Being ordinary

 

I'm average. Just putting it out there. Going through school I was never the one to win awards. In my years of ballet lessons and piano exams, I was never the star student. I was average, middle of the road. Not a stand out.

Growing up I was always good at comparing myself to friends and classmates and coming up short. My conclusion was that, being average wasn't enough. I should be cooler, taller, better at sports, better at maths, better at talking to people I didn't know. I should work harder at school, at practicing piano, clarinet, ballet. I should be more like this person or that person because they were infinitely cooler, smarter, prettier (add any adjective comparing me to another person) than me.

I guess that somewhere along the way I lost that, following Jesus tends to have that effect. If the creator of the universe wants to hang out with me, then even if I am average, I become cool by association. Never mind the fact that if the creator of the universe wants to hang out with me, I don't even care anymore whether I'm cool or not.

But that's not really what I wanted to say. What I wanted to say is that I am ordinary. I'm no different from any other person on this planet. I don't have super powers and I'm not particularly courageous, adventurous or daring. And yet because I chose to come here to Uganda to stay, those are the type of things that people say about me. I am however, no more inspiring than the next person.

On the other hand, thinking about the people that inspire me, maybe it is ordinary people who are inspiring. I think of my friends and family. Most of them are far more inspiring to me and have more influence in my life than the most 'inspiring' of people I don't know. It is those that are close that challenge me to continue on. It is those that are close that I allow to speak into my life.

Then there are the ordinary people I meet here who I find incredibly inspiring. The single mother living in poverty who refuses to give up hope that her kids will get through their schooling while also instilling hope in them. The young boy who is taking the opportunity that sponsorship has given him through education and is topping his class in the hopes of gaining a scholarship which will give him entry to one of the best schools. The young family who sacrifice their own dreams and ambitions to look after and rehabilitate street kids. These are the people who I admire. These are the ones that inspire me to do what I am doing.

The thing is that what I am doing is inspiring to someone. But all I'm doing is following what God has called me to do. So whatever you are doing in this life, no matter how ordinary you are, it is the way you live your life that will determine whether you inspire someone else or not. And who knows? Maybe the person you encourage, smile at, give money to, have a chat with etc will go on to also inspire those around them.

I’m looking forward to going to two of our HOPE schools in Kamwenge district with one of our other Australia HOPE International partners this week. Tell you all about it next time.

Have an inspired, ordinary week.

Blessings,

bron

ps – here’s a few photos I promised from the latest wedding and also last weeks introduction (think engagement party on steroids!)

 

		weddings and introductions VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

Taking a good hard look in the mirror

 

I'm sick and my head is foggy so I thought the best thing I can do is share this article I found the other day - I'm inclined to agree with him - but see what you think. I was having a conversation with my sister yesterday about some research she had seen that put Australia in the top three countries (studied?) of the most (insert here the opposite of class-less) societies (see I am sick - I can't think of the word I want). I didn't think we were that bad but thinking about it in the context of this article - maybe we are.

Have a blessed week

bron

 

24 August 2011

Snobs and whingers: the new Australia

Tim Napper

I am filled with rage. My spleen swells to explosive proportions and it must be vented.

It's been building for a while, this anger. It grows as I see a New Australia growing, a nation increasingly snobbish and prone to complaining. First it irked, then it grated, but now I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore.

The tipping point came last week in an article I read in Crikey, in a piece that represented everything to me about just how pathetic we are. And it was an innocuous article for all that: a light fluff piece by a 17-year-old student about a trip to Canberra. The main focus of the article was how difficult it was for the author to find a good coffee. She was especially confronted it seemed, at how difficult it was to find a quality macchiato, and shocked to find a 'charcoal chicken' outlet in the city. "What is this"? You can hear her thinking, "the nation's capital or South Detroit?".

Yeah, you heard it right, a 17-year-old complaining about the scarcity of some boutique coffee choice and the horror of an unsophisticated food shop. And it was published.

I remember when being 'stuck up' or 'up yourself' wasn't good at all. It was the ultimate put-down. I remember at high-school that while you would be made fun of for a lot of things, most would soon be forgiven and forgotten by your peers. But being considered 'up-yourself' was an unforgivable sin, warranting an immediate (and deserved) excommunication from the company of other teenagers. Now it seems we've come full circle. Now being poor, or down-to-earth, or insufficiently educated on different varieties of Colombian coffee beans is something to be derided. Now we call instant coffee drinkers 'bogans'.

And tell me something else - can a breakfast in a cafe be uncomplicated anymore? Does every dish we eat have to be insufferably pretentious? You can't sit down for breakfast without being confronted with choices like 'Madagascan vanilla quinoa porridge with a side of flambéed quinces'. Can't I just eat some eggs on toast please? You know things are getting bad when you need a working knowledge of French and an advanced diploma in food science before deciding on an inner-city breakfast.

To really understand how pissant Australians have become, just have a think about the environmental movement. On the one hand, an overwhelming majority of Australians think something has to be done to preserve the environment and cut down on carbon pollution. Fair enough. But on the other hand those same people are shocked and appalled when you suggest they have to make some sacrifices and take some personal responsibility. Sacrifice? Responsibility? You say this to an Australian these days and they look at you like you've just spat in their eggs Florentine.

I'm even willing to put a price on the threshold level for the average Australian whinge: three dollars. Why? Well, because this is the extra price we are not willing to pay on airfares. Three bucks extra on a domestic airfare - that's what a price on carbon will cost you. Three dollars doesn't even buy you a coffee - hell, it buys you half of one of those much-vaunted macchiatos. But this is front page news. The media works itself into a frenzy, howling at the moon at the thought of such an economic injustice. Three dollars extra for your dirty weekend up at the Gold Coast - the sky is falling! Socialism! The tourism industry will be destroyed!

Well, I'm past giving a sh*t. Your electricity bill is going up? Don't live in a McMansion with six bedrooms, a rumpus room and a home theatre. Bananas expensive? Buy an apple. Soy-milk Chai latte not flavourful enough? Give yourself an uppercut.

Our media complicit in this nonsense, with its shrill headlines and me-too philosophy. They have fed the beast of this New Australian culture of entitlement. They're the ones leading the charge, complaining bitterly when people earning more than $150,000 a year are not given more hand-outs. We've had it so good for so long, that when the last budget came down and the Government decided not to increase some of the giveaways, the Murdoch press nearly had an embolism. "Class War" they cried, indignant at the creeping threat of communism evident in cutting people off welfare at $150,000. Call me crazy, but my assumption was that not everyone was entitled to welfare. I thought, you know, that poor people were the ones who got the assistance. But oh good god no - in Australia today, everyone is entitled. And don't get me started on billionaires paying 2 per cent or less tax while having billion-dollar government subsidies for their businesses, just don't get me started.

What happened to the stoic Aussie? The laconic digger? The 'she'll be right mate' attitude? We'll that's all as dead and buried as Ian Thorpe's swimming career. We're not stoic, we're like one of those European soccer players flopping around on the field in convulsions at the slightest touch (or perceived touch). We're not laconic, we bleat on endlessly about a thousand petty grievances; it's not "she'll be right mate" anymore, it's "she'll be right when I get my tax cut and belly-rub". And of course there's the voice of Alan Jones always there in the background to stroke that sense of entitlement and misplaced self-pity. We are becoming a silver-spoon nation of whingers.

Our economy is the envy of the world. European bankers turn green with envy when they see our economic data; American bankers would do the same if they ever looked at a country outside America. We've got almost no unemployment, a stable, well-regulated financial sector, solid economic growth and resilience enough to ride out the catastrophic financial mistakes of the US. The OECD ranks us as one of the strongest economies on the planet.

And we've got it bloody good when you compare us to other rich countries: let's not forget the people who really deserve a whinge - the starving kid in Somalia, the Thai sex-trafficking victim pimped out to a Chinese businessman, the family who has been sitting in a squalid refugee camp on the border of Afghanistan for 10 years. These people should be the ones complaining - not some middle class private school girl with a macchiato fetish, not some professional on $200,000 a year living in North Sydney and driving a Range Rover, not some self-funded retiree squandering their life savings on a yacht and Botox treatments. I'm sorry, but you don't get to lament and gnash your teeth. You get to shut up and be thankful for how you good you got it.

Our whinging puts the poms to shame. We are getting soft. We stubbed our toe in the global economic crisis. America had its legs cut off and Iceland was drawn, quartered and fed to starving dogs. So stop whinging. This is the lucky country.

Don't believe me? Well, it doesn't matter. Someone in the media will be along presently to pat you on the head and tell you how tough you got it. They will be there to stoke that burning sense of entitlement you feel down deep in your belly. So think what you want to think, and whatever happens, try not to choke on your next latte.

Tim Napper is an international aid worker and occasional poker player.

Pasted from <http://www.abc.net.au/unleashed/2853464.html>

Another day, another wedding

 

Yes, that's right. I was a maid in another wedding. This time I did not have to travel so far (nothing like my previous epic journey). Only four hours to Kampala. Easy.

Dennis and Rebecca are part of the church I go to here. They also happen to be an amazing couple who look after and rehabilitate the boys who are rescued from the street. They have around twenty boys who live with them and there have been countless others who have gone through their house and known a love and kindness that was missing from their lives previously. The work they do for these boys (most of whom are sponsored through Australia HOPE International) is incredibly humbling.

So Dennis and Rebecca have been together since High School and have three kids but were not Christians when they got together so have never had a proper church wedding. From my understanding they were actually married but now they have a wedding certificate from the church.

Dennis' dad is involved in the Anglican church in Kampala and his family is there as is Rebecca's. So the wedding had to be held in Kampala. Hence the four hour trip. Hopefully I wont give you a blow by blow of the whole day this time. Although it was quite different from my Tanzania/Swahili experience. For one thing instead of Swahili the whole day was in Luganda, which is admittedly another language I don't know. But at least most people spoke English as well so that I could ask what was going on and they could interpret for me.

As I said Dennis' dad is part of the Anglican church so the service was held in Namirembe Cathedral which is the main Anglican church in Uganda. I haven't been to so many Anglican churches in my personal church history but this one was pretty impressive. One of those old buildings with vaulted ceilings and wooden beams. Apparently it's the fifth building and longest standing for the church community, the first four were destroyed between 1890 when the first church was built and 1910 when the fourth was destroyed. The current structure has been standing since it was completed in 1919.

(these photos are not mine – as a bridesmaid i didn’t have a lot of time to whip out my camera)

Anyway, things definitely had to be done a certain way. And there were attendants to make sure we did them. We were told when to sit, when to stand, when to kneel, when to move. Once again there were the 'normal' elements of a wedding. Vows, rings etc. When we arrived at the church we found a wedding already going on. And before our service was finished, their was another wedding party waiting in the back of the church. A wedding production line.

After the wedding and photos at the church we went for photos to the gardens of a local resort. I have to say that it was pretty spectacular. Set on the edge of Lake Victoria, with beautiful gardens, while tired of my (very) high heels, I just enjoyed being in such beautiful surroundings. I have a feeling that this however is where the majority of my sunburn came from. I haven't been burnt so badly in years and am just thankful that somehow my face did not burn like my back and shoulders (note to self - when a bridesmaid wear sunscreen even if it is raining when you leave the house).

(also not mine)

these on the other hand are mine

After photos came the reception, which to me shows the biggest difference between here and home. We danced in to the grounds where there were three marquees set up with the fourth side being taken up by a covered stage. In the middle of all this was the cake table where there sat at least five cakes. After we'd danced past the three marquees (one with Dennis' family, one with Rebecca's and one for other guests/friends) we were back where we started and then danced back in this time through an arch. Then we got to sit in our places up on the stage. We got sodas which I was extremely thankful for and I had a chance to kick off my heels (oh my goodness, the pain).

pretty shoes

killer heels

Then there were speeches followed by cake cutting. All the maids and groomsmen then took the cake to all the guests seated in the marquees. Then Rebecca fed Dennis cake and vice versa (Rebecca kneeling down to feed him somewhat going against the grain). Then it all gets a little hazy but I think this is when we got food. As our breakfast of fried liver and potatoes early in the morning at the salon now seemed a long distant memory I was once again extremely thankful. Meanwhile various people were performing and after eating the wedding party left the area. Rebecca changed dresses and we all danced back in and made a line so that we were ready to play a version of pass the parcel. Guests from each of the tents in turn came and greeted Dennis and Rebecca and gave them their gifts and then the gifts were passed back down the line to the area where they were collected. After the gift giving we danced back out to where the maids changed into their second dress for the day and Rebecca her third. After, you guessed it, dancing back in we then all danced in procession to give various whole cakes to important guests. And this brings us to the end. Apart from all the dancing (I guess there is different dancing at Aussie weddings) it's the lack of interaction with the guests that makes it so strange to me.

The whole thing was over reasonably early (I think we were on the road by 8:30pm) and I was able to get a ride with Pastor Willy and others who had driven from Mbarara that morning and were driving back that night. By this time I was quite tired having been up since 4am and not really sleeping before that or the night before. So our two hour stop in the middle of the trip to have the car repaired was not really the best timing but at least the car eventually got going again. I think we reached home just before 4am.

So today (Tuesday) I think I've finally recovered. I am still sporting my beautiful sunburn of course and a stiletto heel bruise on my foot but at least I don't feel like I've been hit by a truck or that someone is constantly slapping my back anymore.

Overall it was lovely to be involved in such a special day for two people I greatly admire. The selfless way that Dennis and Rebecca live their lives often challenges me when I think about all the conditions I put on what I do. For Dennis it has meant laying down his own ambitions in music and serving a bunch of (not always grateful) boys. For Rebecca it means caring not only for her three children but having the interests of twenty other 'children' at heart. And it is easy to see that these kids love and respect these guys. There is a lot to be said for sacrificial love.

By the way, if you are interested in sponsoring any of the boys who are not sponsored, or any of our other kids or even a class in one of our schools, or even make a one off donation, please contact the Australia HOPE International office through the details on the website.

Be blessed

bron

ps may have to add random wedding photos to some other post as I haven’t managed to get any yet

A girl I know

 

I met her maybe twice. She barely smiled at me. In fact, it was only as she was walking away the last time I saw her that she turned around, said goodbye and smiled. I met her because she kept running away from home and her mother was a woman that we have helped. Her younger brother is in our sponsorship program.

I am not sure exactly what kind of life Sarah has had. Or rather, I can't imagine living the life that I imagine she has had. She is around the age of 13 and if she was in school she would be in P3. She grew up, not with her mother but an aunt who it seems used her to look after her own kids and house. In this culture Aunt's and Uncle's are not just relatives or extended family. They are mothers and fathers to all their nieces and nephews. In this case however it seems as though this girl was let down by both her biological mother, Florence, and the mothers that culture dictates.

About a year ago Sarah’s Aunt sent her back to Florence to live with her. Florence was sick, in the late stages of HIV/AIDS and possibly thought it would be good to have someone to look after her. In fact I'm told that when people here first met her, that it seemed likely that she would die. Some money was found to help and she did receive medical help and rallied.

Sarah had run away from home, although we didn't hear from Florence straight away. We went to the house where Florence told us how awful her daughter was. As we left the house all the neighbours were saying awful things about this girl. Grown women abusing a 13 year old. We looked for her and found her not far from her house. She had been sleeping at nights in kilns that are used to make bricks. It turns out that some people were helping her mother with some food but in return this girl was forced to go and dig in their gardens. Instead of also offering hope through education to this girl she was exploited. We endeavoured to get her into school and away from her home environment but it seems we were too late. When we went to pick her up again to take her to school we found that she had run away again. And this time she could not be found although we did try to trace her.

The easy assumption to make is that she is selling herself on the streets. A young girl like her with no skills will most likely end up there unless someone has given her a job, maybe as a housegirl.

I tell you this because we heard this week that Florence died. A life wasted by AIDS, an African statistic, a tragedy. As far as we know she leaves behind three children, one of whom is also HIV+. When I met her, although I pitied her for her state in life, I couldn't help be angry also. HIV is an awful disease. But it seems that the neglect of her children started much earlier than that. I don't know her story and I'm sure it is also tragic. Poverty tends to create lives of tragedy. And yet love does not cost anything.

A picture of an african statistical tragedy

(the dark blue dots represent sub-saharan Africa)

So this tragedy leaves a young boy in the care of his older brother who is not able to take care of him and a young girl on the streets somewhere.

I am glad to be able to say that the young boy is sponsored and will continue in school. And this means that we will able to continue to make a difference in his life.

I have met many people here. Coming from the life I have I cannot begin to imagine the effect that poverty has on someone's worldview. But I have met people who respond to poverty with a dignity that I admire and I wonder how they got it? Poverty in itself is degrading. And trying to get out of it can be like trying to get out quicksand. The more you struggle, the more desperate you become, the more unlikely you are to get out.

But there are those who make it and provide hope to not only those who are still struggling but also to me, someone who cannot help but to listen in awe to their stories.

Our organisation Australia HOPE International and our partners are here among other reasons because the ones who make it give us hope that we can change things for the ones who don't.

So for Sarah, where it seems everyone in life has let her down, my only hope is in the one who saved me. Maybe I will never hear what happened to her. But I am praying and believing that someone, somewhere, saw she needed rescuing and is looking after her, that she is part of a family and now knows a love that she has never known before.

Blessings

bron