Mystery Solved!

I've been known to have my hands change colours according to the temperature outside. The colder the weather, the bluer my hands. A couple of days ago, I noticed this change in my skin colour was a little more extreme than normal; but because it's happened before, I didn't think twice about it.

Yesterday I started to get concerned. My fingers were a deathly grey-blue colour, and even my parents were questioning my circulation, etc. 

I should note that I get queasy talking about medical stuff. Not so much seeing it or experiencing it, but talking about it makes me feel like passing out. Once on a field trip to the hospital, I almost fainted learning about blood types. Medical conversations: no can do.

So talking about my circulation put me in a panic. I ran quickly to the bathroom and held my fingers under hot water for a bit, and that seemed to help, so again I assumed it must be the weather.

Today, however, I took a look at the palms of my hands, and felt myself grow nauseous. Again, a sickly grey-blue colour was spread all over my fingers and palms, to the point that it looked like my hands could just fall off at any minute. My first thought was, "Oh, my gosh, I'm going to die!"

I went to the sink to wash my hands with hot water, and I found my clue. The soap suds in my hands began to turn blue. Baffled, I kept scrubbing the blue off of my hands and watched it drip down the sink.

It dawned on me. 

I bought a new pair of jeans about a week ago- the kind you're supposed to wash a million times because of the indigo dye they're made with. 

I haven't washed them a million times, and I definitely keep my hands in my pockets like, always. 

So my indigo-dye suds and I went to knock on my mom's door... "Mystery solved!"

****

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:6-7, ESV

Sometimes I panic about things that are overwhelming in the moment, but in the end, God had it the whole time. It wasn't worth me worrying about... it wasn't worth the panic. Even real-life, scary situations are like that. God has it the whole time. Maybe in the end, it will just be indigo dye. Maybe it's something a little more serious, but in everything we are promised the peace of God in our hearts and minds when we bring our worries to Him. 

That's today's story. :)

<3, Robin

Living in Limbo (The Truth About Reverse Culture Shock, etc.)

It's been quite some time...

It's not that I didn't want to blog or journal in the last two weeks, but I've simply lacked words. Now that I've been back for a bit, I feel like I can gather my thoughts. Well, I'll try to, anyway. 

I came back to America with the expectation of "reverse culture shock" being difficult, sure, but I didn't know how. I thought I would walk into grocery stores and fall to the ground in tears because I have too much. (Walmart was a little overwhelming, I'll admit, but I skipped the dramatics.) What I didn't realize was that life here in America didn't pause when I left the country. Life continued; things changed; people moved, married, had babies. I was overwhelmed not so much by materialism, but simply by the fact that life had continued, both here and there, almost as if in a parallel universe. (How else do I describe this?!) There are so many differences in the two worlds, in the two lifestyles that continue moving forward, and words simply can't describe them. I guess only experience can. 

I was also really overwhelmed by the amount of white people. Just sayin'. 

There's a thousand little things that I never noticed changing in myself while I was in Uganda:

I have no concept of time. 

I eat slowly.

I walk slowly.

My accent keeps floating between Southern-Cajun and borderline British... I don't know. Lol.

In five months of living in Uganda, there's one common lesson that I learned, and I learned it multiple times. God is Sovereign. Life happens, and with it, all the good and the bad. Joy and heartbreak. Life and death. But God is still good, and He is still Sovereign. No matter how uncertain circumstances are, I choose to trust Him.

****

So that brings me to today. 

As I have seen people for the first time since being back, similar conversations happen:

"Hey! Welcome home! Was it amazing?"

And, it never fails: "When do you go back?"

It's like everyone knew I was planning to go back or something. ;)

Right now, I'm in a good season; naturally, that means it's actually a really awkward, confusing time of figuring things out- but I trust God, and therefore it's a good season. I've been calling it "living in limbo." It's the time where I know exactly where I want to be, when I want to be there, what I want to do... all that's left is the "How?" that so inevitably follows.

Jesus knows. I might be living in limbo, surrounded by life happening, but God is still good, and He is still Sovereign. No matter how uncertain circumstances are, I choose to trust Him. 

Love and prayers, 

<3, Robin

Jesus Sends Me Love-Notes

Today is my last day in Gulu. 

As you can imagine, I'm heartbroken. In service this morning, my emotions went crazy somewhere between worship and the announcement video. I had to say goodbye to people, and I hate goodbyes. 

On the way home from church, I stopped at the grocery to grab something quick for lunch. As I approached the bakery to see if they had samosas, three little girls walked up to me, each holding a fistful of flowers. They stretched their little bouquets up to me, not saying a word but smiling shyly as little girls will. At first I just smiled back and commented on how beautiful they were, but as they continued to reach them up to me, I realized that they were giving me these flowers. 

I don't know where the flowers came from, and I don't know where the little girls got the idea of giving flowers to a Mzungu lady at the grocery, but something inside me just knew. 

These were from Jesus. 

Each of the little girls shoved her fistful of flowers into my open hand and ran away.

A large group of people was standing in line at the bakery, and they watched the whole scene. The adults smiled at me knowingly, and one by one told me, "They just like you!" 

As I stepped into the check-out line, the little girls stood ahead of me, waiting on their older sisters to make their purchases. 

I couldn't resist the moment. 

They told me their names: Michella (left), Lisa (center), and Laura (right). 

With a wave and of course, a piece of chocolate for each of them, I thanked them again and told them good bye. 

And on the way home, I said thank you to Jesus. He sent me flowers through three beautiful little girls just to make my day better, to make a hard goodbye an even fonder farewell. 

Oh, Gulu town. How I will miss you. 

<3

"First sit!"

I now live in a culture that is known for what is called "Africa time." What that means is a super laid-back culture that lives in the moment. 

I guess when you think about it, living in the moment is the only thing that makes sense here. The past only proves how uncertain their future really is, so now is all most Africans feel they have to live for. This is often reflected in their monetary spending and lack of savings, but it is also, less obviously, seen in the way Africans soak in personal moments.

 In Western culture, time is of the essence. You show up early to work in order to prove you are reliable; you show up at least on time to a dinner engagement with a friend in order to show respect for that person; and if you're running late, you make a phone call and a long speech full of apologies (and excuses). 

Here, things are far more laid-back. Now, especially in bigger, more westernized cities, businesses and NGOs are striving to place value in being on time. However, the priority is still the moment you are in. 

So if you are caught up in deep conversation, you first finish your conversation. 

If you are at a restaurant eating lunch, you first finish your lunch. 

And if you are taking tea, you first finish your tea! 

Heaven forbid you ask for a to-go tea or coffee. 

The waiter will stare at you, mind-boggled, as if you had asked him for the moon, please, and a glass of milk?

He doesn't know you, he doesn't know where you are going or just how important this meeting is going to be. Yet he will reply, "First sit! First sit and take your tea!"

Obviously, whatever you are going to do can wait!

If somehow you manage you make it past the waiter with your to-go tea, people will gawk at you wherever you go. Why on earth would you not first sit and take your tea?!

You might even run into a bold stranger that will fuss at you. "You first sit to take tea!"

By the way, you don't drink tea here. You take it. You take any liquid you would drink. You take milk, water, juice (pronounced joo-iss here), tea, or coffee. 

Do excuse me. I need to take tea. 

<3

Greetings From Jeneth!

Remember Jeneth? 

If not, you can find her story here.

(I'm not going to lie... I feel really cool that I just inserted a link in a blog post. Who knew?)

Anyway, I went to Jeneth's house tonight to visit and eat dinner with her. She and I have gotten to be really good friends through working together and hanging out outside of work. 

This afternoon I took a boda to the hostel where Jeneth lives with other students, most of them going to Gulu University. Jeneth met me outside with a hug, then led me to the room where she lives. Outside her door stood a little charcoal stove, only knee-high, with a saucepan of boo (pronounced "bo"- a dark green, leafy vegetable resembling spinach) boiling on top. Jeneth showed me where to drop my bag, and then I sat with her outside to cook. 

We peeled and diced tomatoes, peppers, onions, and garlic, fried them and added them to the boo with some eggs. We broke spaghetti and fried it with veggies as well, and then let everything cook as we chatted. 

We talked of our cultures, we talked of our schools, we talked of our dreams.

As we talked of our plans and dreams, Jeneth asked me about my friends back home who have read her story, and she asked me to greet all of you.

"Tell them I am so thankful for their prayers," she said. "I am so glad that God can use my story to encourage people!" 

The boo turned out quite nicely, by the way. Perhaps I'll make some in the States. 

<3

Sure, We'll Call This Gumbo

What do you call it when you have a little bit of everything? Miscellaneous? Diversity? Gumbo? 

Sure, we'll call this gumbo. 

After all, in seventeen days I'll back in the great state of Louisiana. 

What you're about to read is gumbo, a little bit of everything, served over rice. 

****

I'm sorry, I must have blanked out for a sec... did I just type that I have SEVENTEEN days left in Uganda?! 

Oh, dear.

****

The past two weeks have been a blur, filled with:
spontaneous trips to Kampala for a week full of meetings, 

the concentrated group effort toward putting together new programs for Baby Watoto, 

the failed attempt of making chapati and getting hot-oil burns instead, 

getting called brown for the second time in my life, 

keeping a watchful eye on all this al Shabab stuff going on, 

discovering that soaked chick peas will sprout if you forget to cook them,

learning to drive a boda-boda (yes, you read that correctly), 

becoming a godmother again,

more time-juggling as my countdown grows smaller and smaller, 

more dreaming as the future gets closer and closer, 

and more praying for my computer than ever before.

All of the above I'll eventually get around to blogging about. I hope. 

****

I have a legitimate prayer request. 

Three weeks. That's all I'm asking: for my computer to survive three weeks until I can get home and back everything up. The poor old thing is dying a slow and painful death, which I knew before I came here, but I thought it would last a bit longer. It already can't live without being connected to a charger, thanks to its swim back in July, and now it's starting crashing for no reason, particularly in the middle of Skype with my parents, saving a document for Babies' Home, or something of equal importance. 

So, dear prayer warriors, I'm asking you to add my computer to your prayer list. 

I really, really appreciate it. 

 ****

The realization has hit me. I have just over two weeks left in this place which, truthfully, has become my home. I've chosen to come to terms with this, the idea of leaving my home, and I'm actually getting excited to see everyone. It's like the feeling you get when you're about to go on vacation- time to relax, see everyone, eat good food, breathe in humidity, and then return home. 

Because, of course, at the end of vacation, you do return home.

How could I do anything else? 


****

Thank you everyone for your prayers and support throughout these five months. It's not yet over, so keep an eye out for more stories. 

Greater things are still to come. 
<3, Robin

The Wake-Up Call

Believe it or not, it is completely possible to become desensitized even on the mission field in a third-world country. Routines become routines, and going to work every day often feels  like going to work at a daycare or a preschool rather than a babies' home for rescued children.

This morning was typical. I woke up at 6:00 AM, and then again at 6:30. ;) 

I got to work at seven and greeted the sweet little faces that came to meet me at the door. 

Josephine, the nanny in charge of that particular unit, handed me a little boy almost as soon as I walked in. 

Sweet Baby is round, with big round cheeks and sleepy eyes, and he is cutting his first tooth. 

"He's new," she informed me. "About seven months old, abandoned and brought here yesterday. He is fine, no sickness, so he can be with his friends. But because he just got here, we must carry him for a full twenty-four hours."

Baby Watoto has a policy that new babies are held for twenty-four hours upon arrival. This lets the baby know that they are in safe hands and are not going to be abandoned again. 

So starting at seven this morning, I carried Sweet Baby, whose name I cannot include for privacy reasons.

Sweet Baby has been on a three-hour-milk schedule, meaning that he gets a bottle every three hours. However, he has refused every bottle since he arrived. After the thermometer showed he had a high fever, I took him to "The Pharmacy," which is a room set up in the nursery unit with all the medical equipment you could need at a babies' home. 

Rose, the nurse on duty, began to shake her head when I described the situation.

"Momma has done badly to such an innocent little boy," she commented as she nodded toward Sweet Baby. "Mommas used to be such good people, taking care of everyone. Now they have turned hazardous." 

I had to hold Sweet Baby down as Rose pushed a feeding tube through his nose, and I wanted to sob as much as he did. 

With as good of a condition that he is in- well taken care of, not malnourished or abused- it could very well be that Sweet Baby is only lost, separated from a good momma. 

"Unless he is HIV-positive," mentioned a nurse. 

Oh, my God. Is that an acceptable reason to abandon a child?

After we left "The Pharmacy," Sweet Baby and I went for a walk. I held his feverish little body close to me, lulling him to sleep as I attempted to process. 

Lord, why? I asked in my head for the billionth time since I've been here.

"Can a mother forget the child at her breast? Even if she does, I will not forget you," came the silent response. (Isaiah 49:15)

Baby and I cried. 

Sometimes, routines become routines, whether you are in the first world or the third world, America or Uganda, a daycare or a babies' home. 

And then comes the wake-up call, reminding you of what you are doing and why you are doing it.

<3

How Cultures Colide: the Story of a Stroller

One of the roles of a volunteer here at Baby Watoto is helping where an extra hand is needed so as to keep the nannies in their family groups as much as possible. Each nanny has four or five babies that are "her" children so long as they are in that unit. In order to keep attachment issues to a minimum, volunteers are not placed within a family; rather, we do a lot of "dirty work" so the nannies can spend every possible moment bonding with their babies. 

Every so often, a baby gets sick enough that they need to be isolated from the other children. When this happens, we volunteers are placed as primary caretaker for the child until they are healthy enough to return to their family.

I'm convinced I'm now qualified to become a nurse, thanks to Baby Watoto. I know how to tube-feed a baby, check their vitals, convert their temperature from Fahrenheit to Celsius, take a stool sample, and keep an hourly chart based on their condition.

Last week I was in isolation with a little boy who has a rash and loose stool- reason enough to keep him away from the other children, but he feels fine and doesn't understand why he can't play with them. To keep him from boredom, I decided it was time for an outing. I changed him, packed a diaper bag, sat him in the stroller, and it was time to go.

Oh, Gulu town. The main road is lined with shops, and the closest thing it has to sidewalks is the shops' porches, with gutters, rocks, and sewer pipes between. 

In other words, it's not set up for a stroller.

Now in Uganda, as a Mzungu, you stand out. As a Mzungu woman, you really stand out, and as a Mzungu woman with a Ugandan baby, all eyes are on you. 

Now put that baby in a stroller and attempt these Gulu "sidewalks"... 

I returned from our outing with a resolution: when in Africa, do as the Africans.

Ugandan women wear their babies tied on their backs. A blanket or two supports the baby's bottom while his legs straddle his momma's waist. The blanket then ties above the breast and across the waist to form a scary-looking but surprisingly secure sling for baby. 

The next day, I decided to brave this culture collision.

So with Baby tied securely to my back, I ventured back into town.

These African women are on to something. Even compared to an American sidewalk-stroller experience, this is SO MUCH EASIER!!

As we walked back home, we were stopped with a thousand comments:

"Well done!"
"Thank you for taking care of this baby!"
"You are an African woman!"

One lady stopped me and gestured to Baby. "Your baby is black, but you are BROWN!"

I'm sure she meant white. I know she meant white. But for the first time in my life I was called brown, and I will gladly let it go to my head. 

I'm brown. :)

And an African woman. :)

And I'll never use a stroller in Uganda again.

<3, Robin

Restoring Dignity

Today has been an amazingly productive day, and it started this morning with a visit to Living Hope.

****

The war in northern Uganda affected everyone: men, women and children. Women especially suffered; when their husbands, fathers, and brothers were killed, they were left to support their families on their own. When the LRA (Lord's Resistance Army) raided a village, they not only abducted children, but they forced the children they had trained as soldiers to dismember and disfigure the women in the village. Sometimes it was punishment for guarding a child or hiding supplies from the soldiers, and sometimes it was for no reason except that the commander felt like it; but always, it was grotesque and cruel. Lips, ears and noses were cut off, the women were raped and then they were left in their pain, watching the soldiers leave with their children and belongings. 

Years later, many of these women have miraculously survived. However, they struggle with severe post-traumatic stress disorder, HIV, infections induced by their disfigurations, loss of children and family, and a loss of dignity. Although they survived, many of these women felt like they had no reason to continue surviving. How could life possibly be worth living?

Oh, the God we serve. He not only sees us in our misery, in our worst moments- whether it was done to us or we brought it on ourselves- but He redeems us... and He restores our dignity. 

"The key here is the word 'restore.' We are not giving them something new; we are restoring. What we are doing is just saying, 'God did not make you this broken, wounded, incapable person. When you were in the womb, God made you beautiful. He made you strong. He made you joyful. He made you capable.' Circumstances have taken that away and we are here to restore it."- Christine Lutara, Living Hope Gulu

****

So this morning, my room mate Amanda and I took a boda boda to Living Hope for a tour, and I am so very glad we did.

Living Hope is a ministry started by Watoto Church in 2008, I believe, to reach out to vulnerable women in the community- namely, the women affected by the war. When they first opened, they had 900 women to whom they gave trauma counseling, discipleship, literacy classes, and business and sustainability instruction. Living Hope employs the women in tailoring as well as the production of peanut butter. 

Living Hope also offers women who have been disfigured the opportunity to have reconstructive surgery in Kampala. Recently, ten ladies were able to have their noses, ears, and lips reconstructed, giving them a renewed sense of beauty and confidence.

Women work at Living Hope as tailors, making dolls, table runners and place mats, along with special orders.

A woman sews a doll

Women shelling peanuts, called "ground nuts" here, to make peanut butter.

Hope, supervisor for peanut butter production, Amanda and Jessica, our tour guide.

Hope labeling a finished container of peanut butter.

Jessica, our tour guide, and me

"The Living Hope Centre will be a place where vulnerable women will come and be redeemed, adored, cared for and given back their life."- Marilyn Skinner

"Living Hope- Restoring Dignity to Vulnerable Women"

****

And now for fun, culture facts! 

Remember Nokia phones? The ones that you had to press a number three times to text the letter you wanted, or use T-9 (which I hate)? That's the phone several of us have here in Uganda, and we have figured something out: if you talk with the back of the phone toward you, so the keypad is facing out, the sound quality is greatly improved. 

****

People have different names here. I know several people named Innocent, Peace, and Patience, and I've met a lady named Prudence and a baby called Happy. But today I met the winner.

Amanda and I were wandering through the markets looking at the dresses the women were selling. Seeing skirts that caught her eye, Amanda walked to a stall surrounded by women, and I followed. A lady stood in front holding a beautiful newborn baby. I work with babies; I couldn't resist. 

"Let me see your baby!" When I asked the baby's name, she responded, "She is called Fabulous."

Fabulous?

"Fabulous?" I asked. 

"Yes, Fabulous," she smiled.

"That's Fabulous!" I smiled back.

****

Thanks, everyone for your prayers! I appreciate them so much! God is doing amazing things through Watoto, and He is doing amazing things in and through me. I'm so thankful for all of your support. With thirty-two days left to go... thirty-two?!... I appreciate your prayers more than ever. 

Love and prayers!

<3, Robin

Oh, Nutella...

 After a crazy week of traveling to Kampala for meetings, going non-stop working on some new activities for Babies' Homes, experiencing the tragedy of losing a child (which due to privacy I cannot write about), and making the weary journey back to Gulu, I figured it was time to write again. 

But how on earth do you follow that last blog post?

As my momma answered, "With a light-hearted one."

****

I live in Gulu, Uganda. Now, follow me, Gulu is what you would think of when you picture a stereotypical African town (no, there are no lions). Dusty red roads, markets selling fresh produce, cattle and goats roam at will, people yell across the roads to each other, and it's hot. Like thirty-five Celsius hot. (Yep, Celsius. I don't know who I am anymore.)

Electricity in Gulu is unpredictable except for one fact: it will go out, and it will go out at random. Thunderstorm? Power's out. Sunny, great weather? Power's out. Construction? Power's out. No good reason whatsoever? Power's out. 

I say it like it's terrible, but it's really not. We don't have air conditioning to begin with (we sometimes have it in a car, and honestly it makes me cold and nauseous); and except the obvious need to charge electronics and the desire for first-world conveniences, we don't actually need electricity. It is possible to do almost everything without it. 

The one really bad thing about losing power for days on end is that the water tank runs out, and without power we can't refill it. Once the water is gone, it's gone. That means no showers, no toilets, nothing. 

Last night, for example, I showered and brushed my teeth with a 1.5 liter water bottle. 

So this is where I live. It's beautiful, it's rich in its culture, it sometimes is inconvenient, but there is one other consistent thing about Gulu:

You will always find Nutella at Pari's Supermarket.

Now picture this:

Pari's Supermarket is the size of a gas station convenience store. Six aisles stretch across the one large room, floor to ceiling, offering an extremely random selection of goods.

The first aisle offers juice, alcohol and baked goods like bread, cakes (not like chocolate cake- like tea-cakes, almost), and dadies (basically fried sweet bread). On the second aisle you'll find any other food they might offer, including peanut butter and tuna. Aisle three has coffee and spices, and everything past that is housewares. 

About halfway down aisle two, you'll look to your right. On the third shelf, right above the sardines and directly to the side of the olive oil, you will see a single row of glass jars with a familiar brand name: Nutella. 

Oh, how we sing praises. 

In the States, I wasn't even a huge fan of Nutella. Sure, I would eat it now and then, but I didn't allow it to become a craving or anything.

Here, it's my go-to snack of choice. It's always at Pari's, and it's cheap. If you're not looking for it, you will miss it, but it's always there. On a rainy, no-power night, I bring out my Nook (thanks, Aunt Lane!), Nutella and a spoon and I thoroughly enjoy myself. 

****

Let me update you on one other thing:

God has really been challenging me about making the most of this upcoming last (LAST?!) month in Uganda. He's leading me into a season of really seeking His heart and His will, and so I'll be giving up most of my social media for the month of October. I will update everyone via my blog from time to time, as usual, and otherwise I'll be back on Facebook in November. :) 

The days to come are bright and shiny but the days I'm in right now are treasures, too, and I don't want to miss anything. I want to smell and eat and soak everything up, even including the less-convenient days of no power. Stories are made in these moments.

Thank you everyone for your support! I am especially thankful for your prayers going into this next month, that I would be open to everything the Lord has in store. 

All my love,

<3, Robin