A Day in the Life

I have been is Bukavu for three weeks now. Settling in has been easy, probably because I have done it once before. I have the room and bathroom on the main floor and have quickly made it my own. It’s funny. Here I was looking forward to having a housemate, to not living on my own. But in the three weeks that I have been here, Joel has only been in Bukavu for the equivalent of a week. First he had to go to Kinshasa to work on getting the necessary papers to get 4 new vehicles out of the government impound. Now, he is away for a month. Three weeks of vacation and a week bringing another vehicle to Bukavu from Nairobi. So, again I am living all on my own.

But, it’s not so bad. The best thing is that we have Jeff. He is the most amazing cook and launderer. It is so nice to be able to come home after a long day of working (most of the time from 8am to 5:30-6:00pm) to have dinner already prepared. He works during the day, ensuring there is always fresh fruit salad for breakfast and dinner for when we get home. My favorite, though, is Saturday. Jeff makes breakfast (pancakes and French toast so far) and then prepares meals for Saturday and Sunday. Saturday’s dinner is always pizza. I love this man. I joked with my dad that it was going to be hard to come home after this pampering. Since I hate to cook, I was either going to have to come home and take cooking lessons, marry a chef or stay in Africa the rest of my life. Dad said,” Bring Jeff home!” It is hard, sometimes, the feeling that you get when you have someone who cooks and cleans for you. But, I try to remember, that my purpose here is to work as effectively as I can in the short amount of time I am here. It is often a full time job just living in Africa. Jeff makes it possible to focus on our jobs and gives him a good paying job, something that is hard to come by in Bukavu.

So what does life look like for me in Bukavu? I get up just after 6am to get ready for work. By 7:15 I am getting my fruit salad and toast. Some mornings I have the a car and driver and some mornings I get picked up by Kostas, the County Director or by Michael, the Program Manager. This is while Joel is away. Joel usually drives us to and from work. Side not, I got my drivers license and will be taking some lessons driving the FH trucks. They are big, heavy suckers and getting in and out of the driveways at my house and Kostas’ are tricky. I can’t officially drive the FH vehicles until Joel gets back and approves me, but I will get some practicing done in the meantime.

Devotions start at 8am. Because FH/DRC is primarily funded by USAID, the Christian part of devotions is only a very small part. First we sing a song or two, either in French of Swahili, then a small bible reading, then announcements. After devotions, I head to my office to check my emails. Then the day starts. First, let me tell you about the office and my office in particular. The FH office used to be a five story apartment building. So the office is divided into suites. Finance is in suite #1, and my office used to be the kitchen. Yep. It has yellow tiles all around the room and pipes sticking out of the wall. Plus it has a little balcony. But since it faces a brick wall and on the other side of the brick wall are very noisy school classrooms, I don’t go out there very often.

My job keeps me busy most days; it is evolving every day. So far I have re-allocated funds for three grants, a process that involves digging through a dinosaur DOS based financial systems and binder upon binder of receipts trying to figure out where funds expenses have been misallocated. It has been frustrating and rewarding all at the same time. Nothing like getting your feet wet all at once as you figure out the names of regions, sub regions and individual fields. It’s not as straight forward and separate as things were in Kampala. But I love it. There hasn’t been a dull moment yet, and it is exciting to be a part of such a large organization undertaking large scale relief work. The biggest challenge of the day is the French. I have a tutor from 9:30-10:30 Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings. But I am frustrated at how slow my progress is. I don’t understand much of what is being said in devotions and often feel isolated because I can’t socialize with the staff. That is not to say that most don’t speak at least a little English. I have been able to get by with a mixture of French, English and sign language (not formal sign language – more the kind of gesturing you do when people don’t know what you are talking about). I am a little worried that the staff might take my lack of socializing with them the wrong way. So if you are reading this, maybe you could say a quick prayer asking God to help me speak in tongue – French specifically!

Lunch is at 1pm. I bring leftovers from home and Vincent, the office cook, re-heats it for me. I eat in my office and take this time to browse the internet, catch up on world news. Then it is back to the grind until 5:00. By then it is 8am in Vancouver and I usually spend a bit of time Skyping with Elaine at CFHI and my parents, then it is off for home. I love my time with the drivers. This is where I practice my awful French and learn about their lives outside of work. Bahati, my favorite, is a pastor and has 10 or 11 kids. His church was just built with assistance from an American church. And I learned last night that is 18 year old daughter is very sick, is in hospital and may need an operation. Let’s just say he doesn’t make enough money to pay for that. The other driver is Nuru (which means light). He was a moto (motorcycle taxi) driver but was hit by an FH driver and had a serious leg/foot injury. He hadn’t worked for a long time, and has a family of 4 to feed. Joel felt very bad for him, so he hired him as a driver. He has a very funny accent when he speaks English. Both Nuru and Bahati are so incredibly patient with me. I adore them both, although Bahati is my favorite (in the whole office!!!!)

When I get home, I turn on the oven to re-heat the dinner that Jeff has prepared. I am trying to exercise on the elliptical before dinner, but my desire and my actions are not lining up right now. Dinner is always fantastic and always includes a salad. Yeah salad! Then I spend some time reading or watching TV. Then bed and up at 6am to start it all again.

To break the routine, I have women’s bible study every other Tuesday and Friday’s are games night with the whole FH ex-pat crew plus Kim who works with International Rescue Committee (IRC). The weekends are pretty lazy affairs; it is hard to get motivated to do anything but read and watch TV. Luckily everyone else is motivated, so most weekends I have a visitor or two. Katie and Kostas’ son Daniel likes to come visit Hommie as does Michael and Holly’s daughter Natalie. But I am gradually building a good circle of friends. Renee is fantastic and has lived here her whole life. Through her I am making Congolese friends. My biggest prayer is that my French will improve drastically and I will be able to make more friends.

You might be asking yourself, what about Church? Well, that’s a fun story. The only English service in the entire city is at the Anglican Church down the road. It is within walking distance of the house. Problem is, the English service is at 7:30am. Ouch! There are about 10-15 Congolese who attend and the pastor is Congolese. The non-Congolese congregation consists of the FH ex-pat staff and Kim from IRC. That’s it. As it is an Anglican church, the service is more formal and structured than I am used to. But, the choir is fantastic and the church is large and bright. The best part is that Church is done by 9 am and I have the whole day ahead…to do absolutely nothing!

The down side of living in Bukavu right now is definitely the French and Swahili. Because I don’t understand a lot of what is being said at any given time, I don’t feel comfortable being out on my own. The area that all the ex-pats live in is called Muhumba and it is also the location of MONUC, the UN Peacekeeping force. There headquarters is just down the street from my house. The area is very safe, although there are a lot of street kids and they have been getting a bit more active in Muhumba. It’s not that I don’t feel safe. I do. But because my French is not so great, if anything did happen I wouldn’t understand what was going on, nor could I talk my way out of a difficult situation. So, for now, I don’t really go anywhere but to work or to Michael or Kostas’ house. But I am trying to get up the nerve to get out and walk around on my own one of these weekends. There’s something else you can add to you prayer list.

So…so far so good. It is always exciting and challenging, and there is so much to learn everyday about life in Bukavu. It isn’t an easy place to live, for ex-pats or locals. War ravaged the area four years ago and it has taken its toll both on the city and the people. But there is hope. And with hope and God, miracles can happen.

What to Do When there is Everything and Nothing to Do

My last day of work in the Kampala office was Friday March 14. However, my flight to Kigali was not until March 31^st. The reason for this time delay was to give me ample time to sell the contents of my house (at least everything that I wasn’t taking with me). But they say God is in the details and he sure has been in all the details from start to finish with regards to my move to Bukavu. When I told my landlady I was moving, she asked if I was taking my furniture. When I told her that I was selling everything she said she wanted to buy it. Praise God! It took a while, but we settled on an amount that worked for both of us. With this out of the way, I had two weeks to get ready for my move. The biggest challenge was completing 40 hours of one-on-one French re-fresher classes. I had a fantastic teacher, Saloman, who was so encouraging. If I had had him as my high school French teacher I might not have needed his services now! (For those who are interested, I took 4 hours of French a day for 10 days – the last class was on the 31^st, the day I left)

The other big challenge I had was finding appropriate work clothes. In Kampala, although the female national staff tend to wear dresses and skirts, the ex-pats adopt a more informal style of dress. But in Bukavu, the expectation is for more traditional formal office attire. The DILEMMA: I brought a lot of clothes with me. But there were two problems. First, most were informal clothes; a lot of t-shirt, tank tops and casual pants. Second, I purchased most of my clothes in spring of 2007 then put them away in a suitcase. But then I went ahead and gained too much weight over the summer, and now many of the clothes that would have been appropriate no longer fit. The PLAN: go shopping for dress pants, skirts and formal tops at Oweno market in town. Sounds simple enough, right? Not so much! Oweno is a large African market. Think rows and rows of stalls, makeshift shops made of wood, tarps and metal sheeting; exposed to the elements through the gaps in the “roofs.” You can buy anything you can dream of at Oweno: second hand clothes and shoes from the US, Canada and Europe, cheap Chinese knockoffs, food, home wares. You name it, they have it.

Rainy season started in March, and we had a doosey of a storm the night before my shopping adventure. I wore flip flops, my usual foot attire. My shopping partner, Juliet (Ugandan staff member who works with the Go-Ed program), warned me that I should change shoes. I didn’t listen! We took a special hire into town, through major rush hour traffic. When we pulled up in front of Oweno, I was struck first by the smell (of garbage) then by the shear size of the market. It was nothing like I had expected. I had been warned that the market was crazy. Most Mazungu’s get grabbed and dragged into stalls by their owners. With Juliet, this wasn’t a problem. She walked so darn fast I had to race past everyone with my head down making sure I missed the mud puddles and didn’t slip and fall flat on my butt. Juliet knew the market very well. I barely saw a quarter of the market as she took me straight to the clothes section. We passed many a stall until Juliet stopped and one in particular. I stood there, pointing at things I liked and wanted to try on, while several “boys” went looking for other items that matched the descriptions of what I wanted to buy. It was a little disconcerting getting changed behind a blanket being held up by random guy as the shop owners across the way and people passing by watched. But, I was game so I tried on a bunch of skirts and pants. They kept trying to bring me small pants and tops, bless their hearts! We managed to put together a few outfits, then the part I dislike intensely: the bargaining. Juliet would have got me a fantastic price if only I had kept my mouth shut. But alas, I didn’t, and only got a good price. (Juliet informed me via text message, not to say another word!)

From there we went on to the shoe section. It’s crazy! There were large white sacks full of shoes from the West, and men and women sitting around cleaning them. I saw used Nike running shoes that had been cleaned so well they looked brand new. Thanks to my Aunt Candis, I now have a shoe problem, so I was in heaven. I found two pairs of shoes which I liked, and Juliet bargained real hard for them. We actually walked away for a while and finally the guy came down to a price that was reasonable for both Juliet and I. After the shoes we headed out of the market and across the street. The whole area around the market has clothing and fabric stores. I was looking for a nice purse, but found a really great dress and leggings instead. After a quick stop for a soda and fries, Juliet and I headed towards the taxi park.

The taxi park…what can I say about it. It is a mass of humanity and vans. Taxis in Uganda are called Matatus; 14 seater vans in varying degrees of mechanical and aesthetic condition. I have been trying to avoid riding in them for several reasons, the most important being that they drive like maniacs and my friend Stella was injured in a Matatu accident. But this was a day for firsts, so Juliet and I hoped into the taxi going to Muyenga. The thing about the taxi park and the taxi system in general is that it looks like a big ‘ol mess, but really is quite organized and very inexpensive.

So, shopping…check. French classes…check. Furniture sold…check. The next challenge was packing. Joel, the logistics director with FH/DRC was going to be driving through Kampala on his way from Nairobi to Bukavu with two 8 ton trucks. The problem was, he didn’t know when they would be released and ready to go. It could be sometime during the two weeks or sometime after I had already left for Bukavu. This caused a few problems. First…when to pack? I didn’t want to pack too early and be living in an empty house, but I had a lot to pack and needed to be ready for the trucks as it would only take a day for them to arrive once they left Nairobi. Second…if Joel didn’t come during the two weeks, where was I going to store my stuff? I arranged with the Logistics boys in Kampala to store my stuff at the office, so that was one problem solved. I decided to start packing in my last week; starting with the room I didn’t use and the storage in the hallway. I used the other spare room as the packing room. I timed it perfectly – no God timed it perfectly – and I was all packed by the end of my last weekend and Joel arrived Sunday night. Did I mention that I was flying out the next day?

Yes, Joel and his other driver Jules arrived late Sunday night. This meant the packing of the truck would occur Monday morning; the same Monday that I was flying to Kigali. Thankfully I didn’t fly out till 9:50pm. We got the truck all packed, Joel picked up last minute items at the office and Game (the South African version of Canadian Tire) then he was on his way. As for me, I finished up at the office saying my goodbyes, went into town to pay the bills for radios for FH/DRC that I had picked up for Joel earlier in the week, then went to my last 4 hours of French class. Finished that and headed back to the office where my friend Finn was picking me up to take me to the airport. It was a busy day for my last day in Kampala, but it was typically me.

Now the fun begins….

Sometimes I am like my mother and sometimes I am like my father. When it comes to being at the airport early, I am just like my mother. My flight was at 9:50. so I got to the airport around 7:30. My tickets had been arranged by FH/DRC and I had the email with the confirmation number. Good thing I was early, as after having taken my suitcase, laptop bag and camera bag through security, I was told at the counter that my confirmation had been cancelled as no ticket was issued and that the flight was full. You can imagine how flustered I was at that moment. I had no more Ugandan shillings and only American dollars. I knew if worse came to worse I could call someone to get me, take a taxi back to Kampala or spend the night in Entebbe. But I had no money in the bank to withdraw Shillings and the exchange at the airport is awful so I wasn’t looking forward to any of these options. I wanted on the plane! They check-in people told me to go upstairs to the Rwandair office. So out I went back through security with my suitcase, laptop bag and camera bag only to find that the elevator does not work. It is only one long flight of stairs, but a little hard with my 22 kilo suitcase and other bags. A very nice airport man carried my suitcase upstairs which was most appreciated. I got to the office flustered, worried and a little ticked off only to have to wait while two Rwandair employees chatted and laughed. This did not help my disposition. Finally one of the ladies told me to come inside and have a seat. It was around this time that I felt the tears coming. Then I remembered the nine months of fundraising and six months of living in Uganda and remembered that this was not a big deal. If I didn’t get on the flight, big deal! There were other options and I could handle it.

The nice lady booked me a standby ticket. Luckily I had the US cash to pay for the ticket. I then lugged my suitcase, laptop bag and camera bag down the long flight of stairs, through security again and back to the ticket counter. We got everything all sorted, then I had to sit down and wait and see if I would get on the flight. I prayed a bit during this time. Mostly I just sat back, and waited to see where the cards were going to fall this time. I have felt that God wanted me to come to Bukavu; everything had been lining up since I made the decision to move. And this night was no different. I made it on the plane. I was so relieved.

However, I might have made it to Kigali, but my suitcase remained behind in Entebbe. Actually, 15 suitcases where left behind in Entebbe. There were a lot of very angry people at the airport that night. Most were yelling at the poor lady who had to take our information. I preferred to be nice to her and even prayed for her before I went to bed. My friends Seng and Jen were waiting for me and I couldn’t get a message to them telling them that I was there, but waiting to give my lost luggage info. Thankfully they waited having figured out some baggage had been lost. So with no luggage in hand other than my camera and laptop bag, we headed to Seng and Jen’s. Unfortunately, they had a guest stay longer than expected so I had to sleep on the couch. Not a problem, but this meant that there was no mosquito net. And boy were there mosquito’s that night. So there I was sleeping on a couch with very large cushions, in the clothes I had been wearing for over 12 hours, trying to cover my head from the mosquito’s buzzing all around my head. I ended up with two bites on my forehead. But bless Jen. I slept in, and when I got up, saw that Jen had left me a large basket of toiletries and her makeup. I was able to shower and do my face, even though I only had my stinky clothes from the day before to put back on. Luckily, my bags came in on the 9:50 flight that night and I was able to feel human again the next day. I also got to sleep in a real bed that night.

I spent two days at the Kigali office. I did a little training with Seng who is the Regional Finance Manager, but mostly I caught up on email and visited with friends. I went to my favorite place in East Africa, Café Bourbon, and had the best latte this side of Starbucks. And I had Indian with my friends Jen & Christie who I also met in training in Peru. It was a nice few days of recharging after leaving Kampala and before arriving in Bukavu.

The last leg of the journey passed uneventfully and I was soon at the airport in Kamembe. I had planned on studying my French on the plane, but instead had a delightful young man as my seat mate who spoke only French. So instead I practiced my French with an 8 year old Congolese boy. Renee from the office was at the airport to greet me, which made me extremely relieved as I didn’t want to have to cross the crazy border without her assistance. I have to say, however, that my border crossing experience was much easier this time. I think it helped that we had an FH vehicle this time and that the border guards remembered me from last time.

So now I am in the Congo, settling in to my new house and making it my home. I share the house with Joel, the head of logistics, his parrot Hommie, Ruth the guard dog and Buddy the puppy, the newest member of our menagerie. I miss Kampala, my friends, how comfortable I felt in the city. But I am excited about the possibilities: the job, the friends, and the country. Congo has been the source of exploitation, war and misery since it first attracted the attention of King Leopold of Belgium in the late 1800’s. The last 10 years have seen over 5.4 million Congolese killed through war and the effects of war; it is the worst humanitarian crisis on the continent of Africa. And yet, have you heard anything about the Congo? Northern Uganda…yes. Darfur…yes. But nothing of the death and destruction that has been wrought in Eastern Congo for years. I hope that I will be able to bring you stories of hope and resilience during my 2 ½ years, to bring to life the past, present and future of this magnificent country.

Get Your Plane of the Tarmac Please! (Part 2)

So off I went on my first outside Uganda adventure. My flight to Kigali Monday night was uneventful and Seng was at the airport to pick me up. I spent the night at Seng/Jen’s house (along with their 2 roommates). It was really great to see Jen again as it had last seen her in Peru last May. Kigali is so much nicer than Kampala. It is clean and organized, with wide 2 lane roads and manicured boulevards down the middle. Side note about the cleanliness…the black plastic bags that are endemic to Africa have been banned in Rwanda, and in Kigali, the last Saturday of the month is cleaning day. All residents are expected to get out in their neighborhoods and clean. Buses/taxis are not allowed to work and unless you are headed to the hospital or the airport, the police will stop and question you and ask you to return home. Now that is taking the clean to the streets!

OK, back to the story. We went into the office in the morning after dropping Jen at the FH guesthouse. This was a bad mistake on our part. Seng had mentioned when he picked me up at the airport that President Bush was arriving in Kigali in the morning for a visit; there were extra police and military forces on the road in the morning as we drove to the office. We should have gone straight to the airport instead of to the office. This was around 8am and my flight was at 11am. But, neither one of us thought of it. Instead we went to the office, went to devotions, and then left for the office. Unfortunately, the police started closing all the roads and we couldn’t get to the office. Seng was driving, Becky from the Regional Office was with us and we had an FH Rwanda staff member with us. Well, the boys thought we could find another way to the airport. So off we went. Long story short, we ended up on the back side of the airport just in time to hear Airforce I land (and see the tail with the American Flag). We could also hear the drums beating at what I would assume was the welcoming party on the tarmac. As we were sitting at the military base on the backside of the airport, the Rwandan staff member kept repeating that he was sure the airport was closed because Airforce I was at the airport. I kept insisting that Rwandair wouldn’t have issued a ticket 4 days before the scheduled visit of President Bush if the airport was going to be closed. I thought it best that we call the airline and find out.

By this time it is about 30 minutes before my flight is supposed to leave and I am a little panicky. As some of you may know, I inherited my flying routine from my mother which entails always being at the airport before the mandated time. I am starting to get more and more frustrated at the defeatist attitude of the Rwandan staff member and a little ticked that we hadn’t just stayed at the main road and waited for the convoy to pass. So we start to make our way back to the main road, but since they have blocked the main road all the side streets are blocked with cars. We end up going down little dirt roads away from the airport trying to get to the main road. By this time Becky has confirmed that the flight to Bukavu is flying and had informed them that I am on my way. Finally we get stuck, park the car and walk with my suitcase (small rolling carryon) up to the main road. The road is still closed, but Bush has gone by. We hop the fence and start power walking towards the airport. Moments later, the road re-opens and we decide to put me in a taxi. But not before I got a great shot of what turned out to be Airforce I and II. I got to the airport 15 minutes before my flight was supposed to take off. Unfortunately, the plane left almost 2 hours late. But I got up close and personal with Airforce I & II. It was cool; like the movies. There were Secret Service stationed at the nose and tail of each plane and an SUV parked at each nose.

Arriving at Kamembe airport in Rwanda is surreal. It is the smallest airport I have ever been in. It is one small building. Half is arrivals and half is departures. You walk off the plane and into the building and fill in an arrivals card. Then you wait for your luggage to be brought to the door and carry it down a steep flight of stairs to the parking lot. A very nice young lady named Renee was there to pick me up. Renee is third generation American missionary to Bukavu. We took a cab down to the border, filled out the Rwandan departures card then jumped in Renee’s truck to cross into DRC. To get to the DRC border, you leave the parking lot, cross a rickety wooden bridge then drive 500 meters up hill to the DRC border. It is a bit surreal. There are people waking or pushing wheel barrows along the road carrying foodstuffs on their backs or heads. The border area is awash with people some in uniform, most without. We parked the car on the side of the road and went into the small building housing border patrol. Renee speaks Swahili like it is her mother tongue so I didn’t have to do much. It was funny watching her with the officials. They obviously new her very well; there was a lot of joking going on. This one guy cracked me up. He was asking me all sorts of questions through Renee, and as we were leaving said, “Watson, I want you.” It cracked me up. Then we had to go down to a smaller building that house the health lady (for lack of a better description). It is mandatory to have your yellow fever vaccination to enter DRC. The health lady went through all my vaccinations and got stuck on the Oral Dukoral. You may or may not know that Dukoral is marketed as a vaccine to get to prevent traveler’s diarrhea. You know the kind you get in Mexico if you have ice cubes in your glass or eat the salads. It isn’t a mandatory vaccine. The problem is that it is also a vaccine against cholera. Or at least that is what the stamp says. And it only lasts 5 months. So health lady, in Swahili, started going on about it being out of date. This went on and on for a while. Finally I told Renee it is an optional vaccine and is used to prevent diarrhea. Repeating saying the word diarrhea had her handing me back the booklet and letting us go. You see in DRC, they are just looking for a way to make a little money on the side. No vaccine…just slip her a few dollars and she will stamp your booklet.

We got back in the truck and had the back door opened by random guy who wanted to see inside my bags. I only had the small suitcase and my backpack that contained my laptop. I opened them, he looked then he closed the door. We drove a few feet to the where a guard lifts up and down the gate (actually just a pole). While Renee was chatting with the guard, who knows her dad, another random guy opens the door and wants to see my bags. Renee isn’t really paying attention and I am trying to tell him they have been looked at. Finally Renee turns around and starts telling him that they have already been checked. When he leaves I asked Renee what was up. These random guys are border patrol and again, they are trying to make a buck. Trying to find something they can intimidate you into paying a bribe. The problem with these random guys…not one of them is wearing any kind of uniform and with the crush of humanity hanging around the border; it is hard to tell who is official and who isn’t.

We left the border and drove the ten minutes to the Country Directors house where I will be staying. I met Kostas’ wife Katie and their two sons Daniel (2 1/2) and Jonathon (7 months). I had a great time with Katie and the boys, had an awesome lunch cooked by their cook/house keeper and learned a lot about living in Bukavu. Kostas came home early from work and we spent a lot of time talking about possibilities and options. That evening I went with Katie to the Orchid, a Yaletown type restaurant right on the lake. A bunch of ladies were starting a women’s bible study group and were meeting to decide what to study. We all had ice cream at $5 – $7 USD a pop. Expensive…but very nice! The next day I went to the office to interview/be interviewed by each department head. It was a chance for me to find out where they needed help the most. At the end of the day, I sat down with Kostas and told him what I thought was needed. His response, “I wish I had a tape recorder. You just wrote your own job description.”

The next day I started my trek back home. Again in the crazy DRC border office, across the rickety bridge, Rwandan border office where people don’t understand what a line is or personal space, then the airport. It was a little weird, no scanners so had to open the bag for the lady to go through. Everything is manual. On the plane I talked with this guy I had first seen on the flight from Kigali. He was a Congolese guy producing records in Rwanda and engaged to a girl from England. We had a great chat and when we got to the Kigali airport offered a ride to wherever I needed to go. I assumed Seng would be there to pick me up. We had talked about lunch with his wife and one of the other girls I had met in Peru during FH training. But when I got to the main lobby…no Seng. The problem was, my cell was not working and I didn’t know Seng’s number or the number to FH Rwanda. Nor did I have any Rwandan Franc. So I went out, found my new friend and asked if I could still get a ride. I blindly assumed that the taxi driver would now where the FH office was. He didn’t. No one did. And none of us could get the number to FH Rwanda even though I was texting my friends Julia and Kenny back in Kampala. I did have US dollars so they took me to town to exchange for francs. As we were driving we passed Café Bourbon (the best latte I have had outside Starbucks). This was where Seng and the gang were taking me for lunch. After exchanging money I had them drop me off at Bourbon. Seng had called by this time and was on his way with Jen and Cheryl to meet me at Bourbon. All was well. I was pretty proud of myself for not freaking out during all this time!

Had a great lunch with the gang, went back to the office with them then to their house for dinner. Jen and Seng brought their baseball gloves, so Jen and I threw the ball around for a bit before they took me to the airport. I was so glad to touch down in Entebbe. Being back in Uganda felt like coming home. Which is why I was so surprised that it felt like I had to make the move to FH/DRC. As much as I loved Uganda and Kampala, I really felt like joining the team in Bukavu was what I was supposed to do.

I told Kostas before I left that I was 99% sure I was going to take the job. But I wanted to talk with Paddy (my pastor in Canada) before I made my final decision. I had been worried about how Cap would react to me leaving Uganda/Bufukhula and wanted to be sensitive to that. Although I told Sang Hoon Friday that I was going to make the move to FH/DRC, talking with Paddy the next day solidified my decision.

So there you have it: the entire journey from start to finish. It was a battle; one that tested my faith, had me questioning what God requires of us and generally turned me into a basket case for a month. I don’t regret a single moment of the struggle. I feel like I am a stronger person because of it. Stronger in faith, stronger in my relationship with God and sure that God has a plan for me that is much bigger than anything I could ever have wanted for myself. And most of all, I finally trust Him with my life. That is something I haven’t been able to do. For this I am grateful.