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 The Blessed
Here in Busoga , visitors are a blessing. Visitors are always a blessing. Just a couple of weeks ago, while my mother and brother were here visiting, my brother and I stayed overnight in the village with one of our friends, Moses Kiirya and his family. We arrived to the sound of the women, shouting "Ay-ya-ya-ya-yeeee!" in a high pitched voice, waiving their arms in the air as they approached to greet us. With broad smiles and laughter, the people of Musima, welcomed us into their homes for our brief visit. We put our things down in the small cement house, and then sat in the shade of a tree outside as Zipporah, Moses' wife, brought to us what I believe to be the world's best cup of tea and some roasted "ground nuts." I am not sure why her tea is so much better than everyone else's in Busoga, except that she boils "chai subi," a minty flavored tea grass grown in their garden, in the water. Add a spoon full of sugar or three and it is just perfect.
After our snack Moses led Shipton (my youngest brother) and I on a hike to the top of one of the nearby hills. While walking along the path, Moses stopped to greet and acknowledge every person along the way, whether walking by, working in the garden, or seated on a front porch fifty yards  away. He turned to us and explained, "If I did not greet them, they would say, that Moses he is so rude to bring visitors to our village and not greet us.'" So every 10 steps or so we would stop, say a few words, and then move on to the next greeting. I suppose that we walked about three miles on the red dirt path, past corn fields and sugar cane, cassava plants and potato gardens, until we reached our destination. Moses had led us to the old Kyabazinga's house. The Kyabazinga was the king of Busoga. The house was an enormous dilapidated two-story structure with faded whitewashed cement walls, cracked and crumbling. The roof was completely gone, and graffiti covered the walls in the universal format, indicating that "Waiswa was here," "Tenywa loves Nabirye.,"and pledges of allegiance to favorite English Premier League soccer teams. As we walked through the house we could imagine what once was a great banqueting hall; we could imagine bedrooms and bathrooms, meeting rooms and sitting rooms. The house was built in a square, with all of the rooms surrounding a tiled courtyard, and at the far corner from the entrance into  the courtyard two flights of stairs adjoined at the second floor. We walked through the rooms on the upper floor with an open azure sky above us and stood on what seemed to be a wrap around balcony. The view from the balcony was spectacular- a panorama of green hills cascading into a bright blue Lake Victoria, which was being squeezed into the great mouth of the Nile River. Islands spotted the lake, and the sun danced on the water. Below us we could see people bustling in Bugembe town, a large factory in the distance near the shore, the Church of Uganda building crowning a lower hill, and beneath the far hill we could see Jinja. We imagined what it must be like to look over this magnificent land as its king. However, in the reign of Idi Amin during the 1970's the Kyabazinga was threatened and fled for his life to Kenya, and the great palace was left in ruins that continue to cry out with grief concerning a period that in many ways continues to haunt this country.  From the top of the hill we could see the clouds rolling in so we began our descent back to the village. Obviously we stopped for more greetings, and about half way back Moses said, "I want to stop here so that you can meet my grandfather." Now, by grandfather, Moses could mean the father of either his mother or father, or he could mean that he wants us to meet a great uncle, a friend of his grandfather's or any elderly man that has been a part of his life in any way. It seems that in this land of community the terms Father, Mother, Grandfather, etc. are used as much as terms of endearment as actual connotations of lineage. I am still not sure if there is any blood relation between them or not. I am even less sure if it even matters. While we were visiting with Moses' "grandfather" on the front porch of a cement house, beneath an iron sheet roof the rains came and we watched a puddle form at our feet and trickle downhill as a small stream onto the path. They fed us roasted corn and we talked until the rain subsided. As we were leaving Moses' grandfather thanked us for coming and thanked us for "Bringing the rain." In fact, there were several others that we greeted on the way back that thanked us for bringing the rain. I was not sure how exactly to respond to this. The cultural response is "Kale," which means "OK," but even that seemed a bit weird. I think that what they are acknowledging above anything else is that with visitors come blessings, and in this agricultural society the rain is one of the biggest blessings possible. Visitors are always a blessing.
When we arrived back at Moses' place, Zipporah had begun to cook dinner, and Moses had one of his chickens killed for the meal that night. To be served meat, poultry, or fish in the village is an enormous honor. The animals are expensive, so most people in the village will only eat meat, poultry and fish on holidays or special occasions, but here, having visitors is a very special occasion. Throughout our time with them they expressed great joy in the sacrifices that they made for us and left us with the sense that we were the ones receiving the blessing.  However, this story is only one example of many cultural traditions here in which the outsider is taken in. We rarely find a home in the village that is not keeping an orphan, who might be the daughter or son of a deceased brother, sister or neighbor; and this seems to be such a natural part of life here. But one day "the King will say , Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'
Then the righteous will answer him, Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you in prison and go to visit you?' The King will reply, Whatever you did for the least of these sisters and brothers of mine, you did for me" (Mt. 25:34-40). And this is the house that is being built, often times without the slightest awareness- one brick at a time, one act of love and compassion following another, set upon the foundation of the life of Christ himself. Our house sits on the hill and it rests in the valley, and it is always looking out upon the Kingdom. Many have tried to destroy it, to cause the owner to flee the country in fear, but even those who try to destroy are invited in to share the meal. It seems that is how most of us got in. The chicken is killed, the table is set, and it appears that even the whitewashed walls are getting a little bit brighter.
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