Nick and Tessa in Kisiizi

The Interrogation: Tel Aviv Airport

 

After bumbling suspiciously at passport control in our sleepy stupor, Nick was taken into the interrogation room for further questioning…

Security: ‘Where will you be staying?”

Nick: “With someone we met online, its “couch surfing”,  an online international organization…

Security (quickly): An online international organization? (Terrorists???)

 

Security: How much money do you have.

Nick: None.

Security: How do you plan to get into the city with no money?

After Nick displayed his credit card, they rolled their eyes and let us through. Through the door, a big cuddly bear offering Valentine flowers didn’t really compensate. Nice try Israel. The real contrast was being welcomed into Ori’s apartment, our awesome couch surfing host. He makes his own bread, museli, beer and chai tea, studies Chinese and loves discussing food!

 

The Wall

Of which we now have several chunks.

The illegal wall that snakes through “Israel” dividing the Palestinians is high, imposing and well guarded.  There is no way you could jump this thing. We went there on a bus full of Palestinians returning to Bethlehem from work in Jerusalem. Despite crowding on ‘the other side,’ the Israeli side is barren and stark. Even Israel’s own high court has condemned the wall.

 

“The people are divided, but connected by their roof tops”

The three Abrahamic religions collide in the old city of Jerusalem. In the bustling markets that fill the streets, you can buy Jewish skull caps, Catholic prayer beads, and colorful head scarfs. In Athens, the ruins are the past. Here, all the important sites are still used for worship and bitterly fought over. Jews wail at the wall longing for the return of their temple, on the rock where Muslims pray in a massive golden dome “of the rock”.  The key Christian site where Jesus (supposedly)  was crucified and buried is now contained within one church. Demoninations are still squabbling over it. Just before we came there was a punch up between Greek Orthodox and Armenian monks! Amazingly though, everyone seems to get on with life together in the old city. While the city is religiously segregated into quarters, Muslims still buy their oranges from Jews. Conflict is the exception rather than the rule. 

 

Religion is visible. Most men have crocheted skull caps- these are the ‘conservative jews’.

‘Orthodox’ Jews wear ridiculous huge black hats and funny curling dangly side burns which look incredibly tempting to tug, While muslim women wear Hajib, the Jewish women all look like me, which Nick finds disturbing. I had several people each day come up to me and ask me something in Hebrew.

 

Where Jesus Walked…

 

We walked on the Mount of Olives where Jesus preached, through the stations of the cross, and on the site of the old Jewish temple, where the High Priests made sacrifices. We saw two places which groups claimed to be where Jesus and his disciples had the last supper, and the stone where it is said Jesus’s body was lade when he was taken down from the cross.

 

The site of Jesus’s crucifixion was unrecognizable to my imagination, a clutter of golden glitzy icons, images, and elaborate swinging lamps that look like straight out of Aladin (clearly the protestant coming out in me..). The Mount of Olives gave me tingles though- olives still grow abundantly, I could picture Jesus sitting to teach, in site of the Temple.

More than anything, I got ‘Jerusalem orientated’. Nick and I were reading a verse in Acts the other day, where Luke describes how the ‘whole of Jerusalem’ quickly flocks to crowd angrily around Paul. Suddenly we had a vivid picture of the city in our minds. We could quite easily imagine the population of Jerusalem congregating rapidly as word spread. We walked from one end to the other in 20 minutes- the place just isn’t that big! 

Loving you - peace out. At the moment we are celebrating good News from a number of sources from home

 

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NEW PHOTOS YAY from Jerusalem…
Ahoy beloved friends from home, those harking from the “Island nation” as foreigners like to call it. We have now left Uganda and are dropping in on a few places on the way (loosely on the way) home.

 We are pleased to inform you that all the money donated to Kisiizi hospital through us ($1200 NZ) has been passed on. Half of it has been given to general hospital funds, most of which goes toward paying the beautiful people we befriended (a monthly financial struggle). The other half was given to the Good Samaritan Fund, which pays the bills for those who have no money at all.

Its not bittersweet to be leaving, its just sad. I know Tessa is with me when I say we would have stayed longer. (We do love you guys, really :p). We did not feel we gave anything up, or sacrificed anything living here in Kisiizi. Of course there were new challenges and hard times, but the real challenges here are for the locals, not us. One Ugandan woman who had been to New Zealand remarked bluntly, “In New Zealand, people might jump of a bridge if their boyfriend dumped them, here people are more resilient to problems, they get on with it”

*Irrelevant rant begins*. Apparently we have a shortage of doctors in New Zealand. Before I came here I believed it. What we mean is we have a shortage of doctors to keep up our incredible first world health standards. What we should be complaining about in New Zealand (at least a little) is the shortage of doctors in Uganda. Is our country more important? I am left wondering why we complain so much about a 1 year waiting list for some life changing operation, e.g. a hip replacement, that is not even available in Uganda. What we done about this I’m not sure, but its not right.  *Irrelevant rant ends*

Leaving is an experience in itself, as it is an important part of the culture to make sure you say goodbye to everyone.

 I went across the ponds to see the “Ruchiga warriors” I taught the Haka earlier. I looked forward to seeing the nursing students, for the last time, but was also slightly apprehensive, as I was expecting some requests. “Can you sponsor me to come to your country” and “Can you sponsor my studies” are common as well as the heart shattering “I cant afford to send my kids to school, can you help?” As you can imagine these requests are difficult to manage. On arrival to the nursing school though, I was met by my friend Martin, who after talking for a few minutes said: “I’m sorry we couldn’t manage to get something together for you to remember us by”. This lightened my heart in a place where seemingly good relationships are more often than not made awkward by requests for money. Its’ hard to describe how a new relationship instantly changes after someone has asked you for money. Its not nice. I left the nursing school sad to leave but content having left them with my e-mail address, even though they don’t have e-mails yet… I’ll leave you with a couple of Martin’s comments

“Only 4 million in New Zealand. Ha, obviously not having enough kids. You should bring 50 Ugandans over there and in a few generations they will fill the country”

“You are trying to kill all those animals to protect your trees? Why aren’t they all dead yet? See these boys playing football here, just give them all a panga (machete like knives) and take them to your country and I guarantee you there will be no animals left.”

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