick family member. They can’t donate food to a famine relief organization when they barely have enough food for themselves and give any extra to their lame neighbor.

But doesn’t everything large scale start small scale? We wouldn’t need organizations to feed the hungry if everyone took care of their neighbor in need. Would the neighbor be less likely to complacently hold out an open hand if it was someone he knew helping him and not some stranger, a faceless entity? Would he be inspired to try harder if he could see the person helping him working hard?

We all want to help, but we are much less helpful than we think.

Friday... Here It Is

5:00 a.m.     Wake up. I put on some comfortable and warm clothes and heat water for the first of my two morning cups of tea.

5:30     I take my sleeping bag, cup of tea, headlamp, and devotional stuff outside and set up camp on my front step. Yes, I could do TAG (Time Alone with God… a camp term) inside my room where I have a desk and a light, but I love being outside to see the morning start and spend time with God in His creation. Plus, once the monkeys emerge for breakfast they add some entertainment.

6:00     I interrupt TAG to get my computer and Skype with my parents. Because of the time difference, we usually Skype early in the morning for me, when it is the night before for them. It is still dark out but I get the best internet outside so I stay on my front step.

7:00     We say good-bye and I stay outside to finish TAG before the real day starts.

8:00     I head down to the primary school for the weekly assembly. On Fridays, the New Zealand missionary couple Uncle Warwick and Auntie Marilyn lead part of this assembly, and I have been helping them. The assembly starts with half an hour of praise and worship led by one of the classes. After that, Warwick, Marilyn and I give a ten-minute talk on a certain topic or Bible story, followed by a song or two and a prayer. Then there is a time for presentations, where individual students or groups can come up front and perform a song for the rest of the students. The assembly closes with some remarks from the headmaster reminding students not to swim in puddles and build houses out of piles of bricks on the compound and things like that.

9:10     I take one of my reading students out of class to work one-on-one with her in the library. Unfortunately, she didn’t practice her spelling words, and since my rule is that if they don’t put in time I won’t either, I have her go back to class and send me another student who is more prepared to learn.

10:00     I make the short walk to the primary school office to make copies of worksheets for my readers and then head back to the library to prepare what I will do with them next week. During the school day, the library is my home base.

10:30     I practice slingshoting paper balls against the library blackboard with my very official-looking paisley bandana slingshot. We are acting out the story of David and Goliath at the nursery school assembly and I want to look my part.

11:00     Time for the nursery school assembly! This one is awesome to watch the praise and worship because the kids are so darned cute in their little school uniforms. Even with half an hour of focused slingshot practice, I come nowhere near hitting Goliath with my paper stone. (The next week, my part of the story includes no weapons or targets.)

11:30     The assembly ends and I make a quick trip up the hill and back to my room to drop off my stack of books.

12:20     BACK down to the library to meet with Sharon, one of my other readers. My day revolves around when certain students are in which classes and when other classes are using the library. Some days I can manage to fit in all seven of my reading students, and some days I strike out with every attempt and don’t see anyone. I prepare everything I am planning to do with Sharon, and then go to her class to get her… but the room is empty. Apparently the P6 students are working in the garden today.

12:30     I walk back up the hill AGAIN to do some reading and prepare for the teenage Bible class on Sunday. We are going through the book of Romans chapter by chapter and as one of three leaders, my job each week is to prepare some questions on the chapter and come up with an activity to do with the students to reinforce what we are learning.

1:30     Lunchtime! Guacamole on toast… it is my standard lunch and it hasn’t gotten old yet.

2:40     I go back to the library for the final time to read with another student. I get things ready, tell the student to get his things and come back, and fifteen minutes later he still hasn’t shown up. When I check the classroom to remind him, it looks like they’re taking a test, so I don’t pull him out. Meanwhile, all the P7 students are outside cleaning their desks before their primary leaving exams and Joanita, who works in the main office, is using the library for last-minute Christmas photos with students, so there’s not much of a chance any of the kids will focus even if I do get them to the library.

3:00     Back to my room. I do some more reading and Bible class prep, then grab a coloring book and crayons and leave again.

3:45     I find my friend Blessing playing on the toys at the primary school. I push her on the swing until she falls off and cries. And people say I’m good with kids.

4:00     This is an awesome part of the day where I get to walk Blessing home along with five other girls who live down the road. They talk my ears off. In a good way, of course.

4:45     Blessing’s house is the farthest, so by the time she gets home I am the only one with her. I drop her off at home and walk a bit farther to visit Christine and Kevin, two of the girls I met on my long walk several weeks ago. Christine is making supper and the three of us talk and sing together a little bit, while students from all the nearby schools walk home and stare at me sitting by their fire because people living this far down the road have seen very few mzungus in their lives. Christine’s little sister loves the coloring book.

5:20     We depart from their house so I can get back to Noah’s Ark in time for supper. I say “we” because four of them decide to walk me back, so it is rather slow going.

6:10     The girls turn around when I am halfway home ad I make my way back to the compound just in time to grab supper from the kitchen and take it back to my room. Sometimes I eat in the home with the children, but right now I need to go to the bathroom, wash my hands after being out so long, and think.

7:30     Friday movie night with the teenagers! I take partly partially to spend time with them and partially because I enjoy seeing a movie every week. That is, when the sound isn’t dubbed over with Lugandan commentary that everyone can understand except me.

10:00     When the movie ends, I go back to my room, spend some time journaling (I have filled three journals since I came here), and go to bed. Just a normal Friday.