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.

Eva, My Sister

People often tell me I am a generous giver. They tell me I don’t think about myself. They tell me I am so kind to others. To those who have said those things, I would like to say thank you… and here is a rebuttal to your comments.

Within one week after I gave Eva her first bag of clothes and food, there was a drastic change in our relationship. My giving seemed to open a door for her. She acted like she expected me to provide for her now and was less humble in the asking and less grateful in the receiving.

I gave her that first bag on Monday. On Wednesday, she asked if I could give her any soap. I clarified whether she needed soap for washing clothes or for washing her body and she said they could use either one for anything. At least I thought that’s what she said. There must have been some miscommunication in there because I gave her two bars of body soap that afternoon, and on Thursday she told me I had provided soap for her body instead of her clothing, insinuating that I had given the wrong thing. Later that day I brought her laundry soap and she took it without a smile or a thank you.

On Friday afternoon, she told me she needed math instruments for her examination the following Monday. Hers had apparently been stolen by classmates, which infuriates me, but there was nothing I could do about that. Thinking she needed only a basic compass and protractor for the problems on the exam, I offered to ask around and see if I could track some down over the weekend, but she replied that she needed the whole set that comes in a kit and did not elaborate on what that included. I agreed to either get one for her to keep or find one for her to borrow for Monday, and her response was that they sell the kits in Mukono for 2,500 shillings. I don’t know if that advice was meant to be helpful or to communicate that she didn’t want to borrow one.

What bothers me the most is that now she expects. Now she expects to be able to come to me with specific requests—sometimes multiple times a day—and that I will fill them as willingly as I filled the first one. In one week, I went from the generous giver to the person who is supposed to provide for her. Sometimes I want to repeat the words she told me in our first conversation, that beggars have no choice in what they get.

But the thing is: She is God’s child too. She is a person too. Therefore, she is my family. And no one is considered a generous giver when they provide for the basic needs of their family. No, it is expected of them. It is their responsibility. It is my responsibility. She is my sister… and what wouldn’t I do for my sisters?

In my acceptance of Christ and commitment to follow him, I waived my right to receive gratitude. I waived my right to get credit. By acknowledging Christ, I am also acknowledging that what I have is not my own. The things for which Eva is asking are not coming from me; they are coming from God through a very blessed and comparatively rich mzungu. In a way, Eva is doing me a favor by letting me know what she needs so I know the best way to give, just like God gives us commands to show the best ways to love him. As a Christian, I should never expect thanks. I should never ask for it. I should never withhold something because thanks has been withheld from me. I should rejoice that God is using me when he could use anybody. I am not the only one who can meet Eva’s needs right now, but I have the privilege of the opportunity.

What blows my mind is that I am no different from Eva. Like so many other people, I have taken on a sense of entitlement when it comes to God. I have grown up in affluence and act like I deserve it. I act like God owes me food, like he owes me comfort, like he owes me forgiveness and joy and grace. How many times have I asked God for something, only to take it without thanks or to complain that what he gave was not what I meant? And how many times has God stopped answering my prayers or severed ties with me because of my poor attitude? How awful life would be if God was more like me!

p.s. I will share more about Eva in a later post. 

My Not-So-Humble Abode

When I was first accepted to Love Volunteers and told I would be serving at Noah’s Ark, they said the standard housing for LV is to stay with a host family in the community. They would set it up, but I wouldn’t know anything about my housing or family until either the week before coming or when I get here. Apparently things change at the last minute so often that they thought it would be better for me to know nothing than for them to change plans on me multiple times before coming.

They did not tell me much about typical Ugandan homes, but based on what they said and what I heard from friends who visited Uganda last summer, here is what I was expecting: Small home. Very few rooms. Most likely no electricity. That means no lights, refrigerator, or way to charge my phone or computer. A pit latrine somewhere outside. A bucket and hopefully a somewhat-closed-off room for a shower. Cooking over a small fire outside.

It all sounds very African, right?

A week before I left home, I emailed my volunteer coordinator to see if he could finally give me details about my homestay. I wanted to be at least somewhat prepared. We Americans travel with so many electronic devices that when the power goes out the world temporarily stops. What would I take if I knew I had to find an internet café or somewhere else in public to charge anything?

When he replied, he gave me two options. He said I was more than welcome to stay with a host family, where I would have no electricity, use a pit latrine, and all the other things I listed above. He also gave me the option, however, of staying at Noah’s Ark in their volunteer housing. I jumped at that opportunity, not because of the living conditions (I still had no idea what it would be like at Noah’s Ark), but to avoid having to travel to and from the compound everyday and limiting my volunteer hours to when it is daylight. He thought that was the better choice as well, and the day after arriving I moved into my temporary home.

Let me tell you, this home was not what I pictured when I thought of staying in Africa. Even when I was told I would be staying at Noah’s Ark, I thought maybe they would have me in a room with the children, or at least in a big room with some aunties and a community bathroom nearby. Nope. I have my own room and my own bathroom. They spoil the mzungus. Probably so that we come back.

Here is a little panorama of my room. When you come through the door, I have a little table to my right where I keep food, books to read with the girls, dishes to take back to the kitchen, and anything else I want to remember on my way out the door. The two windows have a beautiful view of the side of my neighbor’s room about two feet away. Not the most picturesque, but if I want scenery I only have to look out my door.

The room is partially round. My bed sits against the wall opposite the door. I was told by one of the Noah’s Ark staff that I didn’t need a mosquito net because they fumigate the volunteer housing, but when one of the long-term volunteers saw my bed without a net, he made a face that made me think I should invest in one. (Not that it’s much of an investment—those things are very cheap here.)

In the corner is my kitchen area, which consists of a sink and shelves. When I arrived, the only kitchen appliance I had was a small sandwich maker, like a Panini maker just big enough for one sandwich. After a couple days, I discovered that if I filled a teacup with water and set it on the hot sandwich maker, I could have some very warm tea in about 30 minutes. Then one of the other volunteers gave me his extra electric teakettle and it reduced my tea-making time by 28 minutes, of which I am very appreciative. Now I use the sandwich maker to make toast to go with my peanut butter or guacamole.

This desk was not originally in my room. At the beginning when I worked on my computer, I would pull my nightstand in front of my bed and use that as my workstation. One of the other volunteers had two desks in her place, however, so she shared with me and now I have an actual place to write and do computer work. For those of you with whom I Skype, this is not where I sit for that, so stop picturing it. I am rarely able to get an internet signal inside, so most often I sit on the step outside my room and talk to people from there. This will be interesting now that I have neighbors.

Not only do I not have to use a pit latrine, but I have my own bathroom and shower. The showers here are not a separate part of the bathroom—there is simply a showerhead in the open room. When I am finished, I have a big squeegee that I use to wipe up the remaining water and then it’s back to a normal bathroom again.

One of the cool things about these houses is that there are several shelves inside and outside made from a piece of flat stone protruding from the wall. I like the style. Actually, I think the style in general is very beautiful. There is stonework all over the walls that makes it feel rather cozy.

My ceiling, while very pretty, happens to be home to several rats. I can hear them scurrying around at night and in the morning, and they keep knocking dirt through the roof onto my floor. Better dirt than water, I suppose. This is easier to clean up than when my roof leaked. I liked it better when I thought it was just geckos running around up there. None of them have come into my room, however, so I just politely ask them to stay up in their own home when they sound particularly rowdy. They have been good listeners so far, and I am hoping to make it through the next five weeks without seeing them.

There are two different areas of volunteer housing at Noah’s Ark. The other one is for the more long-term volunteers. Those houses have a living room, two bedrooms, bathroom, and a small kitchen. In the upper housing, where I am, there are four single rooms and one large house. When I arrived, there were people living in all of them, so we would often sit outside and share a pineapple and talk. Two weeks after I came, everyone else left, so I have had this entire section to myself. It was a bit lonely, but at least I didn’t bother anyone when I Skyped outside early in the morning or late at night. Last weekend, I finally got two new neighbors who will be here for the remainder of my time, and I think the rest of the rooms will be filling up again soon.

Seriously, I am so blessed. 

Uganda: Pros and Cons

Pro:  I am tanner now than I have ever been in November before. Ever. In my life.  

Con:  Compared to the people with whom I keep company day in and day out, I feel nearly translucent. When we sang in church today that Jesus makes us white as snow I felt oddly self-conscious.  

Pro:  My legs are short, so when I hold babies’ hands while they learn to walk I don’t have to bend down.

Con:  My legs are short, so when I sit down on the ground with my legs in front of me, only three kids can fit on them before my lap is full.

Pro:  Florence is feeling much better. She doesn’t cry as much, she is eating more, and her smile comes out fairly regularly.

Con:  She doesn’t need as many snuggles as when she was sick. (But a pro to that is that I can wear some shirts twice now before washing them because I don’t end up with Florence drool and snot all over my collars.)

Pro:  The road that passes Noah’s Ark is dirt, has very little traffic, and has beautiful scenery, making it a great running road.

Con:  It is uphill no matter which way I go.

Pro:  The avocados here are huge compared to the ones at home! And they only cost about 30 cents!

Con:  Who could have anything bad to say about avocadoes? (except Ron’s parents…)

Pro:  As one of three native English speakers at Noah’s Ark, I am an excellent candidate for someone to help teach reading and English to the primary students.

Con:  Because my accent is so unfamiliar to them, they still don’t understand what I’m saying half the time and giving spelling tests is quite a challenge. (I once had to sway my hips back and forth in front of an entire class before they understood the word I was telling them to spell: sway. They all wrote it down after having a good laugh.)

Pro:  I am not only getting used to wearing skirts all the time—I actually enjoy it and often find them much more comfortable than “trousers.”

Con:  I will be coming home at the start of a Wisconsin winter, when everyone else has their skirts packed away because if they wore them they would get frostbite on their kneecaps. Also, skirts look funny with big winter boots.

Pro:  I got all the red spots out of my skirts by using my knuckles as a washboard.

Con:  I got blisters on my knuckles from doing laundry.

Pro:  My taste buds are adapting to a new culture. I eat bananas on a regular basis, I love plantain chips, and I buy coconut cookies as a special treat.

Con:  I would never have eaten any of those at home and think I might be going crazy.

Pro:  I am always amused by the color of the water I rinse out of my washcloth after scrubbing my feet each night—a foggy reddish-brown, especially on days it rains and my feet get muddy.

Con:  Aside from washing gecko poop off my floor, I can never use that washcloth for anything else ever again.

Pro:  Noah’s Ark treats their water so it is easy and cheap to stay hydrated. I thought I was going to have to buy water bottles for three months, so having drinkable tap water has been a huge blessing!

Con:  Based on smell, my bathroom is the only one here I am comfortable using, but it is uphill from everywhere else and sometimes feels like a very long walk before I get there. It is not uncommon to find me doing a potty dance in front of my door as I try to fish my key out of my bag.

Pro:  I have a roommate named Zander the Salamander. Catchy, right?

Con:  The name was cooler before I found out he was a gecko.