Face to Face With Africa

Friday, February 6th, after a week of living with a bothersome stomach ache, the last thing I wanted to do was hope on a stifling bus and drive six hours south. IMME’s weekend trip to Rakai was something I had been looking forward to for weeks, for I love long road trips, but having a sick stomach had not been a part of my plans. Nevertheless, I sucked it up and boarded the bus.

The first 2 hours seemed to take forever as we putted our way through Kampala and its surrounding suburbs. After seeing row after depressing row of African housing, it was a relief to see the roadsides begin to clear, revealing the natural beauty of Uganda.

For some, even the thought of a long ride in a car makes them queasy. For me, thought, they tend to be therapeutic. Once we got beyond Kampala, I instantly began to feel much better. Praise Jesus! I was so thankful because I had not been excited about being sick during one of our fun weekends away.

About an hour or so outside of the Kampala suburbs, I began to notice a change in the scenery around us. Uganda’s luxurious green mountains began to flatten out into sparse plains, reminding me greatly of Kruger National Park in South African. Then, when I least expected it, we zipped past a fairly small sign that read quick simply “Equator.” I have finally returned to the Southern Hemisphere.

By the time we finally reached Rakai 2 hours later, the mountains had returned. Expecting the end of our journey, I was surprised when we turned onto a very bumpy dirt road and drove further south for another hour. Apparently the tiny village of Kibaale (pronounced Che-ball-e) was our true destination. Found there is a large compound called the Kibaale Community Center. Run by five amazing missionaries from Vancouver, Canada, we were able to spend our entire weekend befriending those wonderful people learning about their ministry.

The center began as a primary school for orphans, but has become much more than that. With a medical center, large primary and secondary schools, child sponsorship and water purification programs, it completely amazed me to learn it is supported solely by one private school in Canada. It was the missionaries (who are only 27-35 years old) that amazed me the most, though. They continually showed me just how easy it would be to make a home…a life…in a rural African village. They were so at home there, and as such, made us feel very at home as well.

One couple had four young children, ages 8-1 ½. The youngest was a Ugandan girl name Mazi (pronounced ma-z) they were in the process of adopting. She was absolutely adorable and watching her dance or simply holding her close became a joy for many of us.

It was their oldest son, though, that stole my heart. Eight year old Joel has clever mind and a sense of humor he has yet to understand. After noticing the school playground, I decided there could be nothing more exciting at that moment than to go play on it. It was after I stood on the top of the tiny slide and yelled “I’m the queen of the world!” that he promptly informed me I wasn’t very good at being an adult. Later, I saw him point me out to his father, whispering “You see that one? She’s just a big kid.”

When we found out there was a nearby mountain we could climb that would allow us to see Tanzania in the distance, for it was only 14 miles away, a small group of us grabbed our camera cases and began the journey up. Joel was appointed as our trail leader. As we trekked the half mile to the base of the mountain, I couldn’t help but be amazed that we were a group of touristy Americans following an 8 year old on a crazy hike up an African mountain. When asked why his father didn’t take us, though, Joel replied incredulously “have you seen how old my dad is?!”

The mountain was insanely steep and climbing it was like death, but to reach the top and turn around to enjoy the view before us was so worth it. Before us lay a gorgeous Ugandan valley, the mountains of Tanzania peeking at us from across the way. Because we stood on the peak of the mountain, on the other side of the mountain we were also able to see an amazing view of Lake Victoria.

As we took in the glory, I nonchalantly made the comment that we were standing face to face with Africa. Jokingly Michelle decided to only way to be face to face with Africa was to lie face-down in the dirt...which Joel promptly demonstrated, throwing us into a hysterical fit of giggles. After millions of pictures and gaining vibrant sunburns, we all headed back down to a relaxing evening with the missionaries.

Sunday morning welcomed us all with the joyous option to sleep in…which never happens here. After breakfast, we walked into the village of Kibaale for a typical rural African church service. It was a beautiful service, filled with an obvious devotion to God. We sang for near an hour, in both their native tongue and English. Something that struck me the most, though, was when the pastor announced it was time for special music. A young man and woman came up to sing a song he had written. It was beautiful and very touching. Then, after they sat down I waited expectantly for the sermon to start. But instead of that, another girl came up to sing….then a group of young girls…then a group of students from the local Islamic school…then two women… Their special music time lasted almost as long as our worship time…and it was so beautiful. Their special music time wasn’t a time of showing off the best voices in their congregation or a time filler to make sure the whole service is at least an hour long. Their special music time was just that…special. It was a time for people to go up and bless Daddy God with the talent he bestowed upon them…a time or worship…and it was all about Him. What a striking difference to what is so often seen in our American churches.

And it was so convicting to me personally. I love to sing…but not by myself. My younger sister has a beautiful voice that is much stronger than mine, so I have always felt that it is easier to sing with her or to just let her sing alone because she is so much better at it than me. But God doesn’t care what I sound like, for He created me just as I am and loves my voice exactly as it is. He just wants to hear my praises to Him. This reminds me of when my pastor from home sang a special song for church right before I left. She has always been self-conscious of her singing abilities. But God told her to sing a specific song at church, so she did….and it was one of the most beautiful specials I have ever heard for it was her obedience to God that shown through her actions.

What a beautiful reminder from God…found tucked within the mountains of rural Uganda.