fri., oct. 19

My heart is heavy right now. We arrived back in Kampala about an hour ago, and I am just relaxing. I took two Dramamines so I wouldn’t get sick on the flight this time...should have just taken one…but nevermind.

The day began with a visit to the other IDP camp where FH works: Padibe. An IDP camp is for internally displaced persons. It’s basically a refugee camp, but for those still within their home country. People move to these camps because their own villages have been raided or burned, or because their villages are at risk of being raided or burned. Some people have been living in these camps for 20 years.

Walking through Padibe was like slogging through a sewer, only worse, because many people live there. You can see the Sudan border from Padibe. I climbed atop a hill about 10 feet high to get a better view, and then I was informed the hill was formed out of human waste. Walls of huts are constructed out of slender bamboo sticks woven together and sometimes covered with mud. Roofs are made of straw or plastic sheets bearing USAID or OXFAM. A family of five or more may live in a round hut about 10 feet in diameter. That is all there is.

The roofs of these huts often touch because the space is so cramped. Certainly, there is no running water, sewer system, electricity, etc. Disease is everywhere…you walk on it, you sit on it, you sleep on it, you eat and drink it.

I was doing alright until I came across a tiny human squatting on a straw mat in front of a hut. I saw him from the side…. His skull was large and was supported by the body of a 1-year-old. He whimpered and cried, each breath counting down to his death. His fingers and toes were still together as if they never fully formed and separated in the womb. When he turned his head, I was shocked to find his facial features so mature for such a small body. I asked one of the FH staff how old he was, and a neighbor told us he was 4 years old. His mother had abandoned him. Nothing shined out from the inside of him. He was just filled with decay. Why will no one take care of him? I hope he will pass away soon, as God will take care of him in heaven, I think. Is it wrong for me to think this way?

God has mobilized the faithful to serve in Padibe – more than two dozen of them. They go into this filth every day to counsel and teach the displaced. Their reward is waiting in heaven, and they know it.

I can’t imagine.




Many of the babies at the New Life Center got baptized today. The local Anglical vicker, who donated the land for the Center, conducted the baptisms. I loved that time. Some kids slept through the sprinkling water, some cried, and one little girl named Alimo just walked herself up to the front and stood there proudly until her turn was over. The mothers looked very proud.

And then it was time to say goodbye, because Lindsay and I had to catch our flight back to Kampala. I tried to form a shield over my heart as I hugged and shook the hands of the staff and girls, so my heart wouldn’t feel the pain of saying goodbye. I tried not to look them in the eyes or hear what they were saying to me. It didn’t work.

I will miss my friends and hope I’ll see them again one day. Perhaps I can send letters through the Center, and they will be taken out to the girls in the camps. I pray for God to be with them, to keep them strong, and to help them love one another.

Certainly, a whole lot of work and money has gone into the restoration of these girls, and it probably hasn’t even made a noticeable dent in the overall situation of northern Uganda. But it is always worth it, even just for one.




I am still processing this whole week. Might be processing for a while. I have so much more to tell, but I’m too tired for now!