Life Lessons from my Catholic Mission Trip

The phone rings. Absentmindedly, I reach for it and barely glancing at the number on the screen, I answer. Today is obviously my lucky day, because I hear a familiar voice on the other end.

"Maddy?"

"Matthew!"

I haven't seen my friend Matthew, head teacher at Uganda Martyrs Junior Boys School, since I left Africa, hugging goodbye briefly on the front porch of the convent at Namilyango during a celebration for I-can't-remember-what. It's been six months since my mission trip with CARITAS' Catholic Child Sponsorship Programs but I still remember most of it like it was yesterday, and other days it feels years behind me. Hearing Matthew's voice brought me so much joy - memories of warm sunshine, music, and ever present laughter. The most important lesson I carried forward from my time in Uganda was that material poverty does not define you: these people give with their whole hearts. They sit to eat and drink, share a laugh and tell stories, no matter who you are. It doesn't matter if you are the strange girl with the white skin who doesn't understand most of the things going on around her, they welcome you with open arms.

I miss my Ugandan mother, Flavia, caretaker of guests at the CARITAS Learning Center, as we walked to town every day and sat up late cooking by the small charcoal fire. I miss long trips to Kampala with Prossy, who teaches at Stella Maris Primary Boarding School, and walking down dusty red roads with Sr. Carolyne. I miss the dozens of little hands pulling at my arms and skirt at St. Anthony's Nursery School, the taste of fruit from the market, and the sound of drums and children's voices during Mass. I miss the thunderous rainstorms, secret shortcuts through the bush, bumpy rides on the back of motorcycles, the noise the banana leaves make as they rustle in the wind, and the rich scent of moisture and living things that rises from the red earth after a rain. But most of all, I miss the people - the way they love and laugh and live so honestly. Maybe it is because there is so little else in material possessions to distract from what really matters, but in Africa I think there are only two things that really matter: the people you love, and God.

On the road to Nkokonjeru

We're always taught that everyone has a different calling. Some to religious life, others to marriage or single life, and each path is unique. But each and every one of us is called to love and care for others. Personally, I think I am called to serve in Africa. For how long, or how I'm going to get back there, I'm not exactly sure. Maybe God is only asking for a few weeks or days, maybe years.

I know that He calls each of us in a different capacity: some to give medical care, others to build houses, help with finances or create jobs, some to teach, a few to preach, and some to simply offer friendship. Simply put, sometimes I think the most important gift we can offer is friendship: Someone to sit beside you, take your hand, and remind you that you are not alone.

When I went to Uganda, I didn't even bring a Bible. What could I possibly say to these people about their faith that they do not already know through experience? Rather, I learned more about mine by listening to and living beside them.

If you're lucky, while you are in Uganda you will be given a name in the local language, Luganda, as well as one belonging to one of the local clans. I got my Ugandan name sitting in a room with the Little Sisters of Saint Francis, beside Sr. Carolyne, as we kept the older sisters who are in their late 90s or early 100s company for the afternoon my first week. The next thing I knew, I had been named Kirabo, which means "gift," or more literally "gift from God." It is a name usually given to happy people, who love dancing and laughter because they bring joy. I'm not sure I deserve the name since these beautiful people were the source of my joy, their music my dancing, and all the mistakes I made as I tried to learn a new culture and language were the source of my laughter. But whether or not I deserve the name, I understand the message: I don't have to bring material gifts and whatnot, all I have to do is offer my friendship.

My friend Berna and me. Brian and Christine sponsor Berna and they are really making a difference for her family.

My second name, Nantongo, I received while sitting in the back of a taxi on the way home to Nkokonjeru. A man climbed in, sat near me, and started proposing marriage. I tried to tell him no in the little Luganda I knew, and soon everyone was laughing at the Muzungu who thought she was Ugandan. This man wouldn't take no for an answer, but luckily he was soon distracted by a man sitting in the back. He decided that I looked a bit like him, so I must be part of his clan, the monkey clan. His name was Ssentongo, so I became Nantongo.

So now, six months later, I'm back in the United States. I am thankful to see my friends and family, and have gained a greater appreciation for grocery stores and restaurants, western bathrooms when I travel, roads that are still passable during rain, and so many other things. In the fall I start my senior year of college, and after that, I'm uncertain what path I will take. I am praying that I find myself back in Africa, in Uganda, beside my friends - I just have to find a way.

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