Building for the Future

I've stared at a blank page for days, contemplating how to even begin this third post in a series of entries on the work being done in Uganda, Africa.  We've reached a point where a lot of the groundwork has been laid and the resources needed for progress are increasing.  Look at it this way - if building a school in Uganda was a race (likely a poor analogy as nothing but children and geckos move quickly in this country), we have our running shoes on.  Our number is being pinned on, and the loudspeaker is beckoning us to the starting line.  The excitement is stirring.

Xchange International is an organization that the Lord birthed this year using a small team of people dedicated to taking Jesus to impoverished children around the world using education as the vehicle.  We're registered in the U.S. and our 501(c)(3) (tax exemption) application is in process.  We are weeks away from being recognized in Uganda as an official Ugandan NGO (non-governmental organization).  Our architect is wrapping up the drawings for the school (you'll either cry or laugh when you see them - this is a modern day Noah's Ark project).  We have almost completed our search for contractors, and they will be putting in their bids for the project in the next few weeks.  The bottom line is simple: in just a few weeks, our progress will be haulted until we begin fundraising.

Here's the plan in a nutshell.  This first project as an organization is to build a Primary school in Uganda -the US equivalent of Kindergarten to 7th grade.  It's the most basic level of education which all other training here is built on.  We'll be using the national curriculum and supplementing it's known weak areas such as problem solving, critical thinking, and others.  One of the buildings will double as a church building for a church plant, and a well will be dug that will serve a community which currently has no water source.  I wrote an email to our team recently that said the standard of this building alone is so high that it will rival the best schools in the country.  I finished with saying "When this school opens, the entire world will know that the love of Jesus, expressed through educational empowerment, has firmly planted itself in the Jinja district of Uganda.  It will be a lighthouse in a community filled with poverty, suffering, Islam, and witchdoctors."

As we ready ourselves for the firing of the gun, I would like to invite you to consider becoming a part of this story.  When we release the final drawings for the school and our timeline to complete it, you'll know this is going to be nothing less than a God-sized project.  As William Carey said, we are attempting great things for God and expecting great things from God.

We'll be releasing the final project details soon along with ways you can get involved.  We're practically ecstatic to show you what God is doing here in Uganda.

The Birth of a Dream

Perhaps many of you are slightly lost after reading a random announcement that I just bought a couple acres of land in Ugandan village.  I guess that isn't the type of thing people say frequently, so I'll give you a quick background before I recall how the events leading up to the land negotiations.

Before my junior year of college at Liberty University, I took some time away from school and worked full-time for World Help and their international children's choir, Children of the World.  Nine of our kids were from Uganda, so I was exposed to this particular country that way.  I had been coming to other parts of Africa for years, but Uganda was different.

On a World Help trip to Uganda, the founder and president, Vernon Brewer, gave me an opportunity to represent the organization in a meeting with the former VP of Uganda, Gilbert Bukenya.  During that conversation, Bukenya shared how education had changed his life and that we would never know where each child we invest in would end up.  God used that meeting to set the course my life would ultimately take - bringing Jesus to kids around the world using education as the vehicle.

For the past few weeks I've been in Uganda researching alongside a few local NGOs that focus on education.  They are staffed by some of the most brilliant Ugandan men I've ever worked with - most of them having studied development or social work at the university level.  Working through nationals allows (most) processes to be more efficient, such as finding an area in need of a school and puchasing land.

I arrived at the Source Cafe in Jinja at 9am for my coffee and to wait on the other men to arrive.  My contacts showed up with a few of their directors and we set off for Bufula, the village I had been told was in desperate need of a school.  Keep in mind, this trip followed many others to surrounding villages walking the paths, asking questions, and listening for God to speak.

We arrived at the land available for sale and began to survey.  The brick foundation that was in place came with a story.  Eight years ago, a Ugandan man had come into the community saying he would build a school.  He collected money from the community, was given permission to build on this particular piece of land, and the contractor was hired.  Three weeks later, the man was gone, and so was the pot of the communities hard-earned money.  The contractor was never paid.  Needless to say, local leaders were cautious when I, the foreigner, rolled onto the scene.

We spent the morning visiting villagers in the area, asking questions about the current schooling situation and digging deeper into the rich, albeit unfortunate history of the area.  Noon came and it was time for the community meeting.  Leaders from Bufula and neighboring villages came and gathered under a tree.  It was a melting pot of young and old, mom and leader, and even the original contractor and some of his workers.  Everyone had a stake in what was to come.

The next two hours were spent introducing one another and discussing the need for a school.  The contractor stood up and announced that never being paid wasn't an issue - for him, the school took priority and he trusted things would work out.  Finally, an elderly man, the locally elected government official known as the Chairman, spoke up.  In his language, he asked me what confidence they had that I wasn't going to do the same thing the last man did.  Somehow I knew this was coming, yet I was no more prepared to answer.  Immediately, I began to ask God for the words.  All eyes were on me, and each one of them held a sliver of fear and skepticism.

In short, I explained to them exactly what was on my heart.  I boldly told them that this project was not for me, or for them. It was for God.  This school would have His name attached, and that I was not accountable to the leaders or contractors or children for my work, but that one day I would give an answer for how I treated God's creations.  I finished by saying "My confidence is in Jesus.  If you put yours there too, fear will not be in you."  I finished, and translation began.  As all eyes were fixed on the translator, I became quite nervous that my words were stern and could be met with resistance.  I was wrong.  The old man smiled, stood up, and walked over to me.  He bent down to shake my hand and in his broken English said, "God loves our village.  Bless you."

With his approval, we could move to the final step - negotiating for the land.  Myself, the elderly land owner, her son, and a few of my contacts moved our chairs elsewhere and began talking.  Twenty minutes later, the asking price came -10 million Ugandan Shillings, or $4,000 USD.

I had spent that twenty minutes reviewing the excitement for education in this village.  I smiled, shook my head, and said "that is too much."  All were quiet, and I'm practically begging for Jesus to say something.  Actually I'm thinking, "did I just say that, or was that you?!"  I'm flipping through the countless hours of cultural training trying to figure out if I'm on the right track or if I have just blown my dream.  Then it hits me.

"I'll give you 2.5 million ($1,000 USD).  But, you tell the Jja Ja (grandmother, landowner) that all of her grandchildren will go to our school for free."  The son translates for his mom and before he's done, she gets up and runs over to the awaiting crowd, yelling and clapping.

The son laughs, and I'll never forget his words.  "She accepts your offer.  You see, it isn't the money that concerns us.  We need education, and you have honored her and our family.  We accept your offer."

So, there you have it.  Acquiring land in Africa certainly isn't the same as America.  If there's one thing you have to admit, it is that this story is too good not to be a part of.  I'm already dreaming of an opening ceremony five villages large.  Hundreds (or thousands?) of people, food, celebration.  And Jesus.  Center stage.  Jesus.

Our land in Bufula, also showing the existing foundation.

Our partners, the chairman, a local pastor, and the landowner and her son.

We Bought Land

I've long been fascinated with the idea that God, the Creator of the universe and arguably the greatest author in and outside of time, is still in the business of writing stories. I also believe that as the created, there lies within us a natural curiosity and zeal for knowing these stories, even playing a character in one. Like the presence of God, these stories are all around us, many of which we ourselves are a character in. We're a supporting role to a friend, a one-sentence appearance to an acquaintance. Occasionally, we are given the opportunity to read the page of a story and because of it, we can no longer fathom a life of happiness without being scribed in as a character.

I read a page recently, but it was so much more than that. More than reading a story that had since been completed, I was living it - the page filling as the clock ticked. In a small Ugandan village called Bufula, God is writing another one of His provocative love stories, interwoven with the elusive sense of humor so many fail to see. When old community leaders start squirming in their chairs because they want to dance, are there words? When a woman, so exciting her grandchildren will go to school, runs home to bring her contribution to the tremors of celebration - a small bag containing five pieces of fried bread, are there social protocols? When you feel yourself being swept into a story having never seen the casting sign, do you strap up your boots or retreat?

Its funny, you know. When you take the plunge into someone else's story, God is writing the best parts of your own. He wrote the most awe-inspiring love story in history, and then He says to us, so unworthy of even His peripheral, "I'm entrusting it to you. Go, tell everyone, and make disciples of them. And as you go, I'm going to fuse my story into yours. Trust me with the middle and I promise, the ending will shame your wildest imagination."

This particular story in Bufula began Saturday afternoon. The chapter ended with our negotiations for a piece of land on which to build a school. I haven't recorded the day's events into words yet, but I could make a guess at the last paragraph. The community watched from several yards away as we negotiated the price for the land between myself, the land owner (an elderly woman), her son, and a few leaders. I found out later that the community was reserving their celebration for after a final agreement was made. When our negotiations ended, the land owner jumped up and ran back to the crowd yelling and waving her hands.  On our way home, my translator told me what she said: "God is here! He loves our village! We have settled on a price and my grandchildren are going to school!"

And with that, the news is out. We took our first step of faith of this unknown journey. We bought land. Pictures and more details on their way this week.

Tom, Marvin, and Isaiah

As I drop the car into park on Main Street, I know what's coming. Better yet, who. A pair of white, beady eyes peers in at me through the passenger window as he proceeds to back up and call over his friends. He announces in the local language that within the car he now props himself against is a mzungu, a white man. Loud voices ensue and as I open my door, it suddenly becomes strangely light. Dark hands of all sizes open it for me and begin their ritualistic plea for money. They tell me how much chapatti is (a local staple of fried bread), that they are "feeling hungry.". Through being here, I know that most aren't as desperate as they come across, but actually make decent money employing this plot on unsuspecting tourists. A few words in the local language telling them where I stay confirms to them they'll get no paper from my pocket. Their mood changes to laughter, as if they know they have been uncovered. They walk me to the door of the small restaurant I've come to visit and leave me to enjoy my evening. I sit and enjoy a cold drink, a welcomed refuge from the day's hot weather. A simple soda costs what some people in the villages make in a day. My meal, ordered off the appetizer menu - 8,000 Ugandan Shillings, equalling about $3.25. As I consume, I reflect on my blessings and how a full night of asking for money on the street likely yields half of what I just spent on a potato covered in cheese. As I make my way out of the restaurant, my new friends find me and run over. Im already plotting how best to ignore them. Only this time, there is no request for money. They introduce themselves by name and walk with me across the street. We make a few jokes, I tell them they have grown in number since my last visit to Uganda, and I get in my car to head home. As the diesel engine comes to life, the smallest one nearly jumps out of his skin. We all laugh, and in that moment, my spirit wrote a check my flesh didn't want to cash. I turned the engine off and out I came. Onto the curb went by backside and away I went. I made fun of the oldest because he had a mzungu name - Tom. Marvin had a sense of humor like none I've ever seen, and Isaiah knew hardly any English, which only fed Marvin's comic relief. If I asked him a question, I got a blank stare as the other boys translated. They made harmless fun of our communicating, and the conversation went on. Tom told me he wanted to be a boxer. So I did what any man does when he meets a boy who wants such, I challenged him to a match. We stood up and took turns taking swings, the others laughing histerically. The laughter bled to Tom and I, and we couldn't muster the strength to continue. We sat back down and began talking about their days, why they aren't in school, and what they think about this life. My temptation to believe they were lying about their past, even as some here here might assume they were, was strong. Deception is rampant here, and one of the most difficult parts of ministry in Africa is discovering truth. Thus, my skepticism always runs high. However, that was not my place then, nor is it now. Convicted, I realized Jesus didn't want me to sit on that curb and discern truth from sob-story. It wasn't my place to call Marvin out on his far-fetched account of his upbringing. I just listened, gauged their interest in school, God, and other things, and called it an evening. As I got in the car, Tom calls out: "see you tomorrow, boxer!". I laugh, but something inside of me, however small, thought, "I hope so." I know so little about this culture, about the truths behind stories or the likelihood that these boys even need to be on the streets begging. I have no saving power, no intentions of playing hero and taking these boys in off the streets. I claim to know nothing of their problems or a solution. However right or however wrong, I simply enjoy being with them. Maybe one day I'll discover their hearts benefitted from our visit as much as mine. Perhaps Tom and I even get a chance for a re-match.