“Muzungu!” That is the word I here most often in Uganda. One other phrase I hear often is, “Good morning Brian! How are you?” To clear things up muzungu means white person. In this village, in Uganda, there are never many white people hanging around visiting with the people. I have seen a few tourists but they are always driving by, at a very high speed, to the resorts or heading to a safari. They drive by, most likely, without giving more than a passing thought about the people and the poverty they are seeing.
Uganda is not what I had expected. The poverty is very real. The faith and joy is even more real. I have not gone 50 steps since I have come here and not had someone say hello with a huge smile. These people are much slower paced and are never too busy to stop and chat, which happens often, they never forget a face or a name. They also love to talk, time is not something they are lacking in. They have all the time in the world.
The children here are incredible. Some are very frightened of me, because they have never seen someone of my age that is my color. Most, though, are a little confused at first, until you smile. When you smile they light up and yell how are you! They do not know what I say back, because my accent is hard for them to understand (the misunderstanding is mutual it is hard to understand what people say here), but they are overjoyed to be speaking English with a muzungu. When I visited the kindergarten the first time they all had a huge smile and giggled when I talked. When I visit now they yell “Brian!” or “Muzungu!” and sprint as fast as their little legs can take them to hang off my arms and back. They have a fascination with my skin. They will rub my skin or hair for 10 minutes straight while smiling at me.
The conditions of this school are sad. The children are all very dirty from all the dust, they do not have electricity and have no posters for helping learn, unless they make them. Entering this kindergarten and comparing it to one in America is sad. It is dark, no bright colors, open to the environment and very very dusty.
The room they are letting me stay in at the parish is very nice. It has a good sized bed, clean sheets, electricity and a mosquito net. I also have a bathroom with running water. The women who take care of the parish are very kind. They spoil me! They do my laundry and make my food, muzungu friendly I might add! Which means less matoke, or cooked bananas that have zero flavor and are somehow bitter, and more potatoes and rice.
In spite of all of that these children are joyful. They have an intense joy that they just can’t contain. They jump up and down and yell and play just like any kindergartener in America, maybe even more so. Two children have really stuck out here, one girl who treats me just like my nephew does and one boy who I could be a comfort to. The girl will copy everything I do then run away laughing, I act annoyed but it is actually kind of adorable. I first noticed it when I was leaning against the van with one hand in my pocket, I looked over and she was doing the same! I then began to notice she would copy everything I said and say it to her friends giggling. This shows me kids are the same everywhere. The other child is named Precious. When we were all lining up for the ride home in the van I could see he was about to cry. Here children are taught early not to cry. It is not something you see much, the only emotion shown often is joy. I could tell he was close. He is much smaller than the other children and they were pushing him out of the way. He could not get to his spot in the front seat very easily. He did get there eventually though and was forced to stand because he was younger. I saw that and plopped him in my lap and just cuddled him. He looked into my eyes, smiled, and then put his head on my chest and fell asleep. He had had a very long day and was just tired. It is moments like that that make this whole trip worth it. I had been missing my family, friends and girlfriend. Thoughts had been going through my head like why did I do this? Why did I come alone? Maybe I can cut the month to two weeks? That boy made me feel at home. I still miss home very much, but there is so much need here. These children need financial help yes, but even more so they need love. Unconditional agape love.
Mass here is way different then at home. At home most church services are very solemn and reverent and quiet. Here it is still very reverent, but in a very African way. There is loud singing, dancing, drums and clapping. When they clap though there is no looking at each other laughing and treating it as a joke, it is incredibly pious. For them the only two people in the room is them and Jesus. It is beautiful. The other thing that struck me was that the average person here makes next to no money. Whatever they can get from the fruits and vegetables they sell is about it. Every single family brought up something. If the family had any money they put it in the basket, if they did not they put mangos, sugar canes, potatoes or bananas on the altar. They give everything they can possibly afford, and I think, even some they can’t. Jesus digs that.
That is all for this blog I hope you enjoy! And I apologize in advance for any mistakes made, my sister is not here with me to proof it, but I am sure she will tell me all the times I made a grammatical error! Until next time!
With Love from Uganda,
Brian Kearney
P.S. No Pictures this time but I will find someone here with technical know how and hopefully can get them up by the next post!
