According to a recent article in the New Vision, Uganda's national newspaper, a survey conducted by the US Committee for Refugees and Immigrants shows that by the end of 2007 the number of refugees reached over 14 million. Uganda is host to over 200,000 refugees, a number that is actually quite large for a country whose GDP per capita is around $900 (compare to $46,000 for the US). Most of these refugees are from Sudan (160,000), DRC (40,000), and Rwanda (20,000). But there are also a few thousand from Somalia and Burundi as well.
It is difficult to comprehend the plight of these refugees. The same article indicated that this woman pictured to the left, a mother of one month old twins, sleeps (with her two babies) outside of the Refugee Law Reform project offices. She braves the rain and the hot equatorial sun with her infants as she awaits recognition by the Government and the UNHCR (United Nations High Commission for Refugees), a process which takes six months. Others like her, but who never venture into the city, collect in makeshift "camps" near the government camps which are set apart for legitimate refugees, for those who are "recognized" by the government and UNHCR.
I once visited one of these camps. It is branded into my memory. I simply can't imagine that someone could visit such a place and remain indifferent. Looking back in my journal, I found an entry where I was reflecting on that day.
"Carved out of a desolate section of the Ugandan hills is a portion of land designated for refugees. A number of densely populated camps are spread over several miles of this unsympathetic countryside. Actually, these among whom we had come were not in "reality" refugees, at least not yet; for they had not been officially recognized as "refugees" - so there is no UN funding available and no aid from the host country. Caught in the web of bureaucratic indifference, these people are suspended and left to dangle - and die. These are the poorest of the poor, a people with no status, no country, and, by any measurable standard, no food, sanitary water, or shelter."
"Standing before this gathered crowd, I realized I had no category for what my eyes were taking in. Seeing the disillusioned and discouraged expressions etched onto their faces, I was suddenly overwhelmed by their apparent longing to hear some word of hope, some acknowledgement that they were not also God forsaken, that He too was not also indifferent about their plight. Standing before them with my bottled water in my hand, I wondered to myself about what I am to say to a mother holding a baby in her arms that will almost certainly die or be severely damaged from starvation or be left as an orphan. I became very uncertain of what to tell them. I felt hollow inside."
"Heaven is never more silent than in times such as this - or so it seems. Looking into these faces I became acutely aware of the fact that, unlike the rest of the animal kingdom, man does not live by bread alone. The human spirit hungers for meaning to life. Even with their pinched bellies there was a yearning, an eagerness for a word from heaven to sort out and make sense of their plight. If I am to break the silence in the name of Christ, what am I to say? How do I speak of a God of justice and mercy in the face of such injustice and anguish? In what way is the Gospel good news to these poor (Luke 4:18; Mt.11:4-5)? It is with these questions that I will badger heaven, and it is with the memory of this scene vividly engraved in my imagination that I will listen, with hope, to the voice of the Holy Spirit in the text of Holy Scripture."
"Disoriented" is as close as I can get to the feeling that I had that day ... or maybe "sensory overload". It would not be a negative criticism to say that seminary did not prepare me for that situation because nothing can prepare you for it. The empty feeling I felt was not a loss of theological conviction nor confidence in the relevance and power of the gospel in that moment. It was simply the loss of all sense of place and time, of "which way was up". It was sort of like standing on the Mississippi Gulf Coast looking at the devastation the day after Katrina. You just can't sort it out so as to think clearly. Being an arm chair theologian is nice because you don't have to think on your feet in moments like that. Jesus moved among the poor and felt compassion for them and preached good news to them. May the Lord who, unlike the foxes and the birds of the air, had no place to lay His head, grant us wisdom and compassion to speak and tangibly express His concern for the poor of our generation.
"And now, Israel, what does the Lord your God require of you, but to fear the Lord your God, to walk in all His ways, to love Him, to serve the Lord your God with all your heart and all your soul, and to keep the commandments and statutes of the Lord ... For the Lord your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God who is not partial and takes no bribe. He executes justice for the fatherless and the widow, and loves the sojourner, giving him food and clothing. Love the sojourner, therefore, for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt. You shall fear the Lord your God." Deuteronomy 10:12-13; 17-20.
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