June 20, 2024
"She was just born a few hours ago."
This is the message I got from my boyfriend's mom a few days before leaving for Africa. She told the story of how a drunk father came asking for help because his wife was in labor way too early. Upon arrival the child was already born and survived! The missionary couple was asked to name her. She was called Hope Grace for the hope that they will come to know God and hope for a changed future! And the grace God gave that both the mama and baby survived the delivery! I was very excited to bring a gift for this precious little girl. "Hope Grace is just waiting for you to hold her!"
Little did I know how soon... or long... I would be doing just that.
The moment you get off the plane the humidity washes over you. You march behind all the others, grateful someone seems to know where they're going, in order to get through customs. After 30+ hours of traveling with Sam I was glad to have him with me, knowing just what to do. Culturally I couldn't hold his hand so I gripped my backpack tight and wrapped my mind around where I was standing. The sheen floors, the sticky air, the geckos on the walls. Three continents and *a few * time zones later I stood in Uganda. Technically in the future for all my loved ones at home still on the previous day.
We were greeted warmly by Sam's parents. Climbing gratefully into the car that would take us to real beds after "sleeping" 35,000ft above the ocean, Hugh smiled at us, "From here we go from marble halls to the red dirt path."
Welcome to Uganda. Welcome to the Pearl of Africa.
Where the red dirt will never wash out and neither does it's impact.
Let me back up and explain :) I am dating a wonderful man named Sam. His heart is for missions, like his missionary parents. My heart is also for the good news of Jesus, the Gospel :)!! I was invited to the guest room at their home for about a month to work alongside them. I am so grateful for their generosity and how they tirelessly cared for, worked with and supported me and Samuel both! I am also incredibly grateful for the generosity of each individual who donated towards the costs of going! You all are my heros and know that I am moved by it.
(My hotel bed, overlooking Lake Victoria and the road into Nanjeho)
It was a slow and sweet start. I awoke under a hotel mosquito net to the familiar sound of African songbirds. We looked out over Lake Victoria and made our way to breakfast. Then the six hour drive began to Nanjeho. I was reminded of the insanity of driving through the big city in Africa. Motorcycles called Boda's swarm the streets, in between lanes (if lanes existed), everyone passing wherever they fit just trying to get one step ahead of their neighbor. I am sure it is stressful to drive in, but there is a certain thrill to it as a passenger. I smiled to myself. In America (and many other countries, even), when you leave home, you are still home. Comparatively, each state has essentially the same rules, culture, expectations, feel and the like. So there is something about the unfamiliar, about feeling like you actually left home, that is exciting.
In some ways it is not so different. There are baseline threads of commonality weaved throughout human existence. But the culture nonetheless is... foreign.
And I am quite taken by it.
We soon hit that red dirt road: about twenty minutes of slow driving through what you might consider "the bush". Village roads of dips and divots that turn to mud in the heavy rains. But each bump reminded me of where we were and I oddly cherished them.
Reaching the compound we rested from the many hours of travel. And then...
May 23, 2024. We hit the ground running.
A knock sounded on the gate early in the morning and this is where we meet Hope Grace.
A little face in a bundle of rugged blanket, promptly placed into my arms.
Two and a half weeks old, this little girl had already known a hard life. She entered the world early in a mud hut where the inside is about the size of my bathroom back home. Where she lives with her father who, as eluded to, wrestles with a drinking addiction, her mother and brother who are mentally impaired, and her three other siblings.
Baby was so lethargic and... limp. When she was handed to me I couldn't stop staring. I blew on her, hoping for a squinting sign of irritation. I lifted her tiny wrist with no response or resistance. Crickett and Emily (the woman helping us), spoke to the mother, Nabweari (nah-b-weary), trying to gather information. The skin on Hope Grace's neck was discolored and pealing. I wrapped her further in the towel, all my focus and attention in one place only. I sang to her, rocked her, prayed in whispers over her. Then Sam was helping me in the front seat (left side of the car) and I carried her the whole way to the hospital. Carefully clinging to her over every shaking bump trying to keep her head still.
I held her through the waiting room. Through the examination with the doctor. Through the blood draw in the lab. Still I never saw her eyes or felt a movement.
She was admitted to the NICU. I entered the room and we took off our shoes, as is custom. Finally, with aching arms, I passed her off to Nabweari to attempt to nurse. Little One opened her eyes a little but barely ate. It had been five or six hours since she'd last attempted.
The medical staff always amaze me in Uganda. I don't mind saying Uganda is a difficult place; it's hard to know who is being truthful or what their motives might be. However from what I could tell the nurses and doctors take genuine interest in the well being of their patients. The doctor cooed and smiled at Hope Grace, treating her tenderly as he put in her IV.
Nabweari had to be spoken to rather sternly. The baby would need to stay for three days on treatment (talk of fluids and vitamin K are all I recall) and it was looking very doubtful that the mother understood or could handle that. They were concerned she would up and leave.
After much difficulty, a neighbor was found who agreed to come help the frail mother. However, in spite of her help, in the following days Nabweari would not treat the woman kindly. As a result, dear Emily took a boda to the hospital every day to mediate. It was a terrible burden, when Emily (the same age as me) already has children and work of her own. And you must remember, every day life in the village is very difficult and time consuming. This was a sacrifice of love. But her empathy for the small child moved her.
A few weeks later I was visiting Nabweari's home for the second time. Their original house had burned down and this one stood in need of repairs as two gaping holes were between the roof and walls. I gave the mom the Carter's outfit I'd found in the states and the teether, and Crickett showed them how to use a reusable diaper.
I smiled sadly as I considered the situation. I learned an important lesson (Sam actually put it to words for me). And that is that you have to disassociate trusting someone and liking someone.
Liking someone... I won't say it's necessary to love them? -But it sure helps. I can genuinely love this young mother - I have to in fact! - in spite of the difficulties she brings to the table. I can't say I trust her. But that does not keep me from learning to see her the way Jesus already does: with compassion. He is compassionate, slow to anger, abounding in love (Psalm 103). He is patient with all of us, His desire is for none to be lost but all to come to Him in repentance (2 Peter 3:9). That hope offered was for me just the same as it is for her. Praise our gracious God!
Hope Grace has a community of people dedicated to her care. People who make sure she is washed and fed. People who check on her well being. And I am so grateful to the Lord Who sees and knows and is over all things. He is our Rock and our defense.
“17 Now, our God, hear the prayers and petitions of your servant. For your sake, Lord, look with favor on your desolate sanctuary. 18 Give ear, our God, and hear; open your eyes and see the desolation of the city that bears your Name. We do not make requests of you because we are righteous, but because of your great mercy. 19 Lord, listen! Lord, forgive! Lord, hear and act! For your sake, my God, do not delay, because your city and your people bear your Name.” Daniel 9:17-19.
This was written in response to the destruction of Jerusalem. Remember that the author, Daniel was carried off to Babylon. He prays on behalf of his people. Let us look at this Scripture and act: let us pray for our people and the church, as well.
I encourage you to read and pray through Daniel 9 (linked here) for your families, your home, for believers around the world and for those who will come to believe. And please pray for the families of Nanjeho and the greater area. Because there is no peace, joy or life at all apart from Christ. Pray for the women and children, but mainly that the men would step up and protect and provide and change the culture and root problems. Pray for workers to be sent for the Lord. Pray we would reclaim as children of Light what the enemy has sent squatters to. And pray for genuine hearts of love for the Lord.
Waiting in the lab for blood work.
Emily and Hope Grace (left), myself and Nabweari (right) in the NICU.
Crickett weighing Hope Grace.
Eyes open, holding my finger after receiving her IV port.
Hope Grace's home.
A shot with Crickett from inside, with the mattress and family's clothes in view.
My favorite photo.
There are more photos and stories to come in the following posts! If you haven't already you may sign up on the main page of the blog and be on the lookout for The Pearl of Africa series in your inbox. Until then, hugs and warm greetings,
Love,
Sarah
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