The Crazy Adventures of an American Mzungu

There is but one option if you plan to travel from Kampala to Moroto, and it may leave any time between midnight and three in the morning. I mentally prepared myself for the bus to leave at three but physically prepared myself for midnight – the bus left at three. By midday, we finally left Soroti, the beginning of the final stretch of the journey (and at the time, the most agonizing due to road conditions). Here is where our story begins. About twenty minutes after leaving Soroti, I needed to make a short call (short/long call is Uganda code for needing a toilet… I’ll let you decide what the difference between the two may be). Each bump made the situation worse and my driver didn’t miss a single one down this developing road! “Okay Mary,” I said out loud (I sat in a single seat in the front of the bus, to my knowledge no one could hear my private conversations with myself, although I’m sure several did), “it’s time to get yourself a car!” This quickly became my mantra for the r...

My first memory of  Benard  happened my first week in Jinja. I had arrived to do a year internship with Redeemer House Children’s Home. As a way to get to know the staff, the intern prior to me thought a good way for me to get to know the rest of the staff would be to have a game night. I am not a fan of games, but played anyway. The game was called 1-100. Everyone is racing to see who could write out the numbers one through one hundred the quickest. The trick is, there is only one pencil. I can’t remember all the rules, but the others are rolling dice to see who gets to have the pencil while you frantically write numbers. I also can’t remember who won – although, I am sure it wasn’t me. One thing I do remember was  Benard  enthusiastically cheating! He was so hyped up that he grabbed the pencil out of David’s hand, although it was clearly Esther’s turn! We all laughed so hard that night. I spent the rest of the year teasing him over this and he teased me over… well...

They come to church every Sunday. The details of why they chose to walk through the doors vary with each woman represented. But at their core, they are searching for truth. They can bring nothing to the table, except themselves. They have little education. They have no money. They have nothing to offer. What a beautiful opportunity the church has to love these women with the love of Christ, teaching them the truth they may not even realize they hunger for. But this doesn’t happen. These women are invisible to the eyes of the leadership. If by chance they are seen, they are seen as a disturbance. Soon, they grow weary of being invisible and they stop coming, searching for truth and acceptance elsewhere. Although the faces change with the seasons, these women are always present. My eyes have recently been open to these beautiful women. Apuun, a friend of mine, started attending church. She professes to be a Muslim. As she continues to come, I am the only one who talks with her. I ha...

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 marche...

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 y...

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 wa...