I’m beginning to understand, in retrospect of course, the importance and significance of the sit-down; the negotiation.

In the States, the price is the price, except where there is a sit-down involved.  We should be wary of the sit-down, as new and used car buyers can attest, it means that someone will walk away with more of the other person’s money than is fair or right.  In a sit-down there is always information that one party will not disclose to the other because to do so would weaken their claim to the price they have set.  It’s always helpful to have a person on the inside.

In Ethiopia, we have inside people, but they are of the Nuar tribe, and therefor understand Ethiopian negotiations as beginners, observers maybe, but not as participants.  What is something worth in Gambella?  Like art, it’s worth whatever you paid for it.  We had two days in Gambella before visiting Mattar.  Getting a price and course of action put together with Abram, our contractor, took longer than David, Deng or I had anticipated, but each meeting wss like the adding of an ingredient to a cake mix; before you throw it in the oven, you need to be sure it’s all stirred in there thoroughly, and thoroughly checked for lumps.

By the end of day two we were convinced we had found a competent builder; one who could answer all of my engineering concerns and questions with intelligent answers coupled with persuasive confidence.  Before we headed south, the only thing for us to do was mark where the first building would be located, once we had a suitable size in mind.

Yesterday I took a day trip to one of the wonders of the world: Petra. And yes, Brandon, I got to see the facade of the treasury where Indiana Jones and his father found the Holy Grail. A day pass to Petra is 50 Jordanian Dinar, making the most expensive historical attraction in the world. The expense serves two purposes, the more important of which is keeping crowds of people away. I, like most working class people, had to weigh the expenses versus living the most boring existence imaginable; getting to the cockpit of a spaceship and deciding instead to watch the launch from the ground. 

En route to the site, I got into an interesting conversation with one of my hostel travel mates.  He was not from the States, and felt compelled to vehemently explain his biases and world theories regarding my homeland.  Thankfully I was raised with the right to free speech, and I’m smart.  I am not embarrassed to be an American.

By the end of our visit to Petra, this man and I were on good terms.  This morning he apologized after breakfast.  I understand, the Middle East is in a perfect storm of problems right now, and the US is the largest contributor of greenhouse gas emissions.  Where we have tried to bring stability, chaos has followed, and in truth no people group can be handed freedom.  They have to seek it out, speak out for it, fight and risk everything for it, and in the end they will probably be killed.

What better place to have a discussion like this than an empiric city which had flourished, thrived, inspired, achieved and vanished.  All that we build, short of the kingdom of God, will very soon be forgotten.  Thankfully we have a God who loves us enough to let us participate and lead in the creation of His lasting work in this world.

Love you Jesus.

When I worked in Fushë-Krujë, Albania, my crew was mostly predetermined by the inroads made there by Kurt and Stephanie Plagenhoef, missionaries there now for 18 years. Gambella, Ethiopia is much the same; my crew was predestined in both cases. One of my keys in Albania, a beautiful and very intelligent young man named Fatjon Aliu, has a counterpart in Ethiopia; Deng Buok’s nephew Quatsh.

Now in his early 20s and fluent in Nuar with a working knowledge of both the English and Ethiopian languages, Quatsh brings a unique combination of qualifications to help with this work.  Above simply knowing the cultural protocols, as every indigenous person must, he is also driven to learn and to excel.  Also, he has a servant heart, which I found both endearing and advantageous.  During the days we were in Gambella, Quatsh was available at all times of day and into the evening to take on any task and perform it like the pledge of a fraternity who wants to earn the love of the brothers.

On his face, Quatsh does not bear the traditional six scarring lines of the Nuar across his forehead.  Instead he has two plus-sign shaped scars carved into his cheeks at the apex of his cheekbones.  I asked what they were for and he told me that when he was 6, he was given them to show “who is the real Christian.”  Hopefully he won’t hold me to the same standard.

The world offers a few venues unique to human existence.  I’ve wanted to swim in the Dead Sea since my friend Dan Swenson told me about his experience there.  The Sea has healing properties which are not completely understood.  Diving in, allowing the oil-like water to course around you as you swim, it’s very relaxing.  That, coupled with the fact that the water’s gravity makes humans float like wooden rafts, makes the Dead Sea medicinal for the mind as well.

18 kilometers across, sixty kilometers north-to-south and shrinking; the Dead Sea is neither what it was nor what it will be.  Humans are starving it of it’s historically available, replenishing veins of water.  From the beach, one can clearly make out Israel and the West Bank.  I realized today that I am in The Holy Land.  Jordan is perhaps the least problematic of any middle-eastern nation.  If you can make it here, I recommend it highly.

Terrorists do not meet there goals with high body counts, or with the taking of innocent life, or in the destruction of buildings and landmarks.  Terrorists meet there ends when the living adapt their lives out of fear and not courage.  Visiting the nations of this region is more important than ever and Jordan invites you.

Now that I’ve arrived in Amman, I plan to do a series of recap posts regarding Ethiopia and Uganda, as that is where my missions endeavors have been thus far. I hope you find the chronology easy to negotiate.

SSGMA; South Sudan Gospel Mission Alliance is a group I found online in December of 2013. Since making contact on December 12th, we have been in regular contact. I applied to join their mission team online and so I never actually met anyone in person until three of us arrived at JFK airport on May 25th. SSGMA has three hubs: Lincoln, Nebraska, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, and Gambella, Ethiopia. The first two cities help with planning, fund-raising, logistics, and vision. Gambella is where the orphanage and leadership training facilities will be located.

One of our keys in Addis, at least that’s how I’ve come to think of him, is David.  He and the David from Lincoln, David Cassner, spent quite a bit of time both catching up, and discussing the future.

The other American I travelled with is named Deng Buok.  Deng immigrated from South Sudan over a decade ago.  He hopes to return to Africa to work with the church there, once he’s completed his education credentials for pastorship in Omaha.

As it is meeting any group of people for the first time, discerning movers from talkers is difficult if not impossible.  There would be a lot of feeling out taking place over the next 10 days, from all sides to all sides.  In the end I thought I had a reliable grasp of who will make a difference in the coming years.  Most of those men were not present in Addis.

Back in May or June I had a day in Pisa, and got to go up in the leaning tower.  Today I had a nine hour layover in Cairo.

I always wanted to see the world.

Never thought I would be doing it alone.  Thanks for coming with me.

Im writing this from Amman, and it looks like I’ve figured out how to upload photos.  I should have a lot to share with you soon.  Love,

Joshua

My second day of visits was much easier on my heart than the first.  The needs still seem insurmountably great, but the unbroken and unbreakable spirit of the people here in Uganda is infectious.  Due to hurricane-heavy rains in the morning, we were some three hours late getting started.  Upon arriving at the first site, located in an area with vast numbers of children, especially the orphaned, we were greeted by a large crowd of excited, curious young ones.  The kids outnumbered the adults by approximately three-to-one.

There are not quarters to house the children, 60 of whom have no parents.  The school has five teachers who service some 175 children in all.  There are no toilets and among the needs listed on a report put together by the lead pastor was “bore hole,” which must be the Ugandan equivalent for “drain.”  Not even a drain to carry human waste underground.  You would never know that the people lack anything, however.  Their faces reflect an attitude of quiet kindness.  

At the second site I was offered a hand wash before eating.  Brown water was the water for cleaning, but I did not feel right refusing it, or the stew, rice, and banana dough I was given to eat by hand.  Sanitary conditions are a luxury of the wealthy, and I have always enjoyed them without thinking twice.  Why should any child have less?

Sunday has come again, and I am in Uganda.  Pastor Kamye, a friend of the Dameron family, asked if I would preach today.  I know few passages better than Psalm 139, so that’s what all three congregations heard about.  Though rushed, it was very easy to tie the idea of Psalm and song together in a land like this.  I was treated to the musical talents of the parishioners at all three locations.  In every case the people danced as they sang; lively, living, alive, life-full worship is the Ugandan village way.

Honestly I’ve never been so heart broken for a people as I was today.  At the first church the congregation trickled in over about half-an-hour, but the first people there were three boys and a woman in a gold and black dress.  Kamye said to me that two of the boys had lost both parents to AIDS and that the woman now looked after them.  These two kids must have been six and seven years old.  At the second church a boy approached me after the service for prayer.  I held onto him for a minute and did my best to entreat God to a will other than the one currently exhibited.  I prayed that the child not be afraid, I could see the wear of fear in and around his eyes.  When I finally put my open hand on his chest, it felt like his heart was racing in a rage of fierce, constant beating.  His mother said it had been acting like that since Friday.  A doctors visit costs about $50, so what can she do?  The difference between living and dying is $50.

The beauty of this place is in the spirit; spirit of land, spirit of creatures, spirit of sun.  A photograph could never explain the edge on which the lives of children balance here.  Theology could never explain away the guilt I feel as an American standing by, allowing it.