In a previous article I mentioned that I went to Uganda with my three teenagers, a friend named Dave Luch, his three teenagers, and my sister Mary Fallon.
In this edition I am going to talk about our visit to a village where white people had never been before…
My niece April and her husband Adam were on their second tour of duty as missionaries with an organization called WOMF.
At the end of their first stint they had rescued a little African girl named Sarah who was extremely sick. They got her medicine and nursed her back to health.
They even ended up bringing her back to the states where she shared Christmas with us at my home in Lake Orion.
When they returned to Africa, she was able to return to her family. Her father was the pastor of a village where Christianity was struggling to take hold.
April had planned a trip for us to visit Sarah while we were there. She explained that it would be a thrill for us, but the Africans would consider it a very high honor to have Mzungu (white people) visit the village.
Later, our interpreter told us that they believed it was a sign from God that he was showing favor on their village.
It was a two-hour drive through some pretty rough country, but we arrived in good spirits. As we piled out of the van the African children that saw us were astonished.
The adults had seen Mzungu before but most of the children had never been out of the village and therefore had only heard about the people with white skin.
The children tended to fall into two categories; they wanted you to look at them, or they didn’t want you to look at them.
Some of the children waited until you made eye contact and then they broke out in a huge huge smile. Or, you made eye contact and they immediately turned away.
And then there were those who wanted more than to just look, they wanted to touch your arm, or your face. And when they did I was immediately reminded of something.
We had been on Safari the week before and at one point we were surrounded by about 25 giraffes. They are huge animals that move majestically.
Their long legs make them appear to be moving in slow motion as they gallop across the field. We had coasted into the herd and came to a slow rolling stop.
They were so close you could almost touch them. And I wanted to. I really wanted to. I wanted to reach my hand out and stroke the leg that was only about 10 feet away.
I guess I just wanted the tactile sense in addition to the sight, sounds, and smells. I guess that was what the kids wanted too.
We attended a church service in a small square building made of oversized brick. People either lived in huts or in a building with this this type of construction. The further out you went, the more huts you saw.
There was nothing in the building except for a podium at the front, us, and just about everyone from their village. A number of the children came and stood by us and even held hands with us.
The girls in our group (Christine, Lindsey, and Hannah) sang a song and I spoke briefly.
The majority of the people did not speak English and I knew nothing of their language so I used an interpreter named Innocent. He was from the Congo but knew many languages.
It was funny though because I would say something and the whole group would immediately look to Innocent to see what I was saying.
Then I would wait for him and when he was done the villagers would nod their head (acknowledging not necessarily agreeing) and look back to me.
At one point they all started laughing. I wasn’t sure what the joke was as I had not said anything funny but Innocent informed me that they were laughing at him because his interpretation of something I said was incorrect in their language.
After the service we had lunch at the Pastor’s house. It was a rectangular shaped building divided into three rooms ? a bedroom, a living area, and a work area.
They cooked outside and had their bathroom (pit latrine) off a distance from the house.
We ate chicken, plantain that was smushed into something that reminded me of a mashed potato, some crazy bean type paste, and soda pop (yes they had bottles of soda in a box that reminded me of Town Club soda).
When the meal was over they asked if I liked the chicken. I told them ‘yes it was good, thank you.? Then they all laughed. Again, the humor was lost on me.
Innocent explained that it was an old chicken and they were laughing that I said it was good. I guess they thought this crazy Mzungu doesn’t know good chicken from old chicken.
The event would not have been complete without a trip to the pit latrine (I visited just about every one in Africa, I think). It is like an outhouse except there is no seat ? just a hole in the ground with a place to put your feet on either side.
Sarah took me out to theirs. She showed me that there were two holes, a ‘his? and a ‘hers.?
She told me I should use the one on the right. The building itself is made of something like a corn stalk and so you can actually see out while you are squatted.
I was concerned that some of the children might catch me in a compromising position but they respected my privacy and waited for me to come out. I got used to carrying my own tissue paper for just such an occasion.
Finally it was time to leave. Sarah hugged us all and said ‘good bye, I will miss you? in perfect English.
She actually spoke the best English in the village due to her trip to the states. The children and old women clung to us a bit as we piled back into the van, but eventually we got going and started our journey back to Kampala.
Everyone agreed that it had been a special time for both them and us.
To read the first installment in this series search keyword: African Adventure.