Hungry kids, dancing in the streets & unlucky bulls

August 31

Yesterday’s rain was a big one. While you often see plantain trees fall with the weight of the plantain bunches, this morning there were several trees down here with very small bunches on them. I have to assume this was from the hard rain.

Last night Diana and Joshua came to my door excited that I was home. During our talk I learned that while I was gone the two had been abused (don’t know if this was verbal or physical) by their father who had been drinking, and ran to their grandmother’s house. There they spent the night with Grandmother, who had no food for them. So they went back home the next day in search of food but the beautiful-but-hateful young stepmother denied them food. They then came looking for me because I generally have some crackers or rolls and a jar of jam or something else junky, but I was gone. I asked if they had since eaten and they told me that yes, they had—but only after a day and a half. This morning I compared notes with Scovia. She said that they hadn’t eaten the day of Diana’s birthday party either and she gave them some bread and tea that night after the party. She had assumed that was just a fluke and hadn’t worried about them. She said she would henceforth quietly watch and make certain they had something to eat. Bless Scovia! It isn’t like she and Isaac are rolling in money and easily able to feed extra children.

Joshua who is younger than Diana, leaves for school with his older brother today. Neither the father nor the mother has been able to come up with school fees for Diana, who because she is a girl, comes last in the pecking order. It is 750,000 USH (about $325) per year. I was pretty tempted to give her school fees myself, but then had to stop myself. Everyone here needs money. Everyone. When her brothers leave, Diana will be alone all day with her rotten stepmother and her often drunk father. Damn. At least I now know that Scovia has a watchful eye on her.

On a lighter note, I have finally figured out an area where I have had an impact here…
This family and the neighbors constantly play music. It is a cross between hip hop and reggae, and the ever present high volume on the radio gets old fast. Anyway, I dance to the music whenever I am moving through our area of the village, stopping in doorways, stooping over their pots to see what they are cooking, or walking up the hill to brush my teeth. I had never thought much about this, but the people here thought this was pretty funny. Some of them laughed while others would see me and, from a distance, would acknowledge me by doing a little fanny-shaking of their own as they waved—it started with the children and moved to the adults.

Yesterday one of the women came through singing at the top of her lungs, drawing attention to herself, and dancing while she did it. I was outside, laughed at her and told her “good job”. She nodded her head and continued dancing up the road. Then I started reflecting back on the past several weeks and noted that many neighbors now do a little dance not just for me, but for each other. I wonder if they think this is some kind of bizarre American custom that they have adopted while I am here. Nonetheless, I would note that even worthless impacts qualify as impacts. This one is mine, small as it is.

Kinda reminds me of the time I caught my husband dancing—by himself—in a Sam’s Club—arms over his head, rockin’ out solo—in the freezer section. If ya feel it folks, shake it! (Sorry to have ratted you out George!)

It isn’t surprising that there are no toys in this village given the poverty. And yet the creativity of our children knows no bounds. This morning several of the children are running screaming and laughing with pinwheels they have made from leaves and twigs. They take a very small twig and poke a hole in a large leaf. When they run, the leaf spins and they have a twirling pinwheel! They have been running with these pinwheels all morning. They make drums from discarded plastic bottles. These children can make virtually anything into a toy and they all freely share whatever they have with each other (which may explain their confusion when I refuse to let them wear my glasses). I also better understand why when I toss a bag of trash, the adult women go through it. By the time they are through, there is very little to be actually tossed. Cookie boxes, plastic food wrap and paper can be used to start their charcoal pots, thread or string can be used for everything, old ballpoint pens can be heated and re-used…the people here are the original recyclers. They still have my broken hairdryer…

Finally, this from today’s edition of Uganda’s biggest newspaper, The New Vision:

Old Taxi Park Celebrates M7 Directive
“Business halted at the Old Taxi Park as traders and taxi operators jubilated over President Yoweri Museveni’s directive to return the park’s plots to them for re-development. Taxis jammed streets in downtown Kampala as traders slaughtered a bull and turned the place into a rally, vowing to support Museveni’s fourth term presidential bid. ‘We are over 30,000 and want to assure the President that we will not put him to shame.’ . . . musicians and dancers threw the traders into prolonged cheering as they exchanged NRM slogans. The celebrants said they slaughtered the bull to cleanse the park. Most taxi operators abandoned work to join the celebrations.”

BOY AM I GLAD TO HAVE MISSED THAT!!! The Old Taxi Park is frightening enough without celebrating with butchery…