They all have faces. They all have names. They all have stories.

                                     Kasozi                                                       Benjamin

Mumbere

 

 

Joshua

 



Alex

 



 



 

There are estimated to be thousands of street boys on the streets in Kampala. You can spot them when you walk through the areas of the city where they stay. Their clothes are dirty and most often torn. They rarely have shoes and so they walk barefoot on the hard hot ground that doubles as sidewalk beside the roads. If they are not there you can often see them sleeping in the shade of whatever they can find, stretched out on their burlap sack. This sack is their livelihood and they guard it well. They wander the streets every day looking for scrap to fill the sacks with. At the end of the day they take it to be weighed. They may get 5,000 Ugandan Shillings, about the equivalent of 2 Canadian dollars, for a full bag. Often they work in groups. Kids as young as 6 wander free without parents or a home. Kampala is by my standard a filthy city, but it would be so much worse without the street kids. They pick through the piles of garbage at the side of the road for the things that can be salvaged. They glean the cast off bottles, bit of metal, and parts of electronics. They wade into the open flowing sewer systems to fish out what they can after a rain. The grossness of the open sewers does not seem to bother them very much, after all it is where they bath anyways...

 

This kind of life may sound awful, and the reality is that it is, but still most the boys prefer it to the life they had before making the streets their home. So often at the street program that I work at I wish that I did not have the language barrier when talking to the boys. Their English is all quite broken, enough to make a connection, but a very surface on. Slowly I have started to recognize that faces of the 70 some boys that come to program. Slowly I have begun to memorize their names. But I want to hear their stories.

 

 

I hear bits and pieces from the Uncles and Aunties who work at the program. I have read the written records of the boys that we have at our homes. Many of these street boys are from broken homes where poverty and abuse was rampant. Often step-parents have no love for children of another partner. They beat them for small misbehaviours like not bring water home from the well fast enough. Actual parents are often equally abusive. As a sign or rebellion and desperation the kids run away and head for the city where they disappear into the 1.7 million people that make up Kampala.

 

 

Poverty, lack of education, faulty family structures, abuse. These are all issues surrounding the problem of street kids in Uganda. Sometimes at the street program I look out over the boys and feel like I am looking out over a sea of injustice. Their faces are visible in the waters, and all round them swell the issues that have led to their life on the streets. Deep, dark, swirling issues that are churning, and pulling, and crashing against the shore. These boys are stuck in the middle. And I am stuck on the shore looking out at them wishing I had the power to say "peace be still." There is no simple fix.

 

I came across this article he other day as I was trying to better educate myself. It is a bit old now, written in 2005, but still relevant. It is very long, but a somewhat interesting read. The point of the article is to look at the government’s response to street kids. Kamparengisa is still the way street boys are dealt with and already I have heard horror stories about this place. It gives a pretty good background on Uganda and the issue of street kids.

http://cfsc.trunky.net/_uploads/Publications/8.Uganda%E2%80%99s_Response_to_Street_Children.pdf

 

I will end with a quote from a book I have been reading called "Good News about Injustice" by Gary A. Haugen.

"In a matter of second we can go from knowing next to nothing about children in India to knowing that fifteen million of them are enslaved in short, brutal, dead-end lived of bonded servitude [or in my case the thousands of street kids in Kampala]. Now what? In our hearts we feel like a deer frozen by headlights. The very information that should move us is so overwhelming that is actually paralyzes. It is like a big meal that is supposed to provide fuel for our body but actually makes us feel like lying down and taking a nap. Instead of energizing us for action, the overwhelming injustice in our world actually makes us feel numb. We sense our hearts melting and our feet sinking into concrete. This is when we need to listen to the voice of Jesus, the Jesus who encourages the paralytic to "take heart" (Matthew 9:22). When their spirits were crippled by the sheer weight of the world's injustice Jesus tells his disciples, "take heart! I have overcome the world" (John 16:33)."

 

 

I have been struggling with this feeling of numbness the last few weeks. The injustice here can be so overwhelming. And I feel powerless. I really do. But then I realize my hope is not based on myself, but in something greater. There is one who can say to the waves of injustice "peace by still." And he is the one that has called me, has called us, to take a stand against the injustice that is around us and to hope.

 

I guess for me now that means knowing the faces and the names of the street boys here. It means trying to learn their stories and to show them love. And for now, that is enough.



 

                                                                                                                              

....the least of these....

I am struggling quite a bit with knowing how to respond to the poverty that I see around me here in Kampala. The issues surrounding the poverty here are so very complex - corruption of power, unhealthy family patterns, apathy, addictions, exploitation, laziness, lack of education, and the list goes on.... but the issue remains there is need all around me.  What am I to do?

I have a hard time passing beggars on the road, especially the children. Giving money really solves nothing I am told because it gets used for the wrong things. Even the kids work for someone who ends up taking the money they make anyway. But yet they have a need. They are grubby and look hot and hungry.

The verses from Mathew 25 play over in my head sometimes. "I was hungry and you gave me something to eat. I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink.... whatever you did for one of the least of these you did for me."

So... I decided I would take a few of these things then I walk in the city and give them to the kids. It is not much, and it fixes nothing. But at least I am taking some sort of action instead of just walking by.

some of the boys

I was out at the land for the last few days. I hang out mostly with the younger boys. They are in between the ages of 8-13. I don't know that any of them know their birth date, so their ages even at best, are sort of a guess. Most of the boys in the younger boys home just came of the streets this fall. Sometimes I forget how short a time that is to adapt to live off the streets, how much trauma they are still dealing with, and how trust really does have to be earned. I forget because in many ways they are like any other boy in the world, full of energy and  quite mischievous. But then, when suddenly  they act out over what seems like nothing, I remember... they have been through a lot....  I will write more about the boys at the land but for now I just want to give you some pictures.

 

 

 

Reagan, Umaru, Junior

 

 Junior

 Peter

Enoch, Junior, and a moth we found

 

 

Fred

 

 

Enoch (we have two Enochs in the home)

 

 

Junior, Enoch, Peter

Bob, Enoch, Enoch, me, Junior

 

 

 

These are the boys that love being in front of the camera. The other ones are a bit more shy. But don't worry eventually you will get to meet them all. There are 14 boys that live in the younger boys home. 

Riding a Boda Boda

So I mentioned the boda bodas in my earlier post. They are everywhere here and besides the buses and taxi vans (which have been known to cram 20 people, not including kids into them) they are the cheapest way to get around. They are also by far the fastest because they can weave quickly between traffic. Probably quite unsafe, but this is Africa! And I enjoy riding them. It is nice to feel the air blowing, and the adrenaline rush is invigorating I have got to say. They are rather gutless so going up hills is painfully slow. I think the biggest ones here are 200cc.

When you are getting one to take you where you need to go you most often have to barter with the driver to get a far price. Being a muzugu they think that you have money to spare and you should pay them a little extra, but they come down easy enough once you state what you are willing to pay. Riding double on a boda boda quickly takes away whatever barriers you had with personal space. The first time I rode one I was was in the middle hugging the back of the boda boda drive. This was not because I wanted to be so close to him I smelt his lack of deodorant even with the breeze, but because Amy was behind me on the seat. And the seats are not big!

Sunday evening until Thursday morning I live in Kampala. Thursday afternoon I head out to the land where I am until Sunday. The land, as we call it, is where the boys home are. To get there I take a boda boda to the taxi park where I get on a taxi van headed  towards Bombo. Once I get to my stop I catch another boda boda to take me down a winding dirt road to the village where the land is. The nice things about the boda bodas are that they double as dirt bikes! These things can pretty much go anywhere. Altogether it takes me a little over an hour to get from Kampala to the land. Coming back it can take me over two if the traffic is bad.

Of Rain and Love

Three days in Uganda is a rather short amount of time with a whole lot of new experiences. I will attempt to share a few with you here so maybe you can get a feel for the craziness and the beauty here as I am trying to absorb it all myself. 

Day 1

I arrived in the airport of Entebbe around midnight. Darkness, but against the glow of the city lights you could make out the outlines of palm trees sticking up above the other plants. As I walked down the steps of the plane I was greeted by the muggy smell of Africa. The smell is a distinct one of earth and living things, similar to the one you experience when entering a greenhouse.   At the customs there was some confusion on getting my visa.  If you are every traveling to Uganda apparently they only take USD or English pounds and would not give me a decent exchange on my Canadian.  The ATM’s were on the other side of customs so I went out, was greeted by Amy who was waiting there for me, and then headed back into customs to retrieve my passport,  visa, and bags.  The power kept turning off and with it the lights and luggage belt. Welcome to Uganda!  I was here, a little tired but happy.

I woke to the sound of pouring rain. It is the dry season, but I guess not today! Someone told me that in Ugandan culture if a person arrives and then it rains it means that they will be a blessing. I hope so. In the morning I got to know some of the other people staying in the VH (aka volunteer house). Right now there is a family of three (they have a cute little guy they have adopted from an orphanage here) two other girls, and myself. Volunteers come and go so this will change over my stay here.  Am y tried to orientate me to the city and in the afternoon we took a bota to the street program.  A bota is a small motorcycle. They are the most common and probably the quickest way to get around.  I will later try to compose a series of pictures of things people carry with them on botas because it is a rather astonishing art around here.  It had been raining all day so there were fewer street boys than usual at program and the ones that did come were quite wet and shivering.  They were grubby and most of them barefoot, but friendly and eager to shake “Untie Rachel’s” hand. If only Auntie Rachel were better with names, but that will come…. Auntie and Uncle is a term of respect here, as well as friendship.  Everyone who is involved in a child’s life in a positive way is called this. I think it goes back to the African proverb – it takes a whole village to raise a child – mindset. There were over forty kids there that day and I was able to connect with a few despite the jetlag.

I will write more on the street boys and the slum area later.  For now, let me just say that the boys are beautiful despite the dirt on them.  And although the slum area is filled with garbage and grouse smells there is something that intrigues me about the resilience of the people who live there and I do not mind going there it at all.

 

Day 2

In the morning Amy and I packed out overnight stuff and headed for the land. Amy is not afraid to drive which is impressive! The driving is crazy here.  To start with they are on the left side of the road here. There are no lights or signs to be seen even in the city. Everyone accelerates, weaves to pass, brakes, and honks all in some sort of unspoken form of organized chaos. But no one seems to get too hurt.  I momentarily held thoughts of getting my own bota to drive while here, but so far they have been quenched by reason.  I am not Amy….

The Land is the name that is given to the property that the boy’s homes are built one. There are two homes and each home has 14 boys in them. The property is in a village outside the city and the last stretch to get to it you feel like you are 4X4ing! The road is red clay and rutted quite deep in spots. The bush grows up on both sides higher than the vehicle. People live in little brick homes beside small banana orchards or rows of yams. Goats and chickens wander their yards lazily. The children still stare and call “Muzungu” before cautiously waving, even though they see quite a few white people pass on the road. When I first met the younger boys they were shy at first, coming to shake my hand and say hello, but then wandering off.  I met Mama Joy who takes care of the boys at the home.  She is a very friendly and speaks English quite well.  She made sure to send one of the boys off to find a jackfruit for me to try. They grow all over and are in season right now. Amy told me they taste like a starburst.  She was not far off, although the texture is a little slimy. I think they may be a new favorite!

I spent a good part of the afternoon trying to learn all the boy’s names, playing cards and trying to have what conversations we could in English. They all seem quite eager to learn. Next week I hope to meet with all of them for a few minutes and try to place where they are in their ability in English –this will give me a better idea of how to plan their lessons which I will start the next week. A couple of them are doing quite well in their English studies, but the rest do not have much yet.  Most of the boys have not been in this home more than a few months.  It is hard to believe that not long ago they too were on the streets of Kampala doing what they had to do to survive.  They are between the ages of 7-12 and all definitely boys, but very sweet and thoughtful. They love to write notes. One of the boys, Solomon, wrote me a note and handed it to me in the morning before I left to head back to Kampala. He is one of the oldest and in the highest grade. I thought I would include a picture of it here because it is so sweet. It amazes me that these boys are still so trusting and loving even though they have been through so much. Amy told me that when he first came into the home and would write a note he would sign it “your grandson” because he thought it meant “great son” (I think son here is again a term of friendship). I think I am as eager to teach them as they are to learn. And I expect they will teach me a lot themselves.

Day 3 – today

It had rained hard last night and the mud roads were a little slick but we went slow and came back to Kampala in the late morning. I helped out at program again. By helped I mean mostly observed. They usually do some activities with the kids, a lesson, a bible lesson, and serve supper. Sometimes they hand out items for the kids (like today they handed out toothbrushes and shirts). I will become more involved with the program as I learn a bit more. For now I am mostly trying to connect with some kids and learn their names! Close to 70 kids came out today. I flagged down my own bota without too much trouble though I had troubles giving him the specifics of where to go to get to the part of the slums that the program is in. Amy had gone ahead to the clinic to treat a boy. She had offered to come and get me, but I figured I would be fine and I was. Fortunately Ugandan’s are very helpful and patient and with some asking of other bota driver we were able to get exactly where I wanted to go.

 

 

I could tell you of my adventures using Ugandan shillings for the first time, about the squaties and lack of running water out at the land, the huge spider I saw, or the random cow that ran though the boys soccer game today. I would like to tell you more about the boys and their beautiful smiles and share some of their stories. And I will. But three days is enough to just give me a glimpse and I do not know enough to give them justice.  But in time I will.

For now, let me say thank you for supporting me in so many different ways. You bless me so much. I am doing really well. I am making sure to boil the water and look right when I cross the road, and not call the boys pants” pants” but trousers (awkwardly enough pants means underwear here…) Thanks for your payers.

Reminders

“Mind the Gap.”  The signs are in the tubes and painted on the concrete beside the tracks. An automated voice repeats the warning with every stop. Gaps are serious business – at least London seems to think so.

I was contemplating this phrase during my 20 hour layover in London since I heard is too much as I traveled on the tubes about the city. I believe it is actually a rather important one for the traveler, and especially this one. When you travel it is inevitable you will encounter gaps – gaps in communication, gaps in cultural norms, gaps in your ability to understand and adapt, gaps in what you think is normal or even right. These gaps are differences and a person needs to be mindful of them or they will trip you up.

Thank you for the wisdom London. I have determined I will indeed “Mind the Gap.”