Making the mat was easier than I expected. I cannot say my fingers were swift, but they were not too clumsy. Start on the right side, over-under-over-under-over. The best part was the fwsh, fwsh, fwsh sound the grass made as it passed back and forth between the pieces. Pull the ends until they are covered by the pieces going across. One green, one white, one green, one white. Pull it tight!
“Ah, look at the muzungu making the mat! She knows!” said an auntie in Luganda, sitting down next to the jjajja. I handed the strip of mat to Hananja and began teaching him the method I had just learned. I corrected him, and the auntie and jjajja corrected me. We passed the strip around the circle until each of the six children had had a chance to try. Most attempted for one or two minutes, became frustrated, and passed it on to the next person. When everyone was finished, jjajja gave it back to me, nodding for me to continue.
The children went outside with Auntie Sarah and began cleaning the compound, while the jjajja watched me with the mat. Though she spoke no English and I speak next to no Luganda, she was able to instruct me with her tone of voice and demonstrations. Each row became a bit easier and her instructions became less frequent. There is a rhythm to mat-making. Fwsh, fwsh, fwsh.
At the start of last holiday, we asked the oldest children in the program (ages ten-ish to thirteen-ish) what kinds of projects they would like to do in the three-week break from school. One of them suggested visiting people in the village. As the children are not allowed off the compound alone and they seldom have a reason to go out with someone, even the immediate area around Noah’s Ark is a bit of a mystery to them. Their perceptions of life in the village come from stories from their classmates and glimpses they see through the compound gate. They are not completely ignorant, but they are also not immersed in Ugandan culture. Though I understand the necessity of a closed-gate policy in a place like this, it also drives me crazy, so I was all for an outing with the children.
Over the course of the next week, the general manager found four jjajjas (grandmothers) who lived in the surrounding area and might be able to use some extra help. Our social workers visited the families to explain to them what we wanted to do and see what kind of help they could use around their homes. After the meetings, we decided to spend our first visit cleaning.
Jjajjas play an important role in Ugandan culture. When I asked some people why jjajjas are so special, the answers were unanimous:
“Jjajjas, they are very wise. They know everything! They can counsel you.”
“It is a matter of respect. You have to respect your jjajja. If you don’t respect yours, who will respect you when you are old?”
“They tell stories of long ago, from before our time. When they see teenagers with phones, they tell us we are spoiled because they never had such things when they were young… and then they tell a story about it.”
“They are important because they are the mothers of the family. They are the mothers of our parents so we need them.”
“My jjajja is so fun! Jjajjas love their grandchildren, so of course we love them too.”
The children at Noah’s Ark grow up without jjajjas. There are a few old women who sell food on the compound or come by regularly, but they are not loving grandparents to the mass of children here. Most of the workers are young or middle-aged men and women called aunties and uncles. They are necessary too, but without jjajjas these children miss out on a key aspect of Ugandan culture, as well as the lessons typically taught by the oldest generation. Our hope in visiting these jjajjas was to begin building relationships with them so at least these twenty-four children could have that figure in their lives. We split into four groups with six children in each group, accompanied by two adults who could serve as translators and guide everyone through the activities for the day.
As my group entered the house for our first visit, I got distracted by two young children playing outside. We spent a minute trying to tickle each other, and then I removed my shoes and hurried into the house so I didn’t miss anything. I quickly sat down on a free spot on the couch, then glanced around and realized only the boys and men were sitting on chairs, while the girls and Auntie Sarah were kneeling on a mat by the door. I slid off the couch and onto the mat, following suit as best I could. I still have a lot to learn about Ugandan culture.
Auntie Sarah taught us how to greet our jjajja and her family, and then we all sat in a circle on the floor and she taught us how to make grass mats. Once the others were finished with their portions of the mat, they ventured outside for more chores and I continued the much more enjoyable craft project. I eventually brought the mat materials outside and watched the others play a game while I resumed my fwshing.
After our first visit, the children couldn’t wait to go back to their jjajjas’ homes. I asked if it was something they wanted to do again, and several people cried, “Yes, let’s go tomorrow!” We did not go the following day, but the next week we drove back to the homes with enough food to prepare a meal. In order to feed six children, two adults, plus the families we were visiting, we loaded up our bags with a variety of foods—green bananas for matooke, posho, cassava, g-nuts for sauce, onions, tomatoes, eggplants, and half a chicken for each location. When we showed my jjajja the chicken, she danced around her living room for a bit. For an old woman, she can still shake her hips!
During this second visit, jjajja and her family taught us how to prepare familiar foods in the traditional village way. We peeled vegetables with knives and cut them without a cutting board.
The most interesting part for me was learning how to use banana leaves to pack and steam the food.
In the bottom of an industrial-sized cooking pot, we bent the stiff middles of the leaves to make something upon which the rest of the food could sit. Before packing the food, we filled the bottom of the pot with water and created a steamer from the banana leaves.
We then filled the leaf-bowl with cut vegetables, packing a special portion with bananas.
After all the food was inside, the family taught us how to use more leaves to make a cover for the food, tucking the ends into the pot as if we were making a bed.
While the food was cooking, jjajja brought out the mat materials once again and motioned for me to get to work. I fwshed while the children played together, all of us enjoying our time out of the compound.
When the food was finished, we pulled out the smaller package of banana leaves that was holding the bananas for matooke. Without opening it, Auntie Sarah showed us how to gently knead the parcel so as to smash the bananas without letting anything seep out. Our children were enthusiastic about the smashing and went a little overboard, but we didn’t lose any food.
The family laid out everything on a mat inside the house and the aunties served, as is Ugandan fashion. Their family sat on one mat, our boys on another and us girls on the last. Ugandans are generous with their portions! We ate with our hands, breaking off pieces of posho and cassava and dipping it in the g-nut sauce. To my surprise, the food had more flavor—more good flavor—than I was expecting. Even so, I could only eat half of the food piled high and served the rest to the children, after which the family made fun of me as the muzungu who could not finish a meal.
We hardly had time to collect the dishes before our bus arrived to take us back to Noah’s Ark. Our jjajja was all smiles (with about half her teeth missing) as she and her family waved us off that day.
What I have found most interesting about this project is the perceptions of both parties involved. When speaking with the children and with the jjajjas, each of them feels as if their responsibility is to help the other. The children see it as a charity project in which they get to help people less able and less fortunate, while the families see it as an opportunity to share cultural traditions of which these children would be otherwise ignorant. I had not anticipated the benefit being this mutual, but through it we will be able to develop healthy relationships with these jjajjas.
We are now in the middle of another holiday and the project is continuing. There are more children involved this time so we have added two more jjajjas to our group. The children are excited as we discuss how we can best serve them—they want to do everything from planting gardens to fetching water to buying toilet paper. We have asked enough questions to draw six family trees, as I hope we can not only serve the families but get to know them as well. In time we will see how these relationships develop. For now, I will enjoy watching the children and jjajjas bless one another as only they can.
