More Blogs

Many of you may not have known but Jaynie and Caitlin were posting blogs on their own blog sites the entire time we were in Africa. Sorry we did not let you know earlier and post them here. I would encourage you to go and read them at http://godblesstherains.wordpress.com/ and http://eyalama-yesu.blogspot.com/ Their writing is very good and both go into a lot of detail of some of the things we went through. Here is one of the posts from from Jaynie that I also had a large part in.

Hello again from rainy (thank you, Jesus!) Oditel!

It's Monday Aug 9th now, and I came back today from a weekend break in Soroti. Much has happened, so allow me to fill you in.

I need to start with Friday night, during our prayer time. There is a certain little boy named Gideon that has been on our minds lately. He has an ulcer on each shin that is literally eating his legs away. There is seemingly no cause (though we wonder if he's diabetic and if it's a circulation problem) and the medical clinic here has tried to treat him many times to no avail. Caitlin and Heather have been cleaning and bandaging the ulcers every day at the Carepoint, but it doesn't seem to be helping. To make matters worse, the boy, who is 12, refuses to make eye contact or speak when spoken to. Gideon, this poor boy, is Brian Strombeck's sponsored orphan.

Every night, we pray for certain kids and their healing. Friday night, as Brian prayed for his sponsored child's complete healing, I had the overwhelming feeling that the boy was possessed by a demon, and that was the root of his issues. As the others continued to pray for this and that, I was silently begging God to take back that idea, to tell me I was wrong, and to assure me there was no demon. But the more I prayed, the more certain I felt. I held it in till I felt like I would literally throw up if I didn't tell the others, and it came out in a rush: "Okay, I really need to say this right now . . . I feel like Gideon has a demon and that's why he has ulcers and that's why he's mute."

The news was met with shocked silence. Then Brian reminded me that two days before he left, he felt very strongly that we would have to cast out demons. Because of that, I have prayed for God to reveal the demons to me . . . And He did.

Our prayers switched to asking for protection, confidence, and peace when dealing with the demon the next day at the Carepoint. We decided that Brian and I would handle it. We prayed that our very presence, and the blood of Jesus that flows through us, would cause the demon to flee the boy immediately, without a fight. We prayed for protection from the spirits around the compound who would surely try to steal our peace, now knowing that we knew about Gideon's spiritual warfare.

After we were done praying, I got out my bible and flipped to every account of Jesus casting out demons and read them out loud. To my surprise, I realized that, with the exception of one case, each demon possession recorded told of how the demon caused the human they possessed to be completely mute, and many times caused physical afflictions to harm the person. In the one exception, the demon spoke through the person, so the person himself was still mute. Crazy, right?

Now for some background. I've dealt with demons before. Without going into detail, in my later teen years, I had a demon that "haunted" me (and only me) in my childhood home. After a year of scary happenings, I finally told my mom, who went into the basement where I slept (and where all the hauntings happened,) and excorsized the demon in Jesus' name. He never came back. My mom also shared the times she's dealt with the demonic, and I read books and did research on other people's experiences, so even as I teen, I was fairly well-educated on how the demons did their work. I have also had friends, who felt there was demonic activity in their selves or their home, ask me to excorsize their demons, and I have, with confidence that comes only with the name of Jesus Christ.

Nowadays, I deal with demons only in my dreams. Every so often, I will have a demon show up in a dream, and it will be very real, and very scary, and very much like any other demonic work I've experienced or researched. There will be the heavy, telltale spiritual oppression, and a sound of rushing, uncontrollable static-type wind, and the demon will be there, sometimes taking form, other times just in presence alone. In my dream, I have to cast out the demon, and every time, it involves screaming into the loud, rushing wind "I cast you out in the name of Jesus Christ! I bind you and throw you back to the pit of hell! In the name of Jesus!" And the more I yell, the heavier the oppression is, and the less powerful my voice becomes, till all I can do is say "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus . . . " over and over till the demon is gone. It always leaves. I always wake up the moment it's gone. But I never wake up afraid, only thankful.

I had this dream again before we left, within 2 weeks of leaving the country. When Brian told me he felt like we'd have to cast out demons in Africa, I told him I felt like I had been preparing my whole like to do it, and shared with him my recurring demonic dreams.

When Gideon's demon was revealed to me during our prayer, I wasn't afraid. I felt calm and confident that we'd be able to cast it out with no issues. I went to bed excited, but once the room was dark, I began to feel the spiritual oppression that I feel often here at night. I prayed against it and tried to occupy my mind with things other than the demon I had to face the next day.

A couple hours later, I found myself deep into a dream where the six of us went on a mission to find Gideon's demon and cast it out. It was long, intense, detailed, and very, very frightening. I won't go into detail. When I finally found the demon, I found, as usual, my voice losing power as I tried to cast it out. But Brian repeated my every command in his deep voice, and in the end, after the demon was finally gone from my dream, the 6 of us chorused "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus . . . " And then I woke up.

My heart was racing. I was sweating profusely. I tried to control my breathing so I wouldn't bother Caitlin, who was tossing in the next bed. I prayed and prayed, but the feeling of the spiritual oppression didn't leave me. I felt like the demon was right outside my mosquito net. I tried to think on the power of Jesus' name, so that my very thoughts would scare the demon away. In the next moment, I felt a hot breath of air on my arm, like a heavy sigh. I assumed it had to be my breath, so I tried to replicate it. My breath didn't even reach my arm.

Sufficiently freaked out, I rolled over away from where the breath came from and found myself whispering "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus" while tears filled my eyes. Caitlin heard me speaking those same words in HER dream, and woke up enough to say, "Jaynie! Are you okay?"

"No!" I said. "Did you have a dream?" she asked. She also knew about my demon dreams, so when I said "Yes" she already knew what had happened. She prayed out loud for the power of Jesus to come into the room right then and there and rid us of any demonic presences. When she was done, I let out a huge sigh and thanked her. I then silently praised God for waking her up right when I needed her.

I decided to plug my earbuds into my Blackberry and listen to worship music till I could fall asleep again. Even then, during almost every silent pause between songs, there was a pound on our roof. This happened almost every time. Then, two hours later, I finally shut off the music so I could fall asleep, and within a few minutes, there was a loud knocking on one of the doors outside our room—maybe at one of the huts near-by. It was like a "police knock"—the kind where there are loud, short, forceful pounds on the door that echo in the night air. I took comfort that it wasn't MY door, and since it was almost 5am, I was sure there was a reason, or that at least someone else would hear it and explain it to me in the morning. I finally fell asleep about 3 hours after the dream woke me up.

The next day when I asked, Caitlin said she heard the pounding on our roof, but NO ONE heard the knocking, and everyone claimed it wasn't their hut that had been knocked on. I have no explanation for it, but I know what I heard. Brian did say he woke up at some point, not knowing what time, and said he had the urge to pray over my dreams.
Soon enough, it was time to go to the Carepoint. I packed my bible in my purse, just in case we needed it, and prayed constantly over the inevitable confrontation with Gideon.

When we got to the Carepoint, we set up shop in the church hut and began helping Caitlin conduct a medical history for each orphan. Deb and Brian were doing height and weight and Heather was doing blood pressure and pulse. I was holding (once again) a sleeping Daniel, who found me immediately and decided it was time for a nap (that sweet, wonderful, loving, precious, life-giving little boy.)

I watched as the older children filtered through the room. Eventually, I stepped outside to give a deworming tablet to a couple kids we missed. Within moments, Brian came outside and walked up to me. "Gideon is in the church," he said excitedly. "Okay, let me find a pastor," I told him.

I found Pastor William, an older gentleman with about a dozen beautiful daughters, right away. I also asked Joseph, the discipler, to come with us to interpret if needed (Pastor William's English is weak.) I briefed them on the situation and what had been revealed to me the night before, and both men were like, "Okay, let's go."

We went into the church hut and Joseph asked Gideon in Ateso to come with us for prayer. Then we went into the church's "all-purpose" hut, where the women's prayer team was STILL fasting and praying. Pastor William had the boy sit at our feet, and then told the women why we had come. He explained that the Lord had revealed to us a demon that was working in Gideon, and that we wanted to cast it out and pray over Gideon for protection and healing.

First, Pastor William said, we needed to sing a song of prayer. I forget the exact words, but the song asked for God's spirit, annointing, healing, and love to come down, down, down from Heaven. It was the perfect song, and since it was in English, Brian and I could sing along.

Then, the prayers began. The women, fervent prayers that they are, stretched out their hands and prayed in Ateso, some wailing and crying as they petitioned for the boy. Pastor William prayed quietly in English. Brian and I laid our hands on him and waited. Finally, Brian, in a voice filled with emotion and power, cast out the demon with confidence and finality. I joined in, claiming the blood of Jesus in the boy's life, and commanding the demon to leave and NEVER come back. Immediately, peace came to my soul. We then prayed for protection, for healing from his ugly ulcers, for the boy's mouth to be opened, for him to be able to look us in the face, for his family to be blessed, for him to find joy and laughter, for the spiritual oppression to be lifted forever, for every bit and aspect of this precious boy's life.

This whole time, Gideon sat at our feet with his legs crossed, his face down, showing no emotion. I tried to put myself in his place, but I couldn't imagine what he must be thinking.

When the prayers were over, Pastor William again addressed the women in Ateso. The women then told us that Gideon's mother is dead and he lives with his father, and is the eldest of 4 boys. They said that many times, spiritual oppression is passed down from generation to generation, so he may have other demons at his homestead. Brian asked them to go to his home and pray, and they agreed.

Brian then spoke to Gideon directly, in English, and took his hand in his. Gideon, for the first time, looked Brian in his face, and then took his hand back when Brian was done speaking. Brian asked that Pastor William tell the boy that he is sponsoring him. Pastor William did, but the boy's expression didn't change. Then one of the women chimed in, and the most beautiful look I've ever seen shone in Gideon's face, and he smiled (for the first time) and took Brian's hand again. I asked Joseph what the woman said, and he said she told Gideon "This is your father from America. He is going to help take care of you. Look how he loves you."

I, of course, almost lost it at this point. Already there was a change in Gideon's demeanor. He spoke, though quietly, when he was asked questions, and he made eye-contact and smiled for the first time that we had witnessed. We left the hut with lighter hearts and the kind of hope that only comes from Jesus.

Today, I saw Gideon at the Carepoint, and the moment I looked at him, he looked me right in the eye and grinned at me with a smile that showed all his teeth. The sight of him and the obvious joy in his face just about took my breath away. "Gideon, my friend! How are you?" I asked. "I am fine!" he responded. I then watched him go and play with the other 12 year old boys with a lightness and joy that seemed nothing short of miraculous.

Later, when we left the church to go home for lunch, he followed us out and I said, "Gideon, you come walk with us." And he strolled beside Brian till we got to our compound.

Gideon is a new creature. The progress made is amazing. Brian is feeling called to spend one-on-one time with him during our last week here. Pray for Gideon, pray for his family, his father, and his brothers, and pray for Brian to build up and bless this boy so that he will know Jesus and live the rest of his life in peace, hope, joy and understanding.

Ahhhh, and that's the end of the story  Stay tuned to the next installment, which will include details of my exciting weekend in Soroti with Brian and Amelia!!

So long for now,

Jaynie Fawley

Home

It's been a while since my last update but I will have to fill you in later. I just wanted to let you know that we made it home safely yesterday, however Caitlin is staying in Uganda for another week to finish out a few things. Continue to pray for her safety.

Brian

Photos

Here are some photos

No Internet

Hello everyone.

Sorry there have not been any recent updates. Our internet access has been non-existent. Here are some updates from the past week.

On Saturday July 31^st I met with all of the coaches and leaders of the soccer league for the second time. There are two leagues, 8 teams in a 10-14 league and 6 teams in a 14-17 year old league. Games started on Wednesday and there will be one game every day till late August. Then there will be a tournament (all mzungus will be back in USA by then). They would then like to make an all star team and go play against Kapelebyong. The idea then would be that the league would start over.

On Sunday August 1^st we started a prayer ministry after the service very similar to how we do things at The River. All of the prayer was done by the local people with our support. Jaynie and I were a team with Pastor Emanuel and a few other women. There was also a 12 year old boy who layed hands on and prayed for everyone along with us. Eventually he even wanted to be prayed for. While praying for him I saw a very clear vision of a knight surrounded by fire slaying a dragon. The boy was the knight. Jaynie also had a vision of a soldier. Pray that this boy grows up to be the warrior that Janyie and I saw in him.

On Tuesday August 3^rd the Youth Association of Oditel hosted a farmers training day. They were expecting upwards of 200 people from all over the region. Some traveling up to 15 miles one way to be here. I will be providing lunch for everyone as a way to encourage people to come. I preached for about 30 minute to start off the training. I spoke on the value of community and used many biblical reasoning's to support my claims. The response from the pastors present and from all of the people was very encouraging. Everyone that attended felt empowered. The training was practical and hands on using the skills that they have learned in creating and maintaining the garden that Luke and Adam put in. The idea is that these people will use the skills they learn to train all of the people around them.

On August 5^th I was reading a chapter from the book When Helping Hurts. The chapter that I happened to be reading was on Asset Based Community Development. One of the things discussed in this chapter was taking an inventory of all of the skills and abilities that people in the community had. At the time I read it I didn't think much of it but later in the day it turned out to be extremely helpful… I was walking around Oditel during the time that the orphans are being fed at the carepoint. I ended up finding one of the pastors who was at the farming training and we chatted for a little bit. During our conversation I presented him with the idea I had read about that morning in my book. I suggested that they take an inventory of the skills and abilities that all of the people in the community have. Then group people with similar interests and skills together. So now rather than people being scattered all over trying to work alone, they could band together and share knowledge and possibly send one person to receive training and then come back and teach the rest of the group and hold a conference similar to the farming training to share their knowledge with the rest of the community. They are fully embracing this idea and making it their own. This has great potential to bring the community together and increase the quality of life here.

Currently I am in Soroti at the Elotu Josephs house with Jaynie while the rest of the team is back in Oditel. We arrived last night and had a great time visiting with Amelia and her friend from Gulu. We will head back to Oditel tomorrow morning. We probably will not have internet for a while so don't expect too many more updates from me.

Brian

 

 

Please Read

Our friends Amelia is a teacher at a school in Kapelebyong. We have been interacting with her the past few days and she shared this story with us this morning. Please take the time to read it. I know that it is long but it is a must read if you are helping the poor and needy.

A slow, thick summer breeze carried grimy city humidity down New York's Fifth Avenue. As a river of lunchtime crowds coursed around us, I stood with a chatty girl my age. With her clipboard, brochures, and pressed shirt, she looked identical to her co-workers scattered up and down the block. We were both sweating—she from the heat, I from the awkwardness of the moment. Knowing her ability to keep my attention would directly determine the success of her pitch, she told me about life in India; about how desperate the children were there; about how, for a price, I could support a child and be the change I wanted to see in the world.

After half an hour, I found myself signing her clipboard and turning over the number to my debit card. I walked away from her feeling like I had just done right, like I had done something that would make my parents proud. My girlfriend at the time later told me the way I acted on the street that day was one of the reasons she loved me—I was compassionate. 
Now, after spending the past year in Uganda living amidst the fallout of giving, I barely recognize the person I once was.

"I don't understand why we can't just deliver it."

Margaret, my Ugandan co-worker, was staring at me, a thin sliver of a smile veiling her disapproval. Between us at the edge of my desk was a stuffed envelope: a square, manila bomb that neither of us wanted to set off.

A few American visitors had stopped by our office and left the envelope with Margaret earlier in the day. They wanted her to give it to one of our organization's mentors, hoping that it would find its way to the young girl it was addressed to. The girl, a friend of the visitors, had no mailing address and lived in a village out in the bush. Margaret wanted to honor their request; I wanted her to understand why that would be difficult.

"And what happens then?" I asked. "What happens when we deliver this? Should the girl send a package back to the states? If so, how will she pay for it, for the postage?"

Margaret reached out and snatched the package off the desk. Before I could stop her, she slid her finger under the envelope's flap and opened it up. One by one and without saying a word, she removed a handful of items from the envelope—pencils, a small Frisbee, a packet of candies, a letter riddled with pleasantries and questions—and laid them on her desk, as if to say, See, nothing in here is a threat. Nothing. This gift is harmless.

"It's only a gift," she said, waving at the items spread out before her.

"I know, I know that," I said. "But it puts pressure on the person who receives it. The girl has to answer the questions posed in that letter. She has to spend money on a response, money she probably doesn't have."

Pause.

"And plus, passing this on to her feeds unhealthy stereotypes—the whole white-people-falling-from-the-sky-with-gifts-in-hand thing. It's dangerous if Ugandans equate white people with gifts. And who are these Americans anyway? Are they friends of this girl? What type of relationship do they have?" I had raised my voice.

Margaret stared back at me, unsure if she should respond. Flushed and uncomfortable, I wondered if I was being too harsh, if I was overreacting. Could a few pencils and a Frisbee really change the way a child thinks?

Giving to charity is often a straightforward, linear process. First, a donor learns of a situation that inspires him/her to take action—to give. Then, he/she passes money on to an organization. The organization takes that money and applies it to programs aimed at helping beneficiaries. Finally, program staff on the ground work with beneficiaries to pass on strategies or materials, the real world manifestations of the donor's funds.

Transparent as it may seem, this process has turned my adoptive hometown of Gulu, Uganda into a town at odds with itself, a place capable of churning out moments mired in philosophical conundrums.

For years, because of the way Joseph Kony and his Lord's Resistance Army (LRA) used this area as a staging ground for their decades-long war with the Ugandan people, Gulu has been sitting at the end of the giving process, acting as a goodwill receptacle for international organizations and private donors. Situated along a key trading route near the Sudanese border, Gulu has morphed from a quiet village into a bustling town in the last century. Its high population density made it a target for the LRA, a group that used child abductions to fill its ranks. In the late 1990s and early 2000s, with donor funds from overseas, NGOs began applying salves to community wounds.

However, just as the fighting here—the child abductions, the rapes, the stolen cattle, the middle-of-the-night murders—has scarred the lives of the Acholi, Langese, Karamojong and other northern tribes, the help that the fighting has sparked has also left a wound.There are scores of tangible benefits that have come from the area's NGO initiatives, but these programs—these vehicles for giving—have also delivered changes in the way people think, created often dangerous shifts in how people see their peers, their work, and on a larger scale, their position and potential in a stratified world.

"I was shocked when I saw my family not digging," my Ugandan friend Joseph said. "It was the start of the rainy season. 'What are you doing?' I asked them when I saw them sitting at my mother's hut. I asked, 'Why aren't you preparing your fields?"

He stared out at the black ribbon of asphalt ahead of us, a narrow road that connects Gulu to the nation's capital, Kampala. We had a few more hours to go before reaching home, and with a busted radio in the car, words were our only comfort. I waited for him to continue as he dug through the memory.

"You know, they had just returned from life in the camp. For ten years plus they were receiving food from the World Food Program. One of them said to me, 'We are not foolish. We decided not to farm. We are still waiting to meet the right NGO that will help us with food.' Tssssssk! Can you imagine?"

I told him I couldn't.

"These are farmers! And they were telling me they are not going to farm?! How can this be?"

The path that connects my house to the main road into town is a narrow, orange footpath that cuts through a gauntlet of brush before opening onto a small dirt road. Late for work, I trudged down it one morning, oblivious to my surroundings.Then:

"Excuse me, excuse me, sir." A short man in a faded and stained black t-shirt was walking next to me, smiling. "Good morning, sir," he said, extending his hand. We shook.

"Do you remember me?" he asked. I stopped to get a better look at him.

"No."

"You said hello to me just up the road there. It was a week or two ago I think."

"OK," I said, unsure of what he was getting at.

The man leaned in close. He had a gap between his two front teeth that was so large I wondered if it was actually a space where an extra tooth had once been. I suddenly became aware of the possibility that this man had been waiting for me to pass, that he'd studied my morning routine and planned this encounter.

Whispering now, he said, "Well, actually, I was hoping, uh, that you would maybe be my friend." Pause. "I think we would make very good friends. We could spend time together and talk. We could give advice to each other, just like friends. In my heart, I know you to be a very nice man." Saying this, his voice rose a bit, making his sentence sound more like a question he was asking for the first time.

Reflexively, without giving his request any thought, I started shaking my head. "I'm sorry," I said. "Thank you for the compliment, but I'm sorry: I can't be your friend. I know this sounds strange, but this is not the first time people have approached me like this."

I explained to the man how more than a dozen Ugandans have started the same exact conversation with me before, and I told him, too, how many of those people later asked me for money to help pay their kids' school fees or buy bus tickets to Kampala. The man protested at first (No, no, you have me wrong—I'm not like those people) but eventually he smiled, wished me a good day, and left.

Later, feeling horrible about the way I brushed off the man, feeling like life in Gulu had turned me into a cold stranger to myself, I talked to Sarah, a Ugandan co-worker, about my response. "Was I being too harsh?" I asked.

She laughed.

"No, of course that man wanted to be your friend so he could get things from you—money or a ticket to the US, probably. Ugandans never speak that way to other Ugandans. It was OK that you walked away. Really, it's OK."

Sarah also told me about 'pen friends': about how when Ugandans get an American pen pal, they start writing letters with only the culmination of the relationship in mind. "In Uganda, if I have a friend writing letters back and forth to me, in my mind, I think, OK, now I have someone who will help me in the future. Letters usually lead to more," she said.

I thought back to the letter the Americans dropped off, to the envelope and the conversation I had with Margaret. I wondered how many people in the developed world stumble into these types of relationships. How often do we give and, in the process, let our good intentions pull us right into the snares of complications we didn't bargain for?

Here in Gulu, many Ugandans see white foreigners as inherently wealthy, perpetually ready and wanting to give out a couple of bucks or a free meal. In turn, these foreigners—often development workers like myself—doubt Ugandan advances of friendship and question motives. Some Ugandans try to 'double-up' on support from different NGOs or attempt to embellish their personal histories to meet vulnerability criteria on applications; others like my friend Joseph's relatives are left with crippling dependencies after a program's phase-out.

One NGO in town that was providing thousands of scholarships to high school students across the North scaled back their operations last year. With other local organizations unable to 'absorb' the now scholarship-less students, hundreds of kids were left scrambling for school fees. I came home one day to find a white envelope waiting for me by the front door. Inside I found a portrait of a teenage girl and a letter written so perfectly it must have been drafted a few times. The girl in the photo, the letter's author explained, needed help—'just some small money'—to pay her school fees. For days afterward, I couldn't help but think that high school kids who waved to me as I passed were simply hoping to lay the groundwork for a relationship that they could eventually tap for assistance.

Of course, cynicism doesn't shade every relationship here. Genuine friendships between foreigners and Ugandans are not only possible: they are common. As an employee of one of the NGOs in town, though, as someone who is here working for an organization that aims to help people, I'm torn: I see how giving both supports and smothers people. Seeing this duality manifest itself in my community, realizing that giving is in fact a murky, perplexing act, has changed me.

I feel as if my empathy has been worn raw. Even living amidst a tangle of organizations that work to help people, I have been flooded with stories of physical abuse, children succumbing to sickness, and lost educational opportunities. I cringe now when I hear of new start-up NGOs taking root in town, immediately questioning their audacity and level of experience; I don't flinch when students I am interviewing tell me about the way their parents were killed or raped; the sight of beggars in town—even the one with a thick stump for a leg who carries around his miserable plastic bag of mixed food scraps—stirs up not feelings of pity within me, but surges of frustration and anger; sometimes when kids see me and immediately ask me for money or pens (echoing the met demands they've made to other foreigners in the past), I stop in my tracks and, thinking out loud, ask, "Why? Why should I give anything to you?"

The trees lining the road by Kaunda Grounds trap the clouds of dust kicked up by passing cars and trucks. After a few rain-less weeks, the road is perpetually cloaked in a thick, reddish haze. Walking home on this stretch of road at the end of the day, as I was doing, is a gritty, eye-squinting ordeal.

A motorcycle emerged from the haze and screeched to a stop by my side. Both bike and driver fit the profile of one of Gulu's hundreds of boda bodas, motorcycle taxis that take people around town.

"Where are you going?" the driver asked.

"Near Holy Cross Church, across from the prison," I said.

"OK, let's go," he said, nodding toward the back of his bike. I hopped on and he sped away.

As we were driving, my hand raised to shield my eyes from the dust, I thought about a conversation I had had with a boda driver a few weeks before. The driver had asked me for money to help buy school uniforms for his kids. As I had done before in similar situations, I apologized and explained I couldn't help him. The irony of the situation, however, was glaring: here was a person canvassing on his own behalf, asking for support in-person, and I was refusing to engage. Yet years before, someone on the street in NYC was able to get me to support a person in India I had never even met. I thought about how Gulu had numbed me, anesthetized me to the stories of brokenness that once surprised and saddened me. It took more now to convince me of someone's misery.

When we reached my house, I pulled out my wallet and, before I could find a thousand shilling note for the driver, he smacked at the wallet in my hands. Startled, I backed away from the man.

"No, no. You don't need to pay me," he said, laughing.

I was confused. "What do you mean?" I asked. "Why not?"

"Because I'm not a boda driver," he said. "I'm just driving home. You don't need to pay me."

A few weeks ago, I decided to make a donation to a charity on my girlfriend's behalf. The charity—one she likes that provides people with clean water—applies 100% of its donations to program-related expenses (all administrative expenses are covered by a few wealthy donors). The organization has a straightforward website and forces local beneficiary communities to invest in their water projects; intentionality underpins everything it does.

As I clicked the 'Pay' button and completed my donation transaction, I felt comfortable, calm. Unlike that sidewalk sponsorship I made years ago, this donation was the end result of research. I thought about the donation before making it, considering the organization's project history and long-term goals. No nervous sweating in the sun; no pulling of heartstrings.

Sure, my money could end up reinforcing negative stereotypes on the ground. And some of it might even be used to line the pockets of a local government official somewhere. But despite this, I made the donation because I still have faith in giving. I am still convinced of its potential, its ability to catalyze opportunity.

I keep this faith even though I don't take charity at face value anymore; I'm more critical now, and this, I think, is a good thing. No longer an easy sell, yet still not an expert on development by any means, I have seen enough while living in Gulu to realize that anything can be packaged and sold, that any success story—no matter how small—can be made to shine when taken out of its context and slapped on the front of a glossy brochure. I know that, outside of a post-disaster/crisis environment, a gift that isn't earned can be a wet blanket for one's dignity. And I see how giving can make donors feel like God, like fate changers.

But I've also met the proud parents of scholarship students; I've walked into homes built with the help of micro-loans; I've patted the heads of healthy pigs being fattened for market. I have talked to beneficiaries who won't go back—who can't go back—to the risky, uncertain lives that once owned them, and their faces are impossible to forget.

NOTE: A friend of mine and co-worker wrote this. His name is Andrew Morgan and you can find the original piece here - http://glimpse.org/stories/view/ethical-dilemma-giving-more-than-we-thought-we-gave/?utm_source=Carousel&utm_medium=Online

-- 
Jared D White

http://www.jareddwhite.com/blog
http://twitter.com/jareddwhite

Update

Picture

The picture is of the tiger and african wolf that live with us in our compound. They like to play with each other and flaunt their male suppiriortiy around. 

Soccer

I met with all of the Pastor Sam and all of the soccer coaches today. They have had leagues in the past and as a result things are progressing very well. There are already teams formed before we arived so all we have had to do is organize things. There are 8 teams of 10-14 year olds and 6 teams of 14-17 year olds.

Some of the things that came up at our meeting are as follows. 

• Children will be playing immediatly after school and they have not eaten since breakfast. They would like it if there could be a way to feed the playing teams a small meal. In the past they charged 3000 shillings for each player but this was very hard for many to come up with. 
• There needs to be some way to pay for balls. We need creative ideas that do not involve charging the players lots of money
• At the end of the season there will be a tournament. 
• We would like to have a prize for the top scorrer of the league like some cleats or a nice soccer ball. Also winning team gets a ball
•  At the end of the season they will form an all star team to play against Kapelebyong.
• Saturday we will be conducting a refferee and coach training day. Mike will be doing the teaching. I will be providing money to pay for lunch.
• Pastor Sam is going to bible college the second week of August and Mike will take over as the leader of the soccer league.
• Caitlin did some basic first aid training with the coaches to care for open wounds. 
• The first game will be next wednesday.

Farming Training

The Decipler Joseph approached me today with a great idea. There are groups of people all over Kapelebyong and the surrounding area. Joseph wants to gather one person from each of the 40+ goups to come and meet in Oditel. He will train them to use the gardening techniques that Luka and Adam taught the people here. We will be expecting 120 people to meet here on Tuesday. The idea is that they will go back to where they live and train everyone around them. I will be paying to provide lunch for all of them. Joseph will organize a follow up process a few weeks later so that we can ensure that everyone is doing there part in training those around them. I am very excited about this because on Sunday as I was praying I felt very strongly that there would be some community project that would grow and expand to help everyone in Oditel and the surrounding areas. 

Nursery

Back during our first trip when Wil and a few others met with the leadership team for the church here in Oditel Wil asked a question that has sparked a forest fire. He asked them something along the lines of "why is the school system so bad?" Pastor Emanuel, Pastor Sam, Pastor Andrew, and the rest of the leadership at The Center (The church in Oditel) very seriously considered this question after we left. Over that 6 month period they have come up with a solution. They have started a private nursery school (3-6 year olds, very similar to pre-school) all on there own without any of our help. They have a curriculum that was bought from a company in Soroti and currently in the second term of their existance. Much needs to be done to help build up this vision. They would like to start a private christian primary and secondary schools as well, within the next 10 years. When we walked through I counted 30 or so children who are currently attending this. They sang us the ABC's and were able to point at pictures and tell us what was in the picture in both the native language as well as english. We also went and spoke with the government run primary school headmaster. He loved the idea of the nursery school and highly recommended that the church move forward with the plans they have for it. The headmaster informed us that in other areas of Uganda where there are nursery school in place the children are so much smarter and much more likely to continue on with school. Currently this nursery school is just in the hands of the leaders of this one church. I strongly encouraged these leaders that they needed to get all of the surrounding churches in the area involved in this project as well as seek the advice of the headmaster. They liked the idea and would like on member from each church to form a school board. This project has great potential and I really think we need to look into how we can help.

Prayer

We desperatly need your prayers for our team. There have been several times when I have been praying and I was lead to pray for protection of our team from evil spirits. One night Jaynie had a demon enter her dreams and she excersised it out of her dream.... Last night we started praying and I felt that something was not right. The more we prayed the worse the feeling got. I strongly felt that something very bad was on in the horizon. Pray for our team and any attacks the enemy is planning to throw our way... Tonigt we were praying and I saw a vision of huge stacks of firewood all over Oditel. Each was covered in gasoline and the Mission 6 team was walking around with lighters, igniting fires all over Oditel. Pray that we do set fires in the hearts and spirits of everyone we interact with. 

Amelia

Amelia (A teacher from California who teaches in Kapelebyong) has been a tremendous blessing to our team. She speaks teso as well as very good Ugandan english. She has helped in many of our meetings to ensure that everyone is understanding each other. She is a lot of fun and we are all happy that she is in our lives.

Carepoint

Work has begun on the carepoint. Every day all 260 orphans in Oditel
are fed at 1pm. We are building a kitchen were this will happen in the
future. Ground breaking happened yesturday. Also we are putting in a
solar powered water storage system. Work began on that today as they
set in cement around the newly dug well.