Safe in the Jungle

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A robust wifi in the middle of Africa helps make the world a smaller place but not a safer place.

It was disturbing to read about the explosions and carnage at the Boston Marathon from here. One of America’s premier sporting events was forever stained by the evil visited on the unsuspecting near the finish line.

Knee-jerk reaction will certainly point to foreign nationals bent on our destruction. Given the numbing polarization of the country, it wouldn’t surprise me at all to find that this is a home-grown act. Either way, there is precedent.

It is yet another reminder that no matter how safe we may think we are, in gated communities, with security systems, evil and danger are around us. In February, I left California to serve as a video missionary in Uganda. Among my concerns were my own safety. In two months in Bwindi and urban areas, I have not felt insecure. Back at home, though, another example of the violence around us, no matter the probability.

I am confident that law enforcement will identify the assailant(s). We must also do our part to be vigilant in this dangerous time.

For now, six and a half weeks from returning to the US, the thunder rumbles, the rain falls, the birds chirp, and, yes, the rats run through my room, but I am safe in the jungle.

Why the long faces…

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Every day a half-dozen young men, each with long faces, queue up on this bench, awaiting a date with the surgeon…for their circumcisions.

the bench

It is a good health practice, supported by Bwindi Community Hospital, to help them avoid the HIV/AIDS plague.

I find it a fascinating scene. The anxious young men, fumbling through literature, flashing a nervous smile.

My colleague in communications needled me and said “…maybe you should stop there for a touchup…”

Um, no…

Check Mates

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If life were a chess match, I was king for a day.

I’ve been in Kabale, about 90 hard kms from Bwindi, for a brief road trip to video a primary school run by a Northern California NGO.

As a bonus, I visited three Anglican bishops, including a couple of retired mitre-heads I previously met. All were generous in spirit and hospitality. Check.

My host, chauffeur and FB friend, David, is an archdeacon in the local Diocese of Kigezi. We began the day by visiting retired Bishop William Rukirande. We met in 1996 when I was editing “The Missionary” (how appropriate) for Bishop Jerry Lamb in the Diocese of Northern California. Bishop William attended the diocesan convention in Redding as a representative of our companion diocese in Uganda.

bp william

I never forgot the name or his gap-toothed smile and being a few easy kms from his home decided to make a visit. Now in his 80s, Rukirande appears fit and relaxed. I told him several times how good he looked. His comfortable home sits on eight acres of grazeland for his 30 cows.

He and his wife served a fruit salad followed by obushera, a sorghum porridge that is, well, decidedly, not delicious.

obushera

After photos and goodbyes, it was off for the school for orphans. We were met outside by delightful kindergarteners, chanting and singing for us. An assembly of P1-P5 students greeted us with song and introductions. I got nice video from these poised pupils.

We ended the day with a short drive to see retired Bishop Enoch Kayeeye. He was one of the first people I met when I arrived in Kampala in mid-February. I could see him coming from a mile away, given his bishop’s outfit, topped by the distinctive fuschia-colored shirt.

I neglected to call to inform him of my visit so my arrival to his house was a surprise. He is a delightful man, very welcoming. We had a nice conversation and when he mentioned his work with the Batwa pygmies, I called time out.

“Can I get my camera and tripod from the car?,” I asked. He agreed and 17 minutes after I asked my first and only question, we adjourned for refreshments.

Across three continents I carried a letter of introduction from my local bishop, Barry Beisner, to Bishop George Katwesigye.

bp george

We met in his office at the Kigezi diocese’s headquarters, on a hill overlooking Kabale. He has been to Northern California several times and we have several mutual friends. We spoke of our respective ministries and discussed issues facing the church in Uganda and the US.

Like the others, he was gracious and welcoming and invited me to join him for a meal my next time in Kabale, which is likely to come in the next few weeks.

None of these visits was planned before I arrived in Uganda but through providence and prayer, friendships were strengthened and fellowship was shared.

Check mates…..

African Easter Homily

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John 20: 1-18

The Lord is Risen! He is Risen Indeed!
The Lord is Risen! He is Risen Indeed!

Christo Azookire (Christ is Risen!) ah zo SHEAR ay
Azookire buzima (He is Risen indeed!)

easter preacher

This week starts my seventh week in Uganda. I am half-way through my time here.

When I arrived in mid-February, I had traveled half way around the world, leaving every comfort of home, and the people I love.

I traveled by myself…but I was not alone.

God in the father, son and Holy Spirit, has accompanied me every step of this trip. From the planning, to my placement in the guest house. His work is glorified in my very presence here with you this morning.

God sent people ahead of me, to welcome me, to comfort me, to direct me. Mukama Asiimwe!

On this, one of the great feast days in the Christian calendar, we celebrate Christ’s triumph over death.

His resurrection opened heaven’s doors for us…for us to transform our lives from sin and selfishness…to service and love and obedience to God.

On that first day of the week, when Mary first arrived at the tomb, and the two disciples moments later, they asked, “Where is Jesus?”

We have asked that many times ourselves.

We can’t get to this day of celebration without first going to the cross.
Last week, we read of Jesus final days. We relived those heartbreaking and difficult stories.
Stories that implicate us in his death, by our rejection of him. Stories that we’ve heard and read for years that stain our consciousness. Stories that leave us trembling, like the beautiful old hymn, “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?”

And you and I, citizens of this fallen world, know what it took to nail Jesus on that cross. Like Peter, we denied him. We lost sight of him. Where is our Jesus?

It wasn’t Peter’s intention to deny Jesus. Far from it. He pledged his loyalty. But Jesus knew about our human nature, our condition, our weakness.

Peter was with a circle of people sitting around the fire…trying to keep warm. Trying to fit in. Trying to belong to a new community of strangers.

In a similar situation, I would do the same, wouldn’t you? I have done the same, haven’t you? I have compromised my principles, I have defied my own statements of loyalty, I have turned from God and Christ. Where is my Jesus?

But Jesus took all of that. He took the world’s selfishness and sin with him on the cross.

When Peter met Jesus’ eyes that moment when the cock crowed, he was convicted by the truth of his weakness. And he wept bitterly.

If we could step out of ourselves, and look at our behavior and rejection of him, we might weep as well.

Our sin is a giant obstacle that stands in the way of our relationship with him. We cannot move it. God can…and will….when we confess and ask him into our hearts.

Jesus was the good shepherd. He was also a threat to authority. He was a threat to the established way of life. He upset the Jewish leaders. He drove the sellers and money-changers from the temple. He healed on the Sabbath. His teachings were hard for the rich young man.
But Jesus said: “God didn’t send his son to the world to condemn the world but to save it.” And that was a hard lesson…a new covenant…

For people in authority, the rulers and powers, and people everywhere, who seek to serve themselves before they serve others, in the end, Jesus had to die.

On that first day of the week, the angels rolled the stone away. They rolled it away from the front of Jesus’ tomb. It is rolled away from our lives. Will we walk in? What will we see?

We have new life and we rejoice at this fact. Jesus’ resurrection is one of the great stories..in fact it’s our life-saver. CHRISTO AZOOKIRE. ah zoo SHEAR ay

Mary went to the tomb on that first day of the week. We expect she would have remained outside and grieved the death of her Lord. For what could she do? She could not remove the stone. But when she arrived, the stone had been rolled aside.
This was upsetting to her. So she immediately turned to tell the other disciples.
Peter and another, ran to the tomb. The younger one arrived first, but did not enter. Peter went right in and saw the linen lying on the ground. He saw a separate cloth that had wrapped around Jesus head. Where is Jesus?

They saw…and they believed he was alive….and they left.

Jesus appeared to Mary on that first resurrection morning. But she did not recognize him at first.
We often encounter God but we do not know it. Like Mary, we are emotional, we are distracted, we are blind. Like Mary, we don’t expect to see Jesus.
It is afterwards, when we look back, we can say in astonishment–the Lord lives, today. I was with him.
But we don’t know it at the time. We look back and know that he was present with us.
In the form of a friend who visited us. In the form of one who helped us. In the form of a stranger who crossed our path and smiled with us.

Yes, today, Jesus is risen with us, this morning.

He is here among us at BCH. He is here next to us.

Turn to your neighbor. Look into their face. What do you see?

Say to them, the Lord is RISEN. In ME. He is in YOU.

Christo azookire! ah zo SHEAR ay

Azookire buzima!

Things I’ve Learned in Africa

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Recently passed the half-way point of my video ministry trip to Bwindi, Uganda. I have adapted well, shot some nice video, have eaten just about everything put in front of me, have met scores of friendly people.

When I return to the states at the end of May, I will have some new habits, some of which may be life-changing. Let’s see:

I don’t need a hot shower every day. I don’t stink as bad as I thought I would. So unless I have a public appearance or a bad hair day, I may not shower.

IMG_5548

I don’t need clean underwear every day. Doing laundry in the jungle is tough. Washing clothes isn’t that hard, but DRYING them is. I brought with me about 8 packs of underwear and > 10 pairs of socks. I’ve been wearing each for three days or more. Started when my luggage was delayed in London. If it don’t stink, it says out of the sink.

Watch what I drink. A special treat here is a cold soda in the afternoon. Not exactly ice cold, but a cold Coke hits the spot. Hours later, I struggle to sleep. Is caffeine keeping me awake? I rarely drink cokes at home and will resume that practice.

Watch when I drink. Over a late supper, I’m drinking water. I drink more when I pop my daily anti-malaria pill. Hours later, I make more late-night trips than Boris Karloff. Reduce late-evening water consumption.

Overdose on patience. I’ve learned about “Africa time.” I’m a patient person but I’ve needed a megadose of patience here. Starting times for meetings, rehearsals slip by 30-45 minutes. Then meetings don’t end due to extended visitations. Enjoy the moment. Don’t worry, be happy.

Relate to everything. From the industrious ant to the comical red-tailed monkey, every creature has its place. Appreciate everything and everyone.

Flexibility is strong suit. Whatever I have planned for the day or the moment, be flexible. Something else could come up and steal the day. I was told on Monday by the hospital chaplain that I would deliver the homily at morning devotions today. I meditated on the scripture verses, prepared my reflection….then watched as another young man stood up to deliver his homily. I’m up again on Sunday, resurrection day.

My lessons are incomplete. There’s sure to be more in the next six weeks.

House Call

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If you happen to get sick in the middle of Africa, it’s good to be miserable within 50 meters of the finest private hospital in Uganda.

BCH sign

Felt some chills which were followed by a nice fever on Sunday night. I excused myself from a dinner engagement and headed to bed. Monday dawned with a warm forehead and general misery. The guest house manager summoned a doctor who, hang on to your hat, made a house call.

She took vitals, asked questions, then lowered the boom. “We need to test you for malaria.”

I had all the hallmarks: fever, lethargy, loss of appetite. I’m all for an authentic African experience but isn’t that taking it a bit too far?

Got to see the hospital workings up close and personal and was relieved when blood smear came back NEGATIVE.

So a bit of a setback as I’ve been shuffling around like an octogenarian with an appetite of a six-year-old.

But I feel better today. My head is clear. I have some video editing to do. The mosquitoes can wait.

Extended Family

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The child’s shrill cry of “muzungu” heralded our trip down the hill, alerting others below that a pale-faced visitor was approaching.

I can’t believe Cleous drove the Toyota sedan up the steep, uneven path to begin with. It’s not like it has four-wheel drive. Still he pressed on as we lurched and rocked toward an appointment to meet his father at his compound. We parked because ahead was clearly just a footpath. Fortunately he chose discretion. As we got out of the car, we immediately were surrounded by a dozen children, half clothed and barefoot, interested in us.

This was their stomping grounds, as it was for Cleous a generation earlier. As we marched up the hill, the boys were in quick pursuit.

Patrick poses with Cleous' father and extended family.

Patrick poses with Cleous’ father and extended family.

In my second trip to Africa in nine months, I have made a point to accept and welcome each and every situation that comes my way. From sampling food, to standing amid a group of strangers, I believe I was sent here to see and experience all I can. Try it, you’ll like it, is my cry.

At his home, a tight, recently built structure on the outskirts of the town center, I was given a private room, overlooking the latrines and bathroom. Not a good idea to open the window.

I am very much a muzungu, at least in my definition. Somewhat clumsy in social situations, trying to find the correct or clever thing to say, whether in Rukiga or Lukonzo. Spoiler alert: I keep my iPhone handy with my growing list of appropriate phrases. I go along with everything. I eat everything on my plate. Even ask for seconds of obushera, a sorghum porridge, which is definitely not delicious.

As a spoiled westerner, sure, I prefer a nice flush toilet. In South Sudan, I eschewed the hole in the floor, for a raised seat, when arriving for the morning constitution. There was no such luxury in Kasese. Last year I was concerned about my aim and dropping my waste within my waistband. However, with my newfound serenity about these things I crouched to let it fly. Successfully, and on target, I might add. OK, enough about that…though I really could go on.

As we climbed toward the house, I noticed long glances as I walked past neighbors and their homes. We arrived, entered the front room and sat on comfortable chairs, with food awaiting beneath netting on the table. Though we had just come from his in-laws house and their feast, Cleous advised that it would be disrespectful not to sample the fare before us.

His father, Vincent, arrived for introductions. He has a serious mien. He’s now a peasant farmer having had a career in the public sector. Then the extended family showed up and filled the room. More introductions were made, and after rehearsing my line for at least 45 minutes, I managed, “Wasibire,” or good afternoon, in Lukonzo. Smiles and laughter. Did I say something wrong?, I would later ask my host. No, he said. There were surprised and pleased to hear me say that.

More friends and more introductions. Then gifts. An uncle presented me with his handmade walking stick. We assembled for some photos. Africans, I notice, are not keen on mugging for the cameras as their American counterparts. These are proud people in the photos.

So it’s time to return to the car and Kasese. Bags of fruit and vegetables were carried by members of our entourage down the hill.

At the car, it was time for another round of goodbyes. The children smiled for a photo by Cleous. As they were focusing on him, I managed a profile shot of their grinning faces.

When I mentioned that I would also like to take a photo–permissions are required in most settings–they quickly split.

In the car with the windows down to enjoy the soft sunshine and warm air. I can see and hear the children running alongside and behind us. We’re picking up speed as we nose toward the main road. They gallop after us, shouting after the visiting passenger.

Saturday Night Excitement

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A group of medical students dropped by to stay at the guest house tonight. Two are from Stanford, another from Canada, serving six weeks residency at public hospital in Kampala. They drove here to trek with the mountain gorillas, successfully. They were staying at one of the resplendent lodges nearby but left….due to mice in the rooms.

One of the girls was telling me about this on the patio before dinner and said they just had to leave. Of course, I had plenty of discretion NOT to mention the rodent infestation underway in my room. I walked in my quarters, turned on the light, and saw the critter climb the wall near my bed to his exit near the ceiling.

After dinner, I walked in again to get my head lamp, and the rat ran up the wall again. I told the manager, and he vowed to get the rat tonight, while I went to (my first) choir practice.

One of the guests shrieked when a lizard crawled from her pants while she was in the loo. I remarked to her that, heck, this is rural Uganda. There’s a lot to like about lizards. They help keep insects under control.

So imagine: the manager and two others in my room, waiting, chasing and clubbing at the critter, and rearranging the room in the mayhem, while in the adjacent dining room, the guests were cheerfully oblivious to what was going on next door, chatting up the staff doctors about the vagaries of clinical care in the jungle.

I find the scene so deliciously funny, so typically African. Great fun tonight.

And the mouse/rat lives on. For now….

Week Three Begins

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It is about 2:20 p.m. on Tuesday. We’ve had a couple of heavy thunderstorms already today. I’ve finished lunch and I’m sitting on the balcony overlooking the out-patient clinic at the hospital here. A baby is crying. Is it hungry or in some other kind of distress? Every day the patients line up to be seen.

The Bwindi Community Hospital is very critical to the local and nearby communities. Residents come from miles around to get health care. I spend most my days here observing the activities and meeting people who will help me get the video work I need. Other days I spend about a mile from here where outreach activities to the Batwa Pygmies is conducted.

The needs are great, the staff is busy and attentive. It really is something to witness.

I’m settling in, with the guest house staff and routine, and my colleagues. Most of the time things go well. Other times I get distracted, lose my place and dwell on my loneliness. But that wave passes and all is well again.

The hospital chaplain asked me to lead morning devotions on Monday. A friend said he wanted me to preach at his church, but first he must ask the pastor. Can’t believe this is God’s plan for me.

Like everything in Africa, it is hard here. But it is also beautiful, difficult, wonderful and poor. Infrastructure is virtually non-existent. I have water, a flush toilet at my disposal. Most here don’t have anything close.

I’ve shot some good video so far and I’m just getting started. I will travel next week to see a Ugandan teacher I met last year in South Sudan. I will stay with him and his family for two nights and then return. After Easter I plan to go to Rwanda for a couple of nights to visit a former Carmel High and York School cycling star.

I’m healthy, eating everything in front of me, which is starches and plantains, mostly.

It Is About Time

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Aba shija, aba kazi…Banywani bangye…murire ota.

Ndi Patrick.

Good morning

In John, chapter 7, we’ve been reading about The Festival of the Booths, or Feast of Tabernacles. It is a week-long fall festival commemorating the 40-year journey of the Israelites in the wilderness.

Up to this point in his ministry, Jesus had displayed his power, had performed miracles and healings and yet had frequently said, “tell no one.”

His followers urged him to attend and be bold in public. But Jesus refused, saying, “it’s not my time.”

He said he was not ready to go public, or go big.

In America there is a saying, “go big or go home!”

After his brothers went to the festival in Jerusalem, he changed his mind and later went.

The Cicada is an inch-long insect that lies dormant underground for 13 years.

They don’t bite or sting and are not dangerous. They exist in only one place..the Eastern US.

The females lay eggs in twigs, which hatch in six weeks and fall to the ground, where they burrow into the soil.

At the end of 13 years, for 13-year varieties, or 17 years for 17-year cicadas, they come up out of the earth over the course of a few weeks, as many as a million per acre.

The males make a chirping sound that fills the air…you can rarely here anything else.

This dormant insect waits and waits….until it is its time.

Many of us were baptized or called to Christ at a young age.

Yet we still act reluctantly..as if it is not our time.

What are we waiting for?

I was baptized as an infant, later confirmed by a bishop when I was in secondary school. I was called to follow Christ and serve others.

But t wasn’t my time. For 10, 15 and more than 20 years it wasn’t my time. Like the Cicada, I lay dormant.

But when my son was born in the hospital, almost 22 years ago, I was in the delivery room, and saw that miracle of life. I think at that time I was born again, too.

It marked the beginning of MY time. I rejoined the church and began to give OF myself instead of take FOR myself.

I’ve been in Bwindi a little more than a week and I see the work and effort that many of you do to serve your brothers and sisters who urgently need health care.

Perhaps it’s an obvious question:

Is this your time to serve in the manner that The Lord intended?

When Jesus spoke, it caused a division among the people.

The Pharisees had heard about Jesus provocative statements at the festival of the booths and sent their police in a scheme to find out more.

Can you imagine the Pharisees and what they were doing? They were threatened by this pastor and wanted to put a stop to it.

Isn’t that what powerful people do? Isn’t that what some of us do when confronted with things we don’t like?

We try to discredit our rivals. I believe we can all relate to the Pharisees and what they were thinking. Would we do the same if someone threatened our empire?

In the end–and I don’t want to ruin the rest of the story for you–but the Pharisees get their way.

Jesus is destroyed.

But neither death nor the Pharisees were any match for God and his plan for Jesus. It was his time

Follow up to last Friday’s devotion by Canon Charles. Do you remember he asked us about the gifts that we give to our friends?

I have a very good friend. His name is Marc. We sing in our church choir together. I am a tenor, he is a bass. We ride bicycles together through the Sierra Nevada mountains in Northern California, marveling at the beauty of creation.

He works in a restaurant. But he wants to serve injured warriors returning from Iraq and Afghanistan.

He has tried for four years to leave the restaurant and build a career helping others.

But it wasn’t his time.

Some of his friends, including me, have prayed for him to find this work.

But it wasn’t his time.

This weekend, I got a message from Marc that he accepted a job where he will organize activities to help wounded soldiers rebuild their lives. He will be in Texas when I get back.

God decided it was Marc’s time.

Makama asiimwe

Man on a Mission

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Arriving at Bwindi in a splendidly roomy van, I was ferried to my home for the next three months in a conveyance unattainable to most in this region.

And that will be typical of about everything I do here. From my carbon footprint, to electronic gadgets, to bags of underwear and socks, I got and brought a lot.

Did I mention electronics?

I will admit I am the poster boy of western excess on this trip. iHave just about iEverything Apple makes, from laptop to iPad to iPhone. Each of those devices has its own iCamera.

Great. I brought six other HD cameras.

I don’t know exactly what I will see while in Uganda but I hope I don’t miss anything. It’s expensive to fly across the Atlantic and 11 time zones. It’s my second trip to Africa in nine months and I am very fortunate to have this opportunity to document health care and education here.

My communications colleague at the Bwindi Commmunity Hospital looks at me in amazement. Look at all this stuff. I start to justify. The laptop is my portable video editing device, the iPhone is a handy HD camera, iPad is great for social media.

Yes, a bit of excess for these parts. But I will use them all.

I’m a man on a mission.

Real-Life Drama

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It’s Saturday morning and business as usual. Morning devotions were held at 8 a.m. Doctors and nurses made their rounds. Administrators were on duty. This visitor sat on the balcony and watched the activities of the day unfold.

The balcony at the Bwindi Community Hospital administration building overlooks the grounds. From a strategic seat looking north, you can see the main hospital wing, an outside meeting area, and a volleyball court. A nursing school, under construction, is beyond the trees in the distance.

Looking up from my ubiquitous iDevice, a real-life drama unfolds before my eyes. A woman drops to her knees. Maybe she fainted or was overcome by pain or something. She bowed her head. Then the baby cried.

In an instant, staff surrounds her with privacy screens. Nurses and others rush to support the mother and newborn. A gurney arrived. Health care at the hospital responded on the double. It was impressive to watch.

After the mother was moved inside, a second child was born–her second set of twins, I was told.

Outside in the sunlight, the comings and goings never slowed. Real life goes on.

Morning Commute

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The pre-dawn in Kampala is alive. Hours before the sun peaks over the horizon, government workers, students and other commuters are on the move.

The headlamps on cars, matatus and boda-bodas shine weakly on the already-crowded streets. Young girls, with orange blouses and white socks, set out for class along the side of the road, rehashing homework facts before the day’s lessons begin.

The only concession to urgency is the fact that they have left home early. The pace is relaxed. Like their peers in the West, they have appointments on their schedules. What they don’t have are private cars to school, public school buses, or the angst of trying to get somewhere on time.

This is a weekday morning in Africa. I am on my way to the airport to collect my baggage which is two days late from London. I’m thinking about how I can collect the luggage, then get through security in time to make my already-delayed flight to Bwindi.

As we speed past traffic toward our destination, the shadowy figures and vehicles move with a purpose but with patience. We will get there when we get there.

Flight of Faith

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“I’m sorry, Mr. Hill, the flight has now closed.”

What? Did I hear that correctly? I missed my flight to Entebbe?

My heart sank. My anger combusted in a second. I turned to face a representative, who asked what I needed.

“I just missed my fucking flight,” I muttered, bewildered by my immediate options.

“Sir, stop swearing or you won’t get any help,” she said. Fair enough. I just lost my cool. Actually, for an interminable moment, I lost my faith.

Obstacles and inconveniences are a part of life. They slow us down but don’t necessarily stop us. Most, if not all, can be surmounted. Our desire and ability to get past them shows God our fitness to serve him. Will we get sidetracked, lost or demonstrate resourcefulness to continue?

For months I have been living in the spirit and dealing with obstacles related to my video ministry trip. Stay calm, stay focused, and stay the course. it will all work out. To whom much has been given, much is expected.

I slumped at the customer service desk where an angel took my boarding pass, worked the computer and the phone.

God, I can’t miss this flight. What will I do? I just showed just how weak I am. Faced with a looming dilemma, my faith failed me. Yet God showed his steadfast faithfulness to me.

The angel was conversing with important people and got me back on the flight to Entebbe.

I had to go through security again, and did so pretty quickly. Then had to run around to find the gate while the message board still indicated the flight was “closing.”

Rushed to the gate and heard, “Mr. Hill?” One more check of ticket and passport and it was off to the jetway.

Now we’ve been sitting here for nearly 40 minutes as crews try to remove six bags from an individual who will not be on the flight.

Looks like I made this flight in plenty of time.

But my bags didn’t.

Once on the ground in Uganda, I discovered that my bags didn’t make the plane. Really? Despite the 45-minute delay they didn’t get on?

Another obstacle in my path. This time, though, I kept my cool and shrugged.

Failure is an option

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Just days to go before my three-month-long adventure in Uganda. Many there are awaiting my arrival. My equipment is checked and in good working order. My physical, emotional and spiritual states shout that I’m “good to go.”

However, failure is an option.

If this trip centers around me, I’m toast. It is no news to my friends and associates that I am clumsy, ham-handed, at times arrogant and awkward. If I exhibit those all-too-familiar traits, I won’t be successful.

Fortunately, I am determined to avoid those snares of self-centeredness.

Sunset in Akot, South Sudan...May 2012

Since my trip last summer to South Sudan, I have relied on the fellowship of the Holy Spirit as my companion and guide. I have been blessed daily with affirmations, or kisses, from God, as a friend calls them. My call to leave every secure comfort of home and travel alone to the heart of sub-Saharan Africa is a giant step in faith. The planning and arrangements have unfolded smoothly because of my steady focus on the mission and God’s faithfulness to me.

When the spirit of the Lord is present, it is an indescribably beautiful experience. It’s as if one’s reason for being has been defined. I find that life in the spirit is sometimes so intense that we choose to turn away and go back to our selfish lives. But when we lose the light, we are at loss and struggle once again to become holy, or wholly of God.

I feel God’s powerful presence at work in me at this time: encouraging, leading, correcting, directing. I hope and pray throughout each day that I can stay right where I am and complete the work he’s set before me.

This is God’s trip, after all, not mine.

It’s All There…If You Know Where to Look

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Truth is revealed in many ways and sometimes from the unlikeliest sources.

One of my former bosses, a TV news director in Monterey, Calif., once bellowed a comment across the newsroom I’ve always remembered: “It’s all there, if you know where to look.” What he was referring to was the obvious. It’s right in front of you. Sometimes it blinds us. Open your eyes or your mind and you will find what you’re looking for. It’s right where it’s always been.

As I count down the days to my second African sojourn in 10 months, many incredible stories and and video opportunities await me near the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, and among the lives of the Batwa Pygmies.

Education and health care are of primary focus. The Batwa Development Program (BDP) provides education for Batwa children. Batwa women are trained to knit and tailor clothing.

The Batwa and their neighbors receive health care visits to their communities by the Bwindi Community Hospital (BCH) and BDP. They learn about the importance of pre-natal care, hygiene, clean water, sanitation and nutrition.

From our experience it will be like going back in time. Supporting the Kellermann Foundation through the BDP and BCH can improve the lives of the Batwa.

I will document and report the work that’s being done. I hope and pray that I know where to look because everything awaits me there.

In or Out?

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Walking into Faith Church after my first international sojourn, the first person I saw in the sanctuary was Scott Kellermann. This unexpected meeting with the missionary doc and friend would begin conversations to open the door to the next chapter of my video ministry abroad.

A return to Africa has been on my mind ever since I left Nairobi, Kenya, for London last June. Since the July encounter, Scott and I met several times to discuss a trip to the Bwindi compound, with hospital and school, to live and learn about the lives of the Batwa pygmies in the African jungle. As Scott and I sat down to talk, he looked me in the eye and agreed that once you’ve been to Africa, it gets into your soul and you got to go back.

scott and pat

What is it about the place that tugs on you? As simply as I can put it, to survive is to succeed. Depending where you are in sub-Saharan Africa, everything is hard. Transportation and potable water are two things we take for granted at home. They are not easily accessible. In Africa, as a visitor, your focus is on making it through the day. Putting on airs, or building phony facades is not necessary, for where are you going, or who are you trying to impress? Parts of you begin to get stripped away leaving only the essential you in this environment. That is what I love about Africa. I begin to see what kind of man I really am.

Scott has been encouraging and challenging. The lives and history of the Batwa his foundation serves is compelling. The government of Uganda forced them out of their ancestral home in the Impenetrable Forest to make a refuge for the mountain gorillas. The pygmies are now a nomadic tribe with no land of their own, no modern skills. There’s a need, he says, to get their story recorded before the elders leave us.

How exciting to capture scenes and accounts of an ancient life on video. Every day I think and dream of stories, anticipate production challenges. But I also wonder whether I’m good enough or serious enough to see this through.

It would be easy and stress-free to stay put. It’s a long and expensive trip. I’ll leave home for three months which burdens my family. But what can I gain from agonizing about these issues or emotions? I’d lose focus on the things I need to do before I leave. The thrill, adventure and communion with the Holy Spirit far outweigh my worldly worries.

Through prayer, I’ve given God all my concerns for this upcoming trip. His peace and direction have come quickly, soothing my spirit. What a feeling. What a God. What an opportunity he’s presented me.

I’m all in.

I can’t wait to tell my new friends in Uganda my story of God’s faithfulness.

The Gift of Education

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Volunteers who visit Hope and Resurrection Secondary School, in Atiaba, South Sudan, are sometimes pressed into duties outside their typical routine. Tom Valiquett is a pharmaceutical scientist who joined a team from Virginia on a mission trip in 2012. He found himself at the head of a classroom, but had the credentials to make it work.

Learn how you can help educate a child, educate a nation