Ti Blan: a Haitian kreyol word meaning "Little Foreigner"

Hopefully soon I can add some more photos.

I'm not sure where to start, things are happening, volunteers are coming and going, programs are finding life again, and I'm getting ready to go back to the US for some much needed R^R. I'm not sure how I'm feeling about all that...except there's a huge amount of relief.

After so much heartache and insecurity, God has rained down blessings upon us! First a church to use as our base to work from, bathing facilities to help the boys stay clean and healthy, a storage container to keep our things dry and to keep items on hand, a nearby medical clinic... it's seemed almost too good to be true. It's not posh, but it more than suffices. Several times, I've thought back to all that we used to do in the slums and the difficulties working there. I miss being in Kisenyi, actually. I now feel that I can enter in once in a while to check on kids (although, during my last two visits, I witnessed more fighting than ever among the boys, as well as the first time I've seen hard drugs- heroin- being used, right in the same alley I used to sit and talk to the boys in...)but sometimes I wonder how much impact our presence there had, and what has changed now that we're gone...there's not that safe alley dedicated to Jesus anymore.

One of the things that has weighed most on my mind has been the fact that when I left Kisenyi, the rooms that we rented were no longer available for the kids to sleep in. They were back on the streets and at the mercy of police and thugs and the elements. From the first moment, I have been praying for some other place to rent where the boys could safely sleep...

Along with our new location, we asked about the possibility of renting some rooms...and we were shown a complete house, with a wall and gate and the dream of having a 1/2 way house with lots of the youngest boys staying there with a house father (or couple) who could monitor them and start the rehab process until we would be able to find them homes or return them to their families or put them in school! The possibilities are endless...

As we were walking out the compound, we were all agreeing to pray that the powers that be would grant us permission to use the house, and Collins said, "God has given us so much more than we had before." It's so true. We were doing before what we thought was right, and I believe God allowed some hard things to happen so that we wouldn't be able to continue the way that we were. If we listen when God whispers, amazing things can happen.

AS the world mourns the death of the King of Pop....

A message on my phone this morning read, " One of the Gulu Boys was killed last night."

A follow-up phone call confirmed a shooting.

a follow-up conversation confirmed the police as the guilty party.

Who will mourn for this street boy?
 
May God have mercy on us.

My little guy Sharif. He's 9 years old. He's a mad break-dancer, an incredible soccer player, absolutely adorable, and as hardened a street kid as any of them.

I found him have some sort of brawl w/ Monday and Shafik yesterday, and i wasn't sure what happened 'cept Sharif was crying like a baby and huffing like crazy. I had something to do with someone at the church we work from. The kids ran when they saw me, and it took some coaxing to get them to come to me. They finally did, and taking them by the wrists i got them to go to the church w/ me, tears running down their cheeks and sobs wracking their bodies...

They were mad. They'd shown up at the church w/ lots of drugs, and someone made them throw the drugs away. It broke their little hearts. Sharif wouldn't stop talking and telling them how much he hated them. He wouldn't go bathe, he wouldn't calm down. The local kids started to laugh at him, which made him mad. I was holding onto him for a long time, and then finally got him to sit down...but another kid made him so mad he jumped up, grabbed a stone, and was ready to attack. I managed to catch him as he ran by...and instead of him fighting my grasp, he more like crumpled in my arms, sobbing and crying and huffing the petrol that was on a spot on his shirt.

I wanted to go and get the program started, get things moving...but this poor little guy had returned to the childhood phase and his heart was breaking. He'd lost 500/- worth of drugs (25 cents) and it must have triggered so many memories. I stood w/ him in my arms while his sobs turned to hickups, and then he got tired and wanted to sit down. So we sat in the dirt against a brick wall in the sunshine and I told Sharif I loved him, and when i wanted to repeat it, he wouldn't look me in the face.

He told me his mother is gone, and his father beat him and told him he couldn't sleep in the house.

I love Sharif so much, he's the cutest thing walking the streets of Kampala. But he's tough and stubborn and at this point won't make it in a rehab home. Please pray for him- That he would continue to come to us and trust us, that he would cut back on his drugs (he sells his food for drugs), and that there would be a place to take him where he would receive one-on-one love and care.

He's one of God's most precious lambs.

Traumatized. I hear the word all over the place, it's a common issue in the population that I work with. And it hit me the other day in a way I never expected.

I was walking down the street when I saw a Congolese friend of mine,and we stopped to talk. And as we were talking, we heard a crunch and a squeal and then some shouting...and right next to us a car hit a bodaboda. I saw a woman sliding across the pavement, a man limping to the side of the road, another man sitting in the middle of the road and a motorcycle crumpled up into a tiny piece of rubbish. The man in the middle of the road was bleeding from his head.

After a year here, I now know that most Ugandans don't have any medical/first aide knowledge, so there was no way I could count on 'somebody else' to take care of it. I told my friend to help the guy off the road and i ran into the gas station to get water and a few dish towels. There were probably 100 people looking on by the time I got back to the guy, and he was laying at the side of the road in the dry grass. There was blood pouring from a deep gash on his right temple. As I soaked the towel in water and put it on the cut, he told me his knee hurt...so I lifted up the pant leg and saw the most disgusting thing, his entire knee was flayed open and I could see bone and ligament...I couldn't look any more.

We managed to tie the 2nd towel around his knee and I got him to calm down. Someone got a van to come to transport him to the hospital, and the police were filling out forms. Everyone assumed I knew the guy, but I had no idea who the man was. It turned out he was 18 years old and coming back from buying sugar. We couldn't get through to anyone on his phone, but he was bleeding so much I knew we had to get him to the hospital. The police couldn't get anyone who was willing to take the guy, so I got in the van after we lifted him in...as soon as i was beside him, he went from his sitting position to slouched over in my lap. (Ok, Lord, so this is what you wanted me to do today? I had other plans...)

We had a police escort to the hospital- sirens blaring and "racing" over speed bumps and potholes. My congolese friend came with me, and we just prayed for him the entire way and kept trying to call his family members and stop the bleeding from his head and not hit his leg....

At the hospital, they brought an army stretcher out and my friend and I pulled the guy out of the van onto the stretcher (no hospital personelle to be seen), wheeled him to the desk, and while the police threatened the driver who hit the guy (who rode along to pay for the transport vehicle)we pushed him into the hallway called the "casualty ward". Death ward was what it felt like.

A doctor finally came to look at the guy (whose name, we discovered through police questions, was patrick) and pulled the towels off and wrapped him up in gauze (but didn't wipe any blood away). As I watched him take the towel off the knee, i again saw the exposed bone and a huge clot fell into the stretcher...i slid down the wall and sat on the floor, trying not to pass out, when i noticed that the next stretcher had a man with a head injury and a very rigid body...i believe I was watching a man die a slow and painful tetanus death. I ran out to the waiting room and found a place to sit before the floor completely swirled up to meet me, but it was close, very close.

Hospitals here provide very little for patients, and i realized i couldn't just leave this guy- i had to wait until he got through to a family member to come and take care of him. In the process of waiting, we did manage to get x-rays taken and i got to see many other accident victims wheeled into the hall to wait (there weren't enough beds for all of them).

At one point, Patrick called out to me..."Mama, here..." and he pointed to the blood running across his forehead. I wiped it away with the towel. A few moments later, he called me again.."Mama..." The gauze opn the head wound was soaked in blood, and soon the blood was running faster and faster over his face. I tried to get a nurse and a doctor to change the dressing- the first one told me not to touch blood (well, duh, but you're not taking care of him either!) and the second one finally told me that the cotton was in the storage room and he didn't know if they would be bringing any. The x-ray man wouldn't do the x=rays at first b/c there was too much blood...finally, the second one returned to say he couldn't find any gauze either, so they wheeled him in a took pictures while i slumped against the wall, screaming inside at a government who doesn't provide cotton and gauze to their country's main hospital.

After about 2 1/2 hours of waiting and trying to stay alert through the fuzziness of fainting, a man walked up and covered his mouth...the father had arrived. Behind him stood a beautiful young woman, Patrick's sister, and tears started to roll down her cheek. I repeated the story, "WE were standing there and saw the accident and tried to help him and brought him here but I don't really know what happened. I think he will be ok." And I tried to ease their worries while they looked at their 18 year old son and brother who, by this time, was litterally lying in a pool of blood (the gauze and towels were beyond saturated at this point).

I gave the father some money and walked from the hospital as fast as possible.

I'm still in shock from it...but dear God, I pray that You heal that man and that You stopped the blood from flowing...this is such a crazy place I live in.

My posts on here are awfully spotty, I know. Some of you reading this must wonder what has happened, because you hear that amazing things happen in the slums of Kampala...so why doesn't Jess share?

Well, lately, it's been because Jess' heart was broken. We've had problems in the past month and 1/2. It would have helped me to write, but every time I would start the tears would flow and my mind would blank. A pastor friend from the US called me and told me to write to everyone, to call on others to pray...and I honestly never got a chance to write that e-mail.

Our amazing slum program fell apart. There has always been a lot of conflict and confusion in the slums- people resent street kids, and particularly resent when they get help. Why are these Americans pouring so much time and money into worthless kids? (The answer they will never understand: Because God uses the foolish things of the world to confound the wise, and uses the worthless things of the world to confound the rich...) The kids would come and tell me, "Auntie Jessica, everyone acts nice when you are here, but after you leave they start to say things. They say that you must not be very smart and must not be able to have a job where you come from, because anyone who could have a job would never come to take care of street kids." It made me sad that the people around were degrading the kids so much, but I had to smile...if only the people saying these things really knew! :) so I just told the kids, "It's ok if they say that. What they don't realize is that this IS the job God has given me to do, and I love it and I love each one of you!" And the boys would walk away with grins on their faces, sharing the secret of my love and attention.

Anyway- the typical conflicts in the slum were increasing, and then a man that was part of our partnership starting creating some problems. He actually made some big problems, and caused a lot of damaged that can be forgiven but can never be changed. And, as a result, our program dissolved. In the midst of all it was when Monday, our security guard, was killed- whether or not it was related, we'll never know.

It was all heart-wrenching for me- the thing i enjoyed most was ripped away, and I kept hearing reports from other friends about the condition of the kids (I was prevented from going into the slum at all, so I couldn't even see the kids). I would hear that they were sick, that they were starving, about the fights and the disagreements, and that the kids were asking where I was and if I was ok and if I would ever be back. Heart breaking. My pillow soaked up a lot of tears, as did my boyfriend's shoulder.

My only consolation in all of the mess was knowing that God loves and cares about the kids even more than I do. These children are His, He knows their names, He knows when they are sick and when they are hungry. I don't think all this mess was something God wanted, but I know that He can work every situation for His good... and so we prayed.

And, just as God always promises, if we pray, He will answer. And He has truly restored beauty for ashes, and He's turned our weeping into laughter and our mourning into dancing. After a few weeks, we re-vamped the program- slimmed down from 15 workers to 3, from 3 rented rooms to a spot on a smoldering trash pile in the sunshine. From a schedule that worked almost perfectly, to hit-and-miss timing. From hundreds of kids to 30. From a blossoming program to one with all the excess stripped away to reveal what God wanted us to focus on.

There is a church building close to the smoldering pile of trash, and after several weeks, many meetings, and our fervent prayers, we were granted permission to use their building. And their container to lock our supplies in. And their space next to the church to play games in. And their empty classrooms for their school. And the near-by toilets and water supply for bathing and washing...and it was much more than what we had prayed for!

After so many weeks of discouragement and tears, I'm finally smiling again. We had a lot of kids show up to our program yesterday- Day 2 at our new site. There's still a lot to work out, a lot of details that still need to be figured out. But as the kids sang and danced, I realized we hadn't been this happy in weeks.

God is really cool.

It's been a long time. I've been so busy, and so much has been happening. We have 21 people visiting and helping and volunteering and having their hearts touched.

But one thing I've never gotten to share with you...

There's a verse in the Bible that I have searched for and can't find, but it reads something like, "Scarcely will a person die for a good...the greatest sacrifice is to lay down your life for your friends."

What does that mean exactly? I think you could take that many ways...giving up your free time to help someone, moving to another country to serve, donating your money...but does it ACTUALLY mean dying for someone?

About 3 weeks ago now, I woke up to a message on my phone. "Jess, did you know that Monday in the slums died?" No, I didn't! Monday was the young man that we hired to be our security guard in the slums, he was the one that kept an eye on our kids, making sure they were in at night, and making sure that no one bothered them, calling us if someone was sick or someone needed help. He had a rough appearance, but as I got to know him I respected him and appreciated him for the work he did for us, and I enjoyed his company.

But he died. Not a peaceful one, not even the pain of illness. One night, a man came to bother a street kid (details are still a little sketchy) and Monday did his job to protect the boy and told the guy to go away. At some point, the man pulled out a piece of a broken mirror and stabbed our Monday, killing him very quickly. Several boys saw him die, and reported to the police. The next evening, the same boys saw the man who committed the crime, again reported to the police, and were able to have him arrested.

It has left everyone in shock. When the newspaper called me and asked me to give them a photo of Monday to put in the paper, I realized that it had actually happened, and I started sobbing...whether he knew it would happen or not, Monday litterally gave his life to protect street kids- he sacrificed himself for 'the least of these'.

One boy told me that since Monday died, he just hurts. He's not sick, but he just hurts everywhere. Many kids have decided to move away from that slum area, and many kids are asking for us to take them home...they have now seen what the end result of life on the street is, and they are worried that it might be them next.

He gave his life. I still can't believe it's real, I keep wishing I would wake up and find out its been one long, bad dream.

Pray for us. Things are crazy. But God has a plan, I'm sure of it.

With lots of people coming to visit us during the summer months, and others wanting to know what can be sent or donated, I've come up with a Wish List to guide you in your donations... of course, you're not limited to what I've written by any means, but these can give you an idea...

We need games! Anything that will stimulate their minds, help them to learn, practice what they learn in school, keep them busy… Games are not so common here in Uganda and are often expensive. We also have a household full of boys- so games get used and often break fairly easy, and pieces get lost. If you are able to find more than one set of a game, we will either keep it for future use or share it with another home that also rehabilitates street kids and has the same needs that we do.

Suggestions:
*Skip-it (the thing that slips around your ankle, w/ a ball at the end and you have to skip over it
*jump ropes
*any sort of out-of-doors game
*volleyballs
*soccerballs (good one are quite expensive here)
*kickballs
*footballs
*badminton

*Legos
*scrabble
*rummikub
*uno
*dutch blitz
*snakes and ladders
* candyland
*Body Art Crayons- crayons that can be used to draw on skin, but not face paint
*Puzzles
*Movies (DVDs)
*Etc…

*we try to be very careful about limiting the amount of violence our boys are exposed to. They have already seen and experienced more violence and sexuality than they should have at their young ages, so we are diligent to put only wholesome things before them with the idea that if we refocus them and fill them with good, the bad will begin to dissipate. One of our house rules include not pretending to shoot at people, and the boys are not allowed to kick and hit each other or play fight. Please, when choosing games, movies and toys to donate, do not send toy guns, anything that imitates violent actions, or any films that have violence or sexuality in them.

(There's supposed to be a photo posted here but the computer won't let me upload it...sorry! )

 (Lutaaya [the director of African Hearts] with Meddi, about a month ago)

One of our main purposes in working with street kids to resettle them back with their families. Six months ago, we took a little boy named Meddi from Kisenyi back to his family. It was a long day of traveling and tracing his mother from the place they used to live to where she is now. It had been 3 years since the death of his father and Meddi’s running away. But, it was all well worth the effort to see his mother hold onto her son and tell us that she had thought he was dead but was so happy to see him alive.

 

We spent the afternoon talking with the family, telling them what Meddi is like now, where he has been, and counseling them on how to accept him back into their family. We exchanged contact information, and frequently different of us receive phone calls from Meddi.

 

Just over a month ago, a few of us returned to visit Meddi again. He family had scraped together enough money to send him to school, but needed some help financially to finish the payments. It was a great reunion when he came home from school and found us sitting next to the house talking with his aunties and grandmother- he showed us his notebooks and the great grades he’s getting in classes. His mother showered us with gifts of avacados and other vegetables from their gardens. The grandmother showed us around the new house the family is building, a replacement for the one that is in the way of new electricity lines being passed from the NileRiver to Kampala. We took pictures and promised to return in a few months.

 

This past weekend, Collins and I ended up only a few kilometers from Meddi’s home. We decided to stop by and see the family. Calling to make sure they would be home, we found out that Meddi is in Kampala visiting his uncle, but Meddi’s mother insisted on us stopping by anyway.

 

As we sat on chairs under a banana plant, Collins explained to me the importance in Ugandan culture of visiting people. “You never know what might happen. They weren’t our friends before, but they are now. Someday you might be in this town and someone steals everything from you…if you can get here, you can count on getting help, because you’ve built up a friendship with them. They’ll never let you down; its important to visit whenever you get the chance.”

 

The family was so gracious to us again, and so happy that we stopped to visit. As we ate a small lunch of matoke, Meddi’s mother came to talk with us.

(Meddi's grandmother outside their house)

“When you brought Meddi back, I had given up hope of ever seeing him again, I didn’t know what had happened to him. Thank you so much for bringing him, and taking care of him. He’s a different boy- he’s always so helpful and polite, and he stays so close to me. He’s doing well in school. He talks about a church in the city that he used to go to [Calvary Chapel] and doesn’t want to go to any other church- he says he prefers to pray from home if he can’t go to that church.

            When you first brought him back, people thought that he had stolen from you and that was why you brought him. You know how people can talk in a small village. For a long time, that’s what people were saying. But then, when you came back to visit, it changed their minds- they realized that he hadn’t done anything wrong and that you were glad to see him. Thank you so much for coming back. And thank you for coming today- we’re so happy to see you and we’re so thankful for all you’ve done. It’s good to be friends!”

 

We continued to talk and plan for our next visit- perhaps an overnight in the new house- and I realized how much our visit meant to the family. I was so glad we decided to go even if Meddi wasn’t home.

It is with a very sad heart that I write to tell you again that boys have run away. Ibra left again, this time taking my beloved little Clinton with him. It's very painful- for all of us. We don't know why they've run, what their real motive is. All we've done is love on them.

My mom reminded me that it's like any child growing up and leaving home (kind of). We just have to trust them to God, trust that His Spirit will take care of them, trust that someday they will wake up and remember the love they received from us, the words we spoke to them about Christ, the way we cared because God cares about them.

The day after talking on the phone with my mom, Moreen mentioned to me that she had been reading Isaiah 55. I opened my Bible to the verses she mentioned, and then kept reading to verse 11: "So shall my word be that goes forth out of my mouth. it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accopmlish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it." 

The verse has been a good reminder for me, a place of hope to rest on- that the word of the Lord that we have spoken and acted toward our boys has not been spoken and acted in vain. God does not let His word return void. He will bring it to rememberance in their minds. Someday, they will think back and remember, and they will know that God is Love and that He is there for them.

*Sorry that there haven't been any pictures lately- I was first having trouble with my computer, and then my flash disk to transfer them died a sudden death. But the problems are being remedied, and there will be photos soon...I promise!

My phone rang last Tuesday and when I picked it up, there was a child's voice at the other end.. "Gwe ani? Who are you?" I asked. "Ibra," was the reply.

I had gone to look for Ibra the week after he ran away from home. We found the place where he was staying- another home for street kids, but without the structure and aim that our Ssenge home has- but he wasn't there just then. The director said he had gone to play football, but would tell him we had gone to find him. There was another boy from Kisenyi staying there, James, and he verified the story. We left a message with James to also tell Ibra that I wanted to make sure he was ok and that I loved him.

And then nothing. We weren't able to go back to the home, and we didn't hear anything until the phone call. I found out that Ibra was with one of the uncles, and that he was in Kisenyi...and then the phone died.

I didn't know what to think except that it was a step- at least he had contacted us and wanted communication. That's progress (I hoped).

Then Wednesday, I went to Kisenyi as usual, and Ibra was sitting outside of the 'chapel' door. I tried not to show just how excited (and heartbroken) I was to see him, and I had him go with me to a quieter part of the alley to talk with him. He said he wanted to go back to Ssenge, that he ran because some of the other boys had been teasing him about his father. (I had a feeling that was the reason, I had caught the boys teasing Ibra and told them to stop, but they did it when I wasn't around!) We had a quick phone conference with Lutaaya, and then a long one-on-one talk with Paul as the interpreter...and Ibra was told he had to make the decision right then (such a weighty decision for an 11-year-old!): either he could come home with me and follow the rules, knowing that if he ever runs again, he won't get the chance to come back; or, if he wants drugs and plans on running again, he can just stay on the streets with no guarantee of a chance to come back. 

There was no hesitation on his part, he was ready to come back home. He admitted he had used the drugs in the 2 weeks he had been gone but didn't want them any more. He also said that he reason for being back in Kisenyi was to find me to talk to me. (My heart skipped a beat at that- probably the only thing more exciting than a (respectable) man that you secretly admire saying that he wants to see you and talk with you is having a street kid who has rejected the whole and even your own love come and say he wants to come back home and be loved again...

So Ibra came home with me that night, and it was a joyous reunion. We had long counseling sessions that night about respecting people and saying nice things and that even if Auntie Moreen and Auntie Jessica (and Santa Claus) aren't watching, God is...

And so we wait and see if Ibra will stay home, and if my words had any effect.

Meanwhile- Ivan remains in the filth of Kisenyi, without shoes and in very dirty clothes. He's sick (malaria, i think the clinic said) and isn't feeling well. He also doesn't get enough to eat, and his body is not handling the change in enviroment very well- from plenty of food, safety and lots of sleep, to homeless, no food, and drugs... he's sad and his eyes look empty, but at least now he will talk with me.

Thank you for all who have prayed, and please, continue to pray for us. God will have the victory, and we just need to know how to walk in it.

Over the past few months I’ve had the immense privilege of becoming friends with a group of girls from England. All of them are in their late teens and they have been so much fun to spend time with as well as great spiritual encouragers to me. This past weekend, they treated me to a weekend retreat away from the city. We went to the Ssese Islands in the middle of Lake Victoria for some sun and sand and concentrated time meditating on what it means to be a godly woman.

On Saturday afternoon, we decided to go to the opposite side of the island and we hired boda-bodas (motorcycles) to take us, the 8 of us riding 2 to a bike with the driver…it was a beautiful ride through the lush vegetation, catching glimpses of birds and monkeys. We weren’t driving very fast, but one of the bikes, as it went around a curve, somehow went off the road and the driver lost control. I was on the second bike and as we came around the corner, I saw the Ugandan driver and the 2 British girls lying on their sides, stuck under the bike. Through a series of rather impossible circumstances (in other words- Divine appointments, aka, God’s perfect timing), we ended up at a clinic in the middle of nowhere with a nurse taking care of the scrapes of the two girls. (Thankfully, no one was seriously hurt, and no one even got burned on the motorcycle even though the muffler was lying on their legs.)

I was in the clinic room with them as the nurse started her work, but I was far from impressed- one of the girls is very petite and usually full of laughter, but as the nurse began washing the cuts without any gentleness, little Katie started shaking from the pain and fought back the tears as hard as possible. I was so impressed at her braveness- I’m sure I would have been bawling. But as I watched the pain on her face I started to feel woozy and a million images passed through my mind’s eye…

I saw a little boy with tears in his eyes telling us he’d been raped. I saw burns up and down the arms of young men. I saw blood flowing from intentional cuts by razor blades. I saw open wounds inflicted by the baton of a policeman. I saw arms split open from knife fights. I saw children curled up on the floor with hunger pains. I saw women beating children, and men beating women. I saw prostitutes with downcast eyes, and AIDS patients huffing drugs. I saw car accidents and TB x-rays. I saw the angry looks on the faces of pre-teens. I saw Ibras and Ivans running away from home to the false love of drugs. I saw the bitter tears of rejection and the quick anger of accusation.

I left the room and sat on the veranda, but I as hard as I tried, I couldn’t stop the tears. Something in seeing the pain on this sweet girl’s face at the ungentleness of the nurse was the perfect expression of the extreme disregard for other humans- their feelings, their needs, their lives, even- that I witness every day. As I fought passing out with my head between my knees, I struggled to keep my composure. Everything in me tried to stay calm and in control, but there was no way I could stop the hot tears from rolling down my face.

I felt, once again, completely helpless to try and ease the pain for someone. I felt bitterness and in a mix of anger and defeat, I asked God why people can be so callous to not even notice the hurt of another.

Later, I apologized to the girls that saw me crying for not being strong for them. I tried to explain some of what I had been feeling. I think they understood some, but, like anyone reading this, I don’t think they quite understood why it was just then that the anguish inside me reached a climax. I don’t get much time to really think about what is happening all around me, and then something- like watching Katie’s cuts be cleaned, which was nothing compared some of the things I see on a regular basis- touches off the weeks and months of holding so much inside me, and I crumple. I have to let down the façade that everything is well- things are going well, but that doesn’t mean all things are well- and throw myself into the arms of Christ once again and admit that I can’t take the pain away from everyone, that only Christ can do that. I beg Him to heal people, to relieve suffering, and to give me the grace to keep smiling in the face of so much destruction. I ask Him to hold me close to Him (which I already know He’s doing) and let me feel His arms around me. I need His strength to carry on. I need His strength to convince others to carry on. I need His grace to remain gentle in a place where all others have lost that in the effort to survive. I need His love to let my heart keep breaking for those who have no one else whose heart will break for them

My feet hurt. There are cuts criss-crossing them, they break open and bleed, everytime I try to slip on flip-flops to run out of the house, the wounds rip open and hurt again...instead of running gracefully, I hobble like and old man in a manner that makes my boys crack up in laughter. You probably should be pitying me...but not really. The pain and cuts on my feet have made me realize some of the basic pain that the street kids go through all the time. With no shoes, they are constantly stepping on nails, or broken bottles, or bits of rusty metal, or stumbling over a stone. Most street kids I know are missing at least one toe-nail. Their pain in reasonable- my pain, this time, only came from a pair of more girly-looking shoes that I decided to buy in order to look a little more fancy-pants. So much for that, I'm sticking to comfy shoes from now on... but I hope the scars remain on my feet to remind me of this lesson I've learned.

It seems like there has been a lot of pain lately (and not just from silly shoes!). There has been some deep pain of the heart; it's been so deep, in fact, that I haven't been able to write, which is my excuse for lack of posting. I've sat down many times, opened a new page to start typing, and the words just haven't come- instead, a dull aching in my heart has made me sigh after 5 or 10 minutes of no words, close it all up, and go do something else.

The most recent flurry of sadness and pain started with a little boy being so sick one day. Nothing too unusual as he described the symptoms, but he wasn't getting better...and then he got beat up. The real story finally came out- he'd been sodomised and after reporting what had happened, the man came back and beat the poor kid. Having known this boy for 9 months now, and loving his raspy voice as he calls my name down the alley's of the slum and flashes his wide, bright smile...I almost threw-up when I was told what really happened, and I started crying. It was, for sure, one of the darkest moments of all my time here in Uganda. I know things like that happen all the time, but you never want to think about it being someone you know, one your kids. We try to make sure the kids have  safe place to sleep- but despite all our efforts, we can't actually protect them.

Over the next few days, I spent extra time with this little boy and was escorting him to a new place to stay away from the slum with people that would keep an eye on him and he would be safe (and I will report, his smile has returned and he's doing well) when I got a frantic phonecall- Ivan has run away!

Ivan, my sweet Ivan (Ivan from the previous post, holding the picture he was coloring...)! Ivan from the post months ago about "if I had a million dollars". Ivan was one of the first boys I met the first day I went to the slums. The 2nd time I went, I took care of some cuts on his leg. He was the kid with the most compassionate heart- always finding other people who needed attention, even when there would be blood running down his own leg from some injury. He was the first kid who took my heart. I prayed for him for months, that he would decide he wanted a different life than the streets offered...and I watched, daily, as God answered my prayers and as my love for Ivan impacted him. He started to change, even in the slum, until the point that he was ready to leave it all behind. And for months, in Ssenge, he has done well. He was the boy who had made the greatest turn-around, and we were all so impressed by him.

But now he's gone. He's back in Kisenyi. It seems that he wanted the drugs again- after questioning the other boys, we found out that he made comments several times about wanting some "chenge" to sniff. I see him almost every day I go into the slum- he's dirty again, his hair is getting shaggy, he has no shoes anymore, and he's high. It took quite a while before he would even look at me, but last Friday he actually spoke to me. Every time I see him, I tell him I love him and I miss him and that we're praying for him.  We can't force him to come home, but we want him to know that his bed is waiting for him, and our arms are open.

It's been hard to not blame ourselves for his leaving. But the loss of a child is.....painful. Especially when it becomes two.

This past Thursday I was at Kampilingisa, the government rehabilitation center (with so many stories of it's own). It's not a fun place...and as I was taking it all in, I got another call- this time, Ibra was missing! It can't possibly be, is it??? They searched everywhere in Ssenge, and hoped against hope that he was just hiding somewhere... Hours later when I arrived back in Kampala, Collins went into Kisenyi and, sure enough, found Ibra.  At least we knew where he was- but he didn't stay there, he has gone to another suburb area to stay at some other rehabilitation home. We're more confused that ever as to why Ibra left- none of it makes sense to us.

Ibra grabbed my heart almost as soon as I met him, with his shy little smile and giggle. He'd started to give up on the streets just before we were finally able to bring him home- he had started to fight more, and use more drugs, and was getting so sick that it was litterally impossible for him to get better anymore. In Ssenge, he'd adjusted so well, was becoming so healthy- gaining weight and strentgh and his skin was taking on a healthy glow.

And now he's gone. I"m hoping to go find the home he's in, maybe today. Again- I can't force him to come back, but I can invite him and tell him that we love him and that we, his family, would love for him to be back with us.

And I have to steel myself that maybe he t,oo, won't want to talk and I'll have to leave the place without the little boy that I love so much.

Loving can be so painful sometimes.

Ivan as he colors a gift from Babirye...

Me and Ziwa (the guy with the terrible burns from hot oil that I wrote about a few weeks ago. You can see his scars on his left shoulder). Since the burn incident, Ziwa has become my personal bodyguard despite his perpetual drunken state. He doesn't like to let anyone else talk to me, insisting that he has the best english and that everyone needs to use him as my translator (even though his slurred english is often more difficult to understand than Luganda!) He actually cracks me up quite a bit, and one day came to me w/ his gravelly voice and complained that, "Auntie Jessica, everyone is looking at me badly, even though I am sick (w/ the burn). They have refused me food. I know now that no one is good, only God cares about me. God is my father, and God is my mother. When you're not around. When you are here, Auntie Jessica, you are my father and you are my mother." I choked back laughter and agreed with him.  He sure can be tempermental, but I can usually get him to do what I say and I've prevented a lot of fights between him and others in the past few weeks.

Yet another spectacular sunrise over Ssenge while the boys are getting ready for school. A sunrise like this always makes me think of how glorious the return of Christ is going to be...the boys were awestruck by this particular sunrise and asked me to take a picture of it, and now they all want prints of it, too. It makes me glad that they can appreciate the natural beauty of God's creation all around them.



A few of the boys and a few of the Uncles. We'd gone for a walk through Ssenge to donate some clothes to some elderly people..




And, one more sunrise, the day following the extremely glorious one. Again, one of the boys asked me to take a picture of it. This is the most peaceful part of the day- the air is cool and fresh and things are relatively quiet, and God fulfills His promise of another day...

Whew, it's been a whirlwind week!!! Between getting the girl out of the hospital, hosting some vistors, doing the everyday 'mundane' things like washing clothes and taking care of kids, as well as giving out more cold and cough syrup than I've ever given in my life (everyone living in Ssenge is coughing and sniffling),  I've hardly had a day to stop and think!

But- when I have had a few moments, I've thought about how amazing God is, and how good He is at answering prayers. He even answers prayers we don't pray sometimes!!!

A few prayers (whether actually voiced or not) that God has answered in the past week are as follows:

Sometimes it's hard to form words. Abigal reminded me I needed to post...I've been wanting to for days, but just haven't had a moment to, and haven't known exactly what to say.

I got a phone call, "You know the girl from Kisenyi, the one who..." I work almost exclusively with boys. African Hearts is only boys, and in the slums, we work in an area where the boys hang out. A few streets away is the girls territory, but they're not so visible as the boys are. Visitors to the slum often ask where the girls are. The girls mostly stay together in a room that is rented, but they survive mostly by prostituting themselves. There are several young girls,however, who stay around our area in effort to avoid the pressures of prostitution, but it's almost impossible for them. So, when I heard the description, "you know, the girl...", I knew exactly who it was.

She collapsed in the middle of the street in Kisenyi. She wasn't responding, no talking, not able to sit up...everyone thought she was dying. Paddy called Collins, and he rushed to the slum...and she still wasn't responding. She was limp as they carried her to the edge of the slum, and waited for a friend w/ a car to come pick them up and take them to a hospital...so off they rushed to Rubaga Hospital.

When I got the call, things still needed to be purchased for her- sheets, clean clothes, toilet paper, soap...hospitals here don't provide anything for patients. And- we had no one to stay with her. I dislike hospitals, particularly Ugandan hospitals.( I stayed with the girl for a while, but prayed quite a bit that someone could be found to stay with her. As it was, God answered that prayer, and two sweet girls from Voice of Hope were able to spend the night with her.) The doctors had run quite a few tests on the girl, and she had a bad case of malaria, as well as extreme dehydration.

And, she's HIV positive.

Today, she was looking much better. She's been able to eat and bathe. Tomorrow they will do x-rays to check for TB. But, we've been asking ourselves, what happens when the hospital discharges her? She doesn't know yet that she's HIV+. That counseling session will happen soon, and I'm supposed to accompany her to it. She has said that she wants to return to her family in western Uganda, but both her parents are dead and we have no guarantee of extended family members accepting her, or of the presence of a clinic where she can access ARV's (Anti-Retrovirals). On the drugs, in a clean environment, with nutrition, she can still have a decent life. Back on the streets of Kisenyi, she'll only fall sick very quickly again. We can't let her go back there.

So what to do? Collins and I talked over the pros and cons of sending her to western Uganda, but the cons were much greater. We figured out bills and money. I wasn't shocked at all when they told me her HIV status- saddened, yes, but not shocked. But then, as we were trying to decide what to do, Collins bowed his head and said how sad it made him...because of our boys. He knows that some of our boys have slept with this girl before, he knows that she's prostituted herself and has been defiled by men... who else has been infected? Its easy enough to talk about HIV and preventive measures, and to be supportive of people who are either orphans or adults who are sick... but when it's a kid (this girl is 17 years old), and you realize that other kids may have it, kids that you love deeply and have given your life for...that's when it hits home, and it hits hard. Your heart all of a sudden beats louder, and the food on your plate loses flavor.

Just as Collins and I were in the midst of these thoughts, my phone rang...I left the cafe to meet Yassin (the pastor with the home for kids that I wrote about a few months ago...), and quickly told him what was going on. He said he would talk to someone he knows with a home and see if they might have room to take this girl- thank you, that would be amazing!!!

This evening- we all met again at the hospital. The girl is doing much better. The home Yassin mentioned is not able to take her, though- but... Yassin shared the girls story with the women who work in his home, and they decided the girl should go home to them! She'll be in a safe, caring environment where she won't be stigmatized, and she'll be able to access the medical treatments she will need. We'll just have to buy her a matress!

Later, I stood on the balcony looking into the night sky and thought again how God has answered prayers- prayers that maybe were not even prayed. I didn't know what we could do with the girl, and I didn't mention the situation to Yassin with his home in mind. But God has opened the doors. We'll still have to pay for her ARVs, and the story isn't over yet, but at least there's a step...there's a home for her.

The Newest Additions to African Hearts Family Home, Ssenge! And we're so happy to have them home!

After weeks, if not months, of patient waiting and asking and reminding...


Shafik, Joel, and Clinton (Left to Right) are now home!
(The top picture was taken last week in the slum- these three and Ibra are almost inseperable)



(Joel, Clinton w/ rabbit, and Shafik in ssenge)
I told the 3 boys I was going to take them to visit Ibra in the hospital...then when we got to the taxi, I "changed" my mind. "Let's just go to Ssenge, how does that sound?" They all agreed with huge smiles on their faces, and once in the taxi I told them we'd see Ibra in Ssenge too. They couldn't believe it...they thought Ibra must have gone there! It was a JOYFUL reunion of the boys!


And then...will wonders never cease??? A boy named Sam lives in Ssenge village. But, due to family issues, he spends most of his time sleeping in the bush...not a place for a child! It took Uncle Goloba HOURS to find him yesterday, but Sam finally came home to African Hearts at about 7:30 last night. The other boys immediately embraced him, sharing their clothes and beds with him. It always makes me so proud of the boys when they open the circle for yet another boy to come in!

  
Cleaned up with new clothes at home......upon Sam's arrival to AfriHCO.
(Henry reminded me to get a 'before" picture! We have a photo album of the boys' "before and after" pictures, and they love to look through it sometimes and see how much they've changed, and to be reminded of how good God has been to us!)

 Mealtime in Ssenge! The pictures a little fuzzy (sorry!) This is actually very large room, and the circle keeps expanding! Almost the entire space is filled when we all sit down to eat! The boys eat in traditional Ugandan style, sitting on the floor w/ their legs in the proper, polite Ugandan fashion. Everyone sits while 2 boys help us serve the bowls of food, and once everyone is together, one boy blesses the food before they all dig in! They are very respectful, and always thank us for cooking the food when they finish eating. I took this last night- Sam had just joined us- and I was overwhelmed with how God works through people and in people- they boys are miracles, all of them, and I've had the immense priviledge of watching them change so much.

God is so good!

 

 

Some pictures from starting school! One of the greatest desires of many kids stuck on the streets is to be able to go (back) to school. Some of our boys have been in school before, but a few have never gone. Their excitement at being in school is infectious! Most of our boys are in P1 or P2 (equivilant to Kindergarten and First Grade), but because of our tutoring them at home for the past months, they already know a lot of the foundational material and are doing well. The first day, we asked them what they learned in school: "Auntie, can you believe it? They taught us A, B, C, D...we already knew that!!"

Street kids often fail behind in school if they are placed directly from street life into academics. School here is rigorous, and they often don't have the discipline to sit still, or even the skills to know how to learn. We decided to wait an entire term before entering the boys in school, and instead hired a teacher to homeschool them- to give them some of the basics and to instill in them the realization that they CAN learn if they try and work hard at it.


I tried to get a group picture when they came home from school, but try as I might, I couldn't get them to stand still and look at the camera! Boys will be boys, I guess! This was taken the first day that Ibra was home with us, as well. Derek is missing from this photo because comes home later than the others.

We wake up early on school days to get the household chores done before school, and take hectic minutes trying to find everyone's socks and shoes and underwear and correct uniforms! But while we wait for the bodas (motorcycles) to show up that take them to school, we get to watch creation awaken as the sunrises. This is the view from the door to my bedroom. (Be jealous!)
 

Ronny! He's such an adorable little man, I had to share this picture with you! Ronny goes to Nursery school at a different school than the other boys. He's mighty proud of his penny loafers, and he's got a lunchbox that even I'm jealous of. He loves school, but he's dissapointed that there's a dirt floor...he doesn't like his shoes getting dusty! "Ronaldino! Muganda wange, ne omwana wange, ne jjajja wange, Ronadiiiiino!"

Early morning shot while we're waiting for the bodas to come- they're so excited to be going to school that they're ridiculously excited even at this early hour (although several of them- Ivan, Drissa, and Wasswa, procrastinate getting up until the last possible moment...). They start school at 7:30 am and finish at 2:00. Derek (in blue) finishes at 5:00 because he's in P5.
 

Derek had been in school before and was not on the streets for too long, so he was able to enter P5. He looks so smart in his uniform!

 

After months of hoping and praying, Kakooza Ibra is now safely home at African Hearts Ssenge!!!!

He wasn't feeling well again on Monday when I arrived in Kisenyi, so we decided to take him to yet another doctor- but Lutaaya and I decided that we wouldn't bring him back to the slum, we would just take him straight from the hospital to Ssenge. I had the emmense priviledge of taking my son home, and there was a happy reunion when some of the Ssenge boys saw their friend!!! He's still doing a lot of sleeping (the boys tend to sleep A LOT the first week that they are taken off the street- they are finally able to rest and be safe and have their bellies filled with good food...)

However...it was almost a covert operation to get him out of Kisenyi. Several other boys (Joel and Clinton) insisted on going to the hospital with us, and we had to pay them to go back to Kisenyi. My phone has been ringing with inquiries as to where Ibra is...and I keep telling them he's at the hospital. We have to hold them off until we can bring them to Kisenyi too.

I was so blessed when I was washing some clothes last night and I heard Ronny ask George, "Is Ibra going to sleep here tonight?" and George answered, "Yeah, he's going to live here. He's our brother now." That made me smile from deep within in my heart.

Please pray for Ibra as he adjusts to life in Ssenge. He's been asking to come for so long- I hope we surpass his expectations!! Pray for him as the drugs leave his system, as he heals physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Pray for us as we love him and guide him and help him grow.

I would also like to thank everyone who has been commenting on my Livejournal, and for all the encouragement and prayers that you have shared! I am so blessed by it all- Satan sure has decided to use me as a target for his attacks, and just this morning on flopped on a bed and asked God to help me focus on HIM and not let all the little things distract me and steal my joy...then I came and found so much encouragement from comments on here. Thanks so much, you can't imagine how much it has encouraged me!!

Blessings!

(This was supposed to be posted on Wednesday, but the computer crashed....Sorry!)