Volunteers of Any Race are Welcome

For a long time we have relied on volunteers to engage and complete our mission. Many of them were American, British, even Korean. But in recent years, we’ve seen young Americans come under heavy criticism for being “white saviors.” We’ve watched as many, not wanting to be shamed, have stayed away from a cause they know is worthy. It’s a problem that needs to be addressed.

As followers of Jesus Christ from Nigeria, we recognize that we are called to go and make disciples of all nations. 16 years ago, we followed God’s call to South Sudan. We saw a need in the aftermath of the civil war, so we volunteered to help. We realized that without volunteers, people would not receive the help they needed. The South Sudanese had lost so many lives to war. They needed caring hearts and helping hands.

 

We’ve been overwhelmed by the cries of hundreds of thousands of South Sudanese refugees who fled their country. There are so many and we are so few. A point came when we realized we needed volunteers to join us. When they arrived, they were a great help, assisting with orphan care, helping in schools, and filling in gaps we couldn’t meet alone.

Volunteering is hard. Getting volunteers to come and help us was difficult. Not only was it complicated logistically, it required sacrifice and commitment on their part and oversight on our part.

Yes, volunteers need screening and oversight in order to be effective. Volunteers need locals to help them navigate the culture and connect with the needs of the community. Some volunteers will make mistakes along the way – it’s inevitable. It’s been that way throughout history. Even the Apostle Paul had issues with his volunteers. It got messy. That’s one of the reasons he wrote the letters we find in the Bible – he’s addressing inexperienced volunteers in a new movement.

People don’t like mess. There are no perfect volunteers, only messy ones. Jesus understood that people need guidance and grace to become the kind of people He can use to meet the needs of His children. We seek to do the same. We also seek to screen and train people well to mitigate any accidental damage. We default to local leaders who know what they’re doing. And when we make mistakes, we seek to learn from them and be good representatives of Jesus. Because His command to “go” still stands – and we want to do it well.

There’s a reason that the term “white saviorism” has been coined. Those with resources and a desire to help are often disproportionately of a particular race or culture. But critics are simplifying the issue. While rightly concerned about racial justice and appropriate cultural interactions, they are inadvertently discouraging young people from even trying to help largely on the basis of their own skin color and culture. Knowing they may be ill-prepared, and realizing they may make mistakes, they choose not to even try.

Critics have stopped thousands of young people from helping in places where there is actual need. The South Sudanese in refugee camps desperately need help. The unintended consequences of the critics call for pure motives. The challenge remain, where hundreds of thousands of people in need have not been helped and are living without the resources and hope that could have been provided.

Helping people is not a race issue – it is a human issue. People of every skin color matter to Jesus. People of every skin color need help!

It is because of this that we left our comfortable home in Nigeria to help our South Sudanese brothers and sisters. We have a similar skin color, but we are so different. Along the way we have faced a chorus of critics. But we are compelled by the commission of our Lord to go. And we are compelled by the cries of the children who have no one else – only whoever comes to them.

There are a million or more of them in camps along the northern Ugandan border. They need food, water, food, good empowerment, education and more. One day they will need help returning to their homeland. We want to hold a megaphone to their voices so they can be heard in countries like America. And this is our message:

We need more help! We need more volunteers – many more of all races. We’re aware that things will get messy. They will need training and supervision. But we need young people to know that the critics, while well intentioned, are inadvertently keeping people in desperate situations from receiving the help they need. We need volunteers to come and address the humanitarian crisis before us in Jesus’ name. We welcome volunteers of any race.

The Untold Stories of Our Union

My wife and I celebrate 20 years in marriage today. It’s been a journey of hope, faith, and love, as days have become decades.

The story of how we met is told here and here. There’s more to our story, that showcase the incredible battles Sola fought, that underscored her commitment to God’s word and her unalloyed love for me.

Here’s the missing piece of the story of how we met, from Sola’s narrative.

The Lord had told me Uche will be my husband long before he knew me. We were on campus together sharing a few things in common but radically different in many others, one of which stood like a Colossus, seemingly towering over everything near and dear to me.

The depth of our differences is not the focus of this piece, though they make for an intriguing collection, which Uche may narrate in time to come. The one giant that stood between Uche and I was tribal in form. Uche is Ibo and I am Yoruba.

On account of serious extended family squabbles, my father, as the Patriarch of our Clan, took an oath from me, my siblings, and others in our extended family that none of us will marry from the Ibo tribe. At the time of the events leading to the decision, it seemed right to us all. But little did I know that we’d taken a permanent decision because of a temporary problem. This pledge will be greatly challenged by God’s choice for me in marriage years later.

And so it was that as a student on campus, heartily chasing the Lord and seeking His will above all things; He whispered to me one cool evening in 1991, “Uche will be your husband.” My first reaction to this was a laugh laced with sarcasm. Has God forgotten my tribe and Uche’s tribe? Did He forget my father had us vow never to cross the Yoruba tribe boundaries? As the apple of my father’s eye, the first of his strength whom he doted on, such a matter was a taboo. So, it was like a joke, but alas my torturous journey had just begun.

Anyone that knew Uche those days will agree he was not a friendly brother. He was too serious all the time. He chased life as if each day would be his last. Unlike me, I was carefree with no worries in the world. How could God be telling me Uche will be my husband? We are too different to mix. We can never get along I thought. But these paled in context, to the issue of Uche’s tribe. He is Ibo! He cannot be accepted in my family. I can’t even get myself as the first child of my family to introduce Uche to my father.

God began to work His wonders in my heart as I prayed and fasted many months seeking help and sometimes, His deliverance. I wished so many times that God would change His mind. I felt trapped and unloved by God for bringing such an unromantic man my way. Uche hardly greeted me with a cheer of any color in his face those terrible days. Little did I know that God was also working on him.

How will I get him to even look my way? How and what could put us in the same corner, so I could tell him how his facial appearance was so off-putting? I could say these things in my heart but each time Uche showed up, I froze. Something in me loved him but I could not find a vent for its expression.

I began to notice over the semesters that he became more interested in me but for all the wrong reasons. For instance, he’d come to the Bible Study classes whenever I led and sit down, just to oppose me and ask questions to ridicule me. I couldn’t fathom such behavior. I hid my disgust. He was the President of the Fellowship so maybe he is right I would think. But why the anger? Why the gloomy face? Why the unfriendliness? What did I do wrong to this brother? God was at work but how could I understand?

Uche didn’t know me. I didn’t know him either. We both knew God’s voice and followed obediently. But Uche had no clue what it was going to cost me if he proposed and I agreed. He knew nothing of my life and family. Will he understand if I explained? Will he see the looming challenge as a perfect excuse to bail? While my love for Uche was seeking to bud, I labored greatly under the burden of my father’s resolve. The tension was too terrible for me. I had no one to share these matters with.

Then it happened.

One unforgettable night in August 1992, after a powerful 3-Day Fasting and Prayer End of Session Program, Uche sent a sister to ask me to see him in front of our Female Hostel. It was after midnight. He had at this time never spoken with me for more than 2mins on any matter. So, I was shocked that he was sending for me and at that hour of the night. Something was wrong, I thought. Nothing could have prepared me for that night.

I waited. When he eventually came, he greeted me well. In a bid to possibly break his fast for the day, he gave me money and asked me to help him buy a bottle of 7up and a loaf of bread at the little Kiosk inside our hostel. I promptly obliged and returned.

Then he said, “God told you I will be your husband. He has also told me you will be my wife, so let’s start” That was Uche’s proposal!!! I was stunned. Filled with fantasies of having a Cinderella type of proposal with my Knight in shining armor, I was devastated.

I didn’t know when I ran back into the hotel as fast as my legs would carry me. This couldn’t be happening. This must be a mistake, a nightmare of the worst kind. I cried myself to sleep that night. I was depressed and sad for many days. I thought of God as being mean to give me such a spouse and then thought of my father every day, wondering what will happen when he hears this. He loved me dearly and showed it without reservations. How would he take this news?

About one week later, I sent Uche a note asking to see him. Would I say no, or would I say yes? I battled in my spirit and found no peace each time I inclined to say no. I knew the Lord had spoken to me but I wasn’t ready for the consequences of this reality. Uche’s arrogance made it worse. If only he knew what lay ahead of this decision we are making in obedience to God’s words and promptings.

It was on 2nd September 1992, a Wednesday evening as the sun strolled gently to its setting; Uche and I sat together like two foreigners trying to figure out each other. My dread of him was gone and a mixture of pain and love made for a very uncomfortable feeling. I said yes to him but I knew the journey of a million kilometers was just two steps in.

When I eventually mustered the courage to tell my father, I wasn’t surprised by his response. “If I see that boy here, I will kill him.” He meant every word because of hurts and pains inflicted on him and his loved ones in the past by someone of Uche’s tribe. He struggled to accept Uche and felt I’d betrayed him. I couldn’t appease nor assure him but I held unto God’s words and with the determination to have my Parent’s consent before marriage, I prayed through. My father’s acceptance of him as a would-be Son-in-law was in 1997 into 1998. By this date in 2000, we became Man and Wife, One item.

Too many events attempted to derail this union before it started and for over 7year we weathered the storms. Before my father passed away in 2015, he and Uche were very good friends. Whenever he’d acknowledge I married well, I’d see the satisfaction in his eyes and promptly thank him for granting us his blessing.

Today, as I reminiscence, I am in awe of God and what He has done in me through this union. It could only be Him.

I have watched Uche bud into the man of my dreams. Behind the façade of his strong face is a hilarious comedian known only by those closest to us. He is fearless but not a careless risk-taker. He is a warhorse in terms of work ethics but his compassionate heart dreads people’s injuries and the sight of suffering in the lives of others. He is a reckless giver and if the parts of our bodies were easy to give out, he would have had none of his left in his name. Two great attributes I celebrate in him are his readiness to own his errors and apologize. He is comfortable in his skin; never threatened by my successes, rather he gave me wings to fly as I made exploits as an apostle in the market place.

Join us today, to thank God and celebrate His goodness, as we renew our vows and dare to dream of a greater tomorrow that beckons.

How I Beat The Covid-19 Lockdown in Uganda and Why

The Covid-19 virus arrived in Africa in slow motion, as it has on each continent it touches. It may leave Africa as slowly as it came. If we don’t enforce rigid laws and reset our value systems as individuals and as nations, it will more likely be an unimaginable wreck.

I had only been in Uganda 2weeks of a much longer stay when I began to feel it was time to get out. I discussed this with a few friends and asked for prayers from supporters. I needed to hear the Lord. This was before the announcement came ordering all schools and places of worship to shutdown. 

Schools have been my litmus test for social safety for years because no parent will release their child to attend school if it isn’t safe to go. You can often gauge how much turmoil there is in a place by looking at how many children are in school. 

To the glory of God, I arrived home from Uganda on Monday. My trip back has gone down as one of the most unforgettable adventures I have had since relocating to Uganda.

This is my story.

It was Saturday, 21st March 2020 by 8pm. I had just returned from watching the National Prayer Meeting called by President Yoweri Museveni of Uganda, at a friend’s church office. As I reflected on my plans for Sunday, I received a WhatsApp message from a dear brother and friend, Uche Obiofuma. It changed everything.

From the message, I learned that the international airways in Nigeria would be shut by midnight on Monday the 23rd of March 2020.  If I was to make it back into Lagos before the borders closed, I must leave that night for Kampala. I was at the time, in Arua, 10hrs drive from the airport in Entebbe.

The first thing I needed to do was to change my flight booking. I got on it immediately but I couldn’t pay online. I called upon a higher power, Sola, my wife. She’s gifted in this area and was not going to have me stranded in Uganda indefinitely. She assured me she’ll take care of it and I departed Arua for Kampala at 10pm.

A thousand thoughts kept me awake on that ride. From the unknown to the known yet uncertain, I engaged my imagination and had a good prayer time too. I got assurances from the Lord as the journey progressed, despite the annoying information from the bus conductor before we left the garage that, “…we could have a breakdown…, this is just a machine and it can disappoint… but don’t worry… blah blah blah…”

I arrived Kampala on Sunday morning, having traveled in a very worn-out 55-seater bus that leaked rainwater from Arua to Kampala. I was so concerned about leaving Uganda on time that getting very wet and cold on that bus didn’t dent my energy. I needed to get home! 

While on the ride to Kampala, I didn’t know that Uganda had recorded its first case of Covid-19 and the President had promptly announced the closure of the land and airway borders. The confusion as to when this directive was to take effect unnerved me.

After several calls, I gathered that all flights in or out will end at 12midnight that day, Sunday. All roads and water-way borders would be shut at 12noon the same day.

I headed for the airport immediately and met a crazy crowd of people all gunning for the same thing; a seat on any aircraft leaving before 12midnight. I began to wait for my flight change to be confirmed from Lagos. Other passengers were offering more money to get a flight booking and flight change. A lady and her six children were duped $10,000 by a fake agent. Another gentleman booked a flight to London that will take him from Entebbe to Addis Ababa, to a country in the Middle East, to Amsterdam then to London. The tension was increasingly worrisome as my confirmation delayed.

Eventually, I got the message that payment was confirmed!  Thank God my wife was able to get through! I checked into my flight immediately to end the chance of any last-minute complications. This was the last flight out of Uganda and I must be on it!

Witnessing Jesus to my co-traveler has been my style over the years. Onboard the flight, I was surprised to observe that the social distancing rule was in effect. Just before we taxied out, a passenger in a seat row in front of me began to throw up! I made several attempts to call the attention of the flight attendants, but they ignored my bell or didn’t see me waving frantically. I sprang to my feet and dashed forward to get their attention as the aircraft began to taxi. Sickness was on the plane and the fear of what it could mean, in combination with the frantic confusion of our hurried exit of the country created a tense environment. 

Passengers looked in the direction of every sneeze and cough. The vomit was a level 10 alarm!  A calm apprehension rested on the faces of those that knew someone onboard was ill; mine too. But what were we going to do? Jump off the plane? Everyone acted as though oblivious of the issue.

I was wearing one of three facemasks I bought on my way to the airport. I quickly pulled out the remaining two and wore them, too. Somehow, having three masks seemed safer.  Not long afterward though, someone’s fart invaded my airspace. It made me question the work of the facemasks, but I still didn’t remove them.

When we arrived in Nairobi, I promptly alerted the medical personnel at the reception gate that this passenger was ill onboard. I hope they did the right thing. I was off to my next flight.

Onboard the flight heading to Lagos, it was a full flight. Sadly, the social distancing rule wasn’t adhered to. Forgive me, but I wasn’t surprised.

We are largely a complicated people in Nigeria. Only a death threat by force ensures our compliance with simple rules. You feel it and see it as soon as you touchdown in the country. The chaos, hush, and push to get ahead kicks in, only to arrive at the baggage claim area and wait for another hour for one’s luggage to drop.

I’m very glad to be home, though emotionally exhausted. I am taking all the necessary precautions to shield my family from whatever I could have contacted on my journey. It is a hard reality that makes my reentry brutal.

Nevertheless, we shall pull through with songs of victory, day after day. If there’s a place to be now, with the world charged with so much pain and uncertainty, it is one’s home, wherever that is. Sadly, for some people, home is just a word, not a place.

I have a dear friend in the hospital now. His daughter wrote this in her update today on his welfare: 

So today,…we’re sitting at home alone, praying for comfort and encouragement, and choosing to hope in the midst of the cold and the rain and the unknown that we serve the God who sees us, and knows us, and loves us, the God who came down to dwell among us, and the God who has promised to be faithful to the end.

As you keep your heart free from the bad and fake news flooding social media and TV, please take time to pray for family, friends, and strangers that need divine assistance for the next step in their journey this season.

I pray that you and yours will emerge from this unprecedented challenge, better people; reset or reformatted in your heads or hearts, ready to engage fresh priorities that will help humanity, fulfill your purposes and see Jesus glorified.

May we all be able to hear the Lord clearly despite the confusion and pain around us. Our love for others will be on trial with this crisis. May we not miss a chance to show this troubled world why Jesus is all we need.

Thanks for your prayers and support. We remain undaunted until the whole world hears! Matthew 24:14

Refugee School Teachers, Books and a Big Vision

Please take a close look at this photo. What do you see?

 

Did you notice the boy sitting to the left, busying himself in the midst of what seems like a catastrophe? Death appears to be lurking all around him, there are bodies littered carelessly on the ground amidst the chaos, probably waiting to die. Yet, this child is fully engaged.

What is he doing?

He’s reading.

Is he preparing for an exam?

Is he studying for a big test?

Drawing?

Painting?

Maybe, just reading for the love of a good story which can transport him away from his current circumstances.

Whatever it is he’s doing, it has him. A book is open before him. Can a book be such a precious thing right in the midst of colossal hopelessness? Yes. It can.

Some things in life can be taught, but not the kind of hunger this boy has. Hunger is cultivated in us, and until it occurs, little can be accomplished. With hunger comes the price, and then, the prize.

Our children are on loan from God for a short season. Their discipleship and maturity under our leadership is a task that demands a long-term investment. How can we pour into the children?

Looking at the influences in their lives, school teachers are on the frontlines of their education. They have the day to day contact with each child, wielding greater guidance than many parents, and most pastors. Such is the case in renown countries the world over.

However, most teachers undervalue their unique call. This is especially true in difficult places like refugee camps.  Think about what education in a refugee environment looks like?

Imagine this. The UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees) estimated ratio of students per teacher in 2019 in refugee settlements is 1:53, yet the current 1:81 ratio is significantly above that estimate.

Consider that these camps are located in regions with low socio-economic development, poor landscape for meaningful livelihood, harsh weather and many other obstacles. At noon in the camps, it is normal to have temperatures over 40oC daily.

The question is: How do these teachers teach and how do these children learn in such discomfort?

The answer? Hunger and Hope.

Without the hunger for a better tomorrow and the hope that it is achievable, this would be truly miserable beyond words. There would be no heart for it.

Organizations, governments and departments all have ideas of what education in a refugee settlement should look like, but knowing the realities and living in them are two different things.  It is the school teachers on ground that are saddled with the incredible responsibility of enduring the hardships in order to cultivate greatness and bring healing to young minds. 

The spirit of a teacher is to make a difference in the life of their students. This is a characteristic found in teachers all over the world.  It is the unique ability to endure, believe and have the tenacity to carry out their calling. Hope is the fuel that says, we can do it!

Many parents, as broken as their children in these camps, entrust their greatest treasures— their children, to these refugee teachers, confident, that despite the difficult environment, tomorrow will certainly be better than today. With grit and determination, the community moves forward, together, for the future of the children.

These beacons of hope find little support for their work on a day to day basis, and this leads to discouragement as they cannot continue the task at the economic peril to their own families.

In many refugee schools untrained teachers are working in complex classroom settings, made up of large numbers of mixed age learners with varied psycho-social needs. They do so with very little, if any, pay.

These teachers need strong support and more training if the children entrusted to them are to receive the basic literacy and numeracy skills required to successfully transition from one level to another, year after year.

Unfortunately, the teachers in the refugee schools have little or no preparation to work in such a difficult environment. A school is only as good as its teachers, and without equipping these teachers, the chance these children will successfully grow into peace-lovers, peace-makers and peace-keepers, is nearly impossible.

To proceed with this vision and in partnership with Advancing Leaders International USA and Church of Uganda Madi West Nile Diocese, we are bringing empowerment trainings to these refugee teachers beginning at Rhino camp refugee settlement in West Nile region, Uganda.

We lack words to appreciate the friends who have donated books and sponsored our facilitators to this 4day conference with refugee teachers (21st – 24th May). On our minds is one topic— Literacy. It is the cornerstone of education here and now. It is the cornerstone of peace in the future.

We envision the refugee camps flooded with good books. We are striving to provoke a passion for reading and a love of learning, here. Can you partner with us to make this happen, and to lift South Sudan out of illiteracy? Due to decades of war, the young nation has the highest illiteracy rate in the world.

Our aim is to put good books within the reach of every refugee child and to equip every teacher with the ability to unlock language for their students. Equipping refugee teachers to create an atmosphere for this vision to thrive is critical.

What better way to prepare their return home than by empowering the children of a nation who are attempting to heal, evolve and thrive, even as they wait?

South Sudan Oye!!

I wept at Hope Primary School

Sometimes in life, events that should elicit great joy and happiness provoke tears too. Not tears of joy, but tears that flow from real pain. This happens when the soul feels ambushed, scorched and squeezed by some regret, which springs up right in the middle of a God moment.

I visited Hope Primary School, the refugees’ founded school we are partnering with. As my time encouraging the teachers and staff there drew to a close, two of them brought the story of one of their graduated students to my attention. They wanted me to give secondary school scholarship to this student who fell below the mark by a very narrow margin. I dismissed their request because it didn’t align with the established standards governing this Scholarship Program.

I’ve come to learn that sometimes, you are your best intercessor.

As I was leaving the school, a young boy walked up to me and began his story.

“My name is Caesar,” he said.

As his story went, he was a student of New Generation Primary School in Yei, South Sudan and he remembered me from my time there. When the war broke out, his father, a farmer, fled with him and his siblings to their village. Then when the war arrived there, they ran across the border into Uganda.

His father, on seeing the pitiful condition in the refugee camp, sent Caesar and his siblings to stay with an Uncle. He hoped his brother would take better care of them. However, the Uncle took the children to a friend of his in another refugee camp and abandoned them there.

Since Caesar and his siblings weren’t registered at that refugee camp, they couldn’t get their food rations, making an already miserable life more terrible. Caesar sent his siblings back to their parents at another camp because they couldn’t even afford the little money charged as school fees at Hope Primary School. Help came to Caesar through the School Feeding Program at Hope Primary, where he got his only meals for the day.

I knew there were children who lived solely on the meals served at the school. Here, right before me, was one such student and his journey captured my heart.

The Scholarship Fund had guaranteed the parents and the school that students graduating with Division 1 score would get automatic scholarships to secondary school. Sadly this year, Hope Primary School didn’t produce any Division 1 graduates. Caesar was the only one who came really close, missing it by just one point.

Someone said, “…it seems people who deserve our tears, hardly make us cry.” Not so for Caesar. He told his story and pleaded with me to help him find a place where he could stay in order to repeat Primary 7.

He said, “I know I missed the scholarship. I worked hard to make it because I know I have no one to pay my school fees if I don’t get the scholarship. Please sir, just help me find a place to stay, I can’t stay with my Uncle’s friend anymore. I can’t succeed if I stay there. Please help me.”

I was struggling to understand his appeal. The reason I was confused was that he passed well enough to gain admission into any secondary school in Uganda. Yet, he knew that to get a free education, he needed a scholarship. I was flabbergasted when I realized that Caesar was willing to repeat the entire year to take a fresh entry exam, with the goal of  getting the promised scholarship. This was the first option he was considering. Then he pressed on with the second option.

“But sir, if you give me the scholarship opportunity and pay my fees for one term, just this first term, I promise you I’ll get that school’s bursary award and you’ll not need to worry about me anymore. Please sir, give me a chance.”

I was so broken by this boy’s determination, his hopes, and his dreams. He had a clear understanding of what he needed to do to break the cycle; it caused me to excuse myself to find a place to weep. I couldn’t help myself.

As I wept, I thought of many others like Caesar; bright and hardworking, but who have no one to pay their fees, so they drop out of school and give up on their dreams. I begged God, to honor Caesar’s faith and hunger and also to provide support for me to sponsor him privately.

I called him into the headteacher’s office and in the presence of the headteacher and one of his assistants. I pledged to sponsor him for this first term, though I didn’t know where the money would come from. I challenged him to prove himself. You should have seen his face glow when I told him to go and get his result. That evening, I shared his story with my guests, Karin and Michelle. They raised his school fees on the spot.

Tears aren’t far from me. As a feeler, my emotions are stirred easily by another’s pain, grief, wounds, loss or matters of the heart that demand justice. What of you? What makes you cry?

Our tears won’t change the destiny of those for whom we shed them, but our actions can. Why not join me to give hope to a refugee child that wants to go to school today but has no one to pay for it?

See our student scholarship program here or connect with me directly— uche@his-sickles.org

Stories of Hope – Working With Refugees Part 3

The quality of our hope cannot be aptly evaluated in the absence of grave difficulties and much suffering; but when life’s unexpected challenges meet the resilience of spirit in mere mortals, there’s no limiting the resultant outcomes. I have some good stories.

The two most trusted professionals in any community are Doctors and school teachers. While we don’t have the luxury of resident doctors in these refugee camps, we are blessed with a few school teachers.

Meet Alfred,  a husband, father and grandfather. He’s happily married to Vicky and they have seven biological children, three grandchildren and two orphans, all staying with them in the camp. Alfred holds a Masters Degree in Human Resource Management and Marketing Management, and a Bachelors Degree in Primary Education.

Until the war of July 2016 that forced him to flee to Uganda, Alfred was the County Education Director of Morobo County, in Yei River State, South Sudan for four years; where he oversaw education matters in 30 nursery schools, 74 primary schools and 4 secondary schools. By all standards, this is an accomplished civil servant with many years of experience.

Today, he’s a refugee.

Alfred lives in a hut that could pass for his chickens and goats house back in South Sudan. But he’s not broken by his challenges, which includes weak health and continues to serve the nation of South Sudan as under a refugee status, as the Head Teacher of the refugee-founded school – Hope Primary School; where he and 15 other teachers, all refugees, are making a difference in the lives of 640 primary school students. Sadly though, without a salary.

Alfred gave his life to Jesus during our Refugee Teachers’ Conference in May 2018. I salute this vessel of hope and the gallant teachers laboring with him. If you’d consider supporting their cause, please go here.

Alfred’s wife Vicky, on arriving the refugee camp two years ago, promptly setup a small kiosk, right in front of their hut, selling everyday consumables from which the family is being sustained. She also knits colorful designs on bed sheets, cushion and pillow cases, dinner tables and leaving room furniture, all for sale.

 

She has raised a group of women to do same and employed four others, all refugees to assist her. They are looking for a market outside the refugee camps for their handiwork. If you are interested in marketing their products, and also telling their individual stories, please contact me.

In July 2017, seven women from WOLCC, USA visited with us, to serve South Sudanese refugees. They brought psycho-social support to the camps, helping traumatized women and children process their challenges with hope. We organized a Conference and had 106 women leaders in and around eight refugee camps in attendance.

From this gathering, 23 different small groups emerged with 9 different business initiatives. From baking, hair-dressing, colorful bag making with beads, tailoring and others. Most of these women were bearing the burdens of their individual families alone and were determined to make a difference, despite their obvious challenges.

Women and Children in the refugee camps in Uganda constitute 80% of the total refugee population. Empowering women in these camps can guarantee community transformation and ultimately, Kingdom advancement, if properly midwifed.

Imagine what can be accomplished if some of these South Sudanese refugee women are rightly motivated to discover and engage their God-given gifts and purposes in the camps now. Do you sense a calling here? Please connect.

Meet Deaconess Poni. She fled the war in South Sudan with her four children and took on two other unaccompanied minors when their parents couldn’t be located amidst the chaos on the long trek to safety.

Poni was one of the 106 refugee church women leaders who came to our South Sudanese Refugee Women’s Conference in July 2017. Heeding our counsel to the women at the gathering to form small business interest groups, she obeyed, and led a group of four women in the camp to start a tailoring business.

She received a sewing machine at that Conference on behalf of her group and went to work immediately. I visited them in November 2017 to assess their work and I was impressed. They were making choir uniforms for churches in the camp then.

Today, they’ve expanded their small business and profited as a result from making school uniforms and assortment of dresses for fellow refugees.

Deaconess Poni was living in this small hut above with her six children until recently. 

From this business within a year, she’s building herself a two bedroom house with bricks, right in the refugee camp. Poni has changed her story and brought hope to her immediate family through perseverance. Others are copying her.

We’ve bought Poni and her group another sewing machine, assured that their success will inspire hope in others as we work together to change the fortunes of some.

There are more like her in these desperate places, whose reason for hope seem irrational. But hope, real hope, birth in the furnace of much affliction, is unbreakable and makes a great anchor for the soul. Let’s stand with them.

Whenever the mystery of evil is finally unraveled by God in regions of great pain and darkness, He draws attention to Himself, offering humans a chance to embrace real peace in perilous times. What’s your story of hope this season?

In Part 4, you’ll meet Justin and Isaac. The story of their kingdom journeys will inspire you or someone near you.

Stories of Hope – Working With Refugees Part 2

Naturally, most parents who’ve experienced much hardship in life with or without a success story tend to strive more for their children’s welfare, hoping the best for them. Some tend to counsel and lead from a more resolute and deeper sense of longing, wishing their children never experience the pains they did.

While over protecting our children from real or imagined life challenges will have negative effects on their development into mature and responsible adults, helping them grasp the core components of our hope for them is better demonstrated than verbalized.

The delivery of the promised roofing sheets and building materials provoked belief in the heart of these teachers and the parents of Hope Primary School. One of them later told me, “…when we saw the vehicle arrive with the iron sheets, we said praise the Lord, God has heard our prayers.”

In broken English, another explained, “…a little education is better than no education; I was born in the refugee camp, I didn’t know how to spell my name until I was grown up. I’m willing to sell everything I have to make sure my boy gets education here…”

While the teachers were teaching the children, their fathers were building the classrooms and their mothers were preparing lunch for the working dads, right there. Four groups of people from this community gathered at this school, happily pursuing a single goal – education for the children. Please picture that!

 

As construction works in this school continue, we are privileged to witness firsthand, the transference of the heart of the fathers to the children. Or how do you explain our been divinely located among sixteen thousand refugees amidst a million, who demonstrate self-reliance and model it to their children and grandchildren?

The many years of conflict has made the standard of education in South Sudan low. In an earlier blog here, I highlighted one critical challenge among many. Thus, most parents would relish an opportunity to have their child study in nearby Uganda but for the cost. Visas aren’t cheap and the school fees are three times higher in Uganda.

Now, as refugees in Uganda, educating their children is top priority. Most of the children of Hope Primary School walk 7-10kms on the average to and from school daily, some without footwear and in tattered clothes; while their teachers, who are all refugees in this community, continue their work without a salary. But that’s not all.

When it became clear that launching a School Feeding Program at this school would greatly facilitate learning, boost the immunity of the children and increase attendance, the parents met and agreed they’ll contribute for their children to get a hot meal each school day.

The parents agreed that every Monday, they’ll give their children firewood needed to make the meals for a week and pay 2,000ugx (50cents) per term to support the cooks.

I was very surprised to see these children arriving for school with firewood and deeply stirred when I learned that some parents had to trade some of their food rations from UNHCR for the firewood. That’s commitment. That’s collaboration. That’s counting the cost and paying the price.

The price is for the dreams in these young innocent hearts. I’m persuaded that their expectations will not be cut off nor cut short. In my small talk with some of the parents and the children at the beginning of the school year, I was challenged by their determination and hope. Some want to become doctors, engineers, teachers, soldiers, politicians, pilots… pastors and missionaries. Why not?!

This community has the major ingredients needed for community transformation anywhere in the world – corporate vision and a strong will. We’ve pledged with hope and earnestness of spirit, to pace our steps and stops with theirs; knowing fully well it’s only a matter of time before kingdom breakthroughs are announced at multiple levels here.

In Part 3, you’ll meet some refugee friends of mine with an enduring hope, who, despite being in dire straits have proven that success is not localized to any one region or country but on the will to bounce back from apparent setbacks and each time, with hope that what looks like the end is just a bend, hiding the desired dream.

Stories of Hope – Working With Refugees Part 1

In June 2005, multitudes of refugees from Southern Sudan were returning from neighboring countries and beyond, when I made my first missions trip there. The over 20years civil war ended in January.

The wretchedness of these returnees was shocking. Many of them bore the ugly scars of unhealed trauma. “I’m traumatized…” was used frequently to justify bad behavior. Sadly, most of us then knew little to nothing of trauma and its crippling powers.

The lessons I learnt from those refugee returnees then, and the very depressing conditions they arrived home in, is helping my ministry formulate a plan for service delivery among South Sudanese refugees in Uganda today.

Fast forward to February 2017, almost two million South Sudanese are back in refugee camps in many countries and another two million are internally displaced. As sad as this is, it seems the rest of the world is getting tired of the unending crisis and atrocities that seems the bane of this young nation.

Our tactic for addressing poverty and bringing the kingdom within refugee communities in Uganda aims at first, confronting the huge challenge posed by the trauma and then helping them develop the right attitude, from which progressive self-help initiatives can be birthed, as against a one-way transactional giving of handouts that breeds paternalism.

We are persuaded that our discipleship strategies will thrive best within small groups in targeted refugee communities, where flickers of hope exist. The big question is, how? How would hope to birth again occur in such desperate places? What would trigger the needed shift to enable these broken hearts dare to dream here?

While pondering on these questions and praying for God’s leading, I met a brother in Rhino refugee camp who knows my passion for the youth and ministry work in schools back in Yei, South Sudan. He said, “Uche, there’s a primary school started by refugees down there. Do you want to see it?” This was in late February 2017.

On the way to this school, I said to my wife Sola, who was with me, “…this act of starting a school is a sign of hope for this community.” When we arrived at the school, classes were over and most of the school kids had gone home. Standing with the few teachers and community leaders still around, I heard the Lord say, “Start here”. To my surprise, this school was called Hope Primary School. It had registered over 400 school children within 2weeks of its existence.

I knew immediately with no shadow of doubt that this school would be our primary platform for service delivery among South Sudanese refugees in that area. However, the question of “how” still wasn’t answered?

After inspecting the classes and the surroundings of the school, I shuddered at the magnitude of collaborative effort invested by this refugee community to have a primary school at all cost for their children. I promised the teachers and leaders present that we’d help cover the classes with iron roofing sheets.

The provision of the first installment of the roofing sheets gave me a clearer understanding and the answer to how help could be offered to refugees humanely.

How to bring lasting healthy support to refugees is by letting them take the lead, and journey alongside them as they accomplish their dreams and chase their hopes. Any attempt to lead them with handout or our own ideas without first listening to them and understanding their heart, will lead to waste of time, resources and disappointments.

These refugees in Ocea C Settlement in Rhinocamp are poor and completely beaten by their assortment of loses. However, they knew that education for their children was of utmost importance and are willing to make the necessary sacrifices to see their dreams actualized, even in a refugee settlement.

Details of their efforts and sacrifices in Part 2. You’ll be pleasantly surprised.

We vs. Fulani Herdsmen – Wake Up Brethren! Wake Up!!

It’s very heartbreaking to see how some people seek power over other people in a desperate attempt to fulfill themselves and their wishes. I’m deeply saddened by the wanton loss of lives and properties by many people on account of the unspeakable crimes committed by Fulani herdsmen in many parts of Nigeria today.

While horrifying and tragic videos and pictures circulate the social media; I observe in shock, how those mandated with the greatest jobs on planet earth – PREACHING THE GOSPEL and MAKING DISCIPLES, are responding to this challenge.

The kind of hate-filled prayers and messages flowing from many celebrated pulpits and personalities on account of this and other national issues is alarming. I’m deeply stirred again, as these waves of distraction slam and swing the church in Nigeria from pole to pole. The latest is this menace of marauding Fulani herdsmen in several places.

Do you see the distractions? Yes, I call them grand distractions, carefully orchestrated by the enemy to keep us occupied. I’m persuaded to sound an alarm from this platform, peradventure someone would hear, wake up and respond more appropriately.

For almost two decades now, the “fall and die” prayers against the enemy, has swept through the church here like wildfire as all manner of witchcraft-like practices have penetrated our ranks in many assemblies. Sadly, we’ve exported much of it too.

Since we can only bind or cast out demons and not kill them, our frustrations are often expressed via ridiculous prayers targeted at real or imagined persons somewhere, whose acts or words are products of ignorance demanding forbearance or forgiveness. To celebrate when the targeted “enemy” dies in their sin or is overtaken by some mishap is shameful and totally unchristian.

Aren’t we being deceived into believing that God is always obliged to do whatever we ask; even things devoid of His character and mock His wisdom?

We’ve become obsessed with seeking retaliation (back-to-sender) instead of retributive justice where necessary. These two seem similar but are radically different from every point of view. While punishment is their end result, the purpose and process often differ. Revenge is not the Kingdom way of response to aggression or evil done to us.

If we want retributive justice, let’s go to the courts of law, the instituted justice system of the land. We also have the option of grooming and supporting proven brethren that will boldly uphold the truth in the very dark political arena in this country. Isn’t the gross cowardice in the camp of believers in government today in Nigeria appalling? 

If we want revenge, we must leave it to God. In Deut 32:35; Romans 12:19; Heb 10:30, God says “Vengeance is mine, I’ll repay…”

But why don’t we want to leave it to Him? Could it be because we don’t trust He’ll defend us? Could it be that we disapprove of His style of justice, which sometimes blesses those we want Him to curse? Could it be because He takes a long time so we take over and make it happen instantly? Or could it be because we are so blinded by our hate that we switch off the call to caution, the command to forgive, and the call to endure all things for the gospel’s sake?

Some are employing other means such as boycotting beef and beef products to express their deep dissatisfaction and protest against the Fulani. Whatever we do, we must not let bitterness and hate pollute the mind of Christ, our priced possession.

There’s something about revenge that’s very alluring and relieving to our base nature. I’ve felt and tasted it. At its core, it’s ugly, very addictive to the flesh, and destructive to the soul.

Our sufferings, pains, and cares should never upstage the objective of the gospel we are called to bear to the Fulani and the nations. If God gave His Son for the souls of those that killed Him, nothing and no one can be too precious to suffer or even die for the same purpose.

We cannot fight hate with hate. We must respond with the opposite spirit. That’s what Jesus modeled. Anything else is not the Kingdom way. No matter who’s preaching it. The gospel, wrapped in love, is and will always be the power of God unto salvation. Let’s show it! Let’s produce proofs and see if God will fail us.

It’s important to underscore the fact that the Sermon on the Mount wasn’t preached to the multitudes, it was and still is meant for disciples. The multitudes remained in the valley and will always seek the cozy confines in the plains and broadways. Matt 5:1; 8:1.

Let the dead bury their dead, but we have no options with following our Master. Matt 8:21-22 carries profound instructions for us today.

I don’t expect the non-believers who’ve been affected by these despicable crimes to turn the other cheek. Neither do I expect believers to attempt rationalizing what exactly it is Jesus is commanding His followers to do. It’s a new order, a radical one at that. We may not like it but that’s His way.

There’s no cherry-picking on the realities of this new paradigm. We must realize now that more intense persecutions are coming on account of the Name we bear, we need to brace-up for the inevitability of the enemy’s push to delay and deny the Son His due. Jesus said we should expect it! (Matt 24:1-14) But it’s in the midst of the aggressions and killings that this gospel of the Kingdom will be preached! Matt 24:14

Some say, “…defend yourself…” I ask, with what?

Seeking comfort by not enlisting in this war is tantamount to rebellion. Sin and wickedness are abounding and the love of many is waxing cold. Wake up brethren and reset your clock. The war is on! Wake up to the call to prayer, to the call to march around this Jericho, not with guns and machetes, bows and arrows, but with a defiant and furious love that surrenders to God, the Almighty. If He can’t defend us, or isn’t defending us now, any and every attempt to help ourselves outside constituted law won’t further His causes. But He’s able and willing to save to the uttermost…. Hebrews 7:25 Hallelujah!

This article will get the flak of some brethren whose nerves are flared to great extremes. I feel you, please bear with me. Let’s step back a bit and ponder; which prayers do you think God will approve, one calling for the annihilation of the Fulani herdsmen or one crying for their salvation?

There’s a great mission initiative in Nigeria pioneered by an Organization I’ll not mention here, that’s laboring hard for the salvation and discipling of the Fulani people. Their hands and hearts should be strengthened at this time and not weakened by hateful speeches and careless comments against the priced jewels.

Ruled by our flesh, we’ll find enough legitimate reasons to always hate people, whether they are Fulani herdsmen, Boko Haram, disagreeable neighbors, envious co-workers, irresponsible and wicked bosses… people in government… But the Lord commands us to love and pray for our enemy Matt 5:43-45. He says, “Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart… He never sinned, nor ever deceived anyone. He did not retaliate when he was insulted, nor threaten revenge when he suffered. He left his case in the hands of God, who always judges fairly”. (Matt 11:29; 1Peter 2:22-23 NLT)

These are hard matters of our faith for those willing to tread the narrow way. It’s far too easy to hate and feel resentment for others than forgive and show strength of character. Never will the wrath of man produce the righteousness of God.

Wake Up Church! Open your heart to the real issues of the hour.

We are being ensnared by our shriveled hurts to the detriment of our core essence. That’s exactly what the devil wants. The messages flying the social media calling for retaliation and the destruction of others at variance with us is not from God. He does not desire the death of the wicked but their salvation. To come before Him in prayer seeking the death of another man for whatever reason is an abuse of the privileged access we have into the Throne Room.

If the entire 20-25million Fulanis in the world migrate to Nigeria to fight for land for their cattle, are we prepared or should we be prepared to share the gospel with them? Our weapons of war are not carnal 2Cor 10:4-5, we quote that text but our comments and attitude suggest otherwise.

How will you treat a Fulani man who walks into your church today? Will you receive him warmly, flee from him, threaten… kill him…? Do we hate them? Can the gospel thrive in our lips with hate in our hearts?  Are we really mission-minded or comfort-minded? Are we driven by love or ruled by fear?

Wake Up! Wake Up to the real war, the war against the powers of darkness for the unreached and least-reached peoples. This war cannot be won with bitterness and the cry to eliminate those we are sent to reach. Who then will go to them? Who will send those willing to go? Who will support the efforts of those who have already gone? If we are beclouded by bitterness and hate, what will be our message?

Wake up, brethren! Let’s begin by falling on our faces in repentance and begging the Lord to forgive us and find us useful again for His purposes today. Let’s repent of the hate we feel and the bitterness we’ve spoken and sown in the hearts of simple souls among us. Let’s repent of our love for comfort, which has scuttled our spiritual influence over the nation. Let’s return to the core essence of our existence as the Body of Christ, the militant force pursuing God’s singular quest for global worship on earth.

Let’s move from our ever predictable reactionary responses to well thought-out proactive strategies anchored on the fear of  God and love for fellow men.

I’m by no means unmindful of the many widows, orphans, and widowers among us now on account of the wickedness of some in high and low places. I’m concerned though, that we’ve stepped too close to one tree and lost sight of the forest, the harvest, the heart of the matter.

If God gave up His only begotten Son for our salvation, what will be too great for Him to give up so that His Son can get what He died for? Will our lands and properties be too great for Him to give up? Will defending our lives and our pieces of stuff guarantee our possessions in heaven?

Most High God, please forgive our detractors and cause your light to shine among them. We are that light! Help us see that Your love is the only way to win our foes to you. Lord, if You’ll bring the Fulani herdsmen to us, to wake us, to force out and thrust laborers into Your harvest, do it! Please help us to bring closure to Your Commission in our day, so that Your Son will get what He paid for 2000 years ago, in Jesus name! Amen!

While we are celebrating Christmas… Pt 2

Assorted pictorials, carvings and sculptures depicting the baby Messiah and the humble manger scenes are decors presently adorning many places this season.

The nativity narrative, rich in mystery and meaning, continues to inspire believers from year to year, with its profound paradoxes, urging us to embrace the wonders, joys and pains weaved into the journeys of the key characters at the first Christmas.

It’s a season of joy and goodwill, demonstrated in many unique ways, from giving and receiving gifts, to entertaining guests and visiting friends and places. It’s a season when many faithfuls find good reasons to suspend healthy disciplines and indulge a little.

While many of us celebrate this Christmas and prep for the new year, it’s needful to reflect on the lives of some around us, to whom this Christmas is anything but joy and jingle bells. The first Christmas had an incredible story of pain, one that the journeying young couple probably weren’t prepared for.

I invite you here, to meet three children, whose stories underline for me, a little appreciated aspect of this festive season.

Josephine Night Sebit is two and half years old. Her parents fled with her from South Sudan early this year and are settled at Imvepi refugee camp. Safety and sustenance were their priorities. From their story, it’s clear this family has wrestled with unspeakable challenges in their quest for the soundness of health of this precious little girl. Josephine needs constant care and her mother was ever present to provide it.

Right before us that hot afternoon was a human being, made in the image of God, one upon whom the Spirit could indwell; one who like Viola, is ripe for a remarkable miracle. Dear Lord, is ANYTHING too difficult for you? We invited You few weeks ago to undertake for this family and make a name for Yourself. Lord Jesus, while we celebrate you this season, glorify Your name here, heal this child! 

John Akeem Joseph is 12 and has polio. Like Viola and Josephine, his brave mother is a refugee in Imvepi Camp, with 135,000 other settlers from South Sudan. Aside the effects of polio, John can’t speak but he can hear and understand when love is flowing around him.

As I lifted John from off the floor and prayed for him, he clung so tightly and didn’t want to let go of my hand when we made moves to leave. My heart was deeply stirred for this boy and his worn-out parents, seeing and sensing the longing in his eyes and the apparent hopelessness all round. The unconditional love on display there reminded me of the essence of this season and I ask, How did John and his mother spend this Christmas? How could it have been better for them? What was their primary wish this season?

Her name is Joy and she’s two and half years old. I met her at Rhino refugee Camp in May, but I didn’t know her story then. Our next close encounter was in November when I learnt from one of the teachers at Hope Primary School that Joy’s mother fled with her from South Sudan but abandoned her in the camp and disappeared. I was shocked.

Having met other children with complicated health issues, how could the mother of this sweet, beautiful able bodied little girl abandon her to strangers? Where did she go? What was more important to her than this child? This is the story of thousands of children in various camps in northern Uganda today. They are called “Unaccompanied”. What an irony!

While we celebrate this holiday season and relish the goodness of the Lord, let’s remember those that have no clue it’s Christmas; those that new clothes, tasty meals of a different flavor, dance and songs that signals a festive season such as this, is currently far-fetched. Let’s enter their pain by choosing to live simply and plotting ways to bring lasting help and hope through our corporate efforts.

Be sure to hear more about these children and others like them from this space. The Kingdom has come and will reach these too. I invite you to be part of their journey of hope and victory. 

May 2018 be a most fruitful year for you, in Jesus name!