A KINDRED SPIRIT

“Have we not all one father? Hath not one God created us?”

Bible, Malachi 2:10


On a picture-postcard Sunday afternoon in October 2001, I stood on the fishing pier of Smith Mountain Lake State Park in Huddleston with a visitor from Uganda. The recent horror of September 11, 2001 seemed many worlds away from this quiet paradise. I looked at my new friend, who lived in a world that is many worlds different from mine, and pined that my father could not be here, too, to meet a man whose life would have undoubtedly fascinated him.
Wilson Okaka had just commented that Appalachian Power’s engineering feat was “a creative use of natural resources.” “Nature has blessed this place,” he said with a sigh, as we looked out over the vast expanse of water before us. Suddenly, this reverie was broken when his eyes caught what was, for him, a strange sight back on shore.
“Those fishermen are throwing their catch back into the water!” he cried in astonishment. “Back home, this is unprecedented. There would be a great tug-of-war if you tried to get a Ugandan to throw his fish back into the water.”
“These fellows were probably participating in a tournament,” I reasoned aloud. “We have lots of them here.”
“In Uganda,” Wilson, retorted, “men do not normally fish for sport.”

My guest’s visit to America was sponsored by the International Association of Audio Information Services, a membership organization of reading services providing the printed word to print-impaired individuals. Our course, developed in cooperation with the United States Telecommunications Training Institute, an organization offering tuition-free technical and management training in telecommunications and broadcasting to qualified participants from countries throughout the developing world, was How to Develop an Audio Information Service.
Wilson, who was 43 at the time of his visit, was president of the Northern Uganda Press Association. He was also a lecturer on Environmental Communications at Kyambogo University in Kampala. He has served as Assistant Secretary in the Ministries of Information, Labour, Energy and Culture and Community Development. His curriculum vitae lists 22 papers at various conferences and seminars throughout Africa and abroad.
Now, Wilson Okaka had traveled to Roanoke, Virginia from Africa to learn what I could teach him about radio broadcasting. I was in awe of this man, though. How can I justify his long trip to America after I have taught him all I know? Will it be enough? How can I ensure that he will have a truly worthwhile experience in this country?
On the shores of beautiful Smith Mountain Lake in Bedford County, I breathed a sigh of relief as Wilson viewed the spectacle back on shore. It would be just as important for him to see America and how Americans live as it would be for him to see WVTF’s transmitter atop Poor Mountain. Indeed, we would learn much from each other, and we did.
Wilson loved what he saw during his seven days in Virginia. Along with Smith Mountain Lake in Bedford County, he ate in a fast-food restaurant for the first time (King Burger, he called it), stared in amazement at the size of the Walmart Supercenter at Valley View in Roanoke, and visited my family farm. Proudly, I showed him a horse-drawn plow my father used as a boy, thinking he would be impressed by this piece of Bedford County agricultural memorabilia. I was humbled, though, when he said that he had seen many of them. Ugandans, he said matter-of-factly as he munched on an apple he had picked from a nearby tree, still use them.

Wilson did not come to Roanoke for a tour, though. He came to the United States on a mission. Ten percent of his fellow countrymen have vision problems which are due, in no small part, to inadequate health care. The rate of illiteracy in his homeland is absurdly high. Many people who can read are unable to afford to buy newspapers and magazines. At the time of this writing, the wage of the average Ugandan was 40,000 shillings a month. 2000 Ugandan shillings equal one American dollar.
The average Ugandan has no experience with cable television, DVD players or iPods. The average Ugandan does not even own a radio. As early as five years ago, there was only one government-operated station in the whole country. Now that the industry has been privatized, there are now about 70 stations, and Wilson sees in them an opportunity to bring the printed word to the vision-impaired and the illiterate.
Wilson took home a model of how we meet the needs of Americans who can no longer read standard newsprint. He was impressed by both the model and the cadre of volunteers we depend on to make it a success. He asked many questions. He read scores of newspapers, magazines, brochures and training materials I gave him. Then, he asked more questions.
“I am thankful to be here,” Wilson said to everyone he met.
I, on the other hand, was thankful to hear him express this sentiment. Though a great gulf separates our lifestyles, he was not critical of ours but, instead, applauded it. Less than a month after the horrific terrorist attacks on our soil, it was refreshing to hear someone from a developing country praise the United States and its way of life.
“If I were banished to a desert island,” Wilson said at our dinner table on his last night in America, I would only ask for two things: a radio, and a Bible.” A Bible in Uganda is both rare and expensive. In August, Wilson allowed himself an extravagance, and he purchased a new King James version at a cost of 20,000 Ugandan shillings. He plans on keeping it at his office.
“This way,” he explained, “if something happens to my old one,” I’ll have a bit of security.”

I knew my father well enough to know that had he been living to hear Wilsons’ remark, he would have given Wilson the keepsake Bible that belonged to one of his friends who had lived and worked on the farm where he had been raised. He never would have forgotten a story of such simple faith, and he would have told it often to others.
I had been feeling very insecure for the past few weeks. I looked at Wilson, a man who had no qualms about boarding an airliner and traveling 20 hours from home to a nation still reeling from one of the worst tragedies in its history. Wilson’s visit made me feel secure, and it gave me courage, too. How refreshing it was to remember that we are a very prosperous nation, and Wilson helped me to see just how much for which we have to be thankful .
“We have been very refreshed by what we have seen here today,” said Wilson when we left the dock at the State Park and headed back to the car. I looked at him and realized just how much this visit to America would mean to this man; it would be the trip of a lifetime.
Yes, Wilson, I thought, we have.