A
Mission in Uganda
A
day in the Bangor Diocese team visit, by Dr. Nigel Dilkes
One
hour’s drive down a rutted dust-track and we’re feeling hot and weary. Tall
elephant grass closes in on both sides, alternating with stretches of dense
papyrus swamp or, sometimes, small cultivated plots. Clusters of small children
appear occasionally along the roadside, stepping back from the path of our
vehicle; some stare silently, some wave and shout enthusiastically. Just as
we’re wondering if we can take any more bouncing, the rank vegetation gives
way to an open school field with large colourful groups of children sitting
attentively in the spreading shade of mango trees. Everyone becomes more alert
as we sense we’re close to our destination. Then suddenly on the road in front
of us a lively crowd of women appears, shining white in their spotless gomasi,
waving their ebony arms rhythmically in the air. These ladies are the Mothers’
Union. As we slow to a halt,
the shrill sound of their welcome greets our ears, and our weariness melts away
in a second. Our minibus is
escorted in royal procession off the track to a small cluster of village
buildings where an even larger crowd awaits our arrival.
We are
visiting the village of Abuli, near to the large town of Lira in northern Uganda
where we have been staying for over a week.
Each day we have travelled out into the countryside to a different
village, and everywhere there has been the same joyful and enthusiastic welcome:
churches packed to bursting, vibrant worship, and faces thirsty for our message.
Abuli is similar, but also different; the church building is a small
traditional structure with squat mud walls and thatched roof. Beautiful
hand-painted murals, the first we have seen, decorate the walls inside and out,
depicting scenes from the life of Jesus. The dark interior of the building is
completely inadequate to accommodate the people gathered here. Instead, they are
seated on the ground in the shade of some trees, waiting expectantly and singing
without pause. From the minute our vehicle disgorges us, eager hands reach out
to shake ours – women, children, old men, then the pastor and his wife.
We are
guided to a row of wooden chairs in the middle of gathering, and the proceedings
begin. First, the church leaders, men and women, are introduced to us in Lango,
the language of the region. Revd. Johnson translates for us; he is the
Provincial Mission Co-ordinator for the whole the Church of Uganda and, along
with his wife Vicky, has been with us and taken care of us from the moment we
flew into Entebbe. Next, we learn that the church in this remote village has
grown so fantastically in the last few years that it is to be split off from the
mother parish and designated a parish in its own right. The inauguration of the
new parish has been timed to coincide with our visit today, and the official
letter from Bishop Charles is handed over to the congregation in front of us.
Spontaneously, the whole congregation breaks into song again, voices entering
one over the other, building instant harmony. Seated on the ground in front of
us a row of musicians play adungus, home-built harp-like instruments, in catchy
rhythmic patterns. Our hands clap along irresistibly, and we find ourselves
joining in the harmonies.
Then
it’s our turn. Each team member stands up and gives a brief introduction to
themselves. Revd. Johnson translates into Lango. The congregation are laughing,
and so are we: ‘Llanfairpwll…’ is not in the Lango vocabulary, but Revd.
Johnson has been rehearsing! We are happy and privileged to be with this
congregation and we tell them so. “We bring you the love of the people in our
congregations in Bangor Diocese; we want to take your love back home to them.”
We hand over cards with greetings written by church members back home. The
people respond enthusiastically. This is a region traumatised by recent rebel
activity, and thousands have been displaced. Life is at best at the subsistence
level, and many people know tragedy at first hand. Yet here they are, praising
God joyfully. It’s very hard for us not to be moved. Two of our team give
their testimonies, telling how God has worked in their lives. The people drink
in every detail, relating to each incident, their eyes willing us to tell
whatever we can. Another member of our team hands over a gift of cash to the
pastor. This is money that the people in Bangor Diocese have generously donated
for our visit. Just behind the old church building is the shell of a larger
brick building that will be the new church one day. With our donation, the
village’s dream of a place of worship to accommodate all is about to become
reality. More music. They want us to sing something, and we get our guitars out
and sing songs we have learnt in their language.
The
necessity of the new building is about to be brought home to us. Even before
Revd. Ann from Y Felinheli stands up to deliver her address, a darkening sky has
been inexorably heading our way. Just as she starts to speak, as it happens on
the subject of the Holy Spirit, a strong wind whips up and the translator shouts
to be heard. Even as the address is finishing, large rain drops spatter the
ground and the congregation scatters. We take refuge in a small thatched hut
next to the old church, fumbling in pitch darkness even though its
mid-afternoon. Someone finds a candle and we sit out the storm. Despite this,
the village’s organisation is in full flow, and food is brought in by the
Mothers’ Union ladies. We guess in the darkness that it is goat-meat stew,
rice and matooke, a heavy mash made from green bananas. We eat with ‘African
forks’, our fingers. The people have made a huge sacrifice to bring us this
food. What is left will provide all the adults and children of the village with
a much-needed meal. So we eat with grateful minds to make up for our slightly
less grateful palates.