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.
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