A Muddied Hut

What a week it has been. Last time I wrote we were getting ready to go up to a very remote area in Uganda. I was a little nervous about this journey and yet it was one I will never forget.

We drove about 3 hours to an area called Karamoja, to meet up with some missionaries who are working with the Karamojang. This is a people group which is slightly nomadic and is known for their killings and steeling for cattle. It is an area which is very dry physically and spiritually. There have been cycles of dysfunction going on their for years and only in the last few years has it been viewed as a “safer” area visit.

Driving up we saw many small villages and people digging in ditches of dirt for water-- what a life. We arrived at the mission compound and were blessed with wonderful hospitality from the missionaries. The next morning we went to a village that had been recently burned to the ground and
when we arrived many were so pleased we were there; however, it appeared that mzungu’s were not an every day site. The children were bumping up against us to feel a mzunugu, they were touching my necklaces and telling me they needed them…and yet around them their houses were destroyed and everything they had was gone.
We told them we were here to help and so they took us up on the offer. I am not sure in the end how much we helped but the smiles that we saw as we tried to do “their” work was worth it all ☺

We were led over to a hut that was just a frame and there was a pile of dirt in front of it. They began to tell us ( and all this communication is going on thru translators and sign language…) that they will add some water to the dirt and we are to stomp around and mix it together…. If you have seen the I Love Lucy when they are making wine, then you know the site I am depicting… except we were on a dirt pile with about a 2 foot diameter and there were three of us mzungu girls stomping around, slipping in the mud and trying not to think of what was crawling in the dirt.
The women were laughing as they watched us, and we too had to laugh. They had one of their daughters show us how to do it, she did it with grace, speed and vigor… then we tried… and the slow, trudged steps, balance deficient girls did not look so graceful to say the least. After our mud was mixed, we began carrying it into the hut and throwing globs on the frame to make the walls. It was such a fun experience.

I caught myself laughing and connecting with these people that I literally have very little in common with, and yet together we were making a house. A place where they could come, find rest, shelter and hopefully safety.
What an incredible experience to have the day before Easter, a day of celebrating the power of the resurrection, the power that can connect a peasant woman from Karamoja to a white girl from the US. That is a power to live by.