Three weeks ago, we all made promises to ourselves. We said we’d eat healthier, we’d lose weight, we’d read the bible every day, or we’d smile more: In 2015 I resolve to (fill in the blank). How’s it going? Several people I’ve spoken to about New Year’s resolutions in the past few weeks have quoted a popular statistic to me – only 50 percent of us are going to accomplish our goal.
The hot African sun beats down on the lush landscape of western Kenya. Even amidst bountiful rain that nourishes the greenery, drinkable water can be scarce. The people are forced to dig deeper into the ground until their buckets can reach the cool water from overused wells that have not yet gone completely dry. Water is life, as the saying goes, and in this part of Kenya, finding it is a daily struggle.
Ugandans have a saying that “Water is Life.” Children draw water from dirty streams and wells, canary yellow jerry cans stained with dirt balanced precariously on their heads or clutched in thin fingers. It gushes from pipes, or rain barrels, coveted by the masses. But it’s not clean. It’s not safe. Sometimes it’s like drinking poison.
The moment the door closes the small room is cast into shadow. Acrid smoke from the cooking fire just outside the doors seeps through the cracks in the crumbling brick walls and rotting wooden door. I blink, trying to make out Sr. Carolyne’s light-colored habit as she sits directly in front of me, but for a moment I can see nothing but darkness.
One weekend I decided to go to Kampala, The Ugandan capital. Everyone goes to Kampala, mostly because if you want to buy anything besides a few articles of clothing or basic food supplies it is the only place you can find goods at a reasonable price. As it happens, there is only one main road in and out of the city (which is small for its massive population), so the roads are always clogged. Sometimes you can sit in traffic for hours. It’s not unlike Chicago traffic, with only a portion of the drivers following the rules of the road, and motorcycles weaving in and out of the stopped cars along with people who dart across the streets, heedless of the danger they are in.
It is hot outside, just like it always is. The air smells strongly of moisture and sweat, filled with the sounds of children laughing and playing. Beads of sweat cover their brows, and their uniforms are damp with it. Small hands with delicate fingers in every shade of brown cling to my arm and legs, pulling at my skirt, voices begging for attention. I have a small girl balanced on my hip with one arm, and a little boy, who is successfully fighting off all his companions to defend his place at my side, clutching the other.
I spent the weekend of September 13th-14th at Uganda Martyrs Junior Boys’ School in Namilyango. Run by the Little Sisters of Saint Francis, CARITAS For Children’s Catholic ministry partners, it is where most of the boys in our boarding school program attend, and I was eager to learn more about it, since the boys had not yet returned from break when I stayed there a few weeks ago on my first two nights in Uganda. Sr. Immaculate, CARITAS For Children’s Program Director in Uganda, is the head-teacher at Uganda Martyrs (and also one of the kindest and most capable women I have ever met), and I was able to witness first hand her incredible leadership of these young boys.
St. Anthony's is a Catholic nursery school in Nkokonjeru run by the Little Sisters of Saint Francis of Assisi. Part of my job here in Uganda is to help teach the children who attend St. Anthony's — their ages ranging anywhere from three to six or seven-years-old! On Monday, September 8th, the final term of the school year started for all the schools in Uganda and St. Anthony's was no exception. The odd thing about it though, is that in the first week of school, attendance is down at the nursery school. Parents bring older children to school first, and since most families have lots of children, most of those attending St. Anthony's this week are the children who walked by themselves to school in the morning. Next week, I am told, once the older children are settled in school, parents will take the younger ones and we will have full classes again.
On Saturday, September 6, 2014 the girls of Stella Maris returned for the start of another term. The teachers, who always go to their stations in Kampala, Jinja, Mukono, and Gulu, (where they remain all day checking off lists of requirements to clear the girls to return to school on the bus), woke before dawn to board the Stella Maris bus and begin the long journey.
In Nkokonjeru, Monday is market day. People come from the surrounding villages to sell produce, clothing, handmade items, and to buy provisions for the week. I’d never been to an outdoor market before, so I was curious what it would be like, and I have to say that it has far exceeded my expectations.
