Collision (26 page)

She looked confused. “What offer?”

“To sit here together forever and rock babies.”

“Sounds brilliant,” she said, followed by a giggle. “I’m in.”

The older children filed past us and onto the yard in a single-file line. Most of the boys waved at me as they passed. The girls all giggled.

“I’m pretty certain they want to run their fingers through your hair as much as I did the first time I saw you.”

“Well, I’m not sure I’ll get the same response I get out of it when you do it, but they’re free to go right on ahead.”

“We’ll save that activity for later. Too much excitement in one day and they’re too difficult to put down for the night.”

“I guess I don’t have to explain how crazy this day has been for me,” I said as I looked out at the children while they formed a large circle in the grass.

“No. I suspected as much. I can see it written all over your face.”

“I mean, to go from absolute despair to absolute joy within a matter of an hour. It’s amazing that you can ever get used to it.”

“I don’t know that you ever get used to it. It just becomes easier. That’s all.”

“How’s that?”

“I suppose you learn to understand that none of this is under your control. All you can do is love people just where they’re at. Show them love in their time of need and learn from them.”

“What do they teach you?”

“Lots of things.”

“Like what?”

“Selflessness, compassion, forgiveness, grace, being joyful no matter your circumstances. I think that’s the big one. You’ll notice with most of the people you meet here that no matter what they’re going through, there’s still a joy about them. It’s that idea of ‘in all things, give thanks.’”

The kids started singing. I stood with the baby still on my shoulder and walked to the yard. There, I stood watching the children and patting the baby’s back until an hour later, when the children went back inside to clean up for their dinner.

“This is one of the most powerful things I’ve ever witnessed,” she called out.

I turned to face her. “What’s that?”

“Watching you. You’re changing, Cabot. I don’t know if you realize that. But you’re most certainly changing.”

•••••

“Will the children ever be adopted?” I asked as we drove back to the mission house that night after dark.

“Not likely. Non-Ugandan citizens aren’t permitted to adopt.”

“So none of these children will ever have a home?”

“Unfortunately not.”

The fact made my stomach ache. “What will happen to them?”

“We’ll care for them until they’re old enough to be on their own.”

“And then?”

“Hopefully we’ve been able to provide them with an education and they can find work somewhere. That’s what much of our donations are spent on: this home and the care and education of these children.”

“They’ll never have a family,” I muttered as I looked out the window and into the darkness. “How many are there?”

“In the home? Forty-eight.”

“No. In Uganda. How many orphans are there?”

“The latest numbers we have are from two years ago.”

“How many?”

“Two million three hundred thousand. Within just a few years, they think the number will be two million five hundred thousand.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head. “Two and a half million children like the ones I played with today?”

“Yes.”

When I didn’t respond, she took my hand in hers.

“Can we go back tomorrow?” I asked.

“If you wish.”

“Yes, I wish.”

I rested my head against the window and didn’t speak again for the rest of the night. There was nothing I could say, but I really didn’t need to say anything. Kei understood it all better than anyone else could.

C H A P T E R

21

Subject: Trip of a lifetime!

To:
RollingMamaStone

From:
YardballChamp07

Date:
November 29, 2007

Mom,

Afoyah
! (That means “Hey.”)

I can’t believe I’ve already been here for four days. Time seems like it’s flying by, and while part of me is exhausted from emotional and physical overload, the other part of me can’t get enough and wants to get back out there and see and do more.

For breakfast, we usually have boiled eggs, a crepe/tortilla-type bread they call
chapatti
, and instant coffee or hot tea with sugar and powdered milk. I really like the bread a lot, and Kei said that she would teach me how to make it when we’re in Asheville. We need to have her teach Dad sometime too.

Kei’s dad drove us to the fourteen acres of land they are hoping to use to build a Bible college and a children’s village. The hope for the children’s village is that they will build homes that house eight orphans and one woman who has lost her family. In these homes, they create their own new family. The children get a mother, and a woman finds purpose in raising children. As the plans are drawn, there will be four groups of four huts. At the center of each pod of four small huts there will be a central cooking area. Their hope is to raise enough money to begin building by the first part of next year. That would mean that more than 140 orphans could have a new mother and a new home by the end of next year. They plan to build as many villages as they can purchase land for. I’m hoping to get some time to sit and talk to Mr. Sallee about it some more while I’m here. I’d like to partner with him and see what I can do to help.

We spent time at a local prison. Next to visiting the hospital, this was the one thing that I was most unsure about. I tried to act like I wasn’t worried. I figured if Kei could go, I could too. I wasn’t sure what to expect but ended up surprised that I never had anything to worry about. We were completely safe. We leave tomorrow morning for an IDP camp called Opit. The next day, we’re heading to another camp called Amoro. It’s a thirty-mile drive, but Kei said it will take about two hours to get there due to the roads. She also says that Amoro is the second largest IDP camp. There are about 45,000 huts, so more than a hundred thousand people in all. We will be staying the night there, so I’ll be out of reach for a few days.

I now understand why Kei took so long to respond to my e-mails. No matter how good the wiring is, the Internet is sketchy. Then, sometimes, all the power in the city will go out and you never know when you’ll get it back.

Btw, you would love the view of the stars at night. With little to zero electricity in the homes nearby, there’s nothing to obstruct your view. It’s amazing.

Pass this on to Dad and the girls. I’m sure they want to hear all about what’s going on.

Prepare yourselves. I’m bringing all of you back with me sometime, and I know you’re going to love it.

Honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever be the same.

Talk to you soon.

Cabot

C H A P T E R

22

My first look at a Ugandan IDP camp, Opit, was unforgettable.

When the van pulled into its spot, dozens and dozens of children ran up to it and started pounding on it, laughing, smiling, curious. When we finally climbed out, they were everywhere and hardly gave us any room to maneuver. We took their pictures and then would turn the camera around and let them see themselves, which, of course, made them laugh. Kei said the majority of them had never seen what they look like.

It took about thirty minutes, but we finally made it the twenty or thirty yards to the medical camp. There were at least fifteen hundred people lined up, hoping to get medical care.

It was there that I met Griffin, the guy Kei had told me about. His parents’ mission was the one that organized the medical teams.

Even though he was obviously upset about it, Kei insisted that she and I work together. He didn’t argue, but he kept a very watchful eye on us while we questioned the patients and sent them to the right station.

We found out their names, ages, tribes, villages, and current medical conditions. There was a woman with both AIDS and syphilis. Many women had vaginal discharge problems, which was more than I wanted to know, but apparently, due to the lack of clean water, they were susceptible to a lot of things, and very serious female problems was one of them. There were also a lot of ringworms, infected feet, tooth problems, and infections due to cuts and burns.

All of the stories were difficult to hear, and every time we’d process one, I would look back at the line and see that it didn’t seem to help. The people just kept coming and coming, and there was no way we were going to help them all that day. The children sat quietly in line, never fussing.

The most memorable patient of the day was an elderly man. He had vision problems, and he was hoping for a pair of glasses. When Kei asked him why he needed glasses, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded-up piece of paper. He unfolded it and showed it to us. It was one page out of a Bible, one page. He told her that he needed to be able to read God’s Word.

Not only did I want to make sure he got his glasses, but I wanted to get him a complete Bible. I asked Kei if we could get one to him, and she said that there was no way to track him down after he had left the medical camp. There was no organization to the huts, and he would be nearly impossible to find again. I made a mental note to myself to buy as many Bibles as I could and bring them with us in the van just in case.

After a few hours of working with the medical team, Kei and Gregory took me out to walk around the camp. She started calling me the pied piper. Children literally followed us everywhere, and they did it by the dozens. One little girl followed us for over an hour until I finally figured out that she wanted the empty water bottle I was carrying around. As soon as I gave it to her, she smiled and ran off.

We passed two witch doctor huts, looked at all the items for sale in the market, and visited many people inside their huts.

I was asleep in the van within fifteen minutes of leaving the camp for the day.

Amoro was very similar to Opit, but much, much larger. We were still followed by children and Griffin, who was now with us at all times. We spent the night in tents and then woke up the next morning to attend church services. They broke us up into teams and sent us to different churches throughout the camp.

Kei, Griffin, and a new couple were on my team. We sat at the front of a small church made out of branches. The walls weren’t solid, but it was enough to get a little bit of shade from the very hot sun. Even in the early morning, the heat was almost unbearable.

Our church was called Deliverance Church and was led by Pastor Saul, and it was packed completely full with adults. All the children stood outside and tried to look inside through the slats. It broke my heart that the children weren’t allowed inside. Honestly, part of me would’ve rather been outside with them.

We sat in the front and faced the crowd. They sang us a song of welcome, honoring us, and then the church service began. Kei and an interpreter tried to tell me what the pastor was saying, but they had a hard time keeping up.

They asked me to speak, so I nervously told the story of when Jesus said, “Let the children come to me.”

While we sat and listened to Griffin talk, I noticed Kei get out of her seat and walk over to a girl. She was probably ten or so. Kei whispered in her ear, and the girl shut her eyes and nodded her head. Kei prayed with her and then stood up and walked back to her seat.

“What was that about?” I whispered as she sat down.

“She needed prayer.”

“How could you tell?”

“I saw the look on her face. I’ve seen it when I look in the mirror and would recognize it anywhere.”

“What look is that?” I asked.

“Shame,” she whispered.

Just then, the service ended and people started to line up to be prayed over. It was several minutes into praying that I witnessed my first demon possession.

The girl was a teenager. She thrashed around and spit on Pastor Saul. After quite a bit of prayer, they carried her away, and Griffin went with them to continue praying for her. Then, just as she left, they brought a girl up who had epilepsy. She was nine years old and broke my heart not because she had epilepsy, but because it was obvious by the look on her face that she felt like she had no worth. She never looked up, showed no emotion at all. She just sat there, looking hopeless.