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| ©2008-2010 St. Nicholas Uganda Children's Fund |
A Day in the Life
August 2006
I am often asked to describe my typical day here in
Uganda and I never know quite how to answer. Some
days are more eventful than others, and no day is ever
completely routine. Today there is no music festival,
nor is it a school visitation day. I'm not traveling to a
village deep in the bush, nor am I visiting our friends
and students in Gulu. I'm not even going to downtown
Kampala. There are no prize bulls or goats in this story,
but a pig will make a brief appearance.
The school term ended yesterday, and we had collected
report cards from about sixty of our sponsored
students. Now I would photocopy the reports for our
files while we had power. Because of scheduled load-
shedding, we have commercial electricity every other
day. Today was an "on" day and I wanted to take
advantage of the situation so we could return the
original reports to the children before many of them
returned to their family villages for the school holiday.
Then I spent some time preparing solicitation letters for
the Children's Fund.
Sharon has been working six and a half days a week at
the hospital, so I offered to do a little shopping for fresh
vegetables. On the way to the Kasubi open-air market,
I climbed Lubya hill to get to the house where one of our
students was spending the school holiday. This girl is in
sixth grade at a village boarding school. She ended up
there last year after she had a discipline problem with
her mother with whom she had been staying. She had
been beaten on the head with a soda bottle and
subsequently ran away from home. I didn't want her to
remain alone in the village, nor could I send her back to
her mother’s, so I prevailed upon her young stepmother
to take her in to spend the holiday with her three half-
siblings. I had crayons and coloring books for the kids
and a little extra money for mom to buy food.
I'd heard stories about the irresponsible, drug-addicted,
alcoholic father, but there he was when I arrived, calm,
industrious, and sober. His latest venture is raising
pigs, and he hasn't yet accumulated enough cash to
build a sty. A number of giant hogs were rooting
around the yard, and as I tried to navigate my way
around their stout aromatic bodies, one big fellow
unexpectedly charged and nuzzled my rear end with his
snout, much to the amusement of the children. After
greeting the family, I privately gave mom the money so it
wouldn't turn into beer or banana wine, and left for
Kasubi.
The sprawling outdoor market was bustling with activity
and the women selling the vegetables brazenly and
laughingly called to me, "Muzungu, over here!" I found
what I needed and marveled at how much I could buy
for so little money. I accumulated a large bag of fresh
tomatoes, green peppers, carrots, and potatoes for the
equivalent of two dollars! Then I crossed the road to
buy bread and eggs before returning home.
August 2006
I am often asked to describe my typical day here in
Uganda and I never know quite how to answer. Some
days are more eventful than others, and no day is ever
completely routine. Today there is no music festival,
nor is it a school visitation day. I'm not traveling to a
village deep in the bush, nor am I visiting our friends
and students in Gulu. I'm not even going to downtown
Kampala. There are no prize bulls or goats in this story,
but a pig will make a brief appearance.
The school term ended yesterday, and we had collected
report cards from about sixty of our sponsored
students. Now I would photocopy the reports for our
files while we had power. Because of scheduled load-
shedding, we have commercial electricity every other
day. Today was an "on" day and I wanted to take
advantage of the situation so we could return the
original reports to the children before many of them
returned to their family villages for the school holiday.
Then I spent some time preparing solicitation letters for
the Children's Fund.
Sharon has been working six and a half days a week at
the hospital, so I offered to do a little shopping for fresh
vegetables. On the way to the Kasubi open-air market,
I climbed Lubya hill to get to the house where one of our
students was spending the school holiday. This girl is in
sixth grade at a village boarding school. She ended up
there last year after she had a discipline problem with
her mother with whom she had been staying. She had
been beaten on the head with a soda bottle and
subsequently ran away from home. I didn't want her to
remain alone in the village, nor could I send her back to
her mother’s, so I prevailed upon her young stepmother
to take her in to spend the holiday with her three half-
siblings. I had crayons and coloring books for the kids
and a little extra money for mom to buy food.
I'd heard stories about the irresponsible, drug-addicted,
alcoholic father, but there he was when I arrived, calm,
industrious, and sober. His latest venture is raising
pigs, and he hasn't yet accumulated enough cash to
build a sty. A number of giant hogs were rooting
around the yard, and as I tried to navigate my way
around their stout aromatic bodies, one big fellow
unexpectedly charged and nuzzled my rear end with his
snout, much to the amusement of the children. After
greeting the family, I privately gave mom the money so it
wouldn't turn into beer or banana wine, and left for
Kasubi.
The sprawling outdoor market was bustling with activity
and the women selling the vegetables brazenly and
laughingly called to me, "Muzungu, over here!" I found
what I needed and marveled at how much I could buy
for so little money. I accumulated a large bag of fresh
tomatoes, green peppers, carrots, and potatoes for the
equivalent of two dollars! Then I crossed the road to
buy bread and eggs before returning home.
Last week I had told Ssem, a contractor friend, that I
wanted to visit JjaJja's house to see about adding a
"bathroom" to the premises. Many of you may
remember the old woman who takes care of about a
dozen orphaned grandchildren in a small house
between the main road and a swamp. Last year we
finished her house and earlier this year we added a pit
latrine, but the family has no private place to bathe. A
bathroom is actually an outdoor stall where one takes
soap and a basin of water, and maybe a towel. That's
how most people wash themselves here.
Ssem arrived and we headed off to JjaJja's. She and
the kids were happy to see us, and after the obligatory
greetings we inspected the site and agreed on a
proposed location for the addition. As we were about to
leave, JjaJja insisted we come in to see baby Simon
whom she said was "sick." I remembered that he had
cerebral palsy, but still I was shocked by what I saw.
The two-year-old was all head and belly, with tiny,
vestigial-looking legs and arms dangling limply from his
distended torso. His head lolled open-mouthed and his
eyes gazed into nowhere. Eleven-year-old Fiona
picked him up and gently held him while I sat down on
the bed, feeling stunned and helpless.
I soon came to my senses, though, and called Sharon
on my mobile phone. She prompted me with some
pointed questions, and ably assisted by Ssem as
translator we determined that Simon was seriously
malnourished. His mother has been feeding him only
milk from a cup. We gave her instructions on how to
prepare maize-flour porridge fortified with milk, eggs,
and other nutrients, provided her with a little money to
buy these items, and told her to come to our hospital for
some nutritional counseling.
We departed again, and just to add a bizarre note to
our leave-taking, we passed a madwoman sitting on the
side of the road playing with the gravel on the berm. As
we approached, I recognized her as one of JjaJja's
daughters, the mother of two of our kids. She seemed
about midway between manic and normal, so I greeted
her in Luganda and had a brief but interesting
conversation. Then Ssem and I boarded a matatu back
to Namungoona.
That evening I found two of our high school students,
Sophia and Batte, waiting to give me their school
reports. I reviewed their performances, gave a little
advice for improvement, and sent them on their way as
night was falling. So ends another day in Uganda.
Postscript: Five days later
Today while I was in town, Sophia and her sister Maria,
cousins to little Simon, tearfully came to tell Sharon that
he had died this morning.
2nd Postscript: Two months later
I was informed that the young mother of three who
allowed her stepdaughter to stay with them during the
school holiday was admitted to the hospital. I went
down to visit and saw the ambulance preparing to
transport her to the main government hospital in
Kampala. She was suffering from an infection following
a miscarriage. She did not survive.
wanted to visit JjaJja's house to see about adding a
"bathroom" to the premises. Many of you may
remember the old woman who takes care of about a
dozen orphaned grandchildren in a small house
between the main road and a swamp. Last year we
finished her house and earlier this year we added a pit
latrine, but the family has no private place to bathe. A
bathroom is actually an outdoor stall where one takes
soap and a basin of water, and maybe a towel. That's
how most people wash themselves here.
Ssem arrived and we headed off to JjaJja's. She and
the kids were happy to see us, and after the obligatory
greetings we inspected the site and agreed on a
proposed location for the addition. As we were about to
leave, JjaJja insisted we come in to see baby Simon
whom she said was "sick." I remembered that he had
cerebral palsy, but still I was shocked by what I saw.
The two-year-old was all head and belly, with tiny,
vestigial-looking legs and arms dangling limply from his
distended torso. His head lolled open-mouthed and his
eyes gazed into nowhere. Eleven-year-old Fiona
picked him up and gently held him while I sat down on
the bed, feeling stunned and helpless.
I soon came to my senses, though, and called Sharon
on my mobile phone. She prompted me with some
pointed questions, and ably assisted by Ssem as
translator we determined that Simon was seriously
malnourished. His mother has been feeding him only
milk from a cup. We gave her instructions on how to
prepare maize-flour porridge fortified with milk, eggs,
and other nutrients, provided her with a little money to
buy these items, and told her to come to our hospital for
some nutritional counseling.
We departed again, and just to add a bizarre note to
our leave-taking, we passed a madwoman sitting on the
side of the road playing with the gravel on the berm. As
we approached, I recognized her as one of JjaJja's
daughters, the mother of two of our kids. She seemed
about midway between manic and normal, so I greeted
her in Luganda and had a brief but interesting
conversation. Then Ssem and I boarded a matatu back
to Namungoona.
That evening I found two of our high school students,
Sophia and Batte, waiting to give me their school
reports. I reviewed their performances, gave a little
advice for improvement, and sent them on their way as
night was falling. So ends another day in Uganda.
Postscript: Five days later
Today while I was in town, Sophia and her sister Maria,
cousins to little Simon, tearfully came to tell Sharon that
he had died this morning.
2nd Postscript: Two months later
I was informed that the young mother of three who
allowed her stepdaughter to stay with them during the
school holiday was admitted to the hospital. I went
down to visit and saw the ambulance preparing to
transport her to the main government hospital in
Kampala. She was suffering from an infection following
a miscarriage. She did not survive.
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