The Rafting of the NILE!!!

Well, as you may have guessed from the title of this post,, I HAVE OFFICIALLY BEEN WHITE WATER RAFTING ON THE NILE!! (This happened 2 and a 1/2 weeks ago...sorry my blogs are so backed up...internet is very touch and go, you know?)You know that river that Moses floated down in a wee little basket?? I got to float down it in my life-jacket in between deathly rapids...I respect that wee little basket, it must have been pretty sturdy. I have never been tossed about, dragged under rapids, or swallowed so much river water in my life...and it was AMAZING!!
It was an all day trip and you should have seen the scenery: rolling hills, beautiful trees, and the big groups of wonderful Ugandans bathing and washing clothes on the side of the river (some of them even rode in our rafts for a little bit:). We all baked in the equatorial sun quite a bit, especially our knee caps. Knee cap burns are surly! As soon as we got in the raft we learned the standard strokes and then we learned the boat flipping procedure...which was a little bit of foreshadowing since our raft flipped twice and we lost a few members on another wicked rapid! In the event of a flipping, we had to crouch down-hold our paddle in one hand and the side rope with the other, then you hold on tight! If the rapid isn't too grizzly, you should be able to keep hold until you clear the waves...if it is that grizzly you let go so your arm doesn't separate from your body!!
Our raft went WILD instead of mild, which means we took the hardest parts of the rapids as opposed to the sissy parts,,,haha no parts were all that sissy- I'm just competitive, so I feel the need to insult unnecessarily. We went down 4 level 5 rapids (one of them was basically a 6, which is the highest level), several level 4 and a couple 3s. It was a sweet work-out and just a kick in the pants in general (that means it was thrilling and fun). Our whole boat capsized on the second rapid and while we all managed to hold on through the waves, one of my friends tore a ligament in her arm (HARD CORE!!). The next gnarly rapid was called Big Brother. It basically maimed our boat and we still have no idea how it didn't flip! We lost 5 of our rafters, who were sucked under the water for about 10-12 seconds (which feels like an eternity when you are being knocked around like that). I was one of the lucky ones who somehow stayed in the raft and I was the only one left with a paddle!! I tried, in vain, to steer and paddle without a guide- it was a good time. Then we stopped at lunch islands for some deliciously wonderful sandwiches.
After lunch we floated a while to the next rapid, which was a 16 foot waterfall. Awesome blossom. The rest were pretty tame until we got to the last one...THE BAD PLACE. Before we reached this rapid of doom we had to get out of our boats to walk up and a around a level 6 rapid that basically would have killed us. We came back down from our little barefoot hike to more white water, where we just got in the rafts and went for it. We were warned by our guide that we would most definitely flip...and ohhh did we flip. The Bad Place is a water pit that flips the boat right before a 12 foot wave smacks you around a little bit more. Sucked under, hurled around, coming up for a breath maybe every 10 seconds...I thought I might die. But when I came up, you better believe I had a smile on my face!! We were rescued by the little kayak men and brought back to our boat. All trauma and injuries aside...it was a fantastic ADVeNTURE. And don't worry, because I bought the DVD, so I'll probably try and make you all watch it, whether you want to or not!!
Glory, Glory, and a Hallelujah- it was SO fun!! The whole trip reminded me of God's awesome power, because you know if water can do that much, He can do SOOOO much more. It also made me realize that nature's entertainment is priceless. God seems to me to be a God of adventure. What an exciting God to follow. I am so thankful to have that experience and, of course, to have lived through it!!

A Critical Insight...

The last Saturday that I spent with my host family we decided to go into Mukono town to buy some ingredients for the tasty meal of peanut butter and jelly I was planning on preparing. I had been to Mukono several times before and I did not think this time would be any different. As we were leaving, one of my brothers (we’ll call him X) said he would catch up with us in town, so the rest of us set off on our journey. The whole trip was filled with stares, eyes questioning: “Who is that mzungu and why is she with that family?” When we reached the market, peoples’ heads were turning, comments were flying at me left and right, some of which my other little brother (we’ll call him Y) wouldn’t even translate. Right in between annoyance and anger, I saw X standing at a distance. He was looking right at us, but still not joining us. I was slightly confused at first but then it dawned on me. Could it be that X knows how much of a spectacle I am? And why would he want to be a part of the freak show? I asked Y if that was the reason X wouldn’t even look me in the eye. He hesitated and then said, “Yea, he doesn’t want to be seen with a white person. He doesn’t want his friends to laugh at him at school.” I had no idea how deeply that could hurt. My own little brother didn’t want to be seen with me. The only thing that kept me from crying in the middle of the market was the tight grasp of my little sister’s hand.

I had noticed the stares before this experience, but this was the first time I FELT them. My indifference regarding this attention was replaced with incredible discomfort. I was a piece of foreign material. I know that on a scale of all the heinous prejudices in the world, this doesn’t even rank, but it was the first time I felt a tiny bit of that sting. I had no idea how ugly it could make me feel. When walking through a city in the States no one even looks at you, let alone stares. I like that. I’m used to it. But it is different here, I should have known that. The color of my skin is my insecurity and there’s absolutely nothing to be done about it. I am a minority for the first time in my life.

This insight did more than bring tears to my eyes, it got me thinking. I have never considered myself racist or prejudiced, but I’m realizing that it takes more than the simple absence of prejudice to make things right. I need to fight prejudice, no matter how small, in everything I do. Personally, I know I have been insensitive to people without meaning the slightest offense. And I understand that the curious Ugandans I saw that day in the market were not trying to make me cry. But I think so much of our prejudice is born out of our ignorance of who we are and who others might be. We don’t think that far beyond ourselves.

It’s becoming evident that according to some people here I have all the flaws of Western society embedded in the pastiness of my skin. If I ever want to disprove that, I have a long process to go through that requires selfless patience. Shame on me for not realizing that it might be painful. Shame on me for pointing fingers and getting so frustrated. Shame on my selfish need for comfort. In his book, Blue Like Jazz, Donald Miller speaks eloquently on how easy it is to think that we are good when we might actually be the problem! Although he is speaking on a different topic, his words rang true after my little market incident: “I wondered what it would be like not to live in a house of mirrors, everywhere I go being reminded of myself” (Miller, 22). There’s no need for my extreme feelings of discomfort. I’m the one who has chosen to come here. I AM different. I DO stand out in crowds. After being surrounded by so much black, even I do a double take when I see some white in the mix! This is my home for the next 2 months. I became a minority by my own choice, unlike so many others who have no options.

This realization has brought new insight into my life and into my own character. Stretching like this is part of the growing process that I hope continues all my life because I can never change anyone else if I can’t let change affect my life. John Taylor, in The Primal Vision, speaks to this truth by saying, “For you do not ‘understand’ until you have been touched (affected) yourself, until you get a new insight into who you are yourself” (Taylor, 16). I have never had to break through so many presuppositions for someone to see who I am. My first reaction to this was frustration until I realized that I still don’t even know who I am. Perhaps I can see this occurrence as a learning experience. It is in these small lessons that I begin to find myself. Along the road to finding myself it is my hope that I might realize “how beautiful it might be to think of others as more important than myself” (Miller, 22).