- 1 bomber Laughing Dog Brewing Dogzilla Black IPA - home
Lately I've been thinking a lot about my Uganda trip from the summer of '06. I keep in touch with a person I met, John Baptist, through email; however, he tends to write me more often than I write him, and I feel bad about this. The day I met him outside of the Mother House is a day I will never forget. I wrote about it last year and it was printed in my church bulletin and I have copy and pasted it below, with pictures following. (The story involves beer (so it's not totally out of place here) and I was getting progressively buzzed as the day went on.) I'm proud of the writing, though as I re-read it now, I realize I lessened the emotion I actually felt during the day, especially at the end as Pedro and I walked home and met the young boys with their water jugs. As we left the boys and made our way back to the road, we both broke down uncontrollably, and walked the remaining distance back to the Mother House, eyes clouded and damp; never saying a word to each other, but knowing exactly how each other felt.
I'm glad today was WMS...it was something I needed to be reminded of.
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Afternoon outside the Mother House
There was 40 minutes before our scheduled lunch time on Wednesday, July 12th and I asked Pedro if he’d like to go down the road for a beer. He almost didn’t agree (and I wonder what the day would have been like if we hadn’t gone) because we needed to be back in time for lunch at 1:00 pm. I assured him we’d be quick, so we began our walk to the local beer-selling hut. We bought our beers, found a comfortable tree root to sit on and began watching the locals. We soon were approached by someone who introduced himself as a teacher at the nearby technical school, so we talked to him a while and promised that we would visit the next day to give out soccer balls and see the school.
Pedro and I were getting several looks; not unfriendly, but more curious. It’s not often two white men are sitting on an exposed tree root drinking beers in the local neighborhood. We were surrounded by a few businesses - a couple of markets, a beauty salon, a barber, and others that I never fully understood. The businesses are huts made out of red clay mud, thatch or rusted metal roofing, and wood or metal doors that are always open and welcoming in the day.
Directly in front of us, two men began unloading fish racks from their bike. The fish were not big, the size of a child’s hand, and they were hung on a rack made out of twigs and twine. There must have been about 70 fish on a rack and the men had a lot of racks. I enjoyed watching them while they shuffled through their fish.
John Baptist was a tall, nice looking man aged 22. He was dressed well; in a clean shirt and long pants. He approached us, introduced himself and asked about the two of us. We bought him a beer and invited him to sit on our root. He shared that he wanted to become a priest, but that he didn’t have enough money to attend school. Pedro told him to write down a short biography about himself and outline his school budget and we’d do what we could for him. We had a good talk and later, John would become our “guide” for the rest of our stay in Masaka.
Either because John was well-known, or because he was the only one talking to us, the three of us began to attract a small crowd. We immediately bought everyone beers (John’s mom sold us the beer on our word because we didn’t have any cash on us. We paid them the next day.) and we began meeting some of the locals, laughing and talking about soccer and other things.
We were introduced to a pig and her piglets in the back, learned that the men’s bathroom was an open corner of red brick behind the huts, made an appointment to have Pedro’s hair braided, met the “chairman” of that area, and many other things.
It was time to go back to the Mother House as lunch time had passed many hours ago and it was the first time we had failed to show up for a scheduled lunch. We also had an appointment to play soccer at the all-boys school, so we had to get equipment. Pedro and I walked back to our room thinking about all the things that had just happened and deciding that it had been a good choice to get some beer.
We packed up some soccer balls and candy, got a ride in our van to the boy’s school – talking frantically the whole time about our exciting afternoon. Arriving at the school Pedro soon split the boys into two lines, gave the students candy, did some tricks and it was during this time that the full extent of the day began to hit me. Seeing a soccer game being organized with the students and teachers by two teachers from across the world is difficult to describe. One of the teachers asked me, “Why are you crying? Are you sad?” and I said, “No, I’m happy. Very happy.” And I sat down with the rest of the students who were there to watch the game. It was the most peaceful time, watching barefooted kids kick a shiny red ball around a dirt field, and being surrounded by curious kids, watching my every move and laughing at my hairy arms, or feeling my wedding ring, or tracing my wristwatch with their fingers or asking me how come I wasn’t playing football (because I’m lousy). I showed them how to thumb wrestle, how to hand-slap, and how to do high fives. I actually had to teach them how to high five because they couldn’t get their aim right.
The game was over, we managed a group picture in front of a church and then said goodbye. It had been an incredible day and Pedro and I decided to stop off once more to share some beer with John and our other acquaintances. At 7:00 pm it was beginning to get dark, so we headed back along the familiar road to the Mother House. Along the way we ran into some barefooted children, wearing tattered clothes saturated with red dirt, who were carrying jugs of water (perfectly balanced on their heads) to their home, so we took it from them and they led us to their house. It seemed like quite a walk, through narrow trails, and uphill a bit. When we arrived, I was concerned to find their parents not home. There was no electricity and so they would have to wait in the dark. Pedro and I said goodbye and found our way back to the main road. But something had happened between that house and the road; the emotional fullness of the day began to settle in me and I walked along the road with Pedro, feeling overwhelmed by sadness and confusion, but fortunate to have experienced what I did.
Pedro in the foreground with pig and John Baptist in the background with beer.
Lining up for teams in our afternoon of soccer.
The boys Pedro and I met retrieving water from the river.
Liquor is sold everywhere in California. Everywhere. Grocery stores, Kwik-E-Marts, drug stores, Costco, etc. all sell liquor. My favorite is the old-school stores dedicated solely to selling liquor. They make it seem so naughty, so sensual; bottles among bottles of prettily decorated glass and ceramic containing liquid delicious-ness. Mmmmmmmmm......
the Lobby
the Lounge
the Pool
Being bonsai.
Zen
I've always loved Japanese bridges.
Candid
London (kind of), Susan, and Michelle
This is Matt. He, his wife, and two daughters live in Pasadena. He was my best man, my first college roommate and is a great friend. They had us over for dinner tonight and it was great seeing him and his family.
Ivy covered facade
twigged ceiling, "Christmas" lights for ambiance, wood benches
fish aquarium behind bar
puffer fish lanterns
firepit provides additional ambiance
beach-pebble wall
open bbq pit in back corner
Arrogant Bastard is probably their most well-known beer, but my favorite is the Double Chocolate Oatmeal Stout. Hmmm...I wonder why?
The bar.
The restaurant, with indoor/outdoor seating. (Note the heat lamps in the background.)
I always love returning to Southern California. It brings back such great memories from when I lived there and it's always great to see my sister, Michelle, or SOJO (Sister Of Jon), as she has nicknamed herself. We're in the OC for the next several days enjoying the sun and sand and surf and suds (and miSHELL).
Bellevue and I-90
King Street Station - International District
Seattle Skyline (wished my camera was steadier)
Shangri-La along Lake Washington Blvd.
Police along Jackson Street
Telephone Poles along the waterfront
I-90 Bridge
Chelan Cafe (not open 24 hours)
Cadillac Hotel - Pioneer Square
