Mitooma Ministry Excursion - to western Uganda
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| Dinner by Lantern Light |
“This is a night to remember,” commented Mr. Guthrie as a
group of eight of us sat in the dark, lantern-lit guesthouse at Masaka. Over
there in the kitchen a few people stood frying chapattis for supper, over here
at the table Andrea and I bent over our reading and homework by headlamp, and
nearby at the counter another person worked to light more kerosene lamps to
compensate for the night’s power-out.
All around the shadowy room grasshoppers flitted through the
air, clattering against the walls and furniture. The noise of their crunchy
little bodies thumping along the roof as they flew sounded much like the music
of snapping fingers. Occasionally another noise would contribute to the
evening’s atmosphere: the piercing cry of one surprised to feel a
grasshopper becoming tangled in one's hair.
It was Friday night. We’d arrived in Masaka after a 2-3
hour drive that afternoon out of the city and through farmland, villages and
even some tall, vine-entangled forest. Evening had already set in by the time the
land cruiser and its squished group of the three Guthries, Jordan, Dr. Pysar,
two other Bible College teachers and Yours Truly reached Masaka’s
well-populated streets. We turned onto a quiet road and parked at the Yesu
Akwagala guesthouse just in time for the lights to flicker out, leaving us
completely in the dark save for the kerosene lamps and the twinkle of fireflies
outside. A couple of times the lights flickered on; when they died out
again a groaning sound could be heard outside from the rest of Masaka’s
disappointed residents. Yes, Friday was a night to remember.
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| Mr. Guthrie and Dr. Pysar declare Western Uganda to be just about the prettiest part of Africa they've ever seen |
The next morning, Saturday, we struck out after breakfast
and a devotional to continue our journey west. Mrs. Guthrie and Andrea stayed back
in Masaka, but we picked up one more passenger, the pastor from Mitooma, at a
village down the highway. The scenery grew more and more beautiful as we
traveled: undulating green hills carpeted thickly with lush farmland, tropical
trees, patches of pine forest, stands of maize and plantations of coffee, tea
and bananas. The views of certain valleys we drove through along the way became
so striking that at times just looking out the rain-spotted window was enough
to make one forget to breathe.
At around noon we detoured off the highway, tackling a hilly
dirt road through several banana plantations to see a certain hot springs.
Parking before a papyrus-banked river, we stepped out of the land cruiser and
looked at the bridge over the river between the vehicle and the hot springs. I
believe “three sticks” is the wording Dr. Pysar later used to describe the
make-up of the bridge. Crossing the bridge made for an intriguing experience as
it was, but walking towards the hot springs was even more foreboding.
White
steam, rising among black rocks set in the pool, twisted up through the forest to
meet a gray sky. A small cluster of humanity lounged amidst the sulfuric
waters in between. They don’t worry too
much about clothing right here, do they? I thought, mostly trying to keep
my gaze on my sandals. This worked out for the best anyway, as crossing the
slippery walkway of dirt bags across the hot springs required the payment of
some extra attention to footing.
Having sufficiently touched the water, confirmed its
“hotness” and seen everything we needed to—including the little heart-shaped
rock pool people pray before (a superstition based out of the strong
Catholicism in this particular village), we tiptoed back across the stick
bridge to the vehicle. The land cruiser didn’t stop again until pulling into
the hotel parking lot in Mitooma, where Mr. Guthrie checked us all in before we
headed over to the pastor’s house. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in a living room along with a group of pastors from nearby districts, together staring at the largest heap of matooke (boiled, mashed banana) I’ve yet seen. Everyone had come for a miniature
pastors’ conference to be held at the church that night, but first: a feast.  |
| From top, clockwise Matooke (the yellow blob), rice, groundnut sauce, chicken, beef, millet (the brown glob) |
With most of us left too satisfied to move, Mr. Guthrie
suggested we walk to the church for
the conference service. That was fine by me, as the journey meant a stroll through
a lush banana plantation. (For some reason I find large groups of banana plants
to be ridiculously compelling; don’t ask why.) But when we arrived at the
church, we found a surprise awaiting us.
“Can you guys do a session for the kids tonight?” Mr.
Guthrie, surrounded by a cluster of kids, smilingly turned to Jordan and me. Um…yes? When you’re asked (told) to do
something like this, you’re generally supposed to play along! What in the WORLD am I supposed to do to
fill a whole evening’s worth of children’s ministry!?! I prayerfully
panicked to myself over opening worship. Missions,
the single answer came. A
missions-themed evening? I thought back to an old Donut Man video a few of
us had watched over popcorn and hot chocolate for movie night a couple of weeks
ago. It had aimed to inspire kids to be missionaries. I also remembered all the
kids’ sessions I’d ever sat through going to Missions Fest conference growing
up. Yeah, a missions-themed evening might
be just what the doctor ordered.
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| Typical scene from one of many villages we drove through |
I explained as much to Jordan in the short time it took to
follow the kids out of the church to the shade of an avocado tree outside.
Letting the benches they’d been carrying down from their heads and shoulders, the
kids set up a classroom for the evening while we stood and wondered what
exactly we were going to do.
Some sixty little eyes gazed up at us. Offering a sheepish
wave “hello” (at least that’s how I picture it now), I high-fived the audience
members who had never met a muzungu (caucasian) before. After an energetic worship time led
by the kids, I pulled out a balloon and began to tell the good old Jonah story routine
with a missions-y twist. (No pun intended…) “So God had a plan for Jonah’s life
to be a missionary to Nineveh…” After that Jordan came and gave a testimony
about what it’s like to be a kid and have a calling to missions. Somehow we got
onto the topic of helping people, and for the rest of the night ran with a
theme of becoming a person God can use by practising being a servant now.
“So what other ways can you help people?” Jordan asked. “By
fetching water for them!” one girl answered to my surprise. Makes sense, I guess… I pictured the
many children I had seen walking along the side of the road, yellow jugs of
well water on their heads. Over the course of the evening we also had the kids
practise preaching (reading aloud the story of Jesus washing His disciples’
feet) and praying for each other. The time actually went by fairly smoothly,
even if we were just making
everything up from one minute to the next.
“How long were we actually teaching for?” I asked later that
night as our group sat over huge plates of roast goat at the hotel. “We
were at church for two hours,” Mr. Guthrie answered. Serious?! Time flies when you’re having fun. But as we debriefed over
the wonderful-smelling meal, the coming of a new challenge came to my attention: “…and
Patricia can do both of the kids' sessions tomorrow too!”
I almost choked on my goat. My balloon and string routines
nearly exhausted…and two more full hour-long sessions to go? Uh-oh.
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