Afrika - der mennonitische Kontinent

Ruzaarao ekira eitingo*

*Children are more than wealth

- An article from Uganda -

Dieser Artikel auf deutsch

I was just thinking: you know, after talking to experienced, battle scarred babysitters or harried parents, you wonder why anyone would ever wants to have kids? I've certainly thought that before. When I was in Canada, I didn't really like kids. I didn't like to babysit; I only liked children if they are in the distance and in someone else's arms and if I said, "Awww, how CUTE!", I would have a readily available escape route in case the mother wanted me to see how cute the child really was.
But lately (by which I mean "this year") I come to realize that children, no matter how old they are, are a far greater blessing than they are a curse. I don't know what everyone's situation is regarding children, but my experience in Uganda and especially at Mother Care School, is one of "capacity building" - not their capacity, but mine. My capacity to love and have compassion have increased enormously because these school children are a brand new room in my life, which God has opened the door to, that I can direct my love and energy which was too often missing in me before. That's not to say I'm all rosy and fuzzy now, but the presence of these Ugandan children in my life has had a significant impact on me.

There are little, everyday moments and events that make me reflect like this...

Like the time a few months ago during the rainy season: I had wanted to wash my hands for lunch (Editor's note; There is no electricity, no 'running water' in the area.), it was raining (not heavily) and I was standing outside the classroom door catching the raindrops that streamed off the corrugated iron-sheet roof. I was looking up at the rim of the roof and moving both hands to catch the droplets as I saw them fall. As I was doing this, I happened to glance down beside me and I saw a priceless scene: seven or eight boys and girls had come out and were catching raindrops just like "Teacher Ken". They had their little hands cupped like mine and laughing up into the sky as they collected God's bounty and splashed each other with it. .

Another day, while I was waiting for the last students to finish their exams, I was watching those who had finished play outside. As I watched, one girl, Justine, who is painfully shy to me, ran up and thrust something into my hand and retreated back to the safety of her peers. I made a big show of peeking into my hand to see what it was Justine had given me. It was a lollipop. The stick was bent and dirty, and the candy had melted partially inside the wrapper. It was a pitiful excuse for a lollipop compared to the modern, developed, motivated candy we have in the West. But it was the best sucker I had ever tasted (pineapple flavour). And the added special ness was that those kids were also enjoying watching Teacher Ken eat one of their candies that they had given?? everyone wins when everyone gives!

In my travels, I stayed with my friend, Godwin, at his home area for a four-day visit... One evening, as we were leaving to Godwin's brother's place for supper, I witnessed something terrible which ruined my night. Christine is a girl my age that I had met yesterday with everyone else. She works in a bar next door which serves tonto, a locally made banana liquor that even the poorest drunkard can afford. As we were walking away, I heard a raucous commotion start up from within the bar. As I turned around to check what was up, I saw Christine fly out the open door and land heavily on the concrete porch. I stared with a sick feeling in my stomach as Christine picked herself up with a brave laugh and went back in. I realized then what kind of hell she must have gotten used to here. Or maybe she's not used to it...She is a young, attractive girl who interacts with the lowest of the low on a daily basis-I can't imagine what it must be like to be around those abusive drunk men every night. Let me be honest: I was pissed off. I wanted to get her out of there, to someplace better, somewhere where she could be a Somebody, not a something. Her story is not uncommon--it happens everywhere--but that doesn't make it any better, does it?

At the end of the school year, our school put on a Parent's Day, where the parents/guardians of our school children came and the pupils put on a performance of sorts for them-each class presented their own song, dance, riddle, or whatever.

The high-light of the performances for me, was the P2./P3 traditional dancing. The area was so cramped at the front, I didn't know if they could pull it off, but they did. It was marvellous - 4 girls, 4 boys & the rest clapping & singing. The parents really got into it too, pounding the desks & whooping it up. Traditional African dances/songs are ageless, whereas in N.America, .I cannot see parents getting excited about - and participating in - a rousing chorus of "Old MacDonald Had A Farm". ("E-I-E-I-Oh!!" the parents would shout with joy.)

The only other "mzungus" in the area were Dr. Scott and Carol, an American missionary couple with work cut out for them in the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest-providing medi-care for the poor people in the area. I went frequently throughout the year with them on their mobile clinics-three or four-day trips with a different clinic site on each day. We had two big Tupperware tubs of medicine which we used to dispense healthcare.

The day was cold and wet... many patients. I worked on "Wound Care" with Carol; this involved all exterior cuts, abrasions, tropical ulcers..etc. We wore latex gloves which made me feel like a doctor..... By the end of the day, I could: take blood pressures accurately, estimate how far along a woman was in pregnancy, check for anaemia, identify symptoms of malaria, and treat and prescribe Cloxiacillian for tropical ulcers. Dr. Scott would constantly call me in and show me different cases and ailments. There was one significant case of a young 10 year old girl who was suffering from advanced malaria. I watched Dr. Ricky (Ugandan medical student) hook her up to an IV and prescribe various fluids...Scott said she wouldn't have survived the night if she had not been treated. "It's cases like this that make me wonder if God didn't bring me here solely to save this girl's life," he said.
I was beside her on the bed and asked her simple questions in Rukiga and she spoke to me too, some of which I didn't understand, but I don't think that really mattered.... somehow I think just by sitting with this dying child and trying to make her feel comfortable as fever and chills wracked her body, I was making us both feel better. The father was there and summoned me once, thinking that I was a qualified med student who spoke fluent Rukiga, and explained that he wanted to take her home. We said no way. At the end of the day, the father came to me with a smile and chatted for some length to me in Rukiga...I just smiled and said "thank you sir". I think he was impressed that a white doctor could speak his language... Scott said the girl would likely live...

Having a guitar with me was a huge asset and opened many doors and opportunities for me. Pastor Kenneth took advantage of my skills and we went through a period of "touring" in which I was one of the main attractions. A white guy with a guitar is a big deal in the rural areas...

I am currently touring as a lead guitarist with a band called "The Arch-Deacon Kenneth Band". Pastor Kenneth is Kinkizi East(or possibly West) Arch-Deacon and he is trying to steal me to his church, All Saints. His congregation is very small and he knows that people come "exclusively"to see me play guitar during the service, so he's trying to keep me with him wherever he goes. For example, a couple of weeks ago, we went to a church in neighbouring sub-county Kambuga for the installation of a reverend. That service was special, in that it contained one of the most joyous celebrations I have ever seen, followed by the worst musical experience I've ever had in Uganda. I'll tell you the joy first. When the new Reverend (His name was Safari) and his wife were officially officiated into office, there came a time of thanksgiving and congratulations for the couple wherein they stood at the front and people came in a great dancing, singing, laughing throng up to the front, to shake their hands and booties.
Every once in a while two women would get into a dance-off with people backing off to watch them, not unlike the scene in West Side Story where Tony and whatsername dance up a storm. That was the good part. The bad part came a little while later when the CCT(stands for "Co-ordinating Centre Tutor"- I don't think anyone, including his young daughter, know what his name is: everyone calls him "CCT") who plays an old, cheezy Casio keyboard, decided to get "funky" (or, "awful"). This keyboard wasn't so old that it didn't have drum beats. You know what these beats sound like. When I first heard CCT initiating the beats, I thought it was a mistake. But then the horrible truth dawned on me: he was serious. It was like some hideous Muzik-Mix from Hades; like Mix-Master Mike before the Beastie Boys discovered him... it was awful. My favourite Rukiga hymns being butchered by this-- but I can't put it into words. Oddly, nobody else seemed to mind, they were just interested in this new machine that could produce a beat.

Also at that service was the extreme example of a phenomenon I call "Livestock in the Church". During the offertory, the following items, among others, were offered as gifts to the new Reverend: a live cow, looking alarmed and not about to be taken to the front without a fight or bowel movement; a live goat; and several chickens, I think. Churches in Uganda are fairly non-discriminatory, at least as far as livestock is concerned......

Ken Ogasawara