Travel #1: The Gamble/The Providence

So I took a gamble. 24^th January the day of my flights to Uganda. The dates of my Medical School exemption finals results: also the 24^th January.  What time do you ask? Results were due to be published at 12 midday GMT and my flight was billeted to take to the sky at 11.45am. Chances of the medical school publishing results early enough to get them before my Journey? The bookies had them down as being as good as those for twilight BDP2 winning ‘best picture’ at the Oscars and Nick Griffin being voted GQs man of the year.  (For those not getting the pop-culture references not an ice cubes chance in hell). The looming  knowledge that my results were sitting comfortably somewhere in a cyber space spreadsheet explains the knot that my stomach tied itself into on repeat occasions during in the flight when I let my mind wander to the topic. I had taken a gamble of sorts; I would go to Uganda resting on the 94% pass rate (with the dismissive ‘I am not part of the 6%...am I?....’ ringing around in my head) hoping that a failure wouldn’t begin a sequence of events that culminated in cutting my planned 2 months in Africa short. The back-up plan….there was no back-up plan (ask Dan Bauhahn or read ‘1 Englishman 3 states ‘ for a good overview of my staggering planning skills).

 The sword of Damocles* hung over my head as I travelled the underground to Heathrow (figuratively, this wasn’t some new transport for London initiative) where I had to sum up all the courage I could to overcome waves of pitiless commuters who packed out the Piccadilly line trains to bursting. Finally I learned their warrior ways and wrestled a place for myself and my baggage. The BA check in desk clerk proved yet another trial to overcome. A formidable South African woman who scolded me like a child caught pinching their sister (not a reference to personal history in any way, probably) for the crime of asking her to print my ticket rather than using a self check in machine. ‘I was holding up the rest of the passengers’ and was, ‘not to do it again’ I looked back apologetically at the two people who had just arrived behind me, who constituted what could –with a degree of imagination- be called a queue. They looked back, in response to my morose gaze their eye’s conveyed in the message ‘why are you looking at me? Shouldn’t you be checking in?’.

 I lingered around the airport for two hours – why do they insist on you being so early?- and discovered through various texts that there was no hint of exam results before boarding the 11:45 to Entebbe airport.

 The flight was a pleasant 9hr trip over Europe, the Mediterranean and down the West of Africa. I was accompanied by an elderly couple who made very little attempt at establishing any form of verbal communication and instead sat sullen alongside me. The wife was to my Lleft and spent most of the time gazing po-faced at all of the in-flight comedy selections. Jutting out a disapproving lower lip and not cracking a smile once; however much Sheldon cooper et al, the team of ‘the office’ and ‘two broke girls’ tried to draw at least a twitch of her facial muscles from her (although I must agree with her on the last one of the three).

 As my chatty companion worked her way through the list I took the chance to catch up on some film that I failed to see in 2012. This also served the purpose of making the flight that bit more cost effective by watching as many films as possible you offset the plane ticket price.  Other tips and tricks include: Watch the films with subtitles in double time = double the films; claim your neighbors un-eaten bread rolls; always say ‘yes’ when offered a drink (worked example: get a coffee, even if you already have a cup of tea) and keep the cups to pawn them at a later date. (I may have done all or none of these thing)

 That evening I watched the amnesiac double bill total recall (ironically a completely forgettable film) and the Bourne Legacy (technically contains no real amnesia, but the series is well known for it. Not a bad film).

 I stepped out onto the tarmac of the airstrip to take my first breath of warm earthy scented Ugandan air at about midnight. I was picked up by a ‘Special’ (a taxi, here ‘taxis’ are minibuses with seats for about 12 people, but apparently space for more once your outside of the sight of the police officials) driven from the Entebbe airport to Kampalla. Entebbe is a spit of land that reaches into Lake Victoria (all the lakes here about seem to be named after British royals, it must be particularly flattering to have a large body of water named after you by some explorer muttering ‘you know what this lake looks like? our queen, and so it will be named’). The hour was already late by then and the lack of street lighting meant that the roads were near pitch-black but for the glare (and we’re talking un-dipped-fog-light glare) of other traffic. Rules are limited on these roads and seem to extend to : stay on the road and don’t actually hit any of the cars coming in the opposite direction that you pull out in front of when you are overtaking. I remember having the reassuring thoughts ‘at least I’m at peace with God through Christ,’ which is always a good review of road safety.

 The staff/guesthouse keepers/masters of the house (he didn’t get the les mis reference when I used it however…maybe because he’s American) are wonderful here and the husband of the family was up to let me in at 1am. At which I half listened to his run down of the working of Breakfast before seizing a computer to find out my finals results. With baited breath I scanned the list and found my numbers (way to make us feel like inmates med school) and my scores.

 …..A Pass….waves of relief washed over me. I clicked away from the page. The tide of relief went out and left the wet sands of self doubt (tell me if I’m taking this analogy too far), I had to get the table back up to make sure. I still didn’t fully believe it until I checked again the next day.

Friday has been a day of greeting the other resident missionary families, orientation with the AIM short-term mission team who I came out here with and finally a tour around Kampala.

 Kampala is a sprawling city, home to about 1.7 million souls, and a wonderful confusion of sights and sounds, not to mention smells. My guide was Rhona a Ugandan employee of AIM who gave me a lesson in getting around the capital. I think I muttered my grattitude for salvation by faith alone a few more times that day as with a grin plastered across my face we navigated the roads of the capital on the back of ‘Buda-budas’ (nothing to do with the plump eastern mystic, I’m reliably informed) which are motorbike taxis (sorry mum). Threading the traffic on the bikes, was eye-of the needle stuff and crossing roads on foot was like playing ‘Frogger’….except with slightly more at stake. The whole thing was made that bit more exhilarating by the large warm droplets of summer rain that began to pound us, causing us to flee the open air.

 We had a dinner in an inner-city mall foodcourt. The word court in the name is quite fitting. As you sat down waiters from all the fast-food joints descend like culinary suitors vying for your hand (and you can guarantee they are only in the relationship for the money). Six men surrounded our table quickly covering our table in a makeshift tablecloth of laminated menus and demanded that we choose them. As you should in such situations, I panicked and chose the dish that I recognized. So my first meal in Uganda was the well known traditional dish of…er…beef fajitas. They were nice. Rhona told me her testimony as we ate and rain continued to douse  the golf course our table looked out over. It is an amazing tale, that I don’t feel that I have the right to publish here. Either way the LORD has acted tremendously in her life and her church are a great example of the body caring and discipling.  

 We returned after a further tour of the city and I’ve hung out with missionaries and their families up here in the guesthouse for the rest of the day. They are at once amazing and ordinary. Ordinary in the sense that they are no super Christians with mad-bible skills that none of us could aspire to be (and I don’t mean any of that as a criticism) but amazing in that they have responded ‘yes’ to the call to go to the hard places and amazing because of the work of a Majestic God in their lives and through their actions.

 They have almost all retreated to bed – sun has been down for a while- and I should do likewise. I’ve got a journey to Mbrara and then on to Kegando. Fortunately I’ve lucked (read: providenced) out and I’m getting taken by a missionary family for the first stage of the journey which should make it quicker, safer and more comfortable. Bring on the next step.

Prayer Points: For those that pray.

·         For the Mother in one of the missionary families who is currently suffering through malaria. For healing and the quick working of the anti-malarials, and strength for her husband.

·         For rest for a Missionary family who are relaxing in Kenya for a 3 week holiday. They are probably some of the only missionaries in Southern Sudan, and this can sometimes be a heavy burden.

·         Continued travel and health mercies.

·         Praise for my results ( if you view me becoming a Dr as a good thing)

·         Prayer that God will use this time to deepen my dependence on him and grow me in many ways.

·         Prayer for the team of two other electivites already in Kegando

·         Paul shepherd as he goes for interviews in the UK

*This is my first attempt at using this mythic imagery so those better versed in classic literature by forgiving if I’ve completely screwed up an attempt to look cultured and flowery.