Untukmu Para Pengunjung

Sister Rosemary is a legend. She is the nun who runs St. Monica's. She is one of those people who has been to hell and back several times, and yet has an infectious joy. She is a strong, independent, wise, intelligent woman with a hearty laugh and an eye for fun. She told me she liked my cheekiness. I was blessed by just spending time with the sisters of the sacred heart in Gulu. I admire their simple life, their commitment to prayer, and their devotion to God. When I left I received big hugs, and they sent me on my way with a huge block of home-made cheese. I love cheese, and it's crazy-expensive in Zim. John and I have been melting it on bread every night. I have discovered that sometimes love looks like cheese.

Sister Rosemary also introduced us to the man who reminded me of God. He is an old man, and his photo is in our gallery. His daughter was captured by the LRA, and she disappeared into the bush where no one heard from her for years. This old man never stopped crying, praying, hoping, and singing songs about his daughter. She is back now. I just loved that image of the Father's heart. I think God is like that - loving His children, singing over us, always hoping and waiting for the day we will be reunited. My heart goes out to people who think of God as a harsh, punishing judge. I wish they could meet this old man in northern Uganda. Then maybe they would know...

I love these vodcast by common cast. Again they produce an informative explanation of how a new phenomena works.

While I was in Gulu, I stayed at St. Monica's Tailoring School for Girls. It is a school run by the Sisters of the Sacred Heart, and it is a school where young women can learn trades - tailoring, catering, secretarial, etc. Most of the girls are boarders, but there are some day-schoolers. Almost all of them dropped out of secondary school for various reasons (i.e. they were abducted from their homes and taken into the bush, they were orphaned, there were no school fees to continue education, they became pregnant, etc.) There is a creche on the premises for children of the girls, and some other children from the community. Some of the kids were born in the bush and their fathers are still fighting for the rebels. We visited the creche and interrupted their alphabet lessons under the tree to introduce ourselves. Kathy asked one class if they could sing a song for us. Immediately they all broke into this lively song, and when we asked the teacher the meaning of the Acholi words, she said, "Oh, this is one of our traditional songs. It's about how our fathers can't pay our school fees because they are drunkards." Our "head and shoulders, knees and toes" seemed a bit tame afterwards... I guess one thing that struck me about the kids was how innocent they all looked (you can see the photos in our gallery). It seems absolutely incomprehensible and evil to me that someone could look at a child like this; kidnap them from their home and family and force them to kill. When we saw giggling children in town it was sort of eerie - like seeing ghosts - it could have been them to have their whole childhood ripped away from them.

I was blessed to meet these girls, and to share life with them for a few short days. I admire their courage, their strength, and the way they are carrying on and persevering with grace. I was blessed to hear them saying the Rosary and repeating over and over "pray for us" "pray for us" "pray for us." I was blessed to play volleyball with them. I was blessed to sing with them, and to hear the rhythms of the drum and the shaker. I was blessed to share tea and beans in ground-nut paste with them. I was blessed to see how much faith they have in God. It seems that in North America, when things get tough, we blame God or doubt God. In Africa, when things get tough, people trust God and turn to Him. It would seem to be the smarter choice; and it's often the hope that's keeping people alive.

I've been interested in Africa's civil wars for a long time, and I've been praying for peace in Africa for as long as I can remember. For years, I have been praying for northern Uganda and writing letters with Amnesty International to important people who might be able to stop the 20 year-long conflict there. (I remember a couple of weeks after our church in Regent Park sent advocacy letters, someone asking me, "have we heard back from the president of Sudan yet?") In the summer of 2005, some of my friends started hearing about northern Uganda. The Gulu Walk phenomenon came to Toronto and raised some interest in the conflict. Torontonians like me, John, my dad and many others walked 12.5kms to get downtown and then sleep over, only to walk back the next day. This activity was aimed at raising awareness for "night commuters" - children in northern Uganda who were walking long distances into towns like Gulu to spend the night in what they hoped would be safety. For too long, children have been abducted from their homes, and taken into the bush to learn to be taught the art of warfare. Many were tortured. Some were forced to kill their family members or other children to ensure that they would be "owned" by the LRA (Lord's Resistance Army).

After years of praying and advocacy, it was quite incredible to actually arrive in Gulu; and to meet so many people there. Their stories enlarged my heart and gave me huge respect for people who have endured and survived by grace. I will write more on my experience later, but please join me in prayer - for real peace to be achieved at the peace talks; for physical, emotional and spiritual healing for all of the children who are trying to lead "normal" lives after their escape from the rebels; for those who are still in captivity...

Live performers have been receiving a lot of attention lately for all the wrong reasons.

Case 1. Enrique serenades another man.



Case 2. Akon throws person into crowd



In a live performance someone throws a bottle at Akon, he gets the person on stage and then dangerously throws them back into the crowd.


You are not just performing to the visible audience in front of you but also a larger secondary audience. Where Enrique I am assuming was playing in a gay club and that behaviour would have been looked at in a favourable light. In the harsh reality of Youtube the response has not been so complementary. Same with the case for Akon

Ah, back to normal life... when you become thrilled at the sight of a lit lightbulb because it means you have electricity; when you are thrilled that you can "chat" with your Dad or receive an e-mail from your brother; when your co-worker tells you she's going to quit next week because her current salary isn't even covering the cost of 2 weeks' of public transport rides; when the price of bread jumps from $10,000 to $15,000/loaf in the week you are away; when your friend confides that she can't afford vaseline anymore and so is using cooking oil on her skin - but is worried that people will notice the smell and make fun of her; when the "souvenir" you bring home with you for your African mother is pain medication; when everyone is genuinely happy to have you back. It's good to be home.

Uganda was awesome, and I have a lot to talk about, so it will be another post. For now, let me tell you about crocodile burgers. They are delicious (sincerely) - yum. Saturday we were at a reptile park in Lusaka, Zambia, and we got to visit the crocodiles and then eat them. I also got to hold a big snake and jump on a trampoline. Trust me, you don't really appreciate freedom until it is snatched from you.

On my flight into Lusaka I sat next to a very interesting man. He turned out to be the leader of one of the opposition parties in Zambia. He was giving me the inside scoop on some Zambian politics and business (he's also a businessman), and his views on corruption and leadership. Then he started talking about his family - his wife dying, his problems with one of his children, etc. and I felt like we were in a bit of a counselling session. He was very open, and a small part of me wondered whether he might be making it all up. Then we arrived at the airport, and he was officially greeted and started being referred to as "honourable." He had offered me a lift, so told me to stick close. We bypassed immigration authorities and went straight to the VIP lounge. He told me to give my passport to his parliamentarian assistant - "we have people to take care of these things for us." I was mortified that my bag was the last out of the plane, because it meant that these important people had to wait around! Then, this man's girlfriend turned up and wanted to drive him home, so he told the assistant and driver that they were to take me wherever I needed to go. I'm sure they were thrilled. I tried to joke around that I was their newest politician and the response was, "well you must be very senior!" I assured them that I am!

John took the bus from Harare to Lusaka and we met up there. We also met up with our friends Heather, Dave and Judith. This was my third continent to see Judith on. We met in Toronto on our MissionPrep training. The first day she was like, "did you come to Germany with a gospel choir? I remember you!" She had attended one of our concerts, and remembered my shiny white face! She now works as a midwife in a rural clinic in Zambia. It was great to see her. Dave was one of our teachers as MissionPrep. He is a humble, godly man, and was able to listen to us for hours. Heather is from our home corps, and brought a whole pile of letters that kids in Regent Park had written to us. My favourite was a child that wrote: "We miss you. When you come home, please bring a lion and a tribe!"

I feel like I lead an extraordinary life.