This entry is going to be a bit longer than my others, but I’m writing about the most rewarding experience of my entire time in college, so please forgive me. I have a lot to say.
Last week, I got to spend six days in a rural village in Soroti District, part of Northern Uganda. I lived with the Okui family in Serere, and I spent my time helping out around their farm and simply observing how their daily life reveals their rural African values of subsistence agriculture, family community, and Christian faith.
First, a quick rundown of the family: there's “Papa” and “Toto” (the heads of the household), their two grown daughters, and about six grandchildren; many other relatives visited during the week. They’re a big family already, but the first thing I noticed was how welcoming and friendly they were, treating me as if I had always lived with them. In fact, when I first arrived, Papa gave me only a very brief tour of the homestead before ushering me into the main meeting room for an hour of family prayers!
Now, I thought I had seen truly fiery worship from other Ugandans, but the Okui family is a whole different breed. All the family members (even the 8-year olds!) pray simultaneously, some shouting, others whispering fiercely, and Papa trying his best to translate for me!
After I got used to the fervency of these prayer sessions, I started to enjoy them and joined in with my own (not so fierce) whispered prayers. Prayers were almost always followed by the children telling stories and riddles to the whole family, and the meals were also completely family-oriented. The Okuis finish most of their work before nightfall, so there is no anxiety or rush to spoil these nightly traditions of relaxing, singing, and watching three-year-old Gloria fall asleep on her mother's lap.
Intense worship followed by intense family time – yet it was never overwhelming. 7000 miles from my real home, it was very comforting.
After a few days, Papa brought me to visit the local school that his grandchildren attend. It was exciting to see so many enthusiastic kids, and the principal of the school took us to greet and encourage every classroom. Most of the kids were thrilled to greet us. Sadly, a few of the youngest thought I must be some pale monster and began sobbing when I approached.
Of course, although visiting the school was a lot of fun, it can’t compare to the hours of conversation I had with Papa. After working on his farm or eating a meal, we sat and talked about simple things like agriculture, local politics, differences between America and Uganda, and how nice the evening sky looked. And each night, after we finished singing and praying, he asked me to close the family meeting with a special prayer.
One night, after I said Amen, he turned to me and said, “Peter, you are a true son to us. You are a part of this family.” I know that’s the kind of thing that “you really have to be there” to appreciate, but I have to share it anyway. Even after the death of two of his eight children, Papa's home is still full of his loved ones. He lacks nothing, neither in family community nor in material resources to sustain them. And for some reason, he deemed me worthy of being a part of that.. He and his family are just that generous.
One blog entry couldn’t possibly suffice to explain all that I gained from living with the Okui family. But also, no amount of writing could really convey the full point of the story. You just have to live it for yourself. And the point is this: I’ve met thousands of wealthy people in my life, all of them more influential and educated than Papa and his family. Yet very few of those wealthy people interest me at all. Not like the Okuis. Because the Okuis want to just be with me and talk to me - and about pure things, too, like sweet potatoes, mango trees, and stories and songs from my childhood. One week with Papa, and I was “part of the family.” How many weeks would that take in America?
Thank God that I get to go home to a family and a college filled with people who can actually understand what I’m talking about.I hope you can, too..
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