Close Encounters. By Bethan. September 2011.

“Uh oh, Gareth, I don’t know what to do now.”  I said as I sat in a precarious position on a very large and busy junction in Kampala.

“Just sit tight and when there’s a space, go!”  recommended Gareth, seeing the impossibility of the situation.  Cars were streaming past, making our car shudder with each near-miss, boda-bodas were darting in and out of not-quite-stationary cars, dicing death by a hair’s breadth.

We were on our way back to Kasese via the BUU office, after a long and tiring week in Gulu and Kampala.   I approached the HUGE junction and looked at the array of traffic lights on display.  I picked one that seemed most relevant to my current position and desired route and saw that a green arrow was pointing right, in the direction that I wanted to go.  I crept forwards, believing to have the right of way but not quite trusting the system.  I was forced by the streams of traffic still flowing in front of me to stop about three feet shy of the junction (or what we would call the ‘yellow box’) and this is when I confessed to Gareth that I didn’t know what to do.

“I can’t even see the traffic lights now, at least I don’t think I can see the one that is supposed to tell me what to do: who are those traffic lights over there supposed to be directing?”  I asked as the lane with a red light to the left of us produced a stream of 4x4s and heavily-laden wonky trucks.  “I bet I get stopped by the police for doing something wrong even though it is not clear what is even supposed to be happening.”

“Don’t worry, just wait for a space and go.”  Advised Gareth.

“Hello madam.  I need to see your driving licence then I can tell you what you are doing wrong.”  Announced a rather robust Ugandan traffic-police woman in a gleaming white uniform (how do they get them so so white with all this orange dust!?) who had just appeared at my window.  Oh poop.  I produced my driving licence and started to explain that the light had been green and I was just following the traffic instructions and trying to go about my own little business without causing any trouble to anyone.

“You were driving recklessly.”  She announced as if I had been a 17 year old boy-racer.

I appealed to her better nature.  “Madam, I saw a green arrow pointing my way and I was just trying to get through the traffic to go over there (gesturing right) to get to Kasese.  I got stuck because the other traffic appears not to be obeying these traffic lights.”

To be honest I was stressed by now because Kampala driving does this to you.  Imagine driving in rush-hour London and times it by 20 or so.  Add crazy drivers in huge 4x4s (I know, if you live in Chelsea this is the case too!), street-hawkers and the odd stray animal and no road markings to speak of and you get the picture.  We also had a 7 hour journey ahead of us and we were wasting valuable ‘Sam-asleep-time’ by being stopped by this police lady.

Tears welled up in my eyes because, since I was a child, I have always cried when I am angry or indignant.  It's not the most useful response and something I fight each time it happens, but I never win.  I began to shout in order that my words would come out, but they arrived weak and wobbly:  “Madam, I assure you, the light was green and I was just trying to get through the traffic!”

Gareth began to fight my cause as he saw that my wobbly voice wouldn’t achieve anything.  “Madam, trust me, the light was green.”

“If you are going to shout at me I am going to go away and come back later.”  The police woman said and with that she walked off with my driving licence and left us bewildered sitting in the middle of a fast-flowing and turbulent stream of traffic.  Gareth boldly got out and followed her, otherwise believing that we could be there all day.  I sat in the car and sobbed pathetically, wishing that I could just drive off as the lights turned green again (while the police officer was talking to Gareth I witnessed at least 20 other more serious driving offences than the one I was being accused of!)  However, Gareth was now out of the car and my licence was with the police officer so I just sat with a sleeping Samuel and prayed that the whole ordeal would be over.

A lot of hand-flapping and gesticulating went on between Gareth and the police woman and I could occasionally hear wafts of the conversation: “Eh!  You people!  The light was…  You should have...”  “But madam, the light was… we did…”  and so on.  Eventually Gareth flew across the lanes of not-quite-stationary traffic and jumped in the car.  “Drive over there, NOW!” he shouted.  In a moment of get-away-car-ness I put my foot down and shot ten metres across the junction to park at the side of a very busy road full of shops and took my luck at sitting here without being booked for illegal parking.  The police officer eventually came to meet Gareth, who once again had had to go out of the car to hurry her a little.  (Don’t forget the 7 hours we still had to drive to get home!)

After a short while the police lady opened the passenger door and said “good morning.”

“It’s not a good morning actually,” I started, wobbly but indignant “I am just trying to get home and follow all the right rules but in our country green means go!”  I sobbed.

“Madam, if you cannot control yourself you will have to come to the police station so I can explain it to you there.”  I fell silent but the stream of indignation continued in my head, held back only through gritted teeth.  I did not want to elongate this encounter through the bureaucracy and likely expense that a police-station visit would involve.

The police officer began to draw me a diagram of traffic lights upon traffic lights on an odd-shaped junction, explaining to me that those vehicles that were “sloping down” heading to Makarere (wherever that was) should go when the top light is green and the bottom light is red but that those “pushing up” towards Kawempe should go when the top light is red and the bottom light is green, but that those vehicles wishing to “pass” up to the right (me) should wait on (yes, on!) the zebra crossing until I have seen that those “sloping down” and those “pushing up” (by the way we were not on a hill!) have passed, then I wait until the traffic lights on the far side were a random mixture of red and green, four cars and a goat had passed on my left and a cow had pooped on my right, then, and only then could I take my turn on the junction!

“Oh, I see now.”  I lied.  There is occasionally a time for lying, and this was it.  I was clearly never going to understand this junction and, although I was livid and still believed I was in the right, I thought about the long journey we had ahead of us and the prospect of being sat in a police cell having this explained to me again was more than I could take.

“Good.” Said the police woman.  “I have decided to forgive you and let you off with a warning.”

“Thank you madam.”  I forced myself to say through gritted teeth. “I can promise you, I will never come on this junction again.”  This time it wasn’t a lie.

The woman retreated carefully backwards out of the passenger door, Gareth hopped back in and, with Samuel stirring and about to complain at having been in the car an hour and not even being out of Kampala, we drove off towards home.  “Not long now sweetie.” I lied to Sam. 

A few hours later, in the lush-green of western Uganda, having passed several more police along the road, we were stopped by a policeman with a radar-gun in his hand.  Gareth was driving this time, (within the speed-limit, I hasten to add).  “Good afternoon Officer” he greeted the policeman.  Having inspected our licences and asked where we were going, it became clear that the policeman had had an idea that we didn’t like the thought of.  Noticing the policeman’s name “Baluku” embroidered on his shirt pocket, I introduced him to our Baluku (in Lukhongo all first-born sons have this name) sitting happily in the back, who dutifully waved and smiled at the policeman.  On seeing Samuel waving the policeman smiled, greeted him and then said “you tell your Daddy to buy me a car.”  We laughed, knowing not to bother going down the route of explaining that we were in no position to buy cars for people left, right and centre.  He changed tack:  “What can you give me to make me happy?”  We laughed again, and once we had ascertained that we were not in breach of any law, bid him a good day, and drove off before his hankering for a bribe could become any more blatant.

Needless to say we were very relieved to arrive back at our home in Kasese and find that the goats were still alive, the water was plentiful and the electricity was on.  We both said a prayer of thanks for a safe and happy end to a Very Long Day.

Youth Retreat at Kibuara Bible College, 26-28 August.

“What time are we due to start our talk?” I asked  Monday, the youth pastor.

“2pm.”  He replied confidently.

“What time is it now?”

“It is around 3pm.”  He replied, ignoring my implied point.

I looked in the classroom: three youths were flicking nonchalantly through notebooks looking a bit bored.  A few more were hanging around outside leaning on trees.  A Toyota Saloon pulled up next to a parked boda-boda.  The driver got out.  One youth fell out of the right-hand door followed by another and another and another.  More youths got out of the left-hand door.  It reminded us of the joke “how many people can you fit into a mini”.  As we watched, the youths stretched, looked around them and dispersed, leaving their luggage in typical teenage fashion in a pile behind the car for someone else to deal with.  After the driver unloaded the copious luggage, including half-a-dozen mattresses, a diesel generator and a loud speaker, the car drove off.  Our little son Samuel and his local band of merry men saw the opportunity of a soft-play centre and began jumping around on the mattresses.

At 3.30pm about 12 youths had arrived for the conference that was to last from now (Friday afternoon) until Sunday evening and was for youth from across Kasese district.

“I think you can start now,”  suggested Monday.

“But lunch has not yet been served.”  I replied, seeing from the timetable that lunch was supposed to take place before talks.

“It is not ready.  The Cassava is still raw.”  Ah.  If the Cassava is still raw then it will indeed be a long time before lunch is ready.  Best to get on with the talks first.

Gareth was up first.  We had been asked to talk about the roles that the youth can play in their churches.  Now, even in the UK this is a hot topic.  Do we fire the youth up to believe that they can change things that have not changed for centuries?  Do we tell them that they should listen to and obey their elders at all costs?  Do we ask them what they think their roles are and then put them right?!  With some welcome advice from our BMS colleague in Peru, youth worker Amanda Roper, we decided to base our talk on 1 Corinthians 12:12-26 (about being part of the body of Christ) and Revelation 21 (a new Jerusalem).

Gareth stood up and introduced himself to a very placid, sincere-looking group of young people.  He began by discussing what uses the different parts of our bodies have.  He then produced a pile of “post-its” with words on which he distributed amongst the bemused-looking youths.  To any Brit worth his salt in youth-activities you could see where this was going but when told to stick the post-its to their fore-heads and ask each other questions with yes/no answers as to the name of the part of the body on their post-it, the youths looked stumped.  Silence.  To an outsider coming in now the scene of 15 (for some had come in late) young people sitting silently looking at each other with brightly coloured post-its on their foreheads would have been rather an odd sight!  After a little more explanation, sighs of “ahhh!” were breathed as the pennies dropped.  The group began to liven up and a gentle hubbub of noise was created as amusing questions as to what part of the body they were thrown about.  Fits of giggles began to crack through the air as someone found out he was an intestine, and wry little smiles appeared as someone else figured out that he was indeed the brain!

With the point proven, the game came to a close and Gareth continued with his talk.  He gave some Biblical background to the principle of the church making up the body of Christ and offered food for thought concerning what role the youth should play in their churches.  He encouraged them that they were of equal value to all other age-groups in the church and that they were the ones responsible both for setting a good example to the younger children and for leading the church into a brighter future,  but warned them that they should do so without dis-respecting their elders and traditions.

Now, with about 20 young people in the room, it was my turn to deliver what I had to offer.  Revelation 21 talks about a new Jerusalem.  The bad old things have passed away and the city is made new in the presence of God.  I began by talking a little about the Kingdom of God (thanks Mat Wilson for your deeply informative lectures on this matter at IMC!); where is it, when is it and how do we know when we see it?  The conclusion I drew (although the discussion on the matter will go on for eternity) was that the Kingdom of God is here now and glimpses of it can be seen in nature and good deeds that people do for each other.  It is also going to come in a much fuller way when Jesus returns.  I reminded the young people that when we pray we say “Your Kingdom come, Your will be done on earth as it is in Heaven”.  I hoped that by talking a bit about the Kingdom of God it would help the youth to really think about what they are asking for when they say “your Kingdom come on earth”.  With this in mind, I moved to Revelation 21 and we did an activity in their church groups (they were from five different churches) whereby they had to identify the things in their communities/villages/towns that need to change.  They then went verse-by-verse through Revelation 21: 1-6 re-writing it for their own communities.  The following is a summary of what all the different groups came up with:

“I saw a new Bwera/Kasese/Kiburara.  The old one passed away.  I saw a new Kasese coming down from Heaven, dressed in peacefulness and truth.  A loud voice said “Now God is living amongst us and all local people will accept him as their Lord.  God will wipe away the tears caused by poverty and family breakdowns.  There will be no more AIDS or government corruption, there will be no more sick people or children dying.  These old things have passed away.”  God said “I am making everything new!  There will be no more lying or fornication!  I am the beginning and the end.  Anyone who even asks me for peace in their towns or an honest local government I will give it to him.  There will be no more suffering.”

The young people then went back into their groups with the task of finding practical ways that they could implement this new community; could they feed the hungry?  Could they stop corruption?  Many wanted to be pastors and preach the Good News and most put prayer as an important factor in changing their communities.  It was quite difficult to help the youth to think about practical things that they could also do to change their communities, and show them the Good News.

By the time I came to the end of my talk at about 5pm, I could hear a few stomachs rumbling and could smell the beans and Cassava waiting outside so I asked someone to lead us in a song to finish.  As with young people the world over, when it comes to music they really come alive!  The harmonies and energy brought about through the few songs were astounding, especially as they were singing on empty stomachs!  Even Samuel hung very still on my back and listened intently.  I closed in prayer, asking that God will enable these young people to identify their roles in their churches and be able to make those changes that need to happen in their communities in order that God’s Kingdom might come in those places.

Recent events in the UK have highlighted the importance of inspiring young people and giving them a secure grounding in their faith.  The work that is done with the youth here in the district of Kasese is of vital importance for raising up the next generation of Christian leaders.  It is a privilege to have been asked to play a small part in the Baptist Union of Uganda’s youth program, which will feature a much larger youth conference in January 2012 on the Uganda/DRC border.

Our first Ugandan wedding.

Today we went to our first wedding.  A young lady from our church got married to an Anglican man from the Uganda/DR Congo border.  It wasn't until yesterday that it was confirmed that it would take place - there had been some issues over the dowry:  12 goats, a blanket and a hoe is the standard bride-price that the Groom's family pays to the Bride's family (the opposite way round from Indian dowries).  This morning we headed off with the maximum of 8 people in our car (we have 8 seat-belts)- all dressed in our finest.  The wedding was supposed to start at 11am, but some confusion over who was actually going, and which of them was going in our car meant that we didn't arrive until 1130, which was fine because the wedding started at 12.  The service was concise at a mere hour and a half and featured some great singing with the wedding party dancing down the aisle, rather than processing. For some reason, the clapping in between each section of the vows was accompanied by random sound-effects from the keyboard - amplified through a massive sound-system. The bridal party didn't smile though, as apparently if the bride smiles it will offend her family who she is now leaving to go and live with her new husband's family.

While we were in the service someone decorated all the cars all over with white and orange ribbons and we were instructed that we were to be the penultimate vehicle in a wedding convoy of four vehicles to drive to the reception in the Groom's village.  We ended up with a different 8 people from the ones we'd started with, and the other cars seemed to be carrying even more.  We then proceeded to the reception venue at a snail's pace with hazard lights flashing, horns blaring and following a weave along the road like warships in a zig-zag pattern to dodge torpedoes (sorry, old metaphors die hard!).  Our procession was joined by some motorbikes who decided to weave amongst the cars, so it was all starting to get a bit silly as we approached a barrier with police/soldiers blocking the road - which turned out to be the first stage of crossing from peaceful western Uganda into the chaotic DR Congo.  Fortunately we swung right onto a dirt-track just before the barrier and stayed in Uganda, but then stopped soon after as the front car carrying the bridesmaids (all 7 of them I think) ran out of petrol.  They were two trucks full of bricks and builders coming the other way so this caused a bit of roadblock - and not a subtle one with all the ribbons, lights and horns! - Eventually the bridesmaids were pushed up the road and we arrived at a primary school bedecked in tarpaulin and more white and orange fabrics and kitted out with a stupendous sound-system,  the ubiqituous plastic chairs, and hoards of raggedly-dressed local children who the "event oragnisers" kept trying to shoo out of the photographs.

The wedding party danced their way in and there were several speeches before we all tucked into a feast of carbohydrates: - a mountain of rice, a hillock of steamed matoke (plantain), boiled potatoes, dry-roast potatoes, beans and some chewy meat, slopped with "soup" (meat-gravy) all eaten with fingers (which saves a lot of expense and washing up when hundreds of people are being fed!) At an African wedding everyone gets fed, there's no guest list or seating plan, just a massive communal feast.

After this the bride and groom fed each other wedding cake and and then we were invited to present our gifts to the happy couple.  By this point young Sam was exhausted, so we headed home (somehow with a different car-load again?!).

Every culture celebrates weddings in different ways, and we enjoyed celebrating one in Ugandan style. 

Wanawake wa Habari Njema (Women of the Good News) (By Bethan)

The Wanawake, as we now call them, are a phenomenal group of women within our church.  One woman in particular, Mama Esther (so called because she has a daughter called Esther, as I am Mama Samuel thank goodness because Bethan is too difficult!), is very wise and formidable.  When I arrived only six weeks ago and was told about the women’s prayers on Wednesday mornings, I didn’t know what to expect.

I turned up on time at 8am to find one woman sitting on the back bench of the empty concrete church building.  I said my greetings in KiSwahili and then we sat in silence, reading our Bibles.  Gradually a couple of other people arrived and when there were four of us, Mama Esther began to speak.  To be perfectly honest I don’t know what she said because our pastor’s wife (my personal translator!) Alice, was not there.  But the meeting went something like this: a lot of speaking and gesticulating followed by singing.  More speaking then suddenly everyone bowed their heads and I remembered that I did actually know the word ‘tuombe’ (we pray) and got my head down quickly too.  Hearing the word ‘Amina’ I realise that praying has finished.  More singing, more talking, some mentioning of my name (well, Sam’s name!) then the women began picking up their Bibles, so I assumed we had finished.

I have really come to appreciate these times of fellowship together, especially as I understand more of the language and the culture.  The women are so friendly and welcoming.  Mama Esther doesn’t speak any English at all so she is the main reason why I am fervently beavering away at learning the language: she is my impetus because I want to know what goes on in her life.  I was sitting in the women’s prayer one morning and was lucky enough to have a sentence translated for me.  It was a good job because I heard that it had my name in it so I was curious!  The translation came across like this: “Mama Esther says that it is important that you do not deny your husband in the bedroom.”  I had not even considered that this piece of advice would come from a morning prayer session!  It reminds me how much I am missing by not being able to speak KiSwahili.

August 1^st was a special day.  The Wanawake had decided that on the 1^st and the 15^th of each month they will get together and spend a day praying and fasting, with a break in the middle to do crafts together and teach each other their respective talents.  I was apprehensive about a whole day fasting and praying, and especially a whole day sitting on a wooden bench!  Luckily, I am a crafty-type of girl so I had plenty to take with me (I decided on starting a hand-sewn patchwork bag with local material) but the issue of leaving Samuel with Gareth all day was a tough one because he has not been without me that long at least since being in Uganda.

This particular morning I had a very heavy black cloud hanging over my head.  Maybe you know that type of mood?  I couldn’t bring myself to even clear up the breakfast things so there were ants everywhere!  Luckily Samuel wanted his morning nap early so I could dwell in my black cloud.  I sat on the chair inside Sam’s mosquito net with him while he slept and I just stared at the net.  When Gareth got home from Swahili at 10am I had to think about going to the Wanawake’s prayer meeting.  This prayer meeting was the last thing I wanted to do!  But I got on my bike and free-wheeled down the road, stewing inside at the people pointing at me and gawping at this mzungu on a push-bike with an empty baby-seat on the back.  I was not in the mood to be a freak show this morning!

I arrived at the church to find some eight women seated on mats on the floor or on the benches deep in silent prayer, except for a gentle worship song coming from the lips of Mama Esther, also the choir mistress.  I sat down on the floor in silence and prayed that God would enable me to focus on him, not on my current state of mind.  I shed a few tears because it is these moments of closeness with God and other Christians that make me feel that I don’t need to pretend anything: God already knows it.  After a few minutes the women began to sing together and someone said ‘amen’.  We came together and Alice spoke in both KiSwahili and English so that I could take part in the proceedings.  They were taking 30 minute blocks of prayer for each specific thing that had been mentioned at the beginning of the day and a song marked the beginning and end of each 30 minutes.  (Incidentally, Alice asked to use my phone as a clock because she was using hers which couldn’t be put on silent and had the Venga Boys ‘boom boom boom’ song as a ring-tone that would ring at the most inappropriate times!) 

At 2pm we stopped praying and got out our crafts.  We sat on the reed mats each doing our own craft, but showing interest in the one next to us.  As we sat, words, laughter and more gesticulations were thrown back and forth between the women and Alice threw me tit-bits of translation that kept me in the loop.  It seemed that Love (said ‘Luvay’), a Congolese young woman, is going to get married in August and Mama Esther was giving her the advice that typically the paternal aunt is supposed to give such as how a husband should be treated and what a woman should do in the bedroom.  Suddenly, I heard my name mentioned and everyone was looking at me!  I looked hopefully at Alice.  What were they asking me about this subject? Apparently it was my turn to offer marital advice to Love.  Everyone else had already said their piece and now I had to add a nugget of wisdom.  I didn’t know what area of marriage I could talk about (from her gesticulations, I noticed that Mama Esther had already covered the bedroom!) so I told her that she should never go to sleep at night without resolving a conflict with her husband.  The women seemed pleased with this advice and Mama Esther was off again on a wise lecture involving more acting out of bedroom scenarios as I carried on with my patchworking, pleased to have been a part of this momentous occasion.

After an hour of doing handiwork, Mrs Baluku, wife of an elder (mzee) at church and also the other member of the choir (with Mama Esther) asked- no, told- me to teach the women a song.  Well now I was on my home ground!  I taught the women ‘Freedom’ and ‘Ihparadisi’, and they loved them, immediately breaking off into the harmony parts that would have taken me an evening to teach to the On Board choir.  (No offence to On Board; Ugandan ears are trained from birth!)  After teaching the songs and having the pleasure of hearing someone burst into ‘Oh Freedom!’ after every few minutes of silence, we went back to praying in 30 minute slots.

I felt so much love from these women and feel so privileged to be a part of their ministry.  They are so active in church: they have clubbed together to buy a portion of land next to the church and plough it to grow cotton and start a co-operative so that each woman can start her own business.  They look out for each other, they visit each other when there are concerns, they pray as though their lives depend on the answers, and they accept newcomers like myself.

Needless to say, my black cloud had lifted by the time Gareth called me at 4pm to say that Samuel had grown tired of their ‘boy-time’ and wanted his mum home.

Meetings.

We're making good progress here after a couple of busy weeks. We've learnt four tenses in Swahili and four of the eight or nine noun classes (each of which uses different prefixes for adjectives, pronouns, demonstratives etc). Now we just need to learn hundreds of words of vocab (and the other noun classes and some more tenses).....
Sundays at church continue to be a headspinning 3-hour immersion in Swahili, but each week we understand a little more than the week before, which is very encouraging!

Last Sunday (24^th) was lovely, we had an official welcome at church, so after the service there was a little party with a special "welcome" cake and sodas for everyone. It's a poor church so the generosity of this gesture (by the dedicated women of the church) was very touching. Luckily we knew something was going to happen so we turned up with the biggest of our papayas and were able to share that with the whole congregation after the cake (both the cake and the papaya were cut into very small pieces to ensure that each of the hundred people there got some!) Then I was able to give a quick thank you in my poor Swahili and Bethan led everyone in a joyful rendition of "Wipolo Bot Banga" (an Acholi song which has national popularity) to much ululating, dancing and clapping - from the women, - Ugandan men are generally less lively. Had this happened on our first Sunday we might have been a bit embarrassed and confused by it, but after over a month it felt genuine and was really special.  In fact it felt like communion.

Over the last two weeks we’ve also been getting out and about meeting people, mostly for work and also socially: - 2 or 3 local and international NGOs and a couple of local government officials, and some other Mzungus who live up the hill in Kilembe (where it’s much cooler) for an evening of playing boardgames, speaking English and even wearing jeans, jumpers and socks for the first time in a weeks!  We’ve also found another Mzungu baby for Sam to play with – Jack is a 9-month old Australian who lives in the compound for staff at Kasese Cobalt Mine, which has a swimming pool and a wood-fired pizza oven!

Most important of all, however, was the meeting we held yesterday (Sun 31) in Alpha’s school hall in Acholi Quarter.  Having heavily plugged that there would be a community meeting at 1pm on Sunday and prayed fervently that people would come, I was very pleased when we finally started at about 3pm that people representing 50 households had turned up – and by the end of the meeting at about 5pm there were over 80 people there.  As the average household size there is 6, we were therefore able to hear representations of the concerns and aspirations of approx 300+ people.  We asked questions in English, which Alphonse then translated into Lukhongo and Rotoro (the two local tribal languages), then people raised their hands and we counted and recorded the number of hands raised.  After many of these questions to establish a baseline of numerical data about household size, employment etc then we opened up the meeting to hear the voices and opinions of those present. 

The answers have given us much food for thought and will inform our first project proposals.  In a nutshell they revealed a community that is desperately poor, has very large families but no salaried employment, much illiteracy, no electricity, little (and costly) healthcare, has to walk and pay to get water, is troubled by crime, and leaves toddlers and young children to fend for themselves for most of the day while their parents work at subsistence farming.  There had been three deaths in the community in as many days.  They are especially concerned about their youth – many of whom benefitted from Uganda’s implementation of Universal Primary Education but have become despondent since leaving school with so few opportunities for further training or employment.  Unfortunately these despairing youth didn’t turn up to the meeting to represent their own views, so I will be attempting to meet them on Thursday at the football grounds where the young men practice most evenings. 

What we also gathered from the meeting was that the people of Acholi Quarter are united in their desire to improve their situation and seem willing to contribute what little spare time/resources and skills they have to doing so.  As with so many parts of Africa where government provision is lacking, the work of Alpha Ministry and the local churches seem to be the cornerstones of social provision in this community.

For those who pray:

·         Give thanks that so many turned up to the meeting and participated so actively.

·         Give thanks that we were fit to go ourselves – Sam had a suspiciously high temperature the night before and we mobilised a UK prayer chain by text message – by the morning he was fine again!
·         Please pray that Gareth is able to meet with the youth of Acholi Quarter on Thursday.  Despair, drunkenness and drug use add to the list of their difficulties.  Please pray that we can engage with them and help them find hope for a more constructive future.