#32 – August 26, 2007

A day in the life of...me!

Contrary to the rumors, I have not run off and eloped in order to become a permanent resident of Uganda. I certainly considered it, and have received enough marriage proposals (mainly from people who have yet to learn my name) to make it conceivable, but alas, my only excuse for not staying current with my journal entries is lack of time. It is not the case that I lack the time to stay in contact, as I have been able to send out personal e-mails and speak to friends and family on the phone, but writing my personal thoughts down in a readable, understandable fashion takes considerable energy, of which I am desperately lacking at the end of each day. These past two weeks have been a fury of meeting new friends and saying goodbye to others, working non-stop on projects with the African Heart boys, and traveling across eastern Uganda to view as much as I can of this beautiful country.

My typical day as of late has consisted of an enormous amount of hustle and bustle. Crowing roosters and warming air wake me by seven. My sister phones at eight for our daily chit-chat, the only thing that keeps me from getting homesick. I make coffee and converse with Natalie and Peter over one of their freshly-made bagels, then begin working on any outstanding projects I have on my laptop. This may include editing the boys’ biographies, which are almost complete, revising a sponsorship form, writing up proposals and letters for Abbey, or taking some time on the internet for research. I pack up and hop on a boda by mid-afternoon, arriving at the boys’ home for lunch. The boys are on holidays until the beginning of September so the remainder of the afternoon is spent with them, helping with art projects, accompanying them to band practice, visiting their relatives’ homes. Several times a week I meet with Abbey to discuss various projects or have a general knowledge exchange. I treasure these moments, as I always feel like I come out more wise, more able to deal with any situation that comes my way.

There is never a dull moment at the boys’ home; arts & crafts in the afternoon, band practice every day from 5pm-8pm, revising books after practice, the occasional movie night when we all cram around my laptop in the sitting room, praying the power doesn’t go off. Someone always has an issue, as is typical of any family of teenagers, never mind a family this large. Moses needs new shoes. Benon needs a tooth extraction. David wants to start a poultry business. Eddy wants to open a bank account. With only Abbey, Tony, Roscoe, and Junior to go to with their problems, I have become another source of advice and assistance. It is an interesting position to hold, one with much responsibility and emotional investment. I am in awe of parents’ ability to handle the give-and-take relationship that is at times so draining, but thankfully the sacrifice is not without its rewards. I am a fixture in their lives now, and they in mine.

Some tease me like a sister, some cling to me as a mother, a few manipulate and test me, most love me unconditionally. I am there to share their weak moments, and their strong. I am there to celebrate the good grades and strategize over the bad. I encourage and inspire, and have also disappointed and displeased. The moment I arrive I am pulled in a million directions. It is impossible to divide myself evenly, to share time equally, to distribute love, effort, and assistance uniformly. I know Ronald speaks coarsely to me in Luganda, aware that I am unable to decipher his invectives. He does this to grab my attention, a vain attempt to guilt me into giving him my time, or material comforts. His troubled life has left him unable to deal with feelings of jealously or the need for affection in an effective manner. Ibra, Lenon, Umar, Jonah, Isaac, and Bowen are desperate for a mother-figure. All so young, so neglected, so in need of care and attention. They run from the yard and wrap themselves around me as I enter the gate, all clamoring for my gaze, my embrace, my attentiveness. I give until I have nothing left. Sometimes there is thirty minutes of hellos and hugs and how are you’s. I inquire about their day, their family, their plans for the week. They inform of this, that, and the other thing. They want me to teach them to use a camera, they want to learn to type, they want me to visit their aunt/grandma/sister. Exhausted I continue to the back of the house where I find the older boys. The brothers Abasi and Edrissa offer a fist in the air and a, “Storiki, Muana?” (What’s up?), Eddy wants to discuss his latest goat project. Eugene asks whether I’ve got time to work on the duet we’re learning. Bash and Marvin are anxious to know whether my sister, Paula, received their e-mails. Sammy wants my opinion on a geography question. Richard pulls me aside to remind me of our appointment to meet his father and eight siblings. Kimala and Robert hang in the background waiting for me to finish, in order that I walk them home to visit their mother.

By 5pm I have moved past tired towards a more airy, spaced-out feeling. I grab my camera and head to the field near-by where trumpets blare and drums pound. I shoot videos and snap candid shots for the website. I visit each group of boys, the trombones, side-drums, trumpets. At their insistence I make feeble attempts at playing each. My daily embarrassment. I stomp around with the baton-twirlers, Bowen dragging himself behind me, climbing all over my legs. Dirty and deaf, I return to the sitting room at 8pm, catching up with Junior and Sandra, usually bouncing baby Christine on my lap. Slowly boys with trickle in with their school books and the revising begins. “How many provinces are prairie provinces, Nicole?” “Nicole, can you draw a map of New York for me?” “Do you know anything about the migration of Arabs across East Africa?” Once the boys are helped, Junior and I work on his economics homework. My five year degree getting to stretch its legs for the first time. I studied history and politics, very complimentary to economics. There is the slight chance that I am learning more from Junior than he is from me, however. About this time Abbey will come in with some work for me to assist him with, which I will work on until Sandra brings in dinner around 10pm. She somehow manages to prepare the most delicious meals every night, and I am lucky enough to be on the receiving end. With the exception of Junior, whom I attempt to share my portion with, the boys are in charge of their own meals. Every single night, 365 days a year, they eat posho (mashed potatoes) and beans. It pains me that I can’t afford to buy them a more decent dinner, but as they are so many, it is virtually impossible. I occasionally treat them to lunch which uses up an entire weeks worth of my meal-money.

At 11:30pm David or Junior will walk me up to the main road, where I hop on a boda. The boys refuse to let me walk home so late carrying my laptop. I’ve never heard of a single incident involving a Muzungu and theft, but you can’t be too careful. I crawl into my mosquito-netted bed by 1am, exhausted. Up again the next day to do it all again, all the while keeping a bright, big smile on my face, my way of letting everyone know how much I really am enjoying this daily adventure.

~Nicole