A Wrap

I have been in America for three weeks now. I have readjusted to driving on the RIGHT side of the road, enjoyed indoor plumbing, am finally getting rehydrated (as I am now free to drink as much water as I want) and have indulged in ice cream after supper almost every night.

Remember how I told you about the wall in our village house where we wrote down quotes, ideas, and lists? Well, about a month before leaving we started a “Things I HATE about Africa” list. A bit extreme, but it was a part of our mental preparation for departing. Here is the top half of the list:
Gassy matooke and beans.
Hard to Keep things Clean.
When I light a candle, things fall on my cutting board. (spider webs)
Decay of the English Language
Throwing / Splashing water to “get clean”
Noffee
No Couches. Concrete everything.
No Copy Machine.
Baking soda and fuel shortages.
Squatty Potties. No toilet in the house. Ka bano.
LARVAE RICE.

I share this in order to de-romanticize any thoughts you might have regarding “life on the mission field” or life in Africa. I fancy myself to be on the practical side, pragmatic even. But even this level headed girl wasn’t prepared for all the challenges found in Ug. The list of things we hated about Africa isn’t a list of important things- if we define ‘importance’ as something having a lasting impact or life changing. We made the list so when we got back home to America we would remember the daily reality of life in a third world country.

Mom asked me to write a concluding “update”- a what now. But before I write the “what now” I wanted to recap the 10 months I spent in Uganda.

In January I flew from Arizona to Entebbe, Uganda. There I met Bill and Rebekah Adams.

Rebekah had been in Uganda since October and her father, Bill, was coming for a visit. From Entebbe we traveled together to Kabale town where our adventures began. (Yes, my hair was that wild... short and curly and out of control. sigh)

Originally I was supposed to work in Mbarara- a larger city with plumbing and electricity (every other 24 hours). However upon arriving I found Rebekah and a whole group of kids praying for a change in location… and God heard them…. And I moved to Kishanje.

Life in the village was unlike anything I had experienced before- the closest thing I can equate it to is a long term camping trip. And I don’t like camping.

Anytime I fail to find the words necessary to convey what I experienced, I fall back on the old cliché- a picture is worth a thousand words. So here are 24 thousand words for you.

On the left you see a picture of my Benja Boy taken three years ago. I first met him in 2007 when he was rescued from a refugee camp. He was really malnourished and terrified of me. I loved seeing him again and seeing how much he has grown. As you can see, my malnourished boy is healthy and quite a tank. I have written about him in the past... so I know you remember him.

The rolling mountains of Kishanje. Beautiful and green (during the rainy season). The dock at Kyabakasa (sounds like cha ba casa) where we would land in the boat and begin the hike to the village.



Life in the village was always hard work. On the left you see me, Rebekah, and Wedell wet but victorious after collecting water in basins and various other containers during a rain storm. With no running water we had to be quick on our feet- taking advantage of the water provided from up above. Then you see a picture of Lucious, remember our Lizard "friends"? And finally, this is some meat. In a bag. Fresh from the butcher. The dead cow hangs from a chain and the butcher cuts off whatever part you want and puts it in a sac for you. Well, not for us, since Bek is a vegetarian, but for customers.


This is a sweet potato. We would stick them in the bottom of the charcoal stove and let them slowly roast as we cooked on top. We enjoyed eating them occasionally. Our last two weeks in the village though we ate them twice a day... which decreased our enjoyment. Secondly you see a massive roach. Sorry there is no scale thing to measure it by, roaches are disgusting. I stepped on it (see the guts) but it came back to life. I hate roaches. Thirdly, check out the squatty potty. Our latrines. Yay.

Now that you have seen some of the not so pretty, have a look at the pretty good looking: On the left is Travis, Rebekah, Me, and Seb. I told you about Trav and Seb- interns with Africa Inland Mission (AIM). They are really neat guys with a heart for God and a passion for serving. I loved each moment we spent with these guys. Then, meet Barhum, Thomas, Fred and H. The three in the black shirts were good friends to us in Kabale town, they were part of the staff of Edrisa, the hostel we stayed at. Lastly, among the pretty good looking, Mollie, me, and Rebekah. All gussied up for the ABIDE graduation.

This is an example of the lorrie - big cargo trucks- that we would ride on to reach the village if we decided against hiking and crossing the lake. The middle photo shows a very lightly loaded truck... we have ridden when the truck had over 65 people in the back. If we rode up front, like in the third picture, we three girls would squeeze in front. Three people fit comfortably, driver and two passengers. We rode with the driver, us three girls and another person. Cozy.

A few of my favorite things: It is Ugandan law that signs are posted around school campuses. Signs that quote moral advice or sayings. The sign above these boys head reads: AVOID BAD TOUCH. Can't make this stuff up folks. The second photo is of some little primary students running down the hill to fetch water. They have the smallest little water containers and struggle to carry them back up the hill. Thirdly you can see a few of my favorite boys. When Dylan came out I made him sleep in the boys dormitory. He became fast friends with some excellent kiddos. On this particular day we climbed this steep hill to reach the crest and look over at the lake. The boys ran up the hill cause they are crazy like that.

Doing the laundry. Step one: Fetch water. Step two: collect basins, laundry detergent, and dirty clothes together. Step three: begin the long and arduous process of scrubbing each item by hand. Yes it does hurt your hands. In fact, you rub the skin right off until you develop good callouses. Grocery shopping: don't trip on the piles of rocks or sacs of potatoes obstructing the isles. Keep your money close at hand so it doesn't get picked out of your pocket. Ask around to see what the real price is before buying anything. Only buy green (unripe) tomatoes and avocados because if you get ripe fruits, they will never survive the journey to the village.

Our last night in Kishanje. Tired but smiling. All packed and ready for the truck in the morning.

As you can see from the last pic, I am healthy, two eyes, one nose, and though you cant see it, I do have all of my fingers and toes.

I have a gazillion photos. It is impossible to know which ones are the best ones to show you, but I hope these at least helped illustrate life as I knew it.

"What Next?" is not easy for me to answer. In Uganda one of the things God worked on in my life was teaching me to wait on Him. I don't know what is going to happen now, I don't have a master plan, but I am reminding myself to wait on the one who does know.

Current game plan: spend some quality time with friends and family, catching up on their lives for the past year, look for a job, and wait patiently.

And that's a wrap folks.

Thoughts on Being Home

Sometimes I hesitate to write anything to you because I know how poorly I am able to convey all I have seen and felt. Sometimes I hesitate to write because the pain, joy, fear, or hope is still too much to share. Sometimes I hesitate to write because in writing I have to admit to, verbalize, and even re-experience that which I am either recovering from, or hiding from.

Sitting at the table here in Colorado, surrounded by Rebekah’s family, the movie Hairspray playing in the background, sipping on a glass of ice water and holding onto a warm cup of coffee in the other hand, I remain hesitant. Rebekah’s mom gently asks if either of us have written anything about being home yet, and I am ashamed to own that I have not.

So here it is: I miss my kids.

It is kind of a hollow feeling in my chest. If I forget to be here, my mind takes me there, and it gets hard to breathe. This should be old hat by now, having left Ug twice before, it should be no big deal. Weak. For the first time I have experienced full blown jet lag; the kind where the walls, floors, and furniture looks crooked- angled, and hard to lean on, walk on, and sit on. The kind where both Rebekah and I wake up at 1:30 in the morning, but pretend to sleep, not talking, not acknowledging the wide awake state until 5 am when it is acceptable to get out of bed. Yesterday we fought hard to stay awake all day. We were rewarded with waking up at 5:30 this morning. Finally, a night’s sleep.

Travel started at 3 am Wednesday morning. We woke up and quietly began our last minute preparation for leaving. After dressing we stripped our beds, stuffed our pj’s into our suitcases, and I went to wake our boys and girls. The boys were already awake, listening to the radio- I don’t think they slept.

By four we have carried our six bags, our four carry-ons, and our jackets up the hill to the truck. A small gathering has begun. The driver was told to be at the truck by 4:15 so we could leave. He is not there. I struggle to remain pleasant, to keep focused on the kids who are really struggling with our departure, to not become angry at the driver. By 5:30 he comes. No apologies. No explanation. We climb in the back of the truck, bracing ourselves for the cold mountain air that will soon grip our bodies. Various local teachers and neighbors looking for a free ride to town pile in. The driver begins flying down the mountain roads and now I am angry. Some kids have come with us to give us a “push” to town and now they are in danger along with us. He slams on the brakes to pick up a farmer with five sacks of potatoes. He charges the man a fee for transportation. I bang on the window and tell him to slow down. He makes a snarky comment about “time” and I take a deep breath. Now he is time conscious, now that we are sure to miss our bus for the day as we will reach town an hour late. He continues to stop along the way, picking up paying customers- something that is both inconsiderate and illegal.

We reach town after seven, the bus we wanted to take leaves at seven. We regroup, re-plan, and the kids unload the truck. Storing our luggage at the hostel we start walking looking for plan B- a car heading in the direction we want to go. Before heading to Kampala Thursday morning, we wanted to see some people in a town about an hour away. We had committed to meeting them at 8 am… we reached by 10 am.

The meeting concluded we return to Kabale town. The driver is still there, having spent the day driving around delivering the people and produce he picked up along the way. Rebekah and I had committed to paying for the truck fuel and had agreed on the amount with the head master. We give the driver the agreed on money for fuel and he calls the HM- not enough money according to him. He won’t admit that he used the fuel on personal errands, and is now demanding more money. I call the HM, we agree to add some more money, and I bring it out to the driver. He then demands money for lunch. That’s when I forgot to be loving and kind and just flipped. ENOUGH! He is demanding lunch money in Rukiga- speaking only in Rukiga, even though he speaks English. I call him out on his behavior; I tell him he was wrong for being late, for making us miss our bus, for endangering us and our children as he sped carelessly along the dangerous mountain roads. I told him I knew how much money he made that morning, and I knew that he was planning a similar act for the ride home and he could use that money for his lunch. I tell him if he wants to argue, he can argue in English or leave. The student he brought with him looks at me incredulously. He cracks a smile and then sternly tells the driver they should go. Rebekah is holding onto my arm telling me to calm down. I am not shouting. I am not waving my hands like a crazy, I am merely speaking truth. Enough is enough. As the driver and our student leave I take a deep breath. It is time to go home- time to stop being treated like a money bag, time to stop allowing people to do the wrong thing with no accountability.

The remainder of the day is filled with more goodbyes as we are still playing the role of the strong ones, hugging the crying kids, listening to last minute fears and worries, writing notes of encouragement, and touching base with everyone we needed to.

Thursday morning we are up at 6 in time to dress and head to the bus. The staff from the hostel is up early with us to carry our bags and escort us to the bus. They “have no words” but can only show us they are “friends” and will miss us by standing with us as we wait to load the bags and get on board. A sweet gesture made by genuinely sweet people.

After a 10 hour bus ride we reach Kampala and find a car to take us to the next hostel. We are tired and avoiding eye contact as both of us are near to tears. We go to bed early.

Friday we head into town to go to the dentist and run some errands. Kampala is hot. By lunch time we head back to the hostel and settle in for the night.

Saturday morning we are up early to head back into town to meet a driver at Watoto church. He volunteered to take us to Bbira village that morning for just the cost of fuel- a generous and kind thing to do. We went to Bbira to see my mom and dad’s sponsor child Richard.

Sunday is spent resting and repacking, preparing for Monday’s flight. For those of you who have flown internationally, you know that it is literally like time travelling, a bending of reality, speed is relative. It messes with you.

Now it is Thursday morning and I am just starting to feel settled – or at least feel less “in motion” which is nice. My thoughts turn towards home and towards family. My mind and heart turn inward as I struggle to grab hold of a life line as I am tossed about and overcome by waves of missing my kids, missing my family, loving being with Rebekah’s family, loving being in a place I am comfortable to call home and trying to look emotionally stable.

Another time I will look into what home and family is, but for today I will just take a moment to say- I am thankful.

Thankful for my family, my friends, my children, and for being in CO safe and sound. God’s Blessings to you.

Help cleaning up the kitchen- the boys cleared out all the shelves, swept, killed all spiders, reached in all the scary dark corners and saved the day. It was so great having their help and support for the last day of packing and moving out.



George, Jacob, Me, Richard, and the two little guys Kevin and Albert

Since 1999 Mom and Dad have been sponsoring Richard. In 2006 Connie and I went to visit him in Bbira Village just outside of Kampala. Before leaving UG Rebekah and I took the necessary steps to visit him again.

It was a short but sweet visit, he just finished his S4 exams so we were able to hear about the national exams from a different perspective than the students in our village. He hopes to be an accountant and assured me that the exams for that track were "more than" fair and he performs well. It was neat seeing how he has grown and talking about his home region- Kabale district. George and his twin sister Dorothy come from Kabale too, Jacob is Richard's biological brother, and the two little guys came from the Watoto Babies Home.

The older boys of course had to test our knowledge of Rukiga- and we had to tease them for speaking Lugandan and not pure Rukiga. It was a nice time of laughter and fellowship.

Watoto is doing a good work in Uganda. Check them out.

Farewell

The school year has come to a close- the P7s, and S4s are finished with their national exams. The S6’s are remaining with one week of national exams, and the remaining classes are waiting for their final report cards to be given Monday.


In September we had a farewell ceremony for the S4 and S6 classes as they prepared to leave school to go take their exams elsewhere. Two weeks after that we had a farewell service for the P7 “leavers” as they are called. Each service was sweet and exciting as the kids were being sent off towards the next phase of life and schooling.


On the 14th we had the final Farewell Celebration. The secondary students began their exams the week before, and were finishing up, packing to go home, and the primary students were sitting for their exams that week. Rebekah and I wanted to be sure to see all the kids before they went home for the long holiday- they won’t return to school until Feb 19th, after national elections have taken place. It was a fabulous day of presentations, songs, skits, dancing, and even a special lunch for the secondary students.


We worked with the choir the week before to teach them some new songs. The student led chapel was given song books with newer music in them, and the kids aren’t familiar with many of the songs. Rebekah and I taught them the ones we knew and then the choir presented four of them for the service. We had machines that day- the generator was fixed so we could use the projector and speakers. Rebekah and I made a powerpoint for the songs so everyone could sing along.

At our request the P5 class presented a traditional dance which was awesome. Every Wednesday at the primary school the teachers teach the traditional dancing and drumming to the children. I am so thankful for the passing on of that aspect of their heritage. The S2 class also presented a traditional dance that was so fun to watch.


The S1 class, who had Rebekah for a class teacher, presented two songs in the local language and a hilarious skit

Rebekah gave the message for the day, with our brother Samson translating for her. Patrick led prayers and both brothers joined in the traditional dances.

We presented flash cards, books, and these really neat science books that Rebekah’s mom made and sent to us, and laminated “keyboards” that my mom sent, to the school to be put in the library for student use. The kids were thrilled. Earlier in the week I sat down with the sports prefect, a S5 boy they call “Pi” and taught him the proper way to wrap sports injuries. We presented ace bandages to Pi for all the footballers at school.

The head master gave a speech, the reverend gave a short speech, and we brought the service to a close. Before dismissing though, we had to present a song. I used the word “had” because we “had” to. You see, presentations are very important here. Ceremony is very important. Neither Rebekah nor I love presentations and ceremony, but we join in when absolutely necessary. This Sunday it was absolutely necessary for us to also present, because it was the last Sunday we would share with the children.

Here is the song we sang for the children:
All our bags are packed
We’re ready to go
We’re standing here on the floor
We hate to make you sad, and say goodbye

But the time has come
To say farewell
Stable’s waiting, he’s honkin’ the horn
Already we’re so lonesome we could cry

So hug us, and smile for us
Tell us you’ll remember us
Pray for us, and we will pray for you

Cause we’re leavin on a jet plane
Don’t know when we’ll be back again
Oh kids, we hate to go

So many times We’ve laughed and learned
Remember when we won football
We’ll always have those memories as we go

Every place we go, we’ll think of you
Each day that comes, we’ll pray for you
When we come back
We’ll see how much you’ve grown

So hug us, and smile for us
Tell us you’ll remember us
Pray for us, and we will pray for you

Cause we’re leavin on a jet plane
Don’t know when we’ll be back again
Oh kids, we hate to go
But we need to go

The choir and machine kids were great on Sunday. We asked them to be strong for us and help us smile and laugh the whole day through. After presenting our song, we showed a powerpoint photo album- pictures of all the kids from throughout the year.

After lunch I rounded up the S4 boys who had returned for the day at my request and we went down to the kitchen to pop 9 kilos of popcorn. Rebekah and I passed out popcorn to all the kids and we watched Hook together. A final afternoon of laughing, enjoying, and hugging on our kids.

The time has come for us to leave. It is earlier than I expected and planned for, but I know it is the right thing. Please pray for Rebekah and me as we travel this week. Our hearts are on ‘pause’ right now, we will need some time to process once we are home.

BA Squared

When Dylan came out to ug, he teasingly told me that he wasn’t sure I was really his sister. In his eyes I had changed a bit. Back in America, Before Africa (henceforth referred to as BA squared) I was a cleaning freak. My standards of cleanliness have evolved a bit on account of the general… conditions. For instance, I have only washed windows once. Icky spiders like to live in between the window and the bars (all windows are barred here) and the kids like to tap “hello” on them, so washing them weekly has been nixed.

BA squared, mom called me her little scientist as I would carefully examine the food on my plate each night. Generally it served the purpose of picking out the mushrooms; here it serves the purpose of picking out the weevils, sticks, and stones. (Apologies to my mom, and anyone else who serves me food in the future- it is now a fine tuned science)

BA squared my mindset was different. Being here has subtly shifted my inner dialogue. I say ‘subtly’ because unless I speak some things out loud, I don’t realize I am even entertaining different or wrong ideas. Today on the bus it was hot and crowded. My thrill for people watching has decreased as being a wallflower–people-watcher is no longer an option. When we reached our destination I pointed out an old man to Rebekah; he was skinny and short, his wrist bones were about half the size of mine. I told her that on the bus I had decided that if I had to marry here, I would marry a guy like him, so when he hit me I could maybe hit back. Have to pick a small guy so the beating wouldn’t be as bad. Upon admitting that, saying it out loud, I realized – something is wrong with me. Spousal abuse is not fine. Accepting the likelihood of being beaten is not fine. Picking a life partner based on size and strength to prevent beatings is not fine. Now you can stop worrying, once I admitted the craziness to Rebekah, I realized the craziness, and will not be settling, accepting, or dealing with an abusive anyone in my life.

BA squared I was a compulsive hand washer. I love clean hands. Now I walk across campus, brush my hands off on whatever skirt I happen to be wearing (clean or not) and join the kids for lunch or dinner. We eat with our hands. Then you wipe your hands on the grass. It makes them clean. Somehow.

BA squared I would tape a cup over any spider I would find and put a sticky note on the cup: JOB OPPORTUNITY. A certain brother shortage, cup shortage, and sticky note shortage means I just pretend they aren’t there- as long as they don’t move. For the extra large ones, a couple of my boys introduced me to the benefits of fire: a tall candle “pops” them and makes the webs crackle and disappear. I have not yet managed to pop any, but the kitchen has been cleaned out for me by fearless individuals.

BA squared you could say I was still a bit of a black and white kind of girl- something was right or it was wrong. Something was good or it was bad, I liked it or I did not like it at all. Now I feel fuzzy as shades of gray fog my mind. In the game of life I felt comfortable knowing the “rules” BA squared. Here though, the rules are different, and they change as you play. It is unsettling and it keeps you from forming a real black and white standard. That has been a hard change.

When I come home, be patient with me. I know being here has changed me, but it is hard to know how complete the changes are- so if you notice them give me grace. Change has always been hard, and being back home, in a place where I think of myself as unchanged, seeing and realizing the effects of being in Africa may be hard.

Joshua

I am sitting at Edrisa drinking a cup of coffee and posting blogs. A dirty faced boy is tapping on the window from outside. He makes a face at me and I mimic him. He motions for me to come over, and I ignore the motions. A group comes in for lunch and the boy continues tapping. It is making the group uncomfortable. I give him the “mom look” and motion for him to leave. He goes.

Rebekah joins me and we decide to go see a friend who is next door. We go outside and the dirty faced boy is waiting. Rebekah greets him. She asks if he is still in school. You see, this dirty faced boy was a street kid who got picked by a visiting lady who chose him and one other to place with a family and put in school. Dirty faced boy has a name, it is Joshua. Now that we are outside I recognize him and feel bad for ignoring his earlier motions.

Joshua starts tearing up. We pull him aside and Rebekah asks again, is he still in school? No, not since September 21st.

Joshua proceeds to tell us this story: He and the other boy, called Moses, were picked by the lady and placed with a family who agreed to host them while they were in school. The family had children of their own and for a while things were good. One day the children were fighting and Joshua got in between them and pulled them apart. The older one had beaten the younger one. When the parents came home the children said Joshua had beaten them. He was given a warning. The kids began telling lies to the parents about the street boys- and it became too much for Joshua to bear. He wanted to leave. Moses wanted to stay.

Finally the parents decided that the street boys really were causing all the trouble and kicked them out. On September 21st on his way to school the lady told him not to come home that night. So he just goes back to the street. Moses joins him and they are soon resettled with the usual gang of street boys. Then Moses gets sick. For two weeks he is sick and then he doesn’t wake up. Malaria. Two of the older boys buy a casket and the kids go burry him outside town.

Rebekah and I exchange looks over Joshua’s head. We tell him we will find him later that day and that we are going to call a friend of ours who works with the street kids, a friend who knows Joshua too. He agrees to keep around the neighborhood so we can find him.

I feel like a jerk for ignoring Joshua earlier. I feel grief for the child who died on the street and was buried by children. I feel anger towards the family who sent the boys away. I feel inadequate.

We talk to one friend who has a local shop- he agrees to let Joshua come sweep the shop each day in exchange for 200 shillings and a banana and bun. We agree to pay Joshua’s wages and leave the first two weeks payment with the shop keeper. We contact our friend who works with the boys on the street and he says he will find Joshua the next day. We find Joshua hanging out with a familiar group of boys and decide to divide and conquer. Rebekah takes Joshua to go see the shop keeper and I take the five other boys to get chapattis.

The boys and I talk about little things as we walk, they know us but still don’t trust us. I tell them about Arizona and Colorado, they tell me about the hill top they are staying on. I try to convince them to try brown buns (cause they are healthier) and they tell me that chapats are really the best, so they should eat chapattis rather than buns.

After purchasing the chapattis we walk back to find Rebekah and Joshua. We sit on a curb and share the chapattis. We tell the boys we are proud of them for staying clean- they don’t have the usual signs of sniffing glue or smoking a local plant. They tell us it has been cold for them lately but they are staying together and building bon fires. We go our separate ways, encouraging the boys to look out for each other.

Rebekah and I head back to Edrisa. We know a guy there who also works with this group of boys and wanted to get some info from him. This guy is also called Moses, so when I tell him the story Joshua told us he laughs; “I am still alive, the boy was lying you”. I have to explain three times that Joshua did not say he died, rather a boy called Moses died. Adult Moses does not know of any street kid called Moses.

He knows the lady who picked Joshua, and according to him, two other boys (not one like Joshua told us). The boys were placed in a home in Feb and started schooling. They did really well for a while. Then they started fighting. Joshua started lighting fires and blaming other kids for them. He started hurting other kids. They moved Joshua to live with adult Moses’ father, a reverend who lives outside of town. Joshua kept running away. Three times Moses went to find him and bring him back. The fourth time Joshua told Moses to leave him alone.

For one hour Moses tells us a long, sad, and discouraging story involving Joshua. I know Moses really does have a heart for these street kids, but he is mistaken in this: Moses believes that the boys can just be good once they are in the group home. These kids are messed up. They have had to struggle to survive. Many of them have severe attachment disorders and psychosocial disorders. Telling them to be good just won’t work.

We cut our conversation short as the truck has come to take us back to the village. We head home with heavy hearts and heavy heads. Who do we believe? I feel sad as I realize that I accept and even expect Joshua to lie to us- he is in survival mode. We still don’t know if a kid really did die, or if Joshua was blatantly lying to us. We only hope he takes the job offered to him. At the wages we set up, he can earn enough to pay his own school fees in time for school to start next year.

One week later we are back in town. Our friend who works with the boys says he has spoken with Joshua. He knew a boy called Moses, but hasn’t seen him in a while. He has heard of a couple boys dying from Malaria recently. Joshua never came to work. The shop keeper gives us back the money. We see Joshua and he crosses the street to put some distance between us. We track him down anyway- I ask him why he didn’t go work. He just shakes his head.

I take a deep breath, say a little prayer, and watch him walk away.

The Jump

Apologies to historians out there: I passed American History with an “A” but dates and details are fuzzy… Rebekah and I were talking by lantern light one evening and lit upon the topic of the progression of civilizations and society. As per usual, Rebekah had lots of well developed and articulated thoughts on the topic, and I had lots of scattered, vaguely interconnected, and generally jumbled thoughts on it. The combo of her brilliance, and my… eh… led to this blog topic: The Jump.

A long time ago people from Europe mostly, decided they weren’t afraid of change, hard work, or adventures, so they left their homes and moved to a new land. They found religious freedom and hardships as they explored their new home.

These challenges did not quench their spirit; they worked hard, shed blood, and fought to create a nation that reflected their hopes and dreams. Necessity, the mother of invention, gave birth to the creation of new farming methods, the development of machinery, and advances in religious and political freedoms.

The American agriculture based society gave way to the industrial revolution which lasted for a long time, and now we find ourselves in a technological era of sorts. Our history followed a sit, stand, walk, kind of progression. Our forefathers invested and we now reap the benefits and strive to follow in their example through discovery, invention, and progress.

A long time ago, on the continent of Africa, people from the west began immigrating in a south-easterly direction, driven by drought and the need for new grazing land. They met up with other people groups and continued their slow journey until they arrived in what is now called East Africa. Then a bunch of big European countries came in and discovered them and decided to protect them and mine for diamonds and minerals and wild animals and take advantage of the cheap labor. They drew lines on a map and divided the continent up and named the people groups they found and set out to civilize the natives. This was attempted through forced schooling, and a variety of religious teachings.

Years of subjugation and misguided attempts of helping, civil wars, ethnic cleansing, and the hardships that came from daily life destroyed the traditional cultural values and the spirits of the people groups. Necessity, the mother of charitable giving, gave birth to handouts, rationed food distribution and the rise of dictators.

The African hunter-gatherer society gave way to colonization and protectionism which lasted for a long time and now they find themselves in an era of handouts. Their history followed a walk, stand, sit kind of progression. The ancient knowledge of their forefathers was lost as the old generation died off, the middle generation was lost to AIDS, and the current generation is growing without parents. Substance farmers have cell phones but nothing to eat during the growing seasons. Children are given computers in generous giving-fests from the west, but have no potable water, electricity, let alone an understanding of what computers can do, or how they should be treated.

The Jump: agricultural society jumps to technological era- without the brain work, without the experimentation, without the sweat and tears. The ability to reason out why the phone, speaker, computer, or car won’t work is not there. The groundwork, the understanding of basic electricity, mechanics, or methods is not there.

My small brain wonders; are we again hindering the people we want to help? By not allowing them to think about new ways to do things, by just giving them the answers, do we keep them handicapped? Sharing knowledge and teaching is one thing, giving a child a computer is a totally different ball game.