Africa Love

"Lord I pray that you won't make my life easy, but that you will make me strong"

God has really been moving my heart lately on some big things and asking me to take some big steps in faith. He has been moving and shifting my heart for some time, hence the lack of updates. Faith is really scary sometimes.

More to come soon, please keep me and our whole team in your prayers

I love you all

Dissan

Manuel

Bashir

It has been difficult for me these last couple of days, it feels like everyone has been leaving me in Uganda and it is not easy.

Jessica is moving back to America Lord willing the beginning of August with Collins (and I have no doubt that it is the right thing for them to do). It will be so strange being here in Uganda without her. From my first day in Kampala 4 years ago, she was right at my side. When we started working in the slums with street kids, we did everything together. God gave us very similar callings for working with traumatized children and I have loved working beside her here. She is such a brave, loyal, and godly person. One of the most exciting times of my life was when we were opening the African Hearts Home. Jessica and I got to go to the slums together, fall in love with kids there, take them by the hand and bring them home. We shared the small top bunk of a triple bunk bed in a room full of children for months with nothing but the top of a bookshelf to keep all of our personal items. We had no electricity, no running water, but we had so much joy. We were living in the middle of a miracle. I admire and love her so much, we have been through so much together and it is hard to imagine living here without here.

Last Friday we (all of us at the Kivulu home) took Jessie back to the airport so that she could go back to America permanently. I love Jessie so much and was heartbroken that she had to go, she means so much to me. I was last to say goodbye and after escorting her into the airport we turned around to go upstairs so that the boys could watch the airplanes taking off. I walked a little ahead as I tried to get myself together. Manuel jogged up and snuggling under my arm turned to me and said, “Babirye, I understand, my heart is hurting too…” At that I started crying hard as he gave me a big hug and started crying himself. We stayed for about 45 minutes before getting back into the bus for the 1 hour ride back home.

As I entered the bus little Bashir grabbed my hand and quietly asked me if I would sit between him and Dissan. I did. As soon as I sat down, I asked him how he was feeling, he looked at me seriously and said, “I am feeling okay because I know that you are staying here, because you are not leaving me. I love you.” With that he wrapped his arm around mine and put his head on my shoulder.

Bashir, little Bashir who is cute as a button, sharp as a tack, and wild as anything.

Bashir telling me he loved me.

Bashir has been in the house for about 7 months and it has not been until the last month that he has even been able to speak to me. He would always tell the other uncles that he loved me but that he wanted to make me cry. He would refuse to talk to me, greet me, respond to me if I answered him a question, even sit by me or be around me at all. He acted as if I didn’t exist no matter what I did. Aside from one uncle in the house that was how he treated just about everyone.

Bashir has extreme attachment issues, he has been abandoned by everyone that should have loved him and taken care of him in his short life. He has learned to survive and so in order to do that he has learned how to protect his heart from allowing anyone inside it. Bashir has always known that I loved him, and he has loved me too- he knew it so well that it scared him to death which was why he tried everything he could to push me away. As frustrated as he would make me I would always tell him, “Bashir, no matter what you do, or what you say I will always love you. There is nothing that you can do to change that.”

And one day about a month ago he finally believed me. He got back from school and instead of completely ignoring me decided to come up and give me a big hug. From that moment on he has been one of my best friends. I still tell him I love him but this time he responds and tells me he loves me to. He has been doing so much better with all of the boys in the house, visitors and all of the other care givers. I am so proud of him! A few days ago he wrote me a letter and asked me if he could call me his mom, of course I said yes.

Sitting on the bus on the ride back, Bashir and Dissan fell asleep on both of my shoulders while holding tightly to my hands. I looked at them and realized that they were my responsibility, my kids. They have hearts that have been shattered and broken by the people who should have been giving their life to protect them. They had decided to trust me with their love. I decided that I was not going to leave them like other people in their life had. Their biological parents abandoned them, but I wasn’t going to. I know that God has called me to Uganda. That night I realized and committed myself that I would be there to watch them to grow, to see Bashir as he started high school, to celebrate their birthdays, watch them at their football games, and listen to them as they wrote a new song. I don’t know where I will be in 10 years, but I know that at least for the next 8 I will be here with my kids, giving them back the childhood they deserved and cheering them on every step of the way. God has not allowed me to be lonely one day since all of my time being in Uganda and I know that He will bring the people in my life that I need right when I need them. At times it is tough but I know that God is going to carry me through every step of the way.

There is a boy in our house named Emmanuel, Manuel as he prefers to be called who is especially dear to my heart. On the streets I loved him so much and it absolutely killed me to see him suffer. He was a boy that I wanted to adopt so badly. On the streets he was always so skinny and sick. One day when we went to Calvary Church I found him so sick I was afraid that he was going to die, I sat with him and rubbed his back and prayed that God would give me some way to help him, that God would save and protect him. I never wanted him to go back to the streets again and would do anything to help him. (I wrote a blog about it a long time ago). A friend of mine, Andrew took care of him and as he did we quite unexpectantly started the Kivulu home, Manuel never had to go to the streets again. He was now my son. Manuel is a joy in my life. He loves to joke, dance, and laugh (he is hilarious). We just understand each other so well. He calls me his mom and most days after school he will give me a big hug and tell me that he missed me so much while he was studying. I love Manuel more than I can express and I am truly honored that he has allowed me into his heart. We often tell each other, "I love you- and you know it" and its true, we do. I am so proud of him.

Jessie wrote some of the boys stories down and Manuel told her that he wanted his to be shared, so here it is:


“I had a mother and father to begin with. But that didn’t last too long, my mother disappeared from home when I was about 6 years old. I don’t fully know why she left but when I was very young I would see my father beating my mother and chasing her out of the house in anger and screaming. No matter what happened it is always hard for me to think about her leaving because if she had just stayed things would have been different for me, life would have been different. I never saw her again, I wouldn’t even know her if I saw her on the street. From then on I stayed with my father who was blind in both eyes. My father used to play the harp for people. He would go to parties and people’s homes to play the harp for money. My father was always so proud of me and loved me so much. Despite his love, I feared him so much because of the way that he treated my mom. One day my dad decided to sell all of our land. So we left our home which was in Rukungiri and we moved a few hours away to Bushenyi to live with my grandmother since we no longer had a home or land to stay in. When we moved there, I found out my father was with another woman so I stayed with my dad and my grandfather. I never knew that she was actually my stepmother because she lived somewhere else but my father would spend a lot of time with her. One day I went with my dad to a party he was going to play the harp at. My dad got very drunk that day. He had always been someone that drank but this day was different, he had far too much and was unable to even handle himself. I was walking with my father back home, leading him since he wasn’t able to see. I held his hand the entire way to help him. We were sloping down the road and reached a point where we wanted to cross the road. I told my dad that we needed to wait because there was a car coming but my father refused to listen to me. He said that he could see there wasn’t a car even though he was blind. I fought with my dad, trying to pull him from the road. After a moment of fighting back and forth my dad eventually won and dragged me along with him into the middle of the road. Immediately my dad was hit by a truck right in front of me. In fear and anxiety I ran and just kept running until I found a house where a woman lived and told them that my dad had been killed by a car. I went to the scene where it happened and the police had already arrived. We were given money from the people that hit my dad to use to pay for the burial of my dad. After my dad died I went to live with my grandfather. But my grandfather was very rough with me, he treated me terribly. Whenever he would send me for water at the well, if there were many people and I came back late he would beat me. He would strangle me by the neck, and cane me all over my body. He would grab a hold of me and bind me with ropes so that he was able to cane me. There were other times where he would heat a metal rod in fire and then burn me.

After about one year my grandfather fell sick. One night when he was sick, he called on me to bring some water because he felt like he was dying. In the morning he asked me to bring some porridge to drink. When the porridge was ready I decided to take the porridge to him. But my grandfather was so sick that it was difficult for him to even speak. That was when I noticed that my grandfather was really seriously ill, but I couldn’t believe that he would die. So we called a bishop to come pray over him and my grandfather admitted to where all of the money was from when my father had sold the land. But the people who were helping us get the money ended up taking everything. When my grandfather passed away I had nothing and nowhere to go. So I decided to do what my father had been doing. I decided to sing and dance at people’s houses so that I could get food and money to survive. Every night I would look for any place to stay. If I couldn’t find anywhere I would sleep in someone’s gardens or in the bushes.

Because things were so difficult and I had nowhere to stay I eventually decided to see if that woman, my stepmother, would let me live with her. When I got there she was willing to let me stay there but always told me how she wished I wasn’t there, how I should go away and stay somewhere else. She also mistreated me badly. That’s when I decided to move to a trading center where people come and buy matoke (banana plantain). I worked there to make some little money. Then I met a friend of mine named Boaz. After working for awhile we used our money to get to the city, to Mbarara. After getting to Mbarara we spent our time working hard in the city in order to get bus tickets to Kampala. But once we reached Kampala we realized that the situation in the city was horrible and all I wanted to do was get back home. So I went all the way back to Mbarara and Boaz followed me begging me to come back to Kampala.

Once we went back to Kampala I stayed in the slum Kisenyi. We spent our time looking for scrap metal to make small money and doing drugs in order hide from our problems. That’s when I heard about a program in a nearby slum Kivulu that was helping street kids. They came one day to Kisenyi to spend time with us and give us food. That’s where I met some aunts that wanted to take care of me. Auntie Jessie bought me shoes and Auntie Babirye (Abby) gave me clothing. I could tell they cared so much about me. But I still stayed in Kisenyi using drugs, sniffing chenge because everyone there did drugs. When I was on chenge I felt like everything was ok, and that I was in charge of the world. That wherever I would go I was the one in charge. Eventually the chenge made me very sick, I got a deep illness in the chest. I went to Calvary Chapel and there those same aunts found me sick. I was so miserable, I felt like I was dying. I lost all appetite. Auntie Babirye let me just lay on her lap all morning. They took me to the hospital that day. At the hospital they found out that I had pneumonia, a very serious case of pneumonia. Because it was so serious I was transferred to another hospital where I was put on a drip so that I could be getting medicine quickly. Since I wasn’t getting any better they let me stay with one of the uncles from Calvary until I got better. Andrew took care of me, giving me medicine and bringing me food. When I got well I went to Calvary Chapel with Andrew. That’s where I saw Auntie Babirye and Auntie Jessie and we went out to lunch with a few other people. They told me one day to come to the church in Kivulu and when I got there they told me they were opening a home and I was going to get to stay with them in their new home. Auntie Jessie gave me a necklace with an elephant on it that I kept with me always, remembering how much they both loved me. When I found out I would never have to go back to the streets I was so happy.

Now Boaz had thought I had gone back to the village since I was staying at house getting well. But Boaz was so pleased to see me doing well and we both moved into the home. I continued to have issues with my chest pains, it refused to go away. Even today when someone hits me on the chest it hurts so bad. I know that it’s something that may never go away.”

Enoch

There is a boy in our programs named Enoch. He is a big sweetheart, he is around 8 or 9 years old and has a big smile with gaps where he is waiting for his new teeth to grow back in. He doesn’t enjoy fighting and loves giving gifts. He will hang out at the house all day, just so that he can see me and hang out. I have cherished all of the special time that I get to spend with Enoch silently trailing beside me- I love him so much. He will often come running up to me with a gift of a necklace, or bracelet or food that he has been saving just for me.

Last week he had said that he wanted to go home to his family. I was delighted and we arranged to take him right away. Jessie, David, Sebestian and I were all preparing to take him home together (he is a special kid!) Tuesday morning when Jessie stopped me and asked me if I knew why he had run away from home. “No” I replied, feeling a little bad that I hadn’t asked him.

“Abby I just wanted to warn you, I know you love him a lot. He says that his mother took him to the police and told them that he had stolen a cell phone. That they should put him in prison and when he got out to just drop him off on the street, that she didn’t want him anymore. I don’t know how things are going to go when we get there…”

I mentally prepare myself for the next 5 minutes and then we set off on bodas (motorcycles) to his house. He lives in a slum in Kampala some distance away and as me, him, and our driver are whizzing around Kampala, with everyone else behind us, he takes us the longest possible route home to his house that he can.

We reach his house, a small room in a slum and find his mother, aunt, father (or maybe uncle) and several of his siblings at home. Enoch is silent and timid as he approaches. His mother dressed in a skimpy shirt and skirt, is nothing but angry to see us.

“We don’t want you here! You will just run away! You do this, you do that! Why did you come! Can’t you see I have other kids to feed here!...”

At this Enoch turns around and begins to cry which makes her even more angry.

“Why are you crying! Did I beat you! What is wrong with you! You have bad manners! These people here are going to get tired of you just like we did with your manners!” She goes on and on while either the father or uncle beside her continues repeating over and over,

“Stay outside. Sleep outside. You must like it. Sleep outside.”

Finally his mother calms down, David asks her if she can accept to stay with him, that it is what her son is wanting. Over time she says she can try it, even though she knows he will just run away again. When we ask Enoch if he accepts, his eyes grow wide with fear as he slowly shakes his head no. No, he would rather sleep on the streets. I pull him aside and whisper why and he tells me that she will just wait until we leave and they will all beat him. I believe him. If it were me, I wouldn’t chose to stay either. We say goodbye to his mother and leave. We take Enoch back to the streets and walk with him to street children programs that are just starting. The other boys ask him what happened, that they thought he had gone home, he doesn’t say anything but remains silent.

It is around 7 pm in the evening when I get a call from a boy in our programs named Richard:

“Hey Richard! How are you?”
“Babirye, I’m not okay. They beat me, I’m hurting”
“Wait, who beat you?! Richard who beat you, are you okay?”
“The police beat me, they beat me really badly-”

The phone cuts out at this point, I try calling him back but it doesn’t go through, it seems his phone is off or dead. I call uncle David to see if he can go to the church and look for him. He is not there. A little while later Richard calls me again and tells me that he went to see his family and that he will recover. I tell him I’m worried about him and will pray for him.

Richard is called, “Jajja” or “Mze” by just about everyone that knows him. It means grandfather or old person. He looks, acts, even walks like an old man. He is one of the most gentle and fragil people that I know, in all of the time that I have known him, I have never so much as seen him raise his voice at someone- even when being relentlessly taunted by younger street kids. He is caring, loves to learn, and loves God so much.

It wasn’t for a couple of days until I saw Richard again in our street programs. He has a nasty scab going around his entire neck, bite marks on his legs and is bruised on his body. He WAS beaten badly. He tells me that the police had taken a wire, tied it around his neck and pulled at both ends. They had put an attack dog on him and beat him. He had been doing nothing wrong either, he hadn’t stolen anything, hadn’t fought anyone (just the thought of him trying to fight anyone is ridiculous), hadn’t insulted anyone, nothing. They had just said that he shouldn’t have been walking around so late at night ( 7 pm ).

A few days after that program, Jessie and I were in a crowded market called Owino when who do we meet witnessing to a group of women selling shoes but Richard. His scar is still blazing across his neck but he doesn’t seem to care. He is holding up his bible and talking about the goodness of God

We just put our paperwork through for A Perfect Injustice so that we can have our own non-profit. We chose the name A Perfect Injustice because street children are A Perfect example of Injustice and God hates injustice, especially against the fatherless and widow. I can’t wait for our paperwork to go through so that we can have our land and expand right away. There are so many broken hearts walking and sleeping here on the streets of Kampala. I am truly blessed to be called by God to do the work that I am doing. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

I realized something the other day. The longer I live in Uganda, the more evil and beauty I see in the world, the more I see the loving hand of God in everything and am drawn to Him... It is so strange.

Yesterday was really a very normal day in the life of a slum in downtown Kampala, Uganda. I walked in to Kivulu (a slum for those of you who dont know in Kampala, it is where my home is and where I stay most of the time) this morning to a large crowd shouting and cheering on police officers as they beat "baayai"- bad people, out of the area. They hadn't stolen anything... yet, or so that was the thinking. I met a new street boy who had been living on the streets with his mother who had lost her mind and had just recently died, leaving him on the streets alone. I brought hot tea at 9 at night and said goodnight to about 50 children sleeping in their burlap sacks in the dirt with their little street dogs curled around them. I took away drugs from a very high 9 year old boy who was swaying around shirtless with glazed eyes telling me that he didn't have anything. I passed a woman bartering with a man in a grimy dark alleyway over the price she was willing to sell her body to him for. I watched more baayai by the entrance of our house roll up joints as my kids ignored them and helped us carry the heavy beds inside.

Life in Uganda its not perfect and for many street kids its far from good. But I wouldn't trade it for anything. I have found that it is through that darkness that the most beautiful redemption, grace, and brightness emerges. Here you have to ask for miracles everyday, and the beautiful thing is, that He performs them.

I know this is going to sound terrible, but there is a street boy in our programs that just drives me crazy. He is constantly complaining, and blaming leaders for things, and stealing from the other boys. He will often do something bad like steal or hit someone and then somehow end up blaming it on the leaders and getting angry at us, it can be so frustrating. What gets me the most is that he has taken advantage of and really hurt vulnerable street boys that I love a lot and it kills me to see the pain that he causes them. I try and tell myself that there must be a reason that he acts the way that he does, that children don't just do things that only adults should know about and I really do pray to God that He will give me more grace for Kato. At times I see it, I see the little kid in him, the good, but other times it is just so hard.

We resettled Kato a couple of months ago with his family. We gave him loads of clothing, toys, sheets, shoes and fun snacks to eat. Within 24 hours of an uncle taking him to his house he was back on the streets, had sold everything that we had given him to buy drugs and was bragging to all of the other kids about it. He wanted to go home again last week and I thought it would be a good chance for him.

When we brought him home his mom (his father left a long time ago) was drunk and told us that she didn't want him- to take him back to wherever we had found him and to let him stay there. The chairman of the community came and the entire village had a meeting (Kato was listening to every word they discussed) about the boy that no one wanted and what they could do with him. The chairman finally decided that he could help look after him and try to find him a job selling plastic bags (for 5 cents each). We left him with some money to purchase the bags. 2 days later he was back on the streets. His mother had beaten him up and driven him out of her house, telling him never to come back. The complete abandonement of his family is just a piece of the pain Kato has in his life and of that I am positive.

I pray that God will continue to give me grace in my life, a supernatural grace that only He can give. To see every single child that I work with the way that He does. As amazingly and wonderfully made, capable of everything, with giant holes on their hearts.

It took only a second for a small comment to set him off before *Shawn was shouting and throwing things, so angry and upset he could hardly see straight. We were all sitting in the living room and all of the other boys were trying unsuccesfully not to laugh at his typical bizarre behavior. Even though us leaders were trying to quite him down, it set him off even more as he went outside and went crazy shouting and throwing more things. It took about an hour before Shawn could calm down.

By this time it is around 9 at night, the power is off so there is nothing but starlight and the sliver of a moon, and the other kids have just gone off to bed. I go outside and put my arm around Shawn, the second I did he began to sob. He cried and cried in my arms, walking around, in a ball, and flat on the ground so long and so hard that he could hardly breathe. His heart is breaking so much that I begin to cry too. He walks around crying and I let him go staying seated on the step knowing that he will come back, as his crying began to slow he does and sits next to me without a word.

"Shawn..." I asked quitely as he hung his head down.
"Do you know that I love you so much? Did you know that?"
He is quite until I start poking him in the side and nudging him so that he gives a little smile,
"Yes, I love you too"
he quickly sobers though and continues looking down
"And God loves you too, more than you can ever know."
He shook his head yes will staring intently at the cement
"Shawn..."
Silence.
"Is your heart hurting right now?"
"Yes"
"Do you know why it is hurting?"
"No"
"When you act like that, Shawn I know you are not a bad boy. I know that you are doing that because your heart is hurting you."
He sits and thinks about that for a moment before saying quietly that he is tired and is going to bed.

I watch him leave in silence.

God is mending hearts here. It is slow and painful work but I know that He is doing it. It breaks mine to see the kids I love so much hurting but it also encourages me beyond words when I can see God begin to redeem their precious lives. I could write a list of all of the things Shawn is doing now that he had not been able to do a year before. Like forgive, and trust me and many other things. I love him soooo much.



*Name changed

It is around 9:30 at night and we are down at the church with the street kids, passing out tea and mandazi (small fried pieces of dough, the Ugandan version of a donut). The kids are mixture of wild, mischevious and tired. Boys, many very young, rush into line to get their hot cup of tea. As they are finishing Sharrif and Kato walk up and all of the kids go crazy saying that they just taking drugs and shouldn't be allowed in the church because they steal money from them and fight. (which is amazing, because pretty much ALL street kids do drugs, and constantly, it is truly a miracle that we can have a place for street kids to hang out and sleep where they never do drugs).

I talk to the boys and have them talk close to my face so that I can tell if they have been doing drugs, they have been. I look at Sharrif and ask him if he has any on him, he says no. When I ask him if he has taken any today he looks me in the eyes and tells me no. I tell him that it doesn't seem he has any on him but that I know he just finished taking them but that we forgive him and want him to sleep in the church and to not do it again. The kids settle down and we get ready to tell a bible story.

Sharrif ran away from boarding school again, for the 4th time. He is back on the streets. He keeps getting beaten up too. A week ago his head was swollen from getting beaten and he had bite marks all over his neck. About 3 days later he was beaten again and his eye was swollen most of the way shut with more bites on his face. We did facepainting today and it was difficult for me to glide the paints over the swollen lumps on his cheeks. Two weeks before that he had been a small terror for everyone. He is so up and down. One of the most incredible and charming young boys that I have ever met. He has a big heart that is filled with a lot of pain. I think sometimes it just gets to be too much for him and he runs.

Little Sharrif. With his baby face and big eyes snuggles up to my side in the dark and keeps whispering, "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." I think he is talking more to himself than to me because it is harder to forgive himself than anything else. All I have to do is look at him and I forgive him, it's impossible to stay angry at that boy. He is sitting next to me but he is so far away. I keep giving him hugs and telling him that I love him, that God does too and that we will always forgive him. I put my arm around him and rub his back as Gina tells her story, I would do anything for this little boy and he doesn't even know it. He hangs his head down and says very little but he stays firmly by my side the entire night until I have to tell him goodbye and leave.
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Sharrif reminds me so much of the lost sheep, the one that the shepherd that went back to look for. It brings me so much comfort to know that as much as I love Sharrif, that God loves him infitely more.

Please pray for Sharrif that God will continue to heal his heart and give me guidance as to what I am to do with him next.

I read in my devotions last night-

Matthew 6"19-21 "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."

I love my kids so much, they truly do light up my life. We took them swimming today and I loved being able to spend time with them laughing with them, watching them paddle around, and teachng the vast majority of them how to swim.

The other night we decided to play night games with glow in the dark sticks and a lighting up frisbee with the leaders and kids in the Kivulu home. As we were walking through the slums over half of all of my boys circled around me and told me, "Babirye, I am your body gaurd! Don't fear, no one can even walk close to you" and they were quite right as I moved forward with my band of body gaurds on all sides. It was the sweetest thing.

I am currently in the US advocating/fundraising/spending time with family and friends and will begin writing her again in March when I return home to Uganda

<3