Homework, Hike For Hope, Say Please

I slept in today - crazy (familiar) dreams of flying around my house in Florida and extra windows. Evan came home and he was like a younger, less cynical Evan. Ha. Erin and I teased him good-naturedly. It was good to have him back. I wish I were there for his homecoming in October.

My stomach feels off balance, like any wrong move might be disastrous. (maybe not quite disastrous.) I just feel NO appetite and if I think about certain foods for too long I know I will puke.

I go to leave for school and run into Abdul coming home in his school uniform. He is sick. I give him some children’s books (that some one left at church to donate, and Jeff gave to me.) I told him to relax in bed and read them. I also gave him two bottles of (boiled) water to drink before I get home.

The S1s haven’t done their homework – only 17 out of 66. I give them a lecture (after giving the 17 some stickers I brought from the US) I give the same lecture to the S2s, who have just a slightly higher percentage of homework doers. It’s difficult, because why would a kid do homework if they do not get graded for it at all?

I asked them if it’s easy to come to school, to find the funds or if they think it’s easy for me to prepare lessons and walk all the way form Nsumba everyday. (Which isn’t really that bad.)

“No, Master.”

Then why waste your money and time being here if you don’t do the homework? How am I supposed to know what you are comprehending? When you don’t do your homework you tell me you don’t care if I’m here or not. Maybe I should go to Unique Standard (the other high school that is much closer to Nsumba)

“No, No!”

Then I let the ones that were sleeping and talking know that no one is going to force them to be smart. The government in Uganda does not make you get an education. So why come here and mess around? I tell them that I want all of them to get an education and that is why I’m here. But if they are going to be disruptive I’m going to ask them to leave because they are wasting both of our time.

They really aren’t bad kids at all. Please believe if homework wasn’t graded growing up – I would be in the same boat. I wanted to tell them I give the same speech in America, but didn’t think it would help my argument very much.

In between classes I go to the Volset office. I buy some Krest soda (bitter lemon.) It’s like carbonated lemonade. I still have no appetite.

Jeff is here and we talk about stories from life and home. The more I learn about Jeff the more impressed I am with him. He is genuinely interesting and he’s as interested in my stories as I am in his.

Today he told me about how in 2001 he walked with five friends from Key West, Florida to Quebec, Canada. ! They decided to do it, and threw it all together in only three months. They had a website and got sponsors to pay for it all, like Annie’s Mac&Cheese, Columbia, Cliff Bar, etc. It was called Hike For Hope and people visited their online journal and donated thousands and thousands of dollars to charity.

There are great stories from the trip that Jeff told me, that I won’t write all about here since they are his. But I will tell you that he got tendonitis during the trip and traveled across the entire state of Virginia in a second hand wheel chair bought from the daughter of a deceased Vietnam veteran.

What?

On the walk home from school some primary school teachers talk with me. They ask me, after finding out what I do with Volset, if I can take pictures of their kids who need sponsors and get them support from the US. I have no idea how to do this, but give them my number and tell them I’ll meet with their head mistress some time this week.

Walking up the path into Nsumba, a woman tells me to give her my bottle of water. I ask her if she can’t say please. She does and I give her an extra bottle I have in my bag. She and her little son are dressed smartly – very clean.

She tells me that she has AIDS and so does her son. (She doesn’t know the difference between HIV or AIDS, I’m sure she doesn’t have AIDS but is HIV positive.) Her name is Harriet and he is Charles. They’re on their way to Kampala to buy more medicine. She takes out a bottle of medication because she says I don’t believe her. But I do believe her and already feel badly that I asked her to say please. (Because if she understood English well, she would have probably said please.)

Harriet got the virus from her husband, who left her, and now all her kids have it as well. I ask her if she has a mosquito net. She says she doesn’t and says, “No, Thank you, I don’t have enough money.”

“They’re free!” I’m happy that I can get her a net through Jeff’s project. Then I feel silly that I would feel good about such a small thing when the poor woman and her children have HIV. But, again, I remember the quote from Mother Teresa: “We can do no great things – only small things with great love.”

We say goodbye. I walk towards home, meeting Wassua on the way, who runs to join me in my walk, holding my hand for the few yards to the house and I wonder to myself.

We are so privileged in the US and other places in the world. Maybe the reason we never think of these people, or when we do think of them – do nothing, is because we feel our contribution would be so small. But small things go so far here. A new outfit for a child, some money for just a notebook and pens, would mean so much to them..