When both our running shoes disappeared from our front porch, we were certain someone had stolen them. Just the night before, we had heard scuffling sounds outside our window.
Cliff had gone out to check the scene, but saw no one. Now that our shoes were missing, we knew it was foul play.
Our first thoughts drifted to the inpatient clinic next door. Often, visitors lingered, many from poor backgrounds. When we informed the security and administrator staff of the NGO compound we stay upon, they were indignant for us, taking action immediately to get to the bottom of this.
“I’ll help you ask the nurse to keep a lookout for the shoes when she does her rounds. There is a very poor family staying with us at the moment, so… ”
Two pairs of running shoes were just that- they weren’t our passports or our life savings. Yet, they were personal items, something we used every morning. Feeling betrayed, we both shook our heads, blaming ourselves for letting our guard down. We should have kept those shoes indoors.
Just then, I was reminded of the panic we were thrown into one evening, when, on our way home from buying groceries, Cliff could not find our car keys.
“It’s okay sweetie, stay calm. Just retrace your steps, you’ll find them.”
After scouring both levels of the building, with the staff of a nearby café mobilizing themselves to help us too, we found nothing. With the sky darkening, our frozen food thawing out, our tummies hungry for dinner and our dusty car waiting for us in the parking lot, we felt helpless. What would we do? Who should we call? How would we make our way home?
The thought of us staying behind all night waiting for the car-thief to appear made me shudder. I tried to recall situations where Cliff could have potentially been pickpocketed, but recollected none. The store was fairly empty.
After what seemed like an hour of frenzied hunting, I turned to Cliff, “Hey, do you remember the fellow sitting outside the grocery store? Have you asked him?”
In Uganda, it is not uncommon for security to frisk you before entering a building. Outside grocery stores, staff usually check your belongings thoroughly for weapons, and make sure you keep your bags with them, to prevent shoplifting. That evening, as the staff asked Cliff to hand over his backpack, Cliff refused, choosing to wait downstairs for me instead. Carrying both our laptops in his backpack, he did not feel safe leaving them with a complete stranger.
Being in a foreign land, one tends to keep one’s guard up: when we had travelled to Burundi, a ten-minute parking of our rented vehicle resulted in a missing side mirror, opportunistically stolen by a swift thief. In the past month, we knew of 3 missionary families who had their homes broken into.
As I tried to console myself over the loss of my running shoes, Cliff said to me, “Hey, do you think one of the cleaners took them? As in, to clean them for us?”
“What, really? I don’t think so. Why would anyone do that? ”
Given we had nothing to lose, I half-heartedly gave Vee, a lovely Ugandan cleaning lady at the NGO a call. Over the months, she had become a dear friend, touching us with her friendship, humility and diligent work ethic. During termite season, she would go out of her way to sweep our yard, so our front door would not be blanketed with dead, inch-large termites, which attracted dozens of crows and monkeys to our home.
“Hi Vee, sorry to call you so early in the morning. I just wanted to ask…”
“Oh Wai, are you looking for your shoes? I took them. I just thought it would be nice to wash them for you and Cliff. They’re not dry yet, but I’ll send them back end of today! SORRY I was so busy yesterday I forgot to text you!”
Speechless, I sat down at our front porch, feeling embarrassed. All the possibilities of villagers jumping over our fence to steal our belongings, visitors loitering around our home and eyeing our items, and inpatients sneaking around our place late at night evaporated immediately, turning into a red flush rising up in my face.
All that had happened, was really just a generous gesture of kindness, sprinkled with a pinch of forgetfulness.
“Are you okay, Wai Jia?” Cliff asked, noticing my sudden pensiveness.
“Yes, I am,” I replied.
In actual fact, I was humbled by our African friends. More often than not, we are quick to jump to conclusions. While we claim to serve the people we say we are called to love, we become immediately suspicious when we lose what is dear to us. True, instances of theft and burglary are real. Yet, over the past few months, the love of many of our new friends encouraged us deeply.
That flustered evening, with both our hearts in a knot with missing car-keys, Cliff took my suggestion and trudged half-heartedly to the man sitting outside the grocery store, the one we did not wish to leave our belongings with because we did not trust him.
“Ssebo (sir), I lost my car keys. I was wondering if you had seen them?”
“Yes, I found them on the floor just now! I’m glad they belong to YOU!”
Steve has since become a dear friend, smiling at us whenever we get our weekly stash of food. The irony of the whole situation left us blushing.
I am learning, that while it is prudent to be careful with our belongings, it is not right to assume the worst of people, simply because they are different. Not every “poor man” deserves our suspect when we lose something from our own carelessness, or stupidity. Being careful is good, but stereotyping others is not.
Though we have experienced corruption on some occasions, we have also experienced the genuine friendship, camaraderie, loyalty and integrity of our African friends on numerous accounts.
At a convenient store one evening, as two strong, chubby arms enveloped me from behind, I spun around defensively, ready to give the pervert some kick-ass, only to find the matronly storekeeper beaming at me. After seeing us patronize her shop regularly, all she wanted was to give me a hug.
A hug!
Just a few months ago, the police had to be called to prevent an angry mob outside our home from nearly killing a man for petty theft, because the community was outraged by the dishonest act. Our pastor friend shared with us that just last year, he himself had to call the authorities to stop villagers from confronting a man they had found to have stolen curtains from his village church.
“The villagers were so mad that they were shouting at the thief, ‘You can steal our things, but don’t you go to that building to steal, you hear?!” Even those not belonging to the church had developed a fierce sense of protective loyalty to it, seeing it as a center of love, and a blessing to the community at large.
So while we won’t be leaving our running shoes outdoors anymore, we’ll also be thanking God for the amazing people we have had the opportunity not only to serve, but to learn from, people who would go the extra mile to show love and demonstrate their loyalty- people we can proudly call Friends.
” A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.”
– Proverbs 17:17