A Sketch Book and 6B Pencil

At lunch Joe asks me about America and if things are easier there. I tell them that people have to work for what they have in America and being a Muzungu doesn’t automatically mean that you have it made. I say, “Just like in Uganda, some people live in Kololo and some people live in Ntenjeru. Some people in the US have a lot of money and some don’t.”

But I explain that school before college is free, and even then there is government aid. I tell him people usually live in much better conditions that most live in here and that schools are more than four brick walls.

He asks me what it takes to get to America and I tell him right away, "I have absolutely no idea.” Maybe it’s a little short. He looks surprised as if I’m lying. “I grew up in the US,” I tell him, “I never had to get in somehow, I was already there. I think you have to have a specific reason for coming that has to be approved – a visa. Other than that I don’t know.”

Joe says, and has been saying, that he is going to give me some of the 15 acres of land that he has inherited from his father. He talks to me about starting an NGO or building a school on that land for disadvantaged youth. I tell him I have no money, but I’ll think about it and may be someday I can do some fundraising. We’ll see.

I go into town and buy a 60-page sketchbook and a 6b pencil. I asked the boys this week if any of them take art. Patrick showed me some drawings. I knew right away what each one was – a jackfruit and a clay stove. He told me that he isn’t taking the class anymore because the teacher told him he needed to have a sketchbook, not loose paper, and specifically a 6b pencil.

I get upset that this would keep a child from having art class – just because his paper is not bound and pencil not the right softness. It’s art class for crying out loud! I talk to Festus and he tells me that the kids understand what supplies they need and it is up to them to get all the necessary materials. I don’t know if Patrick can’t afford the supplies or if he just hasn’t taken the initiative to find them. Either way, these are kids – teenagers with no parents to push them in the right direction. 2000 sh is no skin off my back.

I walk home to Nsumba. I think about taking a boda boda but decide the walk won’t kill me and I’ll save some money. I get to the house just as I realize that it will probably be locked. I am right and have to wait outside.

I sit on the porch and read with my sunglasses on. A car pulls up and I remember we’re getting two new volunteers – retired nurses. The car parks, Festus and Lydia get out. The driver goes around to the back and starts unloading seven suitcases and some water jugs from the trunk. I go over and help the nurses with their groceries and bags.

The nurses are from Canada – Ontario and Nova Scotia. Marilyn and Fran. They are probably in their early or mid 60s. I give them the grand tour and answer questions. I tell them things I wish I knew when I got here. It is fun having new people. They sleep in what will later be the clinic. It’s connected to the girls’ dorm, not the white house. They don’t like that, because at night they will have to walk outside to eat in the living room and they don’t want to be bitten by mosquitoes. I tell them I don’t remember ever being bitten and Marylin says it only takes one.

They settle in and I call Patrick into my room to give him the sketchbook and pencil. He is so happy to get them. I go outside and do some laundry. I have no clean clothes for the trip to Nakaseke tomorrow. I hope they dry in time. I use a brush like the Ugandans do on my denim and then on some of my shirts. I don’t think my blue button up has ever been so clean.

I get pretty wet in the process and go out front to play duck-duck-goose in the sun to dry off. I washed my hat and just put it on my head wet. After duck-goosing it the top of my hat has clay fingerprints all over.

Erin comes over for dinner tonight with another Peace Corp friend, Jessica. She brings NO BAKE COOKIES! They taste just like the ones my mom makes – with some peanut butter. The Peace Corp has a little cookbook they give to volunteers that has familiar recipes from the States, using local ingredients. Great idea.

Marilyn and Fran went to nursing school together and have worked in practically every area in that field. Fran has a yogurt maker at home.

After dinner I go into the study room to tell the kids “Gyebale” (well done). Patrick is there and calls me over to show me the two drawings he has already made in his sketchbook, using an old newspaper for models and design ideas. Just $1.15 can mean a lot to someone.