And now for a commercial break...

Mary Jane recently posted something about the new "Global Forever" stamps from the USPS. 

According to the website:  

In 2013, the U.S. Postal Service introduces Global Forever®, a new international rate stamp. The Global Forever® stamp offers a single price for any First-Class Mail International 1-ounce letter to any country in the world. 

So, this means that it costs $1.10 to send a card or letter to me in Uganda... no more wondering how many stamps to use.  :)

As proof that mail DOES indeed reach Uganda, here's something my goddaughter sent earlier in 2013:

This prompted the folks who get the mail to ask me if I go by "Aunt Jessica." Yes, yes, I do. 

Having said that, they do prefer my proper name, so my mailing address is:

Rev. Jessica Hughes

c/o Uganda Christian University

P.O. Box 4

Mukono, Uganda

Visitation 2013

I must report that after I came home from visiting my students, I became something of a slug, and while I made note of the things I wanted to write about, I've generally accomplished, well, nothing, since I returned.  Well, I've gone to church, the supermarket, and was the substitute celebrant on Christmas Day, but you get the idea.

Thank you for your prayers for my travel; it was a bit hectic, especially the Mukono-Soroti-North Mbale-Mbale-Soroti journey, but it was wonderful to see my students, visit some of their families, and learn more about them.

I began my tour of eastern Uganda in Soroti, as it was the furthest away, which would make the trip home easier.  I've been to Soroti twice, though I've never driven there, and it's easy enough.  Head east on Jinja Road; after Iganga, branch off to Mbale.  Go through Mbale (and some other places) and you get to Soroti.  The road to Mbale is good; the road to Soroti is not so good.  Good here means paved; you'd consider the road to Mbale to be a decent secondary road.  Since I knew where I was going, I was looking for signs to branch off (turn) to Mbale.

Silly me.  I should know that road signs are seriously overrated.  I admit that I was going fast, as speed limits are overrated too, and after Iganga, I expected to see a sign directing me to Mbale, or at a minimum, a roundabout that would have a sign.  Negative.  About an hour after I left Iganga, I pulled over to ask some traffic police how far off the beaten track I was.  Well, I was rather far off-course.  The officers argued for a couple minutes about the best way for me to go (she should turn back! No - it's too far!  Are you going to Busia (border town with Kenya)? Um, not today.  Let her go this way… No!  That's confusing.  She should go to Tororo.).  So I went through Tororo.  If you imagine a right triangle, where the road to Mbale is the hypotenuse, Tororo is the right angle.  Yeah.  I added about an hour to my trip, but really, it wasn't too bad.

The road to Soroti; see the buses passing.  And the dirt.  In many places, the tarmac is washed away in various stages, so I actually prefer the dirt roads.

In Soroti, I visited Margaret and Emmanuel.  They are from the same parish in Asuret, and lo and behold, the vicar (and archdeacon!) was the mission coordinator when I went to Soroti last year on the SOMA mission trip.  It was a wonderful visit, seeing old friends who had either been at UCU, or I had met on that trip.  While I didn't get to visit either of my students' families, Emmanuel took me to the schools he runs.  He has a nursery school with about 75 children, and a primary school with about 50 children.  He's overseeing this school while he's in UCU, and his wife and children are about an hour away, where his wife is doing Bible translation.

Then I drove down to North Mbale to visit Simon and Beatrice.  Simon had done a lot of coordinating among all the students I had to visit, and I appreciate his work on my behalf.  He told me to come down from Soroti, and branch left after another town without any signs, like I was going to Sipi Falls.  Naturally, there's no sign for Sipi Falls either because the road is being worked on (a perpetual but appreciated effort).  So I saw a major road, suspected it was the one, and pulled into a petrol station to inquire and confirm.

Sipi Falls is in the Mount Elgon range, and the country is just beautiful.  Aside from the banana plantations, it rather reminded me of the Blue Ridge in Virginia.

This is view from driving up Mt Elgon; it reminds me of the foothills of Virginia, and trips to visit the Hughes family.

Simon walking his bishop into St. Luke's; apparently, my visit caused Simon to miss a workshop on stewardship.  Whoops.  I had no idea.

This is a view of the Mt Elgon range from about halfway up.

My plan had been to spend some time with Simon, some time with his supervisor, then do the same with Beatrice, then head down to Mbale.  Of course, my idea of time is often trampled  in Africa.  I had a lovely visit with Simon's supervisor, and quality time with Simon in the car, as Beatrice was most the way up Mt. Elgon.  Simon's church is next to a Compassion project, and serves about 300 children.  The same is true for Beatrice's church. So up the mountain we went.

Up the mountain we go.  It goes without saying that it was slow going, with several hairpin turns (and my car is white in its natural state).  I'm so glad that Simon was with me, or I would never have found Beatrice.  There were precious few places to ask for directions, and whenever we were behind a heavy-laden truck, I was preoccupied with finding a place to overtake (pass) it.

These are baby falls, not the famous Sipi Falls.  

Beatrice and Simon.  

After meeting with Beatrice's supervisor, she wanted me to meet her family, which I was happy to do.  Then we were supposed to have lunch with Simon's family around 1:30, but the visit with Beatrice took longer than anticipated, then Simon wanted me to see his home church, as they have been placed in the churches where they are working.  Then we finally made it to Simon's family's home around 4:30, and had lunch at 5.  Then we were on the road to Mbale, about an hour away.  I estimated that I had spent about six hours in the car that day (two coming down from Soroti, one to Mbale, and at least two going up and down the mountain).  I thoroughly enjoyed my time with Simon though - he's a sweet young man with a  pastor's heart.  He shared how his preaching has changed since coming to UCU, which was such a joy to hear.

In Mbale, I was to find Fred and Alice.  All I wanted to do was get to the guest house - Fred arranged for me to stay there - so that I could shower and have some serious introvert alone time.  While we were driving, we (being Simon; it's illegal to talk on a cell while driving, which is good, because driving takes plenty of concentration here) told Fred we were coming, and he said that he had arranged for me to stay with an auntie.

I have to confess that my reaction to this news was less than stellar.  I really, really, really wanted to just have some down time; much of that time in the car had been with Simon.  As much as I like him, I wanted to be alone to prepare for the next day's people activities.  But that was not to be.

Fred met us in Mbaletown, and Simon left to do whatever he was going to do.  I had dropped very strong hints that since I had just eaten lunch, I wasn't at all hungry.  We reached a lovely home with a lovely auntie, Sarah, and the vicar was there to greet us as well.  Sarah said she understood that we just had lunch, so she prepared tea.  That was lovely.  And it was just a precursor to dinner, which we eventually had around 9.

This is when I am so grateful for God's graciousness, because the next morning, we had breakfast and were waiting for Fred to come so we could visit his vicar, then go to the diocesan headquarters so I could either greet the bishop or the diocesan secretary, whomever was around.  While we were waiting, one of Sarah's nieces washed my car.  My filthy car that had been to Soroti and back on bad (dusty) roads, and had climbed Mt. Elgon.  What an amazing, and humbling, gift.

With my student Fred and his vicar, Rev. Charles.

Fred's vicar gave me some bananas.  Some.  I'm not quite sure what to call this, because it's much more than a bunch.  He asked the gardner to cut them, then they wrapped the ends so the sap wouldn't mess up my car.  They also laid a banana leaf on the bottom to keep the car clean.  I could NEVER eat this many bananas nor make enough banana bread, and I was afraid that they would go past their prime while I was in Rwanda, so I tried to give them to the Dennisons.  They passed, so Benith, one of their helpers, took them home and her family enjoyed them.

At Fred's parish, we planted a tree to commemorate my visit.  Let me just say that it's difficult to simultaneously plant a tree and be graceful while wearing a skirt. 

Then it was off to find Alice, my last student.  She was placed in a parish that is on the road to Kampala (well, it's the road to Iganga, and the only reason to be on it is to go to Kampala).  Wow.  Alice arranged for quite the welcoming party - she was waiting along the road with about twelve girls, and they serenaded us as we drove up the church's drive way.  Once settled inside, they gave a presentation, which included two songs and introductions.

The entire group!  My students Alice and Fred are on the far right.

Naturally, we had lunch after.  Alice's vicar shared that the parish does not have any daughter churches, which is somewhat unusual, but it does have three services on Sunday, each in a different language.  During the insurrection and fighting in Soroti, a number of people left and settled in Mbale.  When he came to the church ten years ago, there were only a handful of people at each service.  He went and visited each family in the parish, and now, there are several hundred at each service.  It is amazing how important pastoral care is in the life of a parish, but that's another sermon altogether.

Part two: Rwanda coming up!

All's quiet on the western front

Even when UCU is closed, things just wind down to a dull roar.  In the April and August semester breaks, there are usually recess classes happening.  And those classes have the prime classrooms, even though the classes bleed into the regular semesters for a week or two, and that plays havoc with logistics for classroom space, but that's another rant.

During the December recess, the university is truly quiet.  It's quite lovely, and yet somewhat eerie.  And while I have a few things to do to prepare for next semester, I find myself hibernating a bit - sleeping in late, and loving every minute of it.

So today, to take a break from the sloth, I decided to cut my hair.  It seemed like a good idea in my head: Rachel, who works with USP, has cut my hair before, but at the Christmas white elephant party, she had cut her own hair, and it it looked awfully cute.  Another friend mentioned cutting her own hair recently on Facebook.  

I think all is well.  I've not seen another human since morning (e.g., no reviewers), and I'm planning to ask Rachel for a major cut in the heat of January anyhow.  :)

Is my reputation preceding me?

One of my students from last semester, Gerald, was preaching on Sunday, and he asked me some questions about how he was handling the text (very well), and he also asked me to come hear the sermon.  The church is in Kampala, so I agreed to go (and only had to stop and ask three people for directions).

Hopefully, one of these days i will learn that I can never just slip into a church and enjoy the service.  After the reading and the Apostles' Creed, one of the wardens [ushers] asked me to come with her.  She took me outside and around the back so that we could enter the sanctuary via the vestry - I was to sit up front.

Since I was sitting next to Gerald, I gave him my best stink eye, and he promised he had nothing to do with this.  Then it came time for first-time visitors to stand and be recognized.  I started to stand, but the vicar [rector] waved me off, indicating that I was to sit.

Then the vicar proceeded to introduce me.  By name.  He introduced me as Rev. Jessica from Mukono, and asked me to greet the congregation, which I am always happy to do.

I have absolutely no idea how the vicar knew me - I don't recall ever meeting him.  I think he has some ties with UCU, but still.  I'm starting to think that absolutely everyone in the country knows me, even if I don't know them.

Helen's prayer request

Helen, my house help, had told me that she and her husband are building a house in their home village. That's normal; everyone has a home at home. Since she and her husband work at UCU, they're far from the village, and land issues are common in Uganda.  She recently had to make an impromptu trip home, because the guy working on the house had taken their money and done very little work, unfortunately also common.

So, Helen told me this, and asked me to pray for her.  I was thinking along the lines of praying for restoration, that this guy would repent and return what he had taken.  Truth be told, my thoughts weren't entirely pleasant.

Not Helen.  She wanted me to pray that she would be able to forgive, that unforgiveness wouldn't spoil her celebration of Christ's birth.  Here I was plotting ways to get the guy to make reparations, and she was concerned for the state of her heart.  Oh, were that I that faithful.

Well be back!

When one returns from a journey, even just returning home for lunch, you may hear "welcome back" or "well be back."  Either way, it's good to be home. 

These are two mementos from my Rwanda trip-I went south of the equator, got a new stamp in my passport, and brushed up on my rusty French, all in one trip!  

Praise God for safe travel and a good visit with my student; I have lots I want to write about from my travels. 

774 kilometers. Three days.

I'm tired.  :)  That really amounts to 480.94 miles over three days, but still.  I was bound and determined to be home by dark, and by God's grace, I was.

It was a wonderful, yet exhausting, visit to six of my students in three dioceses over the last three days.  I'll have more to say about it (including getting a bit lost, and the thrill of zipping along what we would think of as a decent secondary road (the German in me was having a blast!)), but let me say this one thing:

Never underestimate the power of "may I pray for you?"  Obviously, these placement visits are partially pastoral, for both the student and the priests they work for.  Whenever I'd visit a bishop/diocesan secretary/parish priest/student, I'd close the meeting by asking if I could pray for them.  They happily agreed; as the ones who do the praying for parishioners, it's a joy to have someone pray for them.

When I dropped the car at the Dennisons, I stopped in to say hello and check in.  Mary Jane high-fived me for the 774 kilometers in three days, then said, "let me pray for you."  

Never underestimate the power of those little words.  They were balm for my sleep-deprived, road-tired, exhausted-introvert heart.

Out of grief comes a blessing

This morning I preached at both services at UCU, and had the opportunity to speak with Beatrice, Mugisha's mother, after the second service.  They had just returned from the village, where Mugisha was buried.  

I asked how she was, and she seemed to be in good spirits.  While Mugisha was sick, her in-laws had been pressuring her to bring him to a shrine for prayers (read: witch doctor), and Beatrice steadfastly refused.   We prayed with her that Mugisha would not go to the shrine, and praise God, he never did.  Beatrice said that after the burial, her mother-in-law approached her, apologized for wanting to take Mugisha to the shrine, and wanted to be saved.  So did her sister-in-law.

Beatrice was rejoicing that out of her son's death, two souls were brought into the Kingdom.  Will you join me in rejoicing too?  Please continue to pray for her and the family as they grieve.

And the people will come

Today was Mugisha's funeral.  Thankfully, exams hadn't started yet (why they're starting on a Wednesday this semester is beyond me, but I'm grateful) so that the students who are Sunday School teachers could come, as Mugisha had been one of the students in Sunday School.

Other than that though, I wondered who would come, besides family.  I mean, he only passed away yesterday afternoon.  Funerals and burials normally happen fairly quickly here, I suspect because things like embalming are prohibitively expensive.

Silly me - this is Africa, where "I am because you are" is the way we think. Mugisha was one of us, so people came.  

People came - our little chapel, which holds about 150 in the pews, closer to 200 if we use the gallery (we'd call it a choir loft), had the pews full, the gallery close to full, and scores of people outside the door.

Harriet, the woman I buy airtime (pre-paid cell phone minutes) even came.  I had just seen her an hour prior when I was buying airtime, and mentioned that I had a funeral to attend.  She told me that she didn't realize the funeral was for Mugisha; she comes from the same area as his mother.

The Vice Chancellor didn't only come to the funeral, he spoke, and spoke beautifully.  So we had two good sermons today - once again, I appreciate the hope we have in the resurrection.

Burial will be in the village, which is quite a distance away.  Some have traveled today, and some are traveling in the morning.  Please pray for safe travel for those who are going, and for the family as they grieve.

Sad news

Thank you so much for your prayers for Mugisha Timothy; Mary Jane just let me know that he passed away earlier today.  While he's now safe in the arms of Jesus, his family and those who loved him are hurting.  Please especially pray for his mother, Beatrice, as they grieve.

Surprised by grace

Saturday was Sarah Muhima's give-away (similar to an introduction; it can count as a cultural marriage, as the family is giving her away to her fiancé's family, but they will be wed properly in church this coming Saturday), and like all good African events, was lovely, and took a little while. I'll post pictures soon.

I asked Mark Muhima to come with me and be my Yoda so that I wouldn't get lost getting to the venue, and more importantly, getting home.  If he'd not been with me, I'd STILL be driving around Kampala. Since I had one of the bride's family with me, we got there early, left late, and I had to take him home - all of which points to getting back home late, which was fine.

Until I saw the text, at 10:00 pm, asking me to join the team at UCU for church, both services, to assist with distributing communion.  Despite being less than amused at the prospect, I agreed.

When I arrived at the vestry, I realized that the second service was confirmation, which meant that there was no way it would end in two hours (it ended up being about two and a half - not bad!).  I guess at this point you could call me the reluctant (and self-centered) priest.

The first service was fine; the chaplain asked me to celebrate, which is always a joy.  Then at the second service, there were just over 20 confirmands - not bad for a university chapel!

And then, God opened my eyes to show me what I would have missed had I declined to serve.  One of the confirmands was Mugisha Timothy, the young man who has been so sick.  To say that I was ecstatic to see him there would be an understatement!  Had he been in school, it's likely that he would have been confirmed there.  But since he's not been in school for some time, here he was.  Then I remembered that at the hospital, his mother mentioned that he would be confirmed soon.  I was thrilled that 1. he was out of the hospital, and 2. he was strong enough to walk up to the stage, kneel, and stand up (sans rail).

If that wasn't enough, at the end of the service, he came up at the end of the service for the bishop to pray for him.  The bishop started by telling the congregation that Mugisha's life hasn't been easy, and that understatement made the tears flow.  As the bishop prayed for him, I was asking God to either heal him or take him home.  The Vice Chancellor was sitting next to me, and hearing him agree with the bishops prayers only made the tears come faster and harder, and my demands for God to take care of Mugisha to become more fervent.

And to think that I had been inwardly whiny about serving that morning.  Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.

Friday's other events

Friday was quite the red-letter day, what with my niece's birth, and hearing the news while I was in lie at Shop Rite, squealing and attracting a lot of attention.

Exciting and memorable as that was, it wasn't the only thing that happened on Friday.  I had nothing to do (read: was pretty bored), and Mary Jane mentioned she had to go into Kampala, so I asked if I could tag along.  One of her errands was to go to the supermarket, which I also wanted to do but couldn't, as Amos had the car to at the hospital for his daughter's birth.

Mary Jane seems to be my Kampala Yoda, taking me to new parts of town and explaining how they connect.  I doubt I'll remember much, but it is still good to connect the dots.  Her older daughter had had a friend spend the night, so she had to take her home, go to the supermarket, and visit Mugisha in the hospital.

Mugisha Timothy is the son of one of Mary Jane's helpers, and he is in the late stages of leukemia.  I've listed him in the prayer request section of my newsletter for a couple months, and honestly, I'm happily surprised that he's still alive.  Things are not going well, however.  Please keep him and his family (especially his mother, Beatrice) in your prayers.

I've heard of the International Hospital in Kampala (IHK) with varying reports of its value, but had never been there.  Friday marked my first pastoral visit, as Mary Jane also wanted to visit Mugisha, and I was happy to go.

Obviously, hospitals in Uganda will bear little resemblance to hospitals in the US in terms of technology and snazziness.  IHK is fairly large, and like most buildings in Uganda, has lots of open areas (no air conditioning) and outside seating.  We met Beatrice outside, and she told us where to find Mugisha's bed.

We walked upstairs, and there was a gentleman with a Muslim cap sitting outside the door to the ward; I suppose he was supposed to stop and track visitors.  I told him we were looking for bed 25, and he directed us inside.  As we walked in, a man was telling him, "if you just give your life to Jesus..."  For some reason he didn't ask us to sign in; perhaps the evangelism distracted him?

We walked past several private rooms, and came to the semi-private area, which means that there are four beds to a large alcove, each separated with a curtain.  There is a television for the alcove, and there was a small balcony, as well as a tiny restroom.  We found Mugisha and talked with him a for a while and prayed with him.  He was hoping to be released before his birthday on Monday, which didn't happen.  I don't know whether he was released that day at all, though I certainly hope so.  Monday was his fifteenth birthday.

As we walked out, I saw a sign that listed visiting hours (which began at 6:00 am!!), and we were not within those hours.  The man at the door didn't challenge us, nor did any of the staff we met in the hallway.  I'm grateful for that.  I'm grateful we were able to visit for a little bit and pray with him; he's such a sweet boy/young man who is bearing this all with much grace.

Here she is!

Here she is!

My niece's official name is Makayla (who is like our God) Mwebaza (I thank him), but I think we may be calling her Jessica. 

When Amos and I were in seminary, he said that his father was named for an Englishman who had been around before he was born (Evans), and so he was going to name his first child in the same way-Hughes. I told him that was not a good idea since so few people say Hughes properly, so he settled on Jessica. 

I have a niece!

Sweet baby girl Kimera born this afternoon! Thank you for praying; I'll post more information as I get it. When I talked with Amos, he hadn't been in to see them yet, but I think all is well. Hallelujah!

Baby watch!

Please join me in praying for my little brother Amos and his wife Florence in these last hours of the baby watch. Florence is doing well; Amos is the anxious one!

At this morning's appointment, the doctor determined that 'the level of fluid has reduced,' and he decided to induce Florence tonight. 

When I sake why he sent her home rather than admitting her on the spot, Amos said that the doctor wanted to be there when the baby was born, so she has to be on the drip overnight.

This only illustrates that childbirth here is so much more different from in the US; no doctor on call. I'm grateful that she's being monitored, and that she's full-term. 

Please pray for a safe delivery, healthy baby, and peace for all. 

I'll post news of my niece or nephew tomorrow!

Third-world technology

When I'm using my modem at home, I can't use my other USB port, like for my wireless mouse (first-world problems in the third world, I know). 

So I picked up this USB port expander. Am I the only one who thinks this looks like a teething ring?

Hypocrisy

I'm noticing a not-so-subtle hypocritical streak of late.  Sunday night I attended a surprise bridal shower for a Ugandan friend, and I wore a purple African top that my tailor made.  Yesterday I wore a fairly new dress from African fabric that my tailor also made.  I recently picked up my mwenda (cultural dress from western Uganda) that I will wear at the bride's introduction on the 23rd.  At both the shower and chapel yesterday, my African wear made quite a splash; when I came home yesterday, Helen (my househelp) thanked me for being so smart.

Yet when I'm out and about, and I see another mzungu (white person) decked out in cultural wear, I generally think wow, he/she's trying too hard.  When it's my friends in their kitenge (African fabric), they look smart.  Mary Jane has beautiful African fabrics, and she looks great in them.  The Western men here don't wear African fabrics as often as the women, but they look great too.  My friends and students tell me I look smart; one friend told me to put away my Western clothes and only wear the bitenge (plural).

Really, though.  How on earth can the Westerners at UCU be smart and snazzy in their bitenge, yet no other Westerner can be?  If people love me in my bitenge in my context, I bet others love the bazungu (plural) in their contexts.  Lord, soften my heart!

Side note about the mwenda - it's lovely, with light ivory and fuchsia on the top, and black with fuchsia for the trim of the skirt.  Unfortunately, the top was constructed so that the ivory is next to my shoulders and neck, and since I am the fairest [palest] of God's creatures, it completely washes out on me, and I've been laying out like a 15-year old, to try to get a tan.  It's the rainy season; that is no easy feat.  I freaked out poor Helen yesterday with my chasing the sun and how my skin was "turning."

The message that made me cry

I've been trading Facebook messages with my little brother Amos because he's in the office directly behind me (we share a common wall), and clearly, this is how we communicate in the 21st century, regardless of continent.

So, we've been going back and forth (when is the baby coming (hopefully this weekend; I can't go visit my students until this kid shows), do you have a mosquito net for him/her (yes)), and then he drops this on me:

yaa. I keep thinking about how you took me in to be you brother and accepted me. Today I was think the far we have come and I kept looking at your photos.

And this just about reduced me to a puddle. It has been quite a road since I arrived at UCU in May 2009, the bewildered American seminarian.  Amos told me later that he thought I was in class as an observer - no one knew I was a student.  Through time and bumping along the masters of divinity road, the Lord gave me a little brother, and eventually a sister-in-law, and soon, a niece or nephew.

As much as I love being here, it's hard to be gone from everyone who knows me.  Yes, I have some friends here, the closest of whom are probably going back to the US in 18 months.  It's hard to live in another culture, no matter how well I've been adopted.  It's hard to know that you will never exactly fit in, and definitely never blend in.  It's hard to be single in a marriage-obsessed culture.  It's hard to live in a place where the people are transitory, like a university.

And yet, God's grace abounds - Amos took me in to be his "big sis," as he calls me.  Never mind that in his biological family, he's the seventh out of eight.  Never mind that his father has eight biological children; when he sees me, he booms out, "Daughter!" 

As a song says, I'm grateful that we're bound with cords that cannot be broken.

Graduation checklist

Robe and hood: check (recovered in the US)

Mortarboard hat: MIA

Sunglasses: check

Phone: check

iPad with Kindle app: check

Water: check

Program: check

Bring on nearly 1,700 graduands. 

Part of the family

One of the things I love about being in Uganda is that you're always part of a family.  When I worship at the cathedral, they always introduce any clergy in the congregation, which is simultaneously welcoming and mortifying.

This morning, I decided to worship at UCU, and the Vice Chancellor gave an announcement about GAFCON, which begins tomorrow.  As he was talking he said, "oh, and I see Jessica... welcome back!" which caused many to turn to see who this Jessica is.  Then he asked all of us who are going to stand, and fortunately, many of us were there.

No one ever said that family isn't occasionally embarrassing.

Changes

Before I left for the US, I had been working with Felix, my gardener, to remove a hedge that was in front of my flat.  It was visible in the gap between a similar hedge and the fence, and I loathed it.  I wanted something pretty, flowery, and colorful.  

Apparently, I never took a picture of the front hedge, so please ignore the dustbins that are out for cleaning in this picture, and note the hedge on the left (which apparently also needed trimming), and picture it in front of the blue wall, but only coming to waist high.  Not inspiring. 

The Dennisons have a tree in front of their garden with gorgeous flowers, and I have become rather enchanted with it; when it blooms, it resembles a lily.  Mary Jane thought it was called a moonflower, and so I asked Felix to acquire a few so that they could replace the front hedge.  He tried, going to several roadside nurseries, and couldn't find it.

So, I gave Felix some more money, and left him with the charge to find something pretty, flowery, and colorful to put in place of the wretched hedge.  This is what I came home to:

Not pretty, flowery, or colorful.  I was a bit disappointed, but I had given Felix carte blanche, so I had to trust that whatever this was would grow into something.  However, the wretched hedge was gone, so that was good.

When I saw Felix, he was rather jubilant.  As it turns out, those little shoots ARE the moonflower!  Felix told me that he didn't know whether I was on Facebook, and it's a long story, but he was so excited to find them, and he wanted to let me know that he had purchased them, but didn't know how to find me on Facebook.  I have to say, I never thought I'd hear those words from him, though he does listen to the BBC while he's working.

All there is to do now is wait for it to grow into something pretty and flowery, which delights me to no end.

In absentia visitors

The guest house has been in exceptionally high demand of late, so the hospitality coordinator asked if people could stay at my place while I was away, assuring me that they would be upstanding citizens. I agreed. 

When I returned, they had left me this sweet gift, adding that I am free to regift the compact. Heck no. While the nail polish is liturgically appropriate at present, that one has already been regifted. 

Well be back!

Upon arriving at a destination, one either says it hears, "welcome back!" Sometimes that comes out "well be back," which may be a translation of a local term. 

Regardless, I had a wonderful time in the US, though it's good to be back in Uganda.

I'll write more later; I'm having issues connecting my laptop to the internet and to the printer, and Monday morning we leave for GAFCON in Nairobi.

Please pray for safe and ease of travel and logistics. We've been informed that security will be tight at the conference, which is good. 

Well be back!

Upon arriving at a destination, one either says it hears, "welcome back!" Sometimes that comes out "well be back," which may be a translation of a local term. 

Regardless, I had a wonderful time in the US, though it's good to be back in Uganda.

I'll write more later; I'm having issues connecting my laptop to the internet and to the printer, and Monday morning we leave for GAFCON in Nairobi.

Please pray for safe and ease of travel and logistics. We've been informed that security will be tight at the conference, which is good. 

A different way to pray for a parishoner

At the women's clergy retreat in February (yes, I know... this is stream-of-consciousness blogging), one of the priests was sharing that one of her parishioners went into the theatre (surgery), and asked her to come to the hospital to pray.

I thought that was about right.  Then she shared that the patient/parishioner wanted her to pray IN the theatre.  I thought there was no way that would happen in the US!  

The surgeon allowed her to get into scrubs and stand in the theatre and pray after asking that she not get all loud and Pentecostal (stereotypes are rather strong in Uganda).  She assured him that she could pray silently, and proceeded to pray for her parishioner and the team.

HOW COOL IS THAT?!

Happy find

I think we can all agree that moving isn't a lot of fun, particularly when one moves an extreme distance, say 8,000 miles, and it involves a large body of water and multiple continents.  (Yes, I know you must have all those conditions to have multiple continents when originating from the United States.)

Perhaps because of my involvement with the liturgy committee, last year I became obsessed with finding the prayer book I received at confirmation.  I was certain that it was packed in the boxes I had shipped.  I was positive.  I was so excited when my boxes finally arrived, partly because it was lovely to be reunited with my stuff (which only emphasized what an American I am), but partly because the boxes contained my prayer book.

Except that they didn't.  I wondered if someone broke into the boxes and stole it.  The boxes certainly weren't in the pristine condition in which I had shipped them, though they held up well across the distance and oceans and continents.  Why someone would take a prayer book is beyond me, but hey.  Stranger things have happened.

One of my missions in Virginia was to obtain my recipe box, which I knew I had left here, and search for the prayer book.  Now the search was a matter of principle, and no small bit of sentimentality.  In searching my mind, I thought perhaps it was in a certain bag.

Except that it wasn't in the bag.  I was so disappointed, but kept on with my visit here, and realized that soon I have to leave, and if I wanted my recipe box, I needed to get it out.

Guess what I found!  My prayer book!  Hallelujah!!  And a beautiful pashmina, and a Biblical Greek cheat sheet, and a bunch of other things that I wish would fit in my suitcase.

Busoga ordinations

I am horridly late in posting this... in Uganda I was either proctoring, marking, or recovering from exams before I came to the US, and in the US I've been enjoying my holiday.  However, I thought it wise to take advantage of this nifty internet speed and post photos while it doesn't take long!

In August, one of my students was ordained in Jinja, which is in Busoga Diocese.  Jinja is about one and a half hours east of Mukono if there's little traffic, which is certainly true when one leaves at 7:30 on a Sunday morning.

 The lighting is terrible here, but the view of Lake Victoria from the cathedral is stunning!

I must have been seated during the end of the first service (though honestly, there wasn't much turnover after the service ended).  However, I'm fairly certain that there WERE two services because after the first ended, these gentlemen came out to sweep the altar area.  Having the altar in the center means that technically, no one has a bad seat - it's an interesting concept.  I was seated "behind" the altar, and had a lovely view of everything.

David, my student, is in the center.  There were five more ordinands on the other side of the aisle.

I think the vicar (rector) was introducing the bishop.  The entire service was in Lusoga, though it was pretty easy to follow along.

Full house!  I love the gomesi material on the woman in the bottom right of the photo.  It was gorgeous, and the skirt had a slightly different pattern with the circles, which had to be how the material was made, because the dress is only made from one pattern.

David is our newest deacon!

It was rather difficult to get a picture of this, but there was a row of children in the front dancing, and the row kept growing.

My favorite part, however, was when the bishop pulled this girl from the end to come and dance front and center.  See the priest on the right also taking pictures?

 Christ's Cathedral has stunning views of Lake Victoria.

 The architecture of the building fascinates me; I wonder whether it's windy on the hill, and that's what prompted the steeple to be architecturally transparent.

 With our newest deacon, Rev. David!

The people in the trucks were preparing to leave, and I assume they arrived the same way. Busoga Diocese is quite large, and people will travel huge distances to attend important functions.

Even though the text is in Lusoga, I bet you can find key phrases that indicate that this is the Nicene Creed (hint:  look at the beginning of the third line in the first paragraph, then five lines up from the bottom of the same).

Mwenda-my next cultural dress

This is for Sara Muhima's give-away. The top fabric will be the top and wrap, the bottom will be the skirt. 

Monkey business

I have become accustomed to the 6:30am monkey cavorting; they run across the roof, on the water tower outside my bedroom window, and hang about the iron sheets that keep rain from the windows.  They seem to love playing first thing in the morning, and make a terrible racket doing it.  

This morning there were between four and six monkeys playing; they kept coming and going, so I was never very sure how many there were.  

So, they climb, run, and apparently nosh on grub from the ground (ants?).  I'm just grateful that my garden (such as it is) doesn't contain anything they're interested in, or I'd never eat any of it.

See the tail?  That means that the monkey is sitting on the iron sheet above my window, and let me assure you that it makes quite a racket.

See the pawprints above?  I see this picture with the face that went with the paws that made the prints; I must have scared him off the windowsill when I moved the curtain to take the picture.

But not for long, because they kept coming, noshing, climbing, and playing.

Then they went to the garden that's up the hill and behind my place.  This shot makes me think that he's saying grace. :)

Then he ate.  

Then friends came to share in the feast.

And the galavanting began afresh.

Fun at faculty board

Funny comment before this morning's faculty board: Fred asked me to plug in his laptop to the power strip. I noticed that the prongs were American, and did not have an adapter. I held it up and said, "This is an American plug; you know nothing that's American works here."  Fred quickly replied, "Except Jessica."  

And no, I didn't get it right away.  

Dinner companion

As I was making dinner tonight, I heard a rustling in the garden up the hill (because it's been SO dry; please pray for rain!).

I assumed it was a dog.  Nope; this guy was looking for his dinner too.

Cold and an ordination

I have the wretched cold (or flu, as we say here) that is going around. Ugh. When I get online for real I'll post pictures from Sunday's ordination in Jinja.

Of course, the trip back required a stop at a certain fruit stand, and when you pull up, all the merchants descend in your car with their wares, vying for your attention. You have to buy the entire basket, so while I wanted one pineapple, I had to buy two. Whereas I wanted one avocado, I bought five. 

Good enough, I had Canon Moses and Ruth Isabirye with me, so we did some sorting once we got home. I have them avocados and a pineapple, and they gave me a bunch of bananas. Oh, and I gave them some passion fruit; there's no way I could have consumed that entire bag. I just hope the juice helps with this wretched cold. 

Launching a coup

Today we began our curriculum review in earnest, and I began to launch my coup.  My earnest desire is to expand our programs by a semester, if not a year, which is going to cause great consternation, angst, and gnashing of teeth.  I've been talking to the dean about this, and several key lecturers.  Today I was literally whispering in Professor's ear, and he brought it up rather well.

The challenge is that the bishops probably won't go for this at all.  Like other leaders, they want to send us their students, and we pour what we need to into their hearts and minds in the fastest amount of time possible.  So, we will do our best to make the best proposal and presentation that we can, and pray our little hearts out.

Apparently, since I have the fastest fingers in Uganda, I have inherited the secretary duties for this review, despite my inability to take minutes. I am inferring that I am in charge of gathering, corralling, and making sense of all our information. 

If we can get our act together and actually agree on things, we have the potential to do some really great work here.  I think I scored some points, at least temporarily, with the need to emphasize critical thinking and analysis, particularly with the master's degree.

Lord, please help us! 

How a fire in Kenya affects Uganda

It made the Washington Post 'trending topics' at the top of their page, so it must be true. Kenyatta Airport in Nairobi suffered quite a bit of damage in a fire. While I've not read of any loss of life, this is a huge tragedy for both  Kenya and East Africa, as this airport is a major hub. 

Why does this matter to me?  The Global Anglican Futures Conference II will be held in Nairobi at the end of October.  

Even though Kenya is next door, it is much easier to fly to Nairobi in an hour than it is to spend 12 hours on a bus, and customs is much easier as well. A number of us from UCU are going, and I believe we are electing to fly. 

Please join me in praying that operations resume and find normalcy as quickly as possible. 

Requesting logistical brainpower.

Ok, people. I need your help. Next semester, I am likely to be responsible for taking attendance for 150 students in chapel, six times a week. Yay me. 

What is the easiest, yet most efficient, way to do this? Do not assume that the honor code is in effect. 

Thanks!