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.