remembering the point

I opened a drawer this morning to clear it out. What I pulled out are pieces of my heart, parts I cant put back, cracks I smothered as I tried to “just deal”. Which is ironically not dealing. So while the notebook and tiny tapes lay as silent reminders of what was, I sigh.

And in among the pictures and memories, I found a folded paper full of tiny written words. To read caught my heart, choked my breath. It is called “Waiting. Watching: 24-7-365”. I wanted to share it with you all.

So this guy comes up to me and says,

“What’s the vision? What’s the big idea?”

I open my mouth and the words come out like this…

The vision?

The vision is JESUS: obsessively, dangerously, undeniably Jesus.

The vision is an army of young people.

You see bones? I see an army.

And they are free from materialism – they laugh at 9-5 little prisons.

They could eat caviar on Monday and crusts on Tuesday. They wouldn’t even notice.

They know the meaning of the Matrix, the way the West was won.

They are mobile like the wind, they belong to the nations, they need no passport.

People write their addresses in pencil and wonder at their strange existence.

They are free, yet they are slaves of the hurting and dirty and dying.

What is the vision? The vision is holiness that hurts the eyes.

It makes the children laugh and adults angry.

It gave up the game of minimum integrity long ago to reach for the stars.

It scorns the good and strains for the best.

It is dangerously pure.

Light flickers from every secret motive, every private conversation.

It loves people away from their suicide leaps, their Satan games.

This is an army that will lay down its life for the cause.

A million times a day its soldiers choose to loose that they might one day win the great…

“well done” of faithful sons and daughters.

Such heroes are as radical on Monday morning as Sunday night.

They don’t need fame from names.

Instead they grin quietly upwards

And hear the crowds chanting again and again: “COME ON!”

And this is the sound of the underground,

The whisper of history in the making,

Foundations shaking,

Revolutionaries dreaming once again.

Mystery is scheming in whispers, conspiracy is breathing…

This is the sound of the underground

And the army is discipl(in)ed – young people who beat their bodies into submission.

Every soldier could take a bullet for his comrade at arms.

The tattoo on their back boasts “For me to live is Christ and to die is gain.”

Sacrifice fuels the fire of victory in their upward eyes.

Winners.

Martyrs. Who can stop them?

Can hormones hold them back?

Can failure succeed?

Can fear scare them or death kill them?

And the generation prays like a dying man with groans beyond talking, with warrior cries, silphuric tears and great barrow loads of laughter!

Whatever it takes they will give:

Breaking the rules,

Shaking mediocrity from its cozy little hide,

Laying down their rights and their precious little wrongs,

Laughing at labels, fasting essentials.

The advertisers cannot hold them.

Peer-pressure is powerless to shake their resolve at late night parties before the cockerel cries.

They are incredibly cool, dangerously attractive inside.

On the outside?

They hardly care!

They wear clothes like costumes: to communicate and celebrate, but never to hide.

Would they surrender their image or their popularity?

They would lay down their very lives,

Swap seats with the man on death row,

Guilty as hell: a throne for an electric chair.

With blood and sweat and many tears,

With sleepless nights and fruitless days,

They pray is if it all depends on God and live as if it all depends on them.

Their DNA chooses JESUS. (He breathes out, they breathe in.) their subconscious sings.

They had a blood transfusion with Jesus.

Their words make demons scream in shopping centers.

Don’t you hear them coming?

Herald the weirdos!

Summon the losers and the freaks.

Here come the frightened and forgotten with fire in their eyes!

They walk tall and trees applaud, skyscrapers bow,

Mountains are dwarfed by these children of another dimension.

Their prayers summon the Hound of Heaven

And invoke the ancient dream of Eden.

And this vision will be.

It will come to pass;

It will come easily;

It will come soon.

How do I know?

Because this is the longing of creation itself,

The groaning of the Spirit, the very dream of God.

My tomorrow is His today.

My distant hope is His 3-D.

And my feeble, whispered, faithless prayer invokes a thunderous, resounding, bone-shaking great “Amen!” from countless angels,

And hero’s of the faith, from Christ himself.

And He is the original dreamer,

The ultimate winner.

Guaranteed.

For that vision I will arm myself. For that I will get my ass in gear. Let it be. How could I ever have forgotten?

Is this the day I die? Or is this the day I live? The space between matters not. 

The next step

For all of you who have been wondering what has become of me and/or my writing, wonder no longer. My writing is back, but I am gone again. This time not back to Africa. I have quit my job at the boat company and will not return to Africa for that job. I will miss so many people, but for some reason, it is time to quit and move on to the next step.

So I have quit. I am not actively job hunting presently. That would be silly since I will be traveling on a train for the next 6 weeks or so. I plan to make a circuit around America seeing friends and learning to love my country again (hopefully).

So I am not going to write on my ferry blog anymore, because my new adventures do not have the same backdrop. However, if you would like to keep reading my writing, please go to my new blog at http://throughlighttograce.blogspot.com/. Thank you all.

If you prefer to read the progress on the ferry, please read the official Earthwise ferry blog at http://ewventures.wordpress.com/. I send many blessings to all the guys working on the ferry.

My plan or culture rant

the following is the reworking of a rant i wrote a few weeks ago. at the time, it left the reader very confused, more so than it does now. since then, i have rewritten it, trying to convey the feeling without causing added confusion. i hope it is now somewhat understandable. i would say enjoy, ...but thats not the point of this post.


I know that I have never “fit in” exactly, but its about to get worse, or better depending on how you look at it. I don’t want to fit in at all any more.

I am dealing with major culture shock now. Still. Whatever. I never had a problem with consumerism before, but as I drive down the road I see the little boxes(stores) with things for people to buy(merchandise) with lights screaming for attention(signs). This is the country I have defended? What is wrong with my country? My culture? I see people trying to “survive”, but I find that they define the term different here than somewhere else. Here surviving is living comfortably and conveniently, keeping up with technology, etc. Forgive me, but I thought surviving meant “not dying”. That’s what in means in much of Uganda. There people want to make enough for everyone in the family to have the basic needs met and preferably to send the kids to school. Here people don’t think they are surviving unless they have the latest cell phone or whatever little gadget they consider to be essential. And a car, preferably a SUV which will survive the apocalypse should it come. And a living space tastefully decorated with an artistic kitchen for the feeding of the all-judging stomach.

Most people here have a definitive plan for their life, even if they don’t acknowledge it. And, for the most part, it looks like this; go to school and get as many degrees as possible, get a career, get a nice box/house, have a family, drive in a nice little box/car back and forth between all the buildings which comprise life. Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky-tacky… (if this doesn’t make sense, go watch the theme song for Weeds).

Yes, I realize I am overdoing it a bit. I do that to make a point. My country is ridiculous. Having those things isn’t ridiculous, it’s the “necessity” of such things which I call into question. Its not wrong to have or want such things. I ask only that you consider your dependence on whatever you have and at the very least come to a new gratitude for what you have.

That being said, I then considered the Christians living in this culture. What I find worse than watching how my culture lives is to see the Christians living the same way. I cant see much difference in their actions or anything else most of the time. And that makes me sad, no, it makes me weep. Those are my people. The ones set apart. Living in the world but not of it. …Really? Or has that line gotten blurred so much as to become invisible to the unpracticed eye. (my eyes are out of practice in this sort of distinguishing – that’s what happens when you leave a culture for a while). If you have to have an intellectual map to distinguish Christians from non, then there is a problem. A major problem.

There is something very wrong – it hurts to watch. People who acknowledge the problem rarely see a solution – that hurts even more. Those people, seeing no solution, deaden themselves to the problem – that hurts worst of all.

Because of how I see my culture now, I see also that I cannot fit it to this culture anymore, not that I ever really did. I guess what I am trying to say is this; God forbid that I ever fit into this culture. It would be just as bad to fit into the counter culture. So what then? I ask that God give me something radically different, so different that I can never fit in any of the categories. God forbid that I live life by a plan directed toward comfort and convenience. Putting me in such a box would shut down my heart, spirit, mod, whatever your term for it is. My heart is awake – but it hurts to look around America.

My goal is not to make money – even though making money is useful and makes life much easier. I wont turn down money on principle. I neither seek it nor reject it because money is not my focus. Same with fame, knowledge, power, human love. I will neither seek nor reject them. Come what may, I do not need that which God does not give me. Nor is my goal to seek out those who are like me, or think like me, or believe like me. We are spread out for a reason. (still figuring out the reason). I would love to meet others like me, but that’s not the point of my life.

I want something different. Something radically different. So different that I cant fit in. that there are no worldly terms to describe it anymore. I want a life where my plan is to trust God – that He will lead me thru life one step at a time. What job to have, where to live, who to talk to, how to live. I want my one goal and priority to be to trust God and that He will make everything else work out.

No, this doesn’t mean I am going to join a commune or live on the streets waiting for manna (or money) to fall out of the sky. Just that I follow His lead in everything I do or decide.

Pumpkins

So I walked into a grocery store here in the states last week with my mom. (I have passed the point where I run out of grocery stores, I have moved on to whatever the next stage is after that). I saw one of those box/barrel things holding pumpkins for sale. They had some really cool pumpkins along with the regular jack-o-lantern bright orange things. I prefer the pumpkins that resembled classical pictures, which is what I mean by really cool pumpkins. Upon closer inspection, I wondered about the edibility of this particular specimen.

What does it say about our culture that we decorate with food?

I remember carving pumpkins as a kid. I always wondered if the innards could be eaten. They are, but they don’t taste good. They actually breed pumpkins for the best jock-o-lanterns and others for actually eating. Wtf, mate? But its fairly easy to not think about that considering that they sell canned pumpkin to use in cooking. Americans don’t ever have to cook from scratch if they ever want to. We have canned pumpkin, or if that is way too much work, you can always just buy a pumpkin pie from any grocery store. They even shred lettuce for salads. Or mix shredded lettuce and various other veggies for premade salad. just don’t forget to add the serving bowl.

Ever wonder who “they” are? I do. A lot. Who are the people who make this food. More importantly, who are the people who think of these things?

culture shock

so i'm still dealing with culture shock. i went thru an entire week of confusion, then i progressed to anti-consumerism. so far i have been in that for a week. i almost run out of big bargain stores which i used to have no problems with.

otherwise i have been resting, seeing people, and talking thru stuff. i know thats vague, but thats all you get for now. the rest is doing its good work on my system, i am beginning to feel less like a zombie and more like i can have a life.

i went down to portland monday and tuesday to see a friend. if you have never been down there, and you like seattle, you should go. its like a miniature seattle with more homeless people and less regulations. people can buy alcohol on weekends, and smokers can smoke in the city limits. i did see a lot of weird people tho, and one muttering about a black dude checking out a white girl and how the black dude should be taught a lesson. sadly, im not joking. but see the waterfront park and the several bridges; a river goes right thru the city. go see the little neighborhoods and the rose gardens.

i stayed in a hostel, my first time in a hostel. i didn't quite know what to expect but the experience pleasantly surprised me. and its fairly cheap. yay. i could travel and stay in hostels for months without getting bored. especially if all the cities i visited had places like powell's bookstore. its the worlds biggest book store. an entire city block. i was so overwhelmed i just wandered thru the aisles trying to remember any of the books i have been looking for. i bought 2. thats it. oh well.

i haven't heard much from uganda lately. im not working so i hear even less than the guys at work do. i still am not sure about whether i am going back. my boss and i are still discussing. more like i am waiting to hear if he think he needs me to go back. i will keep updating with any news i hear.

home safe and sound

I’m home safely. I’m fine, except I got a small cold in the first few days. Oh, and my phone isn’t working. The touch screen went bezerk and I tried to fix it over the phone with customer service, but that only worked to make it so I couldn’t even turn the phone on. yay helpful customer service.

It’s a little odd being home in the states. The streets are so empty and its cold here. I inhaled the first cheeseburger I got. I have driven, but I’m a little rusty on stateside rules of driving. Oh, and I bought beer, but the cashier almost didn’t let me have the beer because she didn’t recognize me from my ID. Oi.

New airport story

I have a history of interesting airport stories. I’m glad to announce I have a new one to add to the list. Thankfully this one doesn’t include any slingshots. I pack with my usual strategy to get everything home without having to pay fees for overweight luggage. The key is to pack most of the weight in the carry-on. well, at least that is the key in American domestic flights. And of course I brought my drum not knowing exactly how to get it on the plane but figuring I would take it as a carry-on. most of the workers accompanied Bryce and Andrew to take me to the airport. Maureen cried when I left. That made me sad to leave her with all those guys.

Anyways, they dropped me off with all my bags to navigate the Entebbe airport on my own. Fun times. I entered the line to go thru security with all my bags. That took a while since when my turn came to put my bags thru, they had to restart the machine since they said one of the previous bags had knocked the scanner inside. that got my vote of confidence. At the check in counter they told me I couldn’t take my drum as a carry-on. “ok, what can we do?” “Well, lets weigh your carry-on.” “you want to do what? why would you weigh my carry-on?” so we weighed it. “you need to check that bag, its too heavy.” “I cant do that, it has all my valuables in it.” I ended up putting most of the weight from my carry-on to the checked baggage. But I had to get my drum wrapped – a service they offered for a nice fee of $5. But they don’t take cards, even if you don’t have any cash. And as I was talking with the guy, another security guy brought my smaller bag over which had split a seam saying that they wouldn’t accept it till I got it wrapped also.

So I went out thru security, in thru the other security, down the stairs, took cash out, went back upstairs, out thru security, in thru security and back over to the wrapping dude. I handed him 20,000 ugs. He said he needed 3,000 more but I didn’t have that so I just handed him the last 2 American dollars I had. He didn’t look happy so I told him in no uncertain terms that that would work. He grudgingly wrapped my bag and drum. I took them back to the counter to trade for my carry-on and passport.

Next step was to go thru the passport check. And the woman found an issue with my passport and asked if I would pay the fine one that. “that depends on how much the fine is.” “$900” “nope, I don’t have that kind of money.” “can you go to Kampala and fix this then come back?” “that’s an hour and a half away and then back again, my plane leaves in an hour and half. Also, its nighttime. No, I cant.” So they decided I had to get a new visa so they could let me out of the country. Ok, whatever, that’s only $50. So a guard took me back out thru security, in thru the other security, down the stairs, thru the customs area, and into an office with another woman obviously having visa problems also. And we waited. Apparently we had to wait for the officers checking all the people off the last flight. …ok. The other woman and I both worried about making our flight which left soon. Finally one officer came in and helped the woman. “What’s wrong with your belt?” “I got sick of taking it off going thru security, so I just hung it around my neck.” Then he sat down to chat with another employee saying I had to wait for the other officer. After a few minutes I turned to him and asked if he could help me. I explained the trouble and we touched on the same points as the woman upstairs. Finally he said, “so you admit the mistake?” well duh. I cant not admit something plainly stated in the paperwork. Eventually he told me I was forgiven.

Ok, go back up the stairs, out thru security, back in thru security, and back up the line to the woman behind the glass. I told her the other guy had forgiven me and she let me go this time.

I’m happy to say I didn’t have any more actual trouble after that. just lots of waiting and waiting in lines. Oh, and the ironic thing? I went thru security about 12 times. and when I got home, I found a steak knife in my carry-on that I had forgotten about. Good job security.

safari

I haven’t gotten around to telling you all about my safari. Let me do so now. It was awesome. The drive of the first day wasn’t so great. We left the site late for various African reasons and headed west with Moses one of the workers. At one point in Kampala I looked out the window to take in the scenery and found a sheep staring at me. That was a bit disconcerting. Even more so since we were moving at a good clip and it remained staring at me from 3 feet away. That’s when I realized a boda with 2 men were carrying the sheep down the road. At least it wasn’t a chicken this time. We planned our first destination to be Moses’ house to eat dinner with his family. Very nice people. Especially since they waited for 4 hours to feed us. Construction in Uganda really slows traffic. And we crossed the equator. And the guys saw zebras while I slept. Oi. Finally arrived in Ibanda around 10 instead of 6. They fed us a feast of food and introduced us to the entire family. Then we slept in a hotel for about 5 hours. The attendants asked us twice if we were sure we needed 2 separate rooms.

6am we got up and started driving towards queen Elizabeth park. Western Uganda is beautiful. We actually found mist so thick that we worried we might miss the turn-off. Awesome after being drenched with humid heat for several months. When the mist did part, tea plantations stretch for miles over actual hills. Tea bushes are a strong emerald color, even without the sun hitting them. Banana trees grow in small forests. Gorgeous. Bryce isn’t one to stop on a road trip, but we pulled over several times to take pictures. Hills, hills, and more hills. Then, as I looked between the trees for the hillside next to us, it wasn’t there. Instead a flat plain several hundred feet below us stretched out to the horizon. Perfectly flat. We descended the final hill and drove down the road, passing people pushing bicycles with 4 or 6 stalks of matoke. Insane. We saw monkeys and herds of water buffalo which are quite rare. Usually you only see solitary males.

We turned down the dirt road with a sign and immediately found out that American washboard roads cant compare to washboards in Uganda. Bryce’s whole body vibrated from holding the steering wheel as he tried to miss all these little duck-birds and the large potholes. Finally found the actual park entrance and hired a guide. then we had to go find the guide who was coming back from another trip with tourists. He took us to another part where he had shown others a pride of lions.

We saw the lions. We found the momma lion as we drove 10 feet from her shady sleeping spot. We stopped to take pictures and she reared back on her haunches ready to pounce on this metallic thing which interrupted her nap. Wild lions are big. And actually wild, you can see it in their eyes. I have seen lions in a zoo, I became bored because that was the look in their eyes. Boredom and apathy. But these lions didn’t look like that at all. our guide kept saying “take photos fast then we go” in a high pitched voice like he was scared of this situation. We also found a young lion in a cactus tree. We stopped to take photos of that one also. It didn’t look like it wanted a fight, but rather that it really wanted to get away but couldn’t figure out how to move quickly from its perch in the cactus.

We also saw crested eagles and warthogs and impalas and random birds. Like the spotted mouse bird. That’s when Bryce decided to call me mousy. I must say that is a first. I don’t really consider myself mousy. Then the guide took us to the village inside the park so we could have a boat ride. We surprised him when we refused to have a boat ride, our excuse was that we build boats, why would that be such an attraction to us? Oh, and I watched a little kid beat Bryce at cards. Not once, but several times. I had to get pictures of that. the fishing village lives next to the group of hippos. They look kinda like rocks out in the water which randomly open a large mouth with funny teeth.

Oh, I got a good burger at the park lodge. I saw it on the menu and decided to take the risk. Risks are sometimes richly rewarded. I tried not to show my enjoyment too much since Bryce looked very envious at my rich reward. We sat there listening to the groups of mzungus talking amongst themselves. We tried to guess their nationality but honestly we felt very uncomfortable being around them because of the way they acted towards the Ugandans serving them. Nothing exactly bad, but we could see the superiority complex playing out in their body language. Also listening to them plan how to fix Ugandan problems with western ideals sounded ludicrous to our ears.
That night we stayed in fort portal at a small hotel. The bar upstairs was names the parrot bar. Guess why? Two large gray parrots live in a cage next to the door squawking loudly. Annoying birds. At least they shut up for the nighttime. Bryce and I found decent pizza for dinner then went back to the parrot bar for drinks, cigars, and pool. I’m still horrible at pool. But losing at pool seems less problematic when smoking a cigar.

Next day we drove back to Kampala and Entebbe. More construction. Kinda funny seeing the process of putting in culverts? Under the road everyone is driving on. Bryce and I don’t have the same reactions to anything. Take our reactions to returning to the site after a 2 day trip. Bryce felt “refreshed”. I felt revived enough to feel the impending doom of returning to the site. Bryce and I just don’t work on the same tracks.

another update

Andrew has come here for several weeks. Let me back up and tell you why. Jon-Paul returned home safely and promptly became extremely ill. He lost a lot of weight and eventually went to the hospital. Various special doctors and others tried for several days to figure out what he had. A special disease doctor called him a puzzle. That’s not usually a good sign. Neither is seeing doctors in hasmat suites tending to a patient. But that’s what happened. Im glad to report they finally did figure out what was wrong. He has several parasites and his body reacted strongly to them because he is allergic to them. I doubt he will risk meeting those parasites again.

Bob is also sick, tho not nearly as sick as Jon-Paul was. he also does not know what disease he has yet. hopefully he will find out soon and get better quickly so that he can come back here. Whenever someone mentions bob, the others look hopeful as someone asks when he will come back.

We needed more people here. Thus, Andrew is here now. The first morning I found him sitting outside my door when I stumbled out sleepy eyed. He had been up most of the night with jet-lag. Btw, his hair is longer than mine. I chopped half my hair off a few weeks ago. It now ends at my chin level and is mostly blonde again. But his hair is long and there is so much of it that it sticks out from the top of his head towards the sides. Kinda funny looking actually. His first day here he experienced a thunderstorm and after seeing the toilets (or lack there of), built a makeshift toilet. Presently, he and Bryce are exploring the Kampala drinking scene. And they took the internet modem with them. Sigh.

The boat is mostly together as far as the structure. We lifted up the roofs last week. Now we tell the Ugandans that it has finished growing. Everyone is learning so fast. Carpentry, fiber glassing, planning, and most important to this line of work, problem-solving. I still have to repeat myself often, enunciating every word to be sure they understand. But that I can deal with.

I have decided to return home early. As in, on the 24th of august. When I heard how sick Jon-Paul was, I got myself tested for anything I could possibly have just to make sure I didn’t have some hidden disease ready to flair up as soon as I got home. Clean bill of health. Yay. But I am tired. A deep abiding fatigue no matter how much I try to sleep. This place isn’t very conducive to sleeping in in the morning either. Im tired of dealing, of being away from my family and friends. Of being here with a bunch of guys day in and day out. And Maureen, cant forget Maureen. But it just isn’t home. It cant be my home. People come here and say they leave their heart in Uganda or Africa. Im sitting here saying I left my heart in America. Seattle to be exact. I wanna go home now. It might be just for a break, but its time.

I thought it might be a good idea to change my ticket, then I rethought, then yes, then no. for several days I struggled with the pros and cons of this decision. I found the actual usefulness of fasting (just don’t do it the day your favorite food is cooked). I had people in America saying to come home. And people here practically begging me not to leave. But in the end I decided to actually take care of myself so that I can keep going in the long-term instead of sacrificing everything for the short term deadline. So I asked my bosses to co-ordinate with my parents to get me home soon. Its amazing what can be accomplished with a few phone calls if you have enough incentive. And getting their daughter home apparently was enough incentive for my parents. Ready Seattle? Here I come. Brown, blonde, and hopefully changed for the better. So if you want to see me, send an email or call when I get back.

henry and hair

So I went to visit Henry and Leonard in Kampala a few weekends ago. I needed to get away from everyone I live with. That, and I had to pick up my power cord which was being repaired. So I stayed with Henry. Henry is awesome. I had no idea I needed to talk with him and hear what he had to say until half-way thru the conversation. Apparently Hildegard von Bingen is more than a writer of music in medieval times. cool. I needed a dose of good strong wisdom. I needed a fresh perspective. I needed to borrow someone else’s lenses for a bit. I didn’t sleep much that night, but I rested more than if I had slept for 20 hours. Some people just have that sort of presence which radiates peace so that those around them can rest. Even if they are running around doing a dozen things, a deep peace pervades where they are, whispering that it is ok, already taken care of is such a quiet whisper that only the soul can hear it. And after you leave them, you realize how precious that time was. I like those people a lot, even if I only know them for a short time.

Oh, I also cooked breakfast for dinner for that household. No one else besides Henry knew how to make an omelet. Oi. And the Ugandans all ate a side dish of rice and vegetables next to the omelet. I don’t understand these people some days. That night I got so sick of trying to keep my hair healthy and failing miserably at it. So I took my scissors and sitting in from of the only full size mirror I know of, chopped my hair off. Right at the chin level. It doesn’t look half bad actually. Sadly its too short to collect into a pony tail so I wear it down and curly now. The next weekend I searched Kampala for hair clips, but no luck. So I walked into a tailor shop and asked if they had any plain color fabric strips. I paid 50 cents for some red cloth to tie around my head. The person selling it to me could not understand what I wanted it for. Yay for being a crazy mzungu.

one of those days 7-29-10

No, it wasn’t one of those days. That would admit that such days happen more often than they should, that is to say, sometimes. Days like this should never happen. Never ever.

We are building the boat in open air. I think most of you know that. And that works here in Uganda since the weather is perpetually summer. The heat of summer, the humidity of summer, the thunderstorms of summer. We have figured out which way the weather comes from so we keep a weather eye out for thunderstorms. Today dawned bright and sunny. A few clouds here and there, but that’s always the case.

The goal today was to get 4 of the 2nd floors epoxied together starting from the back and the bottom beam epoxied on. we got a shipment of epoxy yesterday so we had everything we needed. my patience has waned to the point of not being able to take…well, anything going wrong really. Floors, 5, 4, and 3 went on ok. Issues with drills and Ugandan screws aside, it went swimmingly. I worked on the floors with my team while Bryce and his team worked on the beam. Bryce says something about rain. I want to get floor 3 on before we tarp the thing since I see a very small cloud above us. And it goes together, and the raindrops get bigger, then they are everywhere. I yell for everyone to get the tarp over the boat fast. Not fast enough, but when its raining, its never enough. I look up again to see how long the rain will last, and all I see is gray in every direction. I cant see very far because of all the rain. What happened to the blue sky? Bryce comes up and we just look at each other as the rain starts coming between the floors we haven’t put together yet. right thru the tarp. I go out to check the rain, its still coming. And the tarp has blown off part of the boat. So Bryce and I clamp it down. where did this rain come from?!? I go to the other section and grab the corner and pull it down. I feel like I should be sailing with the tarp catching that much wind. Did I mention im soaked by this time? Don’t think about the rain pouring down your face and down into your already soaked shoes, just catch the sail and tie it down. Ask someone for a clamp, makes sure it wont fly up again. Then turn to the sky and yell at it. Give it the finger. Sing “oh Africa”. Go down and tell the workers they are free to go eat lunch if they want to brave the rain. Here I am, soaked several times over, telling the dry students hiding underneath the boat that they can go have food. Oi. Go back up and try to consol Bryce who is feeling sick with the situation.

For those of you who haven’t ever worked with epoxy, let me explain the situation. Water does not mix will with wet epoxy. We didn’t know how bad it might be for the epoxy. It could have been enywhere from ok to useless. The team back in America assured us that as long as the epoxy attached to the wood before the water soaked it, the epoxy is fine. And that’s what happened. But we didn’t know that at the time. We thought all our work that day might have to be redone. We sat there looking at a week of extra work to fix the issues one freak rainstorm dropped on us.

I had to jump in all the puddles on the way back to the dorm. Nothing else to do when the world rains on you like that. There is no explanation, no way, no words to explain the day. and our brain power had shorted with the sheer magnitude of our situation.

Update;7-26-10

So we have the economy cabin reassembled. That’s the first story of the ferry. The boat looks fairly strange with all the joints waiting for fiberglass. The second floors sit leaning up against each other on top of the boat. Each day we get closer to the end. We have started the part where we cut holes all over the boat for vents and water intakes. After I pushed the first piece out I yelled “stop blowing holes in my boat!” it seemed fitting all things considered.

The student interns we have hired are all Ugandan engineers freshly graduated from university. But none save one have ever held a job. So basically they have the theories of how things work in their brain but have never seen the actual functioning. They have the work experience of most American 16yos (which is to say, none) but a much higher maturity level. It’s very interesting to teach them carpentry and how to use tools. We have had some interesting times when we ask for a tool by name and they give us a blank look instead. It isn’t even a specialized tool either. It’s just that they either have never heard of the tool, or they have never heard our name for it. Things like an open ended wrench (they call it a spanner), or a Phillips screwdriver (plus-sign or star, as opposed to minus sign). We informed them that actual star screwdrivers are different. Unfortunately, it’s the same with all our Ugandan workers, not just the students. I inventoried the tools one day with a worker. I would call out the name, and how to spell it, and he would write it down and also on a little cheat sheet which he took home and memorized.

So our group here has changed a bit. Only Bryce and I remain of the Americans. Jon-Paul and Rob both left last week. Our cook has stayed with us, and we have elevated her title to goddess of all things edible and tasty. We have Nicholas our faithful foreman and interpreter who lives nearby. Francis also lives nearby, but should not be confused with mo-zay (old man) Francis who is our driver. He prefers to clean the car at least 2x a week in his spare time even though we live on a dirt road. Then we have opus, who changes his hair style every week but wears a yellow bucket hat over it constantly to protect it.

Then our student interns. Paul, who I swear should have gone to seminary instead of becoming an electrical engineer. The guy talks constantly, either about scripture, or about how we need his help. he has one of the slenderest builds I have ever carried by a guy. Therein lies the joke when he offers his help to Bryce. The others are mechanical engineers. Chris, who has held a job and somehow has a very steady personality. He is quiet, but has a great sense of humor and irony. He shakes his head every time Paul starts talking again. Vianney, who is even quieter than Chris, and taller than the others. His English is the most understandable. Those two never complain, even though both have had malaria since meeting us. Then comes Moses, the small one. Blyce is arways his fliend, but blyce arways makes fun of his accent. All are faithful born again believers who don’t drink, smoke, or swear and don’t believe in spontaneity.

The last addition to our team here has been cloud (spelled Claude). He has traveled a bit and knows a bit about western culture which the others have somehow missed completely. Things like Rudolf the red nosed reindeer and Winnie the pooh and Zeus. He was a Buddhist monk in Thailand for a while, but has since decided to go with Catholicism out of respect for his family. He has asked how to read the bible so I supplied him with his first. His accent is the hardest to understand. Try to imagine a French African with elements of Thai and a southern twang.

I have gotten some interesting comments this week. “Julia, you must be half man.” Or “if only we were as peaceful as you look when you lie down.” I continue to surprise Ugandans for some reason.

Bryce and I get to go away next weekend to get a break. Western Uganda here we come. Hopefully we see the animals on a safari. My first African safari. Ill let you all know how it goes.

and im back

Sorry all. I have been away for a while. The internet shut off shortly after the bombings. Then when it did turn on again, my power cord had stopped working. No power to the comp. hence, no writing blog posts. So I have posted two very late posts that I wrote before all that happened. I have dated them so you have some idea when they were supposed to be posted.

Dad (Will) speaking

Julia asked me to let you all know that she is ok. No more bombings for now. They have had internet problems, so she has not been able to post. She and Bryce went to Queen Elizabeth Park over the weekend; relaxed there and saw lions, hippos, zebras, etc.

prayer

Many people minimize spiritual warfare. No one should. Its real and it affects everyone.

Are you a believer in Christ? Then someone hates you. It is his purpose to destroy you and his goal is for you to not want to do anything to the glory of God. He will make war against you till one of these things happens. And then he will celebrate. As whittaker chambers said, “You have enemies? Good. You have stood up for something.” Or something like that.

But for those of you who are Christians, there is good news too. For every war must have at least 2 sides. As much as you have an enemy, so much more do you have someone who will fight for you and protect you. So many people ignore the fight which God wages for us. In doing so, they diminish God and his place in the universe. He is more than your champion, He is more than your savior, He is more than anything He is to you. He is God. He is the Lord of life. His existence isn’t about you or for you. But He fights for you and saves you because He loves you. And that is awesome. It takes all the pressure off your actions and off your persistence. He is going to fight for you whether you think He should be happy with you lately or not. He just loves you.

And I want to apologize to all of you who pray for me and for this team. Especially those who persist to pray every day. im sorry. you pray for us in America, yet we rarely if ever pray as a team for ourselves. Sure, we pray as individuals, but that’s not the same. It is wrong to rely on you to pray for us, yet to not pray for ourselves. Im not usually part of the spearhead of a project, im used to being part of the support system. I am responsible to you all to take care of myself as much as possible so that your prayers can reach that much further in support of us. And we as a group are responsible to take care of ourselves as a group. But we haven’t been. This situation really struck me last week as a group gathered at my parents’ house to pray for us. I became very embarrassed of my lack of action towards our self-preservation in this most crucial of dimensions. The next day we began to pray as a team before each day. so we have entered the fight for us as a team. Not just as individual pray-ers. Sorry it took us so long.

bombings

For those of you who have heard the news, we are all safe and well. For those of you who haven’t heard the news, kampala has experienced several bombings. The death toll has reached 76, many of them not Ugandans. The night of the final game of the fifa world cup, somalian suicide bombers exploded in the middle of several gatherings of futball fans. We know every place that was bombed. We have been to most of them, but we rarely hang out there.

Oddly, that night, Sunday night, we are usually in kampala hanging out. But that day we left around 6pm because we were bored. I went to watch the game at the local resort down the road. The only reason we knew about the bombings was cuz someone in seattle called at 2am asking where we were. Sleeping, like we always are at 2am. Of course we are safe, why wouldn’t we be. Well, cuz there were bombings in kampala. …oh.

So now few people in kampala are out after dark. All the bars close at dark. President musevani has declared a week of morning. And obama has condemned the attack. Thanks obama, that will really show them. I remember a time when bombings which killed Americans would elicit a fairly blunt and explosive reaction from my country. Americans felt safe going to random countries. Now people who blow up Americans are merely verbally condemned. That’s just sad. Nearing pathetic actually.
Here at the sight, we feel safe. We are the only mzungus on our peninsula. They would have to actually come looking for us in order to find us. We don’t hang out much at major mzungu hang-outs. And we are going to stay out of those areas for a while.

So, we are safe. We are ok. Don’t worry about us.

lifting walls

The question is how to get the pre-fabricated walls on top of the ferry. In the Everett shop, we had cranes to do all this sort of work. The only figuring we had to do was how to strap each piece so it doesn’t break. But here we don’t have cranes of any kind. We work in the open air, working on our tans during sanding and epoxying. So how does one lift a wall on top a 7 foot tall hull?

Well, when lifting, we separate people into three categories; short, medium, and Bryce. Im in the short group. So we gather around the wall next in line to be hoisted up. After a bit of headscratching and bolstering up the courage to move the wall, we sigh. Bryce begins with a short synopsis of the plan to get it up the boat and mentions whether its breakable. Then he gets at one end of the wall and everyone else sorta sidles up around the wall awaiting instructions. Unfortunately, we are never evenly spaced so we have a few minutes of ordering people to places, much like a seating chart. Then we are ready to lift. And one, two, three, lift! Up goes the wall, and much grunting ensues as we walk towards the hull. Perhaps we spin the wall so that Bryce is at the front, but only by instruction. And lift! Bryce, with the meager help of everyone one in the medium category lifts one side to barely above the edge of the hull. Careful not the drop the other side to the ground. Short people lift with lumber to extend their arms, or run around the boat to help from on top the hulls. That route takes us up the eucalyptus ramp, onto the upper hull wall, down the makeshift steps, over the other walls lying on the floors, and over to the edge where we can see a bit of the wall sticking up over the side. Our job is to lift on the top edge while the others lift from the ground and pull the wall onto the floors. As the wall moves more onto the floors, medium people come up to help the short people. But we all must remember to not break or bend the wall. And those on top the boat must watch out for all the foam pieces and to not step on the other walls. Place the wall in the correct place with foam underneath it. Then gather around the next wall and repeat the process. Its really fun with bendy walls. They can look like this ~ sometimes getting them onto the boat. But with the bends spread out a lot more than that symbol.

We are beginning to realize that almost all the phrases we use to describe movement and direction are in fact colloquialisms not found in Ugandan vocabulary. Such as “move down” or “spread out evenly” or “what are you doing there?!”. Ah the joys of English and engrish coming together.

homesick

I live in a land not my own. In a place where I don’t belong, but to live and work for a time. In a land where the customs and rituals make no sense. Where the people have different ideals and desires than i. I do not understand these people. I live among them but do not live as they do. I tell them stories of the land I long for, and I see it sometimes sparks longing in their own eyes. My heart abides in another land. i long with indescribable longing for my own land, the one where I belong. I know that I will see it soon, and that knowledge is enough to comfort me. But for now I sojourn in this foreign land.

pics

more photos for your enjoyment. so enjoy

party

This Sunday the pastor returned. This time the service started early to make time afterwards for the party. The pastor has been gone for a long time in America so I expected the party to be large and exuberant. I didn’t expect what actually happened. Worship started as usual. Dancing, singing, kids wanting to sit with me. And as we listened to one worship leader expounding on prayer, a growing commotion outside slowly grabbed the attention of the church. Shouting, yelling, celebrating. The parade of Ugandans in brightly colored clothing poured into the courtyard outside. The speaker announced the arrival of the pastor. The parade entered the front of the church to shouts and singing. So many colors on the dresses. The singing people drowned out the loud speakers. The parade circled around the front of the church. Around and around singing “praise God, thankyou jesus.” Or something like that. The woman next to me was kind enough to translate what we were singing. The only reason I figured out which one of the paraders was the pastor was from the way he held himself. Almost as if this welcome was too much for him. I don’t even think the body language was intentional. Right after his parade came the Americans. Somehow I was asked to come up front and sit with the other Americans as one of the special guests. Guess what my question was? I asked if I could take the kids who were sitting with me. So me and the 2 little girls were escorted up the front seats. The girls took turns sitting on my lap. We watched various people or groups singing in honor of their pastor returning. One woman was very good, the pastor and his wife got up and sang with her. The man next to me informed me that this woman was their daughter. So I took a picture of the public reunion of a family. Reverend Dorsey gave an excellent sermon.

I wanted to tell these people that before that morning I didn’t think they could express anymore joy in their singing or dance with more feeling. I was wrong. All I could think about was David leading his people and the ark back into Jerusalem. Imagine the rejoicing. Imagine the love and joy. Do you ever feel so happy you could just get up, shout and dance for joy? These people experienced this, and they gave vent to these feelings. They wouldn’t stop praising God for the safe return of their beloved pastor. Oh that Americans would show a tenth of the joy these people expressed. Quit worrying about how you look and just dance for joy. The day was about the pastor. Even the kids knew that.

The service ended, but most people stayed in waiting for the party to start and the lunch to be served. Us Americans went out to the courtyard among the kids for some air and a little quieter area. There were easily 100 kids in the courtyard, all trying to touch one of the Americans. I started taking pictures of the kids. They all crowded up to the camera. So I would get a group of them and tell them to stay, back up a few feet and try to take a picture before they all surged forward. Then I would show them a picture of them. So much fun to these kids. I got several pics of the other Americans entertaining groups of kids just by their looks. I spent some time coaxing kids away from each of the Americans so they could have a reprieve from the constant touching. And I found that several of the kids are ticklish. Evil grin.

The church service ended at about noon. We finally ate at 4. Until that time, the people were singing and dancing or watching others sing and dance. For 4 hours. Wow these people love celebrating. Finally we came back in to eat. The table with the guests of honor were served first. A woman with a pitcher and basin went around so we could wash our hands. Then the plates of freshly cooked Ugandan food appeared. I could see some of the servers getting worried till one arrived with a small plate of forks for most of the Americans. They hadn’t figured on anyone needing to eat with anything besides their hands, so they had to go find forks somewhere. Seeing the shortage of forks, I opted to eat with my hands. Pastor Wilson was so surprised and kept asking if I was ok eating like that. About 5 o clock rolls around and some Americans have a flight to catch. The rest of us piggy-back on that excuse to leave the festivities early. Church lasted 7 ½ hours for me that Sunday. Don’t get me wrong, I love celebrations. Just not for 7 hours in full view of the congregation.

Welcome home pastor Wilson. Your flock missed you. Cant you tell?