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.

Eva

Eva caught my eye even before she came to talk to me on Friday. The first time I saw her was at the first primary school assembly I attended a week after arriving here. During presentations, one girl who was taller and looked considerably older than the others got up and sang two songs. I couldn’t hear a word she said because most of the students were talking amongst themselves and I was standing in the back, but she didn’t seem to care that people weren’t paying attention. When she finished, the next group got up and I didn’t give her presentation another thought.

The second time I saw her was only a day or two later. Bob, Kendall and I were going on our first walk down the road outside Noah’s Ark. As we were rounding a bend, we heard someone yell “Aunties!” from a nearby field and looked over to see a young woman half-running toward us, a small child on her hip. She arrived with a huge smile on her face, which I soon came to learn is a nearly permanent fixture there. We introduced ourselves, not recognizing her until she told us she attends New Horizon, the school at Noah’s Ark. Kendall recognized her right away from the presentation. It took me about fifteen minutes to make the connection.  Apparently her initial impression on me was not the strongest.

Since then, however, I have come to notice and admire her very much. Every week at assembly, she presents one or two songs by herself. They are always in Luganda so I have no idea what she is saying, but that doesn’t keep me from loving her performances. Last week, the drummers joined in and she spent as much time dancing as she did singing, skipping around the stage with her face lifted upward.

She is often in the group that leads praise and worship as well, always the tallest one among the younger students. I have been meaning to tell her for weeks what a great leader she is and how much fun it is to watch her sing.

But the time I love watching her most is not when she is doing a presentation or leading praise and worship. It is when she is in the back, worshipping with all her heart even when she knows no one is watching (or thinks no one is watching). She sings along to all the songs. She dances when no one else is dancing. She nudges the people next to her, urging them to move too.

Eva has a beautiful heart and God has filled her with the joy I hoped I would see here.

I have had her in my English class a few times in the last month, and we have developed a friendly acquaintance. After class on Friday morning, as the other students were leaving, she stayed in her seat and quietly asked if she could talk to me. I sat down beside her.

“I was wondering… if you could help me,” she said, not meeting my eye. “My family and I… we need clothes. And we don’t have the money to buy them. I was wondering if you could give us any clothes.”

I had no idea what I expected her to say when we sat down, but I wasn’t totally prepared for this. I hesitated. Should I really be going around giving handouts? But my hesitation only lasted a moment because then I looked at Eva, at this teenage girl who sat humbly before me, asking but not expecting. This was a need right in front of me, and how could I possibly say no to her? I told her I would bring something to one of our next classes and she left as new students filed in.

The next day at school, Eva approached me again, a shy smile back on her face.

“Auntie Katie,” she said, “I want to tell you my story so you know why we are in need.” We sat down on a step in the sun and waited for her classmates to file back into the classroom before she started.

“So, my clan… Do you know what I mean when I say clan?” I nodded. “Well, my clan… is no more. I buried my father when I was seven and my mother died when I was ten, but I did not bury her. I did not bury my mother. At the end of second term, I was called out of school because both of my grandfathers died. I went into the village to bury them. My mother’s brothers and sisters have all died and my father’s brothers and sisters have all died. There are eight children left by them, including me and my sister. She is in P3 here. We live with our grandmother, but she is old and needs us to care for her. We have no way of getting food and clothes. We are used to it though. We are used to going two weeks, three weeks without food. But we are in great need.”

I can’t say much of what she said surprised me. Unfortunately, there are lots and lots of similar clans in Uganda. It’s awful. Some children have to grow up so fast. We exclaim when a 15-year-old gets her driving permit. “She’s growing up too fast!” we affectionately sigh, or sometimes sob. But what about the 15-year-old girl who must become a mother of seven while working hard to stay in school to secure a better future for herself and her family?

“Many people ask me why I don’t get married to get help,” Eva told me. “That way, my husband could provide and we would be better off. But me… I don’t want that. That is not for me. I want to finish school; I cannot get married now.”

I commended her for her determination in school and told her how much I love watching her sing and dance at assemblies. “God has given you such joy, Eva, and I can see that. Everyone can see that! Now that I know what you are going through I am even more amazed and thankful for the great joy he has put in your heart.”

“I have to have joy,” she said. “Otherwise I would have nothing.”

Oh this beautiful, humble girl who can dance with joy while her stomach is growling.

After talking a bit more, she let me pray for her and then I gave her a small amount of money to get them through the weekend, assuring her I would have something else for her on Monday. She hugged me and thanked me with her mouth and her eyes, and then went back to class.

Over the weekend, I gathered a few more things for her. One skirt, a shirt, a bag of sugar and a very small jar of peanut butter were some things I had on hand that I was sure she could use. I put it all in a black plastic bag, along with some money so they could buy food and clothes for the next week. This morning at school, Eva sought me out again and I handed her the bag.

“It’s not much, but it should help for this week and I will have more for you next Monday,” I said.

This time her grin was not shy. She looked thrilled.

“Oh Auntie Katie, thank you so much! Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said, looking in the bag. “Oh, you say this is not much, but this is so much to us. My grandmother was so excited on Saturday and said for me to tell you thank you. She was very, very happy.” Eva hugged me no less than three times before leaving the library with a spring in her step.

I have no idea what I will bring for her next Monday, but I would hand her a bag of just about anything to see her face light up like that again.

I tell you this not to paint a picture of me as a selfless, generous giver—trust me, what I gave compared to what I have is pitiful—but because Eva has touched my heart and I want you to know this young woman who trusts in the Lord with all her might and has possibly done the best job in the world of showing me what true joy looks like. I will only be here for six more weeks, which most likely marks the end of the time I can physically help her, but my prayer is that something or someone comes along who can help her family make ends meet until the time Eva is able to do so herself. Please keep this strong, precious girl in your prayers as well.

p.s. I have changed her name for the purposes of this story. Just in case anyone reads this who will serve at Noah’s Ark in the future, I don’t want Eva to feel belittled or betrayed by the fact that I told people she asked me for money.