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