To the Village and Beyond . . .

I have been out in the village a lot lately. Usually I stay busy enough at New Hope that I don’t have time to get out. But, on the way home from Entebbe last weekend we received a call from one of the neighbors of Sam’s Jaaja (grandmother) who reported her to be very sick with a fever. Geoff, Sam and I went out that very day and found her with a serious infection in her foot. She hadn’t eaten all day as she couldn’t make it outside to make the fire for cooking. Since then we’ve been visiting each day for almost a week, taking tea and food, plus cleaning and dressing her wound, and giving her antibiotics.

Whereas I usually go with Sam or Geoff, yesterday I went with Kakande. Kakande’s own grandmother lives at the entrance to the path we take to Jaaja, so when he heard that I was going to Wakayamba (the village name) he jumped in. He greeted each villager in a friendly way as we wound our way through the footpath and patiently waited outside while I tended to Jaaja. Occasionally he muttered or sputtered something about having to wait, but exhibited such self-control that I thought a quick visit to his own Jaaja was warranted on the way back to the van. Unfortunately we found her in bed at 11 a.m., also very sick. He left quite depressed and worried about her, but that only lasted a short time. For when we arrived back at New Hope he was donned in a Santa costume for the Special Needs Christmas card  

Today I went alone. Walking along the path I found myself contemplating the extreme fashion statement I was at that moment. Unkempt hair, nothing special T-shirt, mud boots and dirty skirt (don’t wear anything clean to Grandma’s because whatever you wear will end up dirty anyway.) It has been raining HEAVILY most days this week and mud boots are the only foot covering that get me to Jaaja’s house mostly clean and dry over the roughly quarter mile dirt/mud path from the main road. 

I’m getting to “know” the neighbors, so the friendliness of our greetings have increased with my daily visits. One mud hut houses an older woman of questionable mental wherewithal. She’s been known to “go off” from time to time, so as I approached her house and saw her working outside I ventured the standard greeting, wondering what response I would receive. She decided she needed to extend the greeting by engaging me in face to face conversation about the sad state of her house, her sore knee, and various other less-than-desirable circumstances due to the recent rains. I noticed that she had been “mudding” her house--patching up the broken places with fresh mud. The entire structure is a one story tower of Pisa, so her “shoring up” attempts will be short-lived given the pull of gravity and drenching rains. I felt for her. Reflecting on the love God has for orphans and widows awakened my desire to help her in that moment, but I explained that I was on my way to Jaaja’s who desperately needed me. My departing words of “bless you” rang of “be warmed and filled” and I was suddenly aware of my severe inadequacy to meet all the needs I see each time I go to Wakayamba. But, I continued walking with a resolve to do at least what I could for Sam and Nabukeera’s Jaaja. My ability to help her in such tangible ways propelled me along the path, but not without a pang in my heart for what I had just witnessed, nor a deep scoff at myself for, only moments before, shallowly giving attention to my smashing attire. 

Jaaja is about as stubborn as a monkey is mischievous. If we are not there to make her take her medicine, she won’t take it. If I don’t make her drink water, she won’t. She got fed up with the beans and rice I provided Monday to Friday, so she took matters into her own hands. Despite her compromised state, Geoff found her peeling and preparing her own matooke (like a plantain) when he went after lunch on Friday. At least this showed us that she was on the mend! When he told her to swallow her antibiotic, she explained she would wait until she ate. Not falling for her tricks, and knowing that she wouldn’t be eating for another 2 hours, he gave her the medicine and stood over her until she swallowed. 

Jaaja in her kitchen

Today she related a story of giving money for a purchase of sugar to a young neighbor man, but he “ate the money”. (This is the phrase used around here for wasting.) I was incensed! I know the young man and decided I would confront him on the way out on the footpath. Before I could reach his house (and he wasn’t home anyway) I was stopped by the older woman of the mud hut. As if my heart hadn’t been wrenched enough with our previous encounter she went further. “My knee is paining (hurting) me,” and she lifted her skirt to give me a gander as she herself glanced to my nursing bag of tricks.  All the neighbors know me as “musawo” (doctor) so she figured I might have something to offer her from my satchel. Before I could say anything she continued, “I have no mother or father, no brothers, and now have only one sister, only one. There is no one to help me and I need blocks,” and she pointed in the direction of the nearby tree. I was lost. I tracked with the swollen knee, lack of family members to help her and the dilapidated house, but what were the blocks to which she pointed???  Being reminded within myself that when one points here it is usually not in the actual direction of the thing being referred to I looked around trying to surmise the identity of a “block”. She then lifted her eyes to the house behind us--one made of bricks and standing smartly upright. “Ahhhh, brreeecks, you need breeecks for your house!” Her face lit up acknowledging I was finally catching a clue; she also went one more level while her hands fell open in a begging motion, she uttered forcefully, “Help me! Please! Help me! Please!” My heart jumped. I promised her I would talk to someone at New Hope and she smiled. We said good-bye and I continued lamely back toward the main road. 

What a mess! Physically I was still trodding along the footpath in Wakayamba, but my mind was beyond the village. The ping pong I entertained was wearisome, “How can I help that woman?” 

“You don’t have the time or manpower to help that woman.”

“But, I can do something!” 

“What?”

“I can ask child care extension to do something”

“They have so many to take care of already and our focus is the fatherless child. Why don’t YOU do something?”

“Yes! My builder friends can help.”

“With what money?”

“It can’t take that much, can it? Can’t we spare some?”

“You wouldn’t be able to see the project through, and besides Jaaja’s own house needs repair! You can’t fix someone else’s house before you make the effort to fix Jaaja’s!”

Still in the midst of mental ping pong, I found myself at the corner house of the neighbor who informed us of Jaaja’s ill condition. I sat with him for a few minutes and told him of Jaaja’s improvement and related the incident of the stolen sugar money. Being that the young man sometimes works small jobs with him, he promised to have said young man repay the sum. As I passed the house of Kakande’s Jaaja a small boy greeted me and watched my every move toward the van. His eyes fixed on me as I climbed in, pulled out of the muddy ditch and headed in the direction of home.

I am still drawn this evening to that village path and the pleas of the old woman. What will I say when I walk past her house tomorrow? The truth is she is very much in need. The truth is I live only a few feet from 20 children who also have very real physical, spiritual and emotional needs and much of my time is consumed in caring for them. The truth also is that my neighbor is Aunt Ketty and she has just had her fourth round of chemotherapy and will need extra attention this week. The truth to be added on to all that is the homeschooling responsibilities each day for my own children. But the overarching, ever trumping truth is God loves, cares, saves, provides and guides. I will take all of this to Him. Each and every day I will follow His lead, because it is certain that He promises to lead and He keeps His promises. To be continued . . .