At any rate…what was I saying?  Orphans.  Africa.  I bought a chair.  We saw Anthony Bordain at the airport.  A man hit on Kristen by asking if she always carries her pottery with her, but we both thought he said party.  Either way, she is carrying a wooden drum, so it didn’t make sense.

This post made sense in my head a moment ago.

We are all well (so far) and glad to be home, but sad to part.  I can’t wait to see my family.  I already miss the kids in Malawi and Uganda.  As I’ve heard from many in COTN, it will probably always feel this way.

–Melissa

–Kristen, Laura and Melissa

The whole neighborhood turned out for our arrival, since this was a new area where the VPP was just starting ministry and there quite possibly had never been a white person there, let alone three.  (Babies burst into tears on sight.)  Everyone watched intently to see what I would ask the 10-year-old child who was forced to care for her brother and sister single-handedly when her parents died.  What can you ask?  Nothing.  The answer will be: it’s horrible.  And sad.  And tragic.  I’d barely asked one or two (very basic) questions when it hit me–not sadness, but anger.  And anger comes to me in the form of rather debilitating tears.  So I turned to Kristen quite abruptly and said, “Can you take their picture for me?  Over there!”  And then I fled.  Also quite unprofessional.

But honestly, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.  I think it was the effects of compounded tragic stories and very little sleep.  That, and the fact that this ten-year-old child currently has more responsibility in the world than I do (and I have two kids).

Yes, COTN is helping.  Yes, this story will have a happy ending.  Still, when I’m sitting there, staring them in the face, I’m angry–at no one–that there has to be this story at all.

–Melissa

The past few days have been spent interviewing children for our stories, and for me in particular, focusing on the rebel insurgency that took place in this nation. In the spring, I took a class on child soldiers in African literature. We read a lot of books and articles regarding the issue of child soldiers around Africa. Naturally, this class is what really made me want to go to Uganda. Since I’m pretty familiar with child soldiers and the history of Uganda surrounding the LRA, I am writing a story on our children’s experiences with the rebels. This requires me to sit down with our children and ask some tough questions. I have talked to children who had their family killed in front of their eyes. I have seen the burn marks on a girl’s arm from when the rebels burned her house down and the wound from when a bullet was shot through her hand. I have heard of the countless ways these children experienced death and how they even saw others killed. I have looked into the eyes of children who have gone through so much more in their short lives than many of us in America will ever go through. It is an honor to have these children share some of their stories with me, but it is also a huge responsibility. A lot of what the kids told me were things that I knew before from my class—how the rebels use fear to control the children, how you have to kill or be killed, how the LRA worked. To me, it just seemed like standard answers, things that I expected to hear. And while I was interviewing, I had to remind myself that I wasn’t just reading another book. I had to tell myself that this wasn’t just another story to read and study. This wasn’t just something to use for scholarly purposes only, not letting it truly affect me. This was real life. This wasn’t a book, this was a person. A child. I was staring into the eyes of a child who actually endured what I had learned so much about. To come face to face with something that I only read about in books, to come face to face with something as intense as the LRA, is mind-blowing. I wasn’t just reading about it this time; I was talking to someone, a kid, who actually experienced it. I don’t know if I’ll ever truly grasp the heaviness of what has happened in this country and to these children. And what is crazy is that these children are going about their lives, sharing their stories with me. God has moved in these children, and they have hope despite their past experiences.

Tomorrow we are going to Barlonyo. Barlonyo is where many of our children are from (and every child that I’ve talked to about being abducted by the rebels is from there). Barlonyo is the site of a massacre, where rebels attacked the village and killed hundreds. Now, it is the location of mass graves. I am eager to see this place and have the stories I have heard become even more real.

On a lighter note, I have been having a hard time understanding the Ugandan accent sometime. The other day, one guy asked, “How was your night? Sleep well?” I swore he said, “How are the lights? Disney World!” Yea, so let’s just say I’ve been really confused the past few days…

Pray for our last few days in Uganda. Thanks for all the support so far. Miss you Sam, Heather, and Malawi!

–Kristen

PS my team forced me to put up pictures of myself. Enjoy.

Interviewing Rose, a COTN counselor, about a child in COTN's Village Partnership Program

My entourage.

I keep thinking of our last bible study in Malawi. Laura taught about the servant and the master, and how the servant shouldn’t expect tons of praise because he’s just doing his job. Laura said something like, “I’m just so thankful I get to be the servant.” Her words keep playing in my head.

As I think about the children I met, the COTN staff, our team of writers… wow. Serving Jesus is just too good. That sounds cliche, I know. But it’s true. Yes, he asks for our everything, but really, we have dust to give in exchange for unspeakably beautiful gems. So yeah, I’m really thankful I get to be the servant in the story.

I miss you team! I’m praying for you as you continue to serve!

–Sam

Here’s our team, with an excerpt from Sam’s last post!
http://www.cotni.org/news/485-a-last-sunset-in-malawi

Here’s Sam’s article about the triplets:
http://www.cotni.org/news/483-the-chokadala-triplets-of-malawi

And Laura’s article about Tapiwa:
http://www.cotni.org/news/484-for-the-love-of-a-sister-in-malawi

We even made the homepage (watch the flash banners cycle):
http://www.cotni.org/

There will be many more to follow, so keep watching cotni.org.  (And while you’re there, why not sponsor a child or two?)  Thanks to the Communications team back home for posting these!

–Melissa

But as I adjusted to our time zone I couldn’t help feeling as if I was walking around in a haze, more affectionately known as culture shock.  I opened my suitcase last night…which I had purposefully put in the garage in case linebacker roach followed me…and began unpacking.  As I pulled out my things I suddenly realized my bag still smelled like Africa.  Fresh air, red dirt and the sun baked grasses of dry season.  Africa no longer felt like a dream.  Praise bubbled up in my heart.

God had allowed us to write the stories He had begun.  To write more than we thought we could.  We had accomplished our goal.  In fact, we wrote more than we had hoped for.  Our God is an awesome God.  And my prayer now is that God takes these drops of service that we’ve put on paper and multiplies them like He multiplied the fish and the loaves.  This trip was such a beautiful gift.

Heather

We had a beautiful afternoon and evening spent at COTN’s Children’s Village here in Lira, Uganda. We’d spent a few hours there yesterday as well, so when we arrived today, Melissa, Kristen and I were able to pick back up where we had left off the day before—spending time with children, getting to know them, and learning about their stories. I spent a lot of time yesterday in one particular home of girls and today we exchanged a special greeting—me remembering almost all of their names, by the grace of God. I felt like it was my second day at school and I had returned to find out that I had gained new friends. Those first initial moments were really sweet.

But one thing that stood out to me today was the need for physical touch. Maybe that’s because physical touch is one way I feel loved by others—a friend gives me a hug, my mom scratches my back, my husband holds my hand … all of the above make me feel loved. My stories today were light and fun—interviewing many of the older children (in their early teens) about activities they are involved in and why they enjoy specific ones. Once I got a few of them to start talking, it was great—they fed off of one another, laughed at their answers to my questions, and even helped interpret for the younger ones. It was Gloria, however, who first started stroking my hand as I wrote the answers that she gave to my questions in between those from her brothers and sisters around her. It was just a little touch, but it sent love through my bones. Sharon was next—touch is obviously her ‘love language’. She scratched my back, she played with my hair, she just wanted to have that comfort that comes from human touch. It made me feel special and welcome in this safe haven that these children call home. But, this isn’t about me having the need to feel loved and appreciated while on a trip to serve children in Uganda. No, that certainly is not why I’m sharing this with you. It’s the reminder of how important physical touch is when encouraging, loving, and parenting a child. From their actions, I could tell that Gloria and Sharon yearned for that sign of love. And though I know they get it from their house mother here at COTN, you really can never have enough.

When I encourage people to come to Africa on a trip with COTN, many often ask, “What could I really do?” or they are concerned with just coming to play with children and not having something specific to accomplish. But after today, and these two sweet girls who reached out to me for some love and comfort (and in turn gave it), I was reminded of just how important a real conversation, a scratch on the back, an embrace, and the holding of the hand are. It is communicating love—and most of the time, that is all these children and teenagers really need from us who come to visit. I gave it right back to Sharon and Gloria today—a back scratch, an embrace, a tickle on the arm. I hope they felt as loved as I did.

–Laura

Interviewing Sharon (left of me) with some of her brothers and sisters in the COTN Children's Village in Lira, Uganda.

Taking a quick photo with Gloria in her room ... for some reason the flowers had to be in the photo too!

As we got out of the car, the village of children surrounded us, shaking our hands and gently genuflecting.  Rose was the third child to put her hand in mine.  I’m not sure she even met my eye, but I recognized her in the dim light by the cat-like shape of her eyes.  The hash-mark scar on her forehead.  Her height.  Her age.  After that, even in the sweeping, moving light of three flashlights for a whole village, I recognized Solomon.  Vicky.  Janet.  Olivia.  Denis.  Hellen.  Hannah.  Sarah.  Santa.  Everywhere I turned there were faces I recognized, now attached to hands that reached to shake mine and voices that said “You are welcome.”

These are the children whose stories amaze me—the ones who survived against rebel attacks, disease, near-starvation.  The ones who have found strength in spite of being made to perform atrocities by rebel forces at unimaginably tender ages.  The ones who are inspiring by their strength, their faith, and their ability to smile.

The sensation was degree higher than being star-struck; these children are the true heroes in our world, I don’t care how far Manny Ramirez can hit a baseball or how well Beyonce sings.  Today I spent most of the morning looking for Rose only to discover that when I found her I was tongue-tied like a 12-year-old meeting Justin Bieber.  She was shy, too, so we grinned at one another foolishly until I remembered I was holding a camera, the world’s best Third World icebreaker.  Just snap a picture of a kid, show them how it turned out, and watch them react.  Some love seeing themselves on film ask that their picture be taken again and again.  Others find it hilarious and invite other children to laugh at their expense, prompting an influx of picture requests.  Quiet Rose smiled genuinely, nodded in acknowledgement, and then ducked behind a wall.  So much for the icebreaker.

Since I was finished with my interview for the day (no, I won’t say which children—no spoilers!) I wandered around the village taking pictures.  Pastor Hardson, in charge of sponsorship, was sorting through the 100 or so letters we’d brought from home, and the kids were mostly surrounding the gazebo, patiently and politely waiting to see if they had gotten any mail.  I wandered by a few of the older girls, and snapped a picture of Olivia.  She immediately asked for several more pictures, directing me where and of who, until I finally gave her the camera and suggested she give it a try.  We spent the next hour or so taking pictures of everything (mostly each other) until we reached the gazebo in time for Hardson to announce that he had distributed all of the mail.  Those who had letters sat around reading them, and some began walking away empty-handed.  Including Rose.

I followed her behind her house because I thought I saw her wiping her eyes and was worried she was crying because she hadn’t received any mail.  She went into the kitchen and grabbed a cup, and when she turned around I was glad to see that she wasn’t crying.  In fact, her eyes brightened a bit when she saw me.  I asked if I could have a picture of us together and Olivia took one.  Then I asked if she was getting a drink and she nodded, so I said, “Well, let’s go,” and walked with her to the bore hole.  I noticed she’d been washing laundry earlier, so after her drink I asked her to show me her clothes and point out her favorites.  That broke the ice.  She thought hard, then pointed out a skirt laying on the grass to dry.  A couple of younger girls came over, and the three of them began giggling, showing me individual items of clothes.  One of them pointed to a small pair of underwear and then at Rose, and they all began giggling madly.

I spent the rest of the afternoon with them, and soon their guards were down.  Though they didn’t speak much English (Rose can, but really wasn’t), it’s easy to play with children in any language.  They snatched an auntie’s purse and took turns playing make-believe.  Splashed each other with water.  Pointed things out to me silently like a towel with a dog on the front.

I feel complete.  This—specifically this—was what I had come to Uganda to do.  Spending time with these children laughing and playing has fulfilled something I’ve had burning in my heart since I started with COTN.  The hard part will be saying goodbye.

–Melissa

Me & Rose

Rose playing auntie.  Adorable, no?

Olivia & Me

For me, it wasn’t until after we had arrived in Lira, met the COTN-Uganda staff, dropped off our bags, and had a bit of dinner that I was reminded of just why we had come to this new place. We drove to the new COTN Children’s Village about 20 minutes away from the office and guest house where we’re staying—and that’s when it hit me. The children came running out of their homes with their house mothers right behind them, singing and shouting a welcome to us. They greeted us warmly when we stepped out of the vehicle, showed us around their homes and sang us a welcome song. Oh, the sweet and innocent faces that looked at us—faces that have been through so much in their short lives. I have to admit that tears came then. I couldn’t help it. Seeing this home–this haven–for these children who were in such desperate need for it was so incredible. Thankfully, evening had come by then and no one could tell I had a few tears streaming down my face. But, seeing all these lives before me and knowing where they would be had COTN not come to do ministry in Uganda … it was the reminder that I needed. And once again, I feel so privileged to be serving God with COTN. Being here and seeing it right before us is so very beautiful.

–Laura