A Troubling Conversation

The following is a snippet of a conversation I had with a humanitarian worker the other day. Thought I would share:

Me: "Why are there no girl street kids?"

"Boys are pushed away, forgotten. And girls.... the parents can force them to work around the house, cook, clean. Girls are essentially an investment... their parents will get a bride price when they can marry them off."

Drop-In Center for the Street Children

This morning I finally made it to the drop-in center for street children. Every day at midmorning these kids take a break from their smoking, begging and stealing and slowly make their way to the center for medicine, English lessons and food. The drop in center is merely a modest home, renovated for the children and maintained by a small group of four missionaries. As the kids trickle in from the streets, they begin their daily routine of bathing, washing their clothing and checking on their personal veggies patches. At midday the pastor arrives and speaks to the children about God and his many miracles. Afterwards, the kids cover their eyes and say grace. On Monday, Wednesday and Friday, the kids are treated to a hearty lunch of matoke/posho/rice/cabbage/beans. On Tuesday and Thursday, the kids are given a smaller meal of bananas and porridge. These are probably the only meals they will eat all day. On the weekends, they must fend for themselves.

Meet Pam. Pam and her husband run the show at this center. In their early sixties, Pam and her husband have devoted the remainder of their lives to doing Gods will. They have lived here in Uganda for five years and, as Pam put it, "they will have to bury me here." In fact, their missionary work has become a family tradition - their son and his wife have now moved to Kabale, as well.

I have discussed with Pam the possibility of working at the center during midmorning, when my own kids are at school. I couldn't be more excited. Each of these kids has a story - some being orphans, some abused, some neglected and others turning to the streets for the freedom that it comes with. Most are addicted to marijuana and inhaling glue. One of these kids was released from prison just this morning, where he had been held for several weeks without any formal charges being brought against him. The story? "The police find the kids sleeping on the streets. They beat them. This one, he didn't run fast enough." These kids are fascinating - they truly know how to survive. And in these few hours in the morning, they are allowed to be kids, nothing more, nothing less.

And so until I know more, here are some pictures from my visit this morning!!

One Crazy Mzungu: Me

I stumbled upon one of the street kid hangouts this morning. A group of five to seven, somewhat dangerous looking teenagers were huddled around a small fire and eating fire cooked bananas. The two street kids who I have befriended, albeit younger, do not have the same hardened expressions as these boys. You can tell they have seen more than their fair share of violence and death. I think I want to befriend them, although it is probably going to take weeks and weeks of bribes and short "hellos" before they let this Mzungu sit with them. Hmmmmm, I like a challenge.

A Wise Muzee (Elder in Rukiga)

A Whirlwind Trip to Kampala

This past weekend I made the long (and I mean 12 hrs long) trek to Kampala (the capital of Uganda) with two fellow expats. The first: a nomadic ex-marine/hair dresser/physical therapist from New York. And the second: an Austrian/ intended psychology student/teenager who is traveling for a year before she begins university. The Austrian apparently also looks like my twin sister, at least according to the Mukigas (locals). But heck, they think all Mzungus (white) look alike.

Our plan: 

- See a movie at the theatre, preferably Eat, Pray, Love.

- Eat a cheeseburger with Heinz Ketchup and Mustard from Steak Out.

- Wander aimlessly through the air-conditioned supermarket and purchase exorbitant amounts of refrigerated items that are unavailable in Kabale.

- Find a deliciously cold iced coffee made from real Espresso (not the instant Nescafe that I choke down every morning)

- Take a boda boda (motorcycle taxi) to an "Irish" pub called Bubbles O'Malleys. 

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. 

Stopping for some Street Food

So excited for our Cheeseburgers!!

Boda Bodas (Motorcycle Taxis)

In short:

Drinking cups of yogurt while still in the grocery store is completely acceptable when you come from "the village."

Bubbles is like Disneyland for Mzungus. Imported Guinness, Mojitos with real mint, European music, an outdoor beer garden and the promise that no one will stare at you. Imagine that.

Sitting in decade-old theatre seats to watch a horrible movie and munch on burnt, unbuttered popcorn will still result in pure bliss. With no TVs in Kabale, our standards are pretty low.

If you drink imported beer as though it is water, you will inevitably dance on the velvet couches and even give out your number to Mohammed, Muhammed, Ahmed and Steve 25.

If you arrive at the bus depot at seven for a bus that is scheduled to leave at 8 am, which is then postponed to 9:30, it won't leave until noon. And in twelve hours, you will only be allowed one bathroom stop. This could explain the slightly-nauseating smell that got worse by the hour.

And while the weekend was fun and slightly ridiculous, when the bus finally rolled into Kabale, it felt like home. :)

Details Long Overdue :)

I have done a sore job at blogging lately. I have posted photos and have written the occasional anecdote, but have failed to communicate what it is I actually do and where I do it. Okay, so here we go.

I am working with an Australian-based organization by the name of Foundations. Foundations was created just last year by an amazing woman named Rosie O'Halloran to house and help children who have regrettably been ignored by their parents, their neighbors and their society. Each child has a story that will break your heart and want to protect them from any more pain, fear or hunger. It is these emotions that I believe inspired Rosie to create Foundations and it is the reason that I am working in Uganda today. Our humble home houses both orphans and street kids, giving them the ability to play like children, not worry about their next meal and even dream about their future. 

My job? Well it may be the best job in the world. My official position is the live in coordinator. I act as a liaison between the in-country staff and the Australian staff. More importantly, however, I get to spend my days playing games with the kids, whether it be football (or as us Yanks call it, soccer), dancing to Rukiga music or practicing our ever-evolving language skills (I quiz them about English and they quiz me about Rukiga. Their English puts my Rukiga to shame!)

Want to know more? Feel inspired to help? Comment below and check out our website:
http://www.foundationsau.org/

Mukaka and I (our house grandmother)