Webale Nyo

We are coming home tomorrow.

OH. THE. JOY. 

There were truly days where the end of this adventure seemed everlastingly out of reach. Yet here we are, busily trying to see everyone we have come to love one more time. 

Although we have both determined to say only positive things about our summer, I will say this: it was challenging. It was overwhelming sometimes. It was not what we expected. 

It was also necessary. 

Our loving Father in Heaven knew we needed it. I needed it, probably much more than Benji did. Gracefully, I didn't have to do it without my husband. 

A few crucial and life changing lessons I learned this summer:

BE PRESENT. For so long I had a tightness around my heart and an anxiousness in my breath, wishing the time away. I was stressed and I was angry because the time wasn't passing quickly enough. We had many days where neither of us were able to accomplish any schoolwork due to means beyond our control. I spent the time on social media and wishing I was at home, doing all the things everyone else was doing. Only when I released myself from feeling like I was trying to control the time and push it along did I find peace. When I put the iPad down and took in all my five senses, my days started to feel happy and full and to slip along effortlessly. I consider this an incredible tender mercy from God, that He put me in a refining situation to learn this specific lesson before I ever had children. Hopefully their mother will be much more present with them than she would have been. 

TRUST. I've mentioned before how stressful and exhausting it was trying to get clinical hours yada yada. One day we took a different route home from church than normal. We passed Princeton Children's Medical Center and I thought, "maybe they would give me a chance." It took me a few weeks to finally approach them, and I was literally wrapped in their arms. I was humbled by their acceptance and friendship. And, it was one of their doctors who finally had the key that unlocked the door for me to enter Mulago. 

At Mulago, the timing worked out perfectly for me to fulfill clinicals with a North American team. Heavenly Father knew what He was doing all along, and the outcome was more perfect than any arrangement I could have managed myself. 

SIMPLIFY. Especially in regards to testimony. Really, the church is just about faith, obedience, love, and service. So many people are so hung up on minor details (I was one of them). If you go back to and focus on those basic principles, all the little things fall in line naturally. 

I have also been humbled by gratitude for my own Nation, all the things we take for granted every day (911, traffic lights, emergency medicine, insurance, structured addresses, clean water, the list goes on and on...) 

I have been braver about sharing the Gospel than ever before and discovered it isn't as difficult as I had always thought. Just talk to people. If the Gospel is the center of your life, it will be impossible to get to know someone and for them to get to know you without the restored gospel naturally coming up in the conversation. People will be shocked by how you live, and some of them will want to know more. 

I have come to rely on and trust my husband more than ever before. That was a gift given to us in this experience. He has been solid and bright and steady. He's a miracle in my life.

I'm so thankful to be coming home. I'm also so thankful for this challenge and the growth that came because of it. I feel closer to my sisters even though we've been 8,000 miles apart, because we've all struggled with different things this summer and leaned on each other's faith through texts and emails. 

God is in the details of our lives. He's in Uganda. He's in America. We are HIS children and He is in charge. I'm grateful to know that as we keep moving on and learning in whatever comes next for us. 

The title of this post is Luganda for "thank you." Thank you to everyone who has prayed for us and followed this adventure. We've needed you. Can't wait to hug you all soon!

It Takes a Nurse

I've spent this week in the Labor and Delivery unit at Mulago Hospital in Uganda. First let me preface this by saying that my L&D clinicals in the States were not very positive and I had no desire to go into this speciality. God is so good. I have LOVED this week so much!!

Another preface: it took almost the entire three months of being here for me to get permission to go to Mulago. It was SO stressful. But, just so happens that there is a Canadian team here this week, two medical students and one of their moms, a senior midwife. There is also a medical student from Australia and another from Vermont. I'm surrounded by people who are trained at the same standard as I am and who understand my language. It is a HUGE miracle and blessing. I am the only nursing student. I am so grateful for them. Tracy has taken me under her wing and taught me so much and inspired confidence and courage. It would have been a very different story had I come to Mulago any other time. 

I learned from Tracy, the Canadian midwife, that midwifery in Canada is direct entry. Meaning, she isn't a nurse and she isn't a doctor. She is a midwife. Certified midwives in the States are first nurses, then midwives. 

ANYWAY. Somehow, this lowly nursing student has become invaluable amongst these medical students and midwives:

-The women here labor lying on huge pieces of plastic (no sheets. No absorbent pads.) They have only huge rolls of cotton to clean up with. After delivery, the mother is lying on this plastic covered in blood and feces and amniotic fluid and it's all slippery up her back and everywhere. Tracy and I found ourselves standing over a mother and her new baby, gloves mucky, staring at the mess. I looked at the mother and said, "could you roll to one side?" And started gathering all the mess into the plastic and tucking it underneath her, while wiping her down with massive gobs of cotton. Tracy looked at me and said, "I love doing this with a nurse. Everyone else has the mother lift herself up." 

-there were two women who were preparing for c-sections. They needed IV's started and urinary catheters placed. None of the medical students or midwives felt confident, so I did it. It gave me the biggest thrill to have skills and know how to use them, and to be trusted and depended on to do it. 

-today, I was placing a few more IV's on a couple women who needed to be induced. The curtain was closed around us, and I heard Tracy saying "where's Bethany? She's the IV queen. We need her to do it." HA. Turns out, doctors aren't even trained to place IVs in Canada. At least, that's what they told me. 

-one woman had been laboring VERY loudly all day with little progress. Most African women labor very quietly, so this lady was very noticeable. She had sort of become the boy who cried wolf, and no one was really paying attention. I came back from a short break and she was screaming and no one was paying attention to her, so I decided to just go see her and help her feel cared for. I opened the curtain and saw a little baby head crowning. I told the mother to STOP PUSHING while I ran to draw up pitocin, find sterile gloves, get a razor to cut the cord with, get something to tie the cord with, while shouting to the African midwife to come help me. All the North Americans had gone to lunch.

Well, that midwife DIDN'T COME. So there I was, my second day on the unit, delivering a baby in Africa. And there was meconium everywhere. The midwife showed up just as I pulled the baby up onto the mama's chest and started rubbing her to make her cry. Her APGAR was a 4. I cut the cord and told the midwife to deliver the placenta while I ran the baby over to resuscitate. 

By the time my team returned the baby was doing better and I gave care of the baby over to Tracy, our master resuscitator. 

I learned this week that sometimes, it just takes a nurse. A passionate, well trained, wise nurse. 

(Or a student going into her third year with little experience and a lot of adrenaline.) :)

Images from an African NICU

I walk in, the tall, white American wearing gray scrubs. Everyone thinks I am a doctor because the nurses here wear dresses and white caps like British nurses from sixty years ago. 

There are metal, wheeled cots in rows. The basket part of the cot rocks gently when pushed. I'm the only one that employs that method of calming the babies. I'm the only one that bothers to calm the babies by any method, for that matter. 

There are babies everywhere. The cots are full. The incubators have two or three 1 pound babies each. The plastic lawn chairs are lined up in the aisles, each with a baby in its seat. I'm afraid to sit anywhere.

There are babies in rows on the tables, stashed on both levels of the carts, in corners and on shelves. It would be so easy to forget about one of them. Or ten of them. 

There are no blood pressure cuffs, no heart monitors. Three pulse oximeters are in the room, but rarely used. There are a few oxygen attachments on the walls, and tubes sprout from them like a monster with multiplying heads. One tube becomes two, becomes four, becomes eight. 16 liters of oxygen are pumped through them, and the assumption is each baby gets 2 liters. Sometimes we trip over the tubes that lie all over the floor, and I just pray that we discover which baby's oxygen was removed before any permanent consequences arise. 

All the tubing and bulb syringes are reused. Every morning on the unit begins by washing them with soap and cold water. "Can I boil them?" I ask. "No. Just wash them." I do as I'm told, using a needle to scrape out any dried gunk from the previous patient inside the nasal cannula.  

There is no such thing as giving report. All the nurses have all the patients. At one point I counted 62 babies, with me alone, while everyone else had gone to have tea. 

The medical "charts" are just pages stapled together and laid on top of the baby's blanket. They are frequently mixed up, as the patients are all lying together. The medications are given the same way. All meds and flushes are drawn up into syringes, and then each babies' pile of meds is placed on top of their blanket. None of the syringes are labeled. I could be giving saline. I could be giving phenobarbital. I could be giving the neighboring baby's meds. 

The IVs are covered in thick white tape. I can't see if the cannula is infiltrated or not. I do my best to check for swelling or leaking under the tape. 

Every two hours the mothers come in a long, sore and tired parade. They are all barefoot, as shoes are not allowed on the unit. Even I have to change into special shoes when I arrive. They each carry a small plastic bucket with diapers and a wad of cotton wool, which they wet and use as baby wipes. The baby does not get a diaper change, a feeding, or a change of clothes until the mother comes. Even if they are messy. Even if they have thrown up. Even if the mother has not come in hours. 

Some of the babies have feeding tubes. There are no breast pumps. I watch the mothers struggle to hand express their milk into a plastic cup.

They all want my attention at once. It is the perfect scenario for those "prioritization" NCLEX questions. 

 

"Doctor, my baby won't eat."

"Doctor, my baby is very hot."

"Doctor, my baby is throwing up blood." 

I'm not a doctor, but they don't know or understand. They just see someone in scrubs, and they take everything I say as literal fact. 

Every morning when I show up, I look in the death records first. I count how many died in the night, and if I can remember their faces. I shouldn't do it to myself but I have to know. 

I decide to start smiling and greeting the mothers. If nothing else, I can smile. They always look up, startled, at my greeting. They smile and greet me back. I always hope that the baby I'm particularly worried about isn't theirs. I always hope that the mother of that baby will come, so she can see him alive, just in case. 

I will never complain about nurse to patient ratios again. I will never take for granted the Code Blue button, or the Code Blue team. I will appreciate the meticulous requirements of electronic charting, frequent vital signs, and alarms on monitors. I will gladly double identify my patients and label their meds. 

I will never be the same. 

Choosing Melanie

After a series of disappointments, dead ends, and divine miracles, I was finally given permission to complete clinical hours at Mulago Hospital (I've literally been trying to get into that hospital since May). It came through in the final hour. If not, I would not have passed the classes for nursing school required to begin my next semester in the Fall. I'm very grateful.  

I chose to spend my first rotation in the Special Care Unit, the equivalent of the NICU. News flash: Uganda is not America. It has been a physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually exhausting week. Some of my experiences have been very sacred and some very painful. Actually, most of the sacred ones were also very painful.

Yesterday, I walked out of the hospital with dragging feet. In my mind I was saying, "I have had it with this place. I'm sick of dying babies and hurting mothers and hopeless doctors. I want to go home. I want my mom." 

A little niggle of thought told me that I had heard those lines somewhere before, and into my mind rose the image of Scarlett O'Hara fleeing from the Civil War hospital in Gone with the Wind:

Dr. Meade: Scarlett! What is this? You ain't planning on running away? 

Scarlett: And don't you dare try to stop me. I'm never going back to that hospital. I've had enough of smelling death and rot and death. I'm going home. I want my mother. My mother needs me. 

As dashing and sassy as Scarlett is, I've really always wanted to be Melanie. Melanie is forgiving, kind, patient, unassuming, and Melanie stayed with the dying soldiers and helped them write letters home. Even though there were thousands of sick and hurting men, she knew she could make a difference for one. And then one more. And then one more. 

So even though my heart and my mind are being Scarlett, I'm trying to make my face and my hands be Melanie. I can smile at these mothers. I can show them how to change a diaper and swaddle a baby. I can teach them the importance of breast feeding and keeping the baby clean. I can sing, like my mom suggested. I can't keep every baby alive, but I can help one. And then one more. 

Culture and the Yoke

I was upset when I first came to Africa because the culture of the Church was different. I felt that everything in this country was so different, "why can't church at least be the same?!" I would leave church on Sunday irritated, confused, and overwhelmed because I was focused on the few members who didn't dress modestly, the few children who ran wild in the halls, the way they sang the hymns, and the way they taught the lessons. I was so focused on how I'm used to Church, in Salt Lake City or Provo Utah, that I thought the differences in Uganda were "wrong" and Utah was "right".

The truth is, the culture is not what is true. The Gospel is true, in it's purest forms of faith, repentance, baptism, obedience, hope, charity, and love. As I've opened my eyes to the Gospel, instead of staying narrowly focused on the cultural differences, I have been humbled and moved. The Saints here seem to understand those pure parts of the Gospel better than many of the Saints in America. They come with their faith and their testimonies, continually eager to learn more and make small improvements every week. They come for God and they come for Christ. And, the Gospel is the "same" no matter which country you're in.

The Savior said, "take my yoke upon you, for my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." He said that at a time where the religious leaders were more focused on how many steps the members took each Sabbath than on the devotion of their hearts. When I was first in Africa, I was not yoked with the Savior. I had chosen a yoke and a burden that was heavy, like the Pharisees and Sadducees, too focused on minor details instead of the great and pure vision of the restored Gospel. 

Now, I'm striving to be yoked with Him again. When I was baptised I made covenants to take upon me His name, Always remember Him, and keep His commandments. I also promised to mourn with those that mourn and comfort those who stand in need of comfort. No where in those covenants does it say "judge those who should be judged and criticize everything worth criticizing." He just asks me to try and see people through His eyes and extend love to them. That's all.

I know many people leave the Church because they feel offended or stifled by the culture. They, too, have confused the Gospel with the culture. But all of us, no matter which country or region we may be in, have a responsibility to return to the pure aspects of Christ's perfect Gospel. I believe that when we are yoked with Him, it naturally becomes easier to find the similarities between people, rather than the differences. And truly, when our focus is restored, the 'burden' becomes light.

The Man I Married

Benji is a good man. Let me show you some examples:

Whenever we need to ride the boda boda's anywhere, Benji flags down two boda guys and then quickly assesses which one seems more gentle. Then he looks him sternly in the eye and says, "You will drive slowly and carefully with my wife."

Once, we were walking up a steep, busy African street. There was a man who had loaded many long wooden slats onto his bicycle and was pushing it slowly up the hill. It was an obviously heavy and cumbersome load, and the slats extended far in front and behind of the bike's length. The man was taking slow, laborious steps up the steep hill. Benji walked up behind him and said, "Let's go" and began pushing. They made it up the hill in record time, with many Africans turning to stare and laugh at the site of a white Muzungu man helping an African with hard labor.

He always greats the African men as "Sir" or "boss" which shows humility and respect. He often greats the older women as "mama." He has made huge efforts to learn their language so that he can greet them and thank them in Luganda.

When we were in Barlonyo, the women told us they do most of the labor. They wake up early, tie their babies to their backs, do the gardening, chop the wood, and cook the food. Several of the women were preparing lunch and one began to chop wood. Benji went over and said "Chrissy, let me try." All the people in the school house crowded around the windows to see not only a man, but a white man, doing the women's work of chopping wood in the heat of the day. When he was finished and we were walking away, we saw an African man pick up the ax and began chopping. One of the women said, "he is doing that because he saw you doing it."

He is naturally and continuously positive, he lifts me up day in and day out when I feel discouraged and low, he never looks for an opportunity to put anyone down or tease them about something they can't change, and he has a natural ability to see the beauty around him.

 Yesterday I told him "sometimes I'm even jealous of myself."And it's true. Whomever gets to be Benji's wife is one blessed woman, and I'm continuously amazed that I get to be her.

making french toast over a coal fire

Proud to Be an American

I think every American should spend a period of time living outside of America. Anywhere is fine, but especially in third world countries where the contrast is stark and poignant. Maybe if every American did that, America would be a better place.

On May 28th, we were invited to the U.S. Embassy in Uganda for a "Town Hall Meeting" as they called it. It was an opportunity to meet the Ambassador, hear him speak, and ask questions. They also served pizza, hot dogs, and chocolate chip cookies. (What's more American than hot dogs?)

When we arrived, we were escorted through security that rivals an airport. Benji's dreams of using their internet were squashed as they confiscated all our possessions before entering.

It was dark, and we were directed to follow a sidewalk around a building to the meeting area. As we rounded the corner, a tall flagpole with a bright light illuminated the beautiful stars and stripes in the darkness. My breath caught in my throat and my steps halted for a moment. "Benji. That's OUR flag!"

Benji squeezed my hand and we kept walking. We sat down amongst a gaggle of Americans, all in Uganda for various reasons, and all different races. (I love that about America. You don't have to be white to be American. America is in your heart.) The ambassador stood up to speak. He was diplomatic and charming and was from the Midwest and sounded like it. He made jokes and small talk and then turned serious.

He said, "I hope you had a moment, when you saw the American flag tonight. I want to wish you a welcome home, because literally, right now, you are on American soil."


The tears came then. Not fifty feet away on the other side of a heavily guarded fence was Uganda, with a beauty all its own, but right there in that moment, I felt totally secure and completely grateful. It is so easy to take our freedom for granted. Maybe the phrases and songs are too common and we forget. But when you come to a country where there is no 911, the police aren't entirely trustworthy, the infrastructure is shoddy, voting is an option but the citizens don't have much confidence in it, you start to realize what freedom has brought to you.

On the way home, we talked to our driver, Ibra, about some of our thoughts and feelings. We asked him if he made a good living as a special hire driver. He said he did pretty well, he always had enough for his needs, but then he said this: "There is no money in Uganda. We just survive, we don't become."


America gives its people the ability to become something. And as my mom pointed out, not just once but over and over again. No, our country and government are not perfect. We have issues and struggles and weaknesses, too. But we can become. We have confidence and hope and pride. Those are things that freedom bought.

This is my second year in a row that I am not in the USA for the 4th of July. I hope to be home for it next year. Amongst your barbecues, pool parties, and fireworks, please really stop and think. It is a privilege and an honor to be an American, and I hope I never take it for granted again.

Don't Hesitate to Rescue

A few years ago, my mom told me a story that had been told to her from one of our dear family friends. He had been out to a work lunch and aspirated on a bite of food. Seconds passed as he struggled to get air, while all his colleagues watched him cough. Just when he began to seriously worry for his life, someone at a nearby table came to his rescue.

When telling the story later, he encouraged us to not hesitate to rescue. When someone is suffocating, you can't stand by and watch wide eyed, or hope that someone else will come to their rescue. You must rescue them now. 

This week, we traveled to Jinja, the source of the Nile, so Benji and his brothers could white water raft and I could have a day to read and rest. (I'm just not adventurous, sorry). We traveled by bus with several other rafters. Once we arrived, myself and one other woman stayed behind as every other adventurous soul was outfitted in helmets and life jackets. There was barely time to blow Benji a kiss before he was whisked away. 

After a few hours of fiddle faddling around, the woman and I were loaded into the back of an open bed truck amongst stacks of chairs, plastic tables, and a lifetime supply of toilet paper to make the very bumpy journey to the Nile campsite. 

She and I got talking, and I learned that she lives a very wanderlustful life. She is here in Uganda for a few weeks, then off to Greece, then Siberia, and she doesn't know exactly when she will return to her home in New Zealand. She mentioned the hardest part of her travels is seeing the immense differences in wealth and suffering. 

While talking about all the places she's been, I kept saying "oh! My sister/cousin/husband/brother in law served a mission for our church there..." Since that was practically the only connection I had to most of the places she's been. 

Then, I got that feeling. That gentle, relentless rubbing on my heart that it was this girls' turn to hear about the Gospel. In the course of our conversation she had mentioned that she believed all life was connected and she believed in governing, supernatural forces, but she didn't really believe in God or have any defined beliefs at all. I was afraid. How come it is so much harder to talk to white people about the Gospel than it is to talk to Africans??

So I said a prayer in my heart: "Dear Heavenly Father. Please bless the missionaries to find this girl someday." To which He promptly replied, "Bethany. I sent you." 

Then I thought, "okay maybe tonight we will all sit around the campfire and it will be the perfect opportunity to talk to her. Then I will have Benjis help and this truck is too loud and irreverent anyway, you can't introduce the gospel to someone in the back of a truck on a highway in Uganda." 

Then in my heart I heard the words of our dear friend: "you cannot hesitate to rescue." 

The Spirit whispered to me that this woman has likely never been told in her life that she is a daughter of God. And maybe, the opportunity will never come to her again, for a long time. The time for her to know was now. 

So I gathered my courage and I looked at her and I said "forgive me, I know you said you're not religious, but I just feel like I should tell you this. In my church we believe that God is our Father, and that makes all of us His children, you are His daughter and I am His daughter. And even though there is a lot of suffering and inequality in this world, eventually because of Jesus Christ, because He knows us all perfectly, everything will be alright. And I just felt like I needed to tell you that."

She smiled, and asked the name of my church, and then told me thank you. 

I don't know why it is so difficult to talk about something that is so precious to me. But I'm thankful that I was the messenger for this loved daughter of God, that He trusted me enough to tell her even though He knew it would be hard. 

Whether it is physical or spiritual suffocating, we cannot hesitate to rescue. 

The Lion King Life

Please enjoy these photos of our Safari, because it was breathtaking and inspiring and humbling and beyond words. 

     I think he wants to keep him.

      "These silly Muzungus. They think they are so safe in their safari car"

      "Being a celebrity is so much work."

       Our guide revved the engine and the elephant started shaking his big, beautiful head at us. 

"You shall not pass"

     We saw SO many baboons. They always ran away so fast and showed off their fabulous behinds. 

      Murchison Falls. This is the same water that flows up to Egypt. Uganda is the source of the Nile. 

That my friends, is one of the only 14 rhinos in Uganda. And we just waltzed right into the jungle into its home. Not seen is the little baby by her side. 

Warthogs are ugly. And they make me laugh. 

Maybe sometime I will post the photos of the crocodiles and hippos we passed while taking a boat ride up the Nile. 

Photos

Some of the roads here are very bad.

A flower that looks like a bristle brush

Washing laundry by hand

the mall

We found real, delicious burgers!

Benji said "It's like the Jungle Cruise!"

To Our Fathers

Uganda has one super modern, nice mall. We go there 2 or 3 times a week. We couldn't pass up the opportunity to write a love note to each of our Fathers. They have given us the greatest examples of faith and hard work that we have both needed on this crazy adventure.

 

I hope these next ones say something nice and fatherly for my dad. Otherwise, I apologize.

Healer

The last few weeks have been harder than normal. Some days I was seriously concerned and felt totally disconnected from my true self. Many tears, prayers, and a stellar FHE from my darling husband later, I'm feeling better and hopeful. I've learned a few crucial things in this small time period, and I want to write about the more spiritual ones later, but for now I am just going to talk about today.

One of the biggest issues we've had here is trying to accomplish our purposes. For my schoolwork, we've been back and forth to hospitals, meeting with everyone from the Human Resources Department to the Executive of Nursing, sending letters, rewriting and resending letters, scanning documents, walking into random clinics, etc. etc. It's been frustrating and completely unlike anything we expected.

I quit my job at the hospital April 11th. That means I haven't seen a patient in over two months. A few days before we arrived, our country director's mother in law suffered a debilitating stroke. She was recently moved home with 24 hour nursing care, physical therapy, speech therapy, and a feeding tube.

Our country director had the brilliant idea to have me come see her mother in law. It helps me because I can count it as clinical hours, and it helps her because she gets my perspective on the care her family member is receiving. Win win.

Today I went to see Prossy (not her real name, but its a common name on all the Share a Coke bottles around here). I wore my scrubs because they make me feel safe and I brought my stethoscope. Prossy is completely coherent and aware, yet she has lost the use of all of her throat muscles. She cannot speak or swallow.

I introduced myself and touched her hand and asked for her permission to perform an assessment.  I moved my stethoscope across her chest, listening to her heart and lungs, while simultaneously looking at her eyes to see if they were equal, round, reactive to light and accommodation (take that, nursing school!). I asked her to squeeze my fingers and then I checked her feet for pulses and capillary refill. Two years ago, remembering all of these things was so daunting. Now I did it all by myself in a foreign country.

I sat with her for a few hours, observing and talking with the other nurses. I found two small but not-so-small things to change to help her be more comfortable, and then it was time to go.

On the boda ride home, my heart felt so light and my mind felt happy. I have a patient! This experience reminded me of a few things:

1-When you're helping, you're happy. I think much of my frustration and depression the last few weeks has been from inactivity. We have bodies for a purpose. We weren't meant to be idle. While we have struggled to find clinical sites and research opportunities, we have also struggled to find ways to occupy our time. DOING something was so liberating.

2-I was meant to be, and NEED to be a nurse. How come two hours with an elderly African woman who can't speak to me made such a difference?? The only explanation I can come up with is I was given the talent and desire to heal and when I don't, the sick people are not the only ones who suffer. I do.

On an unrelated note, we found a West African restaurant and it was SO DELICIOUS. West Africa uses a lot more spices in their cooking than East Africa. Basically, we go through a bottle of ketchup a week to help things taste like flavor. BUT NOT ANYMORE--we found Mama Ashanti's and Benji was so excited to show me all the yummy things from his mission (Except say no to Fufu) and I ate beef. Which thankfully had no bones in it. AKA, iron. My anemic self was so happy.

Also, as I type this we are facetiming with two of Benji's brothers who ARE ON THEIR WAY, TO US. Bearing plenty of processed snack food, and I don't even care. I'm going to eat it all. Family. It's the best thing.

Once again, the photos are not cooperating. Hopefully one of these days I can do a photo only post.

Are We Not all Beggars?

Last night, we found this perfect Indian restaurant and went out to eat with some American friends. It was probably the most well fed I have been since we left the States. I was grateful.

On the way home, we stopped and got ice cream cones (Ugandan vanilla is superior to American vanilla) and licked them happily to ourselves on the way home.

As we rounded a corner, we saw two little children sitting against a wall, one with a basket of bananas and the other avocados. As we approached, the little girl said "Bananas?" "No." I replied, although as I said it I wanted to give her all the money we had and let her keep the bananas. I heard her softly say as we walked away, "ice cream" and my heart broke neatly in two.

While taking the public transportation, I saw a man walking from car to car asking for money. He had only two soles for shoes, tied onto his feet with plastic trash bags.

During dinner, a teenaged girl crept into the restaurant and approached Benji (I think he just exudes so much light and goodness that out of 7 of us seated at the table, she chose him) and asked him for some money because she was thirsty. Benji instead offered her some of our water, and she refused and walked away. 

On the way to dinner, we passed a man who was obviously born with some sort of malformation. His legs are short and come out at an awkward angle on each side, almost frog like. He wears his flip flops on his hands as he crawls around. I have seen him twice on that particular road.

I feel overwhelmed with the suffering. Benji has fellow PEAT interns in various parts of the world, and they likewise share photos of heart wrenching things in Ecuador, Cambodia, etc. etc. Not to mention the amount of suffering at home, in the United States, in Utah.

I don't really know what the point of this post is, except that my heart deals with things by bringing them up and outside of myself into words on a page. Also, I may be casting out for someone somewhere to help me carry this hurt.

I know that the Savior of the World was born in and lived a life similar to those I see in this country. He was not afraid to reach out and touch those who were diseased or living in the dirt. I know that He knows the names and circumstances of each of these children of God. He comprehends all things. Somehow I will keep praying and find a way to give more.

Now please enjoy this photo of my darling brother.

Days

On Sunday, Benji and I fasted that we would be blessed with clinical opportunities for me and research opportunities for him. 

So then on Monday Benji rolled his ankle and it swelled up beautifully and I got to play nurse.

Then today, I fell and skinned my knee pretty badly and got to use my first aid kit for the first time.

That's what happens when you pray for medical situations. 

In all seriousness, we just experienced a miracle. Emma has a friend who is a nursing student at Makerere University. Emma called this friend and asked for his help in securing clinical sites for me. A few hours later, Dennis Mulondo arrived at our compound to meet me. We gave him some letters from my BYU professors that he is going to take to his professor and *hopefully* get this twist in the road straightened out. God is so good.

Yesterday, we went to a village outside of Mukono town to visit a group of women and a group of school children who received Days for Girls kits a year and a half ago. (Repeat: I love African villages). When we arrived, the group of women were sitting under a large, shady tree waiting for us. This women's group developed seven years ago as a savings group, but most recently they've been making and selling soap and reusable menstrual hygiene kits. We wanted to check on their progress and address any concerns. 

I love introducing myself to Ugandans. You always say "Good morning" or "good afternoon" and they always respond with "Good morning." Sort of like Aloha in Hawaii. Sometimes they tack on 'sabo' for a gentleman or 'nyabo' for a lady. Benji introduced himself, and then said "this is my wife" and gestured to me. The ladies grinned and smiled and started clapping. They really like married people, I guess. I think we should all always clap when a couple is married. Maybe divorce rates would go down internationally. 

Right after we introduced ourselves, it started to rain. We scampered inside and I had the awesome privilege of waiting out an intense African rainstorm inside a brick, mortar, and tin roofed hut in the jungle. It was awesome. All the little children laid down and fell asleep. The rain is so loud. I felt happy and peaceful. 

When the rain quieted down I taught this little group of women about the rhythm method of contraception. With an interpreter. It was great. Africans have lots of interesting perceptions of family planning, and encouraging different methods is one of the goals we are trying to achieve. Sometimes the rhythm method is the only thing they are willing to do.

Then, we went and visited a school. They recently built a new latrine with a separate place for the boys, the girls, and the teachers AND they provided a washroom for the girls. SUCCESS, PEOPLE. 

We were conducting some surveys and noticed a small group of shy children huddled around the door, whispering and giggling. I tried to talk to them, but they ran away. So I hid close to the entrance and Benji let me know when they were creeping back. I jumped and yelled and they all squeeled and laughed and ran away. Then I went and shook all of their darling little hands and asked them how old they thought I was. They said 5. fabulous. 

A group of older boys were playing soccer (football) in the field behind the school. Benji ran and jumped in and they all stopped. He had the ball and he said "come on! Try and take it from me!" They didn't hesitate after that and I got some great video on the goPro of this tall white man playing soccer with a herd of barefooted Ugandan boys. You should have heard them cheer when he hit the ball off the top of his head. It was beautiful. (This is also when he rolled his ankle. It's all fun and games until...)

I have pictures but it takes about 30 minutes per photo to upload and I just don't have the patience for that. 

We're still plugging along out here (Benji is limping along). Thanks for praying for us and loving us. I try not to spend my entire day waiting for it to be today in Utah so that my mom will text me back or for my favorite bloggers to wake up and post something. The days are long but the weeks are short.

The Weekend

Weekends around here are interesting. All the sewing women leave at 5 p.m. Friday and don't come back until 9 a.m. Monday. Dorcus and Emma alternately leave to visit their families and/or distant friends, so sometimes it is just us, trying to entertain ourselves.

Friday, our region experienced a massive rainstorm in which the power transmitter pole thing was knocked over and we lost all power (aka WiFi access). We also lost our running water that day, so neither of us can remember the last time we showered.

The power was restored around 6 p.m. and we decided to watch a movie on Dorcus' recently acquired television and DVD player. Lucky for us, one of the only appropriate and English movies she owns is High School Musical….all three of them.

I'm somewhat ashamed to admit how homesick watching High School Musical made me. Moving on.

While watching the movie, we got a hankerin' for brownies. Hardly anyone in Uganda has their own oven, and the office is no exception. Even if we scrounged up the ingredients, we have no way to bake them into brown chocolately goodness.

Enter: www.hellofood.ug It's the best thing since chapati. Basically these boda guys on motorcycles get your online order to almost any restaurant, go and buy it for you, and then deliver. So while Troy and Gabriella were impressing us with their cheesy high school romance, Benji was entering an order for two brownies, two chocolate chip cookies, and a side salad. His number and address were submitted, and just when he hit submit, the power went out. Again. So we said whatever to the brownies and the movies and got ready for bed.

Around 11 p.m., teeth brushed, mosquito net pinned shut, scriptures read, we noticed missed calls from an odd number on our Ugandan phone. Benji called them back and discovered a pair of disheveled boda men desperately trying to deliver two brownies, two chocolate chip cookies, and a side salad. "We have been trying to find you for an hour!" One of them said, to which Benji replied, "I'm sorry, but I didn't actually know I had ordered anything!"

After waking up Emma for the third time that night to unlock the gates, we enjoyed our little picnic 'neath our mosquito net at 11:30, laughing all the way.

Saturday, we decided to attend a traditional African Introduction. Before Africans wed, they are "introduced," which is where they formally introduce each other to their parents. It is a huge, huge party and the groom gives the bride's parents massive amounts of gifts to ease their pain at marrying off one of their daughters.

Hundreds of people come, and the African women wear the traditional dress, called a "gomesi." On Friday, the ladies in the office decided to dress me up in one of them:

They have very very puffy shoulders.

The wedding was absolutely overwhelming. Hundreds of people, all speaking a language we don't understand, for six hours. It was fun, however, to see all the different colorful gomesi's and observe the extravagant gift giving and the rituals. Plus we got free food. So there's that.

All those tents were the Introduction

We were at the very back of about 500 people

We got to see baby Hewan again!

Rolled up chapati, watermelon, matooke with smashed nuts, rice, unnamed foods, French beans, cucumbers. The bowl was cow tongue.

Chicken cooked in a banana leaf

More people

Sunday, both Dorcus and Emma were out and we were left to our own devices. For breakfast, we each had a handful of goldfish, a pop tart, and our malaria pills. For lunch we had rice. For dinner we had fresh green beans and rice. Needless to say we need to plan for the weekends a little better. 

Then last night, during High School Musical 3, we were joined by a beautiful butterfly! Anyone who knows Benji knows that butterflies are not his favorite thing….so it fell to me to capture the pretty thing and let it back outside. 

We are both a little desperate to accomplish what we came here to accomplish. I'm struggling to get clinical sites and Benji is struggling to access school girls. The trouble is, we have to wait for them to come to us wanting the Days for Girls services because a fee is charged for all the training and materials. We can't exactly call them and say "Hey, pay us to come train you." Likewise, the hospitals don't want some Muzungu claiming to be a trained nurse knocking on their door with no evidence. So, pray for us that we will be able to meet our objectives.