Kenya 2012

After 5 years, I returned to Kenya for seventeen days as a chaperone with a high school group from my alma mater. We were a group of 23- 16 high school students, 5 teachers, and 2 elementary students. I hadn’t met any of the team before the trip except for one of the teachers Dave Layton who I had had when I was in high school 12 years before.

We departed from the Seattle airport on July 19 and flew the fourteen hours to Dubai in the

U.A.E. Dubai was a fascinating place to visit—built up from an obscure port village, it has become the showcase city of the Middle East demonstrating Arab wealth and power. There was a sense that it was trying a little too hard at times to outdo the West. It also reminded me of a Las Vegas kind of city, built up out of the desert with very little authentic historic culture there. Everything was new and “modern” from their metro to their architecture. There was a lot of boasting of uniqueness in Dubai. I am glad I visited, but wouldn’t want to ever live there!

We stayed in a hotel 10 minutes away from the airport, and I enjoyed a room to myself with a view overlooking a large construction site below. I fell asleep to the sounds of Muslim prayers on a Muslim TV station showing images of thousands of pilgrims who had made the pilgrimage to Mecca for Ramadan. I woke early to watch a hazy sunrise out my high rise windows. After a buffet breakfast the following morning we all piled in a tour bus that gave us a two-hour tour around the city. I think my favorite part was getting out on the white sand beaches of the Persian Gulf (or as the tour guide said the “Arabian Gulf”). The water must have been close to 90 degrees, and it was amusing to imagine Iran just across the gulf through the haze.

Then after a four-hour flight down into Africa, we arrived in Nairobi. We cruised through customs and reconnected with all our checked luggage (something that doesn’t always happen). We met our contact at the airport, Maureen, who would be our main Kenyan coordinator for our visit.

Somehow we were able to pack our 30 bags and ourselves all into a rented bus and we rumbled down the road into the suburbs of Nairobi toward our guesthouse where we would stay that night. Returning to Kenya felt very smooth and easy. Unlike one’s first trip somewhere that requires new categories to be developed and everything seems so new and different, returning to a foreign country that you have a familiarity requires less processing.

We settled in our guesthouse and ordered pizza and soda. Dave and I went out for a beer at a local bar and enjoyed catching up and talking about what we expected of the trip. The following day we went out to breakfast at a very nice coffeehouse/restaurant. It was the best breakfast I had ever had in Africa: omelets, fresh brewed coffee, toast, and jam.

We finally got underway later that morning on the 9 hour cross country bus trip from Nairobi in central Kenya to Kisumu in the west. The bus ride was what was to be expected: vistas of the Rift Valley, poor villages, children waving to our bus, clamoring vendors whenever we slowed to a stop, and a herd of zebras.

Soon in grew dark and we entered through the busy streets of Kisumu. I grew somewhat giddy at seeing the familiar streets and buildings, and excitedly noted all the change and development that had occurred in the past five years. Forty minutes later we had pulled through the gates at the farm, and Marit (my friend from Bainbridge) and Shebby (one of the boys who live on the farm who I had known from living on the farm) came out to greet us. It was wonderful to be back and they led the way to a newer building that I had helped while it was still under construction years before but had never been in. They gave me the master bedroom in the house, which was very kind of them.

The next day we began our acclamation process: meeting our cook (who proved to be an excellent chef for our whole trip), taking a tour of the farm, and meeting with the compound pastor who talked to us about how to navigate through culture shock. That night all the teachers in the group met at my house to what became a nightly tradition of Gin and Tonics while debriefing the day. Those nightly meetings became one of my favorite parts of the trip: good people, good stories, and good jokes.

On day 3 we took a trip over the high school beside the farm. Our hosts ushered us adults into the Headmaster’s office to sign their guestbook and found my entry I had made when I had come to speak at their chapel 6 years ago! We sat in on a math class with an excellent teacher, and introduced ourselves to several of the classes. The whole school assembled in the quad for a presentation of introductions and gifts. We gave them some soccer balls and some school supplies, and they made some lengthy speeches.

Later that day six of us from the group walked over the school to play in a soccer match with the boys. We were split up on each team and one of the American girls scored the only goal much to the delight of the animated crowd.

The next day we took a visit to the local primary school, where I had directed a rendition of A Midsummer Nights Dream 6 years ago. We were instantly surrounded by dozens of Kenyan children all clamoring for the picture to be taken and then to gather around the camera to see themselves in the picture. The school also assembled for introductions and presentations. The school choir was preparing to compete at the national level in the next few weeks and they sang us several of their songs that were truly remarkable.

Later we went to visit an old sugar cane factory that had been shut down for over a decade. It was full of rusty columns of smoke stacks and old conveyor belts. There were some moments of walking along darkened sheet metal planks 60 feet in the air, hoping that the old beleaguered flooring would withstand the weight of our group’s crossing. At one point we had to trek through a floor the stank of bat droppings. It felt like a set from Indiana Jones or some apocalyptic movie. I kept thinking, there is no way a school group would be allowed to go a derelict factory like this in the States fraught with danger, but it sure is exciting to walk around this place!   

For the next three days the group went out to survey in surrounding villages in the vicinity of the farm. We worked for at least eight hours a day going from house to house speaking with residents about their health history and access to medical care. The survey was developed by two doctors, one an American and one a Kenyan, to develop the medical mission of the farm. Since 90% of the peasants we interviewed didn’t speak English, the Americans in our team mostly sat patiently in the homes as the Kenyan leader spoke in Swahili or one of the local dialects. Then when the verbal questions on the survey were complete, we would take the measurements of height, weight, blood pressure, and dental observations of everyone that lived in the house. It was a great way for these American students to get a sense of life in rural Africa. We spent hours in mud huts and walking along red dirt paths through maize fields, forests, and pastures with cows, goats, and sheep grazing contentedly.

One of the days that the rest of the group went surveying, I went into Kisumu with a smaller group to do some errands. I went to the Anglican cathedral tailor who took some measurements of me for a robe and a clerical shirt. Then we had a delicious lunch at a top notch Indian Restaurant, and walked across town to wait for our ride home.

At the end of our first week, we took a hike up the Nandi escarpment to the Nandi Rock. It is a beautiful but grueling hike straight up maybe a thousand feet. After resting at the top and enjoying the views over the whole valley where the farm is, one group went on for another four hour hike while the rest of us took a 45 minute walk through the gorgeous landscape of Nandi—green rolling hills, huge exposed granite rock, red dirt, herds of cows, and small rivers all untouched by roads or electricity. It is the quintessential idyllic pre-industrial lifestyle that we sometimes picture.

The next day I rose early and ate breakfast in the dark with a group of eight. We had two taxis waiting for us outside to take us into Kisumu. We drove through the vacant streets as the sun slowly crept over the horizon and we soon arrived at the Anglican cathedral just after 7am. I had been asked to speak at the early morning service to the young adults. This week the Anglican Archbishop of Kenya was visiting so they had set up an outside service that could seat 700. The first service was about a third full, just over 200 people. I changed into my robe and the officiating priest and I processed to the altar. A worship band composed of college students were singing earnestly some Kenyan choruses in Swahili. We proceeded through the Morning Prayer service and I preached a sermon on the future of global Christianity coming to Africa and challenging the youth to choose wisely in the decisions that would shape the character of African Christianity.

After the youth service we went to take an hour break at a hotel restaurant and had breakfast. When we returned I arrived just in time to slip into the procession before the bishop and archbishop. I found a seat amongst the priests of the diocese in the back row and settled in for the four hour service. The archbishop’s message was remarkably similar to the one I had given at the first service, which several of the priests noted to me later. After speeches by all the VIP people present including a politician running for office, we processed out. I briefly met the archbishop and greeted the bishop that had confirmed me 6 years ago. The rest of the group had left a couple hours before the service had ended and I accompanied a group of 60 VIP folks from the church to a pool side hotel restaurant for lunch. Even before everyone had finished eating there were more speeches made in honor of the visiting archbishop, and gifts were presented to him. I left and went out to chat with one of the younger priests who had been studying in theology in Pittsburg. When all was said and done I spent about 10 hours that day at church events. I was exhausted the next day.

The following week was made up of more surveying days. On the last day I went surveying, my group surveyed the factory housing for the brand new sugar cane factory. It felt like I had gone back in time to the industrial revolution of the 19^th century in Britain or the US. These little one room concrete apartments were built by the factory and lived in by the families of the workers. I didn’t meet a single person over the age of forty. I saw very few religious pictures or posters (which was very common in the rural villages). And many of the apartments didn’t have sofas or chairs to host visitors. Here was an example of a group of young people “de-contextualizing” from their village life. For the sake of a better paying job (factory workers were making about $80 a month), they were leaving their values of hospitality, spirituality, and connection to their elders behind. It was a rather depressing place.

Midweek the group loaded up into a bus and drove a couple hours north to the Kakamega rainforest. We went to visit a youth correctional facility and played a game of soccer with some of the boys, which we promptly lost. As were taking a tour of the site, a huge rain storm came sweeping through stranding us in one of the dorm rooms (remarkably similar to the bunkroom in Cool Hand Luke). It was one of the most wild rain storms I had been in with close to hurricane strength winds and lightning striking just a couple miles from where we were huddled. Eventually the storm passed and we had the rapt attention of 450 boys who had been sent there for theft, murder, and rape. We literally sang and danced for them, and then presented a gift of soccer balls and other school supplies.

As we dispersed and were loading back into the bus, dozens of boys began shouting and running across the field. I hung out the bus door and asked what was going on. “Escape! One of the boys has tried to escape!” Our group grew a little nervous as the chaos of hundreds of convicts swarmed the field all yelling and running, without even a hint of a guard anywhere to be seen. I promptly closed the door and we sat watching the excitement brew around us. Soon we drove over to the prison gate, but were notified that the guard with the key was out on the manhunt. We waited for another 15 minutes, the key finally appeared, and the bus slid up the muddy road back to the rainforest.

We all slept in little bungalows that night and the next morning we got up early and hiked out to a look out over the entire rainforest to see the sunrise. It was stunningly gorgeous—the low lying mist hanging in the treetops like water swirling around tiny islands. The sunrise was one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.

The rest of the day we hiked through the rainforest and saw lots of white-faced monkeys and a roaring waterfall. One of the teachers, Brad Lewis, had been feeling rather sick for the last couple of days, and while we were off hiking he was getting tested for malaria. When we returned he announced that indeed was had malaria. When we returned to the farm the rest of the team got tested and it turned out that two other students had malaria as well. That would have meant that all three had been infected the night we arrived in Nairobi since it is a two week incubation period!

Later that week we took a tour of the brand new sugar cane factory. It was quite impressive with its massive efficiency and high productivity turning thousands of tons of cane into bags of sugar to be sent all over Kenya each day. It was much larger than the old defunct factory we had seen the previous week, but much less character. This was a demonstration in modernity’s capability of raw power.

The last full day I spent with the team we went into Kisumu and I went out to lunch with Maureen’s parents who as it turned out knew a couple from my church in Hawaii! We had plenty to talk about and had a great time together. I really liked Michael, Maureen’s father.

The last day I spent on the farm I got up and was surprised to find one of the high school boys at my doorstep. “I didn’t get to say goodbye last night,” he said, and we said our goodbyes there. Later Solomon and Shebby, two of the orphan boys I had known from my prior trips, came to see me off. The only way that I had found to get into town from the farm was by a tuk tuk (a little three wheeled bike) that delivers milk from the dairy all along the road to Kisumu. The tuk tuk ride was one rough ride, let me tell you. No shocks—squeezed in on the small seat with Austin the driver, crashing through two foot deep pot holes. My shoulder was bruised the next day from slamming into the side door for two and a half hours.

I was dropped off at the Cathedral, spoke to the college group, attended a energetic service at the Cathedral, had lunch with the college group, and was taken to the airport by my friends Joshua. 48 hours, 5 planes, 2 buses, 2 cars, 2 trains, and 1 tuk tuk later I was back in Hawaii!

VBS in Rwanda

Final Days in Africa

The dramas that the children on the farm have been working on are finally ready to present. I brought three dramas so that more kids could have larger parts. So I took the longer drama on Ulysses, and two other adults directed the two other shorter skits. To help the kids focus, I told them that after the three groups presented, the other adults who attend will vote on which group acted the best, and the winning group will each receive a coke. Everyone is tense and waiting with great anticipation for the competition.

The time is drawing near my departure date: August 28th. I'll be preaching at the Cathedral in Kisumu tomorrow, spending the afternoon in the city, getting on the night train to Nairobi, checking into a hotel in Nairobi on Monday, going to airport and picking up my lost bag that Virgin Airlines said finally arrived, spending the night, and then leaving at 8am to begin the 26 hours of flying and waiting in airports it will take to get back to Philly.

As I reflect on the past two months, I am struck first at the faithfulness of God. I have been relatively very healthy through the whole trip. And other than the lost camera and lost luggage (the lost bag was reported to be found and waiting for me in Nairobi), I have not experienced any disaster. I have crossed 10 international borders, ridden 61 hours on busses, spent the night in 14 different beds, and ate at dozens of houses or restaurants. All that to say there has been many opportunities for things to go wrong. But God has been so good to me throughout it all. It has been so rich…I’ve met so many people, had so many good conversations, enjoyed so many new experiences, been challenged in so many ways, and learned so many things about life.

However, I am ready to return back to the States. It is tiring to live as a foreigner, and I look forward to return back to a routine of working with kids and tutoring. I look forward to begin studying Hebrew and theology. I look forward to be able to call friends and family on the phone and visit friends in person. I look forward to returning to work more with the Anglican Church in America, specifically the Anglican Mission in America who has given me a scholarship for this coming year (the Anglican Mission press release is here: http://64.46.109.102/newsitem/104 ), and more specifically with my church in Philadelphia, St. John the Evangelist Anglican Church.

I am so thankful for your prayers, for your emails of encouragement, and for those who financially supported me. Blessings.

My past week in Kisumu

I came primarily to see the kids here, and that’s primarily what I’ve been doing. They are smarter, larger, with longer legs and stronger arms. I've been working with some doing math and reading in the mornings, and then working with them with the drama in the afternoon.

It’s a wonderful moment when, as the director, you announce who gets what part each person is going to play. “You Stephen, you are the king Ulysses who comes back to avenge his family!” Their faces change from being just simple bare footed boys in dirty shirts, to being kings and warriors. “You Mustafa, you are the cow.” The giggles and laughter ripple through the room as they look at Mustafa who has his “cow face” on. Drama has always captured the imaginations of people. It’s a special kind of magic that transforms the mundane into the fantastic and extraordinary. The kids love being a part of that. Most of them have memorized all their lines already after only two days of practicing.

Being back on the farm has been good, but it feels quite different. Frankly, there’s not much for me to do here other than the dramas in the afternoons, helping a bit with the morning school, and maybe showing a movie in the evenings. The memories I had from last year of the long afternoons that never seemed to end, all the extra hours to find something to do… are replaying themselves in reality. I keep telling myself that I should think of this time as a kind of vacation to just rest…that I’ll be busy out of my mind for the whole month of September…but its hard when you are the only one on vacation in the middle of a working farm…everyone busy digging in their gardens, driving tractors around, and plowing. I sometimes try to get outside and play soccer or help with the work, but I end up busting up my toes or getting sunburned in the scorching sun. I remember last year I used to sit for hours on end reading tedious articles about Anglicanism, or researching obscure bits of church history on the internet to keep myself from going crazy…I found myself doing it again this morning!

I have been “making the dinner circuit” of all the houses on the farm. It’s a nice way to get caught up with people and see the families in their environment.

I went to my old church, St. Stephen’s Cathedral, on Sunday. It was really a wonderful experience going back. They haven’t changed at all in 14 months. They still start exactly on time, the same people work there, the choir still sings beautiful old British hymns and local choruses, they still use the same liturgy. It really did feel like my home church. The provost (the pastor who is in charge of a cathedral) is a good friend of mine and we had a great reunion. He invited me to give a short greeting to the congregation from my church back in Philadelphia, and to give an update of where I’ve been. I look forward to the opportunity to preach there next Sunday, before taking the train down to Nairobi Sunday night.

Last night I was invited over to my Indian friend’s house for dinner and a visit. Jasmit was born in Kenya into a family who were sugar cane farmers. The family, with a cut throat business philosophy, became rich off of growing and transporting sugar cane to factories. They own dozens of tractors and hundreds of acres of land. They are like a modified version of plantation owners from the Antebellum South, except they are quick to point out that they pay their employees!

We had a nice long chat about how things were going for him. I could tell that he was somewhat lonely out there on his farm. He had gone to college in California, and is very familiar with American culture and a high standard of living, yet is content with his quite and slow life in rural Africa. He is 27, married with a one year old son, and lives with his mother and aunt and uncle. He has a very sharp mind and no one to spar with, so he was eager to challenge and debate an American. We talked about Sikhism (his whole family are Sikhs), Christianity, the church, epistemology, universalism, relativism, the soul, money, morality, Indian culture, and African development. I always enjoy talking with him because of his honest and straightforward approach, and his willingness to jump into talking about difficult issues. He has very strong opinions about most things and has no one to talk to that will temper or refine them. So he will bluntly say things like, “It will take Kenya 100 years to develop to the place that India is at today”, or “No matter how much to teach Africans, all they really want is money. They have no respect, and they are all thieves. Sure the first year is fine, but then as soon as you begin to trust them they begin steeling. ALL my employees are thieves. No exceptions.”

He is a fascinating person and we began to talk about whether there was such a thing as a soul, and how to choose beliefs. He told me, “I don’t know if there are souls or reincarnation or God. But I’m sure that evolution is wrong. All this (the earth) couldn’t have just happened by accident. There has to be some sort of supernatural power behind it. But I don’t think anyone will be able to really know for sure what supernatural power is behind it all until we die.”

He’s a philosophical man who lives in a small mansion, complete with servants, where he trusts no one…not his family, not his employees, not even his Indian friends. He is sitting on close to a half a million dollars, with nothing to do with his life except make more money with the money he has. He is a fascinating person. Yet, I sense that deep down that he wants to trust. He wants to believe in something. But he doesn’t know what and he has no community to talk to about it.

As I drove away from his house at 11pm, he said through the window of my car, “Well are you free tomorrow? How about the day after? We should go down to the lake and have a beer and talk about ‘belief’. It will be another three years, until you come back, that I can talk to someone about ‘belief’.” I tell he was being genuine and that he really did want to talk more. I feel it is a fine line to be friends with the wrong people who will pull you down, and being friends for the sake of being a good influence in a person’s life. I hope, by God’s grace, that I can maintain the latter.

Some reflections

I thought this afternoon I should use this time to also reflect on the many rich experiences I’ve had over the past several weeks. Here’s a few of my thoughts. Most of you, I anticipate, will probably find these thoughts irrelevant and uninteresting. But like I said, I have plenty of time on my hands these days to muse and wax, so you won’t hurt my feelings for skipping this part of my blog!
Note: When I speak of “Africa” or the “African church” I mean “East Africa”. Africa proper is a huge continent where you can find just about anything, and where generalities will have dozens of exceptions. I am only familiar with what I have seen here East Africa. I don’t want my Nigerian friends from West Africa to call me a liar.

Money…that was one thing that continued to surface, again and again, as the “main problem” in the church here. And of course because of my role as an “ambassador” I was the one they told all their problems to: “We need a new church building with a tin roof”, “We need a new pastor’s house”, “We would like to buy land for this church”, “We are building a new school and we need funds”. The diocese in Tanzania I was visiting had a man on the payroll whose title was, “Development Project Manger”. He had a huge chart hanging on the wall of about a dozen projects outlined in red. The diocese has yet to implement one of them…why? Funds. Funds. Funds. Yes, the African church is doing so much more with what they have than the American church, but in other ways it seems to me that they narrow what they think is possible to programs that can raise money. Money is such a huge issue here, that it sometimes seems like they throw up their hands and say, “Well, we can’t do anything until we have money…so we’re just going to sit here and do nothing until some Western organization donates money so we can begin.” There were a few people that did have that attitude, and that colored the way I saw others, even though I tried to recognize my bias. It was also difficult to have the role as the penniless student exposed to so much need and not feeling like there was anything I could do about it. The helplessness and powerlessness that I felt after dozens of people earnestly asking for hundreds of dollars began to wear on me. “I’ll report what you’ve told me,” I repeated over and over to the hopeful eyes of congregations. The experience makes you either break down in helpless confused compassion, or become indifferent and cold to what you see. I tried my best to keep a balance, but probably erred toward the latter.

Africa being the ‘bastion of orthodox Anglicanism”…Africa is NOT the “bastion of orthodox Anglicanism” (as some have put it), but I believe Africa is the “bastion of evangelical Anglicanism”. The discussion surrounding the difference of these terms is tedious, so I’ll be brief: Evangelical Anglicans should be differentiated from orthodox Anglicans, in that Evangelical Anglicans root their ecclesiastical identity in a broadly non-denominational background with some Anglican distinctives added on top, and orthodox Anglicans root their ecclesiastical identity in a more specifically British and intentionally Anglican heritage. I have found little in the way of orthodox Anglicanism in Africa (with a few exceptions), while I have found quite vibrant and enthusiastic evangelical Anglicanism here. There are close to 40 million Anglicans in Africa (out of 77 million Anglicans worldwide) and given Africa’s history with evangelical missionaries and missions here, African Anglicans are strongly evangelical. However, the Anglican church here is only 150 years old at most here, with a small fraction of the budget that Western church has enjoyed for centuries, a culture that is trying to come out of the ‘bush’ and enter the modern global world, and with a fraction of the education level as that of their Western counterparts. The situation and environment that East Africa finds itself has a profound influence upon the kind of Christianity that comes from here.

“What the American church can learn from the African church”… this notion has been plaguing me since I got here. Many people in the American Anglican church believe that Africa will save the American church from the Episcopal Church. This may be true ecclesiastically; however after being here for some time, I don’t believe we should look to the African church to be our “parents in the faith”. I am thankful and have tremendous respect for the Archbishops of Africa, and I believe that this small group of men will make profound decisions about the future of global Anglicanism. However the African church as a whole is still quite new to the faith. Many Christians here are first generation Christians…their grandparents still walk around the village barefoot, and practice ancestor worship. Though the African Anglican church is bold and strong in the faith, like teenager, they still have much to learn about the modern world which they are entering into. They know little about the West’s Enlightenment past and our value of propositional truth over relationships. I believe the African Anglican Church can give American Evangelical Anglicans an ecclesiastical shelter for the time being. The Archbishops of African provinces are all educated in the West and have much better grasp of the situation facing the Anglican Communion, but for most lay people they are just trying to eek out a meager living wage. I think it’s harder for each of the churches to learn from each other because of the difference in values that each church holds. You may remember the anecdote I wrote about, when I preached in Bukoba, and I felt like I was just rambling through the whole sermon…and they loved it. Drama, power, zeal, emotion…these are highly valued in the East African church. That’s a major reason of why the Pentecostal church and a host of other charismatic churches are thriving in this context. Compare this to the values of the West: thoughtfulness, clarity, acuteness, succinctness, working systematically through a myriad of abstract concepts that a congregation is familiar with. They are two different worlds. A sermon that exemplifies these values makes an African congregation fall asleep. Whereas a dramatic, powerful, emotional sermon in the States is usually considered low brow, manipulative, and fake. All this to say, it’s more complicated than just saying: “The American church has so much to learn from the African church”. During my final days in Tanzania I was shocked to learn that one parish who claimed 1000 church members, had only 25 who met for midweek fellowship, prayer, or Bible study. It was then that I sympathized with the saying, “The African church is a mile wide and an inch deep”.

African dependency…I continue to ask myself the question, “If all Western money and sponsorship were to be cut from Africa, what would happen?” I know some people who have endorsed this idea as the only way for Africa to ‘grow up’; otherwise Africa will act like an unemployed teenager always looking for handouts from mom and dad. I personally don’t think this is the solution, but I believe we need to work through these problems with our African brothers in a honest and direct way. We need to be seriously asking, “What are you doing to be sustainable in the future? Is Western money the ONLY way for the African church to develop? How can the church in Africa contribute to building a culture that is going to be financially self-sufficient? What kind of training do you need?” But the West must stop being the big sugar daddy that throws money at ever ugly situation, and thinks that problems in Africa are merely about “funds”. We need to partner and build relationships and teach about stewardship. We have to break the mold and expectation that the Western world is the solution to their problems.

Back in Kisumu

Well, I have some good news and some bad news.
The good news is that I've made it to Kisumu, Kenya and I'm all in one piece and healthy as a horse.

The bad news is that my camera was left on the bus from Kampala. I was taking pictures with it of the road and scenery and I would then shove it back into my backpack that was in between my knees. The road was terribly bumpy and the camera bag must have slowly fallen out under my seat. I didn't realize it until last night when I went looking for it. The shock was quite a blow. Three things ran through my head:

First, I was angry at myself for having been so careless and not having checked under the seat before I left the bus.
Second, disappointment that I will not be able to give a slide show to my church and have pictures to show of all the places I went. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so I guess I'll just have to talk more in my presentation. But also my pride began to sneak in, and complain that it wouldn't get attention..."They won't get to see all the places and things you were doing! You won't get as much praise!" I tried to tell it to shut up.
Third, I was challenged by my sermon I gave last Sunday. It was about possessions. I preached that God gives and he takes away. Our job is to be faithful to him, no matter what we have. And I preached on stewardship...that what we have don't really belong to us, but has been given to us to use for His service. I guess it's time to practice what I preach!

There is a very small possibility that whoever finds it will be honest and have the bus company to hold the camera until I can claim it in Nairobi. (The bus I was on, continued to Nairobi). So if you think of it, pray that I get it back.

So my time in Kampala was short and tiring. After traveling 7 hours from Bukoba, TZ, Kelly and I arrived in Kampala only to shop and be in the city for another 8 hours, before going to Kelly's friend's house where I took a shower and promptly went to bed. I boarded the "luxury bus" at 7am and was served two greasy samosas and some other strange meat-fried breakfast item. Somewhat gross...but kept me from being hungry. Then I lost my camera... And arrived in Kisumu at around 1pm. I lived in Kisumu for 9 months last year, so coming back is like coming home. I know where all the speed bumps are in the city, where the people sell books on the street, where the buses leave from, when there will be delays, etc. I got some Kenyan money out of the bank and boarded a small mini-bus that took me 3/4 of the way to Nehemiah International. (NI is where I lived last year). And then Nickolas, the driver, came to pick me up at a roadside gas station.

NI is a big farm/compound/dairy/orphanage, with 60 people that live there, a fully functioning dairy that sells milk in between it and Kisumu, about a 40 minute drive away, and is supporting and sponsoring about 25 children. I lived on the farm for 9 months and did some teaching and about 100 other things while I was here. Among them, was directing 3 dramas. I was requested that when I come back, I direct another drama. So I've come prepared with a script from the Iliad...Odysseus' homecoming to kill off Penelope's suitors.

It was wonderful to see all the kids yesterday. When I arrived, they were in the church building listening to George, one of the farm "fathers" who take care of 4 of the boys, talk about Character, and I walked in the door and all the children's mouths dropped. They didn't know what to say. So I went around the group and shook all their hands and greeted them. I remembered most of their names and embarrassingly forgot a couple. I sat in on the rest of the class, but I think I was an unavoidable distraction from their lesson. They kept looking at me with shy smiles.

It is strangely surreal being back on the farm. Everything is pretty much the same. Most of the same people, the same buildings. The same pace of life. But a big difference is that the missionary family that lived here is now gone. They were a wonderful, energetic, lively family that was always a joy to be around. They are now back in Seattle, but I'm staying in their house now by myself. It's a bit strange having them gone. I have felt that there are echos through the house, but no one's there. Jeff should be in the kitchen making espresso, and Lexi should charge into the living room with some new exciting piece of news to share with me. It's like living with ghosts that only exist in my memory.

I must go now to spend time with the kids. They don't have regular school these next couple weeks, so I'll spend a lot of time with them. They have two hours of classes here on the compound, which I'll help out with, a break for lunch, and then I'll do the drama with them in the afternoon for an hour and a half. I'm looking forward to it!

Last week in Tanzania

Sorry, about having all of this underlined...the computer here is making it impossible to fix. TIA...This Is Africa. Since returning from Rwanda, we've had a very busy schedule...primarily church visitations. The routine: get up at 6am, do sermon preparation, having breakfast with the bishop, jump in the Land Rover and drive out to a church, have a service, preach, sometimes there's a confirmation, have lunch prepared by women in the church, drink lots of coke, listen to the pastors and church leaders give a presentation on what the church is doing and it's needs, drive back home in the late afternoon, take a nap, go for a walk, shower, watch Al Jazera and the Catholic satellite stations, having dinner at 9pm, and go to bed shortly there after. Get up and do the same thing again the next day. It's somewhat exhausting, but very rich and very interesting to meet so many people and have so many experiences.

I was invited to teach at the Bible School at the diocese and give a two part lecture on Church history. I loved it and enjoyed the questions that came out as a result, 'Where was the Anglican church during the Roman Empire?', 'Why did the Western church, help the Eastern church in the crusades when they just divided 30 years before?'. I really enjoyed working with these very eager students. It was their very first exposure to church history and they were fascinated.


On Saturday we had a long day of visiting 4 churches. The first three churches, were alongside the main road and the bishop had be drive us. That was fun to be driving again in Africa (british style). Then the last church the bishop had never been too and didn't know quite where it was. 'It is a walk from here. Kind of over by that tree that you can barely see...' So we started hiking away.

The small dirt path led us through jungle terrain where we had to jump a stream where locals were washing clothes, then out through beautiful rolling hills with tall grass. We were high on a bluff overlooking the indigo lake. We walked and walked and finally someone said, 'down there, at that village'. Far down below us we could make out a small village nestled up against the steep hillsides in a little cove. We tromped down the steep slope and as we approached the village we began to hear singing and a small procession, that looked like ants, began to crawl up the hill toward us. The bishop was doing a confirmation there, and the whole village was in an uproar. It was the biggest thing happening that month. We entered the village like conquering heroes and proceeded into a little shack on the beach made of drift wood and tarps. The bishop changed into his vestments and we processesed into a makeshift church constructed with sheets, and sticks. It was like a fort that children would construct. The bishop conducted the confirmation, 36 children in all, and then I preached. Pretty much everyone in the village was there: the Roman Catholics, a few Muslims, the Lutherans, and a few curious onlookers.

After the long long service, we had lunch and I asked if someone would take Kelly and I out on a boat in the Lake. Someone agreed and before we knew it we were precariously pushing off in a dug out canoe with a couple of locals somewhat amused at our delight.

We arrived in Bukoba that night, and I preached at the largest church in the diocese the next day. They had the best looking church, nice colored windows, concrete floor, a very loud sound system, two energetic choirs that took turns singing and dancing in matching outfits. The pastor told me the congregation wanted me to preach for 45 minutes. I didn't know how I'd do it. So far I've been averaging about 25 minutes...with a translator. So got up and felt like I was rambling for 45 minutes...the congregation seemed to love it. The pastor and bishop were so pleased they announced in front of the church that I was invited to be ordained in their diocese when I was finished with school. This was a complement, but also disappointing...I felt they cared more about long winded stories and a dramatic presentation, then a well thought out and carefully delivered sermon. There's seems to be a bit of a disparities of values. Oh, well...that's Africa.

We're resting today and leaving for Kampala tomorrow. We're all (the bishop, his wife, his son, Kelly, and I) staying in a nice hotel with a great view of the lake...sitting high on a hill above Bukoba. It has a nice swimming pool and satellite TV, and a nice selection of Indian food on the menu. Kelly and I have been really enjoying Fadihili, the bishop's son who has been translating for me wherever we go, and we decided to sponsor him to come with us to Kampala for a night. Then I will travel on by bus to Kisumu, Kenya...Kelly returns to the States...and Fadihili will return to Bukoba.

I greatly look forward returning to Kenya for the last leg of my trip and seeing all my kids, the orphans I worked with last year, and seeing my old church where I became an Anglican. I'll write again from Kenya.

A few pictures

The internet here is quite sporatic. It took 1 hour to load these pictures! I'll add more later.






Setting the Cornerstone at Biilabo Parish, Tanzania

Pastor Sana and his family The Cornerstone at Biirabo The Archbishop of Rwanda

at Kabeza Parish, Rwanda and myself

Revival Meeting: Gahini, Rwanda

We woke at 4:30am and climbed wearily into the Land Rover and jiggle down the terribly bumpy road towards Rwanda in the dark. The bishop sat like a statue the front, next to the focused driver, and Kelly slouched on her backpack next to me feeling sick as a dog. The headlights danced over the potholes and valleys in the dark red dirt, and the silhouettes of trees and bush swept by in front of the massive dark blackish blue sky.

After 4 hours of driving, we arrived at the Tanzania/ Rwandan border...not more than a couple of small offices divided by a giant brown waterfall. We walked across the bridge through no man’s land and then booked ourselves onto a small bus to take us into Rwanda. We were heading to back to Gahini Diocese in Northwest Rwanda for a conference/ revival meeting for the 10th anniversary of the diocese. I was somewhat weary of the “revival meeting” due to their reputation of being unnecessarily emotional and featuring manipulative preachers, but I was curious nevertheless. The primary reason I was excited about going was to meet up with friends in a mission team from Washington DC from the Church of the Resurrection that I knew before hand. We arrived in Gahini after 10 hours of on the road. My stone washed shorts were a dirty red from all the dust, and I was quite fatigued. But after a shower and a short nap I was back to 100%.

Kelly and I were escorted to the conference’s preliminary formalities. They had built a huge covered stage since I had been there a month before, complete with a sound system and lights. Rows of white plastic chairs faced the hillside where hundreds of people sat and watched the proceedings. The introductions of all the foreign visitors took close to an hour: bishops from around Rwanda, Uganda, Tanzania (Bp. Jackton), a team from Melbourne Australia, the team from Washington DC, a couple from England, and Kelly and I representing St. John’s from Philadelphia. I gave my greetings from St. John’s to around 1000 people and we all sat down in our plastic chairs.

Over the next two days, there were ongoing events taking place on the main stage, and various other events occurring at 3 other locations. Though it was an Anglican event, they had invited several non-denominational charismatic preachers to spice it up a bit and to lead the altar calls that seemed to happen every few hours. Some of the preachers seemed a bit hokey, and fake in their enthusiasm for a “revival”. But by and large most of the speakers were good.

Kelly and I were mixed into the Vacation Bible School teams from the other Western mission teams, and were sent out every morning to work with the kids in various locations. It was great singing songs, doing dramas, playing games, and telling stories. Then we would all meet back up for lunch and listen to more speakers through the afternoon and evening. Bp. Jackton did a seminar on marriage and Mark Booker (the pastor from DC) did an evangelistic message on living water. At one of the locations, there was a band that was playing and a choir from Tanzania was singing choruses. Almost like flash lightening, the whole field was spontaneously dancing...white kids and old African men with canes...choir members in flamboyant costumes dancing uninhibitedly with children...girls having dance offs...jumping up and down yelling “Hallelujah”. It was pure joy that bridged all cultural barriers, and for 20 minutes we were all united through the rhythm and the music and all dancing our hearts out like it was going out of style. It was what every dance party endeavors to be. It reminded me of the wild “Gypsy Parties” that I used to have with friends in college. It was definitely a highlight.

Then in the evenings a bus all the foreign guests pilled into two buses that drove us 20 minutes down the road to a local hotel where we all stayed the night. The DC group would have fellowship meetings, while I took a hot shower and went to bed early.

We left early Saturday morning, sad to be leaving the conference not yet finished and said goodbye to all our friends we had met. The 10 hour journey back wasn’t nearly as painful as the journey there, and we had plenty of time to reflect the wonderful few days we had in Gahini. I felt so refreshed after spending a few days with the DC group, and having many wonderful conversations with various individuals in the group (Greg, Mark, Lucy, Elyse, and John in particular). It was so encouraging to share, and I was very blessed by their joyful and uplifting group dynamic. It seems like every time I spend any amount of time with this group (in DC or in Africa) I walk away amazed at how blessed I’ve been and how easy it is to enjoy one another. They have an excitement about life, a sparkle in their eye and many easy laughs.

I preached this morning in a church that I learned was struggling with conflict and bitterness between themselves. I preached on the Prodigal Son and talked about how his journey is one that we also walk, and how the liturgy of Holy Communion is beautiful picture of homecoming to our Father and participating in a beautiful feast together celebrating the Father’s love for his children. I said some things that were somewhat challenging, but the only feedback was that the people liked what I said.

I will be continuing to visit parishes and preach at churches throughout this week. Please pray that I would have a heart to listen and to serve, and for continued strength grasp the opportunities the Lord has given me to do here.

Quick Trip up to Kampala

I took a 3 day “hiatus” to return to Kampala to meet up with Kelly Christian. (Kelly grew up at my Church, St. John’s, and wanted to visit Tanzania, so we arranged that I would “collect” her in Kampala and deliver her at the Bishop’s house). She had been working with Solar Light for Africa, a Christian NGO that installed solar panels in remote villages, for the last 2 weeks. It was somewhat amusing to join the small world of these 23 students and spend 24 hours with the group. Most of the students had just graduated from high school or had just begun college. They had had a very comfortable, regulated trip with security guards, stayed in nice hotels the whole time, and ate only safe American food. Curfews at 10pm...They couldn’t even cross the street unsupervised. Everything was regulated and planned out for them. When I told them about what I had been doing over the last month, I think they were a bit surprised at the disparity between our experiences: almost dying on a motorcycle, crossing borders every week, traveling alone, sleeping and eating out in the bush without electricity, losing all my luggage, having to make all decisions regarding money, etc. They were great kids and they were having a ball the whole trip...jokes, fun and games. It was good to be around people that were enjoying themselves so much and took Africa with such lightness and optimism. I think I was getting a bit grounded down...assuming the worst in situations, yet stoic about everything. These kids made me see that I might be taking myself a bit too seriously and I should lighten up a bit.

Kelly’s team left the Entebbe airport (where the Last King of Scotland hostage crisis happened) on Friday evening, and Kelly and I got a free ride back up to Kampala. We were advised by the NGO to go to a new hotel in the posh hotel district. Kelly insisted on paying for everything while we were in Kampala since I was taking time to come out to bring her back to Tanzania, so it was nice not have to worry about money for a few days. The hotel was run by a bunch of Indian guys that were somewhat annoying and pushy. The room was very overpriced and small, but since we were tired as dogs and didn’t want to spend the time and money hiring another taxi and find another hotel we settled for this place.

We took motorcycles 5 minutes into the city. It was Kelly’s first moto ride, and I instructed the two motorcycle drivers to “go very slow...polay polay”!!! (slow in Swahili) They did and we inched along through the insane Kampala traffic. We got money out at the Bank and went to my favorite Indian restaurant again (the one I took Canon John and his family a couple weeks previous) and enjoyed a delicious dinner of Chicken masala, curry, nan, and a single beautiful beer. I hadn’t had any alcohol for a month, because the church here is vigorously against it and see it as sinful as theft. So I abstain for the sake of my brothers here, but when the opportunity comes up, I enjoy the fruit of the land.

After a somewhat stressful and frustrating morning with Indian hotel manager who treated us like children, but was completely incompetent with what he was doing, we boarded the bus to Bukoba Tanzania, and 2 cliff bars, 100 pages in my new novel King Solomon’s Mines, a rain storm, and 6 hours of rumbling noise we arrived into the arms of the Bishop and his family.

To make things comfortable and easier for Kelly’s transition out of posh life with her NGO, I have moved out of the guestroom to let her have own space. There is another little concrete house behind the main house where Fadihili stays, and Mama Josephine fixed me up a nice bed next to Fadihili’s bed. There’s a little bathroom, only accessible from the outside, next to my room that I now use...an old rusty bicycle folded in half is crumpled in the corner and other junk sits on one side of the room, while a pipe in the ground serves a general drain for showers and washing on the other side. I kind of like using it and enjoy the rustic feeling of it.

This morning we set off in the church mini van to go visit a church an hour away out in the bush. However 3 miles later, some dudes along side of the dusty dirt road shouted at us and pointed at the back tire...flat and hissing away. We got out, had some of the locals help the driver fix the tire, and then waited for the driver to drive back and switch cars. He pulled up to our little stranded group in a cloud of dust, revving the engine of the ancient Land Rover. We hulled down the dirt road...now late to church. Of course the church would not start until we had arrived, but of course we had to go through the formality of having breakfast at the pastor’s house before going to the church. The pastor was a jolly, roly-poly, pastor with two lazy eyes, and ran out to meet us in a big black robe with a white rope tied around his thick waist.

We arrived in glen and I spied a beautiful stone church with a bell tower overlooking a gentle slopping valley. “Is that the church?” I asked with some excitement. “No, that’s the Lutheran church.” It seems like all the nice churches around here are Lutheran. (Tanzania used to be a German colony). We pulled up to little makeshift tent with a cross made of sticks on it. It had no proper walls, just cloth and sticks and reeds to keep out the rain and wind, and soft grass on the dirt floor. We walked to the vestry, which we crammed with half a dozen clergy with their bags of robes and everyone, including the bishop, struggled into their vestments in the cramped little room, and then processed in to an exuberant congregation. They didn’t have much of church building, but boy they had the Spirit moving there! They began the service with a confirmation of a dozen children and received two women who had been Catholics, then after a few songs by the choir, I got up to preach on Matthew 7 and talked about spiritual fruit and how we can be fruitful Christians. They were a wonderfully responsive congregation and shouted “Amen” every now and then. It was very fun. Then we followed the Holy Communion service in the Tanzania prayer book (which is a direct translation of the 1662 Book of Common Prayer in Swahili...for those who care). Kelly and I got up and were presented with gifts from the church and the Mothers Union (a purple mat, a woven little bag full of peanuts that hung around our necks, and a cow hide with our names engraved on it). We gave some speeches and then went outside and with great pomp and ceremony laid the cornerstone of the stone church building they intend to build this coming year. They had made a plaque with the following painted on it: “The corner stone of this buildings is put by Mr. Benjamen Moore and Kelly Christian. On behalf of the fellow christens of St. John the Evangelist Anglican Church Philadelphia U.S.A. on 29th July 2007.” It was a great honor to participate in the ceremony.

We look forward to another busy week this coming week: visiting four churches tomorrow, preaching another sermon at one, then another confirmation service on Tuesday where I’ll preach again, and then heading out to Rwanda for a conference/revival meeting on Wednesday. I’ll be getting a new battery charger this weekend in Rwanda from my friends who are coming from Washington DC to the conference, so next week I’ll begin uploading pictures and hopefully videos.

Traveling with the bishop: Muleba, Tanzania

The bus ride down from Kampala Uganda to Bukoba Tanzania, seemed short and painless. Most of the time I was immersed in Kidnapped, which found in Kampala. I walked off the bus, and like whipped cream Bishop Jackton Lugamira stepped out of the crowd a few meters away with his purple shirt and his big smile. He had brought the whole family to the bus station to meet me: Josephine his wife, Fathili his son, and his daughter whose name I never quite memorized. He then headed out of the Bukoba heading south through the banana and green tea fields, catching up...them asking about friends in Philadelphia and I telling them about my adventures thus far.

We drooped down off the tarmac road after about 45 minutes on to a rough dirt road where they were still constructing the road. Then half and hour later we jolted into Muleba...the small town were the bishop lives and where the diocesan offices are. The bishop's house had a modest wall around and a gate which the driver jumped out and opened to let the mini van into. Bp. Jackton is currently renting his house as he makes plans to build a permanent one. The house has a nice living room with several couches and a TV in the corner...two exposed light bulbs hang from the ceiling are the room's light. A small hallway leads to the guestroom adjacent to small bathroom which is adjacent to the kitchen. I am currently staying in the guestroom which as electricity, a double bed, and mosquito net. I take bathes out of a red plastic basin filled with warm water carefully placed on top of the toilet and use a large measuring cup to rinse.

I have got a little routine going on, now that I've been here almost a week. Wake with sunrise, brush teeth from a water bottle, prayers, a breakfast (toast, instant coffee, papaya, porridge, and a hard boiled egg) then be whisked off to some meeting, church, or other visitation for the morning, have lunch out at where ever I am, sit through various meetings that inevitably are in Swahili (which I usually just have to sit through and daydream about whatever comes to mind), then I'm usually exhausted, come back home for an afternoon nap, take a walk around the neighborhood, take a bath, have a late dinner around 9pm, and chat with the family for a while and turn in to bed around 10. There it is.

I've really been enjoying my evening walks through acres of banana fields, then out along dirt roads, along the ridge of vast savanna plains, past mud thatched huts, and moving aside for the ringing of the bells of bicyclists on their way home from work. The sunset is beautiful and colors everything in a hue of gold and bronze, the blue sky fading from white to indigo blue, the crescent moon already high in the sky. I usually go with the bishop or his son Fathili, and we talk and muse about all sorts of things. Fathili, though he's 23, seems to be more like 19. He hasn't lived at home for more than a month since he was 13, so he barely knows his own family, and they treat him like a teenager. But I rarely meet someone so full of questions. We've talked for hours about witchcraft, virtual reality, US foreign policy, liberal theology, the Enlightenment, marriage, cultural identity, etc. He is very soft spoken and I often have to ask him to repeat what he's saying...he's very humble like his father, and he laughs a lot like his mother. It's quite relaxing to pass the gentle evenings outside and slowly watch the red dust stain my feet and sandals as we move along. There's no rush in Africa and extra time is one thing everyone has plenty of.

Last Friday I was asked to go with the bishop to a confirmation service in a parish and preach. That was quite fun. Fathili translated for me. The church floor was made of soft hay, which everyone just nestled down into when the sermon began. Then on Sunday I preached at the main church in Muleba near the diocesan offices. I was at first a bit disturbed at how unresponsive everyone seemed. I would try to make a joke and no one would move. At the end of the service they had all of these donations given by the congregation: pineapples, papaya, a thick stock of sugar cane...which were then auctioned off right there in the sanctuary. I was a bit surprised at this raw capitalism (the church wanted to have cash instead of a bunch of fruit). But I was shocked when someone in the congregation bought be three small eggs. They brought the plastic bag up to where I was sitting. I was surprised and amused. Then someone bought me three papayas, now I was quite impressed. Then someone bought me a pineapple. I was honored. I thanked the congregation, since I couldn't tell you in particular had purchased the fruit for me.

This morning I accompanied the bishop to a meeting of Christian teachers where the bishop gave a lecture on Christian education and the need to be committed to the gospel even when it costs you something. I kind of spaced out most of the time since the bishop was speaking in Swahili and my translator would only mention what he was saying every 5 minutes or so.

I'm in Bukoba now, and don't expect to be back near an Internet location in the next few days. Signing off.

Last Day in Kampala, Uganda

This morning I spoke at the chapel at Uganda Christian University. The chapel itself was a charming room with gothic windows of red brick…a remnant of old British Theological Seminary that was built here in 1922. Maybe 150 students and professors showed up for the 7:30 a.m. meeting. I gave a brief 25 minute presentation on the relationship that liberalism will have with Uganda for the next generation. I hope that my word communicated adequately the great gravity of the situation I believe that East Africa is facing. After chapel, I had several young pastors, students, and professors come and ask for a transcript of the presentation and said it was thought provoking. I can at least be thankful for that.

Tomorrow I will be back on the bus heading south along Lake Victoria into Tanzania. I will be working with a newly consecrated bishop named Jackton Lugamira and his wife Josephine. I met them last February when they were visiting Philadelphia for one month, and traveled with them to Boston for a weekend. They are truly wonderful people and like parents to me. I don’t really know exactly what Bp. Jackton will be requesting me to do, but I am up for anything he throws at me.

I’ll write again from Bukoba.

Kampala, Uganda

Friday July 13 I took a trip out to the site of where 42 royal servants were tortured and burned alive, wrapped up in reeds. The first missionaries to Uganda strategically targeted the servants of the royal family to make in roads into the Buganda Kingdom. However, the old benevolent king who was sympathetic to Christianity died, and his son took power and killed off the monotheists: Protestants, Catholics, and a few Muslims. The site was pretty interesting and had a bunch of clay figures to try to "reenact" the scene. The tree where they were tortured has huge gashes where pilgrims to the shrine teared the bark away to keep as relics of the saints. Pope John Paul made a visit to the site, and it remains an important Catholic site of martyrdom. Beside the site sits a small struggling Anglican seminary. 70 students, 5 full time faculty work diligently in the woods there to further education and develop the future church leaders of Uganda. Going back later that afternoon to Uganda Christian University was like going from grey to a burst of color and life. The University is only 15 years old, but is bursting at the seems and is already the 2nd largest University in Uganda. The atmosphere around the campus is one of progress, hope, and excitement for the future. The students are stylish and attempt to be cosmopolitan in their own way. They speak in English in their conversations rather than their local dialects. They hope to be the movers and shakers of the next generation to move Uganda into a brighter future. It is encouraging to be here in such a place of great hope and potential. But I see also so much innocence here too. Their grasp of Western culture is still quite idealistic and naive. Though most hold to strong evangelical Christian beliefs they are inadequately prepared to face the onslaught of liberal ideology and postmodern deconstructionism. If given time, it would butcher them. I expressed my concern to Canon John who agreed with me, and suggested that I give a talk open to the student body on the subject. I quickly agreed. I'm scheduled to address the student body on Tuesday morning. Saturday July 14 Canon John is an exceptionally loving and devout man. He went to seminary back when Amin was president and suffered persecution in the 1970s. Most of his classmates that he had in seminary are now bishops or vicars of large parishes. And though he is a canon (someone whose job it is to guard the church against unsound doctrine), he doesn't have the social status that many of his colleagues have. But he continues to life a life committed to the Church and to Christ. Canon John has a habit of taking orphaned boys and tucking them up under his wing and helping them get off the ground. According to tribal tradition, if a man wants to marry a woman, he goes to the woman's home before the tribal elders to ask if he can marry her. If permitted, a huge party ensues and the couple is considered lawfully married. Now for modern Ugandan Christians they continue to follow this tradition, but more with the function of being a formal engagement. On Saturday we drove 4 hours on terrible roads out to Eastern Uganda to a small town called Mbale. One of Canon John's orphan boys was getting married and had to go to his fiance's town to go through the ritual before the elders. Somehow I got roped into being an honored guest and part of the groom's entourage. The men all wore these long robes with blazers over the top, and the women wore clothing resembling saris. We processed in to the meeting and sat in plastic chairs under a weathered canopy. There was a masters of ceremony with a cordless microphone who paced back and forth making jokes and trying to get a reluctant crowd to clap. After a series of rituals of having different sets of women come out of the house and finding the bride, then the women finding the groom among the guests, another long set of long speeches were made with introductions were made of all the VIP guests who were present: 5 clergymen, 1 doctor and his wife, aunts and uncles, grandparents, ect. ect. I was beginning to fade when they finally announced dinner. The VIP guests all went inside the house to have dinner, while the rest of the 200 people ate outside. We left surprisingly quickly (it is my observation that Africans are especially good at greetings and introductions, but quite negligent and poor at farewells. You could sit down for a whole afternoon with someone, and then just get up and leave without saying goodbye, and nobody thinks twice). We then drove the 4 hours back to Kampala. Sunday July 15 Canon John sent me with his driver in the University Land Cruiser to church. I arrived at Namirembe Cathedral as the choir was singing and asking for money to go to Nairobi to compete in a choir competition. The service was good, however I somehow completely spaced out for the entire monotone sermon an old Chaplin gave on Abraham's faith. I met the curate of the cathedral who invited me to his home for a short visit. He used to be an instructor working for Uganda Airlines, and then got a call one day from the Archbishop of Uganda enlisting him into the ranks of the clergy. He followed orders and is now posted at the cathedral.I then made the 10 minute jaunt across town to All Saints Cathedral and met the vicar. I was a bit surprised to find that the vicar was a woman. Very sharp, very composed, with a gentle seriousness about here. She was wearing a white alb (a robe) with a hood draping down her back, and modest high heels. She was articulate and careful. She had worked in South Africa for 13 years in an all white parish. She told me some stories of how she and her husband, a fellow priest, had tried to bridge the gap left after the apartheid. Though I said nothing, the question of what I should do about a devout Anglican woman vicar pounded my head. I don't believe that women are called into the priesthood, and I believe that it is cultural pressures, not Scriptural pressures that brought women into the priesthood. But like it or not, here they are. They are sincere. They are competent. They are loving. They are usually quite effective and efficient. And they are parts of Anglican provinces that I am in communion. For goodness sake, the Archbishop of Rwanda approves of women in the priesthood. I suppose it is a question to wrestle with more in the coming years. When I went up for communion during the service that followed our conversation, I intentionally received the elements from the male provost...just to be on the safe side. After the service at All Saints I spent some time int he provost's office chatting and exchanging our stories of how we got be both sitting there together. I headed back to Canon John's house for the afternoon to take a much needed nap and rest up. I offered to take Canon John, his wife Joy, and his daughter Hannah out for dinner at an delicious Indian restaurant. Canon John made satisfied humming noises, and polite comments about how good it tasted. Hannah put on her 19 year old self-conscious air of indifference on, and periodically texted messages to her friends. Joy had never had Indian food before, and her eyes kept darting suspiciously between the curries and the nan wondering what to make of it all. When she took the last bit, she finally said, "I think I have just gotten used to the spices! I like it. I think I will come back to this place. Soon!" I couldn't really tell if she meant it, or if she was trying to make me feel better about taking her to a strange restaurant, but we left with full stomachs and smiles.