From the UK Tablet:

The old Italian priests bark at each other as we try to navigate our way across a dark field on the edge of Gulu, a Ugandan town 300 kilometres north of the capital, Kampala. “No, I said turn right. Right, I said!” Fr John, the driver, is not following the directions of Fr Joseph, whose parish this is, and we find ourselves weaving wildly across a football field as we try to reach the church at Layibi. The two Comboni Fathers have been friends since they were small boys, growing up together near Milan, and although there is laughter as we criss-cross the playing field is there also tension in the car. We are all aware of the approaching curfew and of the horrors waiting in the ink-black forest around us.

At last our headlights shine on the gates of the church compound, which swing open as we approach. Inside the tiny courtyard, hundreds of small children and a few adults sit huddled in tight rows. They stare at us in curious silence, blankets draped on their shoulders. Some of the smallest children are already asleep, curled up beside their older brothers and sisters. The priests introduce us and the children clap their welcome. Whispered conversations begin. Fr John chats to the people in Acholi.