Sweet Gifts

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 to me, “Mzungu!” she shouted.

“Ejoka,” I greeted.

“Do you know HIV?” she barked back.

“Yes,”

“You give me 5,000 (less than two dollars),”

“I can’t give you money, but I can pray for you,” I often offer prayer to those asking for money or food. Only two have accepted it. This lady was not one of them! She stormed off, yelling, “I don’t need prayer! I need money!”

Two women came up to me immediately after. We greeted, and they invited me to their homes. I knew Esther and I were almost out of time. “Do you live near here?” I asked them.

“Yeah,” one responded, “I live just down there,” pointing into a sea of unknown for me at the time.

“Eh, okay. I am new here. So, I don’t know that place. Are you here often? I know I can get myself here again,”

“Yeah, we are usually here –”

That was when a drunk man came, shoved my shoulder so I would be facing him, and started yelling at me, “Don’t give your money to these people!” he said as he pointed to the gambling table.

“I am not! I am talking to these two!”

“You need to give your money to these poor people not people gambling!” he points to the woman who told me to give her 5,000 shillings.

“I told her I would pray for her, but I couldn’t give her money. I told those men I wasn’t going to play their game,”

The man continues to go on about how bad I am for giving my money to the wrong person. The women I had met start shouting at the drunk man, “She said ‘No’!” I began to feel so overwhelmed. At that moment, Esther grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the mess that unfolded.

After that, I was perfectly happy to never return to Kakolye. But God continued to put those girls on my heart, “You promised to visit their homes,” He said, “you need to be a woman of your word and go find them!” So, I went back to Kakolye. This happened before the days of me writing names down of the people I met. In fact, they were the reason I started. I forgot their names, which made it difficult to find them again.

As I went back, I began meeting other people. The more people I met, the softer my heart became for this place called Kakolye. But the longer time went, the quicker the faces of these women faded from my memory. Soon, my motives for going to Kakolye changed. I doubted I would ever find these two women again, but I continued to go as God placed people on my path and I began meeting new friends.

One day, I met a woman named Santina in the same market. She wanted me to give her sugar. We walked together for some time, as I explained I couldn’t give her sugar but could pray for her. She was one of the two women who accepted my offer of prayer.

“Do you live in Kakolye?” I asked.

“Yes, let me show you.” We began walking to her compound (which I later discovered is not part of Kakolye, rather Camp Swahili cin). By the time we reached her compound, she was back to asking for sugar. Another woman named Hellen joined us, to which I became grateful for as she was able to help me explain to Santina why I couldn’t give. I parted ways and promised Santina I would come visit on a different day.

A few days passed, and I went to visit Santina. I was told she was at Matany (a town outside of Moroto which has the best hospital in the area). I told them to greet her for me, and I continued down the road. I passed another compound where someone shouted, “Mzungu! You come and greet me!” I usually just wave from the road or ignore these kinds of comments. If I greeted every person who wanted me to come to them to greet them, I would never make it to my destination. But the Holy Spirit pushed me to go and greet these people. I ended up sitting with them for an hour as we talked. A woman named Mwatum was the one that called me over. I spoke mainly with her and a man named Angela (he was too flirty for my liking, but Mwatum was good at telling him to stop). They invited me over for lunch the next day. I gladly accepted. And that is how I started my friendship with Mwatum.

Over a month later, I had the opportunity to meet Roma. I wandered the streets of Kakolye, praying God would guide me to the people He wanted me to meet. I came around to the main road with every intention of going home. A woman shouted, “Mzungu! I love you! Wow! You are smart!” I was a bit baffled to hear this from a woman, but as I approached her, I could smell the booze pouring off her. I greeted her. “Where to?” she asked as she grabbed my hand and began walking with me. I didn’t mind – after all, I had just prayed for God to bring the right people to me!

“I have just been strolling. I like to stroll through Kakolye and find people to meet,”

“Eh! That is good. It is good to be friendly. My name is Roma,”
“Nice to meet you Roma. I am Namilo (my Karimojong name).”

Roma decided that I needed a tour of Moroto and became my personal tour guide to a bunch of places I had already been. We started to get to know one another as we walked. I discovered she is a cousin of Mwatum.

“Namilo, what are your other names?”

“Well, in America when you are born you are usually given three names. My first name is Mary. Then my middle name is Violet,”

“Oh wow! I like that! It is like the sun – Violet!”

“okay,”

“And the other?”
“Well the last one is my family name. It’s Lange”

“What?”
“Lange,”

“Why are you saying ‘Lion’ like an American?”

“Well, I am an American… so sometimes I talk like one. But we say ‘lion’ just like you. I am saying ‘Lange’. L-A-N-G,” I decided to bypass trying to explain the silent “e”.

“Eh! Laing,” close enough, “Well I am going to call you Violet. I like that the best. Namilo Violet!” She finally dropped me off at my apartment two hours later.

She was so drunk I was sure she would not remember who I was, but the next time I was in Kakolye I heard someone shout, “Violet!” but being the only time I hear my middle name is either when I am in trouble with my mother or when my friend Violet calls me, I kept walking. “Namilo Violet!” Oh, that is me! It was Roma. She was sober this time and again escorted me on my walk. I soon began spending a great deal of time with Roma on her compound.

A year has come and gone since that first time in Kakolye. A few weeks ago, I spent some time reflecting over my time and the things God has done. I remembered those two women I was told to find in order to keep my word. I never did find them. I prayed, “God, what was the deal there? Why was it so important for me to keep my word if I would never find them again? There is no way I would recognize them now.” I left the matter there, without answer.

Roma now washes my clothes once a week, and today I had a free morning and decided I would walk her home. It had been a while since we had some quality time together, and it was a nice opportunity. We took the long, but quiet, walk to Kakolye, chatting the whole way. I told her I would then go to visit Mwatum. Roma planned on going to Camp swahili to buy greens (green, leafy vegetables that are often fried). We went to her home, dropped off some potatoes, and greeted her mother. Then off to Mwatum’s!

As we passed the market, that one from the beginning, Roma said, “I remember the first time I saw you I was with Mwatum. You were there (points to the exact spot I stood on that fateful day). Then those people were abusing you so Mwatum and I decided to come help you,”

“Wait,” I said dumbfound, “it was you I greeted?”

“yeah,”

“and you invited me to your house, but I couldn’t that day?”

“yeah, you said you would come another time.” We then began to recount what happened and suddenly the memory was fresh in my mind once more, those faces vivid and voices clearly matching those of my two friends. How could I have not placed their faces when we “first met”?

“I was just praying about that day! I always felt bad for not finding those girls and not going to their houses like I promised! But I guess I did! Many times, for both of you! Ah! God is so kind!” Roma is now use to me getting excited over what seems like small things. She just laughed as I put the whole thing together.

When I reached Mwatum, I shared with her how I had not recognized her from that day. We went through the same conversation as Roma.

At the end of this story, I am simply in awe over the kindness of the Lord. He so sweetly answered my prayer from a few weeks prior. I sat in wonder, did I get distracted by the task God placed before me? Should I once again try and find these girls? The thought of that was daunting! The amount of people that swarm that market throughout the day is astonishing. I let it go, knowing the Lord would show me His plan. Today He gave me the answer through a true miracle. I fulfilled that promise over and over without even realizing it. I was able to build friendships with these women beyond that market day. They are two friends I cherish in all their hardship and beauty. And to look back on that first day in Kakolye, I am so thankful they were both there. To know them now makes it so sweet to hear Roma say they came over to help me. I always thought they came over to talk to the white girl, but I see it as the act of help it was. They have been my protectors ever since, and I am so grateful for the two of them.

Nothing changes. My friendships with these women will continue as the Lord leads. The only difference now is my eyes are open to how God orchestrated my relationship with both Mwatum and Roma. What a sweet gift!