Kajo Keji, South Sudan. November 2008

Surprised by misty blue mountains

Silhouetted against a sun-scorched blue –

Dusk hanging like a swarming host

Heat firing back at my body
Relieved by sudden ghostly eddies of cool air –I emerge high above the Nile, enthralled.

The moped’s tyres grind and churn to a halt

As sand and murram skid aside in 

gritty protest.

I sense …….. an eternal waiting – for hope of resurrection,

For someone to love this land, its forlorn longing

“Kiss our soils to life, charm our skies open;

Come sing for the rain; release Eden once again”.

Is this really silence? The nearest I’ve heard!

But for the undertone chatter of mousebird and weaver

The cry of kite and coucal – and always the hens!

Yet children’s cries seep through bush and teak.

Shadows fight the piercing sinews of golden sunset

The track ahead melts in the intense shadow and light.

Flicker, flash, flicker, flicker, strobe light and dark

Interplaying through boughs and grasses like the staccato rhythms

Of the beats of Africa, drumming through a sun-silked fringe

Playing out a dying refrain of life still not nurtured

Nor yet embraced.
Will someone love this land – answer its cry?

“Dust to dust, ashes to ashes”

(Its dead sobbing below for redemption, for hope to arise)

16 years of peace out of 46. 

Hatred and cursing

Lies and shame, confusion and violence –

All smouldering beneath me, its victims embraced by dirt;

Feeding the mango and teak

Speargrass and Spear Sorghum

Dust to leaf, ashes to fruit

Is this the only redemption – the only cycle?

Can crackling cries from bleached bones not find a hearer?

Can we yet cradle life amongst the thorn and flame trees of Kiri?

A child’s wave and cry of exultation at the glimpsed white stranger

Lifts my heart to soar again.  Hope hovers by.

Stephen Waldron

The flavour of Uganda

I never seem to fully communicate the flavour of Uganda and get you to smell the smells and sense the sensations, so this Blog’s purpose is just that!

1. We learnt recently that until very recently women were not allowed to eat chicken – the preserve of men alone!
2. The Buganda (main tribe, and our area) greet by falling on their faces (women) before each other and before men (I love it!!) – but tribes from the south of Uganda actually hug and kiss each other on both cheeks!
3. A couple of people were arrested recently in Kampala for selling dog meat as goat meat; it seems that elsewhere in Africa, e.g. Nigeria, dog meat is prized and there are special dog meat butchers.
4. Ugandan men (and some women!) find it quite acceptable to pee at the side of the road.
5. You should never talk to a Ugandan woman about being pregnant and NEVER touch her tummy (not that I ever do) – this is seen as an attempt to curse the baby or put witchcraft on the child.
6. The bodaboda driver is quite happy to carry two or three passengers as long as they realise it costs more than one. 6 incl. driver is the maximum I have seen to date.
7. Men here are generally more fanatical supporters of English Premier League teams than the English.
8. Tilapia, the main local fish of Lake Vic, beats cod and haddock any day, but is an ugly brute. Best eaten chargrilled, with ones fingers.
9. One of the regular ‘village’ jobs of women out here (that really upsets me) is stone breaking; women sit with babies on their backs hammering rocks on a large stone to create aggregate of different sizes for concreting, which they sort into piles around them, for which they get paid a pittance; they never wear protective glasses and Lord knows how many of them go blind.
10. The driving … LORDY LORDY! The driving …. not enough room here to describe. There are no rules, be clear on that point at least.
11. Ugandans don’t generally discuss important things with each other (unless very, very close friends) because showing any interest is seen as an opening to offer financial help – which everyone is always looking for - such a sponsorship for children at school (there is no such thing as free education in Uganda whatever the government says); so conversation tends towards being shallow and dull – almost an art form; this is apparently why mzungus (ex-pats) get into such trouble being asked to provide financial assistance – we show too much interest in people!
12. Lake flies and grasshoppers are delicacies here – crunchy fries, mmmmmm!
13. Papyrus is no longer found in Egypt but abounds here around Lake Vic.’ a papyrus mat or screen 2m x 3m costs 70p - I use it as one of my key materials in construction out here as a shade screen etc.
14. A common site here is a bodaboda carrying a massive, live sow on the back, strapped up rather fetishistically, or an 85kg Nile Perch protruding from a vast sack. No-one blinks an eye!
15. For Ugandans a woman’s most provocative part of their body is their bottom. Breasts are, apparently, boring. I have yet to work out what a sexy bottom looks like to a Ugandan because it is a no-go topic of conversation….! However one could balance a full tea-tray on the top part of the bottoms of many women in this part of Africa, although I have yet to see this.
16. Bilharzia is a deadly disease caused by microscopic flukes in the liver, which the BBC website will tell you comes from swimming in the lakes, but in fact you get it from any contact with any infected water; I have it (because of my sailing) but am now in a sort of safe symbiotic stasis with several of the worms living in me and defending their territory against all invaders – all of which keeps me safe!!
17. Entebbe, the old capital of Uganda, has not a single public butcher’s shop with fridges or cold stores for keeping meat, let alone separate cutting boards for different things.
18. 50% of all deaths on the roads (which occur 100 times more per capita than the UK) involve bodabodas (mopeds) – about 16 deaths a month in Kampala city each month alone; now you know how terrified I am of driving my bodaboda and how exhausted I am after every trip!
19. Wherever a Westerner goes in Uganda the children will scream out incessantly, “Bye, Mzungu!” and not stop until you reply (Mzungu is their word for stranger – its not meant to be insulting). It can get a bit waring …..
20. Go to the National Livestock Research Centre, Entebbe, to get help with an infection with your birds. They will have no medicines or vaccines to treat them although they are the national centre for breeding Uganda’s chicken!
21. Pineapple cost from 25p; mangos from 13p; a huge hand of bananas 65p; massive avocadoes from 13p; pawpaw from (papaya) 45p; it’s heaven!!
22. Women must have multi-jointed hips; they bend 130° from the waist. This means that they can stand upright but pivot down above the waist and wash the floor with their palms spreading a large floorcloth - for hours at a time.
23. You haven’t really experienced thunder and lighting until you come to the northern shore of Lake Vic – Kampala is the lighting capital of the world! The cacophony continues for up to two hours within the same location with maybe 10 and minute. The thunder is louder and more intense than anything in the UK. Nearly every night one can look out to the lake and se in the distance somewhere an amazing firework display of the heavens. It’s awesome and beautiful - until one is under it!
24. You get on a taxibus and the conductor tells you the intended journey is 100USh more than you know it to be. All the Ugandans inside are also being cheated and agree with you that it is too much, but none of them says anything. You complain and insist on getting off and at the stop find the bus immediately behind you will charge the right price, at which point everyone on the first bus gets off and joins you. But no Ugandan will challenge the wrong price themselves – not even when in a gang!
25. 51% of all Ugandans are aged below 15. Kids are everywhere! They are intoxicatingly happy, beautiful and FULL OF LIFE!
26. T-Bone steak form the very best butcher in Kampala – superb quality – costs £2.50/kg or £1.13/lb.
27. When you enter a house the person entering should greet the owner, not the other way round. So when you go shopping at a local/village shop the shopkeeper will expect you to greet him not him to greet you. So customer service starts on the wrong foot!
28. Ugandan skin is like black satin or velvet; one wants to reach out and stroke it …… there is almost no body hair.
29. A regular sight is a dog lying dead in the middle of the road. This tends to happen mostly on Saturday nights for some unknown reason – Sunday trips to church are most unpleasant! No-one ever seems to remove the carcasses so the stench by Wednesday affects a long stretch of road. I do have a satirical comic sketch I have written on this subject, but not for here!!
30. Queuing is a western art, and don’t forget it!
31. Ugandan men have a habit of walk along clutching their groin area of their trousers in bad weather to keep their trousers out of the mud. It’s not a pretty sight.
32. Police override the traffic lights when directing traffic at junctions – although the lights carry on operating as normal. Police don’t seem to understand that this probably is more likely to cause accidents ….
33. A constant background noise is the sound of a colony of male weaver birds chattering as they weave their nests.
34. Fetching water in jerrycans from the lake or village pump is a task for children from as young as two years old.

Have you got the flavour?

Venice; 1.07.08.

Venice always evokes in me strange passions. The sheer undiluted extent of its beauty astounds me. One can visit Florence and see the sights but know that even there, round the corner, there will be disappointment, even slums. But here in Venice the beauty, intensity and passion of spaces that excite and delight goes on street after piazza after canal.

I try to analyse its success. So many scholars and academics – generals of the artistic world - have tried and studied this great city; I am merely a foot soldier trying to understand his terrain. The narrowness of the arterial bending, twisting streets, overlaid and interlaced with contrasting sinews of water of endlessly varying breadths is the main theme my mind distinguishes. But then there is the endless flickering of reflected rippling dappled light dancing seductively on the underside of the hundreds of bridges and up and along the sheer flanking walls. There are the never-ending steel-tipped gondolas drifting lazily through these veins, slapping a staccato through the constant percussion of shoes along the fissured alleyways. The properties of a tightly controlled language of finishes, windows and doorways; the fading glory of exotically painted walls; the glimpses around and through openings into hidden courtyards awash with flowers – mostly geraniums and vines; the punctuating solidity of medieval and classical churches, civic buildings and theatres with their dark, heavy interiors packed full of artisan craftsmanship; the sudden explosive entry into sun-scorched courtyards and piazzas whose generous proportions contrast so strongly with the cool, shadowy, crack-like chasms that lead to them.

I love that I never know if the next alley will lead to a dead-end set of steps to a canal landing, or into square, or round a tight, hidden bend and beyond. I love the lack of an Oxford Street or Bluewater mall. Shops spring into view in the most idiosyncratic places. This is true shopping; trying to find the shops is the biggest part of the adventure!

As one climbs the steps of the miniscule bridges, under which the gondoliers duck at the last moment with that mixture of staggeringly grandiose arrogance and skill, the resulting subtle shift of viewpoint down and along the canals is one of the most exquisite charms of the Venetian experience. What is around that last corner, I wonder? Many Venetians have opened up an arch from the canals into the very heart of their home, where often an ancient chocolate-coloured armchair sits shrouded with silks and embroidered tapestries, telling of the wealth – true or imagined – of the owner.

Windows packed with carnival masks, grinning and gawping at me. Sheer perfection in colour and finish, fresh with the smell of turpentine, which pervades the deepest of alleyways. I pause and breathe in deeply and I am back in the apprentice studios of Da Vinci or Michelangelo. Lines upon banks of sightless, silent faces, all holding a lost language of intrigue and occult behaviours, refusing to tell their stories. Huge feathers sprout from every nook and corner, like ferns in a spume-soaked waterfall grotto. Headdresses fit for princes and princesses, nobles and baronesses abound, each one placed with care and precision.

People move slowly and aimlessly, silenced by the sheer volume and never-ending feast of history and pageant. I feel I am part of a tender deep dance of slumber. Even the most brash tourists seem strangely muffled by the lapping water and embracing walls, by a silence that crushes the intrusive clamours of a modern, hurtling world. Here we slowly and intuitively sense with a growing internal hollowness just what has been lost along the way. How that progress is really a master of deceit. How easily we have fallen for our own lies! How much has been lost amongst the gains. I overhear one of two garish American women remarking that in Las Vegas she visited a life-sized copy of Venice’s Grand Canal, but …. and she gasps for air and for words, eyes rolling, as she acknowledges the sheer outrage of the comparison.

How did we lose this? What created it and made it possible in the first place? I can guess at the answers but clarity eludes me. Something about immense trading wealth, coupled with the centrality of art and creativity, the high calling of being a commissioning patron, and above it all a belief of the essence of God in all things, sacred and secular – in fact the indivisibility of life. There is no secular in Venice; God is everywhere. He breathes through the stones.

Uganda seen from afar

‘Does Uganda still exist?’ my mind tussles with this thought as I relax and unwind in a far-flung world, hidden deep in a mountain valley in the Italian Friuli Mountains. It seems impossible that such differing worlds can coexist in such a small and diminishing planet. I am in the centre of civilisation. At least, I mean civilisation from which my world was spawned. Civilisation from which nearly everything that I value and take for granted has sprung. Values that support and uphold me and make me glad to be alive. This is the backdrop to words, lines, duets, concertos, arias, operas, plays, poems and symphonies that resonate through my being.

Am I wanting the same for Uganda? No – something unique and different! But can I identify and accept the values and beauty that make Uganda what it is and what it could be? Or does it need to go through the world wars and plagues that shaped Europe into what it is today to be able to compete on this stage? Can we get something so wonderful for nothing? What is the essential-ness of Uganda that I need to extol and laud? What qualities and elements do I need to recognise within the chaos and corruption?

Fear and loathing in Uganda - methinks. I am finding it hard to work my way through the utter waste of lives and effort – of human potential represented by the rhythm and way of Ugandan life – even if this is less than half the truth.

Firstly there is the corruption. No! I am not going to give in to the ‘politically correct’ mist that invades my brain and seeks to cloud every true judgement. Of course there are reasons for corruption, and endless extenuating circumstances, but the fact is, no matter how you dress it up, that until corruption is significantly reduced there is no hope for Uganda. You just can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.

Then there is tribalism. Every Ugandan I meet dreads the knock on his door or the ring on his mobile of the distant relative or clansman asking for yet another favour. On the one hand it is wonderful to have an extended family that means you are never in want for a home or a bed. But the country is littered and crawling with half-built structures representing the people’s attempts to tie up their money away from the hands of others. It is an abomination and scourge; a promotion or benefit is lost immediately by the relatives who will camp nearby to eat up the crumbs that fall from the table. A greater educational qualification is a signal to people from distant shores to relocate nearer their family member. A deep sigh rumbles from the belly of every successful but caring wife that I meet in Uganda; “What can you do?” she sighs. “They are our flesh and blood”.

At a broader level jobs are always given to one’s family or tribe, never outside the fold. The contempt and hostility from one’s family if one failed to do so would be too much to bear. There is no concept of ‘the best for the job’. Indeed suspicion is so great between people that the worst are often selected, who will never ever threaten the benefactor’s position, but who, at the same time, will never ever advance his cause. This behaviour is not limited to ‘evil’ or ‘ignorant’ people, but even the very best of men and women cannot see any other way to act, unless they have experienced life in the West.

So what does Uganda offer the world? Gentle, hospitable, softly spoken people who work hard; graciousness; a country of great agricultural potential with a superb climate in most of the central and southern areas; significant untapped mineral wealth; beautiful women!; hydro-electric power; amazing bird-life; Tilapia; biggest crocodiles in world; masses of hippos, crocs, and elephant; much much more ……

Postcard from holiday

It is post-wedding - ‘Life after wedding’. What sort of life is ‘life after’? My daughter has gone; left father and mother and cleaved to a husband – united to him for life, for better for worse, richer or poorer. It is a strange time of life. I feel suddenly very old and quite, quite sorry for myself.

I am up in the Friuli Mountains, Tarcento, NE Italy. Sandy and I have been given the use of a small cottage for a week with our youngest, Hannah, by dear friends. We have been awed by the spectacular peaks and sublime (Hannah’s word) vistas. Jagged, toothed, glaciated walls many hundreds of metres high that feel ready to collapse at any time and wipe us out. The area bears the hallmarks of the terrible earthquake of 1976 that killed hundreds and destroyed its medieval buildings. It is good to be awed now and again. To be humbled and to recognise something far, far bigger and more majestic then my ego and small insignificant life which too often is all consuming and important beyond words. They say we spend 90% of our time thinking about ourselves. Narcissism. This landscape stirs my spirit and lifts my head up out of a spiral downwards towards some inner abyss.

I have also just finished reading ‘The Shack’, by William P Young. Or, rather, it finished reading me! I was sat next to Hannah, with tears coursing down my cheeks, and hoping that she wouldn’t notice these, or the sniffs that punctuated the silence.

A true holiday; being exposed to thoughts and experiences that slowly percolate through the tough, blocked passages of my life, furred up and calcified by a hundred disappointments, crises and conflicts – without and within – that need their grip shifting and loosening. I am relaxing and even ‘doing nothing’!

I am facing the thought of return to Uganda, and a strange concoction of unknown and familiar sounds sights and smells infuse my thoughts. I thought that I would be joyous, such is my love of the life, work and activity out there, but I find that instead I am tormented by doubts and fears. A sickness lurks in the pit of my stomach. Instead of triumphs and successes I can only think of my failures and the difficulties. I am worrying about my legacy there. I am constantly saddened and ashamed of things I have done and feelings that I have had. I so longed to make a good start and to travel a good road. I had a picture of a medieval Franciscan monk walking along communing with his God, in harmony with nature, and blessing each person he meets. But I realise that I have taken the same ‘me’ into Uganda, and what needs to change is not the surroundings but my internal landscape. I can’t change the past. I can’t even change ‘me’. But I can allow Truth to work its effects within me and to walk the road less travelled – and that means more conscious of God by my side, redeeming each situation that seems to be a ‘Snake and Ladders’ slide back into past failures.

So, I realise the wedding has been a milestone. It has reminded me of a point reached, beyond which it is too late to change the past. We are here and not there.

The danger is that I now will start to feel sad and sorry for myself, and be overwhelmed with morose thoughts, instead of grasping with a sense of elation the possibility of being different and having the opportunity to be renewed within.

I am resolved to walk forwards and into Cherish. I will cherish each day. I will cherish each person. I will cherish each opportunity to be a blessing. I will cherish each small dying of ‘me’ and each new shoot of life that bursts out.

Because I am beginning to realise just how much I am cherished.

What I came to Uganda for .. the real task as it unfolds: construction/design

Time to talk about the job I do again instead of the pastimes and leisure pursuits! This blog will be about the building side of things. The picture adjacent shows how seriously I take my work!

I am part of a team and NGO called ‘Cherish Uganda’, and we are building the first village in Uganda (we think) for orphans and abandoned children who are HIV+ of whom there are upwards of 50,000. There is AIDCHILD in Mpigi and Musaka but their model is the more traditional dormitory orphanage. Ours consists of individual simple houses with a mother and up to 8 children with each home (Positive Home) being independently run - like a real family. The site is based around a working farm, where we grow all the food for the children and mothers and are slowly moving towards a livestock component.
The site will have at least 25 Positive Homes eventually (200 children); currently we have built three and two more are about to start. They cost about £13,000/$26,000 each fully equipped, and we build everything using a trained team of men from the local village plus a few specialists from further away.
The whole site is a demonstration in sustainable design and construction, with an emphasis on water conservation. We utilise our own home made bricks (burnt), home made cookers (Lorena ‘Rocket’ stoves) and bio-sand filters to provide drinking water. Our toilets are Ecosan composting type and the waste products are used on the land. Each house has a solar hot water system and solar electric system; they have no water connection but rely 100% on rainwater harvesting. There are no ceilings and yet the houses are very cool (but noisy when it rains!!).Also on the site will be a farm, a school, and an admin block. The latter is a refurbishment and extension project and is nearing completion, having dramatically remodelled a set of shambolic buildings (if they could be described as that) into a really dynamic building.

We are also planning a children’s club house and various other communal life buildings.

My job is to design and project-manage the entire construction and infrastructure for the site, and also to spearhead and manage the entire organic farm – which currently is an intensively cultivated 7 acres. It’s a huge task but I love the combination of my Tropical Agricultural Development training and my architectural experience, especially energy and water conservation.

I and Chris White have designed our own ‘first-flush’ devices (on Mark III now) to discharge the first (dirty) rainwater off the roofs and then accept only the cleaner, later flows. I also have tried laying a shade roof of papyrus on a eucalyptus frame over the tin roofs, and this proved to greatly reduce thermal impacts on the rooms below, for next to no cost. I love papyrus and have used it also as screen walls for grain stores.

We have a great team of characters called ‘builders’ from the local village, led by Richard the foreman, a tall Ugandan. We recently bought them all work clothes with logos embroidered on. and boots and socks, and they went wild! Sam Bbosa is our wonderful, humble and servant-hearted Ugandan assistant construction manager working under Fin Wood’s direction.

We recently were donated the money to buy a brand new cement mixer!! Wow! What a difference it makes. Now work flies along. The two bandas I have designed overlooking Lake Victoria are going up fast and this weekend we expect the mountain bamboo and thatch roof to arrive with the roofing team from Karamoja, in NE Uganda.

It has been an intense spring rain season. As a result we got a few supply lorries bogged down delivering materials and we have had to throw together a track to serve the site. The site is located under a huge ‘Muwafu Tree’ in which a pair of Fish Eagles nests and emits harsh and raucous cries, just audible above the cement mixer!

The main challenges of the construction side are:

1) trying to get people to programme and plan ahead; it just doesn’t happen naturally here!

2) asking people to read a drawing; same again

3) asking people to do something slightly differently to normal; WHATTTT!!!!!

4) getting people to do exactly what has been asked (and demonstrated about 3 times over) and not something ‘sort of like’ what we asked!

….basically it is just about impossible to leave the site for more than about 30 minutes, no exaggeration. On the other hand the guys are great fun and work hard for relatively little money although we are careful to pay above local minimum wage rates. Labour is cheap in the developing world.

My aim is to:
· create spaces that feel homely and safe;
· to use materials and techniques where I can that are local and vernacular;
· to minimise the impact upon this planet and this part of it especially;
· to keep costs to the minimum;
· to avoid doing anything that is unnecessary;
· to forget about the architectural press and media;
· to prove that water comes from the sky and not from a tap and that is enough;
· to persuade that toilets without water are sensible and safe;
· to persuade that solar power on the equator makes sense at every level!

It is encouraging when people come to visit. The typical comment is: “I never thought that it was as big a vision and such a complex project!”; or, “I thought you were building a few small mud huts and not something as good as this!”; or, “Wow! This is amazing!” It helps keep us motivated and inspired as we sometimes forget that all these comments are true.

Jesus Christ is my inspiration, and God decided to send him as a carpenter for 30+ years of pre-ministry training. Plus God is the architect of the universe. So I feel pretty OK about my role out here!

Photos from top: my attempt to grow a beard while my wife was away, and the affects of madness; banda and cement mixer in foreground in intense rain; banda afew days later; admin building on the track side, complete apart from decs; Pastor Benson from Karamoja with Gerry and Richard; a 'Positive Home' in the landscape; view from the water tower over our land towards Lake Victoria.

Lake Mburu National Park ...mmmmmmmmm!!!

Mihingo Lodge, Mburu Lake National Park

Somehow I did the unimaginable and won top prize in a raffle at my sailing club - a full day’s board at one of the newest and most upmarket safari lodges in Uganda!! One of the team had given us enough money at Christmas for us to buy a second day, and so off we went to Mihingo Lodge, Mburu Lake National Park, on the Tanzania side of the main road between Musaka and Mbarara (look it up on the Web). The owners also own and run ‘Banana Boat’, the top shop chain in Uganda for tourist artefacts of local indigenous craft.

Perched high on a rock outcrop overlooking the national park, the lodge is an ecological dream. All water is rainwater, collected from the rock slopes and harvested and pumped by solar power to the 200,000L irrigation tank and then down to the bandas. Hot water comes from individual solar hot water panels, and the lighting from a solar PV panel on the same mounting. The bandas are set into the hill slope, built from sustainable timber and thatch with a tent set within for the bedroom. Each has a large veranda from which there is a view over the plain, surrounding hills, and the water hole, where Waterbuck, Impala, Zebra, Buffalo and Warthogs abound. The double bed was vast, with a superb mattress, and completely swathed by well-fitted mosquito netting.
How amazing – to stay somewhere with high quality ‘everything’! In Uganda! It IS possible after all. We don’t usually move in such rarefied atmosphere; I find these all-too-rare experiences reassure me and encourage me to keep my vision aimed high. Eating medallions of marinaded pork, and served with a fresh and excellent salad, I felt more hope rising!

A nice touch is the use throughout of beautiful, locally-made paper, and particularly the stories by each of the 20 staff members typed onto the paper, laminated, and set in a leather box for visitors to read. It is rare for staff to be given this sort of prominence, and it feels really good. It is not patronising. Good idea, I think …… (hhmmmmmm).

The walk down (and up, rather!) to the bandas from the lodge is steep (hundreds of rocky steps) and meanders between a dense, gnarled woodland, mostly wild olive. At night staff set 30 or more paraffin lamps along the path, turning it into a fairy grotto experience.

The best part for me was a boat trip on Lake Mburu. We must have seen about 18 Fish Eagles, along with a mother croc and her littl’uns, lots of hippo, various different types of kingfisher and heron, and more buffalo – very close up. The lake is named after a local inhabitant whose brother was warned in a dream that the area would be flooded and left for the local mountains (which are named after him), but Mburu stayed and was killed in the flood, which created the Lake. Myth, but good myth.
On the way back I had arranged to pick up a young man from a small village near Mbarara, Edgar (not his real name) who had been sponsored for 3 years by an English couple to be at school and learn carpentry. They had simply stumbled across him as they parked their car on a track near his village three years ago; they had been captivated by him and offered to pay his fees by ‘Western Union’. He called it “his miracle”, and I could only agree. In response to an email ‘round robin’ I had offered to try and see if he could be apprenticed with one of our carpenters on site. Anyway, his story captures some of the heartache of so many young people. His father died of AIDS when he was very young, and at 14 his mother also died of AIDS. He was left to bring up a younger brother (aged 4) who was dumb and mentally retarded, and two sisters. Each has several children. He had to be a breadwinner for them and so had missed out on school. Last October, at 14, his brother strangled the sister’s 2-year old baby boy and dumped him in the swamp. Edgar had rescued him from being killed by the villagers and had managed to get him somehow 200 km to the (excellent) mental hospital in Kampala, never having been outside Mbarara before! He left on Good Friday with us, without telling his two sisters; he had recently been informed by the hospital that he had to take back his brother as he was now well enough to return home. You can imagine that the villagers in such a remote area are not going to accept him back – they want him dead. Also the sponsorship money had not been enough to pay for the practical carpentry module at the vocational college, just the theory, so in fact he had never even handled carpentry tools!

None of this had been known by the sponsors, but I knew we had walked into a larger than life, but very real, situation!! I also knew that this was a lovely young man, full of faith, joy and hope, he had ‘lost’ his childhood in the service of his family, had no-one, and desperately needed help. Most people tell us not to get involved in such situations (we do - regularly), as there are thousands of stories like Edgar’s. But how can we “love our neighbour as ourselves” and walk away? My faith struggles with such ambiguity. Others may cope with it, but I find it hard to look God in the eye and turn away.
We have set him up in simple accommodation in the village here. As I write we have had him round for the day (Easter Sunday) having taken him to church and then had a sumptuous barbecue, together with our housegirl Christine, her baby Asher, and an orphan, Prossie, whom we sponsor at a local school. What an appropriate day! Easter! New life, new hope? He starts work tomorrow and I am full of trepidation. An Emmaus Road journey. We find the risen Jesus in the simplest of things – like the breaking of bread together.