#8 – May 27th 2007

An education for me…an education for them…

There is no difference

not in the mind.

Circumstantial, yes.

Situational, yes.

Why do they call us so?

Thank you. Thank you to the circumstances that sent me here. Thank you for the road that led me to this place. Thank you for providing me with the courage to begin this journey and the motivation to see it through. Thank you God, thank you family, thank you friends. More and more every day I realize this is where I am meant to be at this time, in this place. In this, Africa. I have been searching for answers, even searching for the right questions, but I have to stop searching and start being and living and seeing and doing. I was trying to find out where I am suppose to be, where I can have a purpose, where I can feel like I am doing what I am meant to be doing. And the answer came to me today, from the mouth of a twenty-year old Ugandan wise beyond his years. “Necrol,” as they call me here, “you are meant to make people happy.” And for the first time I didn’t feel the need to question, to ponder, to deliberate and situate and configure. I simply knew that he was right, and so I found something that had never actually been lost, but simply hiding beneath layers of materialistic desires, status symbols, and self-doubt. Here in Uganda I believe I could indeed label my future aspiration as “making people happy.” Sometimes we run so hard and so fast to catch the thing that we want, we don’t realize that the only way to catch it is by standing still. Here in Uganda, I stand still in a sea of unfamiliar faces and intense eyes, listening to murmurs in Luganda, and do all that I can to remain standing when all I’ve been taught to do is run.

The past couple of days I have been spending most of my time with Grace and the African Heart boys. The experiences I’ve had with them inspired me and opened my eyes to some things I hadn’t thought of before, mainly the similarities and the differences between Ugandans and Canadians, between our circumstances, our lifestyles, our personalities and our desires. Let me start by saying more about Grace. Grace Wamala is twenty years old and although he looks much younger, his personality in “Canadian” years would put him at about twenty-six. He is quickly becoming a good friend, I can already tell it is going to be difficult to leave after spending several months getting to know him and all the other people I am meeting here. Before I knew his ‘story’ Grace made it quite clear that he wanted to get to know me more first. We went for walks, went for lunch, just hung out and talked, the same way I would with a new friend in Canada. He is so insightful, honest, and intelligent, things I began to see more and more of as we spent more time together. The reason I mention this is because I feel that sometimes in the West we are presented with this picture of Africans as these helpless, vulnerable, puppy-dog-eyed, ‘uncivilized’ people anything but equal to ‘Westerners’, but reality could not be any farther from the truth. Reality is the exact opposite of that statement: Africans are self-sufficient, resilient, and sharp, with an unparalleled determination and passion in their eyes. Yes of course there are those that are sick or dependent, and there are many of them, but these people persevere as they overcome hurdles a thousand times more difficult than anything we have ever been faced with.

When Grace was a teenager he lived with his parents and three younger brothers (who are now 16, 17, and 19). Tragically, when Grace was seventeen, his father died, leaving Grace to care for the entire family. His mother remarried and now lives in a small ‘house’ (all cement, no doors, tin roof, a couple of beds with foam, a fire pit) with her new baby (one year, five months), Grace’s brothers, and a few other children about whom I will speak of in a moment. Grace was not able to go to school and eventually ended up on the streets attempting in any way he could to provide for his family. I have yet to hear all the details. Grace’s grandmother has a small house in Kampala that she was allowing some street kids to stay in, and eventually Grace ended up staying there while he attended a near-by church and attempted to get his life back on track. Through his experiences on the streets he met a lot of children in similar situations, one or both parents dead, desperately trying to survive, and Grace decided that as his grandmother had done, he would like to find a place for these children to stay. His father’s house remained empty, in need of repair, and thus began Grace’s quest to start a sort of orphanage. A lofty and incredible goal for a nineteen-year-old with no schooling, no support, and certainly no money. Grace began sharing his story with members of the church, while orphaned children began filtering into his late father’s house. Slowly, he was able to match some sponsors from the church (mainly a few American and Canadian visitors) with the children, enabling them to attend school. At Grace’s grandmother’s house, a man named Abbey had formed his own program for street kids, that you now know as the African Hearts program. Two outlets for orphans or single-parent children who have no alternative forms of support and would not otherwise have a roof over their head, warm meals to eat, or the opportunity for an education (the most coveted possession in Uganda).

It is with these Abbey’s group that I am now involved. Thus far I am learning the details, getting to know the children, and discovering in what ways I can help. As I’ve previously mentioned, there are 62 African Heart boys, and I believe only 18 of them are able to attend classes. School is so ridiculously expensive here (in Ugandan terms) that it is only through sponsorship that any child without two successful parents can get an education. To give you an idea: there are three terms every school year, you must pay tuition every term, and additionally, in the first term you must pay for textbooks, school supplies, a school bag, one daily meal, a uniform, shoes, and school trips. Here is an estimate of the costs:

1^st term in Ugandan shillings

50,000 School Uniform (shirt, pants, sweater, t-shirt, tie) ($35)

20,000 Shoes ($14)

10,000 School Bag ($7)

30,000 Writing Material (notebooks, paper, calculator ($21)

17,000 Admission fee ($12)

150,000 Tuition (120,000 for lower grades) ($105 or $84)

2^nd term:

150,000 Tuition

3^rd term:

150,000 Tuition

Grand Total: 577,000 or 487,000 (divided by ‘1,430,” the current exchange rate)

= $400 or $350 per year

For a child with no parents, it simply isn’t feasible to get an education at these costs. For the African Heart boys, Abbey has provided a source of income with the brass band they have formed, as various organizations pay them to march or perform. Also, Partnerships for Opportunities is assisting in various ways.

After having learned of the situation both groups are in, I now want to take the time to get to know the kids involved. Natalie began taking down the stories of the African Heart boys, and when she and Peter head off to Kasese this Friday, I will continue where she left off. I will sit down with each boy individually and copy down word-for-word their story; where they came from, the obstacles they face, their family situation, whether they’ve attended school, their future aspirations, their hobbies and favorite music. Before I start getting into their personal histories, I really wanted to just hang out with them, get to know them as friends. The last two nights I went to the place where a lot of them stay and just ‘hung out’. I wish I could explain to you the time I had. I don’t know if it’s possible, and while I will try my best to describe it to you, I don’t think anything could compare to the experience of actually being with these boys.

As you approach the house where 16 of the boys stay there are usually a couple of ribby dogs running around or lying exhausted in the heat of the sun. Two goats bleat from their small abode in the corner of the red dirt yard. A thin path to the right of the house takes you to an open area (12x7ish) with a fire pit and all the cooking and washing pots. To the left is a couple of bedrooms, a hallway and a living room, to the right a room stacked full with bunk-beds, and Abbey’s office with all of the band’s second-hand instruments and tattered uniforms. In the boy’s room, where numerous boys share three-high bunk-beds, there is the wooden skeleton of a couch, a few posters on the cement walls, a small broken cd player and some sheets for privacy. No TV, no playstation or xbox, no stacks of magazines or model cars, no wallpaper or carpet. There are no windows, no doors, no mirrors or closets or dressers. The boys have never seen an ipod, but can sing every Eminem, Akon, Snoop Dogg and Chamillionaire (oh, and Celine Dion is a fav too, no joke!) song ever released. They have no magazines or TV stations but know of the O.C., MTV, Britney Spears and Brad Pitt. They have never owned a computer, but all have hotmail accounts and would sooner buy internet time at an internet café then eat lunch, in order to reach out into the world. They are lucky to have one pair of shoes, one outfit, and only dream of owning a Manchester United jersey (their favorite soccer team). Although they have none of these things, they know of them, talk far more articulately (in their second language) than most Canadian teenagers about them, and have no desire for anything but an education and a bright future.

I bring in my ipod, take a moment to explain how it works, and four of them are off sharing the ear buds, harmonizing to Akon’s “Don’t Matter”. Two of them are off with my cell phone playing the soccer game it comes with. One takes my camera and comes back with 161 new pictures. The rest pile around me on the ‘couch’ and I open iTunes. The boy on my left, Kimala (pronounced Chee-mala) is 19 and looks quite similar to Taye Diggs (mmhmm). He is the obnoxious loud-mouth of the group (although in a much more parent-friendly way than Canadian 19-year-olds), and although he wears tattered clothes, his personality is hardly represented by his surroundings. He is confident, cool and positive. He is anxious to sing local songs to me, which he then translates into English. So anxious is he that he constantly forgets I don’t speak Luganda, and continues to rail off in words I can’t understand. It is completely adorable, the girls would go crazy over him in Canada. To my right is Moses, also 19, with a strong jawline, the blackest skin, and very defined features. Gorgeous. I have thus-far pegged him as the down-to-earth, thoughtful one, kind-of the cute mysterious guy at the back of the classroom sort. I can tell we will be good friends. He asks me to sing and when the power goes out (pretty much every other day) I grab some nerve and give them my best rendition of ‘Killing Me Softly’ by the Fugees. They’ve never heard it before, but by the second chorus most are singing along. As we go through the songs on my laptop, some dance, some sing. I get much-coveted lessons in Luganda and we talk about easy stuff, about music and sports and Canada. The next night is the same, and always I get a ‘push’ home. Last night a total of five boys escorted me, one carrying my laptop, one carrying my bag, one dancing ahead with my ipod glued to his ears. The young Ronald holding my right hand, Kimala with his arm over my shoulders on my right. They joke about how as they walk me home people will assume them to be rich because they are with a white person, but when they walk back, people will see the reality, a ‘mangy bunch of street kids’. I tell them that I feel rich for having their friendship, that I see no difference – that we are equal but in our circumstances. They look at me and express gratitude with their eyes and say, “Weebale nnaybo, weebale.” Thank you, madam, thank you. It is a moment your mind may only attempt to envision, I will treasure it.

We arrive at the gates of Mengo hospital fifteen minutes later, I buy six Rolex’s (remember, the chapatti and egg rolls?) and as we wait, we sing and I teach Kimala a simple dance. He reciprocates with tango lessons. Of course. Did I mention they all speak French? I say sula bulungi and good night and go to bed disbelieving and thankful for all that I have learned, all that these “street kids” have taught me. Also, I question how I will reconcile these new friendships with what I will soon learn about their backgrounds, their history, their hard stories far beyond anything we can fathom in the comfort of Canada. How will I continue to be light and playful and fun once I have heard how their lives have been the opposite of that? How will I live with all that has been given to me in my life once I come to understand all that has been taken from them, and yet still deal with the fact that we all share the same passions, the same love of music, the same intelligence and wit and so many other characteristics and quirks?

As I learn and write more about the boys, I will, with their permission, include some of their e-mail addresses. If you ‘meet’ a boy you find intriguing, send him a message. I think we should break down barriers and borders every chance we get. You don’t have to write a novel, but if you have any questions for them or just feel like chatting, they are all great conversationalists.

~Nicole