Murchison Falls National Park

Day 1
Murchison Falls National Park is the largest in Uganda, formed in 1952 from part of the Bunyoro Game Reserve, which was created in response to a sleeping-sickness epidemic from the tsetse flies in the early 20th century. Situated in northwest Uganda, Murchison has not escaped the volatility in the region, and has been the target of attacks in the past by the Lord’s Resistance Army. In recent years the violence has decreased markedly, and the animal supply in the region has recovered greatly from pre-Idin Amin levels.

So as Lindsay is leaving Uganda a bit earlier than expected, we joined with some of our British friends, also rotating at Mulago Hospital, and went on a three day safari this weekend.

The first day was mostly transport, as we drove north past Masindi and toward the Park. Paved roads gave way to pitted dirt paths, which were easily handled by our driver and the 4X4 10 passenger safari van, but made for quite a bumpy ride for those who sat in the back rows.

Five hours’ of traveling was worth it, however, as we walked to the top of the falls and watched the Victoria Nile dump its contents into a 7 meter wide space in the rocks, carving its way through the center of the park. The water in Lake Victoria drives the falls, and you can feel the immense strength of the water as it crashes through the gorge. From there, the water flows through a delta before joining Lake Albert, after which it becomes the Albert Nile on its way north toward Egypt.

Day 2
We were supposed to stay at the Red Chili Rest Camp, where all the backpackers from the US, Europe, and Australia congregate. But the travel agency informed us at the last moment that the camp had filled up, and so we were upgraded to Sambiya River Lodge, about an hour’s drive south from Paraa through the jungle on the only bumpy dirt road in the south of Murchison Falls National Park.

The accommodations were simple but sufficient-two beds were placed in each thatch roof banya, though we could see corrugated sheets reinforcing the roof below it. The facility was powered by electric generator, and the lights went out at 10:29 PM, a minute earlier than threatened.

My roommate Sam and I crawled out of our mosquito nets and bed at 5 AM and trekked to the communal showers, powered by solar heaters. The water had lost much of its warmth from the day before, but was attractive enough for a frog to wish to share it with me.

After an early breakfast, we caught Baker’s van and drove fiercely toward Paraa to catch the first ferry at 7 AM. We arrived just as the sun was rising over the horizon, which we could see over the Nile, as hippopotamuses wailed from the riverbank.

From Paraa, most game drives head to the west, where the Victoria and Albert Niles create a fertile delta region, perfect for game viewing. And we did see plenty of game. Herds of giraffe walked together, sometimes numbering as many as thirty or forty, moving in unison, similar to the CGI-dinosaurs in Jurassic Park. Water buffalo herds grazed in the savannah, alongside antelope, hartebeest, and the Ugandan national animal, the kob. Similar looking to the hartebeest, the kob is a deer-like animal with two graceful horns, and a favorite prey of the lion. We were fortunate enough to see one female lion stalking a band of kob before we headed back to the river launch area.

As we waited for our afternoon boat launch to the base of the falls, Natalie from the UK spotted a pack of elephants on the north side of the river. In the distance, the massive creatures had congregated near the Nile for a drink, and you could feel the power and grace in their movement from across the water. Business was slow, and two delta boat launch drivers offered us a free trip across the river for a closer view. As the boat drifted quietly toward the marsh on the riverbank, you could spot birds hiding in the reeds – kingfisher, heron, and bills gliding near the hippos. We drifted a bit too close to one school, and the dominant male and his female companions became agitated, standing up from their sleep and bellowing to protect their young. We quickly picked up speed and avoided the potentially deadly animals.

The day ended with the boat launch to the base of the falls, but I was a bit tired and nodded off for a few of the nearly four hours on the boat. We did spot a number of large crocodiles, who rested along the river by opening their jaws as large as possible – for a stretch, as our guides explained. And of course, we did indulge in our favorite brew, Nile Special, for some “Nile on the Nile.”

Day 3
Today was the final day. Having spent the night swapping cross-Atlantic games and celebrating the life of the great Michael Jackson (we had heard a day later than most of you folk in the US), we packed up and left for our final destination, the Ziwa Rhinoceros Sanctuary, run by a local NGO dedicated to repopulating the national parks in the area, including Murchison, with the white rhino that used to roam freely in Africa at numbers approaching 1 million, but have been hunted to extinction in many areas.

We drove into the bush, past baboons and monkeys, and continued the journey on foot, following our guide to a pair of grazing female rhinos, the second-largest land animals after the elephant. Corey and Billie were pregnant and expected to give birth in October, but the sanctuary was already celebrating – only a few days earlier, the first rhino born in captivity in Uganda since its extinction had occurred. So far, mother and baby were safe. Once the rangers could get close enough to determine the gender of the baby, they would name it. If a male, the proposed name is Obama.

Losing My Religion

We were leaving for a family vacation the next day, and I hurriedly grabbed a beach book for the trip. Characteristically, I gravitated toward the non-fiction section and found the most interesting summer thriller I could find – Losing My Religion by LA Times writer, William Lobdell.

It’s quite a fascinating read (really!), in which Lobdell describes his journey from a typical atheist West Coast journalist to born-again Christian, and back. It’s not your typical Friday-night church testimony. The back cover lists accolades from voices as diverse as Richard Dawkins and the editor of Christianity Today. His story is equally varied in experience, but always amazingly honest.

Lobdell’s journey to faith is not an atypical one, with a friend bringing him to a men’s retreat in the mountains of Southern California in the midst of a quarterlife crisis, as he faced the foes of depression, a broken marriage, and a dead-end career.

The love, generosity, and compassion of the godly men and women he met encouraged him to seek the Truth in the Bible, and he found it. He ate it, digested it, and breathed it. Or so he thought.

The early 2000s and the Catholic priest sexual abuse scandals fell squarely into his lap as religion columnist for the Times, and Lobdell delved into his role as an investigative journalist, hoping to find redemption, even in this seemingly horrible story.

But the more Lobdell looked at the sinfulness of man, the more seeds of doubt began to take root in his faith. Over a long and arduous ten-year period, Lobdell finally realized that was immune to his beliefs, to deadened by the sinfulness he had seen in the Church to remain a Christian.

Lobdell’s story is as incisive as it is truthful. It is a wake-up call to all those who profess to be people of faith. We are, as often cited, both Christ’s best and worst advertisers. But I think Lobdell does make an important mistake.

When he came to faith, Lobdell saw the brokenness around him. When he changed his vision and averted his gaze upwards, to God, his entire perspective changed. Over time, however, he began to look around him again. It is not wrong to do so, but he forgot to do so while keeping one focused on God. The sinfulness of man – and of myself – is enough to make atheists of us all. I have seen so more sin in me in my actions in the past week than I could care to admit and still proclaim to be a follower of Christ.

But herein lies the beauty of the Gospel. We are not judged by our performance or graded by our works. No, as the fundamental truth, which I fundamentally forget (and deep down, sometimes just cannot accept), is that we are not judged, but that God’s love and mercy have triumphed over judgment. And so, Mr. Lobdell and the rest of us need not despair. Though the walk may be difficult and our partners may fail us, God never will.

African Hospitality

“The people are so nice there,” was my professor’s first remark about Ugandans. Of course, I thought. Every developing country I’ve been to has proven evidence of that. Or just every place outside of the East and West Coasts of the US, even. I wasn’t expecting much of a difference upon arriving at Entebbe Airport, as I walked off the glass and steel jetway (a pleasant surprise) and into the obligatory swine flu checkpoint.

“Please sit down, sir,” the nurse invited me in a sing-song voice. My thoughts turned to the worst – a possible quarantine, which my sister actually is right now undergoing in Beijing. “You can fill out this health questionnaire,” she suggested, and provided me with a pen. And waited, patiently. This was not the customs and border officer demeanor I had expected. Where was their tough-guy personality? What if my body was harboring millions of illicit microbes to bring into the country? “Where are you from?” she asked, interrupting my worried thoughts. “America, what a nice place. Welcome to Uganda, I hope you have a blessed time here,” she responded, in measured, kind tones.

As I was ushered past immigration and customs and into the calm, friendly arrival hall, I knew I was no longer in China. This was not a country of extreme changes, speeding along at the speed of Social Darwinism. No, this country ran in African time, which runs a good two hours slower than Korean time and three hours slower than Chinese time.

You can sense the pace of the country around you all the time. It is not a pace of laziness, but of quiet content. What is the need of hurrying rudely along when the destination itself is unclear and even unworthy?

In the words of our co-workers, Dr. Olive the physician, Simon the counselor, Aeyisha the nurse, and Haruna the driver, “Please, take a seat. Smile, and welcome to Africa.”

Medichine in Africa

Medichine is taking a break from Asia and has followed the Chinese businessmen, politicians, and oil traders to Africa.

I touched down in Entebbe on the shores of Lake Victoria on Tuesday evening and have spent the past two days setting up shop in the Muyenga district of Kampala. Our apartment is perfect -- we have a large common room with a TV that plays American and East African hip-hop, walls furnished with African handicrafts, a djembe, and bamboo furniture. A patio looks out onto the gated parking area, and in the near distance you can see a magnificent hill rising up to the north and a lush valley to the east.

My housemates are Liz and Lindsay, both medical school classmates of mine. Liz is a Christian ska groupie with hair dyed a deep reddish black, and Lindsay is from Chicago, but moved to New Jersey because of the "diversity", in her own words.

We were greeted yesterday by our driver, Haruna, a fit gentleman with three young children. Moreen is our housekeeper. She's twenty-five, hip, educated, and witty. We are quite happy to have met them. Simon is the tuberculosis attending physician who is one of the research project administrators on the Uganda side and has just returned from advanced pulmonary training at Yale.

All the people I've met so far have been phenomenally nice and compassionate. Not just the locals, but the expatriates and foreigners on my flight from Amsterdam were quite the joyful bunch. Many, if not all, were missionaries on short or long-term journeys to ministry positions in East Africa. While my trip is ostensibly for research purposes, I can't help but be reminded of my constant mission, to be a bold and passionate witness for my faith at all times.