Kituufu: “That’s Right!”

It was just coming to 5pm as we carefully glided our 30′ Sesse canoe past various underwater obstacles into Kituufu’s tiny bay. “It’s either going to be a short meeting, or a drive home in the dark.” I said to my co-pilot, Seth Sokoloff, with a knowing grin. “Actually it will probably be both.” The YWAM team we were transporting had been a few hours late due to unforeseen problems so we had already missed half a day’s worth of ministry, canceling out a church meeting and door to door evangelism, remaining with only an outdoor evangelistic crusade to complete in the next hour or so.

Pastor Joash Batwaya pointed to a decent landing spot and as I steered our ship filled to capacity with 20 inhabitants, a similar vessel came alongside. Rastafarian Alan Somebody unintentionally collided with a third boat coming into port to the disdain of all passengers involved. The scene quieted quickly since such incidences are so commonplace, and we began unloading our sound system and generator to set up for the big event. As we went about our business, the dreadlocked driver was making comments in the Luganda language, suggestively mentioning he ought to get saved, since our young ladies were so good looking. He tossed a Luganda greeting my way so I shot back my familiar response words, prompting the usual surprised looks and comments that a Muzungu knew a bit of their mother tongue.

Alan spoke in English this time as we stood side-by-side securing our engines and clearing out our boats. “Take a drink of this lake water. I did when I first came to these islands, you should too!” We didn’t quite understand what he was shooting at, so let it go and finished our business. The crusade started up in moments without a hitch, despite the church members waiting for us since 10am. Many had become tired and had left, but a small crowd of 25 began singing and beating drums while the generator roared to life and brought with it terribly joyful noises from screaming worship leaders on faulty microphones.

I was called upon to preach with approximately five minutes’ notice, and looked to Jesus for the words to say. I was suddenly led to Isaiah 55:1-2, a passage I had not been meditating on and hadn’t read for some time: “Ho! Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat. Yes, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend money for what is not bread, and your wages for what does not satisfy? Listen carefully to Me, and eat what is good, and let your soul delight itself in abundance.” The message went on to admonish the onlookers to seek satisfaction in the only One who gives living water, causing them to cease their search for fulfillment.

Somewhere in the discourse, I began to talk about drinking from the lake, and noticed Alan standing off to my right, just behind one of the speakers we had placed on a nearby roof. He had been listening, but began to walk away at that point, so from the microphone I called him back to his place and informed the crowd what he had spoken upon our arrival just an hour prior. Now I had his attention.

Michael Kyazze closed out the message and invited the people to surrender their lives to Jesus in the Luganda language. Alan was not only among the seven villagers that responded, he was the first to step forward in front of everyone to receive salvation by faith. When asked what made him come forward, Alan said he’s a mature guy and wants to make good decisions, and this is the best decision he could make. Michael drew his attention to the Rasta gear around his wrists and neck, and instructed him to remove the paraphernalia as a sign of being born again and a new life in Christ. When he hesitated, one of my students from our discipleship program at Life Church stepped in and shared his own story of freedom from the same bondages Alan had faced.

After prayer for our new converts and prayer for sick individuals, the pastors from Kituufu went around collecting names and personal information to ensure proper follow up once our team left. I was confident in their work, as the lead pastor and his wife trained in our Bible school some years back. When all was finished, Pastor Milton quickly ushered us to his small mud and thatch home in the fading light to show us his pet crocodile that had recently been captured on the island.

We prayed for their growing family, rushed to the boat, and in minutes were on the water, headed for Osanidde Village where we would lay our heads for the night. The outline of hills were barely visible on the horizon, but I had memorized their shape upon our departure, and just as I began to doubt my coordinates, the solar powered lights from the orphanage flickered in the distance. I grinned again at Seth. “A short, good meeting, and a dark ride home!”