Ok thoughts shall speel....
I have been visiting many co-operatives over the last few weeks here in Rwanda and have been challanged and humbled many times over. I will readily confess my initial nervousness when visiting these co-operatives, not knowing what to expect or what we would be doing. We have visited several and have interviewed people, joked with kids, picked aubergines and prayed with those we have met. It has been eye-opening.
For me the prayer has been the most immense. It is extremly humbling for all of us to be asked to pray for individuals and groups we have met, as in my eyes at least, their faith, hope and love far outshines my own shallowness. But then again, I have come to learn that that very idea is turning the focus again back on ourselves. We serve a great God and all approach Him on exactly the same way - as sinners saved by the Great High Priest whose name is Love. This story has never been about us, it is all His Story. It has been a privlege to pray with these people, and has been an encouragement for all involved. As always I feel we learn way more than we could ever ever give.
As for the co-operatives themselves, often the government here will refuse to let certain areas of land be cultivated by individuals, instead letting groups apply to do certain activities there. And so the co-operatives come into play. The group we have been working for, Coeur Joyeux, will supply initial capital to get the projects off the ground, and then the groups will work together doing whatever activities they have applied to do.
The range is quite impressive. One group we visited cultivated potatoes (we were practically at home!), another built ponds where they grew fish. One grew a paper crop, another had goats, while another taught its members to sow and make clothes to be sold at the market. Several kept rabbits to be sold for food to the hotels in the area.
And the work done is amazing. One group we met were made up of people who were all HIV-positive. Another was made up of widows from the genocide. All were close-knit communities working together for the good of all, not just themselves. Many of the individuals we met were far from the city where the wealth and aid does not filter along to, and talked of how before the co-operative they had little hope, and felt alone and abandoned, often having lost members of their family to the genocide, disease or the passage of time. When we met them things were different.
I am struck afresh with how Biblical it all sounds. The communites were like families, with the individuals serving and loving each other, carrying each others burdens and caring for those who needed it most. By themselves they could not have done the work we saw. It reminds me in some ways at least of what I read of the early Acts church. Perhaps something we in the highly individualistic West have lost?
All is of course not rosy (is it ever?). One group we met were building a bakery but did not yet have the nescessary funds. They were destitute and their stories would have shattered anyone's heart. Many were genocide survivers, and without the money to start the work of the co-operative they were still desperately poor and in a dire situation.
But this tragedy still held hope. If they can get the funds to finish the building process an entire community of 45 people will be able to supply for themselves and raise the money to pay for their kid's education, to expand and diversify the crops they grow and build and improve their local communities. All things we most certainly take for granted and would most likely curse the name of our Maker if we were ever forced to do without.
Each story is both tragic and infused with the grace of God. One girl from this co-operative, Olive, told us of how she lay on the floor of her home in 1994 (when she would have been 5 or 6 years old) and listened as men outside discussed whether to raid and kill everyone in the house now or wait until later, as they wanted homes to destroy later on that evening. This girl's story can be told as they chose to passover the house for now. She ran. Her family experienced horrendous hardships. During the genocide her mother was raped by 7 men in the one night, from which she derived HIV.
I know not what to say. Instinctively when hearing of such things our hearts break. As they were created to. And if I'm honest I lash out at God in anger, asking how He dares to let such things occur to His children, to those He claims to love. But I have so so much to learn. I realise that God loves and aches for these people more than I ever could. He mourns and detests the actions of mindless hate, as well as the apathy and blindness we in the West often choose to wallow in, often by default. I am humbled by the faith that people like Olive and her mother show, and I am ashamed when I listen to them sing to us of God's provision and love. They know Him more than I have yet dreamt.
Olive speaks of how the community she is now a part of is like her family, both for her, her five younger brothers, and her mother. There she feels love and acceptance, and knows that when she struggles, there are those who will carry her. She thanks God for His grace and love. And in that moment, in that community, I catch a glimpse of the Church Jesus lived, suffered, died and rose again for.
God is sovereign. I will never claim to understand Him or His ways. I can't begin to answer why such dispicable atrocities occured. But I do know one thing. God loves these people more than we ever could. And He knows what it means to watch those He loves suffer undeservedly at the hands of cruel men. He watched His Son tortured and murdered in one of the most horrendous ways imagineable. He knows their pain, and for each of us, no matter where we are, we are not alone, even in the darkest times.
The co-operatives showed me hope. They showed love to each other and provided oppurtunites they could not have had alone. Again we have much to learn from these 'families', these 'churches'.
I have gone on too long. What I have monologued was not what I intended. I meant to talk of how the models of co-operatives work and empower people, and to encourage us to perhaps seek out co-operatives we could pray for and provide the initial capital for. But tales tell themselves and I have ended up somewhere completely different. As my time in the internet cafe runs out I ask again for prayer for these groups. We serve the same God of miracles our brothers and sisters trust and praise for His love and provision. Maybe we need to again seek Him and His Face so that our faith isn't dependant on our fragile circumstances.
But most of all we need to pray for our brothers and sisters. We have much to learn of service, community, selflessness and love from these groups. In the co-operatives when an individual suffers, the whole group suffers. Equally when our brothers and sisters suffer, either in Africa, S. America, Iraq, Iran, China or even just in little Norn Iron (perhaps cast out of their Belfast homes by racists, or sleeping without a home in a bus shelter, or struggling to make ends meet for their family), we all should suffer. We are one body. And we are not alone. So how should we love?
Monday 29 June 2009
Saturday 20 June 2009
Hope inspite of what we can see......
I am currently sitting in Kigali in Rwanda in a cheap internet cafe where the cost of an hour is 60p. Slightly different from back home!
Let me begin by apologising for the length. Anyone who know me is aware I was not given any gift of brevity by God. Or spelling for that matter. This week has been one of the hardest and most amazing I have ever had. I have seen despair and hope in the same moment and am still waiting for my thoughts to crystallise. I still need to think, but part of me needs to type to share the story of those we have met. Suffice to say this week we have been in and returned from the Congo, and I am currently typing amidst the malestrom of thoughts and emotions spiralling through my skull.
On Thursday we got a bus from Kigale to Gisenyi at the border with the Congo, and went to border control. The walk down was beautiful (Gisenyi is a stunning place, look it up on Google, the beauty at the cusp of Lake Kivu is stunning) and we exited Rwanda easily to stand on no-mans land between Rwanda and the Congo.
And here is where the problems began. A 90-day visa is meant to cost $35 but it was soon to become apparant that the Congo operates under very different rules from the rest of the world on this regard. After being shuffled into a small back office inside the border office and asked many questions in French (needless to say I had no idea what was going on!!!), the situation revealed itself to be slightly different from our plans. While I am still unsure what exactly was said by the border guards to us, we found that it would cost us $50 for 1n 8-day visa. You don't argue with guards holding several Kalashnikovs. Needless to say the extra money handed over never reached the register in the next room.
We now entered Goma, a city you may remember from the tail end of last year when the outside world finally roused itself from its apathy towards Africa to look to the Congo and see the tragic horrors that were unfolding there. To put it simply a rebel group led by Nkunda was moving and commiting many atrocities of mass rape and murder and was now outside Goma and was threatening to take the city. Many in the path of the rebels were fleeing to Goma and the situation remained precarious. Ultimately the news was to pass from our newspapers after we shook our heads and commented on how awful the situation was, before flicking to the business section to observe how our stocks had risen and fallen in the economic downturn (this is hardly a new point, but the criticism remains real even as I am aware I follow exactly the same patterns everyday I hear of tragedies in the world. Just because we all do it does not make it anymore acceptable).
The 'news' remained very real in Goma long after we had forgotten about such far-away matters. Ultimately Nkunda was captured by Rwandan forces but the situation remains volatile. It is not my place to even begin to comment on the Congo's history and situation, but suffice to say it is a potentially rich country the size of Western Europe, ripped and torn to shreds by cpuntless militias and war-lords. There is a reason it has been referred to as 'Africa's Broken Heart'. To put it simply, with many rebel groups active in the Congo as well as government forces who actively partipate in mass murder, torture and rape as legitimate weapons of war and control, the population in rural areas of the Congo, especially in the eastern provinces of late, have fled to the cities. Goma is one such city.
In Goma we grabbed a ride on a boda-boda (motorbike) and hung on for dear life while taking in everything around us. There was volcanic dust everywhere (a local volcano erupted and flowed through Goma in 2002), as well as soldiers striding through the streets. We saw no other white people (or 'musungos' for those in the know) there, bar the few UN peacekeeping patrols we saw. On the bike I heard a helicopter and looked up to see an attack helicopter flying over. What really struck me was that this did not even register with the people of the city, who went on with their everyday business, obviously used to living within the shadow of war.
Our destination? One of the many refugee camps at the edge of the city. As I type I simply don't know what to say, but I have promised some people I would blog, and I strongly feel that the story of those people that we met at this camp needs to be told.
The children were amazing. They were my first impression when we arrived, as they swarmed around us and jumped and danced with us, all trying to grap our hands. They were beautiful. Many of them had bellies swollen through malnutrition yet their smiles shone out and spoke to each of us more than a thousand words could (which seems to be what I am trying to do here). Their eyes had probably seen worse things than I could ever comprehend, yet still they smiled and put each of us to shame.
Because we were with the kids I was not aware of where our steps were taking us until I realised we were in the middle of the camp. It was horrific. Countless small tarpaulin tents spread over a comparatively small area, yet within this area dwelt 8000 refugees, with new numbers arriving everyday. The toilets were filled to capacity. There was no food. Many of the tents did not have coverings. And here is where people had to live.
We talked to many of the people dwelling there. The stories would have broken your heart. Most of the people were women, with their husbands butchered in the fighting. Many had lost several (one person all) of their children. One family we saw consisted of a mother with six children, the same as my own family. The vital difference is that unlike my family which lives in a two-storey house, all the members of this family lived and dwelt in a tarpaulin tent about a quarter of the size of any of the rooms in my own home. And they slept on rocks and straw.
One man called Zaccheaus whom we talked to had lost all of his family in the fighing, his wife and all of his children. He himself had been left for dead in the depths of the Congo. The scars he showed us on his back told their own story.
One woman named Davos could not talk of what had happened to her, and one of her daughters who clung to her had apparanlty not spoken in 6 months since she had seen things no human should ever have to see.
Another family did not have a cover for the sticks underneath which they lived. When it rained they shivered as the water poured over their bodies,a nd when the sun shone they baked int he heat.
The stories are as numerous as the individuals. I see no point in continuing. Put simply there was no food coming, and the kids often would rummage through the rubbish to find anything salvagable for a meal. They all wanted to return home but did not know when this would ever be possible. I felt despair gnawing at my soul, as I was fully aware there was nothing we could say to these people. What could we say? What hope could we bring? How could we pampered white people ever bring into situations we could never understand?
It appeared I was wrong. Inspite of the tragedies these people all spoke of a God they trusted, who they believed loved them and would provide for them. I may pay lip service to such a God but I do believe that very few of us in the West know this God as these people did. They know God and trust Him more than I could ever hope to, as I sit wrapped in selfishness and obsessed with temporary fleeting pleasures.
We prayed with the people we met and spoke of how they were our brothers and sisters, and how people at home were praying, and would pray all the more so when they heard their stories. Each of them are brothers and sisters and none deserve to be pitied, as this implies a looking down from above to those below. They were not below us, in matters of faith and community they were light years above any of us. They were dignifed and I can truely say I saw God there. While I reacted with despair at times, God was there with those people. While praying, the faith and hope of those people was a witness I cannot forget. And I pray I will not. I know not what else to say.
Much more happened, but I cannot find the heart to say more. The journey home was a blur. A man attempted to rob me in Goma. The dust from the city made the sky appear as dusk. We arrived back at the border only to find that our visa apparantly did not apply beyond that day and if we tried to re-enter we would have to again pay $50. Not having the money to fund this corruption this appears to be our one and only visit to the Congo for now.
On entry to Gisenyi in Rwanda I was struck again by the beauty of the place. Villas line the lake shore and there are many white people visiting as tourists, with many hotels and beaches scattered throughout the idyllic setting. This only a mile from a situation fo poverty and stories that would shatter anyone's heart. After the dire situation we had left it was like passing from hell to heaven. But on reflection I was wrong. God was more evident in the refugee camp than he ever was in the comfort of Gisenyi.
And hope. What can I ever say? Having been in Rwanda now for a while I am struck by how amazing the place is. Bearing in mind the horrific monstrous tragedies of 1994 and the genocide here, the land of Rwanda is nothing short of a miracle. The infrastructure is amazing and the city of Kigale is more advanced than parts of Belfast (I say without scarcasm). And the greatest miracle is the people. The people we have talked to see themselves as one. Hutus dwell alongside Tutsis in peace and forgiveness. Love has conquered over hatred. The healing is beyond my comprehension, and what has happened in Rwanda, at least to me as a simple uninformed observer, is truly an act of God.
There is still a long way to go. But the situation here is more than I could ever have dreamt of, and is a challenge to us at home in Norn Iron. That God could work so powerfully in such a dire situation as the genocide and its aftermath is a source of hope I am failing to convey. I sincerely believe that the prayer that has been poured on this country from outside and within has had an answer both in heaven and on earth.
And this can happen in the Congo. Just as anyone looking at Rwanda after 1994 may have not seen any hope for the future or the people of the country, a similar situation brews within the Congo now. Currently I cannot see how peace could ever dwell there. The problems are too endemic and complex, and the divisions and hatred too deep. Or at least they appear so to me.
But we serve a God who can do more than we can possibly ask or imagine. A God who can heal broken hearts and set the prisoners free. A God who asks us to declare the year of the LORD's favour. And I believe He is calling us to pray for the Congo so that a healing we cannot envision can begin to happen within 'Africa's Broken Heart'. He is calling His people, will we answer?
The people we met are our brothers and sisters and are as special and unique as any one of us. They hope and pray for a miracle, and we must do the same. Zacchaeus, Jaqui, Davos, Susanna and the many others need and want and expect our prayers. I often complain that there is nothing I can do (incidentally a lie from the pits of hell), but this is one thing we can do. Just as healing has come in may ways to Rwanda, that same river of grace and love can flow through the Democratic Republic of the Congo to heal and change the future of a people. A belief in a miracle may cause the mighty and powerful in this world to scoff, but we are called to hope, weep, rejoice and pray with our brothers and sisters here in Africa. Cynicism is the ideology of the dead. God can and will move. The question is, will we?
Let me begin by apologising for the length. Anyone who know me is aware I was not given any gift of brevity by God. Or spelling for that matter. This week has been one of the hardest and most amazing I have ever had. I have seen despair and hope in the same moment and am still waiting for my thoughts to crystallise. I still need to think, but part of me needs to type to share the story of those we have met. Suffice to say this week we have been in and returned from the Congo, and I am currently typing amidst the malestrom of thoughts and emotions spiralling through my skull.
On Thursday we got a bus from Kigale to Gisenyi at the border with the Congo, and went to border control. The walk down was beautiful (Gisenyi is a stunning place, look it up on Google, the beauty at the cusp of Lake Kivu is stunning) and we exited Rwanda easily to stand on no-mans land between Rwanda and the Congo.
And here is where the problems began. A 90-day visa is meant to cost $35 but it was soon to become apparant that the Congo operates under very different rules from the rest of the world on this regard. After being shuffled into a small back office inside the border office and asked many questions in French (needless to say I had no idea what was going on!!!), the situation revealed itself to be slightly different from our plans. While I am still unsure what exactly was said by the border guards to us, we found that it would cost us $50 for 1n 8-day visa. You don't argue with guards holding several Kalashnikovs. Needless to say the extra money handed over never reached the register in the next room.
We now entered Goma, a city you may remember from the tail end of last year when the outside world finally roused itself from its apathy towards Africa to look to the Congo and see the tragic horrors that were unfolding there. To put it simply a rebel group led by Nkunda was moving and commiting many atrocities of mass rape and murder and was now outside Goma and was threatening to take the city. Many in the path of the rebels were fleeing to Goma and the situation remained precarious. Ultimately the news was to pass from our newspapers after we shook our heads and commented on how awful the situation was, before flicking to the business section to observe how our stocks had risen and fallen in the economic downturn (this is hardly a new point, but the criticism remains real even as I am aware I follow exactly the same patterns everyday I hear of tragedies in the world. Just because we all do it does not make it anymore acceptable).
The 'news' remained very real in Goma long after we had forgotten about such far-away matters. Ultimately Nkunda was captured by Rwandan forces but the situation remains volatile. It is not my place to even begin to comment on the Congo's history and situation, but suffice to say it is a potentially rich country the size of Western Europe, ripped and torn to shreds by cpuntless militias and war-lords. There is a reason it has been referred to as 'Africa's Broken Heart'. To put it simply, with many rebel groups active in the Congo as well as government forces who actively partipate in mass murder, torture and rape as legitimate weapons of war and control, the population in rural areas of the Congo, especially in the eastern provinces of late, have fled to the cities. Goma is one such city.
In Goma we grabbed a ride on a boda-boda (motorbike) and hung on for dear life while taking in everything around us. There was volcanic dust everywhere (a local volcano erupted and flowed through Goma in 2002), as well as soldiers striding through the streets. We saw no other white people (or 'musungos' for those in the know) there, bar the few UN peacekeeping patrols we saw. On the bike I heard a helicopter and looked up to see an attack helicopter flying over. What really struck me was that this did not even register with the people of the city, who went on with their everyday business, obviously used to living within the shadow of war.
Our destination? One of the many refugee camps at the edge of the city. As I type I simply don't know what to say, but I have promised some people I would blog, and I strongly feel that the story of those people that we met at this camp needs to be told.
The children were amazing. They were my first impression when we arrived, as they swarmed around us and jumped and danced with us, all trying to grap our hands. They were beautiful. Many of them had bellies swollen through malnutrition yet their smiles shone out and spoke to each of us more than a thousand words could (which seems to be what I am trying to do here). Their eyes had probably seen worse things than I could ever comprehend, yet still they smiled and put each of us to shame.
Because we were with the kids I was not aware of where our steps were taking us until I realised we were in the middle of the camp. It was horrific. Countless small tarpaulin tents spread over a comparatively small area, yet within this area dwelt 8000 refugees, with new numbers arriving everyday. The toilets were filled to capacity. There was no food. Many of the tents did not have coverings. And here is where people had to live.
We talked to many of the people dwelling there. The stories would have broken your heart. Most of the people were women, with their husbands butchered in the fighting. Many had lost several (one person all) of their children. One family we saw consisted of a mother with six children, the same as my own family. The vital difference is that unlike my family which lives in a two-storey house, all the members of this family lived and dwelt in a tarpaulin tent about a quarter of the size of any of the rooms in my own home. And they slept on rocks and straw.
One man called Zaccheaus whom we talked to had lost all of his family in the fighing, his wife and all of his children. He himself had been left for dead in the depths of the Congo. The scars he showed us on his back told their own story.
One woman named Davos could not talk of what had happened to her, and one of her daughters who clung to her had apparanlty not spoken in 6 months since she had seen things no human should ever have to see.
Another family did not have a cover for the sticks underneath which they lived. When it rained they shivered as the water poured over their bodies,a nd when the sun shone they baked int he heat.
The stories are as numerous as the individuals. I see no point in continuing. Put simply there was no food coming, and the kids often would rummage through the rubbish to find anything salvagable for a meal. They all wanted to return home but did not know when this would ever be possible. I felt despair gnawing at my soul, as I was fully aware there was nothing we could say to these people. What could we say? What hope could we bring? How could we pampered white people ever bring into situations we could never understand?
It appeared I was wrong. Inspite of the tragedies these people all spoke of a God they trusted, who they believed loved them and would provide for them. I may pay lip service to such a God but I do believe that very few of us in the West know this God as these people did. They know God and trust Him more than I could ever hope to, as I sit wrapped in selfishness and obsessed with temporary fleeting pleasures.
We prayed with the people we met and spoke of how they were our brothers and sisters, and how people at home were praying, and would pray all the more so when they heard their stories. Each of them are brothers and sisters and none deserve to be pitied, as this implies a looking down from above to those below. They were not below us, in matters of faith and community they were light years above any of us. They were dignifed and I can truely say I saw God there. While I reacted with despair at times, God was there with those people. While praying, the faith and hope of those people was a witness I cannot forget. And I pray I will not. I know not what else to say.
Much more happened, but I cannot find the heart to say more. The journey home was a blur. A man attempted to rob me in Goma. The dust from the city made the sky appear as dusk. We arrived back at the border only to find that our visa apparantly did not apply beyond that day and if we tried to re-enter we would have to again pay $50. Not having the money to fund this corruption this appears to be our one and only visit to the Congo for now.
On entry to Gisenyi in Rwanda I was struck again by the beauty of the place. Villas line the lake shore and there are many white people visiting as tourists, with many hotels and beaches scattered throughout the idyllic setting. This only a mile from a situation fo poverty and stories that would shatter anyone's heart. After the dire situation we had left it was like passing from hell to heaven. But on reflection I was wrong. God was more evident in the refugee camp than he ever was in the comfort of Gisenyi.
And hope. What can I ever say? Having been in Rwanda now for a while I am struck by how amazing the place is. Bearing in mind the horrific monstrous tragedies of 1994 and the genocide here, the land of Rwanda is nothing short of a miracle. The infrastructure is amazing and the city of Kigale is more advanced than parts of Belfast (I say without scarcasm). And the greatest miracle is the people. The people we have talked to see themselves as one. Hutus dwell alongside Tutsis in peace and forgiveness. Love has conquered over hatred. The healing is beyond my comprehension, and what has happened in Rwanda, at least to me as a simple uninformed observer, is truly an act of God.
There is still a long way to go. But the situation here is more than I could ever have dreamt of, and is a challenge to us at home in Norn Iron. That God could work so powerfully in such a dire situation as the genocide and its aftermath is a source of hope I am failing to convey. I sincerely believe that the prayer that has been poured on this country from outside and within has had an answer both in heaven and on earth.
And this can happen in the Congo. Just as anyone looking at Rwanda after 1994 may have not seen any hope for the future or the people of the country, a similar situation brews within the Congo now. Currently I cannot see how peace could ever dwell there. The problems are too endemic and complex, and the divisions and hatred too deep. Or at least they appear so to me.
But we serve a God who can do more than we can possibly ask or imagine. A God who can heal broken hearts and set the prisoners free. A God who asks us to declare the year of the LORD's favour. And I believe He is calling us to pray for the Congo so that a healing we cannot envision can begin to happen within 'Africa's Broken Heart'. He is calling His people, will we answer?
The people we met are our brothers and sisters and are as special and unique as any one of us. They hope and pray for a miracle, and we must do the same. Zacchaeus, Jaqui, Davos, Susanna and the many others need and want and expect our prayers. I often complain that there is nothing I can do (incidentally a lie from the pits of hell), but this is one thing we can do. Just as healing has come in may ways to Rwanda, that same river of grace and love can flow through the Democratic Republic of the Congo to heal and change the future of a people. A belief in a miracle may cause the mighty and powerful in this world to scoff, but we are called to hope, weep, rejoice and pray with our brothers and sisters here in Africa. Cynicism is the ideology of the dead. God can and will move. The question is, will we?
Monday 8 June 2009
David - the first to go!!
Tonight David left Belfast City Airport to begin his jouney to Uganda. David travelled with Luke Moffett and they will spend tonight in Heathrow before flying onward with EgyptAir tomorrow morning. They stopover in Cairo before flying in to Entebbe early Wed morning - 3.45 am (oh to be young and to do crazy things). David, Luke and Chris (who will arrive on KLM) will be collected by Ruth from Fields of Life and the 3 guys will spend a few days at Shalom, Fields of Life Guest House before heading to Kigali to begin their work with Jubilee Action in Rwanda and Congo. They hope to work with refugees for about 4 weeks before returning to Uganda where David will join the other arriving Love for Life team members. www.loveforlife.org.uk
Soup and Cheese Lunch
Thanks to everyone who came and supported the lunch yesterday in Magheralin Parish. It was great to have Rory and Denise Wilson from Kiwoko Hospital there. The team hope to visit the hospital in Luwero, Uganda during their trip in July. The lunch raised over £700 and the team appreciated the words of encouragement from so many and particularly thew opportunity to have prayers said for their trip by Denise, Rory and the Rector.
Thursday 4 June 2009
and so they're off...
Ok so from the minute we knew the Uganda trip was happening Janice has had people gathering up clothes, toys, toiletries, books games etc gathered together so that we could send some stuff out in advance via Air Freight. So today was the day that the company came to transport it to Belfast where it would fly from tomorrow to Entebbe airport, Uganda. In total we managed to pack 55 boxes and suitcases. Please pray that these boxes and suitcases make it to Uganda safely and that they get through customs with minimum hassle and minimum cost. Thanks to all those who donated stuff it will make a big difference to those in Uganda. Included are some photographs to sum up what it has been like the past few days.
The Adventure Begins
We have set up this blog so folk can keep up to speed with our preparations for our trip to Uganda this summer and also so that when we are out there family and friends etc. can keep up to date with what we are doing each day.
There will be a team of 21 travelling out with Love For Life this summer to do school and childrens work out in Uganda. We will also be building playground equipment at each of the schools we visit.
The Team is made up of:
Wenford McDowell
Shirlee McDowell
Andrew McDowell
Sarah McDowell
Basil O'Malley
Nan O'Malley
Tracey O'Malley
Julie-Anne O'Malley
Keith Oakes
Dickie Barr
Janice Barr
David Barr
Rebecca Barr
Charlene Barr
Natalie Barr
Bethany Barr
Serena Barr
John Haw
Hannah Collins
Jessica Scott
Rebecca Dunlop
Please keep these guys in your prayers as they prepare for the trip
There will be a team of 21 travelling out with Love For Life this summer to do school and childrens work out in Uganda. We will also be building playground equipment at each of the schools we visit.
The Team is made up of:
Wenford McDowell
Shirlee McDowell
Andrew McDowell
Sarah McDowell
Basil O'Malley
Nan O'Malley
Tracey O'Malley
Julie-Anne O'Malley
Keith Oakes
Dickie Barr
Janice Barr
David Barr
Rebecca Barr
Charlene Barr
Natalie Barr
Bethany Barr
Serena Barr
John Haw
Hannah Collins
Jessica Scott
Rebecca Dunlop
Please keep these guys in your prayers as they prepare for the trip
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