Hello everyone! Nothing much has been going on here. Well, besides the usual living with 30 children! But I can’t believe only a week until I go home. I’m trying not to think about how much I’m going to miss the kids.
This week, Deidrah and I went to the village to visit one of her friend's family. She invited me to go along since I have never been to the village before.
We were the only car for miles as we drove down a small path that was hardly used for cars. It was so green, with banana trees and small gardens along the road. Little huts made into stores started to line the road with people sitting on their “porches.” There were some small cement houses, and some that were round. The round homes were patched with mud with a roof made of sticks. I had seen some places like this while riding around Uganda , but never exactly like this. Since most of these people have never even left the village they live in, most have never seen a white person in their lives.
The car finally stopped and we got out. My blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin, were quite a distraction. I started taking pictures and soon there were about 10 kids crowded around me. They didn’t speak English, so all I could do was smile. Some would giggle and run away as I approached them. I took a few pictures, then, motioned them to come so that they could see the image on my digital camera. That broke the ice. Soon, everyone wanted their picture taken, and even the grown men were posing for me. A little girl came by with a baby on her back. With a face full of dirt and snot, all the baby could do was stare. I reached out my hand, and with no hesitation, the baby grabbed it. I guess the baby saw how happy this made me and he smiled back.
We left to go onto the other side to meet the friend’s family and “the old women;” her mother and grandmother. I was so happy to see more children as we drove down yet another small path. These houses were a bit nicer; with doors. A young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years-old, was busy drying rice on a large piece of tarp when we pulled up. She stopped for a moment and watched us get out of the car. There were about three boys coming from the opposite direction on a (yes all were on one) bicycle, who stopped and stared in amazement as well. While the others went into the house to talk and wait for the mother and grandmother, I stayed outside to make friends with the children. I used the camera again to lure the kids closer. Another little girl hurried over to see what was going on with a baby on her back. The baby was so cute, but fat, and on the verge of malnourishment. When the baby finally caught a glimpse of me, he screamed like he was in agonizing pain. My white skin scared him so much that even coming within 20 feet, he would cry kick and scream with terror. The girls would tease him and bring him closer just to make him scream, then they would roll over in giggles. Finally I just picked up the child and held him. For a moment I thought he might pass out. He was screaming so loud and his eyes grew so big, I was sure he had stopped breathing. So I gave him back.
Soon the grandmother came to see us. The children all fell on their knees to greet the woman (a cultural custom in Uganda , to show respect). She came and shook my hand and said so many things, that I did not understand. Again, all I could do was smile. As I’m writing this, I’m trying to find a word to describe this woman, and I can’t. Just by looking at her hands and the deep wrinkles on her face, you could tell this woman had so many stories she could share. You could tell her life wasn’t easy, but that she made the best out of it. Her eyes were glazed over and I wondered if she could even see. Somehow she made it over to me though and knew who each of her great-grandchildren were. The mother then came, she greeted me with such enthusiasm. Luckily, she knew a little bit of English. She also taught me a few words in her native language as well. As we sat and talked to these two women, I was overwhelmed. I longed to be able to talk to them and hear their stories and for them to share their wisdom.
I wanted to know their achievements, their losses, how man children they had. How many grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and even great-great-grandchildren did they have? These two have most likely never set foot inside of a classroom in their lives. They have probably never watched a movie or have eaten at a restaurant. They walk miles for dirty water, dig in the hard dirt daily to feed their growing family, watch over the growing children, and yet are very happy. The grandmother, hurried away and came back in her nicest outfit. She wanted me to take her picture. The mother then also wanted a picture of herself and the baby who was deathly afraid of me.
I’m happy that I can share these pictures with you, but sad that they don’t capture what they could. They can tell the story, but it’s different to experience it. It’s different to hear the sound and smell the smells of Uganda than it is to watch it on TV or see the pictures in magazines. But, maybe these photos can bring you just a step closer to a look at the “real world.”
With love,
Haley
This week, Deidrah and I went to the village to visit one of her friend's family. She invited me to go along since I have never been to the village before.
We were the only car for miles as we drove down a small path that was hardly used for cars. It was so green, with banana trees and small gardens along the road. Little huts made into stores started to line the road with people sitting on their “porches.” There were some small cement houses, and some that were round. The round homes were patched with mud with a roof made of sticks. I had seen some places like this while riding around Uganda , but never exactly like this. Since most of these people have never even left the village they live in, most have never seen a white person in their lives.
The car finally stopped and we got out. My blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin, were quite a distraction. I started taking pictures and soon there were about 10 kids crowded around me. They didn’t speak English, so all I could do was smile. Some would giggle and run away as I approached them. I took a few pictures, then, motioned them to come so that they could see the image on my digital camera. That broke the ice. Soon, everyone wanted their picture taken, and even the grown men were posing for me. A little girl came by with a baby on her back. With a face full of dirt and snot, all the baby could do was stare. I reached out my hand, and with no hesitation, the baby grabbed it. I guess the baby saw how happy this made me and he smiled back.
We left to go onto the other side to meet the friend’s family and “the old women;” her mother and grandmother. I was so happy to see more children as we drove down yet another small path. These houses were a bit nicer; with doors. A young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years-old, was busy drying rice on a large piece of tarp when we pulled up. She stopped for a moment and watched us get out of the car. There were about three boys coming from the opposite direction on a (yes all were on one) bicycle, who stopped and stared in amazement as well. While the others went into the house to talk and wait for the mother and grandmother, I stayed outside to make friends with the children. I used the camera again to lure the kids closer. Another little girl hurried over to see what was going on with a baby on her back. The baby was so cute, but fat, and on the verge of malnourishment. When the baby finally caught a glimpse of me, he screamed like he was in agonizing pain. My white skin scared him so much that even coming within 20 feet, he would cry kick and scream with terror. The girls would tease him and bring him closer just to make him scream, then they would roll over in giggles. Finally I just picked up the child and held him. For a moment I thought he might pass out. He was screaming so loud and his eyes grew so big, I was sure he had stopped breathing. So I gave him back.
Soon the grandmother came to see us. The children all fell on their knees to greet the woman (a cultural custom in Uganda , to show respect). She came and shook my hand and said so many things, that I did not understand. Again, all I could do was smile. As I’m writing this, I’m trying to find a word to describe this woman, and I can’t. Just by looking at her hands and the deep wrinkles on her face, you could tell this woman had so many stories she could share. You could tell her life wasn’t easy, but that she made the best out of it. Her eyes were glazed over and I wondered if she could even see. Somehow she made it over to me though and knew who each of her great-grandchildren were. The mother then came, she greeted me with such enthusiasm. Luckily, she knew a little bit of English. She also taught me a few words in her native language as well. As we sat and talked to these two women, I was overwhelmed. I longed to be able to talk to them and hear their stories and for them to share their wisdom.
I wanted to know their achievements, their losses, how man children they had. How many grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and even great-great-grandchildren did they have? These two have most likely never set foot inside of a classroom in their lives. They have probably never watched a movie or have eaten at a restaurant. They walk miles for dirty water, dig in the hard dirt daily to feed their growing family, watch over the growing children, and yet are very happy. The grandmother, hurried away and came back in her nicest outfit. She wanted me to take her picture. The mother then also wanted a picture of herself and the baby who was deathly afraid of me.
I’m happy that I can share these pictures with you, but sad that they don’t capture what they could. They can tell the story, but it’s different to experience it. It’s different to hear the sound and smell the smells of Uganda than it is to watch it on TV or see the pictures in magazines. But, maybe these photos can bring you just a step closer to a look at the “real world.”
With love,
Haley
