Eye to Eye with Love

Thanks for reading this blog! The title of this post (and blog) comes from a line in Vicky Beeching’s song: 'one day we will see You shining like the sun, face to face with beauty, eye to eye with Love.’ I love to imagine being eye to eye with Jesus – a physical, spiritual and emotional balance which He stoops to create, so life with my Companion is intimate.

This blog starts 2½ months into my time in Uganda. The lead up to this big move came after a year of slowing down, stopping ‘ministry’, and moving on from a job in a Christian organisation. During this year of being personally emptied and refilled with God’s passion for the poor, a lot changed in my heart and mind, and expectations for life took a turn. The conclusion: 18 months in Kampala working for Oasis Uganda, taking time to reflect, serve the poor eye-to-eye, and watch God reveal the next step in His time.

So, a lot has happened in Uganda so far, and I have found many questions have not only entered my mind but filled my entire being! They are not questions which are easy to jot down on paper, but are rambling and unanswerable... it takes time to formulate a satisfactory-ish accommodation of the complexities of poverty and my God-given responsibility. A lot of experiences are personal and shared only with my Lord. But some can be outed and will hopefully give you an inside peek at life in Kampala.   

There is a lot of humour to be had when travelling cross-culturally, since norms are battered against different norms creating frustrations and amusement. It is easy to feel like the white princess here, adored by local children, but also arrogantly self-appointed; considered to be somehow superior in education, understanding, experience and wealth. As a mzungu (white person), I am immediately different from the majority of people, and am treated as such; sometimes with respect, sometimes with spite and sometimes with declarations of ‘mzungu, I love you’ by local men hoping for a free pass to the UK. Amusement arises but not without a tinge of guilt, since my enjoyment is often basically a judgement of ‘silly little Ugandans’. Misspelt signs and declarations of greatness by poor locals do raise a smile, but also tug at my heart, since every person is dignified and holds within them the likeness of God. Even the deep annoyance of road construction (or destruction) and applying for a visa at immigration with all the short-sightedness of bad bureaucracy should NOT actually invoke my mzungu judgement on inefficiency but should really draw out my love and patience for individuals who have been brought up differently from me: not right, not wrong, just different. 

The UK is like the promised land of happiness and wealth in the eyes of most Ugandans, and I’ve not yet met anyone who does not wish to visit the UK. They are baffled to hear that the general happiness-o-meter swings dramatically down compared to the general optimism and contentedness I’ve found in Uganda where life is genuinely harder. It just goes to show, that having more money and stuff does NOT make you happier, and is in fact likely to deepen your roots in the earth, and make it much harder to find peace and satisfaction with your lot. Jesus weren’t stupid when he talked about money and a camel.

Ugandans generally live hand-to-mouth, one day at a time, and trust God for His provision. And He comes through. They do not have gadgets, cars, matching furniture or a career path, but they are genuinely more content with life than the average Brit.

What does this mean?

·    We can over value money and feel guilty about buying basic essentials, because it could have a ‘greater purpose’ than bread OR we can under value money and consider its expenditure as unimportant. A nice house, a car that works, good education etc., God’s provision for us, right? Right. Maybe. Both are imbalanced. It doesn’t matter what your pay cheque says, but it does matter if you don’t commit it first to God and ask Him how He wants it distributed.

I have met... um... nobody to date who has taken the call to ‘sell your possessions and give to the poor’ seriously. Sure, Jesus was talking to one individual, but perhaps also He challenges us to do the same? He was also only talking to one person when He said 'God so loved the world...'. It’s important to ask Him. If somebody did sell all and give, they would rock my world, challenge me to the core, force me to my knees, and burn upon my heart the desire to do likewise.

Money ramblings are likely to be frequent in this blog, because it is a major area of life God is challenging me to get right. I lean towards over valuing money one day, and under valuing it the next. I do not have it sussed. On one hand I wish I had NO money and lived hand to mouth, trusting God each day, knowing my responsibility to give is very little. On the other hand, I wish I earned millions, so as to channel it to the poor and fund some life-saving work. Every day, neither is real, and it is a case of asking God for wisdom in spending and giving.

From the profound to the ridiculous: knickers are a BIG taboo here. One does not display them outside one’s house, e.g. on the washing line. My first week, I proudly hung out my smalls on the washing line and nobody said anything. Clearly my new neighbours didn’t want to embarrass me, but I wish they had: temporary blushing instead of delayed humiliation after 2 weeks of shaming myself. Oh well. Live and learn. 

Transport here is an obvious difference. Whereas you must be standing at the bus stop in England, here minibuses stop along their route whenever they see people who may want to board, and they even wait if they see you coming. Instead of reluctantly admitting people and dashing off before one has found a seat, the ‘taxis’ here actually want your business, and squash people up so as to fit you in. This can create discomfort when a row of seats built for 3 bottoms actually seats about 8 (3-4 children piled onto the lap of a parent), but still, if I was the last one in, I’d be grateful to be on my way, so move on over and thank God, it won’t take too long. All for the princely sum of 20-30p. And then there are bodda boddas, for when you want to get there quickly. Considered by some as death traps to be avoided at all costs, they are motorbike/mopeds which buzz through traffic and take you anywhere for a negotiated fee. As for me, I braved it one day then woke up 3 weeks later realising I’d taken no other form of transport since... But they are expensive, at 1500-5000 shillings (50p - £1.50) depending on traffic, distance, and stinginess of the driver/me.

An unexpected frustration here is mzungus. I have met a few who want to serve the poor, but I’ve met many more who are enjoying the high life of low living expenses, basking in the sun and driving 4x4s, ignoring their initial reasons for moving here. I find it harder to love these people than to love smelly 14 year old street kids. God forgive me and change me.

Uganda has a lot of beauty – landscape, animals, climate. It has a lot of deep problems which plunge to the sewage of politics and corruption. It provides great opportunity to practically love ‘the least of these my brothers’. And it is a long way from the UK but shares exactly the same fundamental needs, perhaps this is a training ground for returning to the UK and doing likewise there. 

And the purpose for being here? An adventure? Time to travel? Escaping the UK? Not really. Looking into the eyes of people who need my help, smiling at them and passing on money or food, shaking their hands and asking how they are, stooping down to the crippled and engaging in conversation, playing with street kids and learning 1-10 in Luganda from them.

3 deep experiences:

1.    I was sitting for 20 minutes with a crippled beggar one day, waiting for friends to go off for a day of fun. Some conversation, a lot of companionable silence, but sitting on the ground watching people walk by, sometimes looking in disgust, sometimes looking guilty, often just not looking, I had a glimpse of daily life for this man. He didn’t seem to feel the sting of rejection from hundreds of people, but casually continued holding out his hand, thanking the odd few who put small change into it. He didn’t seem to be praying frantically for a change in circumstances or for God to meet his needs. Years of begging seemed to have eroded away his desperation. And yet it must have been real. He is a man, with all the dignity of humanity, living his life sitting on the street, nursing his crippled legs, trusting in the small generosity of others.

2.    

    On Saturday, I helped Frontline for the second time: a ministry which seeks to befriend and help children living on the streets. I met a number of boys, played a type of Uno, chatted and joked and let them touch my hair. One boy, small and smelly, aged 14, sat by me and was content to sit close and hold my hand. Once he took my fingers and brought them to his cheek to stroke him.

3.    I fell in love with a man. I don’t know his name, because he cannot speak, but man, can he smile! Our first encounter was weeks ago: I gave him some bananas. The second, he wasn’t begging but selling posters. I bought one and talked to him, as he beamed at me, shook my hand slowly, and moved his disabled body to proudly show me his stock of Man U team posters, maps of Africa, and alphabet charts. I have visited him quite a lot since, he is handily on the way home, and do not be surprised if my Ugandan gift to you is a poster of something you have no interest in – it is from my man.

    Thanks for reading, it is a LONG first instalment!