The rains have finally arrived, still furtive in their frequency, but increasingly bold. Everyone is looking to their fields, clearing, plowing, planting.
Last month there was a raid in the hills behind Tokora, a trading center 7km east. A man and his shepherd boy were shot; the cows were taken into the foothills of Mt Kadam. The police pursued the thieves, seizing goats and food from locals along the way. I haven’t heard if they’ve reclaimed the cows or if the family who lost a son will get restitution. Some of the goats have been returned. As the traditional ways, which would have required 60 cows from the offending tribe, erode and are subjected to the government system it’s complicated. Justice is murky and unpredictable, without a face or personal relationship, without its own accountability.
Due to the raid, some locals decided to shift their herds to other parts of Karamoja. When the rains started, the local wisdom said all the oxen were gone elsewhere. Everyone needed to use a tractor. They’re lined up along the main drag in Namalu in the morning waiting to be hired, but their drivers and owners are often Bagisu, a tribe from Mt Elgon south of here. Another tribe. Foreigners. Communication is only the external difficulty to hiring them; mistrust lingers. Many have tried to hire a tractor from a local large landowner, not originally from Karamoja but now here a few generations and loudly claims residency. Their tractor driver is Karamojong. In fact, a well-known neighbor famous for his all-consuming drunkenness, abuse of his children, violent behavior, and boldness in approaching foreigners with his English. One morning I watched him plow a field from our schoolroom door. He plows like he lives – jerkily, with no concern for consequences or best results. I shook my head and sighed, glad this season won’t last forever. Then I heard another friend had hired him to plow her field – knowing full well his character and his quality of work. She rushed over one afternoon asking for money she kept in savings with the mission. The tractor driver said her field was too big for the agreed upon amount. They needed more. She left hurrying back to her field with her savings in hand. The next day I asked if it got sorted and she shook her head in disgust. “I brought the money,” she told me, “but they refused.” Thinking I wasn’t understanding her Karimojong I asked for clarification. “He didn’t want money. He wanted etule (hard liquor). He wouldn’t finish plowing because I refused to buy him etule.” That very morning on my way back from a run I had seen a friend with oxen in the field. I congratulated him on finding the oxen and work. I encouraged them to find each other. When I woke the next morning to the sound of men singing to their yoked teams, I rejoiced. There were a handful within earshot. Christopher and I both acknowledged that it is one of our favorite sounds here. It is the sound of men hard at work with the animals they revere taming the earth to bring forth food. Their coaxing chants are uniquely Karamojong. Their finished work is rich turned earth fresh with the hope of eventual harvest. One day in the right hands with the right equipment, I’m sure a tractor will give better, faster results. But today, I’m thankful for the Karamojong hard at work alongside their sacred cow.
As the tarmac road inches ever closer to our mission, we are thankful and cautious. It will bring opportunity – for the good and the bad. It will bring ease. I’ve had the pleasure of giving more people directions to our compound in the last few months than ever before. Visitors are actually accepting our invitations! They aren’t intimidated by the road or the distance anymore. Our trip to Mbale has become predictable and shorter. Everyone is talking about the possibilities. NGOs in Mbale are eagerly looking north. Items for sale in Namalu are multiplying and diversifying. We’ve been informed that some government entity has plans for an event on a portion of our land for some kind of community celebration – I’ve heard various versions about which government entity and for what the celebration will be. Maybe the President will attend? Now we’re accessible.
The mission too is sensing a time of change. May we be sly as serpents and innocent as doves. May we seize the opportunity to proclaim the gospel in clear, bold, loving ways as a stark contrast to the promises of this world. Choosing weakness over strength, generosity over stockpiling, discomfort over comfort, other over self, rest and worship over all-permeating toil, humiliation over revenge, and Christ above all – this is the word of the cross. It is folly without His enlightening Spirit. It is life giving to those with it. May the perishing see us as fools and the children of God see us as light in the darkness pointing to salvation. May His church stand firm, no matter the whirling murky rapids of change.
The word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. – 1 Corinthians 1:18