Mama Suzanne.

I walked home with Mama Suzanne today. I was heading out for a walk and saw her leaving the Cottage and asked if I could join. And I tell you what, these Mama’s are amazing. They’re like the Grandmother on the front porch, always welcoming you in for tea and cut strawberries—which are somehow always already cut. And they’re like the supermom-multi-tasker who can twiddle her thumbs, cook dinner, sing you a song and juggle—all with a smile on her face. And they’re like the energizer bunny, who works all day, walks a lengthy distance home to care for her family, does some sort of beading, or handi-work to put her children through school, sleeps at some point and then rises early to walk into the same schedule the next day. And they’re like the prayer warrior at your church who always asks how she can be praying for you…and you know she actually does. And these are some of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen. (One small challenge with my Mamas today was that they spoke zero English. A lot is “watch and learn” here, but today it was especially so.

Anyway, Mama Suzanne and I walked into town and stopped at her church—a big, revival-like building with lots of Ugandan women standing outside dressed to the nines and preparing for their Thursday prayer time. Mama Suzanne told me about her family and history of moving from Gulu in 1989. We discussed “Girlsoldier,” a book I’m reading about northern Uganda (a lot of which references, Gulu, a northern city still severely war-torn…if people are living, they are living in refugee camps and the treatment of children remains massively abusive and tragic) and she further explained thoughts of the nationalist parties and warlords. Her husband was killed as a soldier, leaving her with four children (she’s since adopted another from Amani), each of whom live in Kampala, the capital of Uganda, about 90 minutes (by car or taxi) west of Jinja.

I asked Mama Suzanne if she was a Christian and she said, “Oh, yes,” almost like ‘how could I not be, given that I’m standing here talking to you?’ I asked if it was ever hard to believe God, given what she’s been through? She said absolutely not. Her profession as a Christian is one of faith, not sight, so that never could there be an atrocity so bad that it turned her from Christ, especially when she remembers His atrocity for us. She said she can not get discouraged when she remembers His victory—all she can do is wait and let the world know of Him while she is waiting. I told her her faith was larger than mine.

***

I met Titus and Freddy walking home for the orphanage. Both were handsome boys of nineteen. The asked about my job here and wondered if I’d be able to communicate more (guys are the same on every continent J). I asked they knew their names, or Titus’ at least, were in the Bible. He said, “Yes,” with a big smile, “and I am a born again Chris-t-eean, is not that ironic?” I laughed.

***

Home Would be Easier.

For a lot of reasons. And I’m wanting easier tonight.
I’m tired of being dirty. Even on my cleanest day, I’m dirty.
I’m tired of everything around me being dirty. Smells were nauseating at first, but now the realization that everything smells bad makes me numb to it.
I’m tired of being around tears.
I’m tired of everything I want not being simple to get.
I’m tired of walking down the street and everyone staring.
I’m tired of walking down the street and seeing men with guns in their hands.
I’m tired of poverty.
I’m tired of unfamiliarity.
I’m tired of feeling so many emotions.
I’m tired of not knowing the language—or money conversions, or idiosyncrasies, or street names, or …
Home would be easier. And I’m wanting the easy life tonight.