A girl needs a good shoe

I like a good shoe. I feel confident in a good shoe. It keeps toes and heels free of  blisters. I stand tall and walk with a little bounce. But recently I made the most interesting discovery.

A few weeks ago, I noticed that little Miss. A needed new shoes. She'd had three long serving pairs; Sandals, Snow boots and "Sunday best". With the cool temperatures setting in, sandals were impractical, besides, her toes nearly grabbed the front sole, not to mention that they were in shreds from summer escapades. The snow boots from last winter and the "Sunday best" faced a similar problem, they didn't fit any more.
Usually Mr. O or I would make the trip to the store, roughly gauge the size and bring home our findings to be fitted. It had worked in the past.  This time I thought it brilliant to take her along.

Once in the shoe store, we made our way to the kids section. I pulled out a shoe and she gladly tried it on. I saw another shoe that looked better and she tried it on too.Then she figured that instead of sitting and waiting for mom to bring the shoe, she would make her own picks, glitter being the main attraction. Before I knew it she was pointing at this shoe and pulling out the other shoe, steadily picking up speed and excitement as she went along. Her heart was racing, she was frantic. As I reorganized the store and returned the shoes she had scattered, she tapped my shoulder. She beamed her most brilliant smile, leaned forward, raised her eyebrows and as if she had discovered something extraordinary, said with finality, "Mommy, we go!". She was ready to walk out the store in this wonderful pair of multicolored rain boots. She was beside herself. She had found THE shoe! The only problem was, mommy had money enough for a pair of practical shoes. Rain boots wouldn't work for everyday use.

She would not let me touch her. She would not allow me to take the shoes off. Mommy was not good for her at this point in time, she lost all composure. She came undone. A serious case of meltdown. She screamed, her hands fell loosely at her sides as she shrugged her shoulders. Her little heart was breaking and falling to pieces right there on the shoe store floor. Tears were spilling out (at this point I would like you to imagine the animated cartoon characters with tears sprouting like a fountain).
I was beside myself too. Shoppers cast subtle glances, kids peeped from behind their parents. I had never seen little Miss. A  so unbraided. What had over taken my calm little Ms.? Why was she reacting so?
Turns out, she was truly spoiled for choice. Who knew that shoes would have such a profound impact on a 2 year old girl?
I finally managed to draw the curtain on the spectacle, I picked a pair of practical shoes and little Ms.A happily carried them all the way home. She promptly sat down on the living room floor and changed into her new shoes for the rest of that evening.

A good shoe. Every woman loves a good shoe. It runs in this family - mother, grandmothers' (one and two) and maybe even great grandmother (I will research).
So, I can't blame little Miss. A, she just needs to practice self control, that is how we all survive and sometimes ... it's just the lack of money.

Happy Friday!!!

The day after

It is official, Obama won reelection!  He has 4 more years to finish what he started and he had better because …

Last night I hoped to be awoken by screams of elation from the winning “side” (left/right) but the neighborhood was as quiet as the Vatican (but maybe it's just my village). Eyes were glued to TV screens and fingers were hitting refresh buttons. Fine!  I have no problem with that but after the results, couldn’t people shout ko? They got the news, turned off their TVs and went straight to bed quietly.

 I flash back to Uganda and the buzz that would go on in the streets till morning. The cheering - as if in a football match. How the sounds carried a clear indication of who had won. Everybody would give their opinion or argue about who stole votes and so on.

We didn’t even have a public holiday! People stood in winding lines, in the cold, for over 2 hours just waiting to cast their vote. It took another 15 or so minutes to finish the voting process - ticking and affirming political views on the piece of paper, surely one needed a holiday. Back home it takes a whole day just to  tick the “hat”, “hoe”, “Chair”, “key” . These people don’t know how to have fun, maximize relaxation and minimize stress. One can’t even “pull the excuse” of voting on their boss because there is the option of early voting; in person, online, through the post office – tight!!!

I got onto the bus this morning and saw the same sullen faces. It was another ordinary day – business as usual. We listened to the drub vroom of the bus except for those who had ear phones. And even then, it’s not certain whether they were listening to gangnum style or NPR (National Public Radio). There was no expression of happiness or disappointment, just blank stares and straight faces.  At that moment I missed Fat boy, CBS, Mr. President and every other radio presenter discussing a version of the results over the taxi radio. Maybe I can blame the weather - it’s really chilly out here but honesty, abantu bano bansobedde!.

I grabbed a newspaper at the train station eager to get the details on swing states and all that, and then sat next to a guy who couldn’t be bothered. Really?? Was there an election yesterday? I asked myself.  At least show some relief that campaigns are over, no more “This is … and I approve this message” ads. But then again, I’m a simple Ugandan woman, watching from a bird’s eye view or maybe an ant’s.  I should take my excitement elsewhere no?

# Culture shock or different life styles.

Who's in charge of our babies?

Lately news events have read like scripts out of Hollywood.

Murder in Manhattan. 
My eyes nearly popped out when I read the story of 2 children killed by their nanny in Manhattan. A chill went through my body and I immediately sent out a prayer for the mother who came home only to find her babies drenched in blood in the bathtub. O good Lord!!!
No body, no body should experience this heart break, but Ms. Krim has.
I could only imagine her screams of horror, blood rushing out of her brain as she denied what she saw.
She had 3 children.  Leo (Lito) - 2. Nessie - 3. Lulu - 6.
Leo and Lulu are gone. Nessie lives to tell the story, to live a life scarred by the memory of her siblings soaked in blood and the horrific screams of her mother struggling to get to grips with this nightmare, her body releasing the tension, the only way it knew how.
Ms. Krim kept a blog . As I  looked at the lovely pictures and read her journals, I identified with a mother who cherished the gifts God had given her. Pictures from the summer, days at the pumpkin patch, ordinary days in Manhattan - she was there, involved in the intricate details of her children's lives. Marveling as their personalities formed.
She writes, "Lito, I must say, is a very clever little boy.  He is super talkative and just has a million thoughts running through his brain and can express himself amazingly well for an almost-2 year old.  I'm thinking he could be a Mini-Kevin". (Kevin is her husband)
As a fellow mom and a blogger, this all comes from a familiar place.
I pray the  Krims' find Jesus, because this world has nothing to give in the form of true comfort.

Fathers and sons.
 I read two different stories of fathers' accidentally shooting their sons to death. These may sound like scenes off the pages of a novel, imaginations out of a creative mind but no! It's reality. I can't begin to understand the dread and self loathing these fathers will face the rest of their lives but I know they are going through some dark times. Their stomachs wretch and turn until there is nothing to give up but still the haunting thought that they killed their own sons... suicide is an alluring option.

I find myself silently praying for them because apart from Christ there is no way to get out of that "hell".

Gone with a trace.
In the same period, I read in the news of a 10 year old girl who was going to meet up with her friends and walk to school but didn't make it. Her bag was found and later her body was identified. The guy who did it is a 17 year old who lives in the neighborhood. Even though her parents were home, she was old enough to walk to school.


So, we do our best to look after our kids, put careers aside and purpose to raise these little blessings, we even home school to impart the right values and keep out bad influence but who says we can protect them from the world? Who says we can protect them from our selves? We CAN NOT.
We do our best but God does the hard work. Psalm 127 breaks it down.

PSALM 127

Unless the Lord builds the house,
    the builders labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
    the guards stand watch in vain.
² In vain you rise early
    and stay up late,
toiling for food to eat—
    for he grants sleep to those he loves.

³ Children are a heritage from the Lord,
    offspring a reward from him.
⁴ Like arrows in the hands of a warrior
    are children born in one’s youth.
⁵ Blessed is the man
    whose quiver is full of them.
They will not be put to shame
    when they contend with their opponents in court.

THE MESSAGE Version

^1-2 If God doesn’t build the house,
    the builders only build shacks.
If God doesn’t guard the city,
    the night watchman might as well nap.
It’s useless to rise early and go to bed late,
    and work your worried fingers to the bone.
Don’t you know he enjoys
    giving rest to those he loves?

^3-5 Don’t you see that children are God’s best gift?
    the fruit of the womb his generous legacy?
Like a warrior’s fistful of arrows
    are the children of a vigorous youth.
Oh, how blessed are you parents,
    with your quivers full of children!
Your enemies don’t stand a chance against you;
    you’ll sweep them right off your doorstep.

Interesting that the psalmist puts the idea of protection and the blessing of children in the same Psalm?

Falling beautifully!

GOD BE PRAISED!!!

A glimpse into the 1st year

This is another one of my -  print-it-out, read-after-work,  in-your-free-time kind of posts.

 We started writing a new chapter around this time last year. We'd just relocated to "the united stated".
Friends opened their doors as we found our bearing, they offered ideas, tips and advice on how to deal with the challenges of relocation.
Mich begun 2nd grade while Sam and I spent the days applying for jobs.
I got a brief assignment through a hiring agency. A short while later Sam got a job with a health insurance firm. We moved into our own place. I begun toying with the idea of staying home when I was offered a job with my former employer.
I started work in January and things got pretty crazy, I didn't know whether I was coming or going. Between adjusting to the busy office, learning the systems and procedures and spending 3 hours commuting; rushing home to fix dinner, wash the kids and put them to bed, I thought I would collapse in a heap. I wanted to literally coil up in bed all weekend but the kids... and then Sunday was church day, if only to find strength to face another week.

We visited church after church but didn't find the nourishment that we longed for. Houses of prayer seemed commercially driven, competitive and superficial.
Church A had the fancily dressed who's who of the area. I thought "pssh! just ignore!" but when the pastor pulled out his i-phone to read the scriptures, my brain froze. I didn't get past that.
Church B was okay. It had great worship but the sermons seemed shallow.
Church C had passion, the congregation was warm and friendly, all 25 of them. Everyone brought their own chair so to speak, the singing was ... how can I put it? ... I can't. But lets just say we haven't been back there in a while.
Church D was something else. After worship we sat down and a cinema screen was lowered, eh! to watch a sermon nga I got out of my bed? Anyway I'm old school like that. I want to see a preacher and know I can touch him. Put him on a screen and my mind begins to wonder ..."oba I just watch a tele-evangelist at home?!"

Mich didn't like school, he "created" stories about his homework, smuggled toys in his bag, brought chits from his teacher I found notes from his teacher in his bag.
He was upset that Mummy and Daddy had all the fun - going to work everyday when he was being punished with school, and why wasn't Amani given homework?. He insisted on exchanging places with me, he preferred he went to my office while I sat in his class, except he hadn't considered the basic logistics of getting to my office for starters. That story ended albeit unconvincingly.
The politics of friendships wiped the smile off my face. There was competition to be in certain peoples good books. Friendships were protected jealously; "Please make your own friends and kindly don't feed off of my hard work" is the message in-scripted between the lines. I understood that since the community of dependable relationships was small, there was a need to secure one's turf. I backed off and related on a more casual level confident that God would bring people into my life.

Through these ups and downs and mowing the lawn, there was a silver lining of God's mercies. I needed to be quiet to see and feel His loving arms around me. I had a job; Mich's school was a block away; Amani's day care was just up the road; God had surrounded us with a Ugandan community. A Zimbabwean friend leaving the country had literally given us everything we needed to start a home. The winter was mild - that was a warm welcome. I met Camille on the bus, and since Susan braided my hair our friendship has grown.
I knew I was there for a reason when my manager was distraught over her ailing mother and I listened and subtly mentioned my faith in God.

Life is busy. Some days Sam and I wish we could stop the ticking clock. Especially on days when we leave office late to pick the kids from daycare. That happens to be the day the train is slow, there is backed up traffic on the road, but tick-tock, the clock keeps ticking away, one minute, two minutes.... We've panicked, even broken into sweat just watching those figures change, we've called each other with "where are you now?" or "are you almost there?" questions. The first to arrive runs into the daycare panting and apologizing profusely. Then we get this look of "get your act together dude!!" (or dude-ess). I whined, thinking back to how easy it was in Kampala. I thought about the support system, of our help Stella, who was always home when Mich got back from school.  But Sam was steadfast, never a word of complaint. The unsaid message being "I know this is hard but we are going to find a way to make it work. We are not backing out, we are going to dig in and do whatever it takes. God has been good to us, we can only be grateful."

We settled with Church B after realizing that part of our problem was the cultural differences. We're apart of the coolest home group ever; 6 families with 16 children aged between 9 years and 9 months - beat that!!
Mich is now in 3rd grade, he has several friends who knock at our door. He is a more comfortable in his own skin and turning out to be quite the artist.
 Amani turned 2. She is so much fun, always thrilled at a new sun rise (I don't know how she does it).
We have adjusted to the work schedule, team work around the house gets things done.
We travel far for work but hope that maybe next year we will move closer and adjust to more change at that stage. And then you'll receive another long news letter.

Ms.Amani. Yup! I cut her hair, daddy didn't know what to do with it, so I made life simple.

I guess you can tell who's in charge here.

 Mich loved to put flowers in his sisters hair.

By the way happy 50th! UG rocks!