Goody Two Shoes Report Needed

After leaving Kishanje we reached Kabale, spent the night at Edirisa, our favorite hostel, and then left early the next morning to catch the post bus to Mbarara. We reached Mbarara safely, and spent the day going back and forth in town, trying to get the needed documents for the visa process and meeting with various individuals. RA (henceforth known as “bekah” – since I have her permission to talk about her!!) and I “kidnapped” our beloved Benja for lunch and took our favorite boy for chips in town.

I can’t remember if I shared this already, so forgive me if I am redundant. For those of you who aren’t aware (here comes the dirty laundry!) I get angry when I perceive injustices, stupidity, or when people do something I don’t like…. So I have struggled with being angry at certain cultural practices. For example, my blood boils when people interfere with me and Bekah spending time with our Benja.
Benja is a special child to my heart. I first met him in 2007 when he was brought to the children’s home from a refugee camp near the Rwandan border. At the time he was severely malnourished and stunted in growth, we guessed he was around 2-3 years old. Fast forward to today- Bekah and I have determined that he is 5, almost six, and sat down with him to pick a birthday. May 5th he will “turn six”. I can best describe my boy as “everyone’s child and no one’s child”- something which breaks my heart. He is very intelligent and has incredible observational skills. Bekah and I share clothes and he is the ONLY one who identifies which item belongs to which girl (without us asking him). “Aunt Le’s Skirt” he says to Bekah. He likes to sit on our lap and “style” our hair- does a good job too! When we are in Mbarara we make sure his clothes are washed and that he bathes. I rub golden seal salve all over him and put tea tree oil in his hair (to take care of the head fungus). He loves being clean and loves snuggling afterwards with a book. Often he falls asleep in my lap and I sing lullabies to him and pray for him.

Benja is young. He spent the first two years of his life not having enough food, living in tents/shacks, experienced the death of his mom, grandma, and who knows who else, and then moved into a children’s home as one of 30 other kids. Consequently, he didn’t get held or snuggled or loved on as much as he should have. It is my prerogative and my priority to love on Benja whenever he needs it. And he needs it. Anyway, back to the getting angry part…. It is not understood by some local individuals why I would choose to spend time with an orphan child. I have been chastised for wasting time and people have actually tried to physically remove him from my arms when he is sleeping because “he is too old”. I get angry. I never thought of myself as a “revolutionary” before… but apparently that is now part of my resume. I tell adults and children alike that you are never too old to be hugged, never too big to be loved and there is always time for hugs throughout the day. The young kids at the children’s home love being held and hugged and even my secondary students sneak in hugs throughout the day (when they aren’t being too cool). So, your revolutionary girl is fighting a battle against unjust biases against orphans, age, and being affectionate.

Anyway, Wednesday was a long day as we boarded the night bus from Mbarara to Kampala. Some of the ABIDE guys dropped us off at the gas station (where the night buses pick passengers from) and we began the four hour ride of bumpy roads, snoring drunks, and loud music (pretty sure the same six songs played the ENTIRE time). Arrived in Kampala at 4:30 am found a sketchy “special hire” and found our way to our host’s house. Breakfast and paperwork and then a nap – a nap which lasted 21 minutes. (yes, I know it was 21 minutes, and it sucked) Our ride came to get Bekah and I to head into town to begin the visa process.

We need “missionary visas” so we can stay in UG for more than 90 days. If we don’t get the long term visa we have to cross over to Rwanda every 3 months. Time consuming and costly. It is a ridiculously involved process, and despite all our research Bekah and I still weren’t prepared. Upon arriving at the immigration offices we discovered that we needed to submit: letter of invitation, cover letter, proof of qualification, letter of acceptance, criminal background check (from our home country), and the two application forms. Each letter is addressed to a different person / office. So we had to call our Mommas to help us out. (scan our college diplomas, our resumes, and get a “goody two shoes report” from somewhere official).

We tried going to the American embassy here to ask for advice (and to see if they could help us out with the background stuff) only to discover that they don’t actually let Americans in the embassy. Amazing. The only way you can get in, or even talk to an American is to make an appointment (on line by the way) for either Monday or Wednesday morning from 7:30-11 am. Not kidding. We were a bit irked to say the least.

It has been kind of overwhelming being in the city. Kampala is huge and swarming with people. It is hot and loud and chaotic. All day today I was thinking “I want to go home, back to our village” back to the peaceful quiet. Sure, you can’t get a cold drink at home, or milk, or cheese, or even public transportation. Sure, having power is amazing, computers are awesome, being able to get fresh fruit is great, and our host family is terrific. BUT. But it isn’t home. Kampala stresses me out. The mass of humanity. The pollution. The noise. The lack of courtesy and kindness. The busyness of the streets. The frustration at spending four hours in traffic getting absolutely no where. Missing the kids. Really missing being with the kids.
Pray that the whole visa process goes smoothly. I am a bit anxious about a few of the details and so I am hoping for favor and grace from the committees and officials. I will keep you posted.