Tag Archives: Africa

Here and Now

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As the hour of my departure from Bwindi grows near, I am already aware of what I will miss when I am gone. The loss will impact all my senses.

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Among of the things I like most about being in another country are the sounds, particularly the languages. In Uganda I’ve been exposed to no fewer than four different tongues. Locally, the local Rukiga (ru CHEE ga) language is prevalent, even though English is the official state language. I have learned a few simple phrases, using my ubiquitous iPhone to store responses to typical encounters. At morning devotions, some speakers will default to Rukiga. I may not understand a thing, but I admire their passion for the Lord.

From my room in the guest house, I hear conversations and laughter among the staff. It’s reassuring to me. Fellowship is good. When I traveled to Kasese, the local language was Lukonzo. I made a few entries on my electronic notepad so I could hold my own when greeted. Swahili is spoken throughout East Africa, particularly Kenya, and is used by soldiers here. Other Ugandan dialects help identify from which district the speaker hails.

No matter if I visited north or south of Bwindi, the menu was the same. Rice, beans, matoke (cooked plantain), posho (maize meal), irish potatoes. I’ve eaten everything put in front of me for the past three months. We’ve been served local, fresh fruit each day. The pineapples have been great. I want them regularly on my plate when I return.

Before I arrived I imagined the sounds I would hear from the winged and walking beasts. Bird calls, morning and night dominate. The red-tailed monkey makes a clicking sound when near, and a racket when bounding along the roof. Haven’t heard any gorilla grunts…was unwilling to pay for that privilege. I failed to anticipate the rodents.

The daily thunderstorm portends intense rain pounding on the metal roof. Conversations are muted through the rainy season. I’m fascinated by the downpours and stop what I’m doing to watch as they are so atypical of my California experience.

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The women of Africa have to be among the most hard-working in the world. With babies wrapped to their backs, they cultivate the fields. They fetch the water. They collect wood for the fire. They transport almost everything atop their heads, with perfect balance and grace and, frequently, no shoes. It’s an iconic image of Africa…and one that never gets old.

I close my eyes and imagine I am anywhere. My ears and heart betray that indifference. This is the here and now of Uganda.

Modern African Family

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Throughout Africa, many generations live together. In this photo, the son sits next to his mother. He dresses like any Western teen, will work hard at what he can get. The mother does much of the domestic work, cleaning and cooking, filling water jars. The daughter-in-law nurses her young child before she helps with work around the family compound.

There are babies everywhere. The Ugandan family has 6.7 children per household, an unsustainable number. The Bwindi Community Hospital conducts regular family planning outreach to nearby communities.

african family courtyard

This scene was captured moments after lunch was served to me and my host, who was visiting his wife’s family.

It’s About Relationships

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It’s all about relationships.

At home that means connections which can help build careers, business and romance. Be my Facebook friend. Follow me on Twitter. Leverage me and my posse on LinkedIn.

Here in Africa, relationships mean something else. It means, “time out.” Who are you? Tell me your story.

I have had a wonderful day with my brother in Christ, Barnabas. This morning I took my camera and tripod to morning devotions to record his homily, which was presented to staff and others in the Rukiga language. I’m working with the hospital chaplain on a video series of sermons/homilies to show to patients in their wards.

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Today, we also knocked out a video on Easter Carols I recorded several weeks ago. All I need is a DVD to which to output. (Um, why didn’t I bring a dozen?) He is helping me today with a transcript of some Batwa interviews. I’m showing him all my gear (excessive!) and planning how, together, we can do cool things.

His job is not to be my assistant. He has enough to do. He works as an education coordinator with the Batwa Development Program.

Before I left CA, I prayed that the Lord would put his persons in my path to help, protect and encourage me. Barnabas was among those who fetched me at the airport, thus one of the first I met, and has been a companion friend since. He is an outlier of sorts….he is always punctual, a rarity in this land of “African time,” when even doctors stroll in late to meetings, rehearsals, morning prayers.

He is prayerful, one of the gifted speakers during morning devotions. He is very smart, funny, charming. I pray that I can help encourage him to pursue his destiny. For instance, we have talked about how he could go to UK for education. Visas for the US are too hard to get these days.

He’s a quick study with video. He wants to learn. He can compose pictures, which isn’t for everyone. In short, he’s delightful. My brother of a different mother. If I return to Africa, I’d recruit him as a grip for future shoots.

I thank God for Barnabas.

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…

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.

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.

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.

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.