Returning to Africa

By Susan H.

Stepping cautiously across a footbridge, I am careful not to slip into a small stream choked with discarded rags, empty water bottles, scraps of shredded plastic too small to be of use to anyone. Pungent, acrid smells seeping from black charcoal contrasting the fresh, bright sun-soaked weeds clinging to the river’s edge. Plump brown chickens scratching through the filth as fluffy chicks follow closely behind. Small shards of beige straw protruding from handmade bricks, fingerprints still evident, with bamboo lashed to the exterior of the hut for strength. These are some of the images seared into my mind as I returned to the slums of Busaka.

I pass by an infant sitting in the red, soft dirt by herself...soft brown eyes staring with wonder at the muzungu...white person...smiling down at her. I was also wondering...Where is her mother? Had she crawled over here on her own through the dust? Another older child, maybe 5 or 6, ages are sometimes hard to tell due to lack of nutrition and proper growth, biting her lower lip with shy, hesitant eyes peeking out at me. Curiosity winning out over apprehension as she touches my arm.

So much contrast. My eyes are drawn to the cramped shacks constructed out of scraps of corrugated steel scraps and discarded wood as I duck underneath turquoise and magenta shirts draped unceremoniously over a clothesline. I marvel at how clean the laundry appears after peering into the small blue tub used for washing.

So much poverty, yet beautiful, bright smiles welcome us joyfully with squeals of delight as news travels of our arrival. I’m braver this year. Gone are the tennis shoes I wore last summer as protection against disease. I consciously chose to wear open sandals beneath my long skirt, symbolic of my desire to break down barriers with the people I have grown to love. Also gone was my hesitation to engage strangers we met along the path. Although a curiosity, we are greeted with love and acceptance as children show off their ability to roll a bike tire over the rough terrain.

Passing Out Blessing Bags

We had come that day to deliver sanitation supplies in what we called “blessing bags” and to pray with some of the moms of children from God Cares School. The moms know we are coming as we are escorted through the maze of squalor by a social worker who translates for us.

I had thought often of Rosemary over the last year. I had prayed with her last summer for the healing of her seriously ill husband. I was given the privilege of being invited back into her home this year. I was humbled by the fact that he was well and working. She was grateful we had come to see her again, and I had the honor and blessing of praying with her for salvation as we gave glory to God for his healing.

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Primary School Students

Allen and my BCS Mascot

Contrast the slums of Bukasa with God Cares School Primary and High School in Kampala. Crisp uniforms, three meals a day, bathrooms, running water and a playground! Hugs from one special child, by the name of Promise, so tight, I could hardly breathe. Of even greater blessing was to go and meet Allen, who I decided to sponsor after leaving last year. Although being respectfully referred to as “Teacher Susan” by the students at school, he calls me “Mum Susan”...and his smile and tender reference to me as mom melts my heart. He is proud to share he is working hard at school, and also promises me to make high marks. He has hopes and dreams to be a lawyer someday to help the needy.

I am impressed by the breadth of his education. He had written me many times, but to meet him was special beyond words. He is articulate in English and shared his heart with me. I am also blown away by how important my family is to him, how much relationship with us means to him and his friends with their sponsors. He truly appreciates the opportunity to be living at God Cares and to get a quality education. He told me he rises at 3:30am daily, gets his chores done by 4:30am, and studies before school. He then attends classes, and has to turn in homework by 6pm. His teachers collect the work, and return it by 7 the next morning. Their work ethic is inspiring.

Perhaps I will return again to this beautiful land and experience once again its’ beauty and warm people. I honestly wish all of us here in the U.S. could be blessed as I am to sponsor a child. There is so much need, and our few dollars a month is literally pulling children out the slums of poverty and opening a world of opportunities beyond their wildest dreams.
Weebale Nnyo!
Thank you very much!