That One

Martha with baby Watson after Baptism

Loving them is more important then giving money. That’s what I heard “Dr. Jim” say.

Jjaajja (grandmother) Hilda was illustrating the generosity of the Ugandan youth today. She’d been helped above and beyond her expectations one day by a young Ugandan whom she had only just met. When she had asked if she could give the young person money he said no. He’d recently lost his Jjaajja and was honoured to be with her.

Today we helped the Sanyu Babies Home deliver 19 orphans to church to receive their baptism. It was a scramble. There were seven of us from Mengo Hospital that came to volunteer. We each took one child. Others who came to help did the same.

Once at the church we were ushered into waiting in the Sunday School room. Later we made our way to the church for the baptism.

I had to ask who I was holding. He was Jeremiah.

There was a list of the children. Intermittently I would hear,

“Now that one.”

One by one we went up to meet the priest.

“You are the mother, you are the father, you are the everything to these children,” he said.

When I leave Uganda I thought to myself, will I ever see Jeremiah again?

The service concluded and the skies opened up. Rain dripped through the church ceiling and gushed through open windows. Thunder shook the air waves. None of the children cried. They all had love.

Back at Sanyu, housemate Martha (also from Victoria, BC) and I sat outside. Our feeding and changing chores done for the day. We met Sanyu’s plumber who offered us each a soda.

Martha has been spending a lot of time at Sanyu. Somewhere in the conversation I heard her say, “Babies are the future of the country.”

I reflected on what the priest had said earlier.

“We have to show them the way.”

Uganda Wishes - Peace, Happy and 2015

This is Happy!

“Don’t be too attached to the outcome, it may not be what you expect,” said Kelly, one of my housemates during a lunch break.

We were talking about what we wanted to do for Friends of Mengo Canada. My mind wondered over to what I hoped to accomplish during my six weeks here.

“We’re not here to fulfill our dreams,” she added looking at me sternly.

Just then we both jumped up to head down to the AIDS clinic.

I’d spent a bit of the morning speaking with the Administrator at Sanyu Babies Home. Then took a crack at feeding Francis. A young orphan with Cerebral Palsy. He never cried. But awkwardly bent backwards when the sit-up position became too uncomfortable. Loud noises seem to startle him. Yet he found humour in the dilly dally's that draped over his bed.

My intentions here in Uganda are to document the hope. What makes people smile? What gives them joy? What keeps them going in the face of such adversity?

As we walked towards the clinic, we swarmed Dr. Edith on her way to her office. Dr. Edith is in charge of the AIDS clinic at Mengo. 
As soon as she sat down Kelly drilled her on her staff’s needs today then left the room. The list was small, yet significant:

• Soap dispensers
• A Nitrous Oxide Cylinder
• A fan for the staff room
• Portable telephones
• A paved area for the TB tent outside
• An upright bookcase with a lock

It wasn’t news to Dr. Edith what I was here to do. She asked me about my experience helping out in triage. Essentially weighing in and recording HIV/AIDS patients. Then invited me to come for tomorrow’s session. The Post (HIV testing) Club. I would be permitted to talk to patients one on one.

A steady stream of doctors with patients and nurses came in to speak with her while I sat. Her desk was full of paperwork. A small laptop to her right. A leftover sandwich with saran wrap. Boxes of supplies along the floor to the wall.

She asked me where else I was going. I told her next week it was the lab and records.

In her Ugandan tone she looked at me seriously and asked me bluntly. If I could see how things can be made better, or if I could think of ways to improve efficiency to make sure I let her know.

We’re on the outside looking in after all. Strangers in a strange land. It’s all new to me.

I knew her time was sparse so I took the opportunity to ask her what her wish is today for Uganda and for her people.
“It may come true or not. My wish is for by 2015 we move from this clinic to a cure. Patients are cured and discharged.”

A woman clearly ill with HIV/AIDS sat alone at reception. Her skin in a rash. Face gaunt. Pain struck her eyes as she looked on.

“The battle looses meaning when you keep doing this,” Dr. Edith added.

I digested her wish and pictured 2015. Instead of the steady stream of patients travelling to Mengo with their plastic bags and medicine containers, they were living their lives the way they should. Like Happy (pictured above) who I met on the way to Sanyu one morning. Freely running around in a courtyard. Living up to her name.

What is your wish for the world? I then asked.

“Peace,” she stated.

Then she told me her brother is in Somalia fighting in the army. The cellular phone was held up. The tears filled in.

Someone else came into the office to ask for help. 
I then thanked her for her time and excused myself for the day.

Hope for Babies

Inside the entrance to Sanyu Babies Home

The dress I had been given by a friend was sleeveless. I was told by my fellow homelander, Martha on our way to the Sanyu Babies Home that it would be acceptable only to wear at Sanyu. That if I visited to volunteer at the Mengo Hospital the rules were thus: no shoulders, knees or thighs. We joked breasts and bums were ok though.

I had overhead many conversations about the need for help at Sanyu. Especially for the feeding. We arrived after the morning’s feeding. In time for play.

We were shown the classroom. Shoes off. Notices posted on the door alerted us to the rules. No photographs. No holding children on your lap. Once inside I counted twelve children, I suspect under two years old – except for maybe one. There were two what Sanyu calls “mothers” or caregivers to watch over them. I sat down and felt tears swell up inside. I had never been to an orphanage. These children don't have parents and this is Africa.

Like any daycare back home, there was routine. Play, singing, lots of singing, diaper changes, snack, change of clothes then lunch.

The mothers carried two children at a time. There was a path to the feeding room. I took baby Esther and stuck my pinky out to an older boy who stopped in the middle of the path wailing. He grabbed on for comfort and held tight. 

There are three classrooms and all the children are ushered into the feeding room at once. It was a walk through a dark hallway. No lights. No power.

There are desk-like wooden tables set up on the floor for the older ones. The younger ones lined up in one long high chair.

I didn’t feel it appropriate to use my initiative in this situation and waited to be asked to assist. I was given a plate of g-nut and matooke with three spoons. Many of the children cried. I quickly shoved food into open mouths. Then a mother plunked another child down. I attempted to feed four at once. I don’t think they minded I was a Mzungu (a white person).

Then it was the bottles. I couldn’t hold more then two at once. And would have to leave the others to cry their turn.

One baby fell asleep. Head down. Some continued to cry. Others sat content. Then one by one they were lifted down for a face wash and change of clothes. It was nap time.

Watson had his appointment with the eye specialist today. We were to take him with a mother to the clinic. A lucky boy. Martha had been helping all week at Sanyu and knew most of the children by name. I thought about the hope in the day. And smiled. Watson wasn't the only lucky one. Earlier in the day when Martha had asked a mother where Benjamin was today we got some good news.

Benjamin had been adopted.

The Ugandans Dance Relaxation

Uganda's Ndere Centre Dance Troupe

Even before I’d departed Canada I had heard people mention things about Africa. A kind of magic. The ways things unfold. Or not. The African way.

At Mengo Hospital I share Jjaajja Qwen’s Guest House with six other people. Most from Vancouver Island, my room mate from Toronto. We’re all here to help. Where we can.

Martha (Victoria) and Jennifer (Toronto) spent the day helping out at the Sanyu Babies Home, near the border of Mengo. An orphanage. The babies survive for adoption. One such toddler, Watson lives with lazy eyes. He’s cross-eyed.

Jennifer came home with concern. The chances of adoption drop with some health challenges. She approached "Dr. Jim" with the question. “How much would it cost to fix the eyes?”

She’d raised some money back home before she left and wanted to put it to a deserving cause. Helping Watson struck her soul.

"Dr. Jim" outlined the scenario. She contemplated the challenge.

We’d decided early on we would all head out to the Ndere Centre for a truly Ugandan Cultural experience. A buffet dinner with live dance performances.

As we gather roadside for our driver pick-up Martha shrieks out in delight. Up the hill walks a German associate of Mengo whom she’d met on last year’s visit. She’s a doctor. An eye specialist.

I turn to "Dr. Jim" with a smile.

“That’s Africa,” he replies rolling his eyes.

Jennifer was thrilled. The specialist only had three days at Mengo. Watson would see her the next day.

The drive to the Ndere Centre saw cows in the middle of roundabouts, a lot of slum-like lean-tos with goats running through ditches and children playing naked.

The performance highlighted dance. With a twist. A poke at the Ugandan culture versus the “developed countries.”

“You have watches. Here we have time,” remarked the host.

The costumes of the Ndere Centre dancers!

Then he illustrated it. The tension doesn’t start in the head he claimed, rather in the butt – which he also referred to as the “sitting facility.” We watched the walk. Cool, calm and relaxed.

“Developed countries don’t have relaxation,” he states with a smirk.

I’ve since been practicing the walk.

Relax the buttocks and the head will follow. That's also the African way.