Can It Really Be Over?

The answer to my question is Physically? Yes. Emotionally? Never

My homecoming was a pure joy; greeted by mom and my camera-happy dad, a delicious meal on Grand Avenue, and a late night spent catching up with my best friends.


It was like I never left; everything was the same, everything was good. But to me, that’s the hardest part. It’s as though the past 3 months of unbelievable joy, sorrow, discomfort, inspiration, and relationships didn’t happen. As though you could just rip the months of September, October, and November out of the 2009 calendar of my life.
But I desperately don’t want to do that. I want the perspective I’ve gained in Uganda to stick with me daily for the rest of my life. I don’t want to revert back to anyone other than the person I became in Uganda; the person these 91 women helped to mold, shape, prod and pull into becoming a fellow Suubi women (and that is the highest honor a woman can become).
Unfortunately most of these ladies don’t have email addresses, phone calls cost a small fortune, and they aren’t familiar with the the postal system. So for the rest of my life when I want to connect with Mama Patrick, Mama Fima, Jaja Margaret, Aballo Janet I will have to say a little prayer for them, and trust that the Lord is keeping them safe in his hands.
I want to thank everyone who has been following me through this blog along this incredible journey into the heart of Africa. Thank you for your prayers, your emails, your love and support. I don’t want to become that foreign traveler who passes judgment on all things American, all thing consumeristic or all things superficial. I want to always stay a Suubi woman at heart for the rest of my life; which means living with faith, love compassion, joy and Suubi (hope in Acholi).

A Difficult Blog to Post

I have a picture on my camera of a joyous mother swaddling her 1 hour old newborn baby. It’s the kind of heartfelt picture a proud papa would frame and set in his office. But now when I flip through my camera’s playback feature, I am ashamed of that picture; embarrassed that I have proof of one of life’s greatest celebrations turned into one of life’s heaviest sorrows.
Lillian and Simon’s son David passes away after only 19 hours of life on this earth. For some reason as a matter of circumstances of God’s timing I was very involved in Lillian’s pregnancy and birth. While Lillian was on the delivery table moments before she pushed baby David to life, she called me and told me (In between contractions) to get up to the village clinic. I walked into the delivery room minutes after he was born and was the one to break the news to Pastor Simon that his sixth child was another son. The part I am sick about is that I captured this climactic moment on film as tangible, real evidence.
The next morning Rachel and I arrived at the local health clinic to bring Lillian and her precious cargo home to meet his big brothers and sisters. But while we sat there, Lillian noticed David was throwing up and had a high temperature. The nurses at the clinic told her the baby was cold and needed to be wrapped in more blankets, although they never actually bothered to take his vitals in the 17 hours he was resting at the clinic. The nurses nonchalantly told us to take the baby to the Children’s hospital in Jinja. We sped down to town not knowing if this was serious or a small baby cold. The hospital was packed with hundreds of anxious mothers’ tending to their sick children, waiting for the attention of 2, count it, 2 doctors. I went into the very public examination room with Lillian, and because the village clinic didn’t write any proof of birth or a referral with symptoms on her medical chart, the young doctor accused Lillian of delivering at home. His harsh tactics really infuriated me standing next to a mother who was beside herself with worry. The doctor ordered Lillian to wake the baby us; but at the time either the baby was sound asleep, unconscious, or already deceased, because he wouldn’t open his eyes. Lillian looked at me with panic asking “How am I supposed to wake this baby up?” When Lillian, a mother of six asked childless me for advice, I knew the situation looked grim.
Finally Simon arrived and replaced me as Lillian’s support system. Rachel and I sat on the curb and prayed that the breath of the Lord could enter into this child. But Betty, Lillian’s friend came out with the news that David passed away. We all started bawling as we watched Simon walk out of the hospital with so much dignity carrying his deceased son David to the car. Lillian weakly stumbled out and collapsed into Rachel’s arms and lamented at her loss all the while admitting that the Lord gives and takes away.
We brought her luggage back to her home and watched helplessly at this mourning mother took 2 steps into her home and crumpled onto the ground crying out for her baby’s life.
Lillian’s husband Simon is a rare bread of Ugandan men because he received his Master’s in divinity from an American University, so he is much more progressive and supportive than most husbands here. Simon was the first to bring up the high infant mortality rate here in Uganda. And that lead’s me to why I am writing about this tragedy in such a public forum. At first I intended to keep their personal loss a private matter, but after a few conversations back at home, I realize many of you may respond by citing that Uganda’s Infant Mortality rate is at 65 per 1,000 births, so a death at birth is to be expected. Before I came here, even just before yesterday I too viewed Infant Mortality as another piece of data that tracks how developed a country is compared to America. But now I see that sure, it’s a statistical way of contrasting the 190-something countries in the world, but there are people behind the statistics. Ugandans may be more familiar with the death of a newborn, but as Lillian’s lamenting proved to me, they are no more immune to the tragic loss of their very own child. A child Lillian carried in her for close to 10 months. A child she praised God for. A child that caused her bones to grow weak and pain to flood her body for the whole last trimester of carrying him. A statistic, yes. A child? Still yes. When I said goodbye to Lillian she clung to me weeping and saying, “You saw my baby, you saw my baby while he was alive.” As if she needed the reassurance that her David would not just be one of the thousands of babies that go unremembered when the pass away at birth. That maybe because I was one of the handfuls of people who saw this baby alive, her pain and strife could be validated as real and personal.

Kenneth, the Stubborn Baby

(Welcome Kenneth!)

(Bosco and Kate, the morning after the battle)

My mom has started calling me her “Ugandan Mid-wife.” On Thursday morning I called her after a sleepless night in the village maternity clinic; I was waiting for a Suubi woman named Bosco to deliver her baby. Somehow I have pinned myself a champion of the pregnant Suubi ladies. What with the birthing kits I passed out earlier, and the maternity video project I am currently working on, I have witnesses my fair share of contractions, morning sickness, and now live births!
Around midnight Bosco called to tell us she was “paining” and needed a ride to the nearby health clinic. We picked her and two friends up and of course brought along her birthing kit so she’d have the necessary supplies to stay safe. Her friends/neighborhood nursemaids and I tried to nap on empty cots while Bosco paced in pain. Finally around noon the next afternoon Bosco’s moaning, groaning, and whimpering escalated into screams, grunts, and loud prayers. About 45 minutes later, a healthy baby boy was caught by the all-too absent nurse, and with flailing limbs was plopped onto Bosco’s chest to meet his new mommy.
Bosco graciously let me film her delivery. And although I think I made an enemy while pointing my camera at her during her 15 hours of labor, I am sure we are best of friend now, because she named her baby boy after my grandfather, Kenneth. We picked Bosco up at the clinic the next morning, and both she and Kenneth were rested, healthy, and ready to go home.
After speaking with an OBGYN in Kampala, I learned that many Ugandan women have a difficult time in labor because their hips are too narrow. He explained that when these women are growing up they are malnourished and never grow into their full womanly bodies. I am not a medical expert, but the last two women who have delivered babies have had the curves of a 15 year old gymnast. And in both cases, Jacinta and Bosco struggled very much to push their baby boys out of their petite frames.
Light Gives Heat encourages their volunteers to get to know and bond with the women of Suubi; I think Wednesday night’s delivery is about as close as you can get to any one woman. I am honored and grateful to have been a part of this experience. Welcome to this crazy world baby Kenneth!
(The Happy New Mommy)

Thank You Jajas!

It’s been an exciting week for the women of Suubi. 56 women opened up a savings account through a microfinance institute in town. This way they’ll be able to save more easily for their children's school fees, for long term goals, or for a “rainy day fund.”
(4 Suubi Women waiting together to open up their accounts)

(We ran into 5 Suubi ladies on Main Street, they were just coming back from a group outing at the bank)

After 2 generous donations from my Jajas (Grandmothers) to “do whatever you see fit.” I started researching how to open up savings accounts. At first I was very disappointed in the banking system here; too high of fees, too low of interest rates, and too many penalties. It seemed the traditional banking route could potentially achieve the opposite of what we were trying to accomplish, by bankrupting these women in their attempts to save. The banks here in Uganda are only meant for the rich to save. But PRIDE Microfinance was the perfect institute for poor women to start saving and build up their accounts. There are no monthly fees, free deposits and withdrawals, and decent interest especially if the women are willing to leave their accounts untouched for a couple months at a time.
Last week when I told the women about how my Jajas were going to cover all the initial costs of opening an account and I would deposit a start-up fund to pad their bank accounts, they were very excited. I mistakenly told them to take the week, ask their husbands and think about whether they wanted that added financial responsibility. I didn’t realize I used the phrase “ask your husbands,” when I meant “discuss with your husbands.” And good old Translator Betty took the liberty to add to her translation, “Or don’t ask your husbands and open the account in secret.” The women got a good chuckle out of my mistake.
This week the women were told to gather their identification documents and photos and head down to the bank to sign up for their own personal accounts. It was such a satisfying experience when walking on Main Street to see a cluster of Suubi women all dressed up for their big day at the bank. Some of the women signed their own names; some of the women had purple thumbs marking their certification. I congratulated the women for taking the initiative to gain financial peace in their future.
Over and over the Suubi women have told me to thank my Jajas for their gift; so publicly on behalf of Suubi, “Afoyo Matek.”

(Rose making her first deposit)

The Many Odors of Jinja

One of my weakest senses is my sense of smell. Because of that I occasionally miss out on the fresh whiff of a floral arrangement, but usually my lack of smell is more of a blessing than a curse (if you know what I mean). But this week, I have been sick with the flu which has perked up my lagging fifth sense. My nose is hyper-sensitive to any sniff, and let me tell you, Uganda is not the place you want to revive your aroma-meter. Everything here has a stench. Half the time I’m walking down the street this week I have to plug up my nostrils so my gag-reflex doesn’t kick in. I won’t get too graphic, but I will point out some of the major offenders:


Burning Trash-I’ve heard rumors that Americans have left Uganda with serious lung problems due to this environmental hazard. The odor is as repugnant to my nostrils as the air is to my lungs.


Cesspools of Standing Water-Divots in mud roads gather sour puddles after a rain storm.



The Fish Aisle at the Market-Even when just shopping for sunglasses, the fish aisle always conveniently wafts its way over to me.


Chicken feasting on Piles of Trash-It’s better than burning trash, but piles of garbage out in the open doesn’t produce a fragrant smell.

Body Odor-Deodorant isn’t widely used here, simple as that.

I can’t wait for my stomach bug to leave. I wait for the day when my dull sense of smell returns back to normal.

Beautiful Betty

Light Gives Heat has some awesome new styles coming to a website near you in the upcoming weeks. So the six girls of the house went out on the town for a photo shoot to model the upcoming “flavors of the month.” They’ll be seen at LightGivesHeat.org over the next couple months. I think the necklace I modeled will be launched in February.


(Here’s the five ladies strutting our stuff down the Jinja downtown catwalk. From Left to Right: Rachel (Called Zebe), Emily, Me, Betty, Rebecca)


(Photographer and Make-Up Artist Rachel Stroud making us look beautiful)

Rachel whipped out her MAC Make-up kit and dolled us all up. This was Betty’s first time ever wearing a stitch of make-up. You can see how her natural beauty was just enhanced all the more. We had so much fun playing make-believe, but I had a very hard time taking myself too seriously. It was good to get out of the house with all the ladies of “Magwa House,” especially being able to hit the town with Betty, our housekeeper.


(Beautiful Betty)

Betty is going to be one of the people I miss the most. She is such an amazingly cheerful, silly friend. She has such a faith that the Lord has pulled her from her lowest low. She was pregnant with a child she didn’t even want, wandering the streets in the rain knocking on strangers doors asking for help after her family and the father of her child abandoned her. Today Betty can’t sing the Lord’s praises any louder, any time she tells her story she ends up preaching a sermon on faith and how good the Lord has been to her.
Unfortunately this week Betty has been the victim to a lot of deception and greed. Her half-sister, Nancy had moved in to help watch Kymbi while Betty goes to school. On Monday we learned that Nancy ran away from home, stole a lot of money from Betty and from LGH. Betty tracked Nancy down on the bus heading back to her village, but by the time Nancy got back to Kitgum, Nancy’s family took all the money and won’t send her back to Jinja. Betty has nothing in her but goodness, kindness and honesty. Sometimes if I give her money to buy me a mango (at Ugandan price not Muzungu price….way cheaper) she’ll fret over whether or not she owes me 5 cents or 10 cents. But Nancy has chosen to slander Betty’s name to her whole village from the North. Betty is a strong woman and says she is asking the Lord for faith in how to handle this situation so she does not act out of vengeance or hate. But it is difficult to watch how easily people can be taken advantage of, especially trusting, good people.
In the end, vengeance is the Lords. But I can already tell that as Nancy grows up in the village she’ll realize that she is reaping what she sewed. Her future looks very grim even thought a promising future was just years away. Nancy will probably now be stuck in her village fetching water for her dying mother. She will now only know her tribal language whereas she could have learned English and probably have gotten her education sponsored by someone involved with LGH. And because she has no education, her only option will include a young marriage to the first man that asks.
It’s hard to have felt like you knew someone and loved them like we all did with Nancy. We let her into our lives, invited her to come to “girls night,” tried to teach her English, played soccer with her, danced with her. So it hurts to know that the whole time she was plotting to steal money and deceive Betty so.
Keep Betty in your prayers. That she can keep her forgiving and compassionate heart, and not be hardened by this betrayal.

It's Bank Day for Miriam!

This is my friend Miriam. She is about the encounter a very big step in any Ugandan woman’s life. Soon she will open up a Savings Account so she can save for her daughter’s education.



At the age of 13 Miriam was married off to a man who promised she was his only wife. After the nuptials were exchanged, she found out she had been deceived, and now ranks third among his tri-wives. From that young age when Miriam’s education stopped short, her goals of improving her status through education were replaced with a new goal of educating her 3 daughters, so they wouldn’t end up without options like she did.
Miriam is a savvy saver. Her husband gives her a little over $2 a week for food. She gets almost $10 a week from Suubi. And she works in town planting flowers for $2 a week. Miriam and 9 other Suubi women have devised a system that holds each other accountable when saving money. They rotate weeks where each woman gives one woman $5. So week 1, Suubi woman A brings home $50. But for the remaining 9 weeks, Suubi woman A gives $5 to the pot. Week 2, Suubi woman B brings home $50. Week 3 Suubi woman C brings home $50, and so on. This way all 10 women are held accountable to set aside $5 each week, totally $50 after 10 weeks. And because the money is out of their homes and their pockets, Suubi woman B cannot spend her savings, when it is Suubi woman A’s week to bring home her bulk sum. This system forces the women to think long and hard about how they will spend the $50 they’ve waited on for 10 weeks, rather than frivolously spend 5 more dollars each week without so much as a second thought. When Miriam told me about this grass-roots banking system, I was astonished at how genius it is. Last Saturday it was Miriam’s turn to bring home $50 and now she plans to open up a savings account.
I joined Miriam for her meeting with the banker to make sure all her questions were answered and that she was signing up for the right kind of account. And let me tell you, Miriam usually dresses in style, but for her big banking day, she showed up dressed in a prom-like dress, a sequined shawl and glittery heels to match. I was so proud when walking down the street next to her that every head turned; not just because she is a knock-out, but because of she was wearing a new found confidence and assurance as an independent financially secure woman.

Reaping the Fruits of Others’ Generosity

(Patrick bathing with one sock on)

(Jacinta with her one year old son, Titus...As you can see little Patrick is still unborn at the time of the photo)

Early Thursday morning, a Suubi woman named Jacinta gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Her delivery story was about as routine of a birth as the next Ugandan woman. She walked to the nearest health clinic in her village around 9 o’clock the night before, racing against the final minutes of dusk so that the setting sun could light her path. She was in labor all night, and gave birth around 3am. And by the time the sun rose, Jacinta was had already left the clinic, and was walking back to her hut with her new baby boy swaddled in her arms. All within 12 hours Jacinta walked to the clinic, popped out a baby, and walked back home. No sweat.
Jacinta’s new bundle of joy will always have special meaning to me because she let me name her second born. She wanted to either name him after my father or my brother, so I let her choose between baby Richard and baby Patrick. She chose Patrick, so now this little tyke will grow up hearing the story of the origin of his name as this crazy Muzungu camera lady who had an older brother named Patrick.
Jacinta had no support leading up to the birth of her son. Her husband works out of town and she goes months without seeing him; and she alone has her hands full with a 1-year-old toddler named Titus. Jacinta knocked on a fellow Suubi woman’s door on her way to the Health Clinic, and this woman Joyce spent all night consoling her through a very painful and lonely birth. I tell you all this story to let you know that many of you did your part in America to ease Jacinta’s burden. Jacinta wasn’t given a baby shower before her delivery, in fact, no women in Uganda are showered with gifts awaiting the birth of their baby. And yet do to many generous donations from family and friends, we’ve been able to provide a necessity to 10 expectant Suubi women. In Uganda a woman has to bring a “birthing kit” with all her medical and hygiene supplies to the clinic in order to give birth. Most women are barely making ends meet, so even though they are given a 9 month warning to start saving up to buy a birthing kit, many woman fly by the seat of their pants. That is the case with Jacinta. She was actually 20 days past her due date, and did not have a pair of surgical gloves to her name.


(A while bunch of birthing kits)

With the support of many generous souls and the proceeds of a successful family garage sale, I am in the process of delivering 10 complete birthing kits to the homes of pregnant women in Suubi. Already one woman, Lillian who is 9 months pregnant, said it was such an answer to prayer she believed we were angels. I tell you all this to thank many of you for your donations and trust when you earmarked it as “do with it as you see fit.”


(Lillian and kids hugging her birthing kit)

I wanted to share this success story with you all so you too can feel good about how you’ve helped the women of Suubi. I may get the honor of naming the baby, but you all should feel honored to have helped ease these women’s burdens. Jacinta’s friend and first mate, Joyce told me that the birthing kit was unbelievable helpful for a smooth and safe delivery. In Uganda, once the labor pains begin, women are forced to think and act in survival mode. So any comfort or assurance they can have about their delivery brings these new mommies much needed peace of mind.

Riding Public Transportation in a 3rd World Country

(Riding Mass Transit)

My boyfriend Nick says the best way to experience a culture is to ride their public transportation system. I agree with him that it teaches you to travel the way locals do. But after my recent voyage to Sippi Waterfalls, I also think riding public transportation is a good way to grow jaded with the culture.
In Uganda there is no such motto as “the customer’s always right” or “your comfort is our priority.” In fact it’s exactly the opposite. Our adventures navigating to Sippi Falls can attest to a new business model of treating customers like cattle. We were to take a Matatu (taxi van) to Mbale, a city that could take anywhere between 90 minutes to 5 hours to get there, depending on the drivers perseverance to make money.
The first lesson we learned was that the Matatu doesn’t take off unless the whole cab is packed full. A notice inside the van stated capacity to be at 14. Slowly but surely the van filled up to 14 after an hour of waiting in the smoldering, cramped space of the cab. But “capacity” here isn’t limited to the number of seats. Most drivers make it their personal mission to make the biggest bang for their buck before starting the engine. So after another hour of claustrophobia, we were able to hit the road with 20 passengers squeezed 4 to a row. Kind of like those early high school days of pilling as many kids in the backseat as hip room would allow.


(One of the many street vendors making a buck on the go)

I won’t go into great detail. But suffice it to say that after 1 flat tire, 2 pit-stops in various towns so street vendors could patronize our windows by selling mystery meat on a stick, and a few small elbow nudging victories that got me a little extra space; we arrived at in Mbale 5 hours later.


(A flat tire, just one of the many pitstops)

But the fun doesn’t end here. On our return trip to Jinja the Matatu drivers surprised us with another new business model. Cramming 22 passengers inside that same “14 passenger van” wasn’t making enough of a profit, this time the passengers were expected to hold appliances on their laps. These Matatu drivers are smart. Why limit transport to just people? Why not pile chairs, tables, and charcoal on top of the van, force passengers to carry televisions and wooden pallets on their laps, and toss a couple live chickens in the back of the van while they’re at it? We began to look for that euphemistic kitchen sink to fill up the last of our breathing space.


(The top of the van, packed with random cargo...can you spot the kitchen sink?)

One could say this way of transit is the most economic and environmentally conscious way to travel. Maybe rather than trying to build expensive, invasive public transit systems in America, we just need to pack our vehicles full like sardines. Now that I’m finally able to breath deeply and my bruised ribs are healing from those vicious elbow wars, using the Ugandan model of mass transit doesn’t sound like so bad!…Let’s all forgo those silly safety regulations like seatbelts and working brakes, next time you want to “Go Green,” hitch a ride in a livestock carrier, just make sure to offer to hold any extra cargo they may be transporting.



(This sunset made the ride all worth it)

Dancing Queens

Imagine coming home from school one random Wednesday, only to see your mom who usually is doing her typical domestic duties, dancing, chanting, and cheering with 50 of her closest friends? That’s what the kiddos of Suubi saw Wednesday evening when their moms attending the first ever “Suubi dance class.” It took place right outside the Suubi building on the streets of their village. The dance party lasted 2 hours and drew quite a crowd of nosey neighbors.
Many of these women grew up in the village where the dancing rituals were passed down from mother to daughter. But some of the Suubi women fled from the war against Kony and the rebels as children, so they have never learned how to shake what their mama’s gave them. We will now host weekly dance lessons for the women of Suubi, so they can express themselves in the same way their female ancestors have for centuries.
Our usual encounters with the women are very cordial, polite and proper. During the week we enter their homes, chit-chat about various topics, and occasionally help with their household chores. On Saturdays the women sell us their necklaces, and we get see their pleasant smiles when they count their money or their rolled eyes when we refuse to buy a poorly made necklace. But on Wednesday I got a chance to see a brand new side of these women. It was the pure, unabashed joy that only dancing can create. Big smiles, loud African yodeling (I can’t think of a better way to describe it), and these “moms” were transformed into “divas.” Rebecca, Rachel and I kicked up our heels for a few numbers, but even after over 30 years of dance training between the 3 of us, our bodies just couldn’t move that way.
It was a day that was good for morale. Suubi isn’t just a business. It’s definitely not a hand-out. It’s a community meant to empower women, but that’s not just accomplished with money. Sometimes you just have to dance to feel strong and free.

Proverbs 31 Women

“Charm is deceptive and beauty if fleeting; but a women who fears the Lord is to be praised.” Proverbs 31:31
Yesterday we celebrated Ugandan Independence day with a fellow Suubi woman (see Janet in the “Aunties” blog). She brews her own beer and sells it to a large group of village men. As you can see from the picture, these men are all dressed up and look like they just got off a hard day’s work. But when asked, the men confided that all of them are unemployed; no jobs, no ambition, no guilt about it. According to Janet these men sip away the afternoon with her homemade brew EVERY day.





Contrast this to the wives they leave at home every day. They scrub, suds, chop, fry, boil, raise, and provide all on their own. They “bring home the bacon, and fry it up too.” I always ask what their husbands’ do for work. The occasional man will work as a security guard, but the usual answer is that they find temporary work, which I realize now is a euphemism for “drink beer and play a board game underneath a tree all day long.” Maybe I am being too harsh here. And I apologize to the few men I have met here who work their tails off to provide for their families, like our security guard George and our two male tailors Charles and Herman.
But my frustration lies in the fact that these men do not help their wives by carrying any of the burden. For many household the Suubi salary of $9 a week is their only source of income. Here’s where my rant about husbands ends and my praise for their wives begins.
At the end of Proverbs, Solomon writes about the ideal wife. He says this wife of noble character is worth far more than rubies. Keep in mind this is the same King Solomon who had hundreds of concubines and wives from all across the region. But in Proverbs 31, he closes the book by sharing his wisdom learned from all of his life experiences and extramarital relationships. The Proverb is a little old fashioned by American standards because today many wives chose to work outside the home, and many of the tasks Solomon praises (such as sewing, gardening and trading) have been replaced by convenient inventions.
But what I have found here in the villages of Uganda are women who are the picturesque Proverbs 31 women.
“She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. She speaks with wisdom and faithful instruction is on her tongue. She watched over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness.”




Solomon’s words written thousands of years ago could have been written just yesterday after watching these women slave away at the affairs of their households, all the while with joy and dignity.

“She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life.
She selects wool and flax and works with eager hands.
She is like the merchant ships bringing her food from afar.
She gets up while it is still dark; she provides food for her family and portions for her servant girls.
She considers a field and buys it; out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.
She sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her tasks.
She sees that her trading is profitable, and her lamp does not go out at night.
In her hand she holds the distaff and grasps the spindle with her fingers.
She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy.
When it snows, she has no fear for her household; for all of them are clothed in scarlet.
She makes coverings for her bed; she is clothed in fine linen and purple.
She makes linen garments and sells them, and supplies the merchants with sashes.”

At a Catholic mass I attended on Sunday, the priest spoke on marriage quoting Genesis that “two will become one.” He did not hold his tongue back when condemning the many men in church who have multiple wives, who beat their wives and who idly sit by to watch their wives act as their slaves. I couldn’t believe his boldness and courage to outright yell at these men for treating their wives as a part of their livestock rather than as part of their being. The priest reminded them that although polygamy and domestic violence may be a part of their culture, it is not a part of the gospel. And if these men are calling themselves Catholic Christians then they are called to a higher moral standard than their society has set.

Solomon closes his written illustration of a noble wife with this last line. “Give her the reward she has earned, and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.”
Amen.

“Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly, FaLaLaLaLaLaLaLaLa”

Christmas time already? Only if you’re as ambitious as my friends Sarah and Janine!
I have had some requests from those near and dear to me about buying Light Gives Heat gear for Christmas presents this year. I fully support that idea! Thanks for thinking of it before I even did.

If you are an early Christmas shopper (like before it’s even Halloween!) I would point you in the direction of http://www.lightgivesheat.org/

Suubi necklaces are launching some pretty sweet “flavor necklaces” which means they are only available for one month at a time. The Suubi women are really excited about the Christmas season because as they learn more about business, they understand that Americans go crazy over Christmas. So they hope necklace sales will take off during this year’s Christmas season. http://www.suubiafrica.org/

Also the Epoh Project just got started; they sell patchwork bags that are made out of recycled scraps. I have spent time with the tailors and they are incredible people who have put a lot of effort into making this project a success. http://www.epohthreads.com/

Thank you for reading this sales pitch. I promise in the next blog entry I won’t try to convince you to buy anything.

Labor of Love (and Pain)

Thursday was “Labor Day” both here in Uganda and in Colorado. Rachel (on staff here) received a text from her best friend, Corey that she was going into labor 2 weeks early. Knowing that Corey would deliver her first born while Rachel was in Uganda was enough to make her question her decision to be on staff in Africa for 6 months. We all knew on Thursday that Rachel’s heart was longing to be in Colorado in the delivery room with Corey. And it was tearing her apart.
Rachel and I had planned to pick up 9 months pregnant Christine (a Suubi woman) from her house and take her shopping for her “Birthing Kit” since her due date was quickly approaching. In Uganda, women have to bring their own kits into the delivery room, this includes: a razor, surgical gloves, a plastic mat to lay on, bed sheets, basins, soap, powder, and lotion to wash the baby, a baby blanket, and their own medicine to stop their bleeding. But on arriving at Christine’s house we learned she went into labor early that morning and was at Jinja Main Hospital. We rushed to the hospital to be with her. It is not customary for a woman’s husband to be with her in the delivery room. And often times she goes through the whole process alone.
From the very beginning Rachel knew this was a gift from God. She would help Christine during her delivery as an act of solidarity for her best friend she couldn’t be with.
I am in the process of working on a project about pregnancy and delivery in Uganda. I interviewed Christine 2 days earlier about the expectations of a pregnant woman in a typical Ugandan household, and what labor will look like. She gave me permission to film her whole delivery experience. So as the vulture journalist that I am, I whipped out my camera (luckily fully charged with a spare battery) and started documenting this incredible moment in her life. Let me clarify, there is no Hippa Privacy Laws here in Uganda.
Christine was unusually lifeless and in an immense amount of pain. There were many times throughout her 13 hour delivery where she was left alone to struggle for herself. I spent the last 5 hours with her in a cramped, foul-smelling delivery room, with 2 other women giving birth on each side. There was no such thing as an epidural or medication to induce the delivery. Her friend, Betty acted as a makeshift mid-wife, stirring up a tea that was supposed to help speed up the process. But Christine was tough and pulled through to win what she calls “A Tug of War.”
At 2 o’clock in the afternoon, Christine delivered an alert and healthy Ugandan baby boy she named Randy (after Rachel’s husband). I tried to act as the objective journalist by not getting too involved, but I couldn’t help myself from cheering when Randy was placed in Christine’s arms.

(Me, Mama and her prize after winning that "Tug of War")

I’ve never witnessed a live birth before even in America. But I can imagine bloody gauze doesn’t just sit in an open trash can near the sink, little critters don’t scurry about 2 feet away from the mothers’ bed, and a mother isn’t supposed to be fighting for HER life as she tries to deliver her baby’s.

(Rachel holding baby Randy)

As Rachel held little Randy in her arms in the delivery room, 6,000 miles away, her best friend Corey delivered a healthy American baby boy. In the end Labor Day was a great example of how huge God is that he can transcend time zones. And how much he wants to bless us with the good gifts he has for us.
What a day.

African Nights; A Lively Lullaby

The first few nights I slept in Africa I couldn’t sleep because of the noisy animal symphony outside my window. But now that I have been here a month, this lively lullaby is as comforting as the tick tocks on a Grandfather clock.

I can wake up in the middle of the night and know based on the noises outside exactly what time it is.

10pm-12am Our neighbor boy wails, Frogs croak, and storks squalk.
12am-2am Either stray dogs compete in a barking match or there is a thunderous rain storm.
2am-4am The sound of silence, finally everything is asleep.
4am-6am The nearby Mosque’s call to prayer. Dozens of roosters “cockadoodledoing” you from the depths of your dreams.
6am-7pm A boarding school’s obnoxious bell rings their students up from their slumber. Oh, sounds like the neighbor boy is awake again.
7am and On The animals are back at it again, and if you’re not up and at’em, Africa is starting another day without you.

I read this passage in a book that perfectly captures a night’s sleep in Africa.
“The night creatures saw and hum with such persistence that the human brain is forced to translate the song into pulse. Night apes, owls, nightjars, jackals, hyenas; these animals have the woo-ooping, sweeping, land-traveling calls that add an eerie mystery to the night. Frogs throb, impossibly loud for such small bodies. There is only one time of absolute silence. Halfway between the dark of night and the light of morning, all animals and crickets and birds fall into a profound silence as if pressed quiet by the deep quality of the blackest time of night. This silence is how I know it is not yet dawn, not is it the middle of the night, but it is the place of no-time, when all things sleep most deeply, where their guard is dosing, and when robbers (who know this fact) are most likely to attack.”

-“Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight” By Alexander Fuller

The Wilson Aunties of Uganda

There are many influential women in my life; my Grandma Renner, my best friends, spiritual and career mentors, my aunts Jean and Anne, my pseudo-mom Suzie B., and my sister-in-law Lauren. I am blessed to be surrounded by so many strong, compassionate God-fearing women. But there is one group of 7 women who have acted as Mother Geese since I was just a chick. The Wilson women. Big lips, big booties, loud voices and even larger than life personalities.
These days I am surrounded by 90 women on a daily basis. Women who have been raised in villages in a third world country. Women who have never heard of Oprah, Dr. Phil, or gone out to coffee just to “catch-up.” These women on the surface wouldn’t have anything in common with the women I run with. Yet as their stories unfold and their personalities come to light, I realize a day spent with Suubi women is like a day spent with my Wilson aunties. (And it’s not just because most of these Suubi women also have big lips, big booties, loud voices and personalities to match.)
Here I highlight the 7 Wilson women and the Suubi women I believe to be their African counter-part:

Mother Hen Grandma Ruth as Prisca
Grandma Ruth raised 9 kiddos on a meager income. She pinched, she scrounged, and she stretched each meal to feed 11 hungry mouths. Grandma Ruth is the matriarch of the rowdy Wilson crew. I found her match in Prisca. Prisca is one of the founding members of Suubi. From day one she has been loyal to the organization and has taken on a leadership role. Prisca is currently raising 10 kids, some of her own and some of her grandchildren.

Eldest Daughter Lorinda as Grace
Auntie Lori lets me be her little helper. I get to be her side-kick when hosting parties, wrapping presents, or power washing the garage. Miss Grace is her kindred-spirit. I spent a day with Grace and noticed like Lorinda, Grace can also roll up her sleeves for a hard day’s work. She let me cook next to her, clean dishes with her, and varnish beads together. She and Lorinda together could make a very efficient duo around the house or in the boardroom.

My mom Shelley: Janet
I know my mom will be offended by this choice for her based on the picture, because Janet has some masculine features and my mom always says she looks more like a Wilson boy than a Wilson girl….but that is not why I paired them together. Janet and my mom both have entrepreneurial spirits. My mom started a business from her basement 15 years ago and today it has grown and is still running strong. Janet has taken advantage of any opportunity she can to run a business out of her home. She manages the town’s water supply and collects payment from neighbors. And because Janet has easy access to water and millet (a corn staple), Janet brews her own beer and sells it to neighbors. Janet rents a TV when there’s a good futbol match on, and operates a makeshift town saloon right out of her shed. Both Janet and my mom are inspirations of ingenuity and perseverance.

Auntie Brab (I mean Barb) as Jaznita
Jaznita was the first Suubi woman I met, and you may remember from an earlier blog entry that she cooked up a chicken for us for lunch. Auntie Brab let me spend countless hours at her house as a little girl. She is a hostest with the mostest. (It must be a Wilson women thing) She throws party like it’s her job, and redecorates her home to mirror the latest Home and Garden magazine. Auntie Barb dresses to the nines, and Jaznita is known as the most fashionable Suubi woman.

Auntie Kim as Anetti Aunt Kim and Anetti are twins separated from the Atlantic. They are both daring in their fashion sense (Kimmy loves leopard and just look at what Anetti is wearing!) Anetti’s husband has a co-wife that she is very jealous of, just as Aunt Kimmy has to share her main squeeze Uncle Mike with the golf course!

Auntie Dede (Dianne) as Lillian
Lillian has the nickname as Pastor Lillian around Suubi. She is always praising Jesus for all the blessings in her life and can turn her amazing life story into more of a preaching opportunity. My aunt Dianne has always been very willing to share her faith life with anyone she meets. She speaks openly about how the Lord is involved in her life. Lillian is 7 months pregnant…Dianne is NOT.

Auntie Amy as Florence
I have met Amy’s match in Florence. Both women are self-educated. Aunt Amy has always taken a liking to learning as much as possible and teaching others she knows. Just name a classic novel and Amy will be your live version of Cliff’s Notes. This Suubi woman Florence is our star pupil in English class. She sits in the back of class, and can answer every question right. Sometimes we have to say,” Anyone but Florence?”

In the Ugandan culture a term of respect for a woman is to call her Auntie. So when these women call me Auntie Kate, I laugh because for the next 2 months I get to be a part of the cool “Auntie clan,” I’ve always loved so dearly.