Uganda to Italy. -lots of text...

        I feel like I apologize quite often on my blog, either due to me mis-communicating something, or because I don't want people to feel like they NEED to read my stuff.. I love it when people read my blog, but personally I don't like to read when I have an overwhelming amount to read, and I don't expect anyone else to either. I also did a terrible job taking photos in Uganda this time..  so most of these are from 1 day in Naples.

        One of the most special things is having children sing happy birthday to me. Maybe someday I’ll be blessed with children that sing happy birthday to me. I cant wait for the day to hear that sweet sound, but God is sending special kids to sing for me even now. This must be the third time I have had the Lira children sing to me - starting to lose track. I love spending birthdays at home with family and friends, but there is something so special about spending it with these children. My birthday snuck up on me this time. I had an idea it was coming, but when it arrived it was subtle and sweet. I turned around to a crowd composed of my team and smiling child faces singing me happy birthday. A cake made by Amy Simonson, which is never a bad thing being a pastry chef and all, was brought out to me with a sparkler stuck in the top. It was stacked 3 layers high on a piece of cardboard with happy Birthday written on it in chocolate. It was more than I could handle so I was able to share it with the kids. Each child got their own cupcake. It was a wonderful last day. 

There are new people on our team every year, and every year we end up repeating mistakes. This time it was the goodbyes. We usually try not to make it a huge deal, yet for the first timers they don’t know it until they experience it. We were surrounded with crying children all the way back to our hotel. Leaving is so hard with tears. Still, It is very special because you can see the love that is saturating each streak running down their faces. Arriving back at the hotel we now had one more night in the Pauline and then it is off to the Red Chili Safari Camp. 

Last day winners of the Italy Camp.

Through puddles and thorn bushes our bus bounced. Branches raking down the side of the bus reminded those who had their windows open not to get too comfortable. The muggy temperature inside the bus forced the windows open. We drove along the fertile Victoria Nile delta as it flows into Lake Albert. The occasional Jackson’s Hartebeest, Waterbuck, or Uganda Cob would venture in front of the bus’s path. Giraffe’s, Warthogs, and Elephants would grace our sight often. I cant say that any of them particularly wanted to be around us; we were offered extended viewings of their rear-ends as they would casually walk away. Occasionally they would pause with a curious look back to see if we were still there, or to try and figure out what we were. We pulled up to a stop at the point of the delta and got off the bus for a quick stretch and bathroom break. It was a beautiful area where dragonflies looked like butterflies and seemed to be everywhere giving life to the ground. The hippos stayed just below the surface of the water, leaving only their eyes above; watching in intrigue. A lonely African Buffalo stood just close enough to feel threatened and started to flee, stopping just a few meters later; turning around to stand his ground. We eventually waited him out and he moved on. It was a beautiful place to be for the time. The Girls all took gobs of pictures and then we piled back on the bus. 

The bus bounced down the red dirt road riddled with wash-outs. The clearance of the bus was just enough to clear them, but not enough to power over them at significant speeds. This caused a problem because every time the bus slowed down, the swarm of Tsetse flies would catch up and begin assaulting the bus. Any window that is open is a threat. The flies are quite aggressive; you definitely know when you get bit. It was a half fun, half serious game of now you see me, now you don’t as we opened and closed the windows. As the bus would slow, the chorus of windows slamming shut was almost making music in my ear. The swarms of flies would latch onto the windows; waiting to get in and have a little afternoon snack.  We pulled into the safari camp just before dusk, ordered our supper, and waited out the night in our tents and bandas. 

The following day we enjoyed two nile boat rides with a gap in the middle for a little nap. I love the boat rides. I have already seen everything on these rides, but there is something about being on a boat. As it moves up river to the foot of the immense Merchison Falls, it pushes over debris and foam churned up by the raging torrent. Crocodiles and Hippos litter the banks of the river occasionally getting into the water to feed on the dead fish that are spit out of the crashing water. When I look at the falls I cant help but think of a blender. The power of the water can not be captured on a picture or even a video. It is something that you can only appreciate by physically being there; hearing the deep pounding of the water crashing on the rocks, feeling the constant vapor on your face, and seeing the near-entirety of the Victoria Nile disappearing into this hole in the earth that spits the water almost as high as where it started. There is zero chance of survival in this deathtrap. Fortunately, the destructive power of this is contained by two giant rocks walls that guard either side of the water.

Our trip out of the Safari camp always is accompanied by a visit to the top of these falls where you can experience the raw power of God’s creation. I was constrained by time. I had a 5:25pm flight that was departing from Entebbe, which was causing the team’s last day in Uganda to be rushed. Robert was worried that I would not have enough time to get to the airport. Last trip I was late to my flight and it caused a 24 hour delay to my schedule and a $300 hit to my bank account. When we got up to the falls that morning for our last nature experience of the trip, we came back to the bus to find Robert fixing a flat tire. He told us that we were going to need to stop in Masindi, which was still about 250 kilometers away from Kampala. Time was disappearing more and more each time I glanced at the old school digital clock mounted on the front of the bus. We called ahead and scheduled Jessy, one of our interpreters, to pick me up just before we entered Kampala and to take me on the “back road rush” to the airport. We arrived at the meeting point and I quickly had to say my goodbyes to the team as I was tossed out of the bus and into a car. We quickly drove to the airport; passing cars with minimal tolerances. I took a look in my bag and realized I had forgot my phone and my shoes on the bus. I quickly scribbled out some notes for Jessy to take back to the team to inform them what to do with the things that I had forgotten. I eventually arrived at the airport with time to spare. God got me where I needed to go, and Jessy returned to meet up with the team and deliver my messages. 

The wonderful; regional train.

I squeezed my pillow into the space between my backpack strap and my ribs, then leaned to one side as I shuffled single file between the seats of first class on my way to Economy. The line came to a stop as I shifted my weight and studied the upholstery of the chairs. I wondered if it would ever be worth the price... Maybe if I were Shaq. I saw some pretty out of place faded Harley Davidson tattoos while I stood examining this “Luxury” space. Tattoos of barbed wire, a fu manchu, and a cut off shirt decorated a man who sat in the seat. His hair was greased back as he studied a stapled document on the tray table in front of him. I studied his face and immediately recognized him; Machine-gun Preacher. He looked up at me as I looked him over. We made eye contact, so I smiled and asked him how he was. I couldn't really tell what he said back to me, but it was some sort of reply to acknowledge I was standing there looking at him. Who else would be wearing a cut-off with harley tattoos sitting in first class in the Uganda Airport? I decided he probably is bothered far too often these days and I didn't want to be that guy. I had no confirmation as to who he was, but just sat back in economy wondering if it was in fact him. The man who sat next to me had a funny conversation with the flight attendant and scurried up to the front of the plane. He disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a grin on his face like a little kid that had just discovered what he was getting for Christmas. I gave him an inquisitive look when he showed me the picture that he had just taken with the Machine Gun Preacher. 

I thought quickly about how I can get my phone out and take a picture with him too, when I realized that my Uganda phone was left on the bus, and my American Phone was dead; deep in my check-in bag... surrounded by a hundred other check-in bags somewhere in the bowels of the plane. Instead I just folded the little story up and tucked it in my brain so that I could unfold it later. I opened a borrowed book, and started to read. 

The flight from Entebbe to Addis Ababa was a quick one; it always is. I have this deep annoyance with this airport but I am finding that it is starting to disappear. Yes, there is absolutely no organization. This is easy one to see when the entire plane crowds around one flight worker with a HUGE stack of paper containing all the departure information, or when all the reader boards, instead of playing flight departure and arrival times are playing advertisements for contraceptives. I sat down in a chair over by where I was told my flight would be departing from. I sat trying to type while smelling a very strong cigarette smoke. I figured it out really quick. They have sectioned off the smokers into their own designated smoking area. It is right inside the terminal with walls that don't go up to the ceiling and is in no way vented to the outside. I bet they actually have a little fan that is blowing it all in front of my face. Too bad this is the only seat that isn't occupied by someone wearing a burka. I used my pillow to speed up time and found myself waking up off and on yet, just about a half hour my indicated boarding time. I looked at the only screen displaying flight info, yet didn't see any flight that indicated Rome. I did see a flight with my flight number that said it was going to Milan, I chuckled and thought to myself, “at least I can land in Italy.” I went to check with the information desk to see what was going on. The woman looked at my ticket with the usual manner airport workers do all things. She said, “Oh, they are boarding now you need to hurry to gate 8.” I was surprised because my ticket had told me that I still had a solid half hour before boarding would even begin, and everyone I spoke to told me that I was to board on gate 2. She took my ticket and ripped it right down the middle. She printed a new crisp ticket off for me and handed it to me, telling me to hurry. I looked at the ticket; the boarding time had been moved up by one hour. I frantically shuffled across the entire terminal building in my flip flops to get to the correct gate. I had one security checkpoint that was flooded with people. I ashamedly cut in front of everyone and slipped my things into the x-ray machines. I shuffled some more to a man in a uniform that was being ripped apart by a complaining customer; cautiously interrupting to see if this was, in fact, the correct gate. He pointed to Gate 7 and told me to move quickly. By this time I was joined by several other people who shared this situation with me. They were all asking me what they needed to do, so I just had them follow me. My small group scurried down some stairs to a bus where we were driven to a plane which was already loaded with people. My ticket was for seat 37A which is the very back seat in the plane where the leg room is reduced by about 3 inches compared to all the others... and the seats don't recline. It is a good thing that God made me this size, because my brothers would have died. I looked at my seat to find a little Indian girl sitting with her mother. Across the aisle there was an empty row of vacant seats. I slid into those seats instead and hoped those people settled in my seats could stay there. The time came and went. I found myself in a row completely empty on a ridiculously crowded plane. I laid down across the seats just after the seat belt light turned off and started to snooze. I woke up once for the airplane meal, and then again to the flight attendant telling me that I needed to sit upright for landing. It was the best flight I have ever had; 5 hours that seemed like 30 minutes. It seemed everything was going wrong with Ethiopian Airlines again, however someone messed up and actually gave me a bonus instead. 

Main Rome train station

I arrived in Rome with plenty of time and walked through customs. I had an officer who must have either been tired, or really liked the dark. He sat in a dark booth and stuck his hand out for my passport. I handed him the passport already open to the correct page. He graced me with a half second glance at my picture and closed it handing it back to me. He then put his head down and waited for the next person in line. I moved to baggage collection and waited for the machine to be turned on. I started to doze off as the buzzer sounded; telling everyone, “get away from the machine, it is going to start moving.” I collected my bag and sat just outside next to the currency exchange booth so that I could get some cash to pay for my train to Naples. I ended up waiting for a good 45 more minutes in the airport. 

I eventually made it on the shuttle train to the main Rome train station. Once I got there I found the ticket machine, and started to browse the different options to get me to Naples before Noon. I had been communicating with Tony Aruta via Facebook once in a while. I happened to get on just before I boarded my plane from Uganda and verified with him the time I would be at the Naples train station. I had no idea, really so I took a shot in the dark; aiming for noon. Having absolutely no form of communication I just wanted to make sure my train arrived before this time in Naples. I sat and waited around for the train to leave and took the opportunity to go into one of their Cafe Express shops and order up a nice cappuccino; I love to order them here, they are so delicious. I put my headphones in and zoned out for a while before boarding the train to Naples. 

I arrived in Naples and moved in front of the main station where I sat and watched the sea of southern Italians kiss and shout at each other. I love seeing reunions, I think the Italians have perfected the reunion greetings, especially when it is a couple. There were beggars, drunkards, and every day people. I had a guy come up and beg me to buy a lighter from him. I told him, “I don't smoke”, which is usually an easy out. This is when the “I have a child and a wife I am trying to provide for” comes out. I really doubt he did, but I gave him a few Euros and told him to take it. He wanted me to take a lighter, so I told him to sell it to someone else and make more to provide for his family. He didn't really know what to do with me, but as he went around and hustled everyone else, occasionally we would make eye contact. I would put my fingers to my mouth, kiss them, turn them towards him, and flick the kiss to him like I am trying to flick water after a hand wash. I learned that from the Italian boys at camp; it is what they all do to me. He would smile, catch it in the air, and hold it to his chest as he walked by. 

Noon struck, and I was soon approached by Genny Russo. Genny is one of the boys from the camp that I have bonded with over the last 3 years. He is a good friend. He tries so hard to communicate with me, and wishes he could speak English, but I know how the motivation to learn stops when you are not with foreigners any more. I wish I could speak Italian! I love him and he loves me even though we fumble through our various hand gestures and broken sentences in each other’s languages. I left the station walking with Genny when he received new instructions for me on the phone. We turned around and I had to buy a new train ticket that would take me out to Caserta, which is where Doug and Diana Valenzuela would be waiting for me at the train station. This is right next to the Veccio Mulino. I said my quick goodbye to Genny and got back on the train. 

The train came squealing up to the station with a wine that sounded like ring wraiths from Lord of the Rings. I have been to this station before. Last year I had another exciting story to tell about the Caserta Station. Long story short, we were heading there from Rome and completely missed it, ending up on the east coast of Italy. I got off, dragging my bag behind me. The muggy atmosphere encouraged the drops to form on my already shiny forehead. There was a very mild breeze that comforted me some as I walked down the stairs to the underpass below the train tracks. I walked out the front door of the station and quickly scanned the scene for Doug. I could not remember what their car looked like, but I wanted to be sure and catch him before he snuck up on me with one of his humiliating public outbursts. I found no one. Standing in the door of the train station I saw a building which looked to me like a palace. Wanting to go and check it out, I crossed the street while trying to stay in view of the train station. I knew that Doug and D were coming to get me. I could not get a good view of the palace from where I was at and had to turn around. Diana eventually drove up to the station and waved me down. I hopped in the car, greeted her and drove off to the Old Mill. I had not thought about where Doug and Diana were going to be when I arrived early. They have 3 successive weeks of youth camps at the old mill. They start with the young children, then the lower teens, then the college age people. They were running their camp, which meant I would not be able to stay at their house, so they brought me to the camp. I have never been to a camp other than mine. I am in the background watching the other kids interact with a team from California. I thought our age level was immature, but this team has a whole new category of children in terms of energy, maturity, and hormones. While the team is working with the children, I have taken the opportunity to get up to speed on the dirty clothing situation in my bag (which is rapidly getting out of hand). Diana and I went into town where I purchased some detergent, came back, and I washed my clothes. The sink was filled with that beautiful red and brown earth tone which makes me think so fondly of Africa. Since Lira, I have been exposed to ridiculous amounts of dust, which is now probably sitting in the P-trap of the sink here. I have been given a top bunk in the American’s sleeping area. I have to say that the musty stench that comes from the boys room is a little more than I can take. While they have been out working with the kids, I have been arranging the fans and moving old wet towels out of the room. It was like a smelly locker room that has been heated; moist, warm, stinky, messy, disgusting.... I walk in and feel a pair of hands formed in vapor; smelling like a sweaty, three times worn sock wrapping around my neck to choke the life out of me. I figured out a way to get some circulation in the room. I should survive the night if I can keep the mosquitos off my back. We really do have it good in America; every where else I go mosquitos plague my sleep, yet there is something about it that I love. 

This is my yard work carnage.

After a few hours of sitting and observing this camp, I decided to approach Doug and D and inquire if they had something I could do for them. Doug jumped on it and gave me a list of problems to fix at the Old Mill. While the children and the Americans have been doing their games, I have been climbing around in trees with a chainsaw, wading through thorn bushes with a weed-eater, and repairing leaky pipes and broken things... all without a shirt, of course. My lips have been pursed almost constantly for the last 2 days deflecting copious amounts of flying debris. My Ray Bans have become safety glasses and my socks have been serving as some sort of sponge for dirt, rocks, twigs, grass, and seed pods. Between the sweat, thorn bush pulp, and saw dust, I have been managing to desperately require a shower before every meal. In Africa I would get a little dusty, but here was no real requirement to be clean for mealtime. The Italian kids look like they are on their way to prom for their lunch and dinner meals. I have cleared probably 5 or 6 truck loads of brush and tree limbs. I had to drag most of the tree limbs off somewhere in the back property of the mill. Some are being used for a bonfire this evening, and most of the brush got mulched up with the metal blade I rigged up on their weed-eater. It feels good to be dirty and not care about it. This could easily be a full time job for someone. I feel like I haven't made a dent.

Dennis and the rest of my camp team arrived in Naples today. I got to talk to him on the phone for the first time in the last month. The big question was, “Am I going to meet up with the team in Naples?” I would if he wanted me to. I haven’t spent a whole lot of time with my team, but I do know everyone on the team in some way. I decided I would stay at the old mill and wait for them to come in tomorrow. No sense in heading into Naples to stay the night at a hotel with them when they are more than likely just going to sleep. Perhaps the money that we save by not paying for an extra person can go into getting me a pair of running shoes?  ...since I left mine on the bus in Kampala. This way I can do a few more things for this team as they say goodbye to the Italian kids they have been working with for the last week.

Fabiana got a shower!

The team caught up to me. They came out to the camp the same day Douglas’s team left. There was about an hour of overlap. All the girls from the younger camp were crying because there was an American on the team that they all were all in love with. We spent the first night here at the camp, were met by some old friends at the mill, and all went out to dinner at a local Pizza place. I was sitting at the long table with everyone when Elton John started being played. Everyone was excited about the familiar sound, when we noticed that Dennis was gone. I turned around and realized that it was Dennis singing Karaoke..  The whole place went silent and watched him. He had quite an applause at the end. I had a pizza called an “Antigua” It was topped with Arugula, corn, and Parmesan Cheese. I had one of the Italians recommend something to me. It was actually very good. We returned to the camp to find that the water to the mill had been turned off. For some reason there are 3 cities that had been cut off from the water main. I heard that there was a leak somewhere that had to be fixed, so for a day and a half we conserved water. During church the next day they made an announcement to the youth that camp was going to be delayed for a day. After church, I drove the team back out to the mill for lunch. I took a nap, then some of us went to a shopping center where I tried to look for a new pair of shoes to replace the ones I left in Africa. The store was great, it was the size of a Target, but was all sports equipment and much cheaper than any of the other stores that I had gone into. I ended up getting some shoes that I have never heard of, and getting a little something extra special on the side; a Speedo.

Some of our people started showing up in the evening, so we decided to start it up with our schedule. We started off with dinner, then moved into playing an evening game where everyone had clothes pins and had to clip their pins onto people without them noticing. The goal is to be left with no pins on you. Amy then taught the Italians some basic dance moves that we all did to a song. I think it may have been Zumba, but I dont know for sure since I am probably the last person that would sign up for something like that on my own. The night ended with the Italians going to bed around 1:30. 

Notice; mostly Americans using Italians as target practice.

Our schedule has begun to resemble some form of planned thing. We usually plan each day with games, crafts, and themes for dinner. The Italians have been divided into four teams with Americans spread evenly among them. I was originally an official, but have been called into service due to a few injuries on the American squad. Jonathan got kicked in the ankle and had to ice it. He may return at some point, but for now is a spectator. Dennis has been having some problems with his back, and has bowed out of all physical exertion. Lastly, Chrystal has been having some problems (probably my fault) and has had to take a break from sports. One of the teams started with 4 boys on it; John, Pasquale (Italian), Luka (Italian), and Nico (Italian). Pasquale had to leave after the first day because of work. John got an injury, and Luca hadn't showed up yet, so they were getting stomped by all the other teams. I became Pasquale/John while I waited for Luca to show up. The Italians are pretty good at Soccer, and are very good at stealing the ball from me. I have realized that out of 10, I am about a 3 when it comes to controlling where I can kick the ball. I feel like a zombie sometimes when I am running after the ball. We play both soccer and Volleyball back to back, then the “Bar” is opened and we can all go buy Soda, Juice, Ice Cream, or whatever they have to sell. When they say “Bar”, they dont mean what naturally comes to our minds. “Bar” is associated with coffee, generally. 

We went into Caserta today. All the Italians and Americans loaded into several vans and cars and caravanned around some windy and beautifully shaded corners. The landscape of Italy is so wonderful in and out of the city. The Americans love it; the Italians are sick of it. We drove into a place that looked like it was a Palace at one time. It sat up on a hillside and overlooked the city. It looked like many of the places in Italy look; formerly a place of pride and beauty that had fallen into disrepair and ruin. The plants slowly start to reclaim the structures and the courtyards that are beautifully tiled and adorned with monuments and statues. All the places are quiet. Every now and then I see an old Italian lady or gentleman walking his or her groceries home, stopping periodically in the shade of an awning or tree to catch their breath. I wish I had little camera shutters built into my eyes. Cameras never seem to catch the beauty quite like you see it in person. We stopped into a small cafe where one of the Italians hurried in and ordered all the Americans pastries and cold water. We sat in the shade of the old building; huddled around a crooked little table talking about how beautiful it is here and how fortunate we are to be here with the Italians. We returned to the old mill and filled the picnic tables that occupy the the shade of the large trees. 

Instructions for the relay race.

This morning some of our team members were feeling helpless; having to sit on the sidelines and not be able to play with the Italians. It seems that so much focus in missions is the project. I know it has seemed that way in Africa at times, and though there is no construction project here, it brings the same feeling. Our project is our schedule, our games, our themes, and playing sports. The bigger opportunity is not what we can bring physically, but it is the conversations that we have; the encouragement and the affirmation that we can provide them by being ambassadors of our God who loves them.  Times suck in Italy right now. When they leave this camp, they go back to the hopeless, jobless, economy that has crippled this place. The mill is a sanctuary, it is peace, it is rejuvenation, and reformation for many of the girls and boys that come. To some it is the open door and invitation to get more from life than just working for a living; it is an invitation to truly live and to have security during a time of fear and uncertainty. If you want something you can help me pray for, then pray for the Italians. Pray that they have security in God; knowing that this life is not the end, but there is something more; something worth living for, and something that they have every reason to take great joy in. It is something that will remove the despair and hopelessness that has plagued this place. You do not wear a parachute to make a flight comfortable, you wear it to rescue you from the fall. Jesus did not die so that we could be comfortable here, he died to rescue us from the fall; that is the peace and comfort that brings the joy. We don’t need to worry; we are secure with Christ.