A visit to Alice's mother

After three aborted trips, we finally took Alice (they pronounce it Alice-say because there is an “e” at the end of her name and e’s are pronounced “a”) to visit her mother. This village was a fair distance from where we stay, on the outskirts of Mukono District and took us about a half hour by boda. Alice and Scovia took one 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 riding again like a “man” and leaving 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 dirt hut approximately 10’ x 14’. 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 a shady place to sit and wait. Within 20 minutes Alice returned with her mother who greeted us profusely, but spared us the Ugandan Body Slam. She of course spoke no English but 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.

I remembered that I had a loaf of bread in my backpack. 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.
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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 trip to and from her mother’s village. When we actually made the trip it included Scovia, baby, 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 the 25,000 Ush I had on me—just as I am tempted to give money away every day to the children and adults I meet as we work. I could give away everything I owned and it would make not one iota of difference. Still I am tempted.

We left and walked Alice’s mother back to the rock quarry. I quickly grasped why Scovia cries every 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 starving ox 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 mallot, chipping away at rock to make gravel. For the rest of her life.

Alice and her mother shook hands as they parted. I guess it is okay to hug strangers but not people you know? Come to think of it, I have seen no shows of affection anywhere since arriving…

As is always the case there was no boda ride out of the village. Although we can usually find them to take us IN, they are never that far out to take us OUT. So we again walked a fair distance before we eventually find a boda and get ourselves back home…

Late last night Alice and I were sitting outside and she said “I want to go to America with you”. Her accent is so heavy that I hoped that I had misunderstood. I looked at her and asked her to repeat herself. I had not misunderstood. When I told her I could not take her back with me I could see the disappointment on her face but she tried to cover it. She didn’t cry until I left for my sleeping space and I could hear her then. Made me cry too. I can cry just re-thinking it. I cant even tell her how much I would LOVE to take her with me so that she understands that I am not rejecting her, because that would give her hope. Alice is the fourth person to ask me to take them to America, but Alice is the only one I feel truly badly about.

Yesterday as we left the village we passed a woman selling long stalks of sugar cane. Isaac bought one and chopped it into short stalks about 10 inches long. Today (just now!) Scovia came by with a full bowl of moist sugarcane for me. YUMMIE!!! I remember chewing sugar cane growing up in Florida. It used to grow down by the river where the Mallorys eventually built their house.