The first big event was already previously mentioned in the last blog: presidential election. All voters have to go back to their home districts for voting, so we gave the teachers and staff part of Wednesday and all of Thursday and Friday off to be able to travel for voting. The kids all asked me if I was going to go vote. If only it worked like that…I would have gladly voted against Museveni! There has been a sense of peace in this country for many years, and even though there is great corruption, the Ugandans are choosing the lesser of two evils. Rumor has it that Museveni has never technically won the vote, but when you pay people enough money, you don’t even have to waste time counting votes. As time neared Election Day, the country was desperately hoping for change, but most importantly, they simply wanted peace to remain. Leading up to the election, there were only minor riots and little bits of commotion in Kampala. BUT, the fear of terror was enough to make Kampala a ghost town on Election Day. Being far up north, not much directly effected me except one thing. All social media and mobile money accounts were cut off. My connection to the outside world and home was taken from me. This was a very sobering experience. Depending on the results of the war, I may or may not have had access to those things again. It felt as if a powerful force had taken all my control, and I had no choice–it was the closest feeling to being a captive prisoner as I ever want to experience. It truly was a humbling experience for those several days. I felt an empathy towards my fellow people. I now better understood what it meant to live in fear of a dictator. It was a kick in the gut about how much I take my American freedom for granted. I could have easily hopped on a plane and gotten the heck out of dodge. That wasn’t a possibly for any of these Ugandan people or children. The song that kept echoing through my heart during this time says:

It really hurt me that they were stuck, so I made a vow that if things went south in the country, God had placed me here knowing this election was going to take place, and there was no way I could leave my people stranded. Thankfully, peace remained for Uganda and everything was returned to normal when Museveni “won” again.

The day after the election took place, I slept in, had a good devotional, long workout, and leisurely breakfast. Couldn’t have asked for a more peaceful day off. Then came a phone call to one of the visiting American doctors currently living in my home. Little did I know, this phone call would shatter that peace. The hospital administrator said, “Doctor, we have an emergency at the clinic. There has been a man brought in from the community and he’s unconscious. Please come quickly.” Naturally, we all assumed the word “unconscious” means he had simply passed out. As the doctor moved around the house grabbing her equipment and getting ready, the doctor next door finished brushing his teeth. During these few minutes, as I was finishing my breakfast, I  had a thought that since I wasn’t busy, maybe I should tag along with them to help assist. (With “hostess” being one of my RG duties, I often try to make myself a presence around many facets of RG, so that visiting teams feel welcomed and know I’m accessible for help in all areas.) As we were walking to the clinic, we were lightly discussing the possibilities of what we might be about to face with this emergency. When we neared the clinic, I sensed the mood changing, and people were moving frantically with concern. Everything that happened from here on out was a blur in the moment, but yet, the memories are so vivid. The clinic was abuzz with many patients waiting to be seen, and the medical staff shuffled us into the treatment room. There we found the unconscious man lying on his side on the exam table. He was facing away from us, and the doctors rushed over and flipped him onto his back. I stood back out of the way a little bit, soaking in the situation. Watching. Thinking. Observing. The man was so skinny that you could practically see his skeleton, if it hadn’t been covered with a thin layer of skin. His eyes were open, but there was no life in them. No pulse to be found on any artery. This couldn’t be. Doc 2 started chest compressions. Doc 1 ran out of the room to go find a mask to give breaths. Doc 2 brought the mask in and handed it to me and left the room again. Doc 1 said to me, “Give me the mask to start the breaths and you take over compressions.” Before I even had time to think, I was pressing into the man’s chest. In CPR training, they always teach that you will break some ribs, but we’d rather have a person alive with a few broken ribs than dead. I cringed with all three cracks. Doc 1 said, “Now that you’ve experienced compressions, you’re going to do breaths, so get ready to switch.” Next thing I knew, I had formed a “C” seal around the mouth and nose, as my hand was cupping his face. It was then during the slow pumping of breaths that time seemed to slow down, and reality was sinking in. My adrenaline and heart beat were slowing down. I looked around the room at the two sons of this man sitting in chairs, watching the commotion like deer in headlights. Their father was dead and we couldn’t revive him. I was touching a dead man (for those of you that know me, this is a BIG deal). Doc 1 said we should call it. I looked at my watch, and said, “10:02 am. We’ve done all we can.” Doc 2 spoke through a translator with the sons to discuss what had happened. One thing you never see is a Ugandan adult crying. I saw it that day as these men broke down. I couldn’t help but weep with them. The body was covered and I left. So many thoughts going through my head that I didn’t even know where to begin processing. I was telling a friend here in Uganda that I felt so weird, because I didn’t really even want to talk about what had happened. This may sound funny, but I’m usually extroverted and like to talk through things, so I wasn’t really sure how to handle myself. She responded and told me about a devotional book she was reading. This is what it had to say:

(In response to the scripture reading in Matthew 14 when Jesus learns of John’s beheading.) Jesus sets an example for us all to sit with our sorrow. He could have easily kept moving in an attempt to distance Himself from sadness. Instead, Jesus sent everyone away and carved out space to pray in solitude. Deaths are defining moments in our lives. It serves us poorly to hurry past them. Slow down and be present with your emotions, and let loss do its eternal work in your soul through Jesus.

I took a few days to process this (which is why I didn’t post the blog right away). Death is ever-present in this country–poor health care, nutrition, disease, lack of resources and knowledge, etc. I truly believe that God does not put us through more than we can handle with His help. He brought me to this country, and He will deliver me through all situations that I enter into. I know the Lord used this to better equip me with understanding of the lives of the people that surround me. We are so blessed in America to have many ways to prevent and cure health/life problems. I saw and experienced firsthand what it was like to be helpless and have no control over death. Although I don’t know if this type of thing will ever get easier, I thank God for giving me a better insight into the lives of the people I am called to love.

In the time that I was taking to process this event, another unrelated, devastating event happened. (Sorry for adding another side note and extending this blog, but this fit along with the same theme and is crucial for me to tell.) Yesterday, when I was visiting my friends in Kampala, we went out shopping to buy a bicycle for me (HUGE shout out to the special people who gave an extra donation for me to have a form of transport other than my legs!). This friend and I then proceeded by Boda Boda to the market to shop for things for sponsor children, mine included. After we finished all of our shopping in the market, we got on bodas to head back to the school. The area was crowded and we were in the middle of a traffic jam. My Ugandan friend told both of our Boda drivers our destination, then she got on the first Boda and away she went. My Boda driver then asked me where we were going and I panicked because I didn’t know how to explain directions to him, and my Ugandan friend had already ridden away where I couldn’t see her. In my panicked state, I forgot to pay attention to my bag. I felt someone unzip my backpack. As I turned around I saw no one, but started to swing my bag from my back into my front. On the way around, I felt someone pull my wallet out of my bag. I saw the man slip beside my Boda and down the steps into the market. I immediately jumped off the Boda and chased the man through the market. I was shoving and pushing my way through and screaming, as everyone around me was yelling. It was all such a blur, but eventually I lost the man. I then panicked because I realized I was alone in the market and my friend had no idea where I was. By the grace of God, the good people of the market tracked down her Boda and brought her into the market to get me. It was all a whirlwind of foreign language and commotion that I understood nothing of. I don’t ever remember feeling so foreign, alone and aware of my skin color as I did in that moment. I was utterly helpless and felt no sense of control over anything. I couldn’t cry, speak, or even think. Every eye in the market place was looking at me, and the crowds of people were streaming in by the second to see what had happened. I kept my head down because I didn’t have the courage to make any eye contact. Embarrassment and shame took over me as I sat and waited on my friend to get the police and bring them back to the scene. Still no one spoke to me, but everyone looked at me. The rest of the day consisted of time at the police station, searching the market, talking to people who witnessed it, providing my information, giving statements, etc. I’ll spare you the many details of the day, but I will say that there is hope they know who did this and we know that all the thief wanted was the money. I’m grateful to not have been harmed physically, but my peace was again shattered. I am in no way mad at the people involved or the man who actually stole. I even thanked one of the men thought to be involved. Mostly, I feel violated, hurt, disappointed, ashamed and embarrassed. I know that the people of this country are wonderful people, but I feel sorry that the small percentage of bad eggs that ruin the reputation for everyone. As I was riding in the car on the way home, the Holy Spirit spoke to me: “Be still and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.” Psalm 46:10. 

I was graciously reminded that the Lord doesn’t always give us these trials to punish us for bad things we’ve done or to show us flaws about ourselves we need to change. Sometimes, He places us in these situations because He knows our heart and our ability to react in situations. I pray that He used and will use me through this situation to show that He is the one who gets the glory for all things.

In my wallet was a lot of money and all of my documents, including my passport. The stuff is all replaceable, but I’ve got a great challenge ahead of me. I desperately come before you and humbly ask for a special measure of prayer. I don’t want my heart to become hardened in any way. I want more than anything for the men involved to know that there is a God who loves them more than anything. He died on the cross to save them from their sins, and they don’t have to live life that way.

-Kelsey