Boys on Veranda with a pair of Adungus
Sunday morning, I met D'Andrea downstairs at Acholi Ber for breakfast, after which we jumped into the Child Voice van and headed out to Lukodi. I had been invited to church service, and then to stay the night, which was an opportunity I wasn't about to miss. On the way out to the village, D'Andrea and I discussed driving on the Kitgum-Gulu road (which is an adventure no matter who is behind the wheel). Between potholes, people randomly standing in the road, giant mud puddles, and massive rocks, it takes a very particular vehicle to be able to manage. Bodas are actually the very best form of transportation around here because a dirt bike can get over anything. In terms of larger vehicles, the van that the organization currently uses is sturdy enough (once the bar between the tires is removed and special hardcore tires are fitted onto it) or a LandRover also works. That's about it. Of course, the organization is in need of a new vehicle, so if you happen to know anyone sitting on a desire to donate hugely, this is a NEED.
As the van pulled through the gates and up to the front of the compound, Pastor came over to the side of the van to greet D'Andrea and talk to her about one of the girls who we thought might need to go to the hospital. When he saw me in the passenger seat he came over and basically ripped my door open and then took me up in a giant hug. "MY SISTER!" he cried out.
After she parked, I found D'Andrea at Matron's hut (Matron is one of the older women of the compound) where they were discussing Matron's daughter (the girl who we thought needed to go to the hospital). It turned out that the girl had had a bone stuck in her throat but that at some point during the night it had been swallowed and all was well. Matron brought me into her hut (I took off my shoes to enter) and as the conversation progressed she smiled and said, "You are welcome here. This is your home, just like America is your home. This is where you belong."
Once I'd dropped off my bag and switched my sneakers for a more compound friendly pair of borrowed sandals (many thanks to Mama D'Andrea for allowing me their use all weekend) we headed off to prayer service. Because the weather was so gorgeous, the service was held under the mango tree outside. This prayer service is part of the community church and is therefore open to members of the local village (and there were a number of men, women, and children from the village who came in to church). CVI is hosting a group of InterVarsity Mission Trippers, so the service was a special one. Worship songs, clapping, and a guest pastor (one of the group members) with a message translated from Acholi to English about the meanings of greatness, the honor of servanthood, and the humble nature of Jesus. It was a great message.
I sat in the front with MaMa D'Andrea, with the children sitting in front of me on a straw mat. I made the mistake of showing one of the little boys (Phillip) that a baby grasshopper had landed on my skirt. He promptly grabbed it, yanked the large back legs off, and handed me back the poor leg-less (and still alive) body. Those who know me know I was mortified...I mean, I don't even kill ants if I can help it, and here we were torturing grasshoppers. I decided that it was a necessary death, however, and promptly handed the body back to the boy. This started a small contest of "let's try to scare the Mzungu woman!" with a half dozen dead grasshoppers of all sizes landing on my skirt at different points throughout the service. I'd throw them back without looking -- which had them stifling giggles.
After the service, the boys came up to me, "How OLD are YOU?" they said.
"SOOO old." I said.
We wanted a soccer ball, but since I didn't know where to get one we ended up playing "toss the grasshopper on a string" instead. My friend Phillip ended up being quite squeemish, and every time I tossed it to him he'd run. Then I'd toss to his friend Steven and Steven would catch it. He was VERY brave (or at least acting it...it was so funny, him throwing back his shoulders and throwing up his head and acting very macho).
"THIS is a MAN." Another boy (Patrick) told me. It was so funny because Steven is the smallest of all the boys and only nine years old, but he was definitely trying to be big and bad.
Xylophone Lessons at Lukodi
Suddenly we heard music being played on the veranda. I began walking that direction (now leading a group of about 10 little boys with me). It turned out that two boys were playing the xylophone on the porch. It was so much fun to listen to that I started to dance (very poorly). The kids began to mimic my movements, and soon enough I was surrounded by a circle of children of various ages all pretending not to be dancing with me. Occasionally my "MAN" Steven would come out, put his arms up, and dance with me. He was definitely brave. Whenever I'd try to bring another child to dance with me they'd go running so I spent a lot of time being watched curiously.
One of the toddlers found his way into the circle and grabbed my hand. He began to dance all around with me, stomping his feet, clapping, and turning in circles. I became aware at some point that I had nearly all of the Lukodi Church children around me, and I really hoped I wasn't upsetting any of the mothers. No one came running over to stop our party though, so I assumed all was well. It wasn't until the next day, when everyone was mentioning how funny it was to see me with the children that I realized that I really had been being watched.
After I'd danced to the point of exhaustion I ran and grabbed my camera. When I brought it out I was suddenly swarmed with kids who all wanted their picture taken. It went the same way every time -- I'd take a picture, I'd be surrounded by curious kids who wanted to see it, and then the number of kids who wanted their picture taken would get larger as more and more kids tried to crowd into the frame. It was awesome.
Kids from Lukodi Community Church
At some point in this, MaMa D'Andrea had come out and informed me that lunch was ready in her hut. I excused myself from my kids (at this point there were about 25 all around me) and made my way to the lunch. We were spoiled with beans, cabbage, potatoes, and pocho -- very starch heavy but it was SO appreciated because I was ravenous by the time we ate. Later, MaMa suggested that I could sit in on Luo lessons with Kirsten and Claire (the new CVI interns) so we all made our way to the classroom where Simon Peter Okello taught us using the blackboard and a very soft voice.
Of course, in the middle of the lesson the rain began again. It started as a drizzle that became a holy firehose. The thunder shook the buildings and vibrated in my ribcage. Looking out the window I couldn't see past the compound fence -- the hills were covered by the heavy rain. Of course, the rain on the tin roof made it impossible to hear anything (as if my hearing weren't bad enough as it was) so we ended up doing much of the lesson through writing on the board.
After the lesson we found our way to MaMa's hut where we hung out until dinner arrived. The rain continued through the night and the generator wasn't working so we ended up eating dinner by flashlight with our hands (probably one of my favorite memories of this entire trip, believe it or not). Of course, the rain and lack of light made it most interesting to use the restroom...
Latrine at Lukodi
The bathrooms at Lukodi are typical latrines. That is to say that they are outhouses with drops and one stands over a hole to use them. The trouble of it all is that the dark was oppressive, my flashlight was hardly worthy of its name, and I was basically feeling my way through the mud and water and praying I didn't run into any poles. This was hilarious. Note to me: next time -- head lamp.
After dinner, MaMa, Lowna, Kirsten, Claire, Juliet (one of MaMa's girls) and I sat in MaMa's hut telling funny stories by flashlight and enjoying ginger tea. It was one of the happiest moments I've had in Uganda, and one of the times I can truly say that I felt like I was being brought into a family. The rain continued to fall on the hut as the night got later. Finally, Lowna and I made our way back to Lowna's hut where Lowna graciously gave me her bed (sleeping on an extra mattress pad on the floor) and pillow for the night. I fell asleep to the sound of lizards rustling in the thatched roof and woke up to the sound of the rooster crowing and the Ugandan sunrise at about 6:30. It was heaven.
Lowna and I shared a morning cup of coffee followed by a trip to the bead hut where they hang the varnished beads to dry. She cut several strands of beads that were ready to be made into necklaces and handed them to me to help carry out to the compound. Once there, I ran into my tiny dancing partner from Sunday afternoon. He came running for me, grabbing my leg and wrapping himself around me. I sat down on the veranda with him and two others until the Lukodi mothers began herding the toddlers into the nursery. I was guided by one little one on either side of me yanking my hands to pull me into the room and I found myself in the class room on a straw mat with several small children on my lap. Kirsten and Claire were also there along with the older nursery matron who we were assisting.
Nursery Matron and Baby (How about that SMILE!)
I spent the next three hours lifting children over my head, playing 'head, shoulders,knees, and toes,' and comforting those who were crying. There had to have been thirty kids in the room, all under the age of four, and even with four of us there weren't enough hands to do everything. The best part of it all is that there really isn't a language barrier with little kids. A comforting hand rubbing the back or a hand to hold or a spinning partner don't require words. I had a couple that were attached to me like glue with my hand in one hand and their teddy bears in their other hands. It was chaos. It was craziness. It was amazing. I left the room, after the nursery matron sent the children out to play, covered in baby pee, baby poop, and baby snot. I was exhausted and sore, but I was grinning ear-to-ear.
I am the luckiest woman alive.
Some of My Little Buddies
Once I left the nursery, I spent some time with Lowna and one of the missionary girls trying to design some appropriate 'Men's Wear' beads. Then, over lunch, I had the opportunity to bond with Kirsten and Claire (the interns) about their stories, how they got to CVI and what they were interested in doing with the rest of their lives. It was inspiring, and wonderful.
Women making Beads at Lukodi
Most of the rest of the day was spent wandering about the camp trying to be useful, making small talk, and taking in the gorgeousness that was the day. All too soon it was after four and the staff van was headed back into town. I gave Juliet MaMa's sandals. "You're leaving?" she asked. "Yes. I need to go." I said. "Why?!" she asked with a look that said, 'You live here now. Why would you go?' it was hilarious.
The ride back to town had me sitting next to the same little girl I'd sat next to on my first trip out to Lukodi (the one who had had malaria). She's feeling much better and she and I played with my bracelet the whole way home. Her mom laughed, "She just loves you. Now you are friends." Friends. Larem. It feels good.
I ended up taking a boda back from the CVI office to Acholi Ber (which is less than a mile but I was entirely too exhausted to walk) and have to admit that I enjoyed my bath a little too much last night. However, if given the chance I'd spend every day at Child Voice. At this point I'm soaring and entirely filled with joy. I've found a home and a family and a research question all in one trip.
This is where I belong.
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