By Melanie Arnold DuChateau, Volunteer June 30 – September 8, 2009
Western news media project very little news and images of Africa beyond those of seething tyrants, murderous rebels, children with flies in their eyes, and mass starvation. I still occasionally hear references to Africa as “the dark continent”, a description that conjures up feelings of fear and oppression. I’d be surprised if any major western news outlet has a full-time correspondent working anywhere in Africa. And still, since I was a little girl I have always felt an odd connection with Africa without knowing why. I thought it may have something to do with the land…with Savanna Trees…maybe even with elephants. I never dreamed it could have been with the people.
And so it was that at age 58, I left for Uganda hoping to learn more about this place about which I knew so little, and to form a single alliance between a woman of the First World and a people of the Third World. In working as a volunteer with Beacon of Hope Uganda, I had the good fortune to live with the founder of the organization Isaac Ssamba and his wife Scovia, getting to know them, their extended families and neighbors, and learning first hand about BoHU’s numerous programs of community outreach.
The first thing I learned was that Ugandan people as a whole, are the most hospitable, generous, and friendly I have ever had the good fortune to meet. I had expected to be somewhat intimidated or even frightened traveling alone to Uganda, but I can say that without exception I never felt either of those things. From the moment I landed in Entebbe and was greeted by a smiling Isaac…to being met at home by Scovia with her giant hug…to traveling the countryside surrounded by strangers, I always felt warmly welcomed. Throughout my stay, walking alone on the dirt roads 99% of the people I passed greeted me with, “How are you today?” and 100% of the children—many of whom either ran to me to hold my hands or called to me from their homes with, “Bye Muzungu!” The people are warm, open, and helpful. I once approached a young woman about to board a taxi to ask where I could purchase shampoo. She took me by the hand and literally led me to a purchase spot, missing her taxi. Experiencing their sweetness and generosity of spirit is truly a commonplace occurrence. Suffice it to say, I love Ugandan people!
In addition to working with both adults and children in a variety of towns and villages, I spent one-on-one time with the women in our household. We often compared notes on our two cultures as they relate to birth, wedding traditions, marriage, child rearing, romantic love, and death—and found ourselves sharing nods of understanding, feelings of amazement, and raucous bursts of laughter. We realized that however different our countries and cultures—our humanity, our gender, and many of our common experiences united us.
While in Uganda I kept a personal diary. I wanted to share something of it here, but could not decide what impacted me most and wanted to share with the reader—the children living at the Bushenyi Orphanage? The school visits? Hungry children? Young people coming to the house hoping that BoHU could pay their school fees or mothers hoping they could get help for their sick children? The women who support themselves making crafts? How about something simple like the affectionate neighbor children who sang for us, held our hands, sat on our laps? Beacon of Hope Uganda conducts so many worthy programs that to discuss one seems to lessen the importance of another, and everyday life is in itself an adventure. So I’ve chosen below to share with you two random days of my time in Uganda.
Before you start reading, I want to say that I can’t wait to go back!!! You are invited to take a look at my photos on Facebook under Melanie Arnold DuChateau. If you are interested in volunteering, you may contact me through Facebook or at beaconofhopeuganda@gmail.com. I would be happy to answer any questions you may have about volunteering with Beacon of Hope Uganda.
Getting Around on My Own
July 8, 2009
I have the morning off and am walking into Mukono by myself today from our village of Kitete—my first solo venture! Isaac is gone, Scovia has stomach pains, and 15 year old Alice had work to do. I’ve made the trip often enough now that I know how to do this. So….Hasta la bye-bye amigos!
My solo flight: My first solo trip into town was uneventful with a couple of exceptions. The locals--especially the boda boda guys-- tried to charge me double or triple because being white, I am obviously rich to them. So after I did my shopping and it was time to return home, I decided to bargain with a boda boda driver before I hopped on. I knew that the trip should cost about 500 Ush, but the drivers all wanted 2,000. I turned away and started to walk home. Finally several started yelling “okay okay okay” which I assumed meant someone would take my 1,000 Ush offer. The driver was happy with his 1000 Ush rider. He should be. I still paid at least double. In truth 1000 Ush is nothing in Western terms.
I went to buy phone time for my cell and one of the young men in the shop told me he was going to America. When I asked when, he said he didn’t know. When I asked him where in America he was visiting, he said he was going with me to wherever I live. I told him my husband would not be happy. He said he understood and asked for my husband’s telephone number. I don’t think so! (Everyone wants to go to the United States, or Great Britain, or … a western country.)
I guess the moral of the story is that if a female muzungu is moving about alone in Uganda she should be prepared to stand her ground with boda boda drivers and telephone phone card salesmen. They operate on the theory that nothing ventured nothing gained.
I left with the BoHU team (Isaac, Tony and Ronnie) at 2PM to talk with a group of about 120 children at Nsambwe Village Primary School which was held in the Nsambwe Village Church of Uganda chapel—about 4 miles away. The BoHU team rewards the children for correct answers and since there is so little to reward them with…one of the children won a dinner with the Muzungu (me!) and another won attendance at Isaac’s birthday party next Wednesday. One little girl asked how she could get an American friend. I have her name, age (10), and village, but there is no mail delivery to the villages. If I can match her with an American girl perhaps we can use BoHU postal address for delivery.
Following presentations, each visit to a school concludes with our team playing a trick on the children by sneaking out of the classroom, and then waving good-bye from the outside the school building. In this visit it was difficult as we were in the front of the room and the exit was at the back of the room. Isaac said a closing prayer with the kids and then told them to keep their eyes closed and send good thoughts to the family of Michael Jackson (everyone in Uganda loves Michael Jackson and there was much sorrow at his passing). All had their eyes closed and we nearly made it out of the church before we were caught. Mayhem! The kids all ran to the windows laughing at our trick and waving good-bye. Once outside we visited briefly with some of the children whose school fees were paid by BoHU.
We left the school and hiked low into the valley to deliver a bag containing some rice and sugar to a young mother with AIDS. This woman saw us coming and met us at the road in front of her hut. She gave us all a giant hug and then led us into her yard. She went inside her hut and brought out a small straw mat for us to sit on outside. My heart hurts for her and her children. She has six beautiful children who depend on her! Tony works to get her medicine and medical care and Isaac works to keep them in food, but there is never enough of either. We chatted with her for awhile and then she walked with us part of the way to the water well that BoHU had dug for the village. Everyone walked slowly so that she could keep up…followed by her six little children. It was only about two blocks to the well but I was still concerned about her getting back home given her low energy level. Again, we received giant hugs from her as we left her.
The walk back home was all uphill out of the valley and long and ultimately dark. I arrived home hot and truly tired. Alice brought me a cup of hot porridge and a dinner roll smeared with g-nut sauce, all topped with her ever present grin. After I ate she produced a small plastic tub of warmish water, complete with a cup so that I can pour the water over my head, behind our living quarters so that I could bathe. I can think of no better pick-me-up after a long day. Between the water and the breeze I was cooling down. My stomach was full of Scovia’s hot porridge, and I was standing naked in the dark somewhere in the middle of Africa with chickens at my feet. I felt like laughing out loud.
Tony won’t be with us tomorrow. One of his young AIDS clients died this afternoon. He will go retrieve the body, rent a car, and drive it to the young man’s village.
A Visit to Alice's Mother
July 18, 2009
After three aborted trips, we finally took Alice to visit her mother. This village was a fair distance from where we live, on the outskirts of Mukono District and took us about a half hour by boda boda. Alice and Scovia took one boda boda and both rode sidesaddle (which I refuse to try again because I don’t want to die here). Isaac, Happiness and I were on a second boda—me again “riding like a “man”. With the driver, Isaac holding the baby and me, there was little butt space for the guy riding farthest back. That being me, the half-hour ride included my butt hanging off the back of the boda, banging and flopping each time we hit a wash out in the road (every 4 seconds) and praying I didn’t fall off the back. As it turned out, the discomfort was a welcomed distraction from the sights we passed as we were entering Alice’s village.
The people in Alice’s village have Nothing. My definition of Nothing has drastically changed since arriving here. There is USA-nothing, and then there is Nothing. The people in Alice’s village have Nothing.
We arrived in and through the dirt to a small mud hut. This is where Alice and her 10 brothers and sisters were raised and this is where her mother still lives since her father has died. Her mother was not home so she left to find her as the rest of us found one of the few shady places to sit and wait. Within 20 minutes Alice returned with her mother who greeted us profusely, but spared us the Ugandan Body Slam (these are big hugs!). She of course spoke no English but it was still very clear on some of what she was saying. She pointed to an area about 20 feet from the house where her husband and some of her children were buried and her sadness was palpable. She pointed to an area over the hill where she worked (and from where Alice had retrieved her) in the rock quarry. And she was thrilled that Alice was living somewhere safe and eating regularly.
Isaac had purchased a loaf of bread to take with us to give to Alice’s mother. She was overjoyed to receive it, but to me this single loaf of bread simply made the “Nothing” feel even larger. Nothing is a noun here and there is a lot of it.
Two days ago when this visit was first scheduled and it appeared that I would be unable to go with her to visit her mother, I gave Alice 4,000 Ush (about $2.00) for her boda boda trip to and from her mother’s village. When we actually made the trip it included Scovia, baby Happiness, Isaac, Alice and me, and Isaac paid for all of us on the trip there. During our visit, I saw Alice quietly slip the 4,000 Ush into her mother’s hand. I was sorely tempted to give her mother the 25,000 Ush I had on me—just as I am tempted to give money away every day to the poverty stricken children and adults I meet as we work. I could give away everything I owned and it would make not one iota of long term difference. I’ve learned that for the most part money is best placed into specific programs or projects that have long term benefit rather than in open hands with immediate needs. Still, I am always tempted.
We left and walked Alice’s mother back to the rock quarry. I quickly grasped why Scovia tears up each time she speaks of someone she knows who works in a rock quarry. Now, like my new definition of the word “nothing”, I have a new definition for the word “Hell”. It is indescribable from the heat, to the faces—young and old—of the people working there, to the ancient hungry cow that stands among them for some reason. In this case “hopelessness” and “acceptance” seem to be the same thing. Alice’s mother stands bent over at the waist all day long, with metal mallet, chipping away at rock to make gravel. This is what she must do for the rest of her life simply to support her extremely meager existence.
Alice and her mother shook hands as they parted. I guess it must be okay to hug strangers but not people you know. Come to think of it, I have seen few shows of affection anywhere since arriving…except for that between friends of same sex. Women commonly hold hands with women friends. Men commonly hold hands with men friends. In this culture however, one never sees public affection of any sort between women and men.
As is often the case there was no boda ride out of the village. Although we can usually find them to ride us in, they are rarely found that far out to ride us out. So we again walked a short distance before we found a boda boda to get back to Mukono. On our walk we passed a woman selling long stalks of sugar cane. Isaac bought one and chopped it into short stalks about 10 inches long. Later at home Scovia came by with a full bowl of moist sugarcane for me to munch on. YUMMIE!!!
