At St. Joseph's Primary, Ndeeba

Today I went with Susy, one of MCDT's loan officers, to a meeting held at a school in Ndeeba. Just off the room where we were meeting with borrowers was a preschool class. Most of the teaching seemed to be call and response in form, with this wonderful rhythmic character. I didn't understand it at all, of course, until we got to the point when the teacher said, "How are you?" and all the preschoolers in unison shouted, "I AM FINE!"

"How are you?"
"I AM FINE!"
"How are you?"
"I AM FINE!"

over and over again.

When I came out at the end of the day, a few children, probably not from that class, were standing in the yard. I said to one, "How are you?" He promptly answered, "I am fine," and seemed pleased and startled that this actually worked.

I feel the same, actually. This morning a woman walked in and said, "Sebya tyano, nnyabo," to which I answered "Bulunji," as is proper. She said, mmm. I said, "Sebya tyano, nnyabo," and she said, "Bulunji." Mmm. Then she started saying all sorts of things I didn't understand. I'm sure I goggled a bit and turned to Susy for help. "She said you are doing very well," Susy told me. Mmm.

Basics: School Fees

As I was writing up business descriptions this morning, I was reminded of the importance of school fees in the lives of people here. I don’t think I’ve mentioned them before, and certainly not in any serious way.

There is no such thing as free education here, anywhere. It does not matter how poor you are or what school you go to, everyone pays school fees. And if you don’t have school fees, your children do not get an education. Period.

Without exception, every borrower I’ve talked to has mentioned school fees as a primary reason to need a loan, to need a profitable business. Even for those who don’t have children themselves, money is needed to pay school fees for younger brothers or sisters, or nieces and nephews, or somebody.

I went to a neighborhood restaurant for lunch the other day. I was the only one there, and my server, a young man maybe out of his teens, wrote a note for me explaining how he had had to drop out of school and is trying to get money together for school fees so he could complete his education.

The story isn’t so great for teachers either. Yesterday, I interviewed two women applying for loans. Both of them had been teachers. Both of them are now running a school canteen because that was more profitable than teaching. Not only is the pay very low, but it was often late, one told me. In a cash economy, late pay will get you nothing because there is no such thing as credit.

I don’t know how I would do it, but if I were setting up a program to help people in Uganda, it would have something to do with paying school fees.

Fire at Budo Junior, and a pastoral response

I have no idea if the news reached the States about the absolutely horrific fire that happened last Monday at Budo Junior Primary School, a very exclusive boarding school here. Bay Area folks, think Head-Royce-type reputation, only more so. I'm not clear on the details, but no one seems to be. Was there arson? Possibly. Were the doors to the dorm locked so the girls couldn't get out? Probably. Were the security guards watching the football match? Very likely. Where was the matron? No one is sure. Did someone keep those trying to help get the girls out from entering the school grounds? Reportedly. And what happened to all the school fees, since teachers haven't been paid in six months? A very good question.

With all of this, though, the fact remains that 19 girls were burned to death in their dormitory last Monday night, all but one beyond recognition. They had to do DNA testing on the remains before releasing them to the parents. It's beyind horrible. One of the girls died after pulling out several others and going in for more. Another tried to get her twin sister to leave the dorm, but she refused, saying, "Let me sleep." Stories keep emerging along with a lot of opinions, but no real answers.

This morning at church (All Saints, Nakasero), the vicar had 20 roses for the girls who had been killed (was it 20 or just 19? That's another question). She invited anyone with a connection to Budo, or simply if they wished, to come forward and take a rose as she read a poem in memory of the girls who had died; then we all sang a song. It was devastating; certainly I was crying. I can't imagine how one could handle something like this any better.

Below, I am copying the poem the vicar read (and possibly wrote; there was no author), which is quite long, but I think worth sharing with you. Please pray for those who died in the fire at Budo Junior and for their families.

To all Budo Junior Parents who lost their children

I Lost My Child

I lost my child today
People came from far and wide
Horror stricken to weep and cry
As I just sat and stared, dry eyed
They struggled to find words to say
To make the pain go away
I walked away in disbelief
I lost my child today

I lost my child on Monday
People came and went away
Some still call some still stay
I wait to wake up from this dream
This can't be real I want to scream
Yet everything is locked inside
God help me I want to die
I lost my little one on Monday

Six days ago I lost my child
The anger rages like high tide
I sit and struggle all day long
To bear the pain so deep so strong
My friends do not know how to soothe
They say a prayer and share a psalm
But nothing seems to bring me calm
Last week I lost my child

20 daughters lost one by one
The joy, the laughter, the giggles, the fun
All lost in one raging horror
All I hear is blame, blame, blame
The song is the same, as is the fear
Questions, vengeance and pursuit for answers
How on earth can we keep the balance?

Can someone stop, can someone hear
The still small voice rising up through the anguish
Up through the gloom, up through the darkness
Listen, my child I am here
Do not be afraid I am near

We lost our precious child this week
From the heavens I bow down and weep
An act so vile, repugnant to the skies
My heart is wounded for every child

Yet all is not lost
For she is a precious gift to you
Lived not in vain

Even though there is still doubt and pain
Anger, fury, guilt and rage

For the time she was for you to hold
The love you shared more precious than gold
Stronger than death, longer than life
May it live on above the turmoil & strife

Her fatal and unfortunate end
Shall however
Never upstage her beautiful smile, her laughter
Her charm, her dreams, her passion, her life
The magnitude of who she was yet so young
Let her memory still live within me
And I shall cherish it till my time
And I hold no grudge for this treacherous crime

And so for the sake of her who brought great joy
Do not despair overcome by grief
For to die inside is a worse defeat
Peace choked by anger
Joy extinguished by grief
Her gift to us must not be lost
Let this instead, be your prayer
When doubts fill your mind

When fears assail
Father O Father quieten my soul
Be so real, present in my loss
Strengthen my faith, help me bear this cross
And Father please at the end of each day
Help me remember the love not the pain

Exhibit A

I’m starting to feel like Barney, the big purple dinosaur, when I walk around here, based on the reaction of small children. My favorite was a couple of days ago with some little’uns from down my road came RUNNING over saying, “Mazungu! Mazungu!” I said to the girl, maybe 4, “How are you?” and she said, “Fine.” I said to the boy, “How are you?” and he said, “Fine,” and they both cracked up and ran away.

Behind me I could hear one of them saying “lugandaluganda Mazungu lugandalugandaluganda How are you lugandalugandaluganda Fine lugandaluganda How are you lugandalugandaluganda Fine lugandaluganda” gigglegigglegiggle.

Here is my very loose interpretation, which is probably the same as your own, since we know equal amounts of Luganda, except for those of you who know more than I do. “We went over to the mazungu and first she started talking to me and she said, ‘How are you?’ and I said ‘Fine’ and then she said to my brother ‘How are you?’ and he said ‘Fine.’ Can you believe it?” gigglegigglegiggle

I don’t know, that may be topped, though, by the time I was going home from the office after a day at work. The office is on the second floor of a building that has a restaurant on the first floor with a patio with square tables. I go out the back and down some stairs and then walk up the side and through the patio and up some stairs to leave. As I walked up the side and into the patio, a child, maybe two, sitting at a table with her older brother and her father, dropped the piece of pineapple she was holding, pointed, and shouted, MAZUNGU! I could just see her father cringe. But what can you do? I’m an exotic beast in these parts. It is a little like being at the zoo—being an inmate, that is.

Swaddling clothes

I have to admit, I love the way the women here strap infants to their backs. I hope that isn't patronizing, but I'm just fascinated by it. If it's a very small baby, all you will see is the soles of a couple of feet sticking out the side of a woman's body; as they get older you'll start to see legs and knees.

These two pictures were taken at the meeting I spoke of in the other post. I watched each woman as she bent over and piled a child on her back. Then she would take a towel or other rectangular cloth and tie first the top two corners together, tuck the lower half of the towel under the lower half of the child and tie that, too. It looked really cozy. I would worry that the towel would come untied and the child slip out, but then I've never had any practice.