By: David Figg
About 7 months ago we visited Mbarara Primary School and when we got there they wanted to take us to the top of the mountain for worship. So, here we go…
My friend Madad and I begin trekking up the mountain. Madad knew a shortcut so he was my man.
I soon learned that short does not equal quicker or easier. His “shortcut” went straight up the mountain’s steepest part. He stayed by my side the whole way being very caring and encouraging. “Step by step” he would say.
When we got to the top I saw the most amazing view, with an incredible sunset, and stars that I am certain were produced by oxygen deprivation.These kids started into worship by themselves. While I am recovering from my climb, they are jumping, dancing and rejoicing in worship. When we started back down Madad and his brother held my hand the entire way down. Not in a supportive kind of way, but in a friendship way. (This is a cultural difference from us, it is a sign of great friendship).
Part way down I notice Madad limping and I asked if he was ok and he assured me he was and never let go of my hand. Finally, we get to the “road” back to the school. His limping worst, I ask him again. This time he says “no”. So, I get him help from one of the doctors we are with. Turns out he took a large wedge out of his foot (about the size of a half dollar).
This boy didn’t cry, didn’t stop, didn’t complain or whine. He was more concerned about our friendship than his comfort.
As if that isn’t enough, I revisited Madad this week. He instantly remembered me and our mountain trek. His rendition of the story was that I helped him down the mountain (my heavy breathing indicated otherwise). Madad tells me that when he returned home during his academic break, he told his father about our mountain trip. His father’s response was “I can’t believe that a rich man would care enough to help you like that.”