The van bounced and groaned its way down roads scattered with ebony-skinned women, barefoot babies, and goats on leashes. “Boda Bodas,” loaded with people and supplies, zipped in and out of traffic, defying death with each pass. I had just landed in Entebbe, Uganda, and after a serene lunch on the shores of Lake Victoria, the team was taking me to visit Namuwongo, the poorest and second largest of Kampala’s seven slums. I took in my surroundings as we navigated through the traffic. The city was abuzz with sites and sounds to take in. Dilapidated buildings stood astute with laundry drying in the windows, groups of locals lounged in doorways, and unattended children seemed to scurry about everywhere. Trucks with loads of people stacked high in the cargo bed passed by as vehicles honked and people shouted.
As we wound through the chaotic streets of Kampala, I questioned how much worse living environments would have to be for a place to be considered a slum. The van rounded the corner of a back alley where the red dirt road eroded into a washed-out dirt path lined with shanties. Immediately, you knew that this was a slum. The people walking, sitting, and lying in the streets also knew it. Their eyes, hollow, downtrodden, and void of hope, acknowledged the emptiness that we saw in this forsaken place. Garbage and run-off sewage trickled down the sides of the pathway where leather-faced men sat drinking and vendors cooked on an open fire. As I watched a man roasting golden corn, the bus stopped. Our guides started murmuring about something blocking the way, and I looked out the side window on the sliding bus door to see a lady seated on the road directly next to us, dangerously close to the van. I couldn’t tell if she was missing legs or if they were extended under the vehicle she was so close. She sat unbothered, not moving, and seemingly oblivious to the van. We slowly inched forward, and I gasped that we might run over her legs. Our driver gestured to the road before him and threw his hands up in exasperation. I saw a man lying on his back, arms stretched above his head, blocking the road on the front left side of the van. People lining the streets watched as we attempted to maneuver the van. They talked, laughed, and looked on without attempting to help. Two young kids rolled around, kicking each other on the other side of the road. Our guides shook their heads and, with heavy sighs, told us that this was the problem in the slums. People lose hope, have nothing to look forward to, and spend the day high or drunk. These people were so intoxicated that they couldn’t even get out of the road. Or perhaps it’s possible that getting run over by a van full of people while your friends and family stand by watching seems like a better fate than the stark reality of living one more day of hell in this god-forsaken place.
We found a place to park at the end of the main strip and began to unload. My breath caught in my throat, and I felt my chest tighten as the anxiety of being in an unknown place sunk in. I watched as the people of the slum eyed the van and looked me up and down with a skeptical eye. I quickly pulled off my earrings and ring trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible. Funny, as I was one of two white people in the midst of tens of thousands of Ugandans. It was impossible to blend in.
Our team greeted the leaders who would guide us through the slum. A young 24-year-old girl and her male friend gestured for us to follow them. We turned off of the main road and onto a back pathway strewn with garbage and mud. I followed the guides as I navigated the uneven surface, stepping over a steel rod sticking up from the ground and ducking to avoid a sharp tin overhang. As we walked, I tiptoed around the stream of rancid-smelling water. I looked away and chose to breathe through my mouth as I dismissed thoughts of raw sewage running below my feet. The sun was setting, and the pathway quickly became dark. We cautiously traversed the narrow walkways with flashlights from the guide’s phones, attempting to avoid deep trenches and unmarked obstacles. With each turn, we found ourselves deeper in the slum as light slipped away. It seemed as if we would never reach our destination. With each step further into the slum, my chest grew tighter. Nightfall seemed to wrap the slum in a blanket of darkness covered with tension, anxiety, fear, and utter hopelessness. Naked babies squealed as we passed by and barefoot toddlers came running out of doorways to join us. Older siblings filed in with babies strapped to their backs and admonished the young ones to keep quiet. Adults sat silently in open doorways, skeptically eying us as we passed by. Finally, we turned left, crossed a ravine, walked up a hill, and found ourselves in an opening amongst the shanties. Small children ran up and took suckers that our team was handing out as we climbed the steps to a row of shanty houses perched on a higher level.
This row of houses had a catwalk that we gathered on as our young guide asked the children to get their mom. Two young girls, 18, maybe 20, greeted us with babies on their hips at the entrance to the home. Our team lead introduced himself in Lugandan to the girls and asked how we could pray for them. In their native language, they replied to him. His eyes turned to the ground as he took a deep breath and choked back emotions. After gathering himself, he shared with the group, “They would like us to pray for the girls in this community because they have no opportunity in life other than prostitution.” My heart broke. Holding my hand over my heart, I felt overwhelmed with emotion. I saw no opportunity, options, or way for these girls to escape this harsh truth. Our team lead asked if “Mama Texas” would pray for these girls and this house. My heart was overwhelmed with emotion, but my spirit was forcibly pressed upon by the holy spirit. I stood with goosebumps on my arms and heart racing, fighting back tears. I couldn’t speak. The breath caught in my throat as a lump formed. How do you pray for someone and encourage them when you see no hope in their situation? All eyes on me, I silently asked the Lord to strengthen me as I resisted succumbing to my emotions. “I’m not sure I can,” I whispered. He smiled at me, giving me an encouraging nod. I closed my eyes and internally prayed that God would give me the words and use me as a vessel to deliver what he would have these girls hear. I took a deep breath and prayed for these girls to know their value, worth, and identity in Christ. I prayed that they would not be defined by their circumstances or believe what their physical eyes can see because God is breaking through for them and making a way in spaces they can not yet see. I prayed against strongholds and bondage. I declared freedom over these girls and this place. We finished praying, thanked the girls for letting us visit, and continued on the path, walking past a bar with men loitering. The energy around us shifted from desperation and hopelessness to something more sinister, something that felt as bad as the air smelt. Body odor, stale beer, and garbage seemed to be the aroma of an underlying wickedness at play. I shrugged off the chill that ran down my spine and pulled my overshirt tighter around me. Glancing back over my shoulder to see if the girls were still gathered on the stoop, I realized the bar was connected to the girls’ home. I wondered if the girls had been asking for prayer for themselves rather than making a general request. Had we just declared victory over strongholds while standing on the steps of a brothel?
My heart broke as we walked away from the girls’ home. I thought to myself, “How can one speak words of life and be a beacon of hope in such a desolate place? Jesus, give me strength.” As we traversed more meandering footpaths blanketed in darkness, we arrived at the home of a young mother. I peeked inside. Small children scurried about as the mother sat cooking meat over a charcoal burner while smoke filled the air. She smiled and greeted us, welcoming us inside her home. I hesitated as our guides nudged me into the tiny room constructed out of mud. I could feel the anxiety begin to rise within my chest. What foreign germs might lie inside those four walls? I entered and sat on a stool, trying to ignore the smoke and putrid smell of whatever was cooking on the burner. Sweet babies giggled and peeked out from behind their mother as they shyly waited to greet us. Our leader asked the young woman her name and how to pray for her. She told us her husband was out of work, and they needed help. She wanted us to pray for him to get a job and to become closer to God. She shared that they were behind on rent by nine months, but her landlord understood. I hadn’t considered that these people were actually paying to live in these vile circumstances. She continued. Her five babies had nothing to eat, so her husband was out gathering whatever he could find in the slum to feed the family. I glanced over at the smoking burner. Small greyish-colored chunks of meat sat sizzling, releasing an unpleasant odor. I shook my head and dismissed thoughts of what disease-ridden rodent this family might be having for dinner. I looked around at the smiling babies. Aside from hunger, they were oblivious to the hopeless situation surrounding them. We joined hands with the young mother and prayed for God to bless this family. We prayed that her husband would know Christ as his personal savior and rise up to be the spiritual leader of this household. We prayed that as hard as he worked to find food to feed his family, he would work just as hard to feed them spiritually. We thanked God for being a God of provision who meets our needs. Even as the words came out of my mouth, I was silently asking God to help my unbelief.
We passed through the group of curious children who had gathered outside the home and stopped to speak with them. Their smiles spread ear to ear with their white teeth beaming as they talked about Jesus. The giggles and laughter were contagious, and I pondered the concept of joy amongst sorrow. We set off once again on a treacherous footpath as our team urged us to wrap it up and head to the van. Safety was becoming a factor as dark as it was now and with as many children that had gathered. We hurriedly moved through the path, returning to the van. The young lady guiding us stopped at one side of the path, asking if we could visit her home. We obliged and followed her down the pathway to find her mother cleaning up. She ushered us next door to the sitting room, and we squeezed into the tiny barren space as her children joined us. Mama carried mats and benches in for us to sit on. As we waited, I looked around the small, cramped room. The walls were covered with mismatched fabric, and shiny gold synthetic drapes covered one side of the room, creating a makeshift closet. I peeked between gaps in the fabric, wondering if this hidden space was for storage or where the children slept. We took our seats on plastic chairs as Mama spread a mat for the children to sit on, and she and her husband took a seat on the bench. She began sharing with us how she and her husband had eight children, naming them off in order of birth. She praised God for the blessings in her life and shared that she and her husband were both believers who had given their lives to Christ and wanted to share that with others. Mama asked us to pray for God’s provision that the family could find land somewhere to build on, leave this slum, and help others get out. The energy in this humble home was different. Not only was the room full of the children, their parents, and visitors, but it also held a feeling of hope, joy, faith, and love. This family had no more earthly possessions than anyone else in the slum, but they were rich in spirit. Jesus really does change everything. I looked up to see our guide perched in the doorway. Because of her faith and hope amidst despair, others were coming to know Christ.
Matt 5:16 “Let your light shine before others that they may see your good deeds and glorify your father in Heaven.”
We said goodbye and made our way back to the van, each of us walking quietly, processing the slum and its inhabitants. Back on the main roadway, we gathered at the van, linked arms, and began to pray over this place. Night-time market-goers passed by, peering at us as we continued to lift up the two young people obediently walking out God’s call. We prayed that God would empower them to continue doing the good work in this place that he had begun. As we climbed back into the van, I looked at the two, smiling and waving in the middle of the dirt road lined with filth, chaos, and debauchery. The darkness that had covered us in the tight pathways seemed to echo sentiments of the spirit of the slum, but the light was shining in the darkness, and the darkness had not overcome it.
How can you help?
- Support Mugabi Miracles The founder and team are native Ugandans who have a heart for creating systemic change in this country.
- Pray for the people of Namuwongo that they would be filled with the hope and joy of Jesus and that their spirits would be renewed.
- Pray for resources that will economically empower the residents of Namuwongo. The societal and cultural issues are complex, but God is a God of breakthroughs.
God makes beautiful things out of the dust. PS 103:13-14
