Back in Uganda

I’m back! 54 weeks after having to hurriedly leave Uganda due to the closing of their borders ahead of a global pandemic, I finally made it back to Uganda just over 24 hours ago.

And boy is it good to be back! I’m here to fulfil various tasks that can’t be done remotely, and that therefore mean it is legitimate for me to travel, but there’s no denying it is also wonderful to know I’ll be meeting face to face with so many of my dear and loved ‘Ugandan family’ and friends.

This afternoon I’m off to see Harriet and Miriam in Acholi Quarters and start catching up with them about just what the past year has been like in reality. Obviously, I’ve had contact with them over the months, but there’s only so much you can find out via their unreliable phone, WhatsApp and dodgy internet.

And then next week I’m up to Mityana with John to see how things are at the college and get a more detailed overview of the various projects John is working on.

The following week it is up to Gulu to meet with the ILA friends, and to have some strategic conversations relating to a few different aspects of work – again, conversations that are well overdue and that can’t be had on Zoom due to the lack of access to reliable internet for some of the stakeholders.

In between all that it’ll be catching up with various individuals, in outdoor spaces, wearing facemasks as required, using hand sanitiser as provided everywhere, and generally staying within government guidelines.

One conversation I’ve already had more than once, which is a reflection of the mixture of underlying fear and confusion that pervades much of society here and is generated by a lack of adequate health facilities and access to too much propogandist news channels, is around the different responses to AstraZeneca jab.

Here in Uganda it is currently the only jab that is available, and even then its not very available. It comes via the Covax agreement, and the conversations have gone along the lines of this:

‘if I (the Ugandan) get offered the jab, should I take it, or will I die of a blood clot? People around the world are saying its not safe, but they are in the rich countries where they can afford to choose another jab instead. What about me? What about Uganda? What about the other low-income countries? If the jab isn’t safe for rich countries why are they still giving it to us? Does our health not matter as much? If it were you, what would you do, would you take it?’

As a non-medical I have chosen my words carefully, but I have also tried to relay some of the responses I’ve heard on UK news outlets that are hopefully accurate.

I’ve also sat already and listened as one friend shared just how scary it was during lockdown, to have no money as all employment had dried up, no way to pay health bills if they were needed, having to adapt to one or two meals a day.

They have been challenging conversation to have, and reminders yet again of the massive injustices and inequalities that exist, between communities, between nations, and how much there is a need for international cooperation and for a willingness to put the needs of others first.

I wonder how many more times those conversation, or others like them will crop up. Several times I’m sure, and I pray that in each case I will be able to support through listening and really hearing, through sharing of careful and wise words, and through just being alongside.

May my feet be hard to tread the roads, and my heart be soft to feel and respond to the pain, the needs and the unspoken words.