Life in Uganda is hard. There is no running water and light for most people besides big cities like Kampalar or Gulu, so they spend many hours to carry a yellow water jerrycan and a day ends with sunset. Under the glazing sun, people walk a long distance, carrying woods, sugar canes, and water on their heads. It is a tough life.
One day I was walking in downtown Gulu. A boy who was carrying pineapples caught my eyes because he tried hard to push his cart over the hump. The road was muddy and it was drizzling; his endeavor seemed pointless for the cart seemed too heavy and not moving forward. My heart was already running to help him, and yet I was just looking at him, thinking that it was his part to overcome and I was a mere observer who happened to be there. I wondered how much toil and hardship he would have to take in his life.
As I have lived a month in Uganda, my longing is not just to be sympathetic or pitiful for the people but to be courageous to take part in their life regardless it is hard or bearable, sorrowful or joyful.
I am a Mzungu—white man—who catches people’s attention as well as an alien who is not used to living here. The status has given me many advantages, for instance, sitting next to the window in the incredibly crowded bus, taking the passanger seat while everyone squeezes in the back, and sleeping in a single bed while others share a bed. But, how often do I consider my advantage is others’ disavantage? When we drive a huge SUV in the streets, every time we leave not only dusts but also environmental footprints for others. There is a latent feeling coming from guilt not to be like the people living here. As someone points out, I who have lived in the developed countries and enjoyed the affluent life might never be able to live in the third world countries like Uganda. I see everyday my patience almost running out and complaint almost coming out.
Is it my limit? Is it ever possible to live with those marginalized, poor and suffering? How much could I give? Is it OK to play soccer with my cleats on while others are bare feet? Do I need conversion that changes every part of myself to overcome my limit? Many questions remain unanswerable.
Instinctively, I recognize that first of all I need to overcome the guilt not to be able to save all and immediately. I also see that need of the people is not all about material aids, rather, it is about being a friend to them—listening to their hurts, showing compassionate heart, and holding their hands. I might be afraid that how much I could share with these friends. Some ask money; some my e-mail address which I feel not comfortable to give for many differen reasons. I often notice that I have eyes of judgment and prejudice to scrutinize the people’s intention and to evaluate them. Although I feel lucky to get a haircut by paying $2, I also complain of the barber’s poor skill.
All these mixed feeling came at once when I was playing frisbee with St. Monica students. I have brought twenty four frisbees to Africa. I have taught many African friends how to throw it and shared the frisbees with them. I believed it was a good way to be a friend with young Africans. However, on the day I decided to play frisbee again, I desired to boast my skills and to satisfy my need. I threw a frisbee for a long distance and the students were hurry to catch which I enjoyed watching. For another long throw, one of the students who were chasing the frisbee to catch crashed into a metal pole. Her face was directly hurt—her forehead and front teeth. After receiving the immediate care, she was fine without major injury.
After that, I ran outside for a while that was my first long distance running in Africa. During the running, I realized that my pride and vanity hurt her. It was obvious that I enjoyed my way of having fun without recognizing others’ need. My way of being friendly could hurt those who are simple-hearted because I see myself self-centered in many ways. How small I am!
It is not easy of becoming vulnerable because you love. It takes away your ability to control and to predict that many Westerners are not used to. In Africa, I find myself struggling between my yearning to be a friend and my desire not to let everything go. But there is no other way until you open up yourself to others. If I truly love, I would be a part of the stories as well as the suffering that Ugandans experience day after day. Walking with these people is to let myself be a true disciple of Jesus who has the meek and humble heart.
“Take my yoke upon you and learn from me for I am meek and humble of heart” (Matt 11:29). It is the Word that guides, shapes and loves me. Even though I am quite slow to learn the heart, I pick myself up again and dust myself off and pray to St. Paul who boasted when he was weak, then he was strong in God.
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3.26 Copyright (C) 2008 Compojoom.com / Copyright (C) 2007 Alain Georgette / Copyright (C) 2006 Frantisek Hliva. All rights reserved."
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