Category: Other Stories from Uganda

D’s Gift

On By Alicia McCauleyIn God & me, Other Stories from Uganda3 Comments

In the tent of my mosquito net, I lay thinking of just where to begin, dear reader, to tell you about the amazing adventure I’m having in Uganda.  As so many wonderful things do in my life, this story begins with my grandmother.  I’d been missing her like crazy as I prepared for my trip, brokenhearted that I couldn’t tell her all of the little details.  Like so many of my adventures with my grandma, this is a story that I wouldn’t have believed had I not been there.

Did you know I’m named after my grandmother?  Yep, Alicia Jean.  When I was a kid in serious trouble, my mom could really stretch my name out when she felt that my first name alone wasn’t doing the trick.  Alicia Jeeeeeeean!!!  Few people outside of my family know about my birth middle name because when I got married many years ago, I replaced Jean with my maiden name.  What does this very boring namesake lineage have to do with anything?  I’m getting there.  Promise.

My grandmother, Betty Jean, loved to travel and she loved a good adventure.  In fact she loved adventure so much that she kept $100 pinned in her bra at all times “just in case”-not just in case something bad happened, just in case something good could happen with the help of a little spare change.  Be it treating the table for lunch or splurging on ice cream sundaes, her bra money came in handy on more than one occasion.  Is this really a story about your grandmother’s undergarments?  Fine, I’m done talking about my grandmother’s bra and I’ll get on with the story about what happened the day before I left for Uganda.

The day before I left, unbeknownst to me, the local newspaper re-ran the story about my trip that was printed a few weeks ago in the Anderson Valley Post.  This was a pleasant surprise and it filled my inbox with well wishes from friends and strangers alike.  One particular email caught me by surprise, an email from D.*

D is a local who has been a missionary off and on in Uganda since 1991 and after reading the article about me, she wanted to meet and answer any questions I might have as well as give me some Ugandan Shillings she had left from her last trip.  And by some, she meant a LOT, as in an amount that was exceptionally generous, especially from a complete stranger.  D told me about her time in Uganda and I told her about my trip that was mere hours away from beginning.  Then she took out the envelope fat with money and in her other hand she held a singular knee-high pantyhose.

“Do you know where you’re going to keep your money?” she asked.  I told her the variety of locations I planned on keeping it.

“Well, I always kept my money in a pantyhose and then pinned it inside my bra and it worked for me.”

Of course she kept her money in her bra.  I laughed when she told me that, but kept the reason to myself, knowing that my grandma would have been nodding her head in staunch agreement.

I asked her if she was sure she wanted to give me all of this money.  She did and all she asked in return is that I deliver a kind message to her pastor friend in Gulu.  If I felt compelled, I could also give him some of the money.

Before she left, D prayed for me.  In my book, the more prayer, the better, especially when it comes to big adventures that leave my stomach snapping with excitement and nerves.  After praying for me, D told me God was giving her a word for me and that word was ‘special’.  I appreciated the sentiment and the care D bestowed on me, but in the back of my mind I was thinking, “Yes we’re all special in God’s eyes.  What’s the big deal?”

And then, because skepticism never, ever trumps love, D paused and said, “I have a second word for you.  ‘Jean’.  Your name is Jean, isn’t it?”

“It was.”  I stammered, too surprised to tell her anything else.  I started looking around my house for anything visible that said Alicia Jean.  There wasn’t anything, since it’s part of my name I haven’t used in over 15 years.

“God wants you to know you’re special and that he knows you, right down to your very name.”

I swear I almost broke my neck careening it around the room to see where she pulled ‘Jean’ from.  No Jean anywhere.  Coming up with nothing, D and I hugged and she went about the rest of her day, leaving me in a cloud of disbelief and wonder.

The money D gave me was an incredibly generous gift, but the real gift she gave me was the knowledge that my grandma was with me in spirit.  And also in the Shillings I tucked into a pantyhose and pinned in my bra.

*I’m calling her D because I didn’t ask before I left if she wanted to remain anonymous or not.  Plus it’s late here and I couldn’t come up with a more creative name, like say one with more than one letter.

The Stars on My Feet

On By Alicia McCauleyIn God & me, Other Stories from Uganda, Unconventional Motherhood1 Comment

I dream every night and every morning I remember upwards of five or six dreams.  I’ve always been that way, the owner of a mind that meanders freely down the dark streets of night.  My dreams range from the bizarre to the completely mundane, but this dream was so specific.

I dreamed that a friend hennaed stars on my feet, twelve stars to be exact. I woke up recalling every word of the dream, every stitch of clothing, every detail right down to the conversations we had.

A few days later, I sat in church while the pastor taught about the blessings in the book of Revelation.  My heart stopped at this verse:

“A great and wondrous sign appeared in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet and a crown of twelve stars on her head.” Revelation 12:1

Wait, what???  I snapped to attention because, let’s face it, my mind sometimes wanders in church.  Did the pastor say 12 stars?  I flicked to the right page of my Bible on my phone.  Sure enough.  A crown of 12 stars.  Who was this great and wondrous sign of a woman?

Over the next few days I did a little digging and found that some people think she represents Israel, God’s chosen nation.  Others think she represents purity and still other Biblical scholars think she represents motherhood.

As I studied I had to laugh because the meanings are so opposite of me.  Pure?  Not really.  I fight to tame my tongue every single day.  Motherly?  Not even close.  This uterus is a No Baby Zone.

The only part I could relate to was being like Israel.  In fact, I could relate to that part big time, being chosen in spite of my stubborn nature, loud mouth and a gazillion other less than desirable qualities.  In fact that sounds a lot like me, a sometimes petulant nation loved beyond measure and mercy.  Yep, I fit that description well.

I told my henna artist friend, the one from the dream, all about my dream stars and she offered to come down and henna a blessing on my feet.  A few days passed and our schedules never matched up.

Until.  There’s always an until, isn’t there?  I let the dozen stars fade into the recesses of my mind until last Sunday at church again when the pastor read Psalm 147:4.

“He counts the stars and calls them all by name.”  

There were those stars again.  I had a little moment with God.

Seriously, God, what is it with these stars?  What am I not getting?  I have conversations like that a lot with God, wherein I am dense.

I asked another dear friend if she’d henna my dream stars onto my feet.  I’ve known this woman since she was a teenager and I was a young adult volunteering with her Friday Night Live chapter.  She’s creative and kindhearted and I’m filled with love for her every time I see her.  She’s grown into an amazing woman and last night as she sat on my patio telling me about upcoming job interviews and painting stars on my feet, I was filled with pride.  I couldn’t love her more if she were my own.  Maybe, just maybe, I’ve got a smidge of motherly tendencies in me after all.

People ask me all the time if I’m afraid to go to Uganda.  I’m not.  No, really, I’m not.  Trust me, I’m as shocked as you are.  I’m anxious about little things like making sure I remember to take my anti-malarial pills and making sure I don’t miss any of my connecting flights.  But I’m surprisingly not scared of much else.

And it’s because of those stars.

I feel chosen to work with the kids at in Uganda, chosen to be the one who helps them tell their stories.  That’s not a privilege I take lightly.  I know that the God who counts the stars and calls them by name walks with me in this work.

I’m so excited about the work and the stories and the things that I’ll learn from these children that there’s just no room for fear.

There’s only room for stars, both in my dreams and darkening on my feet.

I’m Going to Uganda. Wait, WHAT???

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Other Stories from Uganda, Writing Project10 Comments

Yes, dear reader, you read the title correctly.  I’m going to Uganda.  Little old me in big, beautiful Uganda.  I can hardly sit still typing those words.

In June I’ll be spending a month in Gulu, Uganda volunteering at a school populated by orphans, former child soldiers and other children in need who possess leadership potential.

Back in December, I felt God stirring me to make use of my summer in a new way.  Usually I have a big bike adventure, raising money for LiveStrong or some other worthy cause, but this summer I’m taking on a whole different kind of adventure.  After watching a video about two regular guys  who built an entire brick school out of dirt, I knew I wanted to be part of the work happening in Northern Uganda.

But what did I have to offer?  I’m not a foreman or an architect who can create a school.  Trust me, you do not want children occupying a school built by me!

I’ve got three skills.  I teach.  I write.  I ride my bike really far, albeit very slowly.  Really, I’ve only got two and a half skills at best.  Apparently that’s enough because an idea began to take form in my mind and heart.

What if I ventured to Uganda and helped the students write their stories?  What if I published their stories in a book, with all of the proceeds of book sales going back to the school?

All of a sudden it felt like all my summers with the Northern California Writing Project learning to teach children to love writing were coming to a pinnacle at that very moment. I could use my heart for writing with kids to help these children write their own stories.  With a pounding heart and trembling fingers, I emailed my idea to an organization working in Uganda.

Then I waited to hear back from them.  I waited to feel confirmation from God that this was what I was meant to do.  And then I waited some more.  I waited for weeks.

I didn’t hear a thing.

Then it struck me, chances are if I wasn’t hearing God, it wasn’t because he wasn’t speaking-it was because I wasn’t listening.

So I did a daring thing.

I turned off my television for 10 days.

I know it doesn’t sound very daring, but for me it was.  I decided that for 10 days, I would actively pray and listen for direction.  In the third day of my fast from television, the organization emailed me back.  They loved my project idea and specifically wanted me to work with students in Gulu.  I was thrilled and began to plan the details of my project and trip.

Since that time, Northern Uganda and the Ugandan children have received a lot of press about the oppression inflicted by Joseph Kony and the Lord’s Resistance Army.  In a time when many people are voicing opinions about the turmoil in Uganda, I know that now is the right time for me to go and help give voice to the stories of the students there, to let their stories speak for themselves.