Submitted By: Anne Farrell, Bright Hope Team Member

This man’s name is Odeya John. He lives with his wife, sister and grandchildren in a rural village in southern Uganda, where Bright Hope serves. I met him this past summer and I still find myself thinking about him and his family quite often.

He may look a bit “scary” or ominous, but that’s probably due to the fact that he’s losing his sight, and his eyes don’t focus very well as a result.

The truth is, Odeya is one of the kindest, most thoughtful men I met during my time in Africa. He was my “tour guide” when we made some home visits to people in his village. We were sent out in twos with a local man to ask the people of this village one question: “How has receiving a micro loan changed your life?”

Odeya walked along the dirt paths with me and my friend and introduced us to three families. Ducking under thatched roofs to enter mud huts, or sitting on the ground, we talked with three of the families (mostly the mothers) through our interpreters. We soon learned that a very small loan (even $40) can help a family begin their own little business and start their upward climb out of poverty.

Our last stop was Odeya’s home. It was a bit roomier than the first three — instead of mud hut with a thatched roof, his home was a rectangular room made of bricks. Odeya invited us to sit down, and proudly explained that the crude, rough edged wooden furniture we sat on came from the profits of their new business of selling fish in the local market. We complimented him on his home and his furniture, and then sat down to talk.

As we talked, my friend and I learned that Odeya was having cataract problems and his sight was failing. We learned that he and his wife and sister were caring for eight grandchildren, because all of their adult children had died of AIDS.

Because the village school had just closed for lunch, the kids began spilling into the home, shyly checking out these strange white people sitting with their grandma and grandpa! The kids’ clothing included something in bright pink —the boys had pink shirts and the girls had pink jumpers. Odeya told us that this was their school uniform. He also humbly remarked that the reason their clothes were so raggedy was because they were basically the only clothes they had… “These are their uniforms, their night clothes, their everyday clothes,” he explained.

I asked Odeya if the kids had eaten today. (It was about 1 p.m.) Odeya looked slightly embarrassed and said that “they will eat something today.” Translation: They hadn’t eaten yet. I reached into my purse and pulled out a Nature Valley granola bar packet with two bars in it. I asked him if I could give a piece to the kids. He said yes, and told the kids in their language that they would be getting a “bisquette.” So I broke the bards into little pieces, quickly calculating how far I had to stretch it. As I walked up to each child, they cupped their hands and lifted them to receive the piece. They never said a word, but their gentle spirits and eager eyes told me the story.

I had enough left over to give the adults a piece, and everyone ate it together. It was now time to go, and Odeya walked us out of his home and onto the dirt road again. As we walked along, he confided to me that he was afraid of losing his sight completely, because then, how would he possibly be able to care for his family? He said he knows that the Lord will look out for them, but still, he’s scared. I didn’t’ have any money on me, and I don’t know if he would have even taken it from me. But I did tell him I would pray for him and his family.

As we were getting ready to leave, he turned to me and said, in English, in his gentle voice, “I knew that when I met you today, I would be blessed.” I was floored, and deeply touched. told him that I, in fact, was the one blessed, more than he could ever imagine. I asked him if I could take his picture, and he gladly agreed. I wont’ forget you, Odeya John.

Micro Loan Program:   In February the project leadership team met with Church Leaders in order to finalize the micro loan implementation manual.  The training of the 22 Loan Officers took place during the second and third weeks of March.  The Loan Officers were trained in a variety of topics including:

·         Christian Leadership and discipling

·         Root causes of poverty in the local region

·         Solutions to local poverty

·         Biblical view of poverty, work and investment

·         The role of the micro loan officer

·         Accounting and reporting

·         Proposal writing

·         Vegetable production

At this point in the Loan program, the Churches are opening bank accounts, and putting together their loan groups.  In early April each of the 22 micro loan groups should begin to meet with the first loan disbursements going out by the end of April. 

Home Based Care (HBC):  One hundred twenty five Home Based Care clients took part in a four-day training that focused on nutritional management and vegetable production for HIV+ clients.  Each client in the program will have the opportunity to take a $30 loan in order to start up a vegetable garden.  The primary purpose of the garden is to improve household nutrition. A secondary purpose is to generate income for the family.  At this point the Home Based Care clients have not been included with the larger Church-managed loan program.  Once clients have been on the Home Based Care program for a year they will be referred to the Church-managed loan program. This process allows space for 125 newly diagnosed clients to receive support from the project in the following year.

Submitted by Bright Hope Staff Member, Rosey Lavine

A young girl knocks on your window
as a left over tear dries on her cheek.
She’s hungry to the point begging.
She’s desperate to the point of eating… anything
down to the dirt off the ground…

And she asks you for change.
She reaches her hand through the window.
Hoping…Hoping…

“Please sir. Please”

Do you see her?
Her clothes are torn and her face is dirty.
She holds her baby brother in her arms.
She holds him like a mother,
but she must only be 8 years old herself.
And you wonder…

Who holds her and tells her she’s beautiful,
and tells her she is loved? And tells her…
that it is going to be alright?

Is it?

She looks to you, with hope in her eyes,
hoping for more than just change,
but all she can feel in this moment
is the painful emptiness in her stomach…
Her brother quietly cries.
She’s reaching out to you.
Waiting…Waiting….

She’s desperate.
She’s weak.
And she stares into your eyes…
Staring.
Hoping.
Waiting…

And suddenly…
You’re overwhelmed.
Stunned.
Moved.
Burdened.
Weakened.
Nauseous.
Even Afraid.
But…
Everything seems so unreal at the same time
even as you sit there in the presence of…
her eyes staring straight back into yours.

So you close your eyes.
You turn your face away.
But she’s still standing there.
Waiting….Hoping…

Could this be reality?
You’re not dreaming.
It is reality…
True,
heart wrenching
reality.

Where does this guilt come from?

I sat in that car.
I couldn’t look back into her eyes any longer.
I hoped that she would leave.
I even prayed that she would leave…
Why?
So I didn’t have to deal with the pain of knowing that
life for too many…
is just like hers,

In a complete state of desperation.

It’s this reality that is so hard to embrace,
that I wonder if anyone ever wants to know that
It is out there.

So I pretend its not,
and I close my eyes,
and I turn away.
I don’t want to know,
but…

It’s still there even when I close my eyes,
and even though I’m on this side of the world now,
and she’s on the other.
It’s still real.

I can’t see her now, but it doesn’t change that…
she’s sleeping on a dirt floor tonight,
and she went to bed starving tonight
and she doesn’t know if she will find food tomorrow.

I can’t see her now, but it doesn’t change that…
she’s holding her brother as he cries himself to sleep,
and her father is sick with aids
and she’s never had the chance to go to school.

I can’t see her now, but it doesn’t change that…

she might not make it through tomorrow.

I could ignore it,
but I saw her face
and her reality.

The guilt comes from knowing that…

No one.
Anywhere.

Ever…

deserved a life like that.

Ever.

Submitted by: Amy Endler, Bright Hope Staff Member

I’ve met the indigenous leaders, viewed the pictures, listened to the stories, read the reports.  Global poverty effects the poorest people in the world who live in the most remote places of their country.  Extreme hunger is not just a stomach growling but someone who is dying from malnutrition.  The children are dressed in rags or barely dressed at all.  Young children with holes in their clothes, no shoes and no one to take care of them wander the streets at night without any one protecting them.  They hide and sleep in sewer pipes in groups hoping for a little rest.  Parents dying of AIDS leaving orphaned children behind where the eldest child (as young as 8 years old) has to take care of younger siblings.  They cry because they’re alone and miss their mom and dad.  Adults are looking for work so they can feed their family but there is none to be found.  Sick people walking for miles to get to a hut called a hospital where there are no bandages, no antiseptic, no prescriptions to relieve pain.  Only a bed where they lay and wait to die.  There are no government assisted programs, no one to help, no one they can depend on and in many cases, no one who cares.

The education I’ve received about global poverty has humbled my self-righteous indignation toward some of the poor in certain countries like India.  Now I see them as brothers and sisters who are suffering from the history of economics, caste systems and preventable diseases: 

- Malaria wipes out an entire village of hundreds of people.  We take a pill for 10 days and don’t think about it but Bright Hope sends chemically treated mosquito nets so the Malaria doesn’t spread and kill more children and grandparents who are most susceptible. 

- The poor drink water that animals urinate, defecate and die in.  We complain about the taste of our tap water and drink bottled water but Bright Hope digs wells so communities can have sustainable clean water for many years.

- Many of the global poor have no education or access to education.  We grumble when classrooms are over crowded or college tuition goes up but Bright Hope helps local communities build schools, supplies school uniforms and age appropriate textbooks. 

I’m proud to be a servant of God in this ministry.  It’s not for my glory anymore – it’s for God’s glory.  He’s the one who opened my eyes to see what He sees, feel what He feels then challenged me to do something.  To put Compassion into Action.

Submitted by: Brittany Mueller

Deep brown eyes speckled with hope and hunger stared down from the brick wall.  His hands reached forth as if summoning the goodness to emerge from the souls who had gathered below.  A weak smile frozen on his youthful face, he waited halfway across the world for sustenance.  Above his head floated the words, “even a dollar can make a difference”.  The oversized poster was plastered by the mall’s entrance, directly visible from Jeff‘s apartment on the third floor. As a result, each day he awoke to find the child studying him hopefully. If the poster held the power of observation or reasoning, it would have long averted its gaze to find a more willing caregiver. In fact, if it possessed even so much as one brain cell, it would have relocated so as not to waste another nanosecond looking to Jeff for so much as a cent.  As it was, the poster remained staring fixedly into an apartment littered with wine bottles, bags of untouched clothing, and mounds of videogames and movie stubs.   Watching longingly each day as Jeff came home with yet another gallon of milk, the majority of which would be thrown away the following day, and a thirty dollar order of Japanese sushi on which he would nibble before disposing of as well.  Although his gaze was constant, it seemed to go unnoticed by Jeff.  It was only the first week of Jeff’s residency, in fact, that he had glanced at the poster. Even then it was with contempt, “a dollar would make a difference,” he scoffed, “only if your parking meter is about to expire”. After that, his life had continued without as much as a thought about his starving neighbor.  It wasn’t until a humid night in July that the poster’s eyes flashed and smile broadened mischievously.

The scorching sun blazed down upon Jeff who recoiled from the heat. Tossing and turning, he searched for the cool comfort of his fan. Not finding it, he groped for the water bottle he propped next to his bed.  As his hand closed around a rough object, his mind twitched. Realizing he could not identify the object by touch alone, he slowly raised his eye lid. They closed on impulse upon seeing the burning orb above. To block its intensity, he cupped this hand over his eyes to give them a place to open in peace. He sat up and removed his hand.  His pulse quickened his breath followed suit until he released the inevitable scream.  Nothing was familiar as he scanned the barren plateau.  There was no explanation, no note, no stores, no cars, no nothing, except he realized, following the hairs on his neck, a group of children staring at him in wonder. They had heard his scream and come running, but upon seeing Jeff they seemed at a loss for the reason of his cry. Dismissing him after one last glance, the first child turned and was soon followed by the rest of the group. Frantic, Jeff stumbled to his feet and followed, acknowledging them as his only chance.  After what seemed an incredible distance for children to have run in the first place, Jeff caught sight of what appeared to be a stream.  An overpowering thirst struck him immediately and he sprinted to the edge. Cupping his hands in anticipation he plunged them deep into thick, filthy water. He let it slosh through his hands back into the stagnant stream, his hopes falling with it. Looking to his left, he watched in horror as a small girl scooped up the water and drank deeply. The mud still dripping from her dark face she resumed digging near a withered tree with the rest of the children. A skeletal boy let out a victorious cry as he produced a tangled root from the ground.  A look of fear immediately attacked his small face and he sprang to his feet. It was too late, however; the other children were already on top of him prying the root from his small hands. The fight ensued before Jeff’s eyes until three bony men came and separated the children.  All was silent as the children slowly surrendered in their father’s arms. The root was confiscated by the men and a jumble of sounds poured from the tallest man’s mouth. In response, the children and other men followed.  Noticing Jeff, the man came and held out his hand. Hesitantly Jeff took it and for the first time stared at his hands. They were small, dark, and callused. He could see his every bone and was amazed his brittle wrist could support even the weight of his thumb. Sure enough, upon examining his feet he found them to be similar and when he stood, he noticed he only came up to the man’s knee. With an impatient tug, the man pulled Jeff along until they reached a small village dotted with earthen huts.  There were people sprawled in the streets men and women alike breathing shallowly and licking dusty lips. Among them, outsiders ran distributing what little water and food they had. When none was left, they sat and comforted the children with swollen stomachs and pained eyes.  The man released Jeff and gave the root to one of the outsiders who mumbled what seemed to be thanks and began preparing the root. Upon finishing she distributed it among the children until even Jeff found a small morsel pressed lovingly into his hand.  When he opened his mouth to respond, a stream of unfamiliar words came from his lips. She answered in the same language and this time he understood.  Gathering his courage, he asked “why are these people so hungry?” Surprised, the lady responded, “You must know that if we had more food we would give it to you all. We are trying, but this month’s supply has run out. Hopefully, soon more will come so we can eat a full meal a day. Doesn’t that sound good? One whole meal. Even it is just a little, it will help. Just wait, my dear, more will come. We have pictures and messages telling people of our needs, they will listen. You’ll see. ” Heavy tears welled in Jeff’s eyes and he watched as the dry earth absorbed them. He closed his eyes and reflected on the world around him. He could see their faces, exhausted with hunger and yet still marked with hope. Opening his eyes he saw the poster child’s patient face observing his.  With a new found purpose, Jeff read confidently “even a dollar can make a difference.” A soft smile played over the poster’s face and in a twinkling, it was gone.

I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.  I was hoping to have a glorious story of the celebration of Jesus’ resurrection amidst the simplicity of life in a small African village. Just as the disciples expected Jesus to reign in glory as King of the Jews instead of hanging on the cross, so did I expect this Easter to be filled with triumphant celebration, instead of casual indifference.

Easter morn greeted us with bright sunshine, singing birds, blooming trees and a buzz around the house that indicates it is going to be more than a typical day.  I opened my suitcase to pull out some clothes for the day.  There was one piece of clothing I had been saving, something new, so that even if everybody else failed to celebrate Easter, at least I would have something special.   It was a red, frilly skirt; the peasant type that has been in-style for the past couple of years.  It was out of character for me, but it made me smile. In a small rural town, plagued with premature death and disease, you need some things that will make you smile.  

The church met in the classroom of a small Bible school.  My friend and I took some seats that were open in the front row.   We sat on some dreadfully uncomfortable chairs that were pulled up to ancient looking wooden desks. We arrived just in time to join in singing “Up from the grave He arose.”   The people sang without accompaniment, definitely with their own rhythm.  Most of the hymns I recognized, though it was hard to tell without the music.  The people sang loudly, but not passionately; reverently, but as if their hearts were in far off places.   

The rest of the service was disjointed. Seeming not much more than a formality, people continued on with their singing… songs about when our sins were as black as can be, later washed white as snow.   I understand now, the resentment lying quietly at the bottom of their voices. They are supposed to be excited about their sins washed as white as snow but have never seen snow. They have only seen the snow white faces of the men by whom they have felt oppressed.   

Back at the house, my friend and I sat on the porch eating mini-apple pies we had made for lunch.  The rest of our host family did not even eat together.  The food sat on the table most of the day, covered with a mesh cloth to keep the flies away until people were ready to eat.  The usual household chores seemed to dominate the afternoon’s activities.

So there you have it.  No pomp and circumstance, no egg hunts or chocolate bunnies, no “The Lord IS Risen” “He is Risen in Deed!” No all-church breakfasts or fancy brunches with friends.   The day had come and gone.  Without my frilly red skirt it would have come and gone the same as any other day.   Maybe that was how it was for most people on the true Easter day… nothing extraordinary. On a day like any other, only a few rejoiced in the news of the life resurrected while the rest remained disbelieving or completely unaware of the day’s significance.  

As I lay in bed, I thought of a line from a hymn, “Where now death is your sting?” At home, we sing it in confidence, knowing that even in death Satan cannot take our lives, for we have the promise of life eternal. I think the people of this poverty stricken village have been stung so many times by death that they almost not dare to hope for the salvation offered though the resurrection of Jesus.   Otherwise, how could they not dance with joy and celebrate with gladness? For the real Easter is more magical than Christmas, more relevant than church and far more powerful than death.   Without it, there is little meaning in all else that we do. 

Taken from the travel journal of Sarah Satterberg

Submitted by: Manette Monteclaro

On my trip to the village of Nagasi, I met a young lady by the name of Josie Montoya, who has been a part of the Nagasi Baptist church for eleven years and is now serving as a nurse aide in the clinic. Here is her story:

“My name is Josie Montoya, I am twenty years old and I started going to the Nagasi Church at the age of nine when Pastor Levi started it. I grew up with my parents and three other brothers. I am the second to the youngest and the only girl. Like most of the children in our village, I grew up in a poor family. My father works at the sugar cane plantation, chopping sugar canes, loading them in to a truck and bringing them to the sugar mills. His work day begins at six in the morning until four thirty in the afternoon. With this back-breaking job under the heat of the sun, he earns P200 ($5) a week to provide food and clothing for his family of six. He gets paid every Friday. My mother stays home to care for the family especially one of my brothers who has epilepsy.

“Together with my family, I started attending church at the age of nine. When I reached the age of fourteen, I accepted the Lord as my personal Lord and Savior. I began to understand what He did for me and how much He cares for the people of the world. With my faith growing stronger everyday, I became involved in the ministries of the church especially with children. I helped with the preschool kids. Later, I became very interested in the youth ministry during my high school days and even started singing in the choir.

“Since my parents cannot afford to send me to college, I began to pray for God to supply my needs. I got a scholarship from the Nagasi church and went to a nearby school and studied midwifery. It took me three years to finish my course. Being grateful for the opportunity of getting an education, I am now very much involved in church ministries. When the Family clinic opened as the result of Bright Hope’s support, I assisted the head nurse who was in charge of the clinic. Together, we do basic health care education especially for expectant mothers and mothers with very young children. With the limited supply of medicines, we help those who cannot afford to buy pain medicines, allergy tablets, cough drops, and antibiotic ointments for minor bruises. The clinic provides basic health care services for the village since the nearest medical center is still an hour away.

“I am so grateful to Bright Hope for its support to the Nagasi project without which the clinic would not be made available for the people in the village. I am a recipient of your kindness and generosity. I am able to help others and use the gifts God has given me to make a difference. You have given me hope and the many children who are part of our school and church. Thank you and may God bless you all.”

Truly, Bright Hope has made a difference in the lives of the people of Nagasi.

Our partner in Uganda tells us this story about his visit to a refugee camp in the northern part of the country . This camp is home to thousands of destitute men, women, and children displaced by decades of civil strife and oppression.

“I had just completed a training seminar for pastors and church leaders in this region, followed by an open evangelistic outreach. During the outreach, I shared the love of Christ with the people, who had suffered for so long. I told them that God cared about them and that He would bring them hope for their future.”

After sharing the Gospel message with a large crowd of people, I was preparing to leave the camp. Suddenly, one of the camp leaders placed a small box in the middle of the crowd. He asked the people to come forward and give me whatever they could to show their appreciation of my visit. “Butch gave us the Word of God,,” said the leader, “and now we need to give something to him.”

“I didn’t want to take anything from these people, who were in such obvious and desperate need themselves. I was greatly humbled in my spirit and I couldn’t even speak, as I watched them come forward one by one to drop whatever they could into the box. I remember seeing an elderly woman, crippled and hunched over, as she dropped 100 shillings (about a nickel) into the box. A few people carried their chickens (one of the few they had) and placed them near the box as their gift.”

The total of this collection was about $58 U.S. dollars, which doesn’t sound like much, but considering it was given by people in this kind of poverty, it t was a remarkable gesture indeed.

“The people in these camps are not beggars,” Butch said. “They want to work and earn a living. They want to take care of their families. But they have very little, if any, way to make a living, in their current situation.”

Your gift to Bright Hope’s projects in Uganda and with refugee families will help people like these to gain a foothold to a better future. Thank you for remembering them.

By Aaron Subich

I was talking with a friend last weekend about the genius of the placement of the kitchen window above the sink in her cabin. The view was superb, and the scenery before me — a pond, creek, field, sky, and wooded hill was captivating.

I realized later that night, the kitchen sink in my own house had a window above it, with a very picturesque scene as well. Only, I had long been bored with the view and no longer paid attention to it. There is simply no expectation that I will see anything worth seeing. I confess that its like that in many areas of my life - I don’t have many expectations of things being new, or worthwhile, or impactful. 

There is this barrier up not unlike the kitchen window.

This picture however, slammed right through that barrier like a well struck golf ball.

You don’t want to look at it, but it compels you to look. It might even, like it did me, bring some tears to your eyes. Maybe you feel guilt. I felt anger. Just God – Really?! How? And kind of amazingly, the answer came…

Me? I’m an answer?!?

“What, what in the world do a little, starving African child hours from death, and me, a successful American in his 20’s with the world available to him have in common?” I asked.

The answer to that… we both have a common creator and a just God. It is kinda scary to think about. I have so much. She has nothing. I have a future, security, food, friends, family, wealth, comfort, health, even entertainment. She has sores and dysentery, is starving, could have AIDS or has lost family members to AIDS, and clearly is alone (unless you welcome the company of vultures), and unless a series of dramatic events occur rapidly to her betterment, she won’t see tomorrow.

Why is that scary to me?… precisely because God is a God of justice. God, being just, clearly knows the innocence of that poor soul, and He surely knows the wealth I enjoy every day. Just imagine that if my emotions rise up and I became furious at this injustice; this atrocity, pictured above, that is so graphic in its reality we can barely abide it… Just imagine the indignation God himself must have for those that go on living as though they hadn’t seen this picture.

In any event, I watched my little brother apologize profusely for the wayward golf ball he once knocked through my parent’s kitchen window. You know,… the one right over the sink.

I can only hope this one breaks through yours in the same way.

There were 356 kids in the Primary School and 102 in the Secondary School from our October 2007 visit. There have been significant improvements to the buildings and the program from our last visit, but there is much yet that can and needs to be done. School supplies and books are few. A library has been started but there are very few resources for them to pull from. Food is being supplied to the school boarders, very basic but filling.

There is a constant stream of children wanting to get into the schools. This is a drain on the partnership as they are under resourced to take on more children, but their motives are genuine.

The community is very positive about the services that are being provide. There is good support from the local government officials.

The leaders of this project are highly motivated and are caring for and educating many kids. They are in need of more resources to make the education that they provide more effective and the children’s home more comfortable. These things will be addressed on our next visit. This project will also be receiving Med Packs in the early spring!