Eva, My Friend

Now that the laundry soap and math instruments are more than a week behind us (and God continues to gently remind me that I am surrounded by His family—my family—here too), Eva and I are in a wonderful place in our friendship. Since her leaving examination for primary school is finished, she no longer comes to Noah’s Ark for classes, but she has stopped by to visit on occasion.

She loves asking questions about America. Not the hard questions some children ask, like whether America is bigger than Canada or when we had our war to gain independence from Britain (I was never good at social studies, so yes, those are hard questions). She asks things like whether any white people are born with black hair and does everyone really speak English? Today she reported that she heard some people have blue eyes. When I confirmed it, she said that sounded scary.

I had the privilege of seeing Eva’s home and meeting her family a few days ago. We walked half an hour away from Noah’s Ark up a slippery, muddy dirt road lined with short trees and tethered goats. We passed several houses that were quite large and nice for Ugandan homes, and I began to get hopeful that maybe her situation was better than I had expected. When she said, “Here is my house,” my heart leapt as I looked at the good-sized painted house before us… until I realized she was pointing to the house in front of that one, the house that looked more like a garden shed in comparison.

Eva, her grandparents, her uncle, her sister, and her three cousins live in a two-room brick building with no electricity or running water, which is not uncommon for homes here. The main room is six feet by ten feet and has nothing but a couch, some plastic on the ground and a machete in the corner. The second room is where most of the family sleeps. There was a kitten the size of my fist that wandered through the house, wet from the afternoon storm and literally shivering in the cold.

One thing I did not consider beforehand was that Eva and her sister are the only ones in their family who can speak English. Many Ugandan families are in a similar situation because the children learn in school, but the parents, many of whom never went to school, only speak their local language. Eva’s grandmother was thrilled to see me. She had been hoping to meet me for the past two weeks and greeted me with a huge smile and several minutes of talk as she shook my hand, most of which Eva never bothered to translate. What I did manage to make out was “Webale, webale, webale” over and over again, which means “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Eva’s grandmother is 57 years old and very sick. She has had severe health issues for the past year and has lost a lot of weight (Eva says she used to be fat, but now the woman looks frail). Her grandfather is 87 and although he doesn’t have many health issues, he is very old, especially for a Ugandan. Neither of them is able to work so they spend the whole day at home with the young children.

There was one man there who I think is Eva’s uncle. He is in his twenties and has a one-year-old daughter, Annika. His wife left him for another marriage when Annika was four months old, so he and Eva’s grandmother have raised the precious little girl. Annika was sick when I visited, but when her sweet smile came out it lit up the damp little room.

The other family members living there are Eva’s 9-year-old sister, her 5-year-old nephew-or-cousin, and her 4-year-old nephew-or-cousin. Eva also has an 11-year-old sister who lives in a nearby village. She works as a sort of housekeeper for a family who took her in as much for the help she needed as for the help she had to offer. They provide food, clothing, and housing for her, are teaching her basic household tasks like cooking and washing, and have promised to pay her way through primary school starting in the February term. She is so blessed by them and the situation in which they have put her. Because she is not far away, Eva still gets to see her on a regular basis.

Most of my visit to Eva’s house was spent with little Annika on my lap, her wild hair tickling my chin. Eva’s grandmother talked up a storm. Many times, she took one of my hands in both of hers and shook it firmly yet tenderly while looking into my eyes and saying all sorts of unintelligible things to me. It might sound uncomfortable, but her gratitude was apparent even without her words and I was happy to finally be there to meet her and help bring some joy. She didn’t seem to mind that my only response was a smile.

What I loved most about their family is how much they smiled. I have spoken before of how joyful Eva is despite her circumstances, and the same is true of most of her family. There were times in Eva’s and her grandmother’s conversation where they would both tilt their heads back in loud and unabashed laughter and have such a beautiful moment it made me wonder what they had been talking about all that time. I have seen Eva’s eyes turn sad when she talks to me about certain things, but her grandmother’s dark eyes glowed the entire time I was at their house, shining with the appreciation of someone who has been given a very wonderful gift. And to think the only thing I brought with me was a bag of sugar.

After I prayed for her grandmother and Eva took several pictures of me with her family… and of her family… and of me… and of her sister in a cornfield… and more of her family… and more of me… it was time for me to start walking back to Noah’s Ark for supper. We said our good-byes and I assured them (with Eva’s help) that I would visit at least once more before I leave next month. Eva and I walked hand-in-hand down the long dirt road on which we had come, and she didn’t turn back until I was halfway home again. When she did turn around, she practically skipped up the road and out of sight.

Tomorrow is the last time I will see Eva. On Sunday, she is traveling to a village in western Uganda to sort out some land ownership issues for the property on which their house sits. I don’t understand the whole story, but her family is from another part of Uganda, and when they moved here her father borrowed the land because he couldn’t afford to buy it. When her father died, that complicated the matter, so now she has to go to the man who actually owns the land (why he lives across the country and owns this tiny plot, I cannot tell you) to show her face and prove that there are still people living on it… or something like that. She said she will be at that village until the end of January because she will need to work, but I’m not sure if that is to pay off debt from the land or to pay for travel back home. She is coming to Noah’s Ark tomorrow to say good-bye.

“Auntie Katie, I don’t know what I will do when you leave,” she told me the other day. “I will miss you so much. When I told my grandmother you are going home next month, she said you can’t go. Who will take care of us if you are gone?”

“Surely someone will step in and help provide for you,” I said hopefully. “You know, there are plenty of other volunteers here who I’m sure would love to get to know you and your family and help you out.”

She shook her head. “You don’t know. Many, many people come through here. I see them all the time. But none of them are like you. Most of them, you can tell them your problems, but…” she trailed off. I knew exactly what she meant. How often have I listened to someone’s problems and let my response trail off before they could make me promise to take action? “But you are different,” she continued. “You care. I feel like we are sisters, and now you are going home. I am going to miss you so much.”

There are some days here when I wonder why God had to bring me all the way to Africa to learn the little lessons He is teaching me. There are some days when I feel like my contribution is minimal and my frustration is great. And then today God walloped me over the head with my student-become-good-friend Eva and showed me what can happen when you pay attention to the people right in front of you.

God is so good, and because of that I am full of hope for my joyful friend.

p.s. If you want to learn what you can do to help Eva and her family, please email me: katie.schinnell@gmail.com.