#30 – August 10th 2007

Sandra…

You are all familiar with the African Heart boys; their vibrancy, their intelligence, their perseverance. My previous journal entry, which described a day in the life of a Ugandan student, was molded after these boys, although most of their daily experiences are even more unfathomably difficult. And they are not alone. Millions of Ugandan students struggle through similar experiences every single day. 50.2% of the population is under the age of fifteen, most can claim a life of continued hardship. I have been collecting the stories of each of the African Heart boys, their daily struggles, their torrid backgrounds, and have also been recording the stories of the other people living in the African Heart home. Those of you who have been viewing my online photo albums will recognize the names of Cathy and Sandra, the two women who live with the boys. In this entry I would like to share Sandra’s story.

Sandra is a beautiful person, inside and out. For reasons that will become clear, Sandra takes up residence at the African Heart home. She is eighteen years old and is currently attending a university course in Medical Laboratory Technology. Over the past three months we have become close friends. I have enjoyed countless dinners she has deliciously prepared, we’ve gone out dancing and laughed until the early morning hours, we’ve traded advice about living with teenage boys, we’ve shopped together, watched girly movies, and gossiped about guys. Having heard Sandra’s story and her desire to have a female role model in her life, my mom decided to ‘adopt’ her and I now consider Sandra my second sister. They exchange phone calls, e-mails, and mother-daughter advice. Sandra can’t stop talking about her new family, her new mom.

I am proud to share with you Sandra’s story, in her own words, in her fourth language, English:

“I was born on November 29^th 1988 at Mengo Hospital. By the time I could understand things my parents were already divorced. I was only aware that they had had a big disagreement. My older sister Grace and I lived with my mother in Kampala, where we stayed in a single room. My mom supported me through all of primary school. Towards the end of primary, Mom started communicating with Dad once again, and he began supporting my sister. When I was eleven, my mom decided to leave the country and move abroad in hopes of finding a good job. She wanted us to have a better future. I had to go stay with my Dad in his village, where there was no electricity. Living in the village was a whole new experience, it was very tough. We had to dig, work in the garden with my grandmother, and fetch food. I was forced to become independent. My sister went to boarding school so I had to take care of my father alone. We had a retail shop that helped us financially. I learned to cook all types of food. I learned to balance my time, cleaning, cooking, digging, and caring for my father. Thank God I was performing well in school. My mother was unable to contact us once we moved to the village. That was terrible for me. After a year and a half of not communicating with my mother, Dad decided to move us back to Kampala where he hoped to make more money. Our school fees were becoming expensive and he wasn’t making enough in the village. Before we left the village my mother came for a surprise visit. We had no idea she was coming and when she showed up at my school I had no idea who she was. Her appearance had changed so much; her skin was lighter, she was thinner and had makeup on her face. She even had a new way of talking. I was used to seeing her in long dresses but now she had a short skirt and long, fancy nails. She only stayed for a short time. She said it was too difficult to live in the village.

After Mom left, Dad went to Kampala for three weeks to find a place to live. Soon he sent for Grace and I, and we all moved into one room. Dad didn’t have a job. Mom would send us money for upkeep, rent, and school fees. Grace and I would go to school in the morning, come back in the evening, make dinner, clean, fetch water. Sometimes Dad would help with these things when we had exams. That condition lasted for four years, and Mom never came back to visit. She called often though. She was always sick, she would tell us when she called. She didn’t have enough money to come back to Uganda. What little she had she would save because she thought she was going to die. She refused to let Dad tell us what was truly wrong with her. He told us it was pneumonia, but I later discovered she was HIV positive.

When my sister Grace was in senior four, her final year in o-level, three weeks to exams, Mom returned to Uganda. She was very, very sick. I found her home when I came back from school one day. She told us that they had recommended a operation for her, but that it was very expensive. She decided to have it in Uganda because if anything happened at least she would be at home. She kept crying everyday. She used to lock herself in the bedroom and cry. She told my dad that she had saved money to buy a car. At her home abroad she had purchased a cooker, a microwave, a refrigerator, a washing machine, a TV, and bed covers, and even had some money in account. She wanted those things to be sent to her to help our family financially. She tried to communicate to her friend to send them but her friend didn’t pick her calls. Mom became so angry, saying her friend was contributing to her death.

The day of Mom’s operation, she refused to go. Grace was given a break from school; when she arrived home she found Mom there. Mom made Grace promise not to tell her friends or family she was back in Uganda, or that she was sick. She didn’t want their pity. She only told one of her brothers. Our funds were quickly decreasing, while rent increased, and Mom needed more and more medication. Dad was forced to take loans from friends, hoping to pay them back when Mom’s friend sent the money from abroad. Mom continued to call, but the friend would hang up when she heard Mom’s voice.

One Friday afternoon Mom got really bad. She refused to leave the living room, and would not eat, drink, or take her medicine. She sent Dad to go get a different kind of medicine and he was gone for the whole day, until late at night. She kept getting worse. That night, Dad forced her to take medicine and it helped her survive to the next day. That was a Saturday. Saturday night she lost her senses and couldn’t identify any of us. She kept telling us that she was seeing people in the sky and seeing faces in darkness. The whole day we didn’t get out of the house, waiting what would happen next because she refused to take medicine. Somehow, Dad got in contact with Mom’s brother and he came with a car and drove her to the hospital at 6:30am Sunday morning. Grace and I stayed at home and waited. They had to carry Mom into the hospital. The doctors took samples and before they finished the results she was dead.

Dad came home to take bed sheets to wrap her in and only told us she was fine. Her brother managed to tell us the truth. The landlord was evicting us from our home so our uncle brought us to our grandmother’s home and we found the casket in the living room. We were all shocked. Daddy’s eyes were red. Grace fainted. I kept next to the casket, thinking she was going to wake up at any moment. The next day, which was a Monday, we took her to the village for a burial. After the burial neither me or my sister remembers what happens next, we found ourselves at home.

Three weeks after Mom passed away Dad contacted Mom’s friend abroad and she said she didn’t know anything about the money in the bank, the car, or anything in the house. She said she wasn’t going to send anything. We thank God that after a month we received a package from abroad; three blankets, two bed sheets and a television. Still Dad didn’t have a job, but we needed to go back to school. We talked about it and decided to sell everything in our house so Dad could start a business. We sold the TV, radio, refrigerator, chairs, and the carpet. This was turning from one world to the other. Changing life. Dad started his business, but still needed popularity, he didn’t have customers. He went to live in the village in order to save money, while we stayed in Kampala in the one room house. After six months the landlord evicted Grace and I because Dad had been unable to pay the rent. We owed the landlord 600,000Shs ($366). He evicted us out in the night. Our neighbor talked to him and he let us stay for one more night to give us time to find somewhere to go. Grace and I were terrified and called Dad. Dad came back to Kampala and took us to our Grandmother’s house then returned to the village. I went from living alone with my sister, to living in a house with my grandmother, a woman named Cathy and her baby Christine, and the African Heart boys, fifteen of them. Grace and I shared one room and one cupboard in the house.

I finished my senior level with good performances in Science. I told Dad I wanted to do a Medical Laboratory Technology course at Mengo hospital. I knew it was too expensive, over 1.5 million shillings ($914) per year for tuition and requirements (breakfast, lunch, textbooks, immunizations). I did the interview anyway, and passed well; I placed 5^th out of 78 and was guaranteed a spot in the competitive program. I still couldn’t attend because of the cost. At this time Grace had also finished school and was working at a super-market downtown. She finished senior school with very high marks as well. She was offered a spot in a prestigious course at Makarere University but also could not afford to go.

Two of our aunts had gone abroad, to the U.K. They came from wealthy families. They heard our story and decided to help. One aunt contributed 300,000 shillings towards Grace’s course, Bachelor of Commerce, and with Dad’s help and her money from the super-market, Grace was able to pay full tuition. I prayed for a miracle. Soon after, our other aunt called and said I should pick up the admission forms from school. She gave me tuition for a full year apart from requirements: 1 million shillings ($600).

Grace and I have now both completed the first years of our courses. We both finished with high marks. Grace has just begun her second year and is still looking for tuition; our aunt has not yet offered assistance. I will be starting second year in September and my aunt has offered to pay half of my fees, 500,000Shs ($300). Hopefully when I’m done with these two years, with a good performance, I’d love to advance in biochemistry, or go straight into medicine at Makarere University, which could take three to five years. My ultimate goal is to become a doctor, specializing in women and children, working in camps (IDP/refugee), working with non-governmental organizations.

Grace works everyday at the super-market from 7am-4pm, then begins class at 4:30pm-10:30pm. On Sundays she works from 7am-8pm. Dad sends us money from the village for upkeep and food: 20,000Shs ($12) every two weeks for us to share. His business is going along; he buys fish from Lake Edward, then smokes it and sells it here in Kampala. My typical day begins at 4am. I study until 6am then I start cleaning. I wash the previous night’s dishes. I have to get water from the well; from a pipe down the hill from our house. I head to school for 8am and study. I get horrible headaches at school and recently found out I am near-sighted. The first two doctors I saw about my headaches told me it was allergies and gave me eye drops. I was quite upset when I found out it was near-sightedness, because my dad cannot afford the 70,000Shs ($43) for glasses.

When I return home from class I begin to prepare dinner, using a small, portable charcoal stove. Usually I made matoke and ground-nut sauce, or I use tomatoes, onions and curry powder for flavoring. Matoke is quick and cheap. I buy everything from a near-by market with the money Dad gives me. I always have dinner ready for Grace when she gets home from work. Fridays, if I don’t have an evening lecture, I attend girls’ empowerment meeting at my church from, where we learn about counseling, protection, empowerment and awareness. On Saturday I do our laundry, using well water, a bar of soap, and my hands. I pray that is doesn’t rain so our clothes can dry. On Sunday I make breakfast, which is usually porridge. I start preparing lunch from 8:30-10am. I get to church by 11:15am. Church is until 2:30pm. When I return, I go to the market for the weeks’ food, then begin preparing dinner.

For all this time, from the time my mom left the country, I have learned how to take care of myself, my sister and my father. I have learned how to deal with problems and face situations as they come. Even though I’m 18, most people think I’m five years older. I’ve learnt to value life and every time I hear of a case of suffering, I understand, because I’ve passed through it. And for that, I work hard everyday and study so hard so I can make a better future for myself and my children to come.

“That is my story, thank you for listening.”

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If you are interested in contacting Sandra, her e-mail address is sanmbabazi@gmail.com. She would love to hear any thoughts or comments you have about her story, or just chit-chat with someone from Canada. Keep in mind that while English is her fourth language, she has no difficulty reading it, write as you would to a Canadian friend.

~Nicole