How is Your Life?

“Do what you like, but like what you do,” dear old dad used to say.

I contemplated those words today as I walked the streets of Kampala. What if you did what you did because you had to? Suppose you didn’t have a choice?
No way out.

One of my housemates at Mengo Hospital, Kelly, also from Victoria and myself came across a young boy lying face down on the street. He was sleeping in the shade. On the cement. In bare feet.
We’d seen him there the day before. Hand out. Looking for money. As we pass by Kelly invokes an earlier conversation we’d had around poverty. The issue of HIV amongst the less serving.  The high incidence of the incurable disease amongst the poor.

Together we theorize the way out of the HIV/AIDS crisis in Africa is to end poverty. But how? Africa’s not the only continent with poverty issues.

As we scurry past him Kelly remarks if she had Abbey, the leader of the African Hearts’ contact information – she could of given it to him. Abbey has assisted many young boys leave the streets and find hope and family for their future with the help of music.

Good idea I say. I totally agree. To show him a new path. To find a new road to travel on. One without a hill or any speed bumps.

I’ve been contemplating the income generating ideas HIV mothers have grabbed onto. Basket and mat weaving is one. Beads for necklaces another. Sewing up clothing and bags.

Why can’t Africa become the next China for manufacturing? Give somewhere for this young population to grow into.

Next week I travel to Bwera to help out with PODA (Partnership for Development Association). They’re building a school.

I have heard from Natalie and Peter that one of their plans is to build an area where the women and girls can hang up their laundry. Because when the women menstruate they can’t go to school. They don’t have access to the sanitary napkins and tampons as such as we do in the developed countries. So they wanted to make sure they had an area private where they could hang their laundry. Without shame.

Since my son was born, I’ve been using Luna Pads during my cycle. To cut down on garbage and they’re recyclable.

I show one to Natalie. She asks if I can bring it to Bwera so the women can make a pattern.

No problem I think to myself. How easy it would be for them to make them. No more missing school. A possible income generating project?
Perhaps. But more importantly. A road for opportunity. So when one asks “How is your life?”

The reply will be, “Perfect.”

Men in Dresses and Hope

Expect the unexpected if you decide to visit Africa. Power outages are frequent and while Africa is caught up globally with an integrated mobile phone market, Internet access can be spotty. I hope to post some videos and audio when the access becomes available to me. Stay tuned!

Entebbe Airport

Welcome to Kampala

When I left Kenya en route to Entebbe and my final destination Kampala, Uganda I couldn’t help but notice the Kenyan men at the Nairobi Airport. Their dress were dresses. Elegant. Gaunt faces, but with intense character. Individuals. I boarded my final flight mulling over the awakening of the new culture I am in.

My arrival in Uganda was greeted with airport signage, “Welcome to the Pearl of Africa.”

When I stopped on the tarmac to fuddle with my camera and take a picture someone came up behind and said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. They’ll arrest you.”

Promptly the camera was hidden and I proceeded to exit. A VISA is required to enter the country. I had read some Ugandan etiquette before departing Canada. While many speak some English, it’s appropriate to ask “How are you?” before any other request. Deemed rude if you don’t.

I was ushered into Uganda with a smile.

While I sat at the airport waiting for my pick-up there was torrential rain. Warm rain. I got a chuckle when some lizard like creature scurried across the road.

Eventually my fellow Canadians, Martha and Kelly found me. Peter our driver exited to the car with my bags. The three of us yacking up a storm.

I’d been warned about driving in Uganda. They’re on the other side of the road. The honking is frequent and trust in your driver is paramount.

The soil is reddish. The roads full of potholes. The cars old. Motorcycles everywhere. Called Boda Bodas here. I didn’t see any sky scrapers or multi-story dwellings on the way. Lean twos and shanty towns. Colourful people idled about in doorways. My initial observation claims the women of Uganda dress up like they are going out on the town everyday. A show of fashion. Ugandan style.

At Mengo Hosptial I was showed my room and later invited to a rehearsal for what locals refer to as the Bukuli Boys or the African Hearts.

Street boys who have lost their parents to AIDS. Led by Abbey, who formerly survived the same way, they formed a brass band. I later learned they perform at various events to raise money for their school fees.

It was dusk when we arrived. Hilda, also from Canada had a suitcase of gifts for the boys. Out came a new pair of symbols. There were cheers. They’d set up chairs for us in their backyard as guests of honour. Drumsticks were next which their leader, Abbey said were hard to acquire in Africa.

Hilda Delights with the sounds of the African Hearts

But the most cheers came when the toothbrushes and the toothpaste were announced.

I’d brought my son’s elementary school instruments. Collecting dust at home. A recorder, a penny whistler and a harmonica. I don’t think they’d ever heard a harmonica. I demonstrated with laughter and cheers to compliment.

Before dusk the start of rehearsal

Once all the gifts from Canada were announced it was dark. The boys started their practice. Brass instruments with drums and symbols. They are a well rehearsed brass band. The performance included gymnastics, dancing and acrobats from the younger boys. Seventeen of them. All of whom live in a one bedroom house.

We got the tour. No power. The cooking is done outside over a charcoal pit. A large table in the living room for eating. The one bedroom equipped with two bunks beds. Not like we are used to. There are three to each bunk. In the basement, three more of three each. A couple pads in the living room for the leaders.

I was told they afforded one meal a day for the longest time. Some funds from Canada had bought them a water tank to collect the rain water. They have a field to grow some food and now a cow for milk. From their early beginnings they’ve come far. With help from Hilda and her friends and family in Canada, soon they’ll have another cow. And now they can afford up to two meals a day. Not just porridge.

Each boy had greeted us with the most unusual hand shake. Like ours but with a twist. When we went to say goodbye one of the boys come to me. I’d been introduced as Jane Victoria. He remembered me as Victoria. In his broken English he said to me, “Victoria, I will never forget you.”

Their faces lit up with smiles as we left. With a promise of a performance on Wednesday night.

Abbey had hung on to the recorder and playfully sang it to us.

What an absolute delight. My first night in Africa. 

My first experience with hope.