Mission Moroto Stories: The Ministry Stories We Rarely Tell
In early 2022, after a year and a half, hundreds of documents, countless meetings, many tears, and thousands of dollars spent trying to get Mission Moroto registered as an NGO (Non-Governmental Organization) in Uganda, Rebekah was told that she needed one final document: a recommendation letter from the U.S. Embassy in the capital city of Kampala, eight hours away.
At that time, she also had two children who were scheduled for surgeries in Kampala. Because of a recent serious bus accident, it had become difficult to get a bus from Moroto to Kampala. Rebekah decided to hire a private driver and rent his vehicle because her own vehicle was in pieces in the yard at the time. The driver had been recommended by a friend.
Rebekah, the two children, and a caretaker, Sylvia, left very early in the morning, but because the vehicle kept overheating, they didn’t reach the capital until 9:00 p.m. The heat, the bumpy roads, and the constant weaving in and out of traffic caused Rebekah to vomit out the window multiple times during the journey.
The next morning, they took the children to the hospital. Although the children were scheduled for surgery, the hospital kept delaying the procedures for reasons that were never explained.
While they waited, Rebekah and the driver went to the embassy to obtain the required document. The embassy informed Rebekah that she could not enter without an appointment, something she had not been told. They explained how to make an appointment, but the next available opening was a month away.
Rebekah called the driver to come pick her up. Unbeknownst to her, he had taken the vehicle to a mechanic, and the wheels had been removed because the owner had instructed the mechanic to replace the wheel bearings.
Rebekah told him, “You have one hour to put this vehicle back together.”
As she was speaking with him, her phone rang. She was informed that the children would not be having their surgeries after all.
After arguing with the driver for an hour, they finally picked up the children and the caretaker from the hospital and began the long drive back to Moroto.
The vehicle overheated even worse than before. Rebekah warned the driver, “Put coolant in it. You’re going to blow up this engine. Look at that temperature gauge.”
He replied, “No, this is just how these vehicles drive.”
As they entered Jinja, a town just outside Kampala, at about 7:00 p.m., the engine blew up.
Rebekah gathered the caretaker and the children, flagged down a motorcycle taxi, and asked the driver to take them to the bus station. They would have to take a bus back to Moroto.
When they arrived at the bus station, they were told, “There is no bus going to Moroto, but there is a bus going to Soroti, the closest major city. Unfortunately, it’s completely full—not even one seat is available.”
Rebekah pleaded, “I can’t stay on the street overnight with these children. Please let us on the bus.”
The attendant replied, “If you’re willing to sit on the large sacks of chicken feed, we’ll take you.”
So Rebekah, the caretaker, and the two children climbed onto the sacks of feed and quickly fell fast asleep.
They arrived in Soroti at 2:00 a.m. Although Rebekah had been there before and had stayed at a hotel within walking distance of the bus station, this bus stopped at a different location, and she had no idea where they were.
They walked to a main road, hoping to figure out where to go.
A motorcycle taxi driver stopped and asked, “Muzungu (foreigner), what are you doing out on the street in the middle of the night? Don’t you know this is very unsafe?”
She replied, “Yes. I’m looking for a hotel where I’ve stayed before, but I can’t remember its name.”
He asked, “What does it look like?”
After she described it, he smiled and said, “Yes, I know that one.”
He called another motorcycle taxi, and together the two drivers took Rebekah, the caretaker, and the children to the hotel. Rebekah paid him twice what he normally would have charged to express her appreciation.
They woke the gate guard, who let them into the hotel. After getting some much-needed sleep, they found a small shuttle bus that took them the rest of the way to Moroto.
The following month, the children had their surgeries at a different hospital, and Rebekah returned to Kampala and received the document from the U.S. Embassy—but that is a story for another time.
The driver later took Rebekah to court, trying to make her pay for the blown engine, but he lost.
Our God is great.
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