Taken

 This is a really long post but I know that everyone is kind of confused as a lot of you received a call or text from my mom asking for your prayers. Just wanted to clear everything up as this is probably the most intense thing that will happen to me this summer. …at least I hope.

Thursday

As many of you know, last year while I was in Uganda I accidentally deleted almost half of the photos I took during my trip.

I “formatted” my camera.

There was no warning.  No screen popped up kindly asking, “are you sure you want to delete these pictures” or” are you sure you want to format this camera” or “are you sure you want to wipe priceless memories away so no one can share in this experience with you when you get home?”

No blinking red flashers telling me I was about to put a tiny dent into my soul by permanently erasing more than 4,000 pictures.

Anyway, after 3 straight hours of bawling my eyes out and 4 straight days of a small depression I thought it was over it.  Little did I know that to this day when I start thinking about it, my stomach hurts a little bit.

Some of the priceless memories I demolished were…

Passing out TOMS to about 150 students.

The school dance-off where we finished 1st out of 6 schools.

Milking a cow

That is all to say I came back to Ugandan with a phobia.  I have been petrified I am going to lose the pictures that I take here, all of them, one of them – I can’t bare it again. #whitepeopleproblems, right?  So the first two weeks I was here I took literally, no exaggeration, three pictures.  I guess I felt like if I had no pictures to loose I wouldn’t have to worry about it. 

That didn’t last long as I saw so many countless moments come and go without capturing them to keep for later.

So I as you saw from my a few posts ago, I started taking my camera to school, bringing it out when my students were somewhat calm and not bouncing of the walls like wild banshees.

This presented me with a new fear.  Not deleting my pictures myself, but having someone steal my camera.  Every day I carry a bright yellow canvas bag with me to school.  It contains my cell phone, a little money, markers, dum-dum pops, a red pen, a piece of gum that’s gotten fuzzy because the wrapper fell off, stickers, and other teacher stuff – oh, and of course my precious pink Sony memory catcher.

Although I want nothing more than to think my students are all precious angels that have floated down from heaven and taken home in tiny coco colored bodies, I know this isn’t true.  Sometimes when they are going crazy on a Friday at 4:00 p.m. or sluggishly falling asleep on a Monday at 7:00 a.m., I feel like they are spawns of the “fallen angel” rather than fallen angels. 

There are also about 1,000 people walking around by the school on any given week day that could very easily run in and grab it while I’m out of my classroom taking a tinkle.  I can assure you that while squatting over a hole in a fly infested latrine all the while holding my breath like I’m underwater, my camera is the last thing I’m thinking about. 

So I have always worried about my bag being taken.  I have always been cautious about my camera being stolen.

I never thought I would have to worry about being abducted myself.

Just to let you know before you scroll to the bottom to find out what happened, I’m not writing this blog from the trunk of a car or a dungeon like pit.  I’m not being held at gunpoint and asking for ransom.  I doubt they would have let me ramble on for so long about my pictures.

I’m safe. I’m sound. I’m writing this from the comforts of an internet café.

So here’s what happened.

For the past month Denis has been picking me up from school.  Remember, he is Willy’s brother who took my piki bike virginity.  We either ride the motor bike, sometimes we walk, or a few times he’s gotten a friend to drive us home his friend’s car.

It was just about time to leave and we had about 15 minutes left in class.  I left my P7 students to finish a quiz while I went and talked to head master (like the principal) about getting my next day’s lesson approved (I had some crazy wild things planned).  When I stepped outside my classroom I was shocked when I saw Pastor Ouma on his rickety old bike.

“What in the world are you doing here???!”

Ouma had never ever come to pick me up, and this was way earlier than I was supposed to leave so I was pretty confused. I decided not to ask questions but instead I hurried to finish up with head master and went back and collected the quizzes so we could be on our way.

“Why have you come for me instead of Denis? And way so early?” I asked Ouma as we headed home.

“I really don’t have a reason – Kinda strange but I just wanted to myself today.” He replied weakly.

He seemed kind of quiet on the walk home so after about a mile of awkward silence I asked him what was wrong.

He said that a few minutes after he’d gotten to school, while he was waiting for the class period to end, two men approached him.  They had been sent over to him by one of the ladies who cooks lunch for us.

“We’re here to pick up the Mzungu” one of them said to Willy probably thinking that he was the security guard or something (most schools here have one).

Who sent you? Ouma asked.

“Denis.” They replied.

“Where is Denis” was clearly Ouma’s next question.

“Kenya.”

“Someone else is getting her today.” He sent them on their way.

They got back into their maroon colored car with tinted windows and slowly pulled away.  They stopped their car as they saw me crossing the road for the head master’s office. Let me remind you that I was completely oblivious to any of this at the time.  Ouma shook his head at the driver and motioned for them to continue on.

After we got home Ouma put airtime (minutes) on his phone to quickly call Denis asking why he’d sent his friends to pick me up from school instead of calling Ouma if he couldn’t make it since he was in Kenya.

I halfway listened to their conversation because they spoke in Samia.  However my attention was fully drawn as I noticed the color from Ouma’s face drain as he hung up the phone.

Denis was not in Kenya.

Denis never sent any of his friends.

Denis had every intention of getting me himself.

So.

Who were the men?

What were their intentions?

Are they coming back?

I don’t know the answers to any of these questions. But I doubt they were taking me for dinner.  I doubt these middle aged men needed help with their English homework.  I doubt they were being hospitable and taking me on an authentic Ugandan safari to welcome me back to the country.

What I do know is I am thankful.  The Lord is always with me, he’s always protecting me, and he just chose to manifest it today.

I know his timing is perfect. You see those men thought it out pretty well. They came at the perfect time about 20 minutes before my actual escort was supposed to come.  Just enough time for us to be gone before Denis got there.  They came with the right name.  I would have jumped right in their car knowing that “Denis had sent them.”  Although Ouma didn’t know why he came for me that day, or why at that time – the Lord knew what was needed and the Lord provided.

After realizing what could have happened tears started falling off my dusty face.  Not because I was scared, or mad, or nervous to go back to school the next day.  But because I was thankful, I was happy, in my heart and with my words I was praising God for watching over me.

I can honestly say there hasn’t been many times in the past 21 short years of my life that I have appreciated my life like I did that day.

After falling on my knees in thanks I quickly got up and opened my stash of M&Ms that I’ve been saving.

…after all. Life really is short.

It’s crazy how the most ordinary day can be catapulted into extraordinary within the blink of an eye.

Jesus calls his disciples to be many things.

Strong and courageous (Deuteronomy 31:6)

Non-judgmental (Matthew 7:1)

                        Loving (Mark 12:31)

                                    Generous (Philippians 4:15-17)

               Hospitable (Hebrews 13:2)

One thing he did not ever call them to be is safe.

People have called me crazy, brave, and more often stupid for coming here – alone.

But Matthew 10:28 tells me, warns me rather, not to be afraid of things that can merely destroy our bodies.  Instead it reads that we must fear things that destroy the soul.  Here in Ugandan I am constantly faced with things that can destroy me.  Malaria, HIV, men with evil schemes. 

But I’ve come here because I was flirting with things that were destroying my soul.  Putting my identity in things other than the Lord, a separation from reality.  I was being insulated from the pain of this world snuggled in between two comfortable pillows of complacency.

Today was kind of difficult.  On a hard day at home I can curl up on the couch and pop pin a DVD. I can cry to my friends, I can drown my sorrows in a point of coffee ice cream with chocolate sprinkles on top.  Here I have the Lord to be my strength (and although I’ll admit, I called and spilled the story to my mom, she won’t be here when it gets dark tonight. She won’t be at school tomorrow. …but the Lord will.

2 Timothy 1:7 says; “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and love and of a sound mind.”

I’m going to school tomorrow.

Friday

Today, after I got back from school, I walked outside to get the clothes off the line because I saw a big storm coming.  The wind blowing hard enough to make tiny tornadoes out of the dust of the drive way.  Although it was still early, the sky was dark.  Vicious clouds looking heavy as if they were waiting to let out a wrathful flood.  I then saw lightning strike in the distance but heard the thunder slowly rolling our way with a deep anger in its pitch.

As I was walking toward the tall solid rod-iron gate I saw a girl about 8 or 9 waving at me to come outside.  “She’s calling for you, Malaika.” Gift said as she stood at the gate.

I kept walking toward the gate wondering what this girl, who I didn’t recognize, was calling me for.

 You should probably stay inside.

I felt that thought so deep in my body I almost turned around to see if someone had actually spoken the words to me.

With that thought forcing itself into the front of my mind, instinct shot through my veins as I felt my heart tempering. I quickly shut the gate on this poor innocent girl who seemingly had something to tell me.

Now I’m not trying to over react.  I don’t want to have to think the worst in everyone and every situation from now until I leave this country.

This is what I know.  I’ve spent two summers here and I see the same kids every day.  I know what they look like, I know them by name, I know where they live and, if they have them, who their parents are. 

This girl, I didn’t know. This girl desperately wanted me outside that gate.  I had a bad feeling about this girl.

After walking inside I immediately thought back to my childhood.  “Don’t walk away with strangers. Don’t get in their car, no matter what.  I don’t care if they have candy, or a baby, or a puppy dog. Don’t do it.” My mother’s words echoed in my head.

Were those same men who came to school using, instead of a puppy dog or candy, a little girl to get me outside the gate?  I’ll never know for sure.  What I am 100% positive of is I felt the spirit telling me to shut a door in a little girl’s face for the first time in my life. That’s something I’ve certainly never done.

Like clockwork, my phone rang. My mom. I knew not to tell her about this one, couldn’t freak her out too much.

She was calling to tell me that her and my dad made a few phone calls.  They simply wanted to ask a few “officials” what they would recommend for me (and my parents) to do after my little incident at school yesterday.

“They said you need to leave, Angelica.” My mom said with 1 part hesitation, 2 parts nervousness, and a dash of worry.

My parents prayed protection over me more than they probably ever had before. Reminding me that God’s shield from danger was stronger than any fence, locked door, weapon, or person. “…Father, we think of David and Goliath, King Nebuchadnezzar Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. We think of Daniel and the Lion’s Den. Only You can protect people supernaturally.”

I tried to explain to Adam why I might have to leave early.

“If you wanted to steal this pen from me, it would be easy.  You wouldn’t have to really plan anything out – you wouldn’t have to think about it long and the consequences would be minor.  You could even walk by, see it, spontaneously decide that you wanted it, and slip it into your pocket. 

But Adam, if you wanted to steal this camera from me.  Well, that would take a little more thought.  You might have to watch where I leave it; figure out when I won’t be watching over it.  And the consequences, well, they’d be greater.

  Now think about taking a person.  Think about how much thought, planning, and preparation you would have to do to take a person.  You’d have to plan how to get them, where to keep them, and what to do with them.  You’d also be willing to risk the punishment of getting caught.  Large fines, imprisonment, and if my father or brother had anything to do with it, possibly death.  Adam, someone made those plans, they prepared, they tried to get me, and they even risked the punishment.

Praise Jesus they didn’t succeed yesterday.  But do you think they’ll try again?”

These are from my journal that day:

Early that evening…

Tonight I am kind of scared. I feel like I am in danger. That my life – is in danger. After school I started feeling very uneasy.  I was anxious, worried, nervous, and downright fearful.  Look up any of those words in a thesaurus to read more about the feelings that are overtaking my mind, body, and even my soul right now. I feel weak. Fragile as a soap bubble. Have I shrunk Jesus down to where he can only save my soul but he can’t save me from men who want to harm me? ….I need to stop writing my thoughts and start reading the Lords.

Later that night…

Okay, I’m back and feeling much better.  I’ve talked to my parents and after a few minutes of international prayer I feel a peace starting to come over me.  It sounds as if Mom is notifying all our family (minus a few worry warts) getting them to pray.  It’s as if I can almost feel each time she hangs up with a different person.  As each new prayer is heard my blood pressure starts to fall back down to normal. Although the Lord is blessing me with a spirit of peace tonight I also have a little rumble in my heart that it’s time for me to leave. I don’t think I’m supposed to be here in Busia any longer.  But I want to stay.  So now, more than ever before I need to be still, be quiet and listen for exactly what I’m supposed to do.  These are a few scriptures that are really keeping me going right now…

Psalm 91

1 Cor. 15:55

Psalm 56: 3-4

Isaiah 54

Proverbs 4:8

Psalm 57:3

Isaiah 43

Psalm 55:2

Saturday

Last night I made or received a total of 43 calls.  These were mostly to and from my parents but I also spoke to the American Embassy, the Ugandan Embassy, the Ugandan Defense Council, and a few other random protection agencies.

“A code red has been issued and we’re on a high state of warning.” He said firmly.

“Wait, why is Uganda in a state of warning? What happened?” I asked, embarrassed that I hadn’t known about the latest political uprising.  We don’t exactly get prime time news out here in Busia.  What had I missed?

“No, not Uganda – You, Angelica.  We can’t take attempted kidnapping lightly.  Especially not 7,000 miles from home in a third world country.”

Gulp. “Yes sir.”

I was kind of confused at first. I wasn’t murdered.  I wasn’t raped.  I wasn’t even abducted.  But – what I was forgetting is someone had a plan to take me.

After what seemed like the longest night of my life last night, me, my parents, and what seems like every defense agency in this country, have decided that I need to leave Busia. Like today. A catch 22 of the worst kind.

It’s like getting Malaria.  Better to buy a mosquito net for 10,000 shillings and try not to get malaria rather than spend the 6,000 on treatment after it takes a toll on your body. 

Better I leave now, take the pain of not saying goodbye to all my beloved friends and family and forget about the fun things I planned for the kids this week, than pay a higher price later.

Sunday

When I was driving away yesterday I thought about all the things I didn’t do.  I haven’t seen Amisi in the past week.  I didn’t say goodbye to Mama Dudu.  I said goodbye to 3 people when I left and I have close to 100 who I wanted to.

Last summer when I left Busia we had a big party the last night I was there.  We prayed for the power to stay on (which it miraculously did) and projected a movie on the compound wall. We had about 50 people over for soda, chicken, and seem-seem balls.  Mama Dudu gave me a beautiful authentic Ugandan dress and I even made a little farewell speech.  I took about 1,000 pictures that night and I’ll never forget it.   This time I had to leave spur of the moment, with no warning, like I was in the witness protection program. I walked to the car with all the crazy enthusiasm as a prisoner headed to death row.  Driving down our long road we passed by children that I have grown to deeply love over the past two summers. They flashed their bright white smiles and waved naively unaware that I won’t be coming back.

This is what I don’t want…

I don’t want to think I am leaving because I am overcome by fear and I do not trust the Lord to be my protector. I don’t want you to think I’ve been defeated by a few men who tried to kidnap me.  I don’t want anyone to say, “I told you so.  You walked into a dangerous situation going to Uganda alone (twice).  You’re lucky you’re getting out alive.” I don’t want you to think I am thoughtlessly abandoning the Lord’s will for my summer.

If you see me in a bikini on the sandy white beaches of Miami sipping on a margarita next week then you can assume those things.

This is what I want…

I want you to know I am leaving because I think staying would just be plain careless. I want you to know I am leaving because I was just taught that the people of Israel took up their tools in one hand and their swords in another.  Instead of carrying a sword, I have to get in a car.

For the past 3 days I haven’t had my “daily quiet times.”  I didn’t set aside an hour to pray, read the bible, and listen to worship music.  If I wasn’t in the word or in prayer throughout the entire day, I couldn’t function.

I felt a genuine dependence on the Lord.

Another thing this has taught me is that yes, I have to make plans for my life.  But they should never, no matter how big or small, be so set in stone that they can’t change after further direction from the Lord.

I’m not changing my flight and leaving this country early – like is being recommended to me by so many defense agencies, as well as a few family friends who were praying while this was all going down.

No, I just readjusted my location here in Uganda.  I’m trying to be a good steward of this life – and this opportunity – that the Lord has given me.

So I’m a few hours away from Busia in the much more developed town of Jinja. Please remind me to tell you how I came to stay in Jinja. It’s another crazy God-ordained story that I at some point want to share with you.