The essential virtue for a life in Africa

Considering the amount of time and energy I have of late invested into learning the virtue of patience, I thought it would be appropriate to find out an accurate definition of this word that encapsulates so many of my challenges:

pa·tience  –noun

1. the quality of being patient,  as the bearing of provocation,annoyance,  misfortune, or pain, without complaint, loss oftemper, irritation, or the like.

2. an ability or willingness to suppress restlessness or annoyance when  confronted with delay: to have patience with a slow learner.

3. quiet, steady perseverance; even tempered care;  diligence

All 3 of these definitions considered, I think my steep, stumbling climb towards the mountain peak of patience is moving along. Slowly, but I am moving. Of course, all is relative. I mean, how exactly do you define ‘without complaint, loss of temper, irritation or the like’? Such ambiguous terms…

One of the many wonderful things about being in Uganda is the unremitting opportunity I have to work on this virtue. To set up an Organisation from scratch, there are many many registrations, hoops to jump through, walls to scale, and lines to wait in.

I often look longingly (and yes, slightly jealously) at the many foreign volunteers wondering around Kampala, as they enjoy their weekends off of work, a spring in their step from the freedom that comes from knowing the buck does not stop with them. They need not worry about registrations & regulations, of NGO certificates & tax issues and of course the ongoing sagas of legal issues and land boundaries.

Michael and I have lost count of the number of days we have spent waiting in lines, at offices, & searching in vain to find unstipulated officials to sign unstipulated letters.

Last week we spent the week in Kampala attempting to obtain work visas.* The following takes place over the course of the week. We had absolutely all of the documents that were listed, and others that were not, just to cover all possible bases. Nervously, we entered the Ministry of Internal Affairs, where a swirl of mostly defeated looking people were waiting in lines for passports, visas and all manner of documents. By chance, we stumbled upon a helpful office lady. She pointed us in the direction of ‘window B’ which seemed to be the place to obtain visas, which we quickly deduced by the number of weary mzungu standing nervously in line for their n’th attempt at a visa.

Attempt 1: In anticipation, we step up to the window, exchanging greetings in a futile attempt at cracking a smile from the woman that could decide our fate. After a failed attempt (Michael’s charm normally works on Ugandan women, even I was smiling!) we explain that we need the “G” work visa and have all documents. Without even glancing up at us, she declares we need to submit all documents in a folder.

Attempt 2: An hour later, we are back with said folder. However this time, we have the wrong receipt from our NGO registration application. So, we call our Ugandan brother, who has the receipt, and he gives it to us that evening at home. Already, my ability to ‘suppress restlessness’ is waning.

Attempt 3: We now have necessary receipt and come smiling smugly to the counter in the morning. But alas, that is not enough. She now sends us off to get an official signature from the NGO board, where we spend 2 hours talking with the secretary (she was very helpful actually) before returning with the signature.

Attempt 4: It is now lunch time and everyone has knocked off for a good hour or so.  We are told to come back around 2 or 3. Slight ‘irritation’ developing.

Attempt 5: Begrudgingly, we hand over the file, in folder, with receipt to the same woman. This time she does flick through the file, but it seems we need another letter signed by one of the Ugandan board members. We have one, but it doesn’t say exactly the right thing. I do not do this ‘without complaint’. My patience is clearly wavering, and I show it.

Attempt 6: We arrive the next day, our patience becoming more and more compromised as the days pass us by.  We have the letter, as our Ugandan father who we live with in Kampala is on our board. This time, however, we had the wrong type of folder. Apparently this is a serious concern, and she advises us to go and purchase the correct one immediately. I struggle to remain ‘even tempered’ with our interaction this time.

Attempt 7: We come back armed with all documents, receipts, signatures and of course, the special folder. This time, she is happy to accept it – however, only after the photocopy of my passport is rotated 90 degrees within the file to look more ‘suitable’. It is only at this point that she presents us with the main issue at hand. Currently, there is no chairperson to preside over the Ugandan Visa Board, and so we will not be able to get a work permit until such time as they hire someone to fulfil this role. In the meantime, we must apply for a ‘special pass’ visa. In despair, I take the application form for the special pass. By this time, I am past having a temper. Perhaps that is what patience is all about?

Attempt 8: Armed with the special pass application form, we wait in line, praying to God that He may miraculously intervene in this situation in order to prevent us from taking drastic or violent action. It seems He does intervene. The woman takes our documents, the file, our special pass application – and then our passports. In return for the only identity we have in this country, she gives us a little slip of paper from the Department of Immigration that has scribbled on it our names and nationality:

Our current 'passports'

So with fear and trepidation, no passports, & the vague promise of a special pass visa in a week or so, we leave the Department of Immigration, Internal Affairs.

If you are the praying type, pray!

*Disclaimer: I am ABSOLUTELY aware of the ridiculous difficulty that foreigners are confronted with trying to obtain work visas in Australia, and think that it is equally ridiculous. I certainly don’t want to single out Ugandan bureaucracy, but am merely sharing my experience.

 

Life and friends

Last week was exhausting but satisfying. It was jam packed full of lots of good things – friends, villages, learning, eating lots of food and most importantly, falling in love!!

The medical student Maranatha Health is sponsoring through medical school, Davis, and his partner Phiona came to stay with us in our home for the week. They also brought along their new baby, who is about 6 weeks old. It was our first time hosting a Ugandan family, and I had lots of practice preparing Ugandan meals (and also learnt more about cooking matoke, the staple Ugandan dish!).

Davis, Phiona, Michael and I with baby Andrew (in front of the clinic!)

When Davis and Phiona recently called us to tell us the exciting news about the birth of their first son, they also gave us the incredible honour of naming him. After some careful thought, Michael and I chose the name Andrew, for a very significant reason. Outside of ourselves and our own families, there have been several people from the very beginning who have caught the vision of Maranatha Health, taken it as their own, and invested many hours of their own time to turn the original dream into something tangible that can change the lives of people in Kamwenge. No-one has worked harder, been more committed, or sacrificed more in Australia towards this goal, than our good friend Andrew Spencer, who is also the treasurer of MH Australia. Together with his wife Candace, they continue to bless the people of Kamwenge through their huge committment to MH, always working quietly in the background. They have also just had their first baby, a son. We explained all this to Davis and Phiona, who excitedly agreed to accept this name for baby Andrew!

While there, I happened to fall in love with baby Andrew, who may just be the cutest, most adorable, cuddly, and certainly happy baby I have spent time with before (although I often feel this strongly about little people I meet!). I have never seen a 6 week old baby laugh so much, cracking up with giggles at the smallest things! Here’s some proof of his cuteness:

Me and Andrew

Both Davis and Phiona come from poor village backgrounds, while Michael and I obviously come from urban Australia. The differences in worldviews, attitudes and experiences between us all is remarkable (which, as always brings challenges) yet we had a positive week in which we learnt a lot from each other. I am always staggered by the similarities in humanity, despite the differences.

We also had the opportunity to visit Davis’ family in the village. They were keen to host us to thank us and Maranatha Health for sponsoring Davis through medical school. Davis grew up in a very remote part of Kamwenge and his family remains poor; however, they were incredibly generous and received us with open arms. Of course, seeing a foreigner in this part of Uganda was very rare and we attracted a lot of unnecessary attention. Not only did they put on an amazing feast for us (they even bought and killed a goat!), but they also showered us with many gifts – matooke, dozens of avacodo, sugar cane, oranges, other fruits, and of course our very own rooster (which reminds me – another installment of ‘Kamwenge’s facinating chickens’ is coming soon, bought to you by our very own rooster!).

The feast!

One of Davis's younger siblings holding Andrew

All in all, it was a great week, made all the more fun by the fact that we had electricity for the WHOLE week!! I’m not going to get too excited about that though – its already been off almost 3 full days this week….

Phiona and I (trying not to get wet in the rain!)

* I just wanted to acknowledge that the photos in this blog are not mine – almost all are taken by Davis (or his relatives) with his camera. (Michael wanted me to make sure I acknowledged that HE took the photos of Andrew and I!)

Samaritans and strangers

Ugandans are incredibly generous.

Not in the way that Australians are generous. Most of us volunteer our time to a cause at some point, when it suits us, outside of our own space and family, perhaps with a little of our finances, ensuring that the boundaries are neatly carved in stone from the beginning.

I have resolved that the next 10 years of life in Uganda is going to be one big, challenging, uncomfortable lesson in generosity.

“but a Samaritan, as he travelled, came where the man [who was beaten and robbed] was; and when he saw him, too took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, took him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have’….

Jesus told them: “Go and do the same.”

Most of my friends have heard this story and know it well, whether they have an active faith, have grown up in a Christian family, are agnostic, or have no religious background at all. The ‘good Samaritan’ story has found its way into everyday language in Australia and around the world. Law in Australia even dictates that Doctors cannot be sued for trying to help a person in an emergency, under a ‘good Samaritan’ clause.

But who of us actually lives this day in and day out? I know I wouldn’t even have a clue how….

And then I came to Uganda.

I don’t know why or how it is the way it is. But every Ugandan family I know well, has at some point taken in someone (often many) who needs looking after, be it a single mother, a struggling student, an orphaned child, or a grieving window who needs some TLC.

In Australia, we pride ourselves on having ‘sponsor children’ that we pay a few dollars a week to, receive a pat on the back from our chosen donor agency, and continue with our lives unaffected. But actually taking a child into your home? Getting messed up in their lives? Risking the safety and privacy and finances of your own families for the sake of a stranger?

Time and time and time again, Ugandans invite strangers in need into their lives.

Children/teenagers/young adults that are not theirs (often there is no blood relation) are invited to live with them.

They feed the child

They pay the school fees

They become ‘mum’ and ‘dad’

They ensure the child has the same opportunities they would want for their own biological children.

A good friend of ours in Kamwenge has several children of her own. Then she has ‘adopted’ a few extras along the way. She makes no distinction between those that are hers by birth, and those she has met and taken in along the way.

As she was telling us in a matter of fact way the other day, one of her ‘children’ she met in town at the shop where he worked. When he lost his job and had nothing to eat, she invited him to live with her. Several years later, he has had vocational training (sponsored by her) and she is now helping him with capital and resources to set up his very own business. He still lives with her.

We were speaking with a friend recently, about the length of funerals in Uganda. He explained that one of the reasons they take so long (and by long, we mean sometimes a week or more!!) is because the close relatives and friends of the deceased sit down to discuss what will happen to the remaining immediate family members. Especially when there are children involved. They will negotiate who they will live with, who will pay their school fees and medical bills, and who will supply some food for them and when and how. They plan for the child to be looked after until they are an adult.

Now, I don’t want to be unrealistic or fantasise Ugandan culture. There are a lot of people who aren’t generous at all, just like anywhere in the world. And there are lots of situations where this network of support breaks down.

But what a wonderful way to try and live! Now I just need to get over my selfishness…