my turn to learn

Sometimes little moments appear that encourage you, moments you almost walked by or missed altogether.

I have been volunteering at a refugee center every Friday since September. I leave school, go home and plan a basic lesson outline, hop on a boda and arrive at the center to have class from 5 to 7. There's usually about 8 or 10 Congolese men there, although there is one spunky older lady named Charlotte as well. Almost all young men, almost all unemployed. Trying to learn English to navigate life in Uganda, trying to build dreams on the sand that is shifting politics, shifting statuses, and a staggering unemployment rate.

Tonight was our last class. I didn't realize, but the Heritage middle school youth group Christmas dinner was the same night. I had had to cancel the English class the week before so that I could help with the Heritage Christmas concert, so I really did not want to cancel again. I decided to go teach English, figuring I'd return in time to catch the end of the Christmas dinner event. I hopped on a boda and arrived, as usual, shortly before 5pm.

Somewhere along the way, communication must have gone wrong due to the previous week being cancelled. One student showed up: Jacques, a young Congolese guy who arrived in Uganda last January.

I sat down, ate the apple I had grabbed as my dinner, waited. Chatted with Jacques, who was a little quieter than usual. I asked if something was wrong, but he said it was just the fact that he was still recovering from malaria.

I didn't say anything more, but I had sensed his optimism beginning to wane over the last few weeks. Jacques has such a great attitude. He shows up on time for every English class. Every week he sets up the board and markers for me, every week he wipes down the board and puts everything away for me, jumps up to tuck in all the chairs. He's trying to develop himself, trying to find some way to make himself marketable. He's working at his English in my class and in another class during the day. He's teaching himself guitar. He took a baking class at the center where he learned how to bake cakes and muffins. He took a business class. He took a class on social media and computer literacy. A few weeks ago he had a book he had gotten from a friend of his who is moving to Canada, a book preparing refugees to move there, providing information about cultural norms and logistics. He was devouring the book, quizzing me about Canadian culture.

Like every other man who attends the class, Jacques can probably only fantasize about getting a visa to Canada or the US. A few weeks ago Mbale, another student, was telling me about a lottery he had entered to try to get an American visa. (After a quick Google search it appears that this is a real thing - the Diversity Visa Lottery) He was nervously excited about the chance of getting the visa, but didn't say anything the next week when he had not been selected. And I sit, little white girl across the table, with an iPhone in my bag and a million opportunities, not because I am smarter or more hard-working. Just because I was born a Canadian citizen, rather than being born a black African in beautiful, war-torn Congo.

To be honest, I was a little annoyed as the minutes ticked by to almost 5:30. I am volunteering my precious time, I could have been at the middle school Christmas dinner, and only one guy is here. We went over some English questions Jacques had, and then just as I was about to say, "Well, then, Merry Christmas, I guess I'll get going" another Congolese refugee, Pauline, who happened to be hanging around the center joined in and the three of us started talking.

I've never met Pauline before, so we exchanged the usual questions. Turns out he's a French teacher at an international school, and so he and Jacques enjoyed helping me with my pathetic French. Then he asked in French if I was a Christian, and I answered that I was.

We laughed about the difference between Congolese and mzungu churches, how mzungus only dance with their necks and jump around. I told them that when I went to the Congolese church I actually wondered if the children in the congregation had practiced their dancing during the week! Turns out Pauline and Jacques are both big fans of Hillsong, and Pauline started strumming a Hillsong song on the guitar while Jacques tapped a beat on the table.

Then Pauline played a song he had written, closing his eyes and singing in French. He told me that the words were about finding consolation in the Bible, and how if he serves the Lord he will never be -- what's the English word -- embarrassed?

Over the past few months I've never asked my students a whole lot about their pasts, but the conversation opened up about how they ended up in Kampala. How Pauline had thought his whole family was dead, saw no hope at the end of the tunnel -- and then last year heard that 9 family members had arrived at a refugee camp and aid workers had connected them. They talked about what life is like in a refugee camp, and how even though all your needs are met life is still difficult. Both would rather be working in the city, providing for themselves and having more freedom.

He got a far away look in his eye that I'd seen before when talking to refugees, a quick flash of pain and vivid memories. "They say my mother and sister were kidnapped, they do not know where they are," he said calmly. "I believe and I pray that one day I will also see them again."

I was amazed at Pauline's joy and spirit of thankfulness. "A year ago, I could not see any hope. But I have found hope in God. And I thank God that I found the job as a French teacher -- I didn't even know any English at the time! -- and now I can live and work, and I am able to feed my family. God has been very good."

Jacques practicing the guitar at the refugee center

We talked about how God can bless us, but how even when bad things happen it doesn't mean God's love has been pulled out from under us. We live in a broken world tainted by sin, and Christmas is a remembrance of God's response to our suffering -- He entered into it and experience it alongside of us and made a way for us to have eternal hope.

On the boda ride home I enjoyed the cool evening air. Kerosene lamps were winking against the darkness, chapatti stands and chip vendors and pedestrians were crowding the sides of the road. I thought about Jacques and the other men, and wished I had jobs I could give them. I thought about my own foolish anxiety, tossing and turning and worrying, when I have had such a good life. I thought about Pauline's smile and glow of joy, about the unique beauty found in faith that has sprung from such hardship.

This morning in my devotions I read Acts 2:28, quoting the Psalms: "You have shown me the way of life, and You will fill me with the joy of your presence."

I need to learn from Pauline. I need to find my joy in the presence of God, just spend time and rest in His love, knowing that nothing can separate me from it.  And I thanked God for my conversation with Jacques and Pauline, for a moment that I had almost missed.