Today my teammate Jordan and I were invited to go to the
house of a pastor that is the chairman of the HIV/AIDS support group in
Namatala (the slums). This is the group
that I partnered with to put on the soccer tournament, and over the past 3
months of being in Africa I have grown close to this man. It turned out to be a dinner that I will
never forget. Jordan and I weaved
through the houses/huts made of dried bricks and banana leaf roofs and shacks
made of wood until we got to the Pastor’s house. We sat in his two room house (a bedroom and a
small sitting area) and ate a typical Ugandan meal of rice and a peanut sauce concoction. The conversation was just casual chit chat
back and forth until we finished our meals and that’s when things got
interesting. The pastor mentioned he
originally came from northern Uganda. My
ears perked- that’s where Kony and the LRA were from. He began to tell us a solemn, sad story that
I couldn’t believe was coming from this man I knew so well. Suddenly it wasn’t such a far away concept,
it was real life- right in front of me I was sitting in a dimly lit concrete room
dining with a survivor of Joseph Kony.
The story began: The pastor grew up in a village in the
north when at the age of 12 he narrowly escaped his first near death
experience. He was working with his
friends in the fields when the rebels grabbed all of them, all eight. The rebels lined the boys up and tied their
hands and feet together, and fastened a belt around their necks. They killed each boy, one by one, all seven,
until pastor remained the last. The
rebels held the belt that was around his neck in their hands until someone came
along, kicked it out of his hands and convinced the rebel to spare the life of
a boy so young. He told us that it was
by the grace of God because he was waiting to be beheaded. “All of my friends died that day, except for
me,” said Pastor. The second occurrence took
place when the pastor wake up one night to his entire village being utterly
destroyed. The rebels rampaged the
place, shooting guns and burning every house in sight. Two of the pastor’s brothers were killed,
along with his father, and his aunt. He
described the death of his aunt- the rebels brutally chopped off both of her
arms, both of her legs, and didn’t stop there.
They cut off of her lips, followed by her nose. Hearing the description come from this man
was just…beyond description. He said
that the rebels were so brutal and would cut off anything- ears, lips, just to
be brutal. The rest of his siblings died
shortly after, and he was with his mother when she passed. He said the memories still haunt him to this
day.
However, the tragic story doesn’t stop there. The pastor fled into the jungle and found
another village to temporarily stay at…and temporary it was. Shortly after arriving the rebels again
flooded the village. Everyone died,
literally everyone. The only way the Pastor
survived was that he was small and climbed up into the rafters of the
house. The rebels went through each house,
checking each room, and killed anyone in sight.
He said it didn’t matter who they were- 10 months old, 5 years old, 80…anyone
and everyone. He looked down from the
rafters terrified as the rebels examined the house below him. In the morning he climbed down and described
it, “Blood was flowing like water.” He
said that everyone chopped down and the memories are just too hard to
handle. He was tired of seeing people’s
lives taken like nothing- “People were slaughtered like chickens.” After that the Pastor lived by himself in the
jungle for 3 years, just to escape the wrath of Kony and his followers. Luckily, he journeyed down to Mbale and found
an uncle to stay with. He’s now 43 years
old, married to a lovely woman for 20 years, and they have 10 children.
While hearing this story, not only could I not believe my
ears, but I couldn’t believe the way that he handled the situation. Throughout the whole tale he kept saying, “I
thank God” “It was by the grace of God” “God wanted to spare me” “Praise God” I was ALL about God. He verbally thanked Heavenly Father
repeatedly for saving his life so many times.
He no longer has any immediate family and he wonders sometimes why he
was the one who was spared. I will never
in my life forget hearing this man when he said, “It’s hard to forgive those
men who took everything from me, but the Bible says that we must forgive
everyone- even our worst enemies.
Therefore, I must forgive them.”
Amazing.
It tore my heart out to hear the amount of suffering that he
went through- it seems impossible that one human being could go through so
much. And someone so close to me? It wasn’t like reading the National
Geographic article, this was REAL LIFE. Sadly it still is real life. Even though Kony’s influence has decreased
significantly thousands died at his hands and his influence is still felt. Kony 2012 wasn’t just some cool fad to get
involved with- people I know, the culture I love with all my heart is literally
being slaughtered. And to think that this story was from one man, and the slum
community of 20,000 contained countless other stories of refugees. Incredible and mind blowing, to say the
least. I have never felt so humbled…if I
have ever thought that my life was hard or situations unfair…look again. So God fearing, so patient, so long suffering…what
an example.
