The Crazy Adventures of an American Mzungu

This story begins like most, at the beginning – my first week in Moroto. When I first arrived, I went through a program for language learning called LAMP, a week-long program where you meet with your language helper, learn a few things, and then go out into the community to use what you have learned. Esther was my language helper “back in those days” and made it her personal mission to show me Moroto in its entirety. That is how I came to know Kakolye – a section of Moroto that soon became a big part of my life. Esther walked me through Kakolye, where we ran into a friend of hers. I greeted and began to take in the scene around us as they talked. We stood on the edge of an open market. Maize laid on the ground waiting to be sold. A few fires burned as they roasted meat. Then a sea of home brewed  booze shelters scattered the remaining area. We stood next to a table that had a gambling game going on. People watching is a rare and short-lived event in Uganda. A woman marches up

We were the first to board the bus. My teammate Nita and I were traveling to Kampala so I could pick up my best friend and Nita could pick up her car. I love when I have the option to sit at the front of the bus — the seats are more spacious (great for someone with motion sickness) and I find it a much less painful journey if I cannot see all the people coming and going from the bus (not sure why I feel that way). Nita took the very first seat, which is completely by itself and I took a seat behind. The late morning sun blazed through the window, so I opted for the aisle seat.  As our hour wait marched on, God spoke to my heart, saying, “Mary, I want you to give up your seat.” I knew that the loving thing to do would be to bake in the sun and allow someone else with a more comfortable seat.  The bus continued to fill, but no one made their way to my seat. A woman who worked for the bus company asked me if the seat next to me was available. Then another worker escorted a young girl

Mwatum – a sweet friend of mine. She is thirty-two, has five children and another on the way. We spend our time together generally over a meal, as we share whatever life may bring our way. It had been several weeks since I saw Mwatum. The last I heard from her, she was out of town, where she sells mandazi (African doughnuts) in the bush, as it has better profits. She promised to call when she returned. Usually Mwatum is gone for a number of days. Two weeks had passed. Still no call. I tried calling with no answer, so I decided to go to her compound unannounced. Mwatum is a Muslim. I do not know what the repercussions are for being friends with me. I do my best to keep them minimal. She only recently got a phone of her own, which meant I try to announce my comings. As I approached her compound, I could hear her children shouting, “Namilo! Mary!” (my Karimojong name is Namilo). Her younger children and I created a bond when I came by the compound months earlier. They were to be

Welcome to my new home I recently moved into a house that I am renting with two others on my team (Taryn and CJ). It has been an exciting adventure as we try to set up our new home. Already, we have learned so much, and will continue to learn and grow together as we figure out what it means to have a house in Moroto. We constantly are noticing differences in housing set up here compared to the western world. Here are some things we have learned, and our stories of how we got here! Get a guard – steal from team leaders and make your friend mad. In Uganda, security is a priority. A guard is a wonderful asset to have.  But not just any guard will do! You must find someone you trust! We came up with one man – our team leader’s weekend guard, Andrew. He is hard working, and thinks I am funny. However, this would be the second time within just a few months they have given up their weekend guard for team members, and Simon (their main guard) was less than thrilled. He was (i

I began attending Moroto Baptist Church in February. The church sits in the center of Kakolye — a section of Moroto, a blend of low income housing and drinking establishments, where God has called me. A few weeks after I started going, they began to not-so-subtly ask me to preach. “Oh, they would mention, “there was once a missionary here for a few weeks, and they even preached one week.” Well, I am here for three years, so we will see what God wants me to do. “One day, Maria (for some reason, being called Mary is rare treat) will stand up and preach to us. But not by her might, but by the grace of God!” Yes, but we must not forget the will of God. My favorite though, was when the pastor pulled me aside and asked, “What do you do best in the church?” Simple – obey God. Each one of these moments I brushed off. God made it clear He placed me in this church for a reason, and I waited patiently for His plan. A few weeks ago, I had a conversation with one of the leaders of the church nam

Dark rain clouds hover over  Moroto , giving hope to the thirsty earth. “Oh Jesus,” I pray, as I eagerly anticipate the raindrops to sweeten the dusty air, “let it pour down, washing away the dust which covers all manners of life. Quench all the gardens, giving hope, they will once again hold a harvest. “Even more, quench the souls of the precious  Karimojong . Wash away the dust that dries their heart. Let Your glory and grace rain over their lives, quenching a thirst they do not acknowledge. “But what about me?” as I walk these same dusty roads as the people my heart longs to serve, my prayer for them becomes the cry  for my own heart. “I am like this desert land,  in need of Your rain to settle this dust which stirs within my heart. I witness shop keepers in  Kakolye  turn from selling vegetables and grains to serving booze. The smell of stale alcohol drains my soul. I grow weary as drunk mamas cry out for me to drink with them. “My heart aches as little toddlers grab my hand

Welcome to  Moroto  (kind of)! I know most will not make it to see this new place I call home for their own eyes, and for those, I wish to bring you on a virtual tour. In today’s episode we will tour my  luxurious suite. Many have asked what my home looks like, and it’s hard to explain just how small it is through words.  So  grab your showtime snack of choice (enjoy thoroughly – I miss snack foods the most), relax, and enjoy this episode of  Moroto  Cribs.  We ll, here it is .  Most of the time, I don’t even know what to do with myself with all this space. I mean, I can stretch out on the ground between my bed and my table (which means there is plenty of space for those burpees that I often avoid). In all seriousness, it is small but it is truly plenty of space for one person.  And I still feel comfortable to invite friends over for lunch or tea (or coffee, if I can convince them).  So  for now, this is my little home. This is my little kitchen. When they first gave m