The Ghetto

*Warning, there is a paragraph in this post that is extremely hard to read. I can’t prepare you for what happened today, except to tell you to be ready. 

Clifford picked me up at 8 this morning and we drove to the ghetto to work with the kids, as we were driving we got into a traffic jam. It was early and Clifford couldn’t think of why traffic was so slow on a Saturday. A big truck moved from in front of us and we saw police cars blocking off a street and men in yellow shirt (I was told they were city officials) directing traffic. Turns out the government was evicting people from a slum (not the slum KIK is working in). They were far down the street, but I could see a large mass of people standing with police officers with guns standing in front of them. Later on we drove by two large plots, one was fenced off by barbed wire, the other had large metal slats blocking it off. Clifford told me these plots were also slums that had been evicted recently. 

I was looking out Clifford’s window as we were driving, there was a large hill with tin roof houses in large clusters. “That’s the ghetto,” Clifford said. My jaw dropped, I had a very different picture in my head when Tomi had told me she worked in the ghetto of Uganda.  I guess after working in a slum in India I had this stereotypical idea of what a ghetto or slum looked like and boy, was I wrong. The ghetto didn’t look all that different than the city, a little more run down and crumbly but I don’t think I would have guessed it to be the ghetto if Clifford hadn’t told me that it was. 

We drove for a few miles before Clifford stopped the car on the side of the road and parked it. A woman came around the car and started started speaking to Clifford, he said the woman was one of the participants in the women's group I will meet in a few Mondays. A few kids came running up, offered shy smiles and helped carry the basket of medical supplies. 

The kids jabbered excitedly as we walked a little was through the houses and shops selling veggies and clothes. We navigated down a steep hill and I saw a group of kids sitting in front of the community building, a woman bustling over two large pans of millet (a porridge the kids get at the end of their lesson). Clifford lead me over to the woman and introduced me to Vivian, the woman who lived in the ghetto and helped organize the Saturday and Monday programs. 

A handful of the youths helped usher the little kids in and sat them on benched. My eyes continued to widen as more and more kids spilled into this tiny, rectangle room. Soon the benches were full and the kids started sitting on the floor. Each child had a plastic mug clutched tightly in a small fist. As the kids were taking their seats, Clifford told me how this was going to work since the younger kids do not speak English. I would talk and teach in English and he would translate into Luganda. 

As more kids were spilling in, Cliff pulled two boys from the bench and lead them outside, motioning that I should follow them. He put the kids against a wall away from the door and turned to me, his face was pulled down with sorrow. “These boys,” he struggled to find the right words to tell me. “you know Amanda. These boys have already started drinking.” Tears stung my eyes and I bit my lip to keep it from trembling. Clifford went on to tell me that the boys had come to the Saturday class drunk before, how the older of the two had been blackout drunk before. My ears rang, and I prayed that I was hallucinating, unfortunately I wasn't. I asked Cliff how old the boys were, the little one was 5 and his older brother 8. My heart broke in two right then. I squatted down and told both boys how bad alcohol was for you and the effect it would have on their bodies if they kept drinking. Tears sprung into the older ones eyes as Cliff translated, the little one stared at me. I smiled the best I could and asked if I could have a hug. The little one surprised me and threw his arms around my neck, I squeezed him tight with one arm and pulled his older brother in with the other one. I held the two of them for a long moment, praying as hard as I could to whom ever was listening that these boys quit drinking and for someone to love them properly. I let the boys go and they scampered back into the room, I had to take several deep breaths and steady myself before I could follow. 

When the room was unbelievably full, 70 ish kids (though I am told the room is packed with another 40 on most Saturdays) Clifford started the kids off with a couple of songs. Bright white teeth glimmered, eyes sparkled as high voice shouted enthusiastically in time with Clifford’s clapping hands. As the kids sang, they watched me stand at the front of the room, a few of them returned the smile I gave them, others looked away quickly, pretending they weren’t looking at me. There was a young girl sitting in the front row, she was maybe 6 years old and she had a baby girl sitting in her lap. As soon as the baby saw me, she started bawling. The young girl turned her around so her back was to me and she stopped crying, this went on for the whole lesson. 

When all of the kids were seated Clifford told me I could start. I was suuuuuuuper nervous, I’ve had the jitters ever since I bought my ticket and I wasn’t really sure what I was so nervous about. I stuffed my hands in my front pockets and addressed the kids, “Hi guys (voice cracks). My name is Amanda, and I (voice cracks again) live in Austi(squeak).” I trailed off, my heart pounding and sheepishly let Clifford finish my sentence in Luganda. I told the kids the agenda for the day, a quick talk about gossiping and a game. While Cliff translated the kids stared solemnly at me and I had an idea. “Raise your hand if you like the color blue.” Hands hesitantly crept up above the kids heads after Cliff asked the question. “Who’s favorite color is green?” More hands rose. “Who’s favorite color is blue?” I asked. Some of the older kids waved their hands excitedly. By the time I asked them who had brothers and who had sisters the kids were smiling and laughing. 

Satisfied I had broken the very thick ice, I told the kids they could ask me five questions. When Cliff told them this, the smiles disappeared and lips tucked into pouts. Cliff joked and coaxed the stoney faces for about five minutes before turning to the youths for help. The older kids asked why I came to Uganda, why I cared what their favorite colors were, what my favorite food was. By the time I was done answering their questions everyone was feeling a little more comfortable. 

After the Q and A I asked the kids to raise their hand of they knew what gossiping was and who thought it was bad, who thought it was good. All of the kids knew what gossiping was and the general consensus was that gossiping was bad. With the help of a few of the youth kids I demonstrated how talking about someone, even if it was about something good, could turn into something negative. 

Once the kids understood I had them play telephone, again showing them how a person can say one thing, and by the time a fifth person says it, it is something completely different. The kids were amazed as the sentences from the telephone came out different. The kids were starting to get restless and I knew they were hungry so I ended the lesson. As one of the youth kids was leading the prayer I quickly told Cliff to tell the kids that I if they wanted to, they could come up and give me a high five, a hug, a fist bump (fist bumping is big here), or a hand shake. Cliff told me to stand near the back of the room so the door way wouldn't get too congested. 

As soon as the kids were dismissed, the ones nearest me leaped up and crowded around me, holding up hands, tugging on my shirt. Two little ones were still sitting on the floor and I quickly jerked them to their feet, least they get stepped on. The kids giggled, smiled, and laughed as I gave out high fives and fist bumps left and right. After a few minutes the little one who I had a talk to outside pushed through the sea of kids surrounding me and wrapped his arms around my waist. I leaned down and hugged him back, pinching his cheeks affectionately. After that a few of the braver kids came up with arms out stretched and gave some hugs. 

After the room was cleared of the young kids the handful of youths come in for medical treatment. Cliff was putting on some gloves and asked if I was any good at bandaging wounds, this is one time I’m really thankful I have first aid training from working at the pool. I snapped on a pair of gloves and cleaned out gooey cuts, slathered neosporen on  and finished with a bandaid. Most of the youth kids were home in their villages so we didn’t meet with them. We did tell them that during the week after Christmas Tomi has given permission for a handful of them to come to the house and do arts and crafts with me. The kids are excited, but I don’t think they are as excited as I am to spend some more time with them. 

Needless to say today was a very emotional day and I’ve just now really been able to process everything that happened. My head is still reeling from the two little boys and the trouble they are getting into at such a young age. But, I’m excited to go back next week and to meet with the women.