 |
 |
|
 |
JOURNAL
» Jennifer Tina Insiyah
Jennifer "Jen" Sarja
Los Angeles, CA
The Women's Empowerment Delegation was formed to bring women together to talk about solving problems. As part of a group of nine women from California, I embarked on a journey to Ethiopia and Uganda, a bit naive in my desire to see grand changes in the world around me. Perhaps because I am a teacher, I set out before leaving to do extensive reading about the kinds of problems women and young girls are facing in Africa: AIDS, lack of education, lack of job opportunities. I was so eager for instantaneous results that it became evident our journey would first have to teach me something very important, something I had not yet learned in my life - patience.
In truth, the lesson had already begun. Part of our commitment to joining this effort included a pledge to raise $10,000 for the projects we now committed to help. The idealistic me assumed the money would just arrive at the door, in the hands of an inspired donor asking, "Are you sure I can't give more?" Instead, I was greeted with checks from old and new friends, from my old students and the families of my new ones. A collective effort formed around me; it is still forming. With the help of many, we will reach the goal. And so the Empowerment began.
Front row: Insiyah, Tracy, Kate, Donna. Back row: Tina, Rosanne, Melissa, Molly, Jen.
|
9/17/04:
Addis Ababa, Ethiopia
For the first time, as a complete delegation, we gathered around an outdoor meeting table, drank Ethiopian coffee, and began to discuss the task at hand – familiarizing ourselves with the issues of girls and women in this extremely traditional world.
My first lesson came through eyes of fellow delegates Kate and Molly.
Young girls in Ethiopia are promised in marriage at a very young age. At twelve and thirteen years of age, these girls find themselves pregnant well before their bodies are able to physically sustain the stresses of carrying a child full-term. As a result the child dies, and the mother, but a child herself, often experiences a tearing in the uterus and bladder that leaves her unable to "hold" any bodily waste. Leaking urine, the girl carries such an odor that she is cast out by her husband. After all, she cannot have any more children and therefore serves no purpose.
Over lunch Kate and Molly shared an invaluable first hand account of a "women's" hospital they had visited while awaiting the arrival of the rest of the delegation. In all of Ethiopia, there is but one hospital equipped to treat young women with this vaginal tear. So, women afflicted with this injury must walk from all parts of the country, and they are the lucky ones -- the ones who managed to hear about the hospital, the ones who did not die along the way. The strength such a journey would require... the loneliness these women, girls, must have felt... Kate described a patient who looked barely twelve years old. It was a strong introduction to the life a woman in Ethiopia will face.
Education here requires so much more than just the establishment of an academic curriculum; with the help of the Save the Children staff in Ethiopia, I began to see that education must occur on many levels and with the help of many people. To see women as something other than a "baby making apparatus" will require a change in perception, which will not happen overnight.
During our first afternoon, Rick Stoner, Save's Area Officer Director in Africa, and Adam Keehn, the Ethiopian Field Office Director brought us to an area office to meet the staff and learn more about the programs that Save is involved in and the issues they contend with. The ARSH program (Adolescent Reproductive and Sexual Health) is one of the newer efforts described to us by the program manager Yeshiemebet "Yeshi" G/Giorgis. ARSH has established after school "clubs" to allow teenagers to talk among their peers about sexual issues; within these groups, members can be referred to clinics that provide condoms as well as medical advice. The Save staff went on to explain that reaching the pastoral areas is a high priority, but the approach to changing attitudes there rests more in changing the community leadership, allowing more girls to go to school where they can learn the life lessons that will help keep them healthy, that will help them better care for their children. Yeshi explained the problems associated with establishing sexual education programs in a culture which looks upon this kind of discussion as social taboo. Coming from an environment where sex is not only discussed, but discussed in detail and with relish, I felt almost embarrassed at my openness with the topic.
After the presentations by the Save staff, a round table discussion turned to ways to empower these women. The dynamic in the room was impressive. The members of the delegation became part of an animated discourse. The purpose our delegation served was apparent as ideas energetically bounced around the room Knowing that the spread of AIDS is due in part to the husband's promiscuity, I had the chance to ask if the ARSH program made any attempts to tell the women that they have control over their own bodies and that they can say "no" to their husbands. The Ethiopian women on staff all laughed a bit; women there do not have the right to say no their husbands. Marital rape is not something that is acknowledged there. Rape and abduction, in general, are still taboo to discuss, and victims, especially those who find themselves with unwanted pregnancies, are abandoned by their families. In Ethiopia, such misfortune is the woman's fault.
The Save staff talked at length about three courses of change that must be addressed to empower women. First, women must go to school. Save is implementing a program which builds schools for communities that promise 50% of enrollment will be girls. One women described the process of breaking the traditional barriers of gender discrimination. The first year, parents agreed to allow the girls to go to school, but the girls had to be in a separate room from the boys. The next year, the girls and boys were allowed in the same room, but separate rows. Slowly, the parents acclimated to having the girls and boys side by side. The second course of action is to somehow discourage marriage at such young ages. In a family where a young girl is an asset, mothers are eager to "send their daughters off" in order to procure gifts for the family. We learned that one community had established fifteen as the minimum age for marriage, but apparently parents now just lie about their daughters' birthdays. This leads to the third issue needing to be addressed: poverty. What role does poverty play in keeping these women in the place they currently hold in society? How does a family's economic dependence affect the need for early marriage?
We talked for hours. As the hour swept past five o'clock, I could tell the staff needed to get home, and yet there was so much more our delegation wanted to hear from them. Thankfully, Tina, one of the two high school students traveling with us, had a perfect final question. With a puzzled face, she looked toward the end of the table where four female Ethiopian staff members sat along with a former Save employee named Worknesh. There they were, a row of incredibly strong women, beautiful women with opinions, presence, and strength. And so Tina asked, and I'm paraphrasing a little, "How are you you?"
It was an interesting and valid question. How had such remarkable women beaten the system, so to speak. Their answers intimated that while they'd bucked tradition in many capacities, their struggles were no less real. Nonetheless, these women are role models. And to succeed in changing the attitudes, models of success must be provided. To that end, we learned that Save is struggling to find "women facilitators," teachers to run the schools which are being built.
After our round table discussion, everyone scattered. I had met Sophia Yilma, a vibrant young women in charge of sponsorship and fundraising at Save, when she handed us all our itineraries for our time in Ethiopia. From the first moment, she struck me as the "go to" lady. So when I mentioned after the meeting that I'd really like to go to the Mercato, the largest outdoor market in Africa, she made it happen. The sun was beginning to fall as we left the Save field office, and Worknesh looked a little concerned about our heading out at that hour. But Sophia was definitely in charge. Flanked by both her and the driver, we set out into the market to shop. What a thrill watching them tag-team bargain. My job was to look as if I'd walk away from every price. When one shopkeeper actually let me walk away, I knew I'd taken the guide book's advice to "always demand a lower price" just a bit too seriously. In truth, I was grateful when we left the market. The poverty was really overwhelming. The way the merchants attempted to get my attention, the plaintive tone as they cried, "Madam. Look!" and the way we had to step over sleeping bodies getting up and down the stairway... even now, as I sit here in California, I cannot describe how that made me feel.
9/19/04:
Two hours outside of Addis Ababa in a town called Ginchi, Save the Children has opened an ARSH Center (Adolescent and Reproductive Health). A small building with an enclosed yard, the center provides children as well as their families a place to gather for information about safe sex and the prevention of AIDS. Only in operation for a year, the center had spent the first six months training teenagers and their parents to talk with their peers about the issues of safe sex. What was clear was that the message of AIDS prevention may be delivered at a location sponsored by Save, but it was the community members themselves who were the message bearers. By offering one-on-one counseling, peers are creating safe environments for the discussion of topics that are not only uncomfortable for them, but also taboo.
When we first arrived, there were large groups of children, some within the confines of the center, some peering over the fences, all eager to see what was going on. A portion of our group had made it on-site early, so the buzz was well in place when the latter part of the delegation appeared. In fact, our arrival coincided with a drum performance by one of the teenagers trained at the center as a peer counselor. Naturally, the music stopped mid-beat and the children all gazed upon us, more foreigners. As I gazed back at the children, the circus atmosphere was palpable - I just wasn't sure which group of us was the entertainment. As I took pictures, they laughed and posed eager, to see the results in the window of the digital camera.
Boys in the ARSH program learn the ABC's (Abstinence, Be Faithful, and Condoms) to keep themselves and their partners safe
|
Gradually, I moved over to the porch of the center where a discussion was underway between delegation members and the parents of some of the children. When Donna asked how the parents felt about the center, their appreciation and respect for the center's program facilitator was evident. One mother commented that she was suspicious of the center at first, not certain "what it was that went on there." Now that she has learned about the necessary steps it will take to keep her daughter safe from AIDS, she is spreading the word to other parents. A father noted that he has benefited from the center himself, learning about spacing out children, contraception, and safety.
One particularly stoic father looked at us and said, "In America, you speak of Al Quaeda. Our Al Quaeda is HIV/AIDS."
As the parents and delegates talked, Tina and Insiyah held court on the other end of the porch, where twenty or more teenagers had gathered to escape the sudden downpour and to get a little closer to the American teens. Tina and Insiyah took out copies of two teen magazines and showed their new friends pictures of Orlando Bloom and the 50 Hottest Guys. The laughter from the other side of the porch echoed, and as Insiyah playfully lost in a game of checkers, the other delegates couldn't help noticing how easily the younger people connected with one another.
As we finished our conversations with the parents, the center's success thus far was apparent. Discussion about HIV/AIDS, education about prevention, these are the most important steps to counteracting the disease's spread. And in this community, the teens proudly sing songs about remaining faithful to one partner, about keeping each other safe. When speaking of the openness of communication, one mother acknowledged matter-of-factly, "The best thing for a family is transparency… and love."
It was too soon to know whether this center would have a lasting impact on the community. The staff at Save state their goal is to put money where it is most effective, where it can reach the most people. Kate, Roseanne, Tracy, and Melissa, four of the earlier arrivals, had a surprisingly candid exchange with one of the girl's mothers. The woman explained that, regarding women's health, she had not understood the complications FGM (female genital mutilation) could cause her daughters. She said that her younger daughter, who had just turned nine, would not have the procedure, and she herself would be certain her daughters' daughters did not either. The impact of the center has already reached multiple generations.
After we left the Ginchi Center, we drove two hours along a muddy, hilly road toward the Woliso District. At first as we drove, children ran out to the side of the road and waved. Occasionally when I had the chance to wave first, the little boy or girl's eyes would grow wide with excitement. In the second half of our trip, the children's reactions to us, everyone's reaction to us changed distinctly. The hands held high became hands held out. The begging was an automated response. Later in the evening, Donna and I marveled at our similar observations despite riding in different cars. What was most strange to me was that this distinct change occurred as we drove through an area which has received great amounts of aid from an international organization. While I can't prove a direct correlation between the begging and the aid received, the observation served as a reminder of how important it is not to facilitate the dependency of any person or community. Worknesh, among others, has made it clear that the policy at Save is not to give handouts to the needy, but rather to help communities help themselves.
Worknesh worked for Save the Children for years before leaving her position this past spring to prepare for her family's move to Kenya. Jude Clement, the fabulous women who got me involved with Save, spoke so highly of Worknish that I was disappointed to think I would not have the chance to meet this remarkable woman. Thankfully, Worknesh was able to join the delegation, and I definitely see what positive effects her infectious energy can have. When people ask her, "What are you going to do for us?" she replies, "What are you going to do for yourselves?"
Tomorrow, we are going to see Save's model of community-based education. The program is built on the idea that communities must contribute to the building and maintenance of all projects sponsored by Save. In fact, three of the schools Save had set out to build this past year were built elsewhere because the community refused to help. It's tough love, but I understand it.
9/20/04:
After splitting into two groups, the majority of us headed off to see the Chancho Soyoma Community School, an extraordinary project which couples schools and clean water supplies. To get there, we took a hard turn off the main road and drove through a vast open space. Save for the soupy tracks of mud hidden under the grass, one would never know there was a road to be found. Though it was the end of the rainy season, the lead car eventually got stuck, and as the locals and several drivers negotiated the traction of the vehicle, Worknesh hopped out of my car and announced, "We'll walk."
Along the route the children take everyday, we slowly made our way down and up a hill to one of Save's water point projects, a well where the women and girls could come to get water. Several girls and women were there to greet us, specifically one woman that Rick and Worknesh both indicated was instrumental in building the community mobilization for the entire project. She extended her hand so warmly to all of the members of our group.
While at the well, I turned to three of the girls and asked if they would allow me to try putting their water jug on my back, just to see how heavy the jug was. The girls thought the suggestion was hysterical as I, with my bright sea green t-shirt, wrapped the rope around my shoulders and the clay jug onto my back. It was heavy.
"Can I try it with water?" I asked.
The girls seemed confused; the older women worried about dirtying my shirt. With a little coaxing, I convinced them to allow me to put a full jug on my back. And as the thick rope cut into my shoulders, I marveled at how the little girls of the village carry such weight to and from their homes, many of which were several kilometers away.
"We get used to it," they replied.
Young girls collect water near new school buildings at Chancho Soyoma.
|
As a group we continued up the hill, through a fence and into a school compound comprised of two school buildings with multiple small classrooms, a garden, a playground, a latrine each for boys and girls, water areas for the children to wash their hands, and an additional well more accessible to the garden. Covering through grade three, the school was filled with children, and yet, the classes were one quarter the size of the classes in the government schools, which average one hundred and twenty students per teacher. There, each room had a facilitator; each student, a workbook.
It turned out that our arrival coincided with the first day of school. The students seemed enthralled to have the excitement of visitors on the very first day. In one classroom, I pulled out some stickers I'd brought with me and put some on the students' papers. Guluma Balcha, Save's leader of education in the Woliso impact Area, later translated for the children that I was a teacher from far away and these stickers were what I gave to my own students when they were very good. They seemed to like that.
The last classroom we entered was the equivalent of pre-kindergarten in the United States. On their first day of school ever, these students watched us with wide stares, not knowing what to make of us or "this whole school business." I imagined that the next might be a bit strange for them when they realized school was not always so filled with excitement.
A young girl at recess on her very first day of school
|
Outside the school buildings, a group of men began to gather. I could not figure out what they were doing there. Then Worknesh told me – nothing. In the local language, she began to ask, "What are you doing here? Don't you have anything better to do?" Meanwhile, the elder women we met by the well were graciously offering us their honey and telling us all about the community school and the impact it has had since its construction a year ago. Through the passion of these women, all could see that it was their motivation which helped effect this fantastic project.
One particular moment I'd like to share occurred when Rosanne was talking with the one woman who had worked so hard to make the school a reality. She told Rosanne that she herself had benefited from her daughter's education. In the past, they had received letters and been unable to read them; when they'd signed their names, they'd done so with a thumbprint.
"My daughter taught me to write my name," she proudly exclaimed. Then she asked if we wanted to see.
Rosanne took out her notebook and watched as this woman painstakingly wrote each letter of her name. Then she asked, "Would you like to see my father's name, too?"
The gardens in back of the school are used to grow coffee and other vegetables, which the community will sell to help maintain the school. This is a particularly important aspect of all Save's projects. The sooner the community claims each site as its own, the more likely the site is to be maintained and valued.
From what I could see, the site was definitely valued already. The profuse thanks of the woman touched all of us. And as we stood by the second well and the women talked of how much easier their own lives are now that the well water is in such close proximity, I smiled.
"Now we can actually sit to drink a cup of coffee!"
One item of special note is the close connection we felt to the project itself. Kate Roberts, one of the delegation's creators and a fellow traveler, shared with us that it was her husband's fundraising climb of Mt. Kilimanjaro (his and Jude Clement's)that had sponsored that school. To see what could materialize in one year from the work of one group would blow you away.
As a cute aside...
On my way back to the car, I pointed a little boy out to Worknesh. He was a toddler, crying frantically as he ran over the hill away from his mother, who crouched by a stream washing.
"What's he saying?" I asked.
"He's saying, "The white foreigner is coming!"
Luckily for him, his community is strong and self-sustaining. The foreigner was leaving, but he was too far over the hillside to notice.
...
Our second site visit was to another water point in which a spring was capped and a small reservoir was built. Important to note is the maintenance of the site. A committee of villagers oversees the well, hiring someone to guard the source and open it with a key for only several hours every morning and evening. To pay for the guard and the repairs the well may require, the committee actually sells the water to the community for a set price. Each family pays one birr a month for the right to use the well, a fee equivalent to twenty cents in U.S. dollars. This is all it takes to establish and keep clean water for over six hundred families.
Thanks to the leadership of Mohammed, a water engineer for Save, thirty-two wells of a ninety well project have been completed in the past fifteen months. Close to 19,000 people now have water at a final cost that works out to less than $10 per person. The remaining locations have been chosen already and are set to be completed within three years. Having seen so many girls on the roadside collecting water from puddles filled with mud and animal dung, I was both frustrated and relieved to see that the remedy is so readily available with only a little help.
9/21/04:
Before leaving Ethiopia, we had the opportunity to visit Blessed Teresa Home for Orphans where more than three hundred AIDS orphans will live out their lives. We were warned at the outset that there were no cameras, videos, or tears allowed. When we entered, we were greeted by Sr. Mercy, a wholly remarkable woman (holy and remarkable) who, when she greeted us, had just convinced a man to take his eight-year-old nephew home rather than abandon him as he had come that day to do. The boy's parents had both died of AIDS.
An unbelievable challenge greets those who work at the orphanage as they attempt to love and nurture so many young children who have no one to call family. Understaffed and underfunded, the orphanage still manages to create an atmosphere of calm and safety for the children in its charge.
When we arrived outside the "dorms," children flooded at our feet. Two beautiful little girls latched onto my arms and refused to let go. No older than four, they led me at a brisk pace through the orphanage as our delegation grew in number, pied pipers as it were. When we arrived in the room where the babies were kept, we scattered instantly to their cribsides and began to pick up the bundled children and cradle them. The infants responded to the merest touch. For some who were used to so little, someone's finger to hold would suffice for a smile.
In the school portion of the orphanage, we saw the first graders overflowing two rooms. By the fourth grade, the numbers had thinned out to ten. The children in the orphanage don't live much past thirteen or fourteen. In this eldest class of fourth graders, several twelve and thirteen year olds were struggling to gain enough academic strength to enter the government schools. Someone in the delegation commented that these older children had probably lost many friends to AIDS over the years.
"More than you or I will ever know" was the response.
What a shattering experience their lives have been. Their only trips outside the orphanage are to power plants or assorted local parks, and even these treks are going to be limited now that the funding has dried up. Twenty thousand dollars over eighteen months had been funded for these excursions by an organization that is now primarily focused in research. If no one steps up to renew this grant, the quality of life for these kids will suffer unspeakably. The sisters who work at the orphanage are part of Mother Teresa's Mission, and it is their belief that God will provide.
I hope very much, for the sake of those children, that through us, he will.
On our way back to the hotel to check out, the rain came down in torrents. For the first time in years, I heard thunder.
9/22/04: Kampala, Uganda
Our drive from the airport in Entebbe was a bit of culture shock. Compared with the streets in Ethiopia, Uganda's offers its people a very different quality of life. Rather than the straw huts and shanties, most homes are actual brick structures. In front of many, massive mounds of red dirt house termite hills. There are also far fewer animals along the road. Most notably, as we passed people, we seemed to be far less a spectacle than in Ethiopia.
Joyce LeMille, the Director of the Uganda Office, gave us a few minutes to freshen up at the hotel before we set off to Fang Fang, a local Chinese restaurant. There we met David Bruns from USAID, Lydia Clemmons from UPHOLD (Uganda Program for Human and Holistic Development), Sereen Thadeus from USAID, Renuka Pillay from MOES (Ministry of Education), and Helen Bishop, a consultant from Sierre Leone.
Because English is the predominant language, I, in particular, felt a freedom of dialogue we'd been lacking so far on the trip. We talked very candidly on the issues women in Uganda are suffering. Interestingly, there seems to be no shortage of female students in primary school or of women teachers. However, the problem of retention is very real. The girls, especially in the rural areas, often fail to continue to secondary school because they are needed at home or sold into marriage as a means of generating income for their families. The concept of "bride prices" is prevalent and acceptable in families who need to find some way of supporting the remaining family members.
Violence against women is an extremely contentious issue. The Vice President of the country recently left her husband and the country after telling the world that her husband beat her regularly. The public reaction to her announcement was decidedly split. Many women took from her that they, too, could leave their husbands if their husbands were beating them. Other women, who know no other way of life, seemed disapproving. Regardless, when we arrived, the discussion about domestic violence had begun, and that was a positive change.
The women at lunch all talk about the need for changes in behavior. The candor and passion of the conversation made me wish I could bottle our energy. I left the meeting feeling as if I'd been introduced to a real movement of women. It is my sincere hope that many western women have the occasion to take this journey and make these connections. There was indeed a reciprocal benefit.
After lunch, we headed to Straight Talk.
Straight Talk is a community-based organization that is taking Uganda by storm. A newsletter publisher and radio producer, Straight Talk opens channels for children young and old, their parents, their teachers, their communities to discuss all facets of sexual and reproductive health. Four page "newspapers," Straight Talk predominantly deals with issues of AIDS, but there is much more to it. People can write and ask questions about body changes, behavior requirements, difficult decisions they have to make.
Because there is a relatively high literacy rate in Uganda (well over 60%), the publication is reaching all corners of the country. Such a demand for the papers has grown that multiple versions are now being published (Young Talk, Parent Talk, Farm Talk, Teacher Talk) in many of the local languages. Young Talk the publication is inserted into 430,000 local newspapers, delivered to more than 13,000 schools. The success of the Straight Talk message has led the workers at Straight Talk to find methods of reaching those who cannot read. Because 70% of the households in Uganda have radios, a radio program seemed an obvious choice.
Upon our arrival at Straight Talk, we meet Sanyu Kagwa, an absolute dynamo, who currently leads the Straight Talk radio program, which airs several times a week in over nine languages. Of rock star caliber, this woman can go out into a community of children and find herself mobbed; the numbers of children seeking advice are so high that everyone at Straight Talk is trained as a counselor, from the janitors to the drivers. Because these workers are charismatic and candid, the children can ask any kind of question they have. And they do.
Sanyu leaves our meeting for a moment and returns with binders filled with letters the children have written. They are explicit, but open and honest; the letters are filled with the questions everyone has as an adolescent. The taboo of sexual discussion does not apply in Sanyu's world. The majority of the letters come from boys as they are the ones with the time to listen to the radio program and the money to stamp the letters. As we walk through the three-story building, we can see people in every office reading letters in all the languages of Uganda. Sanyu tells us that any letter with a question gets an answer. With hundreds of letters a day, you can only imagine the teamwork required. But everyone there seems to love his/her job.
Every letter with a question gets a written response from a Straight Talk staff member
|
Some children in Uganda learn about sex at such a young age. Living in one-room homes with their parents, some even witness it. As a result, the average age of "sexual debut" is thirteen. Sanyu's battle cry on her radio program is "Did you delay sex this week?" Having heard the vivacity and approachability of her voice, I understood the power her question could have on her listeners.
After Straight Talk, we headed to NACOLA (National Committee of Women Living with AIDS). An economic development program for women living with AIDS, we had the chance to sit down with women who are not only living with AIDS, but sustaining their families economically as well. One of the difficulties for women is to find ways of economic viability after their spouses pass away or leave them. One of these women has five of her own children as well as her husband's family to care for, a total of fourteen people live in her home. Working out of a rented space, the women gather together to support one another emotionally as well as to learn life skills that will enable them to survive. In a side room, women learn to sew and create crafts products including baskets and bags. Our delegation bought out the whole shop of items. In fact, we returned again that Friday.
Women living with AIDS sew to raise money
|
Dinner was a sleepy affair. We did have the chance to meet three remarkable women who were affiliated with Cisco's Network Academy within the Women's and Gender Studies Program at the University of Makerere. (both Molly and Kate work at Cisco Systems in California) The program is designed to develop IT workers, especially women. One of the women was a teacher in the program; the others, students. Remarkably, one of the women was married with children. As she talked about her supportive husband, the other women talked about the support their own families provided. There was a common theme.
Back at the hotel, we went to bed hearing the plaintive cry of the Uganda Director Joyce.
"Please! Please... be ready to go at 7 am."
I went to sleep groaning.
9/23/04:
The delegation split into two groups as we left to Nakasongola, a district in which Save has concentrated its efforts. I headed off with Melissa, Insiyah, Molly, and Tina to Kibuye CHANCE Center, an informal school established for children who cannot go to government schools because of distance or family circumstance. Contrary to the community schools Save has built in Ethiopia, these schools are entirely community built. What that means is that, in some cases, the schools are merely open-air huts with thatched roofs. Save's involvement is limited to providing materials and instructors, along with instructor training. The students range from P1-P5, the U.S. equivalent of grades 1-5; although, students are not necessarily in grades which correspond to their ages we'd expect. Moreover, the communities we saw did not have enough classes, often only able to hold one or two, for example P2 and P4. Beyond P6, secondary school is not accessible to most students because of inaccessibility distance and cost wise.
A young girl learns to subtract with straws
|
Because the classes were in session, we didn't have a chance to talk with the students. Instead, we set off to Kigingo CHANCE Center, which, at least for me, proved a frustrating experience.
Outside of the school, a small group of parents had gathered to speak with us. Molly asked the mothers how they felt about their daughters' being in school. One mother spoke of not finishing school herself because there was no money, and she did go on to say that she was happy to have her daughter in school. However, in this community, the purpose of putting a child in school is to help the child advance so that the family can prosper. I did not get the sense that supporting the child in his or her advancement was a priority. A child's enrollment in school was a calculated choice to improve the lives of the other members in the family.
When I find out that two of the men in the group were single and without children, I jumped at the opportunity to ask about AIDS in the single man's world. I asked if condoms are used. They said that most men do not. I was bold enough to ask the men if they used condoms. I knew that I was walking a fine line in what was culturally acceptable to discuss, but I pushed forward.
"No," they responded.
I asked if they were aware that every time they had unprotected sex, they were risking their lives.
They said they'd been lucky so far, and shrugged. (Later at lunch, a fellow delegate told me I should have asked them when the last time was that they were tested.) Instead, I chose to ask if they had sisters. They did.
"So how would you feel if a man refused to were a condom and as a result gave your sister HIV?"
"I'd feel bad," one responded. He shrugged again.
It seemed to me that he wouldn't feel bad enough to change his own behavior.
Ignorance of the facts is one thing. These guys knew the facts.
Molly called the conversation "sobering." I called it downright depressing.
After a fantastic lunch at the Save's Nakasongola Office, we separated again into our groups. This afternoon, we got to see the Nakasongola Primary School...
The Nakasongola Primary School has nine hundred students, equal parts boys and girls. The faculty of fifteen teachers is divided, seven women and eight men. The facilities need repair, but that's due in part to the fact that the school is one of Uganda's oldest.
We attended a Youth Group meeting. There, thirty or so kids gathered to discuss issues of importance to them. They met twice weekly. Four teenagers headed the group as they discussed AIDS and STD's and the ways to stay safe. Their candor was astounding. Two head boys and two head girls led a question and answer session about the symptoms of STD's, and when one boy answered "pus from the penis," the words sound perfectly normal for a boy of fourteen to utter. No giggling, no snickering. The demeanor of the group gave away their knowledge that this is important stuff.
When the students first introduced their youth club, they mentioned that they used the forum to discuss issues that concerned them. So we asked them to elaborate on that.
AIDS, STD's, early marriage, unwanted pregnancy...
One of the girls, a tall young woman of no more than fifteen, told us that she might be married off if her family needs money. When we prompted them to tell us at what age they thought marriage is appropriate, they all concurred they should be in their twenties. In slight contrast, when I asked them at what age they thought sexual activity is appropriate, answers mostly ranged from fourteen and fifteen to nineteen. One boy even said thirteen.
On the walls surrounding these children hung posters depicting the parts of female and male genitals, methods of preventing STD's, ways to maintain hygiene. Everything in that space was open for discussion. Such was their reality. They had no choice but to be mature. They must learn these things or risk death.
I asked the students what they would like to be when they grew older, and answers ranged from teachers to doctors. One boy proudly claimed that he was going to be Prime Minister. Playing to the crowd, I immediately rose to shake his hand and show my respect. The students roared with laughter. The same tall girl who spoke of early marriage said that she wanted to be Vice President. Molly and I quickly chimed in, "Why not president?"
Eventually we moved outside where all of the school children had gathered to greet us. Some wore torn or dirty uniforms; others, only piecemeal scraps of their school color -- green. Regardless, they smiled brightly for the visitors. Like Sanyu at Straight Talk, I felt a bit like a rock star myself.
Students gathered to greet us
|
Invited back into a classroom, I was completely unaware of what was to come. Students lined chairs for us while the majority of the school's children sat quietly on the floor behind us, almost certainly unable to see the performance which commenced.
The drama club had won the national title in Uganda for the past three years. A trophy shined in the headmaster's office, a small room filled with several sacks of a powdered substance for the children's lunchtime porridge as well as Mount St. Standardized Test (a dusty pile of tests the students had recently taken to check their academic levels to date). The headmaster was so proud of the students for having made it so far in the National Music Festival, and yet, it was with deep regret that he reached under the pile of tests to grab a bag filled with costumes that the children could only afford to rent.
The drumming began in the far corner as the girls and boys began to sway in a rhythmic motion and form a semicircle around a girl no older than fourteen. As the ring of students began to sing in the background, the girl's voice stunned me. Like the spine-tingling opening to the Broadway version of The Lion King, this voice sent shivers. Quietly, the headmaster translated for me that the girl was singing about the effects of AIDS.
The students went on to dance and sing a song depicting the isolation AIDS can cause. Four members were separated from the remainder of the children, and alone they seemed to sway and eventually crumble.
One of the very final songs the students performed was a traditional Ugandan mating dance. For a brief moment I was embarrassed at the chemistry of these children. The spirit in the room, the movements of their bodies, the drumming of the drums and the rattling of the rattles all brought the room to a fevered pitch. When they finished, I was close to tears. Theirs was the kind of energy, emotion, vivacity that can move mountains. Part of me wanted to get up and dance with them. Part of me wanted to grabs their faces, already dripping with sweat, and beg them to perform it all one more time. The talent... my god, the life force in that room... and yet, these children must contend with daily problems that I could never dream of.
Several times throughout our visit, the children were given the opportunity to ask us questions. One asked us for a goat or cow for the school garden; another asked us to bring back their lunch program, something which had only recently lost its funding. Most of the kids no longer ate lunch. Of a school of nine hundred, only fifteen could pay for the lunchtime porridge. The money that was given the previous year to the lunch program in most schools had been diverted to the north where there fighting goes on. Molly and I did some quick computing from the Uganda schilling into U.S. dollars to figure that it would cost less than nine dollars to feed a child lunch at school for one year. $8.77.
My father and mother never put money in the stock market when we were children: they invested in people – namely, my sister and me. When I think of the talent that these children at Nakasongola School carry with them, I want desperately to invest in them. I feel confident that such an investment will pay off.
(The following morning we learned from Joyce that a proposal had been submitted to the USDA feeding program to continue the lunch program at all Ugandan schools. I am hopeful that the grant will be approved quickly. Hunger is the greatest area of concern to these children.
I would so much rather they have the luxury of worrying about their Vice Presidential acceptance speeches...)
Back at the hotel, our delegation had the first real chance to sit and unwind. Under the generator-powered lights, we drank cocktails and discussed all that we had seen and felt. It felt like the beginning of our end together, and I was overwhelmed with the sadness of parting with these spectacular companions.
9/24/04:
I awoke early. The sun was on the brink of rising and there was just enough light to make me feel as if I were, in my mosquito-netted bed, actually awaking in a cloud. I decided to rise and go to the porch of the darkened restaurant to type a journal entry.
The generator had already been turned off, so it was only the dawn light by which I read the screen of the laptop. The blissful quiet of it all reminded me of a time I had not experienced in many years, the kind of quiet writing and solitude I used to enjoy at boarding school in New Hampshire, so many moons ago.
Gradually everyone arose, and we began our final debrief. Thankfully, Melissa captured it on camera for it was all a blur to me. The day in its entirety had been a bit of a blur. We had a flat tire as we drove back to Kampala. We ate pizza for lunch and spent an eternity at an internet café trying to submit journal entries, knowing that people at home were beginning to become concerned by the lack thereof. Eventually, we made our way back to the NACOLA house, where the women with AIDS were making crafts to sell. We bought almost everything.
At the airport in Entebbe, we unloaded and made our way through the gate. Kate and I were stopped. Our flight to Rwanda would not permit us entry until 7:30 pm. On their way to London via Nairobi, the remainder of the group had already disappeared ahead of us. And so within the blink of an eye, the group ceased to exist for me. Kate and I were left behind.
When we were finally permitted to pass into the secured area, we rushed to the Nairobi gate to have the agent tell us that we'd "missed them by inches."
A woman approached me and asked, "Do you know these women?" She pointed to an envelope with Kate's and my names. Inside, Molly, Insiyah and Tina has scribbled a note of farewell to us. And while I felt a distinct lack of closure, I was just grateful to have met these women who have helped me grow so much.
I quietly wished them all a safe journey as Kate and I set off to trek gorillas in Rwanda. |
|
|
|
 |
|
|
