Piercing the Night
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Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Ver- sion, copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a division of Good News Pub- lishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Dedicated to the memory of General George S. Blanchard, whose faithful encouragement resulted in this book; and to Debbie, his daughter – my love till death do us part. Thanks… …to Debbie, for her staunch support, ready availability, and wise counsel throughout the writing of this book. …to Peter Muth, my fellow-Kraut and friend since age eleven, for his resolute commitment to this project and patient advice hidden in every page. …to Karsten, a stickler for accuracy and the eye to go with it. …to Misha, for editing with you, the reader, in mind rather than her Papa, the writer. …to Margaret Clark, for reminding me of the difference between “brake” and “break” and that it is not “petal to the metal,” even for flower lovers. …to Thaine Norris, my talented friend, for the cover design and layout. …last yet foremost, to our Father, who kept us and blessed us with a story to tell. CONTENTS Introduction ..............................................................................13 Prologue: Under the Gun ..........................................................15 PART I FOOTLOOSE AND FANCY-FREE 1. My Early Years ..................................................................23 2. The General’s Daughter ....................................................35 PART II UGANDA – MORE THAN JUST SURVIVAL 3. Danger, Disaster, and Destitution ....................................49 4. Learning the Ropes ..........................................................59 5. Muzungu in the Swamp ...................................................77 6. Material Matters Matter ...................................................85 7. Bwana Kubwa ..................................................................95 8. Times of Transition ........................................................101 9. A Shake-Down Cruise ....................................................115 10. Fallen People, Fallen World ............................................135 PART III RELIEF AND DEVELOPMENT 11. Satisfying the Afflicted ....................................................149 12. Back to Uganda ..............................................................169 13. Winds of Change ...........................................................181 14. Aiding Without Abetting ...............................................193 15. The Grass Suffers Again ..................................................203 16. In Harm’s Way ...............................................................217 17. Sunny but Dark .............................................................229 18. Contemplating Contrasts ...............................................241 Epilogue: Home Sweet Home .................................................257 APPENDICES A. Adversity and Blessings ...................................................275 B. Biting the Dust ..............................................................289 C. One Fancy Ride .............................................................299 D. Intergration and Intrigue ................................................309 E. Unforgettable Arab Hospitality ......................................319 F. Reversals in Asia .............................................................331 Final Thoughts ........................................................................343 Introduction 13 INTRODUCTION Ever since I was a young boy, I dreamed of exotic places in far-away countries. I read adventure stories, like those of explorer Sven Hedin and Karl May’s fantasies of courage and discovery. From my early teens on I traveled vicariously with a finger on the map of the world and that far-off look in my eyes, and I determined that, when I was grown up, I would roam all over the globe. I once flew over Greenland at night and saw the white surface of the world’s largest island by the light of a full moon. Just as I pondered what was green about Greenland, I was distracted. There, in the vast, icy emp- tiness some 30,000 feet below I saw a cluster of lights sparkling like dia- monds set in silver – life! I kept my nose pressed against my little window and my eyes riveted on that stark, isolated other-worldliness and watched it disappear as the General Electric engines thrust me toward home. I thought about the people down there, trying to put myself into their shoes. How did they end up in that remote place? How do they survive? How do they stay warm? What do they do there? What are their interests? What makes them tick? And, of course, I would have loved nothing more than to pop in – maybe share a cup of hot reindeer milk with them while satisfying my curiosity. When I embarked on my first international trip in 1972 – six months of backpacking through Latin America – I could not envision the life- changing effect my travels would have on me. Beyond my fascination with foreign cultures and the burden the grinding poverty I encountered would place on me, I saw the possibilities a practical understanding of the tenets of Jesus the Christ could exert on lives surrendered to Him. After two international trips as a bachelor and three with my wife, Debbie, the door opened for our involvement in Africa, and we walked through it with gusto. Prologue 15 PROLOGUE UNDER THE GUN Peace is not the absence of war, but the presence of God. Anonymous In January of 1986, a defeated army rampaged through our normally tranquil town of Soroti in eastern Uganda. It was like a wounded beast – on the prowl, angry, and menacingly out of control. On one of those not so peaceful mornings I was startled by a familiar but anxious voice: “Sir! Soldiers have just broken into your house!” I whirled around. Our houseboy, Dennis, had spewed out those words, still breathless from running in search of me. His face was stern, but did not express the anxiety revealed in his voice. My family and I had tem- porarily abandoned our house and moved in with John Mattison, one of my European colleagues. We had joined him on the outskirts of Soroti to escape most of the turmoil inflicted on the hapless population in the center by looting and shooting renegade soldiers. They were fleeing, all of them, through our town en route to their tribal districts in northern Uganda, having been crushed by a powerful rebel movement that had come up from the south and conquered Uganda’s capital, Kampala. Whoever controls the capital runs the country, and for these men the security and tranquility of home was beckoning. There they would quietly disappear into their respective villages or regroup and make a counter-move, if that was what their leaders wanted. For now, at least, they had lost Kampala and, with it, most of the rest of the country, their sense of invincibility shaken. The future would take care of itself. 16 Piercing the Night In those days, Uganda was acting out its African propensity to topple one murderous dictatorship for another. Like the predetermined trajec- tory of a bullet as it leaves the muzzle of a gun, so, by the forces of tribal- ism, greed, and lust for power, African governments seem to be predis- posed towards coups d’état. In our four years there, we had already been through four – some peaceful, others violent. This was our fifth year and our fifth coup. But perhaps there was hope in this one – at least, that was our hope. We had left our Fiat in front of the house in our barbed wire-fenced compound. Because looting and car theft were rampant, I had removed the battery and two wheels, siphoned off the gasoline and hidden all in the attic. With that I thought I had sufficiently disabled the car. I had also left the doors of the Fiat unlocked to avoid getting the windows smashed. But I was soon to learn not to underestimate the resourcefulness of a fleeing Ugandan soldier hell-bent on getting home, nor the persuasive power of his gun in the procurement of whatever was needed to achieve that goal. Resistance sometimes led to an untimely death. But that was the last thing on my mind now. In our absence, four Acholi soldiers had entered our house by breaking the kitchen window. Unsuccessful in their search for the missing parts just five feet above them, they pried open the trunk of the car and removed the spare tire. One down, one to go. Two nuts per wheel instead of four would do. Unbeknownst to me, they had already hooked up a looted battery. Now they were on the hunt for another wheel. Dennis had found me at the far end of town, and we hitched a ride in an army truck until I spilled the beans and told the soldiers the reason for our hurry. Under the pretext of turning off, they ordered us out. They weren’t about to help me confront their fellow looters. We ran the rest of the way, but the looting soldiers were gone – at least temporarily. Panting and perspiring we rushed through the house to identify what might have been stolen. But, other than the broken window, everything seemed to be in order. I was relieved. Memories of a break-in at our Nairobi home years earlier and the attendant loss and mess, as well as a sense of violation, came back to me vividly. But the armed looters had not left for good. They were focused on only one thing now – our Fiat. Getting to their home district was their singular objective. Once the car was ready to go, well, then there would still be time Prologue 17 to look around for other goodies. The Fiat was theirs for the taking, they must have thought, if they could