Isaac

I have said it before and I will say it again: I actually pity the parents of our Noah’s Ark children who threw their kids away and never get to see and know the amazing boys and girls to whom they gave birth. They thought they were giving up someone worthless, but that is only because they miss every goofy smile, every new word she can read, every dance presentation in church and every tower he builds to knock down. We are the privileged ones. We get to see these beautiful and hilarious and valuable children day in and day out. And I will tell you, they are some of the most awesome people on the planet. I’d like to introduce you to a particularly awesome boy of mine—Isaac. 

Isaac was found in 2010 on the street in a village outside Kampala. He was only six months old, give or take (Noah’s Ark almost always has to estimate a child’s age when he comes into the system because there is no one to tell us exactly how old he is, or even who he is and what his name is). He was healthy and seemed to be well cared for, but no one was able to trace him to a family or any relatives. He was given the name Isaac and though the first six months of his life remain a mystery, the following eight years he has lived happily at Noah’s Ark with all of his brothers and sisters who have similar stories.

I first remember meeting Isaac after I had been here about six months. It was December and we were at the beginning of our long holiday from school. I had taken a bunch of four-year-olds to church for an activity, and as usual we started with attendance. Even after being there for months I was still learning many names (there are about two hundred children, after all, not counting the ones who come from the community for school). We finished attendance and I asked if I had missed anyone. One small boy with crooked teeth and red eyes raised his hand. 

“What is your name?” I asked. 

“Isaac,” he said with a smile. He looked proud of it. 

I checked my list—no Isaac listed anywhere. “Is your mom an auntie?” Sometimes the aunties’ children also join the program and we don’t always have them on record at the beginning. He shook his head. “You live in the children’s home?” He nodded, still with a big smile. He was young and I didn’t know how well he understood what I was saying. Plus I did not recognize him at all. But I listened and added him to the list. 

In the coming two months I was privileged to spend more time with Isaac and his group of classmates. Turns out he was right—he did live in the home—and we had just missed him on our list. I made a point of saying his name every time I saw him so he knew I wouldn’t forget who he was after that (and because I was feeling a little bit guilty for not recognizing that he was even from the home). It wasn’t too long before he also sought me out, and we became buddies. 

For several months he had the tradition of visiting me on Saturday mornings before breakfast. The children wake up at 6:30 but don’t eat until 8:00, so he always had some time to kill. We would sit on my front step and point out all the colors we could see. Sometimes I got out different colored bottle caps and made him put them in a pattern or count them. It wasn’t until about a year ago that he could consistently remember the number seventeen. He could easily fit on my lap and didn’t mind when I gave him a big kiss on the cheek. 

In 2015 when he was in top class (the highest level of nursery school, equivalent to kindergarten) I went to his school on visitation day. Once every term the school holds a day for all parents to come meet the teachers and check on their children’s progress. It’s basically open house and parent-teacher conferences combined. Of course, on a compound like this with over one hundred schoolchildren and two official parental figures, things are a bit unconventional. I usually go to the school and see which children want me to check their work and talk with their teacher, and it is always an honor to do so. 

That day when I reached nursery school, a flying ball of energy gave a giant leap and literally wrapped himself around my legs, his arms and legs clinging to me so he was not touching the ground. “My parent!” he exclaimed. My heart melted. I was so happy to be his parent. 

Later that year, Isaac was struggling in school. He has a short attention span and wasn’t keeping up with the rest of his class. The special needs teacher was considering adding him to her program, but she already had more students than she could effectively handle. Instead, knowing Isaac and I were close, she asked me to step in. As motivation to do well in class, every Friday I came to his classroom and looked through his work from that week to see how he was doing. It was less seeing if he was performing well and more seeing if he was concentrating well enough to actually complete his work. When there was time we also worked on reading and math, with which he had been struggling. It was a fun time to sit down and give him individual attention, and for most of the year the motivation worked for him. It probably also helped that on weeks when he did well, after school I took him to the canteen (a small snack-and-basic-supplies shop on the compound) to get a treat. 

One Friday he chose a bottle of soda from the canteen. I wasn’t watching very closely as we walked back to my house, but apparently he was swinging his arms a lot because as soon as he sat down on my couch and opened his soda I heard that hissing and spraying noise that meant there would be a lot of cleaning up to do. It exploded all over him, my couch, my floor… 

The next week, he chose a doughnut. I noticed as we left the canteen that he was holding it in both hands, carefully and steadily in front of him. About halfway home, he said, “Auntie Katie, I’m not going to shake my doughnut.” And you know what? His doughnut never exploded. 

I love that kid. And I have never revealed to him that not all food explodes, because it seems good sense to just be careful with all food. 

Isaac is one of the most resourceful people I have ever met. Most of the children love Christmas day because they get new presents—toys, dolls, jewelry, bubbles, and the like. However, with no personal space except for their beds, most of the kids’ presents get broken or stolen or disappear within a matter of days or weeks. 

That is when Isaac moves in. He can find something broken and imagine up a brand new purpose for it. Take, for example, the burst beach ball that he wore as a hat for several days:

Or the stick and plastic bag that was an umbrella: 

Or his banana leaf guitar: 

Or his paint-bucket-lid shield: 

I love seeing how his mind works. He is not limited by what is; he sees what is possible. If only we, especially as adults, could all do that!

One day while playing at my house, Isaac put on a blanket as a cape and declared that he was a superhero. 

“Wow, that’s great!” I said. “What is your superhero name?” 

He pondered, “The… the… the woman!” Who doesn’t love a kid who calls women superheroes? 

The children all celebrate their birthdays in the children’s home. They get a cake, some presents, and all the children in the home sing to them while the birthday person sits a bit awkwardly in front of everyone. All children look forward to this celebration, but with over one hundred kids in the home, they celebrate multiple birthdays every week, so after time the festivities tend to lose their flare. For some of the children closer to us, Christian and I like to do something extra to make their birthday special. Last December, for Isaac’s eighth birthday, I gave him the choice of having a party with some friends at our house or going to Mukono (the nearest town) for lunch in a restaurant with one friend. Wisely, he chose the restaurant, since the kids don’t get to leave the compound very much and almost never see town. 

His birthday was on Saturday, so we moved out with Isaac and his friend, Jesse, for a day in town. We walked the half mile to the main road, during which Isaac narrated everything he saw on the way. We took a taxi (basically a bus system that uses 14-passenger vans) into Mukono and sat down at our favorite simple restaurant. Here, most small restaurants use stock photos in their menus, so what you can see is not actually what is offered. I told that to Isaac, but he still pointed to four or five different pictures before I finally asked if he just wanted chicken and he said yes. 

I had not considered what it would be like to eat in a restaurant with someone who had never eaten in a restaurant before. When other people went for the local food lunch buffet, Isaac kept asking, “Why can’t we eat now? They are eating—can’t we also get food? I’m hungry and food is right there!” And after our meal he got a toothpick, used it, and put it back in the container. At least he was trying to clean up after himself. 

We love being able to treat kids to new experiences, and sometimes it is so simple. 

Isaac is a special boy. He is not one of the children who flocks around every new volunteer—most of them never get to know his name. He is third last in second grade, has been held back a year, and struggles in school. He’s just starting to grow old enough to be “too cool” for things. He and his best friend, Noah, are great at creating mischief and getting into trouble. He is growing like a weed. He can run farther than some teenagers I know. And every time he leaves my house he asks for three things: a hug, a high five, and a kiss. It is a simple routine, and one I know he will soon outgrow, but for now I choose to cherish it… and him. 

all dressed up for our wedding

first time in a big swimming pool