The Freedom of Choice

Is it possible for one weekend to be completely amazing and so unimaginably hard at the same time? For it is how I would classify my past weekend. A truly wonderfully experience, full of community and friendship, yet laced with moments of struggle, confusion, and interesting realizations about myself and the situation I find myself in.

I’m not sure if I’ve explained this before, but there are two different areas of educational focus in my study abroad program. One of them is the Ugandan Studies Emphasis, or USE. This section focuses on a more historical context and has only three weeks of homestay with a Ugandan family. The Intercultural Missions & Missiology Emphasis, or IMME, section has an emphasis on living overseas and ministry as well as has homestays for the entire four months. I am one of the fearless few who have dared the awkwardness and struggles of being IMME.

As a part of our program, this weekend the IMME students took a trip northeast to the Ugandan city of Jinja. This breathtaking place, with its view of Lake Victoria and the source of the Nile River, was the perfect weekend vacation for those of us looking for a chance to finally be American again. It would seem, however, that though God understood our need for a break, His plans over-road our own. Just when I started to feel American again, God would slam Uganda right in my face, reminding me that these wonderful Ugandan people have no escape from this, their life of poverty and struggle. I could run away by going back home to electricity, running water, paved roads, and buying what I want when I want. The large majority of these locals will never have that option...

Let me explain. On Friday afternoon, the IMME students loaded up onto the sweetest short bus around and headed for Jinja. When we got there, we were all pleasantly surprised by our accommodations. Kingfisher Resort was just that…a beautiful resort, complete with a real swimming pool, a view of Lake Victoria with access to the beach, and the cutest little bungalows for us to stay in. I think we spent the first 20 minutes there trying not to go completely insane in our excitement.

That night, we met with two missionaries over supper. Jesse and Bev are a couple in their mid-50’s who moved to Uganda eleven years ago to start a prison ministry. Though I have never been particularly drawn to prison ministries, the stories they told us tore at my heart. Ugandan prisons are very rough places. They have very small cells that are packed with ridiculous amounts of prisoners. Mattresses are not provided by the government, so unless the prisoners have family or friends to bring one for them, they are forced to sleep on the very dirty cement floor. People accused of any sort of crime are instantly considered guilty until proven innocent. This means people often spend years in prison just waiting for a trial. Then if proven innocent, they are released without apology or compensation. If proven guilty, time served is rarely considered when sentencing. What’s more, attempted armed robbery is considered heinous enough to deserve the death penalty. It could be thought that these people are criminals and brought these vicious prison sentences upon themselves…only that’s not always the case. In Uganda, when a person is placed in prison, it becomes quite easy for others to obtain their personal property. So, in many cases, people are framed by others as a way of robbing them of blind. This is commonly found with women caught in the practice of polygamy. When the husband dies from old age, one of the wives will often blame one of the other wives to avoid having to share the inheritance. And because of the system, innocent women spend years in prison with little or no hope. May God bless Jesse and Bev for bringing them the hope of Jesus Christ.

Late that night, a small group of us gathered in an open area of Kingfisher and had a time of worshiping our Daddy God. It was such a powerful experience. To finally have the group of us together in an informal setting was amazing, but to know that God was so alive within the small circle of us. What a blessing! Imagine my surprise when God decided to bless us even more. While singing, a young man around our age approached us and asked if he could join in. Of course we said yes. After a time, he asked us what we were doing in Jinja. After a quick explanation of our study abroad program, we mentioned that we were visiting missionaries here. It was then that he told us we had just found one. This is so like God…not only did we find a missionary, we found ourselves face to face with a member of The World Race. I think my heart stopped for a good 10 seconds when he said that. I have wanted to do the World Race since it’s beginning a few years ago. The World Race is an 11 month mission trip. Each month is spent in a different country, ministering to different people in different situations. It’s an intense, adventure-filled journey in Jesus Christ, as well around the world. Even more God, the guy we talked with knew a girl I know of from back home who is currently on the race as well. How big is God’s network around the world! I’m still baffled by this.

Saturday morning, we ventured further into the town of Jinja. We met with a group of missionaries who work with the surrounding of villages. A very creative group, they use a number of different avenues to reach the people for Christ. One of them is through a local coffee shop that becomes a church on Sundays. Following our meeting, one of them, a man named Bobby, took us on a spiritual tour of Jinja-town. What an amazing experience. Our first stop was at the source of the Nile River. I'm standing in front of it in the picture. It was very pretty and very unlike I’ve imagined the Nile in my head. I had to remind myself that I wasn’t in Egypt and it just wouldn’t look the same in Uganda. After learning a little about the history of Indians in Jinja at our second stop, we then ventured toward the lakeside.


Bobby took us to the largest boat club in Jinja. It was very nice and expensive looking. However, this was not the point of this stop. Right next to this big fancy building was this tiny fishermen’s town. The homes were small and dirty, formed from red-dirt bricks. Almost all of them lacked electricity and none were bigger than my living room back home. A large group of children were playing outside as we stepped off the bus and they were immediately drawn to us. As they milled about us, Bobby talked about the ministry of Jesus. Standing in between two separate worlds, he challenged us as to what world Jesus had chosen. It wasn’t the fancy boat club…it wasn’t the Pharisees. The Son of God came to earth to hang out with the fishermen…literally. His disciples were from among the lowest of the low. As I stood there among those little children, my heart broke for them as it never had before. I have seen children of poverty many times…but never has my heart broken the way it did that day. As tears streamed down my face, I thought of the life these precious babies lead every day. Not only must they face poverty, but Bobby also said that very bad cases of abuse are also common. Admits their struggles, they didn’t even have the love of their parents.

It was within those moments on the side of Lake Victoria, surrounded by excited children, that I realize what I had been missing. Though I have loved studying abroad in Africa, a part of me has remained unsettled. I hadn’t realized that the first two weeks, but now I am so aware of it. I love Africa…I love the people, the culture, the lifestyle. But something I miss so, so much about this particular experience is the lack of actual ministry. I used to think that maybe I would just live overseas because I know I’m not worthy of God’s calling…I lack so many skills that most missionaries possess. Yet now I know that just living here would never be enough. I hate that I’m not here with the sole purpose of ministry. It breaks my heart that there are people our there still clueless about the reality of God’s love for them…and I’m stuck here going to classes about the history of Ugandan politics. Awesome… But God keeps reminding me that everything will happen just in time. I can’t rush His timing. I can only keep pushing forward and wait on the Lord.

After saying goodbye to the fishermen’s children, we headed to an area of town dubbed Little Ting-Ting. This was a place were all the metal workers in Jinja worked. Crowded into this small area of tin roofed shops, men and women spend their days forming pop cans, towel hangers, and so much more. As Bobby led us around, stopping to talk to a number of them, I began to realize that though it was a very cool day in Jinja, Little Ting-Ting was almost stiflingly hot. I can’t even imagine being there on a normal African day… One man asked me if Obama was my king…my president. I just smiled and nodded, praying he wouldn’t ask me if I voted for him. Then, he said that Obama was his king too. This didn’t come as much surprise to me, being that I see paintings of President Obama all over the place and Ugandans often mention him. However it did make me wonder if any of them actually realize what he stands for. Also, I feel it’s quite important to note that it was in Little Ting-Ting that I received my first request for marriage. A man offered Bobby one chicken for me. One lousy uncoco (the Iteso word for chicken/s). Apparently I’m only worth about $5.00.

We ventured to the best government hospital in Jinja after leaving Little Ting-Ting. I was still feeling the emotional tide of the fishermen’s village, so going to my first African hospital was more than a little intimidating. Bobby would not allow us to go the ward with patients sick with AIDS or Tuberculosis, but I had the opportunity to visit the general woman’s ward. Simply walking into the ward was one of the most awkward and uncomfortable experiences thus far. Almost none of the women spoke English and they all just stared at me. I offered them comforting smiles, but I’m sure they were all wondering why a mzungu was there. As I walked around the room offering up prayers for the health of each of the patients, I became increasingly aware of how poor the hospital really was. In government hospitals in Uganda, a patient taken to a hospital may wait more than a week before even seeing a doctor. Then when they do, the doctor doesn’t even tell them what’s wrong or what medication they are receiving. Things we take for granted in hospitals in America, such as assistance with bathing, restroom use, and food service, are all up to the patient’s family in Ugandan hospitals. So, if a patient doesn’t have family, they do not get that care. The smell of urine was quite prominent while I was there. As I stood in the middle of the room, I’m sad to say I had the sudden urge to escape. I couldn’t process all that I had seen and felt throughout the short tour and I just wanted to run as far away from Uganda as I could possibly get.

Only Jesus held me fast in that place… He reminded me that though I had the ability to escape the actual experience, I would never be able to escape the emotions and memories of those people and places. That as I felt the urge to run as far and as fast as I could from that place, the women lying in those urine soaked beds…the men in those steaming metal shops…the children on the lake-side…none of them had the ability to do so. They were stuck in that place. Unlike me, they didn’t have a choice about where they were and what they were suffering. They just lived each day…looking for hope and peace.

Though there is more to my weekend in Jinja, I fear I’ve already written a novel and a half. I’m going to go now, but I just hope that this has made you think even a little bit. As Americans, we have the freedom of choice. We can work where we want, live where we want, eat what we want, ect. But we are the minority in this world. For there are more out there who don’t have choices to make…they simply are…living each day as an act of survival. Even in Africa, I can’t even begin to imagine a life like that…